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Adult Education || Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Steve Harrington is really weird about the adult film section of Family Video, which really should change its name. After a lot of teasing about dirty movies and the people who rent them, you both take your fixation on dirty movies a little too far.

Couple: Steve Harrington x AFAB!Reader (GN Pronouns)

Category: Smut/Fluff

Content Warning: graphic smut, mutual masturbation, mentions of really bad 1980s adult movies

Word Count: 6.3k

Requests: Open!

For a Friday, the video store was pretty dead. You sat on top of the counter, grateful that Keith had better things to do than police your behavior. Usually, when he caught you, he’d go into a tirade about wasting employee time and loitering without making a purchase.

Okay, so you didn’t work at Family Video and maybe you did intimidate some customers with annoyed stares when they interrupted your conversations. Still… free country and all that.

Steve was doing his best to look occupied while you hounded him, an amused grin painting your lips as he blushed practically crimson.

“C’mon, Steve, you’re a grown man!” You leaned forward, staring pointedly until he turned to meet your gaze. “You’re telling me you’ve never wanted to creep behind that partition and sneak a peek?”

He sighed. Deeply. “Technically, I have to go behind that partition and reshelve whatever the degenerates bring back.”

You grinned wickedly at that. “Watching porn doesn’t make you a degenerate, Steve. It’s totally legal now. Normal, even.”

Whatever effort Steve was putting into the pointless task of alphabetizing the candy bars on the counter was halted. Clearly, he couldn’t avoid the conversation.

“Need I remind you that this store is called Family Video?” He whispered insistently. You peered around the empty store and raised a brow. “What’s with the hang-up on dirty movies today anyway?”

You shrugged, drawing shapes mindlessly onto the glass countertop. “I’m just curious,” you admitted. “Nudie mags are one thing, but movies… I dunno. They seem illicit and sexy to me.”

Steve did his best to run from the rest of the conversation, taking the cart of movies to be reshelved on a stroll through the store. It would’ve been a nice respite from being cornered behind the counter if you weren’t always two steps behind him.

He reached up, shelving the constantly rented VHS of Sixteen Candles where it belonged while you watched curiously. His shirt rode up slightly, and you had to bite your lip to keep from grinning at the sight of a happy trail.

“Need something?” He asked impatiently.

“All good,” you replied with a cherubic smile. “Just wondering why you’re so shy when talking about this with one of your best friends.”

As if on cue, Robin appeared from the back rooms with new standees and merchandise to put on display. “Ooh, talking about what?”

Steve’s eyes went wide, and his jaw clenched as your smile grew. You could see the threat in his gaze. Don’t you dare.

“I can’t say,” you replied sweetly. “Stevie here’s shy.” You winked and sauntered towards the counter, picking through the new promotional merch like a vulture on a carcass.

Robin furrowed her brows, glancing between you and Steve quickly. “It’s the porn, isn’t it?”

You sighed in relief. “Yes! It’s weird right?”

“So weird. Especially about reshelving.”

Steve scoffed loudly from the drama section, peering over the shelves to glare. “I’m right here, you know.” He rolled his eyes, and you couldn't help but burst into laughter.

———

The next time it comes up is a Tuesday, when you’re sitting behind the counter with Steve and an old man with burning red cheeks places a VHS tape called Pleasure Olympics onto the counter for a return.

“Don’t say anything,” Steve said firmly after the man was gone.

“I wasn’t going to!” You replied, which was a lie. You were absolutely gonna razz him about it. “It’s just… is it weird knowing that geriatric guy was jerking off to it? Kinda makes you not want to touch it.”

He gives an exasperated sigh, letting his head fall into his hands. “I just said don’t say anything. Gross.” His lips fall into an exaggerated pout and you genuinely feel a swell of pity for him.

“C’mon, if it bothers you so much I’ll go put it back,” you offered. “And I’ll stop teasing you about the porn since it’s bugging you.” You pause, biting your lip for a moment before the words spill out. “It’s just… aren’t you at least a little curious?”

“I’m not.. I mean I—“ He was tripping over his own tongue, his cheeks burning, blazing hot. “I’m.. I—“ He shut his mouth firmly for a few moments to collect himself. “Maybe a little.”

And his eyes looked so warm and sheepish and earnest for a second that you wanted to melt or puke. It was sickeningly sweet. “C’mon let’s put this back and see what we’re working with here,” you said. With a swift movement, you snatched up Pleasure Olympics and made your way towards the partitioned room.

“Hey, I don’t… I don’t know if we should,” Steve said, helplessly following you. “I mean, someone’s gotta man the desk. So like… maybe we shouldn’t, and I can take that back there.”

You blinked a few times, confusion furrowing your brows. “Stevie, it’s two in the afternoon on a Tuesday. I think we’ll be fine for like, one minute.” Before he could physically hold you back from the illicit back room, you slipped behind the curtain.

“Oh,” you sighed, more than a little deflated. It wasn’t some erotic, mysterious liminal space like you’d been imagining. It was just a room. Albeit, a room filled with graphic erotic images on VHS cases, but still. “This is so boring.” Steve skidded to a stop beside you, swallowing audibly as you circled the room like a predator searching for prey.

“Where does this one go?” You asked, holding up the old man’s tape.

“Uh.” Steve swallowed again, his eyes glued on the sight of bare tits on a cover in front of him. “Um. New— uh, new releases.”

“Heh, release,” you muttered under your breath, shelving it without much thought where he had said. You doubted that anyone back here cared about organization that much. “So… see anything you like?”

His eyes snapped to yours, wide with affront. “Hey! That’s… We are not going to talk about…” he waved his hands wildly in a gesture to what you assumed to be the entire room, “This.”

You held up your hands in surrender but kept your eyes glued on the cases curiously. It was your turn to swallow hard, feeling like your mouth was simultaneously too wet and completely dry like you were hot all over.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d taken the teasing too far.

“Oh, so now you’re the one who’s shy about all this,” Steve said, almost victoriously. You frowned, insulted by the idea that you would be prudish and shy about anything. Fuck. That.

“Nope,” you said firmly. You let your eyes wander the shelves for a moment longer before you snatched a tape up and held it out. “I want to rent this one.”

He blinked at you dumbly, his brain not computing the sight of you holding a dirty movie and the innocent-looking outfit you wore. His mouth hung open for a few moments too long before he firmly shook his head. “No. No, I’m not renting you that.” He insisted.

“Why not?” You asked defiantly. “I’m a customer, right? Keith likes to remind me of that all the time.”

“Yeah, well, you’re also you and one of my best friends so I’m not going to rent you…” his voice went quiet and a little pitchy, “porn.”

A huff of indignation flew past your lips as you realized that the two of you were clearly at an impasse. “For someone who can’t shut up about all the sex he has, you are such a prude.”

“I’m not a prude!” He said insistently. “If anything, you’re the prude and I’m… the opposite of a prude.”

“So let me rent…” You paused to glance at the title in your hand, “Erotic Detention II, and see what the hype is about. And then I’ll never bring it up again. Pinky promise.”

He sighed, running his hands through his carefully styled hair. Just the fact that you had gotten him to do that annoyed him. “You’ll shut up about the dirty movies forever if I let you take that home?” He asked pointedly. With a sickeningly sweet smile, you nodded. He swore under his breath, and you knew he was gonna cave.“Fine. But I don’t want to hear about it.”

You grinned. “Of course not, Stevie. You’ll just have to live the rest of your life wondering what happens to people in erotic detention.”

He rolled his eyes. “If I had to guess, I’d say sex.” He pushed past the privacy curtain, back into the main shop, and, of course, you were right on his heels to continue pestering him about other matters.

