#still have a few things to dry and put back (door shelves) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hope-drunk · 1 year

Text

HARVEST MOON

| a year ago, abby left you suddenly after a month long love affair. now she's back to convince you she's changed.

| cw: me writing southern accents and it's bad, talk of father death, jerry anderson is homophobic, talk of food, reader showers three times in this who knows why, f!reader, oral & fingering (r!recieving), petnames, umm that's it but like abandonment issues i guess? abby like dips hard LOL

| wc: 3.8k

The mugginess hasn’t let up in recent days, causing your hair to look a mess, and you to have a strong urge to be naked all the time. Getting comfortable in your bed was a pain. The sheets were too hot; the pillow pushing your sticky hair onto the back of your neck. You don’t think you’ve gotten a good night's sleep in ages. The fans in your room weren’t doing much; nothing could battle this southern heat.

You were already awake before your alarm went off at 6 A.M. You quickly silence the screeching sound of the clock and roll out of bed, throwing on a loose tank top that lays on your floor. You’re instantly annoyed by the fabric but try to push it off. You stroll into your kitchen, opening the fridge and standing there for a few seconds to absorb the cold air that blows out. You grab some scraps of breakfast and eat quickly, already running a tad behind because the heat is making you move slower.

You go to the bathroom and take off the flimsy tank top and your panties. You step in immediately and let the cold water wash over you. Your shower goes faster than you wanted it to, but you step out and dry off. You don’t bother to dry your hair, hoping that the dampness might keep you cooled off for a little bit longer. You get dressed in your usual attire, a self cut tank top made out of an old t-shirt and jean shorts.

You walk to the field behind your house, first checking on the chickens, collecting the eggs the hens dropped and making sure they have food. Then you moved to the sheep, replacing their water and giving them their feed.

After you think the animals are situated, you begin your walk into town. It’s summer days like these where you wish you owned a car, or even a bike. But in a town this small, it always seemed useless. Everything was a five minute walk. The only thing that was further than five minutes was the gas station that sat on the edge of town near the highway, and that was only about a ten minute walk. Your journey to the grocery store feels like it takes eons. But when you open the door and the air conditioning blasts you, you think you see heaven.

“Hot one, huh?” The store clerk says to you in response to your sigh of relief.

“Tell me about it,” you say, smiling politely and walking to grab a basket.

You take your time with your shopping, swinging the green basket against your leg over and over while you scan the aisles. You spend extra long in the freezer section, and decide to treat yourself to some popsicles, you put them in the basket and let the door close by itself. You don’t notice the pair of strong arms that are crossed by the door.

You turn away to go get your next item, “Not even gonna say hello?”

Your head whips around before your body does. You gulp at the realization of who it is.

“Popsicles, huh,” she nods to herself, grabbing the box out of your basket. “Didn’t know you liked these ones, darlin’.”

You snatch them out of her hand and throw them back into the green plastic, “You don’t know anythin’ about me, Abby.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” Abby’s voice drips like southern honey, but it reminds you of gasoline. One spark from you and the town would be on fire.

You don’t answer her, just go back to your shopping. You scan the shelves for the next thing on your list. You can see her out of the corner of your eye still following you around, but you don’t pay her any mind. It’s honestly a shame, because you were gonna spend your sweet time in the air conditioned store, and now you can’t, because Abby decided to show up.

You remember now that it was exactly a year ago today that she showed up in town before leaving a month later with no warning. She had seemed so perfect, so normal, you’d never felt like that before with anyone. You let her stay in your house. She was planning on just passing through, staying the night at the motel for the festivities then going on her way, but she told you you changed her mind. Abby told you that she wanted to stay and be with you. What a load of bullshit.

You finish your shopping, continuing to ignore Abby as she trails behind you, in her stupid t-shirt, with her stupid muscles, and her ridiculous boots.

“This all for y’then?” The cashier asks.

“That’ll do it.” You reply, pulling out the cash you’re using to pay.

You take your bags and thank him, rushing towards the doors and pushing one of them open with your back.

