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brunchable · 6 months ago

Text

How To Impress a 21st Century Girl.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Themes: Rom-Com, Fluff, Mutual Pining(Heavy?), First Date, Flirtation and Playfulness.

Summary: Sam had forced Bucky to use Tinder to solve his abysmal love life. Bucky tells himself that if third time isn't a charm, he will officially give up trying to find a partner.

A/N: I'm a sucker for rom-coms, I hope you guys enjoyed this because I enjoyed writing it.

tags: @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917

It had all been Sam’s idea. "Come on, man. You need to get back out there!" Sam had said, way too enthusiastically, while setting up a Tinder profile for him without even asking. Bucky had resisted at first, arguing that dating apps probably weren't his thing. But Sam was persistent, reminding him that it was 2024, not 1944, and that "no one meets in grocery stores anymore."

Reluctantly, Bucky had gone along with it, figuring it couldn’t hurt to try. What was the worst that could happen?

Well, now he knew.

Bucky was starting to think Tinder was out to get him. His first two dates had been disasters—and not just normal awkwardness, but spectacularly bad. The first girl, Jenny, had brought her ex-boyfriend to the date. Apparently, he was her ride, and they were still "good friends." Bucky had spent two hours third-wheeling a reunion he hadn’t signed up for. The second girl, Alicia, had a collection of ceramic frogs. And when Bucky said “collection,” he meant obsession. The girl spent an entire dinner showing him photos of different frog figurines. It was ribbiting. Literally. One of them even made croaking sounds.

So, now here he was, on date number three, standing outside some trendy café, wondering what fresh nightmare awaited him. This time, though, he’d let you plan the date. Maybe handing over control would be better than having to smile through another amphibian-themed dinner.

You showed up right on time, and Bucky was genuinely relieved to see no ex-boyfriend hovering in the background. You were wearing a paneled knit dress with spaghetti straps that hugged you just right, and your short hair was perfectly tousled. You smiled at him, but the look on your face told him you were just as unsure as he was.

“Hi,” you greeted, and Bucky instantly forgot every single normal response. Holy shit he is TALL.

“Hey, I’m Bucky.” he mumbled back. He was really nailing this whole dating thing.

You walked inside, and the café had that minimalist vibe. A lot of plants. A lot of exposed brick. The kind of place where you’re not sure if you’re supposed to sit or admire the interior design.

As you both sat down, Bucky tried to channel his inner suave. He could do this. He had faced way worse than an awkward date. Like alien invasions. Like that one time he lost his arm again. This was nothing.

Except... why was talking to an attractive woman harder than fighting off super soldiers?

“I, uh, like your dress,” Bucky said, already feeling the heat creep up his neck. Nice, Barnes, real original.

“Thanks,” you replied, with an amused smile playing on your lips. “I like your... jacket.”

Bucky nodded, looking down at his worn leather jacket. “Yeah. It’s... warm.”

Warm? That’s what you’re going with? He mentally slapped himself. This was going well. So well. He tried to change the subject and scanned the menu. “Uh... so, what’s good here?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been,” you said, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. “The internet said they have good coffee, though.”

“Internet reviews, huh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “That’s always a gamble. Could be great... could be a disaster.”

Cue the awkward silence.

The waiter had barely placed the food in front of you both before the quiet tension stretched between you like you were sitting in a library, not a café. Bucky poked at his bagel as if it might come to life at any moment, while you took a delicate sip of your coffee, your eyes darting between him and the wall behind him.

You both chewed in the most nonchalant way possible, each of you hyper-aware of the silence that was growing louder by the second. You were mentally cursing every decision that led to this exact moment, and Bucky, for his part, was questioning whether retiring from the whole Avenger thing had been a mistake.

Say something. Anything, Bucky thought, taking another bite of his bagel, which suddenly felt like chewing rubber. Ask about herr favorite food? No, that’s boring. Comment on the weather? Oh, yeah, nothing like ‘Hey, it’s been cold lately,’ to really sweep her off her feet. Real smooth.

Meanwhile, you were trying to figure out how you managed to forget how to make normal conversation. Maybe ask him about his hobbies? No, that’s basic. Compliment his hair? What are you, in fifth grade? Pull yourself together!

Bucky, still chewing the world’s driest bagel, caught your eye for a split second, and you both did that polite half-smile thing that happens when you’re not sure whether you should talk or continue pretending to enjoy the food.

Did she just smile at me because I’m being awkward, or am I overthinking this? Bucky wondered, immediately breaking eye contact and pretending his coffee was the most fascinating thing on the table.

You, on the other hand, were screaming internally. Oh God, did I smile too weird? Was it the kind of smile that says, ‘I like you,’ or the one that says, ‘I’m trapped in this date and don’t know how to escape’?

You both took another sip of your drinks at the exact same time.

Alright, Barnes, get it together. Say something smart, Bucky told himself, putting his mug down carefully.

“So, uh... how’s your coffee?”

You blinked, your brain scrambling for a response. How’s my coffee? It’s coffee. Just say it’s good. Don’t overthink it.

“It’s... good. How’s your bagel?”

Bucky looked down at the circular piece of bread like it had personally betrayed him. “It’s... round.”

Round? Really? You went with ‘round’? Smooth, real smooth, he chastised himself, nodding like he had just made the most profound statement about bagels ever.

Your lips twitched. Did he just describe his food as ‘round’? Okay, maybe I’m not the only one struggling here.

You took another sip of your coffee, trying to hide your smile. God, this is like watching two middle schoolers on a first date.

You both glanced at each other again. Smile. Look away. Silence.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. Alright, clearly, she thinks I’m a complete idiot. But it’s fine. I can recover. Just... find a topic. Literally any topic.

You picked at your napkin. Okay, maybe I should mention the escape room next. But what if he hates escape rooms? What if he thinks they’re boring? You cleared your throat slightly, ready to speak, but then—

Bucky cleared his throat at the same time. You both froze, staring at each other like deer caught in headlights.

“You go first,” Bucky said quickly.

“No, no, you first,” you insisted, waving your hand.

Bucky’s brain blanked. He blinked, searching for anything to say. “Uh... did you... park nearby?”

You stared at him, and then a smile slowly spread across your face. Did he really just ask me about parking? You nodded. “No I–um took public transport. Did you?”

Bucky gave a stiff nod. “Yeah. Close. Very close. Super convenient.”

You both stared at each other for a beat, and then, in a miraculous moment, you both cracked up at the exact same time.

“Parking?” you laughed, shaking your head. “That’s the best we’ve got?”

Bucky held up his hands. “Hey, I panicked, okay? The bagel threw me off.”

You wiped a tear from your eye, your shoulders shaking with laughter. “And I thought the frogs were bad.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh harder. “Okay, in my defense, this date is way better than ceramic frogs.”

��Glad to be the non-frog date.” You raised your cup in mock salute.

You both chuckled, and for the first time, the awkward tension seemed to melt away. Sure, you were a bit of a mess, but at least you were a mess together.

As you calmed down, you leaned forward, a playful grin on your face. “So, what’s next? You ready for the escape room?”

“I dunno. Should I be worried?” Bucky smirked, feeling a lot lighter.

“Only if you’re bad at puzzles,” you teased.

Bucky crossed his arms, leaning back with a smirk. “Oh, trust me, I think I’ll manage.”

And with that, you both finally stood up to head for the next part of your date, the awkwardness left behind with the round bagel and the overly complicated coffee.

× × × ×

As soon as you stepped into the Asylum escape room, the mood shifted from "awkward first date" to "this might be how I die."

Oh, great. Creepy hospital décor. Perfect first-date vibes. You eyed the flickering lights and eerie medical tools scattered around the room, trying not to let on how much it was creeping you out. At least it’s better than ceramic frogs, you thought, glancing at Bucky.

“This is supposed to be the hardest escape room they have,” you said, glancing at Bucky. “Takes most people at least an hour. You ready for this?”

“Yeah, sure. I mean... it’s puzzles, right? How hard can it be?” Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to appear calm. I’ve literally fought aliens. How bad could a few puzzles be?

“You’ve never done one of these before, right?” You looked at him, a bit skeptical.

He shook his head. “First time. But, uh... I’m good under pressure.” Under pressure? What am I saying? I sound like I’m about to defuse a bomb, not solve a riddle. Get a grip, Barnes.

“Alright. Let’s do this.” You smiled, trying to hide your own nerves.

The clock started ticking, and immediately, you were plunged into darkness. A loud creak echoed through the room, followed by a voice over the intercom: “Welcome to the Asylum. You have 60 minutes to escape. Good luck... you’ll need it.”

Perfect. Creepy voice? Check. Flickering lights? Check. Yep, I'm doomed. You moved toward a stack of papers, squinting at the dim lighting. “Okay, first thing’s first... we need to find the clues hidden in this room to unlock the door.”

Before you could even start, Bucky was already inspecting a random pipe on the wall. He tugged at it, and it came loose, revealing a hidden key taped to the back. Oh, that was... lucky? Or did I just break something?

You froze mid-step. “Wait. How did you—”

“I... uh... just pulled on it.” Bucky looked just as surprised as you. Did I just accidentally solve this?

“Okay. Lucky guess.” You stared at him.

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe.” Play it cool, Barnes. Don't look like you’re clueless here.

You both moved into the next room, which had even creepier décor. Faint writing on the walls, jars filled with unidentifiable things, and a mannequin in the corner that Bucky immediately side-eyed like it was going to jump out at you. Okay, I don’t trust that mannequin. Why’s it looking at me like that?

You picked up a piece of paper with some cryptic writing on it. “This says something about finding the light within the dark. I think it’s a clue. We need to—”

“Found it,” Bucky called out.

You turned to see him holding up a blacklight. How does he keep doing this?!