———

Steve called your private line every night that week. “So, have you watched your perverted movie yet?” He’d ask, trying his best to sound like he was teasing instead of morbidly curious.

By Friday night, you had grown tired of his weird act. “For someone who didn’t want to hear about it, you sure seem interested.” He stumbled through a reply, which made you grin. “I’ve got the house free this weekend, so tomorrow I’ll finally put the sinful movie in the player and cement my place in hell. Plus I don’t want a late fee.”

He scoffed, or choked on air. You really couldn’t tell which. “Yeah, well, have fun with that,” was all he could manage in reply.

“Steve, can you just admit that you’re curious about the movie and stop acting like a total puritan?” You sighed, twirling the cord of the phone around your finger. “This is all strictly to satiate my curiosity. I’m not going to be like… touching myself or anything while I watch it.”

“Jesus Christ, (Y/N).” You could hear his breath heavy on the other line. Huh. There was a pause, heavy and weirdly intense as both of you scrambled for something to say. “Do you really think you’ll be able to control yourself?”

Huh.

“I guess I’ll find out tomorrow, and I promise you won’t hear about it. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

———

Almost exactly 24 hours later, you were in your basement, hands sweating as you put the tape into your VHS player. After hyping the mere idea of dirty movies up so much with Steve, you felt strangely unprepared to press play.

A shaky breath escaped your lips, and you felt hot all over. There was something weirdly erotic about the entire act, something sinful about having a physical tape of people fucking in your possession.

Steve’s words echoed in your mind and you wondered, could you control yourself?

It was weird how insistently you pestered him about pornos. It was weird that he had called to ask if you’d watched it yet. It was weird that you had even brought one home and let it get to this point.

As you were considering taking it out and returning it to Family Video with your tail tucked between your legs, there was a knock at your door.

A yelp escaped you, and the shame of it all made you want to hide for the rest of the night. In the deep recesses of your brain, you were convinced some sort of porn police was at your door ready to lock you away for being a degenerate. Reluctantly, you tiptoed up the stairs and into the foyer, where you saw a recognizable silhouette behind the glass of your front door.

Steve Harrington.

“What are you—?” Before you could finish asking, he’d pushed the door open further with his foot, sidestepping you to make his way in. “Alright, be my guest.”

He smiled back at you, making his way into your living room with an armful of pizza and sodas. “Wanted to stop by,” he said with an easy smile, like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing. “You weren’t busy, were you?”

With a simple shrug, you closed the front door. “No, not all, Stevie, make yourself at home.” He immediately sat down on your couches, the plastic covers crinkling. It didn’t matter that they were almost as old as you were, you doubted the actual fabric would ever see the light of day.

“No Robin?” You asked, settling on the floor in front of him, eager to dig into the pizza boxes. A delighted smile spread across your lips at the sight of your favorite toppings— he knew you so well.

“Does Robin have to be here for me to hang out with you?” He asked, reaching over you unceremoniously to grab the piece with the best toppings.

A scrunch formed between your brows as you considered it. “Typically? Yeah.” You grabbed a slice and leaned back against his legs, sighing contentedly at a hot meal after a day of canned soup and random shit from the pantry. “What’re you doing in my neck of the woods anyway?”

“I was just… around,” he said around a mouthful of food, though you could hear a hint of restraint in him. “Any plans tonight?” Goddammit, he was so obvious.

“Nope,” you replied. “I mean, I have Erotic Detention II queued up downstairs, but that can wait. I want to spend time with my best friend Steve Harrington.” You turned to face him with a wide, notably false smile. He swallowed hard, his cheeks an adorable if not annoying shade of pink.

“Oh… that…” he trailed off in a very poor mimicry of nonchalance. “I, like, totally forgot you even had that. That’s… that’s crazy.”

“Steve, be honest… Do you want to talk to me about my lord and savior or something?”

“What? No!”

You turned to face him, sitting back on your heels with a curious expression. His fists awkwardly rubbed along his thighs— he could have either been wiping off pizza grease or clammy hands and you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Gut instinct told you it was the latter. More than that, he was struggling to even meet your gaze.

“I’m an idiot,” you said on an exhale. “You wanna watch it, don’t you?”

“No!” He said insistently.

“So… you want to watch me watch it?” You asked, brows furrowed.

He swore under his breath and you wanted to grab him by his shoulders and just shake until something that made sense popped out. “Look, Steve. Robin says they’re like… super cheesy and poorly acted and dumb. So let’s just rip off the proverbial band-aid together.”

His eyes went wide. Robin? You wanted to roll your eyes but he seemed like a frightened little rabbit who might spook at the first sudden move.

“Fine, but the second things get weird, we’re turning it off and watching Saturday Night Live.”

You put your hands up in surrender. “Deal. We probably won’t even make it past the opening credits.” With an easy laugh, you grabbed the pizza and hurried down into the basement.

You vaguely waved to the couch as you heard Steve join you, muttering something about getting comfy while you pulled the TV trays from the corner in front of the couch. Satisfied, you placed your pizza boxes on one and nodded for Steve to put the sodas on the other.

Perfect. It’s like a fucked up version of thanksgiving.

“It’s pretty nice down here,” Steve mused, wandering around your basement while you grabbed a blanket from the old chest that used to be in your bedroom. “Why don’t we ever hang out here? It’s always Robin’s or Family Video.”

“My parents. They’re in that midlife phase where they’re obsessed with feeling young again. Makes having friends over pretty weird.”

With a contented sigh, you looked at your work and felt like you had done all the stalling possible. Steve settled into the couch, stretching out lengthwise so you’d have to squeeze to fit at all. But you’d cross that bridge later. There were more important matters to attend to.

You settled on the ground in front of the TV set, daunted by the simple task of pressing a single button. Your mouth felt dry as you sat in front of the VHS player. The inside of your lip felt raw from all the biting you had done since you made it downstairs.

“You have to press play, by the way,” Steve piped up. How had he gone from a blushing, bumbling idiot to the smug asshole behind you?

“Shut up, I know how a VHS player works,” you muttered. Your annoyance finally gave you the strength to press the stupid play button, which left you scrambling to the couch before the film began.

After a brief MPAA title card warning you about the contents of the film, the worst jazz music you had ever heard filled the room. Erotic Detention II was plastered across the screen in a garish red script before the names of the actors scrolled across.

Nothing too bad, you thought as you tucked your legs beneath you. I can definitely make it through this. 100%. And then the credits ended, and the onscreen fucking began just as abruptly.

No story build-up, no introduction to the characters— just two very naked people fucking on a squeaky desk while more horrible jazz music played.

“Huh.” You cocked your head and furrowed your brows at the sight.

“Huh? Huh, what? What are you ‘huh’-ing about?” Steve asked quickly.

“Huh, like is that really what people look like when they’re having sex? It’s so… I don’t know.” Embarrassing? Weird? The awkwardly lit, overacted passion on screen made you want to make a renewed vow of celibacy. “Like… look at the tan line on his ass. I’ve never thought about the guys I sleep with having tan lines on their asses before.”

He huffed, affronted. “I’m not looking at his ass.”

“It’s basically all they're showing,” you replied with a scoff. Your eyes went wide at a graphic shot of the literal penetration happening, your lips turning into a frown. “I stand corrected.”

You weren’t exactly sure who was getting off on videos like this. Maybe it was the novelty and risk of watching, or maybe some people enjoyed watching sex even with the weird camera angles and fake moans. There had to be a better way to do it, but you weren’t sure what it was.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw that Steve was totally glued to the sight before him. His dark eyes were wide— glossy and reflecting the screen a bit. His mouth was slightly ajar, lips wet from his tongue darting out to swipe across them. Did he like it? Were you just watching it wrong?