Abby stops at the clerk to get her brand of cigarettes; running out behind you after she pays with a crinkled up ten dollar bill.

“Hey! What’s the rush?” She says, rushing up to you. She smacks the pack of cigarettes on her palm before opening it and popping one into her mouth; swiftly lighting it with a blue lighter.

“Don’t wanna see you, Abs. Thought you would be able to figure that out.” You say, silently hoping that that will be enough for her and that she’ll turn around and never come back to your town. But Abby, ever so stubborn, continues walking next to you.

“What? You still mad about last summer? Told you I had to go.”

You scoff at her. “Yeah, then you also told me you were never gonna leave me. Wanted to help raise my chickens and sheeps. Live in my house with me. Start a life here. Look, I don’t have time for this; too goddamn hot to deal with your bullshit.”

She nods her head; takes a long drag of the almost gone cigarette. “‘Least let me carry your bags?”

That you oblige to, handing over the heavy plastic bags that you swear were getting sticky from the heat. You just wanted to be home, with your fans, and your animals; without Abby. You didn’t even want her to see the inside of your house. You didn’t want her to be in the four walls of your bedroom again; it would be painful for you. To see her in your house again, where she made you all those promises. It would be painful because now you know that all you were to her was a quick fuck and a free place to stay.

Your house comes into view and you pause in the road, motioning your hands so she’ll give you your bags back. She does reluctantly, and you can’t help but notice the droplet of sweat dripping down her large muscles. You huff away the memories, taking the bags back and walking up to your front door.

“Not even gonna invite me in? No lemonade for my hard work?” Abby asks, trying to make light of the situation.

“I seriously never want to see your face again, Abigail.” With that you open your door, slinking in and closing it behind you.

You press your back to the door once you’re inside; willing yourself not to cry about her. You’ve done enough of that; swear you could fill an ocean with your tears. You know that you shouldn’t get so worked up over something that lasted a month, but it was the first real thing you’ve ever had. It’s not like there were any other women who liked women around here, so when Abby rolled in and made you all those promises, you thought you had actually found something. You thought you would be able to start a life with her and do all the things you’ve dreamed about doing since you were a little girl. Then, she was up and gone, and you were left alone again.

It took you a while to get used to your solitude again, and you were doing a damn good job at it now. Sometimes you wonder if it was even Abby you missed, or if you just missed having someone to do everything with. You try to stop thinking about it, forcing your body off the door and into the kitchen. You slowly put all the groceries away, scared that when you finish your mind will wander.

You do pretty good for the rest of the day. You keep yourself entertained and busy, tending to your animals and reading a book. You only think about Abby a few times, but are able to brush it off. You think you’ve got it under control; you think that her little visit didn’t affect you. Once it hits around 7 P.M. you huddle the animals into their respective cages and barns. You go back inside and take another quick cold shower. It’s hard work herding those animals, and even though the sun is getting lower, it’s not getting any less humid. You dry off and put on fresh clothes, walking out into your kitchen to prepare your dinner.

What you don’t expect to hear is a knock at your door. You silently question it before waking up to the door swinging it open; prepared to tell off some church people who just won’t stop trying. But there she stands. Abby has a bouquet of assorted carnations and daisies, a few roses thrown into there. You cross your arms, waiting for her to speak.

“Will you please let me explain? Please? Just a few minutes and you can decide if you want me to really go or not.”

“I’m timing you.” You say, walking back into your house and sitting down on your couch.

Abby moves into your living room. She’s changed from what she wore at the store. She now has on jeans and a black cut off tank top and her same signature braid.

“I’m gonna try not to stumble over my words– been preparing for this. I loved being here with you, first of all. Leaving you was never because of you. My dad got real sick, the type where you go and say goodbye. He had been in and out of the ICU around that time, but, when I got that phone call, swear I could feel it in my bones that that was it.”

You straighten out your back. You knew a little bit about Abby’s dad. Mostly that they were very close until she came out to him.