“They always hide something with a blacklight, right?” He grinned, flashing the light on the wall, revealing a series of glowing numbers. That’s a thing, right? People hide stuff with these lights all the time... right?

“Oh, you’re just full of ideas now, huh?” You crossed your arms, smirking.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. “Just... using my instincts.” Yep. Totally knew that.

You worked through the next few puzzles, but by "worked," what you really meant was Bucky accidentally stumbling into the solutions. Every time you tried to figure out a clue, Bucky would casually touch something, pull a lever, or press a random button that—surprise—opened the next door or revealed the next key. At first, you thought he was joking. But as the minutes ticked by, it became clear: Bucky was somehow solving the escape room by sheer dumb luck—or so you thought.

This is starting to freak me out... Am I secretly a genius? Bucky thought.

At one point, you were trying to decipher a complicated code etched into the wall, mumbling to yourself about numerology and patterns, when Bucky—completely oblivious—pulled a book off the shelf, and a hidden door creaked open in the floor.

No. No way. “Are you—” You blinked. “Did you just—”

Bucky glanced at the open trapdoor, confused. “What? Was that not supposed to happen?”

You slapped your forehead. “No! I mean, yes, but—oh my God, Bucky, you’re breaking the game.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose!” Seriously, I just touched a book. How is that a thing?

You looked down at the trapdoor, then back at him. “What are you? A puzzle savant? Did you plan this?”

Bucky laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Nah, I just thought the book looked weird.” Great, now she thinks I’m some kind of escape room wizard.

You gaped at him. “The book looked weird?” Weird? Dude, I’m starting to think you have X-ray vision.

“I mean... yeah. It was dusty.” It wasn’t even that weird... or was it?

You squinted at him, hands on your hips. “You’re telling me you spotted a dusty book and thought, ‘Aha! Hidden door.’?”

“Isn’t that... what you’re supposed to do in these rooms?” Bucky shrugged, looking genuinely sorry. Please tell me that's how this works.

This man is unbelievable. You stared at him for a long moment before bursting out laughing. “Oh my God. You’re accidentally good at this. You’re just walking around solving stuff like you do this every weekend!”

Bucky chuckled, his shoulders relaxing a little. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m glad she’s laughing. “I swear I’ve never done this before.” This isn’t even the weirdest thing that’s happened to me this week.

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified,” you teased, stepping closer to him. “You’re like a walking cheat code.” Sure, Sherlock. Whatever you say.

“Hey, I’m just here to help.” He smiled, clearly enjoying your reaction. At least she’s impressed. That’s something.

I think you might secretly be a robot. You shook your head, grinning. “Alright, escape room prodigy, let’s see if you can crack the last one.”

You entered the final room—a dimly lit chamber with a creepy-looking mannequin in the corner and random medical equipment scattered around. You narrowed your eyes.

“Okay, this is the hardest part. No way you’re going to just... guess your way out of this one.”

“Yeah, this one’s. . . tricky.” Bucky glanced around, clearly trying to look casual. Please don’t let me stumble into the solution again...

Please don’t let him find the solution immediately. Just this once.

You pointed at the mannequin. “We need to find a code hidden somewhere in this room. The clue says it’s ‘locked in the mind.’ So it has to be something mental, right? Like a puzzle?”

Bucky stared at the mannequin for a second, then slowly reached out and twisted its head off. Inside, there was a slip of paper with the code on it. Oh, come on. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Are you KIDDING me?!” Your jaw dropped.

“I just thought... you know... maybe the head comes off?” Bucky held up the paper, looking sheepish.

Why am I even here?! You threw your hands up in the air. “Of COURSE the head comes off! Because that makes total sense! Sure!”

Bucky bit back a laugh. “Well, it did say ‘locked in the mind.’” Technically, I was right.

You glared at him, then shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “Okay, that’s it. You’re banned from escape rooms. You ruin them.”

“Ruined it?” Bucky asked, grinning. “We escaped, didn’t we?” She’s totally impressed, even if she won’t admit it.

“We escaped in twelve minutes, Bucky! Twelve!” You slapped his arm playfully. “That’s not normal!”

He laughed, ducking his head. “Sorry?” Guess I’m not so bad at this ‘fun date’ thing.

As you both stepped out of the escape room, the staff was standing there, looking like they’d just witnessed the impossible.

“You’re... done?” Pink-haired Girl asked, your eyes wide with disbelief.

Wow. They look like I just told them Santa isn’t real, Bucky thought.

You, just as confused, looked over at Bucky. “Uh. . .yeah, I guess?”

“Looks like it.” Bucky gave a casual shrug. No big deal. Just casually shattering dreams.

Clipboard Guy checked his stopwatch again, his mouth hanging open. “Twelve minutes. No. That’s not possible. People are supposed to break down in there. We’ve had people cry!”

Cry? What is this, an escape room or emotional boot camp? “You want me to go back in and tear up a little? You know, for the full experience?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“People have left that room emotionally damaged. You just... strolled out.” Pink-haired Girl blinked.

You stared at Bucky, still wrapping your head around it. “I didn’t even get through the first clue, and you were already unlocking half the room.”

“You were working hard. I just sped things up a bit.” Bucky chuckled softly, glancing at you with a playful smile. I mean, you were giving it a solid effort...

The Master of Puzzles guy appeared, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Did you... have the answers beforehand? Because that’s the hardest room we’ve got. We’ve had people rage-quit in there.”

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, looking amused. “Nah, just good at finding my way out of things.”

“I didn’t even do anything. You solved the whole thing!” You shook your head, still half-laughing, half in disbelief.

“Hey, you were a great moral support.” Bucky smiled at you, nudging you lightly. Seriously, though, it’s good to have someone to watch while I dismantle a room’s dignity.

Clipboard Guy muttered, “We’re gonna have to ban him. He’s banned.”

Oh no, I’ve ruined their sacred puzzle temple.

“He broke the hardest room we’ve got. Who even does that?” Pink-haired Girl nodded, still dumbfounded.

“Well, I’d offer to go back and struggle a bit, but... I don’t think it’d be convincing.” Bucky smirked, leaning casually against the counter. Trust me, I can’t fake being bad at something. Even if I tried.

As you headed for the exit, Bucky held the door open for you, giving the staff one last glance before he leaned over to you, voice low.

“What? You wanted to be stuck in there all night?”

“Honestly? It would’ve been nice to solve at least one puzzle.” You groaned, though you were smiling.

“Next time, I’ll let you have the first clue. Promise.” Bucky chuckled softly. And by let you, I mean I’ll stand far away from everything and try not to accidentally win.

“You better.” You laughed, shaking your head as you both stepped out into the night.

× × × ×

The arcade was buzzing with lights, sounds, and the faint scent of popcorn. It was a complete shift from the eerie asylum escape room, and you were already eyeing the rows of flashing machines and claw games with glee.

Alright, this is more like it. No creepy mannequins here, just good old-fashioned fun.

Bucky, on the other hand, looked around like he had just entered a foreign world. The last time he’d been in an arcade, they didn’t have all this flashing neon or half the games that were here now. What happened to the simple stuff? Pinball machines and jukeboxes. Now I’ve got ten-foot robots staring at me while kids slap buttons like their lives depend on it.

Still, he couldn’t help but smile at how excited you looked. Okay, if she’s this excited, maybe this won’t be so bad.

“Okay, so... how does this place work again?” he asked, watching a kid furiously slap buttons at a nearby game.

You laughed, giving him a gentle nudge. “It’s simple! We just play a bunch of games, earn tickets, and then trade them in for really weird prizes. Easy.”

Bucky nodded, though he still looked a little confused. “So, you win tickets by—?”

“By being amazing at games, obviously,” you said, your eyes already darting toward a nearby basketball shooting game. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Bucky followed you, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, I’ll keep up.” Alright, let’s see if I remember how to be competitive at... basketball?

You started with basketball, and while you had a decent shot, Bucky quickly became the Michael Jordan of arcade basketball. He tossed shot after shot into the hoop with ridiculous ease, barely even looking like he was trying.

Oh, come on. Seriously? Why is he good at everything? You shook your head in disbelief. “Oh, come on. Are you serious right now? Are you even aiming?”

“I dunno. I just... throw.” Bucky shrugged, not missing a single shot.

“This is what I get for going on a date with someone who’s literally built for accuracy.” You playfully narrowed your eyes at him. Why am I pretending like I’m mad? It’s honestly impressive.

He flashed a boyish grin. “You wanted to see if I could keep up.” Oh, I’m keeping up, doll.

You crossed your arms, pretending to pout. “I wasn’t trying to lose in record time.”

When the game ended, Bucky had a ridiculous amount of points, and you had... well, significantly fewer. He collected your combined tickets from the machine, glancing down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Should I carry these, or do you want to hold on to the three tickets you earned?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

How is he still charming even while teasing me? This is unfair. You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you snatched a couple of tickets from his hand with a grin. “You know what? Fuck you.”

“Careful, doll. You keep talking like that, and I might just take you up on it.” Bucky’s smirk widened, and he leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice just enough to make your pulse quicken.

Okay, that was a little too good. I should not be blushing right now. Your eyes widened for a second, a flush creeping up your neck before you shot him a playful glare. “You wish.”

��You know I don’t have to wish for anything.” He chuckled, stepping back with a wink.

Well, that escalated quickly. You tried to bite back your smile, but it was impossible with the way he was looking at you. “I’m starting to regret bringing you here.”

Bucky held up the stack of tickets, grinning like a kid who just won the lottery. “You’re only regretting it because I’m walking away with all the prizes.” Did I just turn an arcade into a battlefield?

“Yeah, yeah, keep rubbing it in.” You huffed, shaking your head, though the smile on your face said otherwise.