The realization hit you suddenly— you needed to get out of your head if you were going to actually gain something from watching it. You tried to forget that Steve was there, tried to forget about the shitty jazz music and that it was an elaborate film production at all. You were simply a voyeur peering in on something illicit and sexy. In a totally consensual and normal way, of course.

There was something about the way that the woman on the screen arched and gasped with each thrust, the hunger in her eyes when the man leaned down to kiss her. Teeth dug into your bottom lip as you sat up a little straighter.

And the way they talked was unlike anything you’d ever heard. All your hookups had been quick in the back of cars or weren’t worth making any noise about at all. The carnality and hunger that they spoke with made desire burn in the pit of your belly.

You felt yourself slipping in the way you shifted in your seat, the way your mouth felt dry and you had to keep swallowing or licking your lips to feel comfortable. It was like you had never truly been awake within yourself before, and your body was springing to life, little by little. You were annoyingly conscious of the feeling of your tits beneath your cotton T-Shirt, the way it rubbed against your nipples. And you regretted the decision to forgo actual pants and just wear some of the boxers you got to sleep in.

Everything within you was desperate to break the tension with some snide comment about the bad lighting or make fun of the guy’s ass tan lines again, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Despite your greatest efforts (which, really, weren’t that great at all), you were really fucking turned on.

Onscreen they switched positions, or acts, or whatever. You couldn’t think well enough to really describe what they were doing. But she was on her knees with a dick in her mouth, eyes wide and tongue out. You wanted to fucking whimper.

Holy shit, you thought. I’m watching this with Steve.

It was that moment that you glanced over, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, but must’ve only been five minutes. His cheeks were a pretty pink, and he was so wired-in to whatever was happening on screen that he didn’t even notice you watching him. But you were, and he was doing his best, you had to give him that.

It didn’t feel very friend-like to notice that Steve was visibly hard. Your entire face, ears, and neck went flaming hot like you’d been suddenly thrust under a heat lamp. His hands were firmly splayed out on his thighs, unmoving, though the occasional twitch in his fingers said he really fucking wanted to move them.

And holy fuck, you wanted him to move them too.

You looked away quickly, partly knowing you should end whatever this was then and there. But you liked it. Maybe that made you a deviant sex freak degenerate or whatever Steve had said (and based on the looks of him, he was the same fucking thing), but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

If there was some sort of manual for this, you would have been frantically flipping through pages to the one titled, “how to politely tell your best friend that they’re allowed to get themselves off while you sit beside them, and that you kind of want to do the same, and it’s totally normal and friends can do that because it isn’t weird unless you’re touching right?”

You wanted a lobotomy. Maybe you could use your Nana’s old knitting needles that were sitting in the corner.

Onscreen, the scene had totally changed and you didn’t even notice. Frankly, you didn’t even think they were in detention anymore, and you weren’t sure how they had managed to squeeze in that plot point while you were debating telling Steve that he could totally jerk off if he wanted to.

“This isn’t right,” the girl onscreen gasped while her onscreen partner kneeled between her thighs. They were in library stacks, apparently. Definitely not detention. “We shouldn’t.”

But they did.

“Steve?” You said, your voice sounding strange in your own ears. He made a weak noise in response, something between a hum and a whimper. Jesus Christ. “This is… I mean you can… if you want.” Not how you wanted that to come out. “I mean, if we don’t touch each other nothing will be weird.��

He swallowed and you glanced over at him, looking over at you for the first time since the movie started. His pretty brown eyes were dark and hungry, his cheeks flushed and his mouth so pretty. “Mhmm. Totally. It wouldn’t be weird if we don’t touch.”

“Yeah,” you gasped in response. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

The dam broke totally then. Anything that might’ve been holding you back was now utterly and totally washed out by how ridiculously horny you were.

A contented sigh escaped your lips as you let your fingers slip past the waistband of your boxers, too pent up to tease. You were soaking wet, coating your fingers as you let them circle your entrance before replacing them on your clit. Soft circles weren’t good enough. You wanted to fuck yourself into sweet, blissful oblivion.

“Fuck,” you gasped, throwing your head back. Half of you wanted to forget Steve was there so you could really focus on yourself, but the other was completely honed in on his presence.

The softest of noises were slipping past his lips, his hand rubbing along his hard-on through his jeans. It was cute, the way his hips shifted and thrust into his own touch. God, he was cute.

“You don’t have to do it like that,” you said quickly before you had a chance to regret it. “You should get to feel good. Really good. I won’t mind.”

“Yeah?” He asked. You nodded quickly and he gave a gratified sigh. “Fuck, yeah, okay.” He sat up quickly, tearing his polo over his head and tossing it over the back of the couch. At your confused expression, he gave a sheepish smile. “I don’t like making messes.”

Oh. You swallowed hard. “Okay.”

You shouldn’t have kept watching, really. It was all rapidly devolving past things friends do, which, if you were being honest, had probably started the moment Steve walked in the front door.

His fingers were fumbling with desperation as he popped the button of his jeans, quick to tug down his zipper and offer himself a bit of respite from how ridiculously tight his pants were. He practically shoved his hand into his briefs to get some actual relief, desperate and needy.

Onscreen, the girl gripped onto shelves to ground herself as her partner feasted between her thighs. His eyes wide, peering up at her from where he was latched onto her pussy, her thighs dimpled beneath his fingers from his tight grip.

It was hard to do much of anything with your shorts still on— making any sort of below the belt touching awkward. You couldn’t exactly make yourself cum with limited mobility. Fuck it. You lifted your hips off the couch just enough to tug the boxers down your legs, kicking them off to the side.

In your mind, Steve was both present and completely irrelevant, which was horribly contradictory. Sort of like a Schrodinger’s Steve situation where if you wanted him there you were totally cognizant, while also having his presence melt into nothingness when you weren’t focused on him. You needed it to be like that for you to retain your sanity and keep from having a total meltdown.

But then he made a soft, needy sound in the back of his throat, and oh boy was he on the forefront of your mind. You glanced over and his gaze was on you— on the desperate movement of your hand between your thighs, on your parted lips and heaving chest.

Both of you should’ve turned away, but you wanted to watch him, you wanted him to watch you. You moved your free hand to your lips, pushing two fingers into your mouth, and he moaned. You felt like you’d seen heaven. When you moved those fingers between your legs and pushed them inside of yourself, he looked totally wrecked.

As you curled your fingers and grazed delicious spots within yourself, you were struck with the sudden fear that you would cum too fast and reality would come crashing down around you. There was nothing you could do anymore, no way to squeeze the toothpaste back into the proverbial tube.

Might as well make it count. “I wanna see you,” you gasped out, meeting his gaze with lidded eyes. “Please?”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah, okay.” You wanted to kiss him on his stupid, cute mouth. If this was the effect that pornography had on people, you weren’t surprised why so many politicians wanted to ban it. It was turning you into some sort of hormonal monster. And you weren’t even upset.

The sight of Steve with his dick in his hand felt like a religious experience— the sort of thing that makes you want to change the trajectory of your life forever. The self-imposed no-touching rule felt sacrilegious, and you had never hated your own words more in your life.

“You’re so pretty, Stevie.” The words slipped past your lips like a prayer. The moan he gave in response was all the answer you needed. “And so big. Wanna feel you.”

You weren’t super coherent at that point— any filter you had was gone, and all of the words that you kept under lock and key on any given day came spilling out.

His blush deepened. You felt like you were on fire all over, practically riding your own fingers as your finish neared. The movie was forgotten at that point. You had both turned towards each other, letting your eyes rake over one another’s bodies.