“And I didn’t know how to tell you. Didn’t know how to tell anyone. I wish I could’ve ignored it and stayed with you but I just–” she shakes her head to herself.

“He’s your dad.”

“Yeah, he was my dad.”

The past tense makes you let out a sigh, suddenly your heart breaks for the girl all over again. You will your brain to remember what she did. You feel bad that she lost her dad, but she could’ve communicated.

“I’m sorry, Abby. But, you still had no right to leave me like you did.”

“I know, I know. I got scared. I knew if I stayed with you that– he wouldn’t see me. I could have handled it better. I had every intention of coming back sooner than now, but I felt like you wouldn’t wanna see me.”

“You’ve got that right.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know how this is supposed to work. All I know is that everything I told you is true. I miss living here. I hate running around the country anymore. I just wanna be here with you. Herd your fucking sheep and collect the eggs. Have you make me that killer omelet that I love. I miss you, all of you. Didn’t know what I wanted a year ago, but I do know. I’d like to be with you, if you’d have me.”

You try to process all that she’s saying; try to take in the massive amount of information she’s dumped into your hands. You just stare past her, straight at the wall. Do you want her to come back? You did– a few days ago when you were crying about being lonely. You don’t want to forgive her this easily though. What? A few words and an explanation and she’s just allowed in your house again? Hell no, there’s no way in hell that she can just creep back in here. What if she leaves again? Are you gonna embarrass yourself like that all over again?

“Abby…” you trail off, unsure of what to actually say to her.

“I know. I don’t want to be the victim here, and I’m sorry if I’m making it seem that way. I just want you to know that, it really, really, wasn’t your fault.”

“Thanks for that, cowboy.” She smiles at the nickname, you do too. Her long history of speedrunning through small towns made you come up with it. “Alright, well, you can stay for dinner. But, I have the right to kick you out at any time.”

“Yes ma’am,” she says.

You start to make her favorite meal from you with ingredients you bought today. She keeps you entertained, staying out of your way but talking your ear off. It feels normal; it feels like old times. You can’t help but let her ease her way back into your space. She takes off her boots, undoes her braid and puts it up into a bun. You ask her to get you something and she knows exactly where it is. It feels too simple. Honestly, it feels like a dream. You feel like you’re floating through this strange reality where Abby never left and you’ve kept living in this home ever since she showed up this time last year.

You eat dinner at the table in the spots you always sat in. Continuing the laughter and the fun. You don’t even mind the heat anymore. You don’t care about anything other than Abby’s gray eyes staring back into yours. You get shy under her gaze all over again. When you’re both done, you can’t get up from the table, you get too invested in your conversation and neither of you want to disrupt it. You wish you could’ve kept your stoic face on, but Abby was something else. She always has been. She’s the only one who’s ever made you feel truly comfortable with yourself, in this town. Finally, you get up and take the plate from in front of her, moving it to the sink.

“That’s not what happened, and you know it.” Abby practically yells.

“I mean, I watched you fall in the sheep shit myself. Y’trying to gaslight me, Anderson?”

“I’m not saying I didn’t fall in the shit. I’m saying that what you’re saying led me to the sheep shit is wrong. I wasn’t looking at your ass and then tripped. I was– looking at the sign on top of the barn.”

“Well, your eyes were awfully low to be looking at the top of the barn.” You shrug your shoulders with a small giggle.

Abby waves her hand in the air, a small blush on her face from the memory of the second time she came to your house.

“I missed you a lot, y’know.” Abby says, mostly under her breath.

When you look at her, she’s looking up at you through her eyelashes. Her chest rising and falling steadily. She sits with her legs slightly spread and her elbows on her thighs. Those strong fucking thighs. You thought you could get along with her as friends; you thought that’s what she wanted– to be friends now.

You look away from her so you don’t give in. “Abby, I don’t know if I can.”

“I’m here. I’m here again; it’ll be good, like it was before.”

“That’s what you said before you left. ‘I’m here for you. Never gonna leave you, sweetheart. You’ll never be alone again.’ Then I was. I was the loneliest I’d ever been. I don’t blame you for leaving, Abby. But I can’t take it if you leave again.”