Bucky shot you another wink. “Oh, I plan to.”

This guy is dangerous with that smile. You smirked, leaning in a little. “So... what happened to the awkward guy who pointed out that bagels are round? Because this,” you waved at the arcade tickets, “does not feel like the same guy.”

“What? You weren’t impressed by my bagel observations?” Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. I was doing my best back then, okay?

You laughed, giving him a playful nudge. “Oh, I was very impressed. I just didn’t know you were hiding this arcade legend behind all that bagel wisdom.”

He grinned, eyes glinting. “I’m full of surprises, doll.” You have no idea.

“Clearly,” you said, still teasing him as you walked toward the next game. “Let’s see how many more surprises you’ve got.”

You dragged him over to the shooting gallery game, where you were met with an array of plastic rifles and paper targets.

“I’m kinda good at this,” you declared, grabbing one of the rifles with renewed determination. “You can’t have a crazy aim for everything.” Finally, something I can win.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, amused. “Okay. Let’s see what you got.”

You aimed and fired... missing every single target. You winced as the targets flipped back and forth, mocking you with their tiny, evil faces. Are you kidding me?

“You’re holding it too tight.” Bucky stepped up beside you, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh, great. Here we go. The expert.” You groaned. Of course, I’m holding it too tight. Leave it to Bucky to know everything.

Bucky smiled, but instead of saying anything, he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around you, his hands gently guiding yours on the plastic gun. You froze, your heart skipping a beat as you felt the warmth of him so close. His breath was soft against your ear as he leaned in to guide your aim, his voice low and steady.

Why does he have to be so good at this? I can barely think straight.

“Relax,” he murmured, his hands adjusting yours gently. “Don’t grip it so hard. Just like this.”

How am I supposed to relax when he’s practically wrapped around me?

Your pulse quickened, your senses suddenly overwhelmed by how close he was. His cologne—woodsy and warm—filled your lungs, making you a little dizzy. You swallowed hard, focusing on anything but the way your back pressed against his chest. “Okay... relax. Right. Got it.”

“You’re not relaxing.” Bucky’s voice was low, almost teasing.

Yeah, no kidding. Not exactly easy when you smell like a lumberjack dream.

“I am relaxed!” you shot back, though your heart was racing so fast you were sure he could hear it.

Bucky chuckled, and the soft rumble of his laugh vibrated against your back. “If you were relaxed, you wouldn’t be holding your breath.”

If she’s holding her breath, I must be doing something right.

You blinked, realizing that yes, you were in fact holding your breath. You exhaled slowly, trying to focus on the targets instead of the fact that Bucky was basically wrapped around you.

“Good,” he said quietly, his hands still steadying yours. “Now, pull the trigger. Nice and easy.”

Yeah, this is totally normal. Just shooting targets, totally not thinking about how close we are.

You followed his lead, squeezing the trigger gently. The shot rang out, and the sound of a hit echoed through the machine. The target flipped backward, signaling a perfect hit.

“I did it!” you exclaimed, your excitement bubbling over as you turned your head to look at him.

Your faces were just inches apart. Bucky’s eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was thick with tension, the good kind—the kind that makes your heart race and your stomach flip.

God, she’s close. Just a little closer...

Your gaze flickered down to his lips, and Bucky swallowed hard, momentarily forgetting where you were or what you were doing. All he could think about was how easy it would be to lean in just a little more, to—

“Uh, sorry!” A kid nearby bumped into the machine, jolting you both out of the moment.

Of course. Great timing, kid.

You quickly stepped out of Bucky’s embrace, your face flushed. “Well, um... thanks for the lesson, Barnes.”

Bucky cleared his throat, his ears a little pink. “Yeah. Anytime.” Anytime? Seriously, Barnes? That’s all you’ve got?

You moved on to a few more games, but the tension between you still lingered, electric and unspoken. After a particularly intense game of air hockey (where you almost won, thanks to Bucky being a little too distracted by you), you found yourselves at the prize counter.

Your eyes scanned the shelves, but one prize in particular caught your attention: an absolutely massive goose plush sitting at the top of the prize display. It was ridiculous, almost comically large, but it made you smile instantly.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, pointing. “That goose is so cute.”

Bucky followed your gaze and raised an eyebrow. A goose? Really? She could pick anything, and it’s that giant bird?

“You like that thing?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“I mean, look at it. It’s the size of a couch,” you said, laughing. “No one’s ever gonna win enough tickets for that.”

Bucky looked thoughtful for a second. Then, without saying a word, he handed all of your tickets to the guy at the counter. Challenge accepted, doll.

The kid behind the counter stared at him. “Uh, you know this isn’t enough for the goose, right?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, but... what’s it take to win that thing?”

Because clearly, winning giant plush birds is my new priority in life.

The kid blinked. “Like... a thousand tickets.”

Bucky smirked, then turned to you. “Wait here.”

“What are you doing?” You frowned, confused.

Please don’t say you’re going to try and win a thousand tickets... oh my God, he’s going to try and win a thousand tickets.

Bucky said nothing and disappeared into the crowd. A few minutes later, you saw him at one of those old-school, rigged basketball games. His face was calm, determined—like he was about to go to war.

One after the other, Bucky sank shot after shot, racking up points so fast that you had to rub your eyes to believe it. Within minutes, he had earned a mountain of tickets. He moved on to another game, this time skee-ball, and then to another. Every single game, he dominated, earning enough tickets to make the counter kid’s jaw drop when he returned with what looked like a roll of tickets big enough to use as a belt.

“Holy crap,” you muttered, watching as Bucky handed the tickets over, a satisfied smirk on his face. The kid counted them, eyes wide, then slowly reached for the giant goose plush.

The oversized goose was practically half Bucky’s height as he carried it back over to you, grinning.

“Here you go,” he said, handing it to you with a proud look. “You said you liked it, right?”

Who just... casually wins a giant goose plush? How did he do that?

You stared at the giant, fluffy creature, then at him, your heart flipping over itself. “Bucky... this is insane. It’s huge.”

“Well, I couldn’t just leave without winning you something.” He shrugged, his grin boyish and a little shy. Yeah, Barnes, act like you’re not insanely proud of yourself right now.

He’s... adorable. Stop. Focus. “You really didn’t have to... but I love it.” You laughed, hugging the goose to your chest.

“Good.” Bucky’s eyes softened as he watched you smile. Worth every single ticket.

Your heart raced, your face heating up as you looked at him over the massive plush. “You’re full of surprises, Barnes. Who knew you’d be this good at arcades?”

Just trying to impress the girl, no big deal.

“Maybe I just wanted to impress you.” He smiled, a little more reserved this time.

Well, mission accomplished, buddy. You blushed, the air between you crackling again with that familiar tension. “Well, mission accomplished.”

You stood there for a moment, just smiling at each other, the absurdly large goose between you, until you laughed and nudged him with your elbow.

“You know, this might be the best date I’ve ever been on,” you said, your tone light but sincere. Was that too much? Did I just over-share?

Bucky’s smile grew, his eyes softening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, holding the goose a little tighter. “Definitely the best.” Okay, that was smooth. Not awkward at all.

You left the arcade with the giant goose plush between you, its goofy face almost mocking the awkwardness that had suddenly crept back into your steps. Bucky walked beside you, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, trying to figure out what to say.

Do I say something? Or just... keep walking?

The sounds of the city filled the silence around you, but neither of you spoke. The playful energy from the arcade had faded into something quieter, more uncertain.

Why am I so bad at this? Just say something, Barnes.

After a long stretch of quiet, Bucky cleared his throat. “So... is this the end?” Smooth, real smooth.

You blinked and glanced over at him, trying to keep your heart from doing a flip at his words. “Well, that’s all I had planned. Why?”

Bucky hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly as he looked ahead, his mind clearly weighing something. Okay, don’t screw this up. Don’t sound too eager.

For a moment, you thought maybe he was going to say goodbye, that maybe this was the end of your date after all. But then, he spoke quietly, almost as if he was embarrassed to admit it.

“I kind of don’t want to go home yet.” Well, there it is. Now she knows.

You felt a flutter in your chest, your face heating up as a small, shy smile tugged at your lips. You ducked your head, looking down at the sidewalk to hide the blush creeping across your cheeks. The way he said it—so simple but sincere—made your heart skip.

Why does that sound so much cuter than it should? You bit your lip, an idea suddenly coming to you.

“Well...” you started, glancing up at him. “There’s a new building by the riverside with a sky deck. It just opened recently, and it’s supposed to have the best view of the city.”

“Sky deck, huh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, intrigued. A sky deck? Yeah, that sounds better than awkwardly walking home.

You nodded, a little more excited now. “Yeah. It’s pretty high up, and overlooks the whole city. I haven’t been yet, but I heard it’s amazing at night.”

“Sounds better than going home.” Bucky tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a soft smile. Thank God. I’m not ready for this to be over yet.

“Then let’s go.” You grinned, feeling your heart race just a little faster.

You shared a quick, almost nervous glance at each other before walking in the direction of the riverside. The awkwardness wasn’t completely gone, but now, it was laced with anticipation, a kind of giddy energy that made your stomach flutter. You hugged the plush goose a little tighter, trying not to let your excitement show too much, but inside, you were buzzing.

× × × ×

The city lights shimmered below you as you lounged on the comfy chairs, drinks in hand. The night air was cool, but it didn’t come close to breaking the warmth buzzing between you and Bucky.

She’s... something else, Bucky thought, leaning back slightly. His gaze kept shifting between the breathtaking skyline and you, but he found himself more captivated by you. How am I supposed to focus on the view when she looks like that?

Noticing the quiet, you smirked. “So, you were really gonna end the night without showing off more of your endless talents?”