It felt like a rubber band had snapped when you finally came— all tension leaving your body as your fingers worked you through your finish. Your head fell back against the cushion, eyes fluttering closed as utterly delicious waves of pleasure washed over you.

You were partially aware of Steve then, the moans falling from his lips, the comforting feeling of his presence near you. You didn’t open your eyes until your breathing had returned to normal, suddenly overcome with bashfulness as you tugged your shirt down and chewed on your lip.

An arm had been thrown over his eyes, his chest heaving and glistening in the dim basement light. Ropes of cum cooled on his belly, his cock still twitching with aftershocks.

The movie felt horribly graphic, with the loud, overdramatic moans and the weird music. You stood up on legs that felt like jelly and made your way to the TV, which you quickly powered off.

Your shorts were a little ways away from the couch, so you slipped those back on too, hyper-aware of Steve’s gaze locked on you.

“What?” You asked, raising a brow as you hopped back onto the couch. He was making quick work of trying to be presentable, mopping up his tummy with his shirt, quickly buttoning his pants.

“Hm?” He asked, looking quickly at you, then away. “Nothing. Just, uh, great movie.”

“So good,” you lied. “Five stars.”

“Do you, uh, want to wash that shirt now?” You asked, trying not to sound as awkward as you felt. “You can borrow one of mine while you wait.”

“Yeah,” he replied quickly. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“Washer’s over there.” You gestured vaguely towards the back wall. “And there’s a small bathroom if you wanna clean up more. I’ll, uh, go grab you a shirt.”

Escaping to your room had never felt so good. You were quick to shut the door behind you and pull your phone into your closet, the springy cord sandwiched between the frame and the closet door.

The number you dialed was muscle memory, and you were eternally grateful when they picked up after only one ring.

“Hello?” Fuck. Parents were the last thing you wanted right now.

“Hey, is Robin home?” You asked, trying to sound casual. “Tell her it’s a friend emergency.” The adult on the other line grumbled, and you heard muffled commotion and movement as the phone was passed to someone else.

“Jesus, it’s late for a friend emergency,” Robin mused into the line. “Everything okay?”

You sighed deeply and cupped your hand around the phone. “I fucked up,” you said quietly. “Steve came by and—“

“You and Steve?” She asked quickly. “Shut up. Did you guys like… do it? Wait! Don’t tell me that, but I also really wanna know.”

You shook your head quickly before realizing that she couldn’t see. “No! We didn’t touch each other or anything, I just feel like we’ve kind of crossed a big line that we’ll never come back from.”

She sighed on the other end. “That’s pretty vague. And confusing.” You were about to vaguely go over a little bit of what happened when you heard Steve call your name from the basement.

“Shit. I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow, I think.” Before she could say anything, you hung up the phone and grabbed the first shirt you found on the way out of your closet.

Steve stood at the foot of the stairs, a can of Coke in one hand and a box of detergent in the other. “I can’t figure out the washing machine,” he explained.

“I’ve got it,” you replied, trading him the clean shirt for the detergent. “Just go turn on Saturday Night Live or something.”

“Right,” he replied, sounding a little more than dejected. He sprawled out on the couch and powered the TV on, which immediately made shitty porn blare over the speakers. He scrambled to the floor, hurrying to turn off the VCR and put it back on cable. You both laughed forcefully before returning to your respective tasks.

You started the wash and returned to the couch hesitantly, settling on the very far end opposite of him. The cushion between you could’ve been miles— at least, that’s what it felt like.

“I like this new guy,” Steve piped up, gesturing at the screen. “Robert Downey whatever.” You didn’t feel like saying that this season’s cast wasn’t your favorite, so you just mindlessly nodded.

The awkwardness was killing you. You wanted to just word vomit everything you were feeling, but it was so much easier to just sit in silence. Halfway through the episode, though, he reached out for you, nodding to his outstretched arm. “C’mere, dork,” he teased with a hopeful smile.

You felt yourself relax at his offhand term of endearment, despite how weird you felt about what you had done. But was it weird? You were both so into it that you couldn't bring yourself to regret it at all. You scooched across the mile-long cushion and settled against his side, resting your head on his shoulder.

“You know you’re one of my best friends, right?” He asked, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Mhmm…” you trailed off, turning to look up at him.

“But that was pretty hot.”

“Really hot,” you agreed with a smug smile. “You’re like… pretty well endowed actually. I never would’ve guessed.”

He furrowed his brows, mouthing never would have guessed with a confused expression. “Thank you?”

“I mean it,” you said insistently. “Like you come off as a guy who’s all talk, but, wow, you are not.”

“Alright, alright!” He said with a sheepish laugh. “No more talking like that or I’ll get turned on again.” You raised a brow, trying to fight a grin. Gonna tuck that away for later.

It got quiet again as you turned your attention back towards the TV, where you both laughed at the occasional good joke or rolled your eyes at the frequent bad ones. Steve's hand was warm against your skin as he absentmindedly traced shapes along your arm. "Can I admit something?" He asked suddenly.

"I don't think there's a lot you can't do around me anymore," you replied with a laugh.

He exhaled nervously. "I totally watch tons of porn all the time," he said quickly. "Like, I sneak movies like that out of the back room practically every shift."

Your eyes went wide as you sat up, shoving him playfully. "You fucking pervert! I knew there was something weird going on with you and the porn! You're, like, addicted or something, like they talk about on the news." You sat back down against his side, feeling victorious for catching him on it. But... you paused, furrowing your brows. "So... why were you so weird about me watching it?"

"I wasn't being weird," he said defensively. "I just... didn't think you were going to go through with it. Whatever, my secret is off my chest, and now you know. Do not tell Robin." You mimed zipping your lips and snuggled closer.

He was definitely being weird about it before, but you weren't going to push him. You were pretty sure you knew why.

———

You woke up drooling on Steve’s shoulder, blinking lazily at the sight of morning news playing on the screen. Steve was warm beneath you, burning like a furnace. You sighed, wiping your mouth on the back of your hands.

“Steve?” You said, voice croaky with sleep.

“Mmm…” he didn’t bother opening his eyes. His hair was messy with sleep, falling into his face.

“Didn’t you have work today?”

He stood suddenly, the shirt he’d borrowed from your closet riding up to expose his stomach. “Shit! Shit. I’m due in…” he trailed off, glancing at the cat-shaped clock on the wall. “20 minutes. And we’re about a 15-minute drive. Keith is going to murder me.”

“Uniform?” You asked, frantically cleaning up the pizza boxes and empty cans.

He nodded, scrambling aimlessly. “Vest’s in the car, and uhhh… shit.” He frowned over at you from the washing machine, holding up his very wet polo. “Fell asleep before I dried my shirt so I’m stuck with—“ he peered down to look at the shirt you’d given him. “'Hawkins High Theatre Troupe '85.”

“Aw, you’re so cute when you're wearing my clothes, Stevie,” you teased, throwing him his keys. “Spare toothbrush in my bathroom. You know where my room is.”

“Thank you,” he said quickly, crossing the room to plant a kiss on the top of your head. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

You wrinkled your nose and pushed him away teasingly. “Alright, big guy, get going.” He made it halfway up the stairs before he stopped suddenly and came back down. “Almost forgot.” He popped out the VHS tape and held it up victoriously. You rolled your eyes as he ran upstairs.

A few minutes later, you heard the telltale sounds of the front door slamming, his car radio blaring, and his tires squealing away.

What a weird week.

———

Sundays were the worst, but Robin was genuinely looking forward to Steve walking through the doors after her strange call with you the night prior. She spun around on the chair behind the counter, twirling a pen between her fingers, sighing heavily as she looked at the clock.