Abby gets up from the table and walks over to you. She towers over you, grabbing your face between her hands and forcing you to look at her. “Not gonna leave you. Ever. I learned my fucking lesson. Feel like I need you to breathe. Like my chest was tight the entire time I was out of this goddamn town. Swear, the second I pulled in, I felt my lungs fill up for the first time in a fucking year. Please, sweetheart. I’m not gonna let y’down again.”

Her chest is moving more rapidly now. It’s hard to look in her eyes. She hasn’t taken hers off of you. “I swear.”

You push your lips up so they reach hers; she sighs into the kiss, hastily taking her hands away from your face and wrapping them around your body. You push her back away from the kitchen and towards the bedroom. She doesn't break the kiss once as she walks backwards, avoiding any and all furniture; like she’s always known where everything is. In a way she has, but it’s still impressive. A whole fucking year without her in your house and she still moves swiftly around the furniture towards your bedroom. She moves like it’s built in her bones; like she’s always meant to be here.

You enter the bedroom and she breaks away only to shove your discarded clothes that lay on your bed onto the floor. You rip your shirt off in the meantime, you were going to take off your shorts too, but Abby is back on you in a second. Kissing everywhere; licking everywhere. You don’t think your heart has ever beat faster. It’s scary how well she knows you. Just like the house, she still has every part of your body memorized. She still knows the spot below your collarbones that makes your hips buck. She knows how much rubbing the outside of your thigh while she kisses you turns you on. She knows that you need the anticipation built before you go straight into fucking. Abby knows you.

She slides down your stomach, mouthing at the skin there, you push her head down, trying to get her to take the hint that you haven’t been laid in a year and you’re worked up enough. She scoffs into you and continues kissing you. A whine escapes your mouth, and she finally moves to where you need her. You lift your hips up while she removes your shorts and panties.

She starts to rub tight circles onto your clit, eyes connected to your face; waiting for you to look back at her. You don’t. You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to overthink the situation you’ve found yourself in. With every circle on your clit your head grows fuzzier, making this feel more and more like a dream.

“Not gonna leave you.” Abby says, like she can read your mind. “Never leaving your side again. You’re gonna be fucking sick of me, angel.”

You moan; open your eyes to take her all in. All you can manage is a nod. Abby growls and takes away her hand. You go to gasp, but in seconds she’s connected her tongue to your clit. You moan now, a sound deep from your chest that blossoms like a flower fed fertilizer. You forgot how good Abby was at this. The good memories pushed to the back of your mind. You’ve only been able to focus on her leaving for so long. The only thing you think about is waking up to that empty bed.

She grunts into your cunt, “Missed how you fucking taste. S’goddamn sweet, princess.”

She’s here now, you remind yourself. She’s here forever. You’re sure the doubt will creep in at some point. You’re sure you’ll be scared to sleep next to her for a while. But right now, this is all that matters; her tongue drawing intricate shapes into you. You push your hand on top of her head.

“Don’t leave me,” you pant out.

Abby removes her mouth and pushes two thick fingers into you, forcing your back to arch off the bed. She moves up to your face, “Y’forget how to listen, doll? Gotta train you t’be my good girl again, huh? I ain’t leaving, never again. Got that?”

You forgot how bad her accent gets when she’s turned on.

“Answer me, tell me I’m gettin’ through that thick skull of yours.”

“Yes, Abby. I understand.”

“There y’go, sweet thing. Just lay back and take it.”

You do as she asks, finding it easy to fall back into submission under her. Your brain is basically blank by now, only focusing on the slow pull and push of Abby’s fingers inside of you. You moan and whine and buck your hips. Not scared to be messy or annoying. You’re not scared of anything in front of Abby. She loves you, you know it. She takes you how you are.

“Don’t think I’m gonna– last long.” You say.

“That’s alright, so pent up, ain’t you? Let it all go for me. Let it all out.” She reconnects her mouth with your cunt and you know that you’re in for.