Oh, she’s teasing now. Alright, two can play this game. Bucky raised an eyebrow, amused. “What, beating you at arcade games wasn’t enough?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re a walking cheat code, Bucky. But I feel like there’s more you’re holding back.”

His eyes flickered over your face, lingering on your lips for just a little too long. More than you know, doll. “Maybe I am.”

Your breath caught for a second, but you quickly recovered, tilting your head and flashing him a grin. “Oh yeah? Like what? Some secret talent I should know about?”

Keep your cool, Barnes. Don't blow it now.

Bucky leaned in just a fraction, his voice lowering, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. But I only show them to people who ask nicely.”

God, does he have to sound that smooth? Your heart flipped at the way he was looking at you, intense, as if he was seeing through every joke and teasing comment. How am I supposed to keep this casual?

“Nicely, huh? And what do I have to do for you to show me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the playful banter fading into something more charged.

“Keep hanging around,” he said softly.

I’m in deep now. Bucky's eyes dropped to your lips again, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur into nothing. Should I kiss her? Maybe I’m reading this wrong...

His eyes dropped to your lips again, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur into nothing. It was just him—his voice, his presence, the way he was looking at you like he wanted to kiss you but was holding back.

You swallowed, feeling the tension build like a slow fire. You sipped your drink, trying to cool yourself down, but it did little to shake the feeling that something between you had shifted. Stop overthinking, just go with it.

“I could do that,” you murmured, a small smile playing on your lips. You felt his eyes on you, and the air between you felt electric. You glanced at him, catching him staring at your lips again. Your pulse jumped. He’s really staring... isn’t he?

“You’re staring,” you said, teasing, though your voice had a soft edge to it, your heart thudding in your chest.

Bucky blinked, caught, but instead of pulling away, he smirked. “Am I?”

Yeah, Bucky, play it cool. Like you haven’t been staring for the past five minutes.

“Mhm,” you teased, though your voice was barely steady. Why does that smirk make my heart race? “I mean, I get it. The view’s great and all.”

Bucky’s smirk deepened, his voice dropping lower. “You could say that.”

I can’t believe this is actually happening. You felt your face heat up at the way he was looking at you. The intensity of his gaze made your stomach do wild flips. Why is this so... intense?

“You’re not just talking about the city, are you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly, sending shivers down your spine. Just kiss her already. “Maybe not.”

Your breath hitched. “And what are you looking at?”

He leaned in slightly, his gaze locked on yours. “What do you think?”

She knows exactly what I’m looking at.

Your heart raced, the pull between you growing stronger with every passing second. His eyes kept flicking down to your lips, making you wonder if he was going to kiss you. I really shouldn’t wait any longer...

Bucky cleared his throat suddenly, as if shaking off the trance he’d been in, and leaned back into his seat, looking almost embarrassed. Okay, maybe I’m rushing this.

“Sorry... I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” you interrupted quickly, your voice softer, gentler now. God, why did he stop? “Don’t be. I didn’t mind.”

His gaze snapped back to yours, the tension flaring again. She didn’t mind? Well, maybe I didn’t screw up, after all—or I did because you didn’t kiss her you idiot. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead, a soft smile tugged at his lips, and his expression softened.

“So... orthopedic ward, huh?” he said, shifting the conversation, though his eyes were still locked on you. “How do you handle that? All those broken bones?”

Smooth, Barnes. Talk about bones to distract yourself from the fact you were just about to kiss her.

You took a deep breath, relieved for the break in intensity but missing it instantly. Great, now I’m thinking about how close he was... “Well, it’s mostly convincing people not to do dumb things. Like skateboarding down staircases. You wouldn’t believe what people put themselves through.”

Bucky chuckled. Yeah, I believe it. Considering I’ve done dumber things in my time. “I can believe it. I’ve been there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve skateboarded down staircases?”

“No, but I’ve done some pretty stupid things in my time,” he admitted, leaning in again. Pretty sure falling for you might top the list. “But if I did something dumb, you’d patch me up, right?”

You smirked, your eyes twinkling. He’s flirting again. I can’t take this seriously. “Oh, I’d patch you up. But I’d make sure to remind you how dumb you were the entire time.”

“Fair,” Bucky said, the distance between you shrinking again. Patch me up, lecture me—just keep talking, I don’t care. “But I think I’d be a good patient.”

You shook your head with a grin. Good patient? Doubtful. “I doubt that. You’d probably complain the whole time.”

“I wouldn’t,” he replied, his tone teasing but soft. I’d let her take care of me, no problem. “If you were the one taking care of me, I’d be on my best behavior.”

He’s definitely not just talking about broken bones... Your heart skipped at the way he was looking at you again, his voice dropping to something more intimate. The banter was light, but underneath it all, there was that same intensity. Okay, now I’m thinking about kissing him again...

“You don’t strike me as someone who’s ever on their best behavior,” you teased softly, though your breath caught in your throat.

Bucky smirked, his eyes flicking to your lips again. “Maybe you bring it out in me.”

God, I hope so.

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning. Your pulse raced, and you leaned into the moment, letting the tension simmer between you, unspoken but undeniable. He’s close again…

“I’ll have to see that for myself,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat.

She’s close, too. Just lean in, Barnes. Bucky’s gaze darkened, his voice low and rough. “You just might.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as the tension between you crackled, thick and electric. You shifted slightly, leaning in with a playful smirk. “So... tell me, you got any other dates lined up after this one?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered with amusement as he leaned back, crossing his arms. Dates? I can barely keep up with this one. “Why? You worried I’ve got someone else lined up?”

You grinned, holding his gaze. “Maybe. Should I be?”

Not a chance. He leaned in closer, the space between you shrinking as his voice dropped lower. “I don’t know... do you have any other dates lined up?”

He’s really turning this on me, huh? You blinked, your heart racing, but you quickly shot back, “Well, maybe... maybe not. Depends on how this one ends.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his eyes dropping to your lips again, the intensity rising. Alright, Barnes, time to end this date right. “Guess I better make sure it ends right, then.”

Before you could respond, Bucky reached out, his fingers gently tilting your chin up. His other hand slid to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek as he leaned in, your lips so close you could feel his breath.

Your heart was pounding, your breath shallow, as his parted lips brushed against yours, soft and slow, his head tilting just slightly. The kiss was gentle at first, his lips locking against yours in a way that made everything around you fade to nothing. He could taste the faint sweetness of your daiquiri on your lips, and with a soft groan, his tongue did a slow, savoring lick against your bottom lip before slipping past, deepening the kiss.

Your hands instinctively moved up, cupping his face as you kissed him back, your fingers sliding along the scruff of his jaw. The warmth of his touch, the way his thumb stroked your cheek, the way his lips moved against yours —everything about it was intoxicating, pulling you under.

Then Bucky pulled back for a quick gasp, his breath mingling with yours , before diving back in, capturing your lips with even more intensity. The kiss deepened, more urgent this time, as though neither of you wanted the moment to end. His hand on your nape tightened slightly, pulling you closer as the kiss intensified, his lips pressing more firmly against yours.

They didn’t stop until they couldn’t breathe anymore, finally pulling apart when the need for air overtook you, both of you breathless and flushed. Their foreheads rested together, the cool night air doing little to cool the heat between you. Bucky’s thumb gently stroked your cheek as he whispered, his voice rough, “Definitely no other dates lined up after this.”

You smiled, your hands still cradling his face, your heart pounding. “Good. Neither do I.”

× × × ×

As Bucky’s motorcycle came to a slow stop outside your house, and glanced up at your front porch. You hopped off the bike, shaking out your hair with a satisfied grin.

That ride was way too short... you thought, glancing at him as you handed Bucky his helmet, which he stubbornly told you to wear instead of him.

Bucky, being the gentleman, didn’t just let you off with a wave. He slid off the bike and stood up straight, dusting his hands like he was about to help carry your groceries.

Alright, Barnes. Play it cool.

"I’ll walk you up," he said casually, like it wasn’t 2024 and people usually just waved from their cars.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking into a smirk. "You’re walking me to my porch?"

Bucky nodded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She thinks it’s weird? Hell, I thought that’s what you’re supposed to do.

“Of course. What kind of guy lets a lady walk to her door alone?” he replied, shrugging like this was completely normal.

You tried not to laugh, biting your lip to hold back a smile. He’s serious. Oh my God, he’s really serious. "Wow, okay, Mr. 1940s. What’s next, you gonna tip your hat and call me ‘ma’am’?"

Bucky smirked, taking a step closer. Alright, go with it, Barnes. “I could, if that’s what you’re into.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes but smiling as you walked together toward your porch. He’s ridiculous... and kinda sweet. You couldn’t help but notice how he slowed his pace just a little, like he was savoring the moment, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, casual yet somehow... considerate.

When you reached your porch, Bucky stopped, glancing at your door as if making sure it was safe territory. This is it. Play it smooth.

You turned to him, unable to hold back a laugh this time. "So, do I get a secret code to get into my own house, or...?"

Bucky grinned, leaning casually against the porch railing. “Just making sure you get home safe.”

Alright, Barnes, she’s not buying it. But hey, it worked.

“You know, they invented porch lights for a reason.” You shook your head, amused. He’s seriously acting like my personal bodyguard right now.

“What can I say? Old habits die hard.” Bucky shrugged, leaning in just a little closer, that playful glint in his eye. Please don’t laugh, please don’t laugh.

You looked up at him, crossing your arms with a smirk. “You know, there’s a fine line between being a gentleman and babysitting.”

Bucky chuckled. She’s killing me with that smirk. “Hey, you never know. There could be a rogue bagel out here, just waiting to trip you up.”

Oh, not the bagels again. “Oh my God, not the bagels again!” you burst out laughing, shaking your head.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You know they’re round, right?”