Fifteen minutes after his shift was supposed to start, Steve practically burst through the door, looking frazzled and panicked. And… holding a porno in his left hand.

“Hey, dingus,” she greeted. “Nice of you to join us today.”

“Robin,” he gasped, leaning across the counter, a dopey smile on his lips. “I think I’m in love.”

6K notes · View notes

youstydiaa · 4 years ago

Text

"i think someone's talking shit about me, i keep sneezing" is my mood today

you wanna pizza me?

summary: with your friends having a summer job at the pizzeria near your home, you just had to grab at the opportunity for some discounts. you soon become a regular and expect the summer to go per usual, just with some more pizza pies than usual. but when the pizzeria gets a new employee, a cute one at that, that you don’t know, what’s the move? order pizza all the time, obviously.

pairing: osamu miya x fem!reader

genre: pizza delivery boy!osamu, pizza workers!seijoh four, pizza fanatic/oblivious/easily flustered!reader. fluff//humor//smidge of angst. featuring seijoh four.

word count: 6.0k

a/n: repost!

“there’s nothing in this house to eat!” you call out, staring in frustration at your empty fridge. salad dressings and sauces overflow the door of your fridge but on the shelves, there’s absolutely nothing that looks appetizing. you’re sure if you check the cupboard, the only snacks you’d find are maybe some crackers and a bag of croutons.

you can sense the eye roll from your mother as she shouts from upstairs, “you can order something!”

your furrowed eyebrows twitch upward and you grin. you don’t have to tell me twice. you rush to grab your phone and quickly tapping the restaurant’s phone number on your speed dial list, you hold your phone up to your ear.

“say cheese!pizza, what can I get'cha?” an enthusiastic voice chimes through the phone.

“hey, oikawa, it’s y/n,” you greet, staring down at your fingers, nose scrunching as you recognize you’re in deep need of a manicure.

oikawa and some of your friends work at the pizzeria not too far from your house during the summers and you use that to your advantage. not only did you get over your nerves when calling to order takeout, but the discounts you received were very charitable for your broke ass self.

“y/n! hey, what’s up? you haven’t called in a while.”

“my house has no food so i’m ordering the best pizza in the city,” you grin, beginning to walk absentmindedly around your kitchen, hand gliding along the countertops as you do.

“well, of course you are,” oikawa teases coyly and you can just picture the knowing smirk on his face, “you want your usual?”

“yes, please.”

“great, coming right up! are you going to be productive and pick it up or be a lazy ass and have one of our delivery guys bring it?”

ok, rude.

“oikawa, do I need to answer that?” you ask flatly, rolling your eyes.

“delivery it is! oh and hey! next week the guys and i are going to the beach. do you wanna come–” oikawa’s voice was cut off by another familiar one. “shittykawa, stop making small talk with the customers!”

“iwa~,” he whines, “it’s only y/n,”

“oh, well, tell her I said hi.”

oikawa mutters into the phone, “iwaizumi says hi by the way.”

“yeah, i heard,” you chuckle. “one of these days, you’ll get fired.”

“y/n, don’t say that! you’re wrong though.”

“oh yeah?” you muse, adjusting the phone under your ear. “how come?”

“i’m practically the reason we have so many regular customers. girls just can’t resist my boyish charm.”

“gross.”

“wha- how rude! your pizza’ll be ready in around twenty minutes. think you can wait that long?”

“we’ll see.” and with that, you hang up the phone with a sigh.

trudging over to the couch, you plop down and grab the t.v. remote. tuning to a random movie channel, you curl yourself into a blanket as you wait for your beloved pizza to show up.

you would’ve worked at the pizzeria along with your classmates but with your babysitting gigs, the times just didn’t align.

less than halfway into the movie, the doorbell rings and what follows is, “pizza delivery!”

standing up from your comfortable position on the couch, you wrap the plush blanket around you and waddle over to the door, not bothering to fix how you looked.

the delivery boy for your home at the pizzeria is your friend, makki. you’re aware that all your friends have the potential to be your delivery person in case there’s a rotation, but that’s yet to happen.

makki’s seen you at your worst state, including the time when you were dumped and ordered a whole pizza pie to yourself all while being a sobbing mess with your cheeks flushed and nose runny. so to say you didn’t care what you looked like would be an understatement.

opening the door, you’re ready to greet makki, “hey ma–”

your voice falls in the back of the throat when the door is completely open. it isn’t makki who’s at the door, though. widening your eyes at the new unfamiliar delivery boy, you clear your throat. the boy was looking to either side of him, assumably wondering if he was knocking at the right house.

was there a rotation in routes that they didn’t tell me about?

i look like absolute crap in front of a dude who looks like he could be on the cover of a magazine.

ha, my luck.

snapping his gaze toward you at your cleared throat, the boy smiles shyly, holding out the pizza box.

“thanks,” you trail off, taking the box from him and dig your free hands into your sweatpants pocket for some cash.

“it’ll be $7.97,” the boy pipes, adjusting the black cap on his head.

you remember making fun of makki for wearing it but seeing it on this new worker…

“here you go,” you stammer, giving him a ten dollar bill. “keep the change.”

“really? thanks,” the boy beams, causing your heart to flutter in your chest.

oh.

oh no.

you don’t recognize the new delivery worker from anywhere so he can’t be from your school. he turns to go and you slowly closed the door and sigh a breath of relief. as soon as your nerves settle, a flame of betrayal ignites in your stomach.

how come no one told me there was a new delivery boy? better yet, a cute delivery boy?

now you’ve ruined all first impressions, opening the door with a blanket wrapped around your body, probably looking crusty as hell. you’re somewhat surprised he didn’t shriek and run away solely at the sight of your appearance.

setting the pizza down on the coffee table, you sit back on the sofa and gnaw on your lower your lip. what if the dude thinks i’m a lazy bum who eats pizza all the time?

…

i am a lazy bum who eats pizza all the time.

a few weeks later, once again having nothing to eat you dial the familiar number on your phone.

“Say Cheese!Pizza what can i–”

“why didn’t you tell me you had a new delivery boy?” you snap, cutting oikawa off mid-sentence. you hadn’t mentioned it to them earlier because you’re sure they wouldn’t have answered any of your prying questions over text.

“uh, y/n?” oikawa asks.

“yes, it’s me,” you sigh, frown forming on your face into a pout, “so why didn’t you tell me?”

“well, it didn’t come up–”

“you couldn’t just tell me, ‘hey y/n, we got a new super cuter delivery boy by the way, so don’t open the door looking like a zombie?’ a warning would’ve been nice, ‘s all i’m saying.”

“i uh– wait you think he’s cute?”

“well, duh. why would i tell you he’s cute if i didn’t think so? oh gosh, i’ve been postponing ordering pizza since i’m too nervous to face him again.”

“y/n, chill. osamu’s not going to care what you look like. i’m sure he was relieved to deliver pizza to someone his age and not some hungry stoners at 3 a.m.”

his name piques your interest. “osamu?” you ask, ignoring the rest of his statement.

“mhm, and he’s on shift right now so i’ll just put down your usual so he can deliver it–”

“but–”

“see ya.”

the line cuts off and you glare at the phone.

slouching in defeat, you pout with a loud sigh. you sit, scrolling through your phone, patiently waiting for your pizza. you say patiently, but what you really mean is trying to savor as much time as you can before you embarrass yourself in front of the cute delivery boy.

hearing the doorbell ring and his shout, “pizza delivery,” you feel your lungs nearly collapse. rushing out of the kitchen, you check yourself in the mirror on the wall, making sure you looked decent enough, before pulling open the door.