You feel the knot get tighter and tighter in your stomach. It feels like fire is spreading across your body. You feel a bead of sweat fall from Abby’s forehead onto you, and it gets to you. She’s real; she’s back. She’s eating you out and making you cum the way only she knows how to. The small band holding your orgasm back snaps. You cum with a sob, bucking your hips into her face so your clit brushes up into her nose. You start to cry from the pressure that was built up in you that’s finally being released. Abby works you through it, lets you grind on her face and you swear you can feel her smile into you.

She comes up to lay beside you when you finally stop twitching; shushing you when she removes her fingers.

“Missed seein’ you like that.”

“Bet you did,” you say, voice hoarse.

“Missed seein’ you in general, but the way you look when you cum, man. Ain’t nothing like it.”

You suddenly feel embarrassed by the crude talk, you roll over away from her and face your closet. She whispers a few sorry’s before using her arms to roll you back over and pull you into her chest. She kisses the top of your head.

“It’s so hot I might die.” You say into her, tracing a shape on her chest.

“Wanna shower?”

“Don’t gotta ask me twice.”

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fic #abby anderson x you #abby anderson angst #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson #abby anderson fan fiction #abby !

1K notes · View notes

boldlyvoid · 2 years

Text

Employee of the Month

eddie munson x reader

Summary: To make some extra cash before Christmas, Y/N takes a job stocking the grocery store shelves at midnight, unbeknownst to her that her high school crush also works there

Warnings: mutual pining, partial slow burn, parental death, mentions of Eddie's murder charges (now dropped), being ostracized by the town, teasing, flirting, sick Eddie, hurt/comfort, falling in love, first kiss, first times, virgin Eddie, virgin reader, making out, grinding, dry humping, cumming in pants. they're really horny touch starved adults

word count: 9k

In a last-ditch effort to make some more money this Christmas, she takes a job at the local grocery store to stock the shelves at midnight. It’s not too bad, there are only 16 shelves and about 30 feet of freezer to restock, she gets to bring a walkman and headphones and wear whatever she wants. As long as the shelves look nice come morning, the boss didn’t really care.

From the first night she worked there she knew it was going to be a good fit, mainly because the other stock person she’s been partnered with is the same guy she had a massive crush on in high school. Eddie Munson had one hell of a year while she was trying to graduate, he was getting accused of murdering her classmates. He disappeared mostly after that, the school gave him a pass and his diploma so they didn’t have to see him again, the town pretended they didn’t try and murder him in revenge for an entire week and she didn’t see him again for a while.

“Hey,” she waves at him with her lips pressed together in a tight smile, “I’m—

“Y/N,” he points at her name tag with a matching smile. “I take it you’re my new buddy?”

She nods, “yeah… um, what are we doing tonight?”

“The snacks and chips aisle, the milk fridge and the cheeses,” he recites the list as he pulls it out of his pocket and hands it to her.

While she is just in jeans and a sweater, nothing too fancy, he’s in a navy blue jumpsuit with his name embroidered on the left breast, and just under it, the grocery store logo. He was in uniform… “why don’t I have to wear one of those?”

“Oh, I got this for being the employee of the month,” he shrugs it off, not meaning to brag in the slightest. “You like it?”

“Yeah,” she smiles like a fool, nodding quickly and looking at the list he handed her to avoid his eye contact.

She liked him so much in high school, and he was still so cute, it was all coming back to her. He’s much more laid back and reserved now, it has been over a year since she’s seen him in person, too. It made her wonder if he was still that same loud, opinionated nerd that she admired from a distance.

He’s super nice about teaching her the right way to restock everything, bringing the old stuff to the front and the new things get pushed to the back of each shelf. They split up the aisles and met in the middle, trying to beat each other each time. He sang along to the radio playing over the speakers, and he danced when he thought she wasn’t looking… he was just as cute as he was in high school.