This man is unbelievable. You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “I think we’ve officially come full circle.”

“Just like a bagel.” Bucky gave a slow, dramatic nod.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, but you shook your head, standing on your porch with your hands on your hips. Why do I like this guy so much?

“Alright, alright, you’ve escorted me safely to my door. Anything else, or are you going to salute me goodbye?”

Bucky’s grin softened, and with a playful twinkle in his eye, he gave a small, mock salute. She’s gotta be messing with me right now, right? “Goodnight, ma’am.”

“Goodnight, soldier.” You couldn’t stop smiling as you opened your door, turning back to look at him. Don’t walk away, don’t walk away yet...

As you slipped inside, you peeked out one last time, watching as Bucky lingered for a second, that charming smirk still on his face before he finally turned and headed back to his bike. Say something, Barnes. Don’t just leave like a dork.

But then he stopped, halfway to his bike, and turned back around, something flickering in his eyes.

No, I’m not leaving yet. Not without...

Before you could ask what he was doing, Bucky closed the distance between you with a few long strides. Without hesitating, he gently tilted your chin up, his thumb brushing your cheek as he leaned in and kissed you—soft, quick, but just enough to make your heart race. His lips parted against yours, and for a split second, you tasted the warmth of him before he pulled back, just enough to meet your eyes.

That... was... wow.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart doing a somersault. Did that just happen? You were still processing when Bucky grinned, his voice a little more hushed. “I guess I couldn’t leave without a proper goodbye.”

Smooth, Barnes. Real smooth.

You blinked, trying to find your voice, but all that came out was a soft, “No complaints here.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his hand still lingering at your neck for a moment longer. Then, he cleared his throat, stepping back a bit. “Hey, uh... you got a number I could call sometime?”

He’s asking for my number after that?

You smiled, feeling your heart flutter as you reached into your pocket, grabbing your phone. “Yeah, here—let me put it in.”

As you typed in your number, Bucky watched you, that familiar twinkle back in his eyes. Best decision I’ve made all night.

When you handed his phone back, your fingers brushed his, sending a small jolt up your arm. Yep, I’m done for.

Bucky pocketed the phone, flashing that boyish grin again. “Alright. I’ll call you.”

Yeah, you better. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He took a slow step down from the porch, but not without glancing over his shoulder one more time. “Goodnight... again.”

You stood there, grinning like an idiot. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

As Bucky made his way back to his bike, you slipped inside your house, leaning against the door as your heart raced. Did he really just kiss me? Again? Oh, this is definitely not over.

You peeked out one last time through the crack in the door, watching him as he swung his leg over his bike. Even from your doorway, you could hear him muttering with a smirk, “Just trying to keep the rogue bagels at bay.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you finally closed the door behind you, your heart racing a little more than you expected. I’m never going to forget this night...

3K notes · View notes

writesvani · 1 month ago

Text

coming down | 04

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to-enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): manipulation, toxic friendship dynamics, arguing, back handed compliments, making out, sexual tension, substance abuse, explicit language, mentions of past trauma, emotional conflict, jealousy

comment HERE for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M. LIST

— previous chapter // next chapter

wc: 7k // date: 17th of March

CHAPTER FOUR – In The Night; proceed with caution...

AN: okay listen. i know this was a slow burn chapter. but every single part of it was necessary. EVERYTHING is important. do you think i just write things for fun? no. every sentence, every stare, every word exchanged between gojo and y/n is intentional. calculated. y/n and yumi? the way they showed up wearing almost matching outfits? not a coincidence. the way y/n interacts with yumi and vice versa? telling. the way the toxicity seeps through her conversation with gojo? NECESSARY. you need to understand where they stand right now to fully grasp what’s about to happen next. there is a reason they are all still in each other’s lives. trust me.

and finally. GETO. HELLO. WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT. he had no business being that hot this chapter. NONE. i was writing him like sir please be serious for once but no. he had to say things. he had to look like that. i hate him (i love him).

next chapter; after 100 notes <3

love, vani 🩷

You can feel the weight of your wallet in your bag, but it’s not a burden; it’s an opportunity. The mall hums around you, the fluorescent lights overhead making everything feel a little more artificial, but also a little more alive. You take in the scent of expensive perfumes mixed with the fresh leather from the bags on display. It’s like a hit of dopamine straight to the system, and you can almost taste the excitement on your tongue.

Yumi walks beside you, her eyes already scanning the racks, her steps slow but deliberate. She's in the same vibe today, quiet, but her attention sharp. You two aren’t talking much, but it doesn’t matter—sometimes, silence is just another form of conversation.

“Do you think it’s wrong to just...buy things for the sake of it?” Yumi asks out of nowhere, glancing sideways at you, her lips curling up in a half-smirk. “Like, not because we need it, but because...it feels good?”

“Fuck no,” you reply almost immediately, your voice louder than it probably should be in the middle of the mall. You catch a couple of people glancing over, but it doesn’t matter. “Anyone who says that is lying to themselves. Spending money is like hitting the reset button, a little personal therapy session in each swipe. I mean, have you seen these shoes? They're practically begging me to buy them.”

Yumi chuckles, her eyes falling to the rows of trendy sneakers on the shelf. She moves towards them with purpose, but you know she's not just here to buy. She's here to feel something, just like you. The thrill of walking out of the store with something new, the satisfaction of a decision that is all yours.

“Sometimes I feel like...if I just have something nice, it’ll fix everything. Like, if I buy this jacket, maybe everything will feel okay,” Yumi says, her voice soft, almost hesitant. You look over at her, catching the slightest crack in her usual nonchalant expression.

"Yeah, I get that," you reply, your hand brushing along a velvet dress on display. "It’s like, a temporary fix. But sometimes? It’s all you need to get through the day. You can’t tell me there’s a better feeling than slipping into something new and realizing you just made your own mood for the day."

Yumi glances over at you, her face breaking into a grin. “I knew I wasn’t the only one who thought that way. Let's make the most of this ‘therapy’ while we can.”

You both laugh, the sound mixing with the distant chatter of other shoppers as you continue to roam, leaving your cares and worries at the door with every step you take. Today is not about making decisions, it’s about feeling. And right now, you’re both just trying to feel good.

You and Yumi are dressed in the kind of outfits that could easily be mistaken for "mom chic"—but in a way that feels intentional and effortless. Think muted tones, soft fabrics, and the kind of casual elegance that says, "I don’t have to try too hard, but I still look put together."

You’re both wearing beige-colored pieces, like a warm, oversized cardigan layered over a simple cream blouse. The cardigan drapes off your shoulders just so, perfectly slouchy, like you didn’t even think about it. Your pants are wide-legged, a soft taupe color, with just enough volume to make them look chic but still comfortable enough to lounge in. You're not exactly pulling off a runway look, but you’re definitely pulling off an “I’m casually rich but low-key” vibe. You’ve opted for simple, white sneakers that look like they’ve been through a lot, but still hold their own in the aesthetics department.

Yumi mirrors you in a similar way. She’s got a beige trench coat hanging loosely around her shoulders, the kind of piece that makes you look like you’ve got your life together, even if you don’t. Her pants are slightly more tapered, a light khaki shade, but still relaxed enough to give off that effortless vibe. A simple beige scarf is wrapped loosely around her neck, adding just the right touch of elegance. You notice she’s wearing matching beige slides, the kind that click softly against the floor with every step, but they have a casual, almost lazy feel to them, like she couldn’t be bothered with heels today.

Both of you have your hair pulled back into sleek, tight buns—nothing too fancy, just neat and low-maintenance. It’s a look that says you’re not trying too hard, but still trying just enough to feel put-together. It’s a mood. The kind of aesthetic that screams understated, but the more you look at it, the more you realize just how much effort went into making it look so effortless.

At some point, you break away from her, your eyes landing on a store that’s been calling your name for days. You head straight for the jeans section like you’re on a mission from God. And there they are. The perfect pair. The jeans. They practically shine in your peripheral vision, whispering your name. “Buy me, buy me, buy me,” they seem to scream. You grab your size with the kind of urgency that only comes from knowing destiny has just called your name, then practically launch yourself into the fitting room.

Once you’re inside, you slip into the jeans and instantly fall in love. They hug you just right, shaping your body in that effortless way that says, I’m so stylish. You glance in the mirror, nodding to yourself like you've just discovered fire.

“Yu!” You yell, probably a little louder than necessary, but you’re too excited. “Come here, I found something.”

“Girl, where’s here?” Yumi calls from outside, clearly in the middle of her own shopping-induced trance.

“The fitting room, hurry up!” You tug at the waistband to make sure it’s sitting just right. You can already feel the high of this purchase.

You hear Yumi’s footsteps approach as she huffs impatiently. “Step out, c'mon!” she calls. You laugh, rolling your eyes as you open the fitting room door, spinning out dramatically to show off your catch of the day.

“What do you think?” You strike a pose, a mix of sass and excitement.

Yumi blinks. It’s not the reaction you expected. Her eyes flick up and down you, but there's something off about her expression—something you can’t quite place. She pauses, the kind of pause that always means she’s about to say something she thinks will sound nice but isn’t. She twirls a lock of her hair around her finger and scratches at her trench coat like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“Oh,” she says, her tone flat.

“Is something wrong?” You squint, suddenly sensing the tension in the air. She can’t even look you in the eye.

“No, no, they’re great,” she says quickly, but it’s too fast. Too... fake.

You raise an eyebrow, giving her the look—the one that says, Really, girl? “Come on, be honest.”

She chews her lip, eyeing you again. “Well, I mean…” She lets out a breath, eyes sweeping over you. “I don’t think they suit you,” she says, as if it’s a casual observation. “They’re not really... the model of jeans for you. But hey, we can totally find you something else. Like, better.”