“hey!” you grin but wince when you realized you probably sounded too eager.

“hey,” osamu trails off, the side of his lips quirking up into a half smile. oh god, why did he have to be so cute? especially wearing the delivery hat. “it’ll be–”

“$7.97, i know… it’s my usual order.” you eye the box hungrily before shooting osamu a quick smile.

“you order from the pizzeria often?” osamu rubs the back of his neck, handing you the box with his other hand.

“hm? oh yeah. the workers there, your coworkers, i mean–well, the ones our age, at least–are my friends and give me tons of discounts,” you blurt, shrugging your shoulders.

“ah, so you’re y/n then?” osamu asks, taking the money carefully out of your hands.

wait a minute…he kNoWS MY NaME?

“uh, yeah… how’d you know?” you ask, shyly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“the other guys, four of ‘em at least, talk about you a bunch. and that first time i delivered pizza here, they asked if we met.”

“oh,” you mumble, feeling your heart fall in your chest. you didn’t think that the boys would ask about you, especially after you practically said hi, paid and then proceeded to shut the door on him so quickly. normally, you would’ve made small talk but you, whenever nervous or embarrassed, run out of conversations as quickly as possible.

“don’t worry! i didn’t tell them you were rude or anything since we didn’t talk much. i just said you looked comfortable.”

“comfortable?” you raised your eyebrows and when you remember, your widen in horror. oh god, he does think you’re a lazy bum.

“you know, with the whole blanket covering you like a cute blanket burrito,” he shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets.

did he just–

did he call you cute?

“oh,” is all you can reply, clutching your arm with the opposite hand. you focus your attention on your feet in attempt to distract yourself from blushing. it doesn’t work.

“they think you’re great, by the way. the way they talk about you, it’s like you’re some sort of goddess in their lives.”

grinning at his statement, you exclaim with a clap of your hands, “it was about time they admitted it!” ah, thank goodness for the mention of your best friends or else you would’ve still been a flustered mess.

laughing at you, osamu eyes squinted slightly and you swear to your pizza that your heart stopped.

how can one be so handsome?

it really isn’t fair.

“well, I gotta go deliver the rest of these pizzas. i’m osamu by the way.”

“it was nice meeting you, osamu.” you nearly swoon as you watch him descend your porch steps.

“you too, y/n.”

“oikawa, I’m ordering my usual,” you didn’t even wait for the boy’s greeting when you dial the pizzeria’s phone number.

“again? y/n that’s like the second pie this month!”

“okay and?”

“it’s not even the middle of the month!”

“i’m hungry okay? and there’s nothing to eat,” you lie, staring at the fresh bag of groceries your mother had bought earlier that day.

“fine, but instead of a whole pie, how about a slice and some garlic knots? too much cheese isn’t good you know…”

“thanks, dude-”

“this time, just asked the guy out, okay? i don’t think he just wants to talk to you when he delivers your pizza.”

“shut up.”

“it’s just a suggestion~” he croons before hanging up the phone.

if only you could’ve been like your friend who basked in the attention from the female population and had the courage to speak to them. if osamu looks at you for more than five seconds, you instinctively avert your eyes from his and although you’ve gotten over most of your awkwardness around him, you’re far from being able to ask him out.

“y/n, i hate to break it to you but… you have a pizza problem,” osamu states bluntly, as soon as you opened the door following the doorbell chime and familiar call of pizza. “i’ve delivered how many orders now?”

gasping, you place a hand to your heart. “how rude to be insulted in my own home.”

the next month soon came as did the heavy heat. the once somewhat breezy weather turned to a sticky one and if it weren’t for the air conditioner in your home, you’d be suffering from heat stroke. you had to give the pizza delivery boy some props. even in the high heat, his smile never wavered. although, he did allow himself to complain to you from time to time.

“technically, we’re outside your home,” osamu replies in a flat tone, giving you a pointed look.

“touché.” you grab the bagged food from him and place it on the coffee table before returning back to the door. “how’s the work day going anyway?”

osamu nods his head from side to side. “meh, it’s been okay. the sun is alright since i’ve been in the car for most of it. most of my day has been at the actual pizzeria, though.”

you nod with a thin smile and you’re about to bid him a goodbye when he looks down at you with slight curiosity.

“can i ask you something?”

swallowing thickly at his gaze on you, you nod. “sure?”

at your question-sounding answer, he elaborates. “i just have something to tell you and it depends on your answer.” his voice is serious but the slight smile playing on his lip makes you feel more at ease.

“go for it.”

“is there a reason you’re ordering so much pizza?” osamu asks, his eyebrows wiggling in amusement.

“o-oh um.., yeah?” you nod slowly. “i love pizza.” you quirk an eyebrow in slight confusion, wondering what he was insinuating.

“besides that,” osamu sighs, raising an eyebrow.

oh, yeah. it’s just an excuse to see your handsome face since i’m too big of a wimp to ask you out or for your number.

“i come from a long line of lactose intolerant people so i really like to rub it in their faces,” you yawn for a bored effect. were the facts states true? maybe, maybe not.

“you sadist,” osamu tuts, shaking his head disapprovingly at you. “you’re going to develop an allergy of some kind.”

“don’t jinx it!” you’re quick to say. “without me, your tips will go plop.”

“maybe so.” osamu shrugs, looking up in wonder. “but witnessing that would be rich.”

“who’s the sadist now?” you snort, looking away briefly to suck in your cheek, in attempt to hide the playful smile. “the guys at mario’s tacos wouldn’t treat me this way.”

at the name of the familiar restaurant, osamu scowls. “you wouldn’t.”

“i don’t know. their combos are looking real good lately. maybe they’ll get a new regular customer soon.”

“pfft,” osamu scoffs, catching your bluff. “you’re friends from aoba johsai wouldn’t let that happen.”

he reads me too well. and he already knows the dynamic between me, dumb, dumber, dumbest and iwaizumi.

“don’t you have other house to deliver to?” you change the subject, looking off in the distance, crossing your arms.

“yeah, yeah.” he waves you off. “i’ll see you the next time your order pizza then,” osamu

“wait what were you going to tell me?”

“awh, i’ve gotta run.” osamu fakes a deep pout, tilting his chin down as he walks away from your house. “guess that means i’ll save it for another time.” with a wink, he waves a hand in greeting.

you’re quick to stick your tongue out back at him but when he rounds the corner and he’s out of sight, your expression falls.

stop that, you think, feeling your cheeks flush deeply. you step inside and close the door behind you, lightly patting your cheeks in hopes of cooling them down.

are you being a tad bit obsessive, ordering all these pizzas?

probably.

do you care?

not at all.

with a hand full of delicious food, all that was left to wonder was what osamu was so adamant on telling you. the race of your heartbeat reveals your deep desires but your head reminds yourself to stay calm in case it was something diminutive.

the next time you order from Say Cheese, you were expecting a conversation similar to the ones you’ve had with osamu; with the usual teasing and playful bickering, only this time you’ll make sure to ask him about what he wanted to tell you. however, to your dismay, that wasn’t the case. when you swung open your door with your usual smile, you freeze in place at the familiar pinkish brown haired boy.

“osamu, nice to see– what the hell are you doing here?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at the familiar boy.

makki stands at your door, lightly rocking on his heels with a grin. at your question, he scowls. “he’s off another route. asked me to deliver,” makki shrugs holding out your pizza for you.

“no, no.” you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “isn’t osamu my delivery guy, not you?”

lifting his eyebrows, makki retorts, “yeah but i was yours first. i’m the blueprint!” makki watches in disbelief as you pout, looking down at the ground in disappointment. he was aware of your crush on his coworker from oikawa but he never expected you to get this serious about him. how could you be frowning at him? last makki checked, he was your favorite.