They end up making a good team, they finish their list and pick up a few extra chores. They change a lightbulb in the guest bathroom, take inventory of the magazines and run disinfectant over every surface they could until their shift ends. It feels like it takes forever, they’re awkward when talking to each other but it’s kinda easy to hang out with him. This was going to be a good job for her.

“You need a ride home?” He asks in the staff room after work, both of them putting on their coats and scarves. The November chill in Hawkins was not nice.

She shakes her head and starts to point, “no, I just live—

“You can’t walk home in the middle of the night,” he cuts her off. “There’s too many creeps and animals out there. I don’t mind where it is?”

“Okay,” she gives in easily.

She gives him her address as they walk out to his van, he opens the door for her and lets her hop in before closing it for her too. He asks her about how long she’s lived there, trying his best to make conversation but it hurts.

“Uh, we’ve always lived in Hawkins, my house is still a mess from the earthquake but the insurance is fixing it soon,” she assures, nervous for him to see the state of the place when he pulls up. “If my dad was still here he’d probably have it done by now, but it’s just me and my mom.”

“God, I’m sorry,” he felt so bad for asking. “That was the worst fucking week ever.”

“yeah… it sucked for everyone,” she doesn’t even know how to touch upon what he went through. “Glad it’s over.”

“More than you know,” he sighs, turning onto her road finally.

He doesn’t want to come in for coffee or anything, he gives her a smile and a wave and watches to make sure she gets inside her house safely before driving away.

She thinks about him well into the morning when she should be sleeping. It’s easy to get sucked into an imaginary life where he asks her out after a shift and they hang out and fall in love and she finally gets to kiss that smile off his beautiful face… it’s not easy to make it come true. She would go to her grave with the fact she thinks he’s handsome and nice and funny and cute. She’s not big on sharing feelings, having no one to ever really share them with, in the first place.

—

She doesn’t see him unless she’s working, which was only 3 nights a week, Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

She uses those 3 nights wisely. She wears something nice but not too suspicious, and she always smells nice and does the best she can with her hair and makeup… she wants him to think she’s pretty. She wants to catch him staring at her instead of how many times he caught her looking at him as a teenager.

He tells her that she looks nice every day in many different ways.

“Did you come straight from the ball, princess?”

“You know this is a grocery store, not a fashion show, right?”

And her personal favourite… “It's too cold out there for you to come in looking so hot.” With a wink. A fucking wink. It almost made her pass out.

He does it just to bug her, he likes to make her squirm and lose every thought in her head. He laughs when she stutters through a response and he always pats her shoulder gently and says, “I just mean you look nice today.”

She has a hard time reaching the top shelves sometimes and he has no problem coming over and standing real close to her. “Here, I got that,” he says in such a low voice it felt like a whisper. He reaches up and takes everything down for her, “do you want me to put them up for you too?”

“Sure,” she doesn’t mind, she works on the second highest shelf instead, still close to him, she watches him reach and extend his long arms and puff out his chest and ugh he’s so hot it makes her stare like an idiot.

“You’re drooling,” he teases her.

She wipes her face quickly, “what? No, shut up.”

He just giggles and finishes shoving the new stock toward the back of the shelf. She bumps shoulders with him right before he heads back to his stack of things, he had boxes of croutons to unpack. She was now moving on to salad dressings and other condiments.

She doesn’t dare start up any conversations, overthinking everything that comes into her head too much. She didn’t feel like he’d find anything she had to say interesting.

They’re in the soup aisle when he finally speaks again. “Can I ask you something?”

She’s a bit shocked cause he’s been silent for so long, but she nods.

“When you dream is there ever a specific topic you dream about the most?”

“Tornados,” she can answer without batting an eye. “I had one the other night actually… I don’t know why but there’s always a tornado.”

“That is an interesting one… did you just watch a lot of the wizard of oz growing up?” He teases.

She can’t help but smile, “no, I’ve actually never watched it.”

“You get more interesting every time you talk,” he means it as a compliment.

“Yeah? Well, why’d you even ask about dreams? Do you have a good one?” She turns the conversation back to him, taking a handful of soups and shoving