Your whole posture goes rigid. That familiar sting of frustration bubbles up, your brow furrowing as your stomach tightens. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you shoot back, holding her gaze with a challenge in your eyes.

Yumi’s smile falters just slightly, but she hides it quickly, brushing a non-existent hair from her forehead. “Nothing,” she says, the fakest sweetness lacing her words. “Nothing at all. They’re still good... for you, I guess.”

You shake your head, the irritation trying to creep in. “Well, I don’t care,” you say, a little too firmly. “I’m buying them.”

Yumi’s expression softens, but there’s still that tiny edge to her smile. “Okay,” she says, giving you a shrug. “But don’t be all broody and moody when you realize there’s better stuff out there for you. Like, I’m just saying.”

You roll your eyes, tossing the jeans into your bag with more force than necessary. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” You’re not sure if you’re more frustrated with her or with the fact that her words still got under your skin. But you don’t care. You’re buying them. End of story.

Yumi gives you one last look, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at her lips. “Alright, drama queen. Whatever you say.”

You slip the jeans off quickly, tossing them over the little bench as you grab your regular clothes, avoiding your own reflection in the mirror. The tightness in your chest isn't from the jeans; it's from something else—something Yumi always manages to plant inside you without even trying. It’s that lingering feeling, the one that makes you question if you really know who you are.

You slide your old clothes back on, pulling everything back into place, but that knot in your chest only seems to tighten. Yumi’s words replay in your head, and they sting, a little too much. “They aren’t exactly the model of jeans for you.”

You don’t know why it hurts, but it does. Maybe it’s the way she always acts like she’s doing you a favor, like her opinion is the only one that matters. You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t stop the sinking feeling. You’re not going to let her get to you. You won’t. Not this time.

You’re pissed – pissed at Yumi for acting like she has the right to call the shots when it comes to your life. Pissed at yourself for letting her get away with it for so long. The usual irritation bubbles in your chest as you grumble under your breath about her condescending attitude. This weird dynamic between you two – it’s been building for a while now, and it’s starting to wear thin.

You glance down at your phone, desperately hoping to distract yourself from the heavy tension in the air. And then you see it.

The notification.

Geto Suguru has just accepted your follow request.

Geto Suguru has sent you a follow request.

Your breath hitches. Your heart skips a beat. This is it. This is the moment. Like a schoolgirl in the throes of her first crush, your hands shake as you try to process it.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” you squeal in disbelief, all thoughts of Yumi and her annoying behavior forgotten in an instant. It’s as if the universe just dropped a bombshell into your lap.

“What’s going on?” Yumi’s voice cuts through your excitement, her tone mixed with amusement and curiosity. You barely hear it. All you can do is stare at the screen, your mind racing between accepting the request immediately or savoring this moment for a bit longer.

“Geto accepted me and followed me back on Instagram!” You burst out, your voice a little too loud as you shove your phone in Yumi’s direction, too giddy to care about anything else. Your face is flush with excitement, like you’ve just won some major prize.

Yumi blinks at you, looking genuinely confused. “You followed him?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. Her disbelief only makes you smile wider.

“Yeah, like three weeks ago,” you say, your words tumbling out in a rush. “He never followed me back…until now.” You shove your phone even closer, practically forcing her to examine the screen like it holds the answers to the meaning of life.

“And you never told me?” Yumi’s voice is dripping with mock hurt as she places a hand dramatically on her chest. “Ouch. I thought we were friends!”

You roll your eyes. “Chill, Yumi. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” you reply, trying to brush off her dramatics. But you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. You’ve been waiting for this moment, and now that it’s here, you’re just too damn happy to care about anything else.

“Well, you should’ve told me,” she says, crossing her arms and feigning disappointment. “I’m feeling so betrayed right now.”

“Just let me have my moment, Yu,” you snap back, your patience thinning. You don’t have the energy for her attitude right now. “I gotta call Ren. This is huge.” You murmur the last part mostly to yourself, your fingers already lazily scrolling through your contact list. Yumi’s voice rings out, suddenly sharp with curiosity.

“You told Ren and not me?” she asks, raising an eyebrow in mock offense.

“Yeah, because he was there when I followed Geto. This conversation is pointless,” you say, your eyes not leaving the screen as you look for Ren’s name. “If this is a real problem for you, then I don’t know… Maybe touch some grass or something.”

“Whatever, forget it,” she mutters, her earlier drama fading away like it never happened. “So, are you gonna accept him or what?” Her voice now bubbles with excitement, the tension dissipating as she realizes what’s happening.

You look at your phone, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling in your gut. You hover over the “accept” button, the thrill of the moment almost making you dizzy.

Without thinking twice, you tap the button.

Yumi gasps. “Oh. My. God. You actually did it,” she says, her voice filled with awe. She watches as you sit back, your heart still pounding. “You’re officially in. Ren’s gonna lose it when he finds out.”

A laugh escapes your lips, a little breathless. “I know, right?” You feel like you’re floating. This is it – your moment. Finally.

But before you get lost in your own excitement, you dial Ren’s number, your fingers moving with practiced ease. This is big. And you’re definitely calling him first.

You dial Ren's number, heart pounding like a jackhammer on a caffeine binge. The phone rings twice before he picks up, his voice muffled as if he's speaking from the depths of a swamp.

"Yo, what's up?" he says, sounding distracted.

"Ren! You won't believe what just happened!" you exclaim, barely containing your enthusiasm.

"Hold up," he interrupts, the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing echoing in the background. "I'm on the can. Give me a sec."

You stifle a laugh, picturing him mid-transaction. "Take your time," you reply, tapping your fingers impatiently against your phone.

A few moments later, he returns, his voice clearer now. "Alright, I'm back. What's got you so hyped?"

"Geto Suguru accepted my follow request and followed me back!" you blurt out, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice.

There's a brief silence on the other end before Ren erupts. "No way! That's insane!"

"I know, right?" you giggle, pacing your room. "I can't believe it!"

Ren's voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "Okay, okay. We need a plan. Like, a full-on strategy to get you two together. I'm talking meet-cutes, accidental run-ins, the whole shebang."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Ren, you're crazy."

He ignores your comment, already deep in his own world. "Picture this: you and Geto, a chance encounter at a coffee shop. He spills his drink on you, you both laugh it off, exchange numbers—classic rom-com material."

You roll your eyes, amused. "And what's next? The meet-the-parents montage?"

"Exactly!" Ren responds enthusiastically. "And then, plot twist—you both end up on a reality dating show together. The drama, the tension, the undeniable chemistry."

You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach. "Ren, you're out of control."

He pauses, then adds thoughtfully, "Okay, but real talk. This could be your big break. You and Geto, taking over the internet. The content would be insane."

You sobered slightly, considering his words. "Yeah, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's just social media."

Ren snorts. "Just social media? Girl, this is the 21st century. Social media is everything."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "You're incorrigible."

"Hey, I'm just saying," Ren replies, his tone light. "The lore we could build around this—people would lose their minds."

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Thanks, Ren. I needed that."

"Anytime," he says. "Now, go accept that follow request before he changes his mind."

You laugh,"Beat you to it bestie, it’s already accepted."

"Atta girl," Ren says approvingly. "Now, keep me posted. I want all the details."

"Will do," you reply, feeling a flutter of anticipation. "Talk to you later."

As you finish up your chat with Ren, you spot Yumi by the counter, already making her purchase for the shirt she couldn’t resist the second she laid eyes on it. You toss your jeans beside it, ready to pay for your own haul. “Yo, Yu,” you hum, flashing a playful grin at the cashier as you hand over your cash. She bags up your purchase with a smile, and you nod your thanks, slipping out of the store.

"So, what's the deal with Geto and his girl?" you ask, picking at your nails as you walk beside Yumi. There's a slight flutter in your chest—yeah, you definitely want him, but are you really ready to totally shake up his relationship? You can’t decide.

Yumi's expression shifts, her lips curving into a devilish grin that screams, I know something you don’t. "They broke up last week," she drops the bomb casually, her eyes practically sparkling with the excitement of sharing the gossip.

"Wait, seriously?" you blink, caught off guard.

"Yep," she says, her tone smug, like she just delivered the best news ever. "The man’s single now. Time for you to make your move."

A flutter of nerves rushes through you, but you push it aside. "I want to, but... where do I even start?"

Yumi taps her chin, the wheels turning in her mind. "Easy. Post a pic of yourself. See if he’s gonna like it. If he does... it’s game time."

You raise an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips. "Not a bad idea, actually."

“I know, I’m a genius,” she says, almost too smug.

You scroll through your gallery, your finger hovering over the screen until you find the one. There it is—your mirror selfie from a few days ago. Your hair is perfectly curled, a soft cascade of waves that look effortless but just polished enough to make heads turn (courtesy of heatless curls hack you found on TikTok). You’re wearing the perfect balance of casual and seductive—oversized denim jeans slung low on your hips, paired with a black tube top that clings just enough to highlight your curves.

But the real magic? Your finger, softly grazing your lips, the tip of your manicured nail pressing ever so lightly against your full, plump pout. The angle's just right to capture the soft curve of your neck, and your eyes? Locked straight at the camera with that playful, irresistible spark.

You glance at Yumi, a devilish grin creeping onto your face. "Game on, Geto Suguru. Let’s see if you can handle this."

The rest of the day flies by in a haze of impulse buys, mindless chatter with Yumi, and forcing down yet another overpriced green smoothie that tastes like regret. You nearly block out Yumi’s oh-so-inappropriate remarks about you as you finally step into your apartment alone, shutting the door behind you with a sigh.

Silence. Finally.