“did your boss change routes or something?”

with a sour expression, makki shakes his head. “said he had an emergency delivery and asked me to cover just for today.”

“oh,” you nod in understanding, reaching out for your food.

“i did hear the i’ll be right there, princess when he was on the phone before he ran out though…” makki winces at your expression.

princess?

he knows a princess? (>‘o’)>

wait no, that’s dumb. (-_-;)

he calls someone princess then? (◕ ‸ ◕)

your hands fall to your sides.

“y/n, it’s probably nothing to worry about-”

“he must have a girlfriend then, right?” you whisper, twisting your lips to the side of your mouth. “i hate to jump to conclusions–”

makki snorts to himself. “you always jump to conclusions.”

“–but that’s a reasonable possibility right?”

after a long pause, makki nods. “i guess. you should just ask him honestly.”

“no way! now that i know there’s a possibility that he’s already seeing someone, i’ll be mortified! when i had the courage to reveal my crush to him, that was when i didn’t know anything. now that i have that in my head, my doubts are everywhere!”

“isn’t it a little much though? you can still casually ask him if he has a girlfriend.”

oh, makki. you believe in me too much.

“can you take the pizza now?” makki asks, lightly pushing the box in front of your face,

“i’m not that hungry,” you mumble, “i don’t want it anymore.”

“y/n/, take the damn pizza and pay me please. i’m a broke boy who needs money.”

your eyes flit from the pizza box to makki’s puppy-dog frown. nodding silently, you took out the ten dollars from your pocket and pay the boy. “here.”

you can’t give a valid reason why you don’t call the pizza place for deliveries anymore. was it fear of facing osamu with the though of him and some other girl? was it because you’re afraid of admitting to the fact you’re most likely in the friendzone? or because you were stalling what he wanted to tell you that made you wrack at your brain?

it was probably about a girlfriend. maybe his news was ‘hey, i’m no longer forever alone, like you!’

you wince at your own thoughts, eyes darting away from the t.v. screen playing an already watched episode of your comfort show.

you’re settled on your couch, munching on some late night cereal. normally, the idea of breakfast at night made your heart content but compared to the usual cuisine you ate at a time when your fridge was empty, it just wasn’t the same.

you mentally curse at yourself for not buying more pizza when you walked over to the pizzeria earlier in the day… yeah, that’s right. you’ve been so nervous facing osamu that you decided to walk over to the pizzeria and meet the faces of your bewildered friends. there’s no way in hell you’d willingly walk over to the pizzeria in the middle of such a hot month, so they were sure something was up.

their suspicions were proven correct when osamu stepped in from the break room, announcing he was back and before he had a chance to look at you, you left the pizzeria with a quick wave and a bid of goodbye.

that was the new cycle. you visit the pizzeria for your discounted pizza and leave when osamu’s near. you’re sure he hasn’t seen you yet, well you hope so at least.

a small part of you scolds yourself for being so childish about something so fickle. even if osamu has a girlfriend, you shouldn’t be avoiding him at like the plague. but, with your dignity in mind, you’re sure if you were to face him again, you’d either grow incredibly sad or flustered for crushing on a taken man.

there was also that subtle thought in the back of your mind that he was leading you on with his banter. either that, or you just couldn’t take the hint of a friendzone. really, you thought your relationship was going in another direction. guess that’s the power of a blinding crush then.

as you scoop a slightly soggy spoonful of cereal, the doorbell rings.

amazon packages at this hour? really?

“pizza delivery!”

knitting your eyebrows together in confusion, you wrap the blanket previosuly covering your legs around you. still holding the bowl of cereal in one hand, you walk over to your front door.

“sorry, i didn’t order pizza…” you trail off, staring at osamu, who isn’t wearing his Say Cheese!Pizza uniform, holding a box of pizza.

“i know. i did,” he grins, gesturing to the pizza with a nod of his head.

“oh…why’re you here?”

“you hadn’t ordered pizza in so long, i thought you died,” osamu frowns, widening his eyes. “then again, i did see you those few times at the actual pizzeria but you seemed to leave every time i got off break.”

oh god. he noticed.

be cool.

rolling your eyes at his dramatic expression, you lightly scoff. “i’m alive, don’t worry about me.”

he smiles at that and for a split second, you’re reminded how much you missed seeing his face. then reality sets in.

“so, if that’s all you’re here for,” you put your hand back on the knob to close the door.

“woah, wait!” osamu cuts you off, putting his foot in front of the door, stopping you from closing it. “i can’t eat this pizza all by myself!”

“i’m not hungry,” you lie with a shrug.

“yeah, I can obviously see that,” osamu replies sarcastically, raising his eyebrow as he eyes the bowl of cereal in your hand.

“why’re you really here, ‘samu?” you ask again, sighing. with the mixture of how late it was and his presence, you just aren’t in the mood.

“i wanted to see you,” osamu murmurs under his breath, looking down at his feet.

“you wanted to see me?” you raise an eyebrow.

“what do you mean? of course i did. you know how many times i went by your house, expecting to drop off a pizza when i realized you didn’t order one?”

"oh.”

a pang of guilt hits your chest at the sadness laced in osamu’s voice. you practically ghosted him with no explanation. where you lost a potential love interest, he thought he lost a friend.

“you must’ve got tired of the pizza, huh?” he asks, looking back up with a crooked smile. “i told ya, too much pizza wouldn’t be good.”

“that’s not it,” you mumble. this time you’re the one avoiding eye contact.

“oh?”

“i just,” you start shyly, forming the thoughts in your head. “it’s actually really stupid.”

“it’s the breadsticks, isn’t it? they don’t taste the same, right?”

“oh my gosh, it’s not me who noticed that?” your head perks up as your eyes widen. clearing your throat, you shake your head. “wait, no. that’s not it either.”

“then what is it?”

“that day you made hanamaki fill in for you…he told me something.”

at osamu’s head tilt, you continue. “he said you called someone princess over the phone? and, i don’t know, it’s really stupid. i have a habit of jumping to conclusions so i assumed you had a girlfriend and i though it’d be awkward for me. it surprised me, too. not because you’re not attractive or anything! you’re very attractive! but, like, you never mentioned anyone and i thought we-”

“y/n,” osamu cuts you off calmly. “breathe.”

“right,” you nod, catching your breath.

“i was calling ‘tsum a princess,” osamu says when you stand up straight from your slightly hunched figure, previously grasping at your knees.

“…your brother?” you look up at him, tilting your head slightly.

“he was being a whiny baby about the discount and he had plans so i delivered the pizza to him.”

“oh.”

time to go order some clown shoes.

“yeah,” he nods, lips quirking up at your blank expression. “and what’s this about a girlfriend, hm?”

“it was an assumption! i’m sorry!” you wave your hands frantically in front of him.

letting go of the pizza box with one hand, he engulfs both of your hands in one of his to stop your waving. “i didn’t even tell you i had one and you still assumed that of me? how judgy, y/n.”

“osamu,” you whine. “i didn’t mean to! i just thought that was the thing you wanted to tell me!”

“the thing?” his smile falters as he registers your words.

“yeah. that thing you said you’d have to wait for next time for?”

“ah, yeah,” he nods. “nope, that wasn’t it.”

“i feel awful.”

“you can make up for those three weeks by sharing this pie with me then!”

your eyes soften and you nod. “yeah, yeah.” you open the door to allow him to enter but you stop him as he meets the frame. “wait.”

“yeah?”

“can’t you just tell me the thing now?”

“mm, no. after dinner.”

“it’s nine o’clock.”

“did you have dinner?”