Tossing your bags onto the couch, you make a beeline for the TV, flipping on Netflix like it’s muscle memory. Without hesitation, you scroll straight to Gossip Girl. The Thanksgiving episode is on, and before you know it, you’re gasping at every twist and betrayal—as if you don’t already have the entire script engraved in your soul. (But seriously, with every rewatch, it just gets better. No one can convince you otherwise.)

Mid-scene, you reach for today’s most questionable purchase—an unnecessarily fancy ashtray you bought for no real reason other than, well, aesthetic. You light a cigarette, placing it between your lips, the flicker of the lighter casting a brief glow against your face. Smoke curls around you as you stare at the screen, completely locked in, like Blair Waldorf’s next move is life or death.

Then, your fingers move on autopilot. Check story views.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Geto Suguru hasn’t even seen it.

Your eye twitches. Excuse me?

Dozens of likes, a couple of fire emojis in your DMs, and even a "damn who let you be this fine??" from someone you don’t even know. But the one person you want? Nowhere to be found.

“Dude,” you groan, flopping back against the cushions. “Throw me a bone here.”

With a sigh, you toss your phone onto your lap, take another slow drag of your cigarette, and let the smoke swirl lazily around you. The air in your apartment is thick with it now—probably should crack a window before your living room starts smelling like a nicotine shrine, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.

Then, just as you start spiraling into a self-pity session, your phone rings.

Ren.

You stretch your arm lazily, phone tucked between your cheek and shoulder, eyes glued to the screen.

“Hey, babe, you home from your little shopping spree?” Ren’s voice comes through, smooth and familiar.

You sigh dramatically. “Mhm. Just watching Gossip Girl.”

“Again?”

“Yeah. I have commitment issues, and this is the only way I know how to work through them.”

Ren lets out a knowing laugh. “Whatever keeps you sane, babe. But listen—it’s Friday, and I was thinking… I kinda want to go out. And you know Aiko—”

You half-listen, stretching your neck until it cracks in a way that probably isn’t good for you. 'Ouch. Love that for me.'

“—her roommate’s throwing a party, and Aiko invited me. And obviously, because I’m the best bestie to ever exist, I told her I’m not going anywhere without my ride-or-die.”

You let out a soft laugh, but your brain is already at war.

On one hand, you had the perfect night planned: sinking into your couch, rewatching rich people make messy life choices, rolling a joint (or two), and falling asleep in a haze of smoke and Blair Waldorf’s superiority complex.

On the other hand… getting a little reckless with Ren? That sounds dangerous. And fun. And exactly what you haven’t done in a long time.

You and Ren don’t party together. Your social circles barely overlap, and that’s always worked in your favor. But maybe, just maybe, it’s time to shake things up.

And it’s Aiko. Ren’s childhood bestie, who goes to a different college but still lives in town. No drama, no nonsense—just good vibes. And honestly? New faces, new energy, and new distractions sound pretty damn tempting.

Because, let’s be real—who needs Geto Suguru to like their story when there’s a whole party full of questionable choices waiting for you?

A slow smirk tugs at your lips as you finally answer, voice dripping with mischief.

“Let’s go cause some chaos.”

The party is exactly your kind of chaos—loud, reckless, and just dangerous enough to make you feel alive.

You catch a shift in Ren’s energy beside you, and when you glance at him, it clicks—this is definitely not what he was expecting. Poor thing probably thought he was signing up for a casual little get-together, a few drinks, maybe getting a little too tipsy and ending the night puking out Aiko’s window.

But instead? This.

Bodies packed tight, unfamiliar faces blurring together, the thick haze of weed curling through the air like a heavy fog. The bass from the speakers thrums beneath your skin, rattling in your chest, making the world feel electric. Someone spills a drink nearby, but no one cares. There’s a girl perched on the kitchen counter, her fingers tangled in a guy’s hair, pulling him in like she’s starving.

And—oh my God. Is someone actually moaning out loud?

'Alright, that’s a little much, even for me. Jesus. Please, for the love of God, take it to a bedroom. I don’t need to be reminded that I haven’t gotten laid in two months. Thanks.'

Still, the rest of this? Perfection.

You flick your gaze back to Ren just in time to watch his soul physically leave his body. He looks like a deer caught in headlights—half-hiding behind you, half-frantically scanning the room for an escape route.

And then—just like that—he’s gone.

Your eyes track his movements lazily, following him as he weaves through the crowd with surprising determination. Interesting. You watch as he approaches some guy—tall, broad shoulders, an easy grin. You don’t know him personally, but recognition sparks.

Aiko introduced them a few weeks ago and he is the one Ren showed you a picture of.

Oh.

Ohhh.

So this is why Ren wanted to go out so bad.

You roll your eyes, but there’s an amused smirk tugging at your lips. Cute. Puppy love.

Hopefully, the guy rails Ren by the end of the night.

You scan the room, taking in the dizzying mix of sweaty bodies, half-baked stoners, and preppy girls pretending they don’t secretly love this mess.

And then—you spot it.

Aiko has a bar. Or at least, something that resembles one. A sleek blend of wood and cool gray marble, standing out like a beacon of class in the middle of this absolute shitshow.

And—oh, look. An empty stool, practically begging you to claim it.

You mentally pat yourself on the back for securing the perfect spot—close enough to the action to people-watch, yet tucked away just enough to avoid being in it. A strategic retreat. A throne.

You already know the marble is going to be a dream for rolling, so you settle in, pull out your weed, and get to work.

Your fingers move on autopilot—muscle memory kicking in like a well-rehearsed performance. You unfold the paper, pluck at the small green bud, and absolutely massacre one of your cigarettes, so you could mix your joint with tobacco. A brutal sacrifice for a higher cause.

Once it’s done, you sit back, admiring your work of art for a solid thirty seconds. A true masterpiece. Leonardo da Vinci could never.

Then, rummaging through your bag, you fish out your lighter. Flick. Flame.

And just like that—the first hit of the night is here.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting there. Time has melted away between the slow drag of your joint and the burn of nicotine on your tongue. One joint down, two cigarettes deep—it’s time for round two.

You bring the joint number #2 to your lips, ready for round two, when—

"Look at what we got here."

The voice is rich, velvety, dangerous. It spills down your spine like warm liquor, and then—the heat of his breath, so close to your neck, so intimate, you nearly shudder.

Fingertips ghost over your shoulder, then trace a slow, lazy path down to your waist. Barely there, yet enough to send a pulse of electricity through you, enough to make your breath hitch and your thighs press.

You inhale, slow and steady, masking the effect he has on you with a drag from your joint. “Didn’t think the place I’d see you again would be here,” you murmur, blowing out smoke in a smirk.

But then—fuck.

His fingers skate down your ribs, a teasing tap, so faint it shouldn’t do anything, but it does. A single touch, and your stomach tightens, heat pooling low.

You’re acting like a starved divorcée. Embarrassing.

“So you thought about seeing me again,” he says, stepping forward, pressing closer.

And ohhh, the way he moves—fluid, predatory, his body heat licking at yours like an unspoken promise. His elbow lands on the marble counter, muscles flexing, jaw sharp enough to cut.

Black shirt, grey joggers—so simple, so effortless, yet you know how dangerous that combo is. How easy it would be to just… tug the waistband down.

Then—the worst part. The part that makes your fingers twitch with the need to touch.

His hair—tied up in that messy, infuriatingly perfect bun.

You want to pull it loose.

You want to fist your hands in it.

You want to ruin him.

He flicks his tongue against his cheek, and your brain short circuits.

That tongue. That thumb. Fuck.

“Mm,” you hum, shifting slightly, just enough to brush against him. “What if I did, Suguru?”

His smirk deepens, something dark flickering in his eyes.

“Already on a first-name basis?” His voice drops—low, thick, laced with amusement and something even filthier. “You’re bad, peach.”

Peach.

Oh, he’s playing dirty.

“I can be a lot worse,” you counter, dragging your tongue over your lips—slow, intentional. And just as expected, his gaze snaps to the movement. His jaw tenses, his Adam’s apple bobs, and—ohhh, there it is. That tiny flicker of restraint slipping.

He’s so sexy it’s infuriating.

“Wanna prove it sometime?” His voice is like silk, wrapping around you, daring you.

You barely breathe out, “Yeah.”

And then, stupidly, recklessly, you extend your arm to hand him the joint.

Big mistake.

Because the second he takes it, that hand—the one burning your ribs, teasing, lingering, driving you insane—is gone.

And now?

Now it’s wrapped around the joint instead.

Your lungs seize.

Your thighs press tighter.

You’re already losing this game.

But even without his hands on you, he’s still too much for your own good. The joint rests between his lips like it belongs there, lazy and effortless, the smoke curling around his face in slow, deliberate swirls. His eyes—dark and low—trace over you, dragging like the lazy pull of a bowstring, like he’s memorizing every dip, every curve, every flicker of emotion that crosses your face.

He takes a slow inhale, lets the smoke pool in his lungs before releasing it in a sigh that feels too intimate, too heavy, settling between you like an invitation.

“So,” he murmurs, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, “what brings you here?”

Your fingers twitch at your side. Why does he have to be so fucking pretty?

“I’m here with my friend. He’s friends with Aiko,” you mutter, tipping your chin toward Ren—who, at this exact moment, is devouring THE guy in the corner like he’s trying to consume his soul. His hands are buried in the guy’s hair, nails digging in, like he’s trying to make sure this man never forgets him.

Geto follows your gaze, lets out a short, amused huff. “Subtle.”

You snort, then—maybe to distract yourself, maybe just to fill the space—ask, “What about you?”

“Jen is Yuji’s girl,” he says absently, fingers tracing the cotton of his shirt, and—oh.

So that’s the connection.