“…no.”

“after dinner,” he repeats with a smile.

“so you find me attractive huh?”

at his question, you choke on your pizza, coughing violently as osamu laughs. you glare as he offers you a bottle of water but take it nonetheless.

after letting osamu into your home, you both sat at your meal table, enjoying the food he brought. he ordered your usual…whether it was something he knew from memory or something he asked one of your friends about, you didn’t know, but nevertheless, your chest warmed at the gesture.

“i was rambling! you should never take me seriously when i ramble.”

you knew he was attractive in his uniform and you nearly swooned at the way he adjusted the black cap with the pizzeria’s logo embroidered on it, but seeing him in casual clothing was something new and dare you say, yummy. you were aware his hair was a dyed grayish from the bits the peeked out of his hat near his ear and slightly matted to his forehead, but seeing it, styled and all…mans is just built different.

“oh, so i’m not attractive then,” he muses with a nod.

“no! i didn’t say that! ugh, you’re teasing me.”

“c’mon, it’s cute. you were all scared and blurting everything all at once.”

“it wasn’t cute on my part. i was nervous…”

at your slight frown, osamu’s expression changes. “i don’t mean to tease ‘ya in a mean way.”

“it’s not that,” you mumble. “i just feel like you’ve connected all the dots and you know what’s in my head but I don’t know what’s in yours.”

you have a weird way of wording things but osamu understands.

he’s obviously teasing you, but that’s the relationship you’ve had with osamu for the near month you’ve known him.

is he being like this in hopes of reducing the slight awkwardness because you know that he knows that you like him? you didn’t have to outright say it but why else would you avoid him after finding out the possibility that he had a girlfriend? you were flustered about it, sure, but anyone could see it was a sure sign of jealousy.

“mhm, maybe i have connected the dots. but you can connect them, too.”

“what do you mean?”

“y/n, it’s nine p.m. and i decided to come here of all places to share a pizza pie with you because i missed you.” osamu face remains neutral as he speaks and you miss the way the tips of his ears turn red. “what could that honestly mean?”

“you miss being my delivery boy?” you guess.

“and…?”

“and you miss my tips?”

osamu slaps a hand to his forehead. “no.”

at your silence, osamu sighs with an easygoing smile. “oikawa said you were kind of slow.”

“prick,” you scowl, looking off to the side, noting that in your head. looking back at him, you muster a hopeful smile. “can you just tell me? first the thing and now this? you’re a whole mystery.”

“they’re the same thing. same conclusion.”

there’s a short silence that follows and you gnaw at your lip in thought.

“y’know,” osamu breaks the silence, scooting closer to you, “as sweet as it is seeing you blush and think hard about it, i think i’m seeing smoke come out of your ears.”

“hey!”

“i was planning on asking y’out,” he blurts, deciding to give in. if he’d waited for you to figure out, he’s sure you’d be sitting there in silence for at least another ten minutes. “i asked you if you ordered so much pizza for a reason to see if i could catch a reaction from you…if you felt the same.” at your lack of response, he continues, “i didn’t really know what happened since you stopped ordering for a while. i kind of assumed one of the guys found out about how i felt so they told you and as a way of showing me you didn’t feel the same, you stopped ordering.”

“oh.” you face falls. “that wasn’t it.”

“i know that now,” osamu emphasizes with a light scoff. “you were flustered about me calling someone princess, that person being my twin…”

“okay, fine! i was a little presumptuous…but, if anything, this is makki’s fault!”

“oh yeah?”

“he didn’t have to tell me what you were saying on the phone, nonetheless, not confirm anything…he was all, ‘i dunno, that’s all i heard.’” your voice lowers in pitch as does your tone, mimicking your best friend.

“or,” osamu pipes, wiggling his brows in amusement, “consider this: maybe ask me next time?”

“i couldn’t face you for more than a few seconds at a time without short-circuiting and you expect me to ask if you’re single or not? ‘samu, you have a lot of faith in me,” you sigh.

“i still find that hard to believe. you’ve kept conversation with me for weeks now and got me to like you, so you must’ve been doin’ something right.”

“believe me, the sun wasn’t the reason i was red all the time…”

“ah, so that thing about your skin bein’ sensitive was a lie?”

“…maybe.”

osamu lets out a chuckle, tossing his used napkin into the empty takeout bag. “y’know often times, when the boss wanted to change things up in case anyone was disliking a particular route, he’d allow us to change. i sort of found it strange how the guys were so adamant on me delivering around here but now that i know they were just being four cupids all along, it makes sense. of course, initially, i thought it was me they were being cupid for but…guess not.”

he smiles softly at your flushed cheeks and squeezed shut eyes.

“osamu, i know we’ve established that we like each other–i think–but, you can’t keep saying these things that make me all gross and flustered.”

“you blushin’ is cute, though,” is all he replies, leaning over to poke your cheek. “and i ain’t gonna stop saying them.”

“i’ll just run away from you then, covering my ears.”

“that reminds me. you’ve been sneaking to and from the pizza place for your pizza and whenever you saw me coming, you ran away. i have that much of an effect on you-”

you cut off his nth attempt of getting you flushed – how much redder can you get? this was an odd situation to be in, if you’re being honest – by leaning forward and pecking his cheek. osamu’s voice is lost in his throat as you pull away slightly and he blinks at you a few times, opening and closing his mouth but no words come out.

“ah, so this is the satisfaction you must feel,” you nod to yourself, expression relaxing into an easy smile that mirrored osamu’s from just a few seconds prior. “getting people shy sure is fun.”

osamu soon shakes out of his daze, grin widening at your boldness. taking advantage of the mere centimeters between you, he leans forward, seizing your lips with his. you’re far too stunned to be embarrassed at this point and it isn’t until your brain replays the memory of the first time you met the boy kissing you, that you react.

who knew the blanket burrito could actually end up with the cute delivery boy?

simp nation stay winning. ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و

you pull away for air first, smiling slightly as he chases your lips with his eyes closed.

“a kiss without a proper date? shame.” you shake your head in mock disapproval.

osamu opens his eyes and cocks an eyebrow upward. “i mean, i consider this a date, don’tcha?”

with an airy laugh, you nod, “i guess so.”

osamu beams at the slight flush of your cheeks. it isn’t like the beginning of the night when you were embarrassed out of your mind, heart racing in anxiousness. no, it was one of those flushes of excitement. warmth.

“that’ll be $7.97 for the food, by the way.”

“osamu!”

“i’m kidding!”

BONUS!

“mattsun, aren’t you supposed to be home watching your siblings?” oikawa’s head pops out from behind the counter, watching as the taller one wipes down tables.

iwaizumi, who was covering for the register nods in agreement. “yeah, you should be home…”

“yeah, osamu asked for me to cover and then left with y/n’s usual so…” matsukawa replies with a slight nod and shrug. “and my mom said she was home to help them with homework so it’s fine.”

iwaizumi and oikawa share a look.

“so he’s finally done it. iwa-chan, i think you owe me ten dollars. c’mon, pay up.” oikawa holds his palm out, folding his fingers over it a few times.

“we don’t know that,” iwaizumi huffs, looking over at his friend in slight annoyance. “maybe he likes y/n’s order and needed to get home.”

mattsun and oikawa send the boy at the register a flat look.

“look, i’m just saying, we don’t know if osamu is confessing to y/n. we’ll know by tomorrow if y/n says anything…”

oikawa covers a hand over his mouth and whispers in mattsukawa’s direction, “i’m expecting that bill in my hand tomorrow.”

“listen, you little shi-”

“guys,” makki appears from the break room, rubbing his nose, “i think someone’s talking shit about me. i keep sneezing.”

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