And then it hits. Yuji's girlfriend is Aiko's roommate. A slow-building dread that curls in your stomach and coils around your ribs, tight, suffocating—because if Geto and Yuji are here… then so is Gojo.

Your chest feels too tight. Your blood feels too hot.

You don’t want to think about him. You can’t think about him. Because the last time you saw him, he ruined you. Because his words are still a wound in your chest, still raw, still bleeding.

You flex your hands, swallow hard. Keep your voice even. “That’s cool.”

But Geto is too fucking perceptive for his own good. His eyes are on you, watching, picking apart every microexpression, every breath, every slight shift in your body language.

“Are you okay with that?” His voice is smooth, careful.

“With what?”

“C’mon babe. I know you already realized Gojo is here and last time I saw you and Gojo in the same room, there were fangs and claws.”

“I’m fine.” The words come out clipped, a little too quick.

Geto hums. He doesn’t believe you. You don’t believe yourself.

“As long as he doesn’t talk to me, I don’t give a shit.”

A pause. A twitch of his lips. “You sure about that?”

You shoot him a look. “I said I’m fine.”

His gaze lingers, heavy with amusement and something else you don’t want to name. The silence stretches, thick and charged, something unsaid crackling between you like static electricity.

And then you do something dangerous.

With slow, deliberate movements, you reach for the joint between his lips, plucking it free with a feather-light touch. His breath hitches—so quiet, so subtle, you almost miss it. But you don’t.

You never do.

You bring it to your lips, inhale deep, the taste of him clinging to the filter. Let the smoke swirl in your lungs before you exhale, slow, deliberate, watching as it curls between you like something intimate.

You learned a long time ago how easy it is to make a man forget about everything but you. A touch, a look, a well-placed breath—and they’ll unravel at your feet.

Geto is no different.

His pupils dilate, his eyes flickering between your lips, the joint, and back again.

“So,” you murmur, voice dipping into something just shy of teasing, “you think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

A lazy smirk tugs at his lips. His fingers—deft, warm, deliberate—trace over yours where they rest against his chest. His heartbeat is fast, just a little erratic, but his voice is steady when he hums, “Mhm.”

You tilt your head. “Then tell me—” You lean in, just close enough that you can make sure he tastes the next inhale of smoke, “—what am I thinking about?”

Geto pauses, the corner of his mouth quirking up, eyes dark and knowing. His fingers tighten over yours, just barely.

“You’re thinking about me,” he murmurs, voice velvet-soft, rich, dangerous. “On top of you.”

And fuck—maybe you are.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, your lips part—just slightly, just enough. And then you close the distance.

The second your mouth touches his, something electric shoots through you, like a live wire sparking against bare skin. You exhale the smoke into his mouth, letting the heat of his lips, the weight of him, consume you. Geto doesn’t hesitate. He inhales it all, deep and slow, before letting the smoke curl lazily from his nostrils like a fucking dragon.

And then—then the hunger wins.

Your fingers find his hair, twisting into the dark strands, yanking hard enough that he groans into your mouth—a sound that shoots straight down your spine, settling low in your stomach like molten heat. The joint slips from your fingers, forgotten, hitting the floor with a dull thud. It doesn’t matter. This is more important. So much more important.

Your lips press harder, claiming him, devouring him, like you’re trying to carve yourself into his bones. His hands are everywhere—sliding down your waist, gripping the curve of your hips, fingers sinking into your ass like he’s staking his claim right here in the middle of the fucking party. And then—smack.

A sharp slap against your ass echoes through the room.

A few people glance over, but you don’t care. You barely notice. Your brain is nothing but static, buzzing with the way he’s touching you, how his body is pressing you into the cool marble counter. You get it now. You understand all the couples you were rolling your eyes at earlier, making out like they were the only two people on the planet. You judged them, and now here you are—worse.

(You mentally apologize to them. You were wrong. You get it. You so get it.)

Geto licks into your mouth, deep and slow, like he’s savoring you. His tongue tangles with yours, his hands guiding your body against his in a way that feels almost too easy, too practiced, like he already knows exactly how to unravel you.

And he does. Fuck—he does.

"Real classy. Real, real classy, babes."

A voice cuts through the haze like a blade, slicing right into the heat of Geto’s lips, his hands, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue. Your breathing is erratic, your body still pressed against his, and when you finally tear yourself away, the hunger in his eyes mirrors your own.

But of course—because the universe hates you—there’s only one person bold enough, obnoxious enough to cockblock you like this.

Gojo Satoru.

His arms are crossed over his chest, lips curled into a smirk so sharp it could cut glass. His eyes gleam under the dimmed lights, twinkling like he’s enjoying every second of this. His white hair is a mess, like he just rolled out of bed—or worse, someone else’s bed. The thought alone makes your stomach turn, and you hate that it does.

"Did you really have to?" Geto groans, tilting his head back with a deep sigh, like he's asking the heavens why they let this happen.

Gojo's smirk only widens, his ears perking up like a damn cat that just found something new to ruin. "Well, sorry," he drawls, voice laced with insincerity. "Yuji disappeared somewhere with Jen, and I'm bored. I don’t wanna be alone."

He even pouts—full-on juts out his bottom lip like an overgrown, spoiled child. You swear he gets off on being the most insufferable person alive.

"Then go somewhere. Socialize," Geto deadpans, sounding like he's already debating walking out of this conversation.

Gojo scoffs, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "Please. Let’s just chill,” he says. “Plus, I’m saving you from her, dude. As if anyone actually wants to be near her."

You snort. "Please. You’re projecting, baby."

His sharp blue eyes snap to yours instantly, and that goddamn smirk deepens, crawling into something more dangerous.

"You sure about that, sweetheart?"

"Well sweetheart, you’re the one wandering around all alone here. I have company."

Your fingers curl around Geto’s bicep, slow and deliberate, like a claim, like a shield, like you’re daring Gojo to say something about it. And he does. Of course, he does.

His smirk deepens, something sharp lurking beneath it. "Yeah? And your company just so happens to be one my best friends. What, you don’t have any of your own anymore?"

The words hit exactly where they’re meant to. Right where it hurts.

Your lips part, but there’s no quick comeback—because he’s not wrong. Not really. There was a time when your circle was bigger, fuller. But it collapsed. You burned bridges, walked away, let it crumble without a second glance.

Except for Ren.

So you nod toward the far-right corner of the room, where Ren is, mouth pressed against that guy’s neck, hands tangled in his hair. Your Ren. The one person you still have. The one person who still believes in you.

"I came here with Ren," you say, voice light, nonchalant, as if the words aren’t a loaded gun pointed at Gojo’s chest.

And then you fire. "It appears as if all your friends always choose me."

The moment the words leave your lips, you see it.

That flicker of something—something real, something raw—pass through his eyes. His jaw tightens. His fingers flex at his sides. You got him.

Because you and Gojo and Ren were everything once. A trio. A home. And then it all shattered, and when the dust settled, Gojo was left standing alone.

And Ren? Ren chose you.

Gojo stares at Ren a second too long. You watch the gears turn in his head, watch the muscle in his jaw tick, watch his body betray him in a dozen little ways. His throat bobs. His foot starts bouncing—an old habit, one you recognize. He’s pissed.

"Well," he finally says, voice low, strangled at the edges. "Looks like Ren’s occupied at the moment."

"He is," you agree, voice dipped in honey, in poison. You lean in, just a little, just enough to let him feel it. "But he’ll come back to me."

And there it is. The moment the knife twists.

You see it happen—see the way something dark passes over his features, the way his lips press into a thin line. His stare burns into you, unreadable and blistering and dangerous.

You crossed a line.

And you meant to.

The silence between you is thick. Suffocating.

Geto clears his throat, a nervous chuckle escaping him. "Okay, guys, let’s not kill each other, yeah?"

He glances between the two of you, trying to gauge what the fuck is going on. But he doesn’t know. He can’t.

All Geto knows is that you and Gojo slept together in high school.

That’s all he knows.

"Let’s…" Geto sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let’s drink something. Satoru, why don’t you bring us some drinks, hmm?"

For a moment, Gojo doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. His eyes stay locked onto yours, an invisible war waging between the two of you.

And then, like flipping a switch, he smiles.

It’s fake. It’s so fake. A bright, easy-going grin spreads across his face, his body relaxing, his tone suddenly light, playful, effortless.

"Sure thing," he chirps, eyes glittering with something unreadable. "I’ll be right back."

Then he turns, walking away like none of this mattered. Like you didn’t just tear him open.

But you know better.

You watch him disappear into the crowd, your pulse still thrumming in your ears.

Because you finally hurt him.

And knowing Gojo Satoru?

It’s going to hurt for a long, long time.

"Don’t miss me too much," Gojo quips, his voice light, teasing.

But something about it feels… off.

You watch as he bounces toward the other room, easy, effortless—like none of this meant anything. Like you mean nothing.

And yet—

He turns. Just for a second.

His eyes meet yours, and for the first time tonight, they’re stripped of their usual bravado. No cocky smirk, no playful glint—just something heavy, something raw. Something that doesn’t belong to Gojo Satoru, the golden boy, but to Satoru, the boy who used to be your best friend.

For a split second, it looks like he wants to say something.

Like he needs you to understand.

And for that split second, you want to. You want to reach out, sift through the weight in his stare, get it the way you used to.

But those days? The days of understanding each other without words? The days of you and Gojo?

They’re dead. Long buried.

So you do what you’ve gotten so good at.

You turn away.

You laugh at something Geto says. You act like Gojo was never here. Like his presence wasn’t just buzzing against your skin.

But he was here. And you feel it.

Gojo Satoru might have walked away. But you know—deep in your bones, in the pit of your stomach, in the quiet part of your mind that still knows him—

He’ll be back.

Soon.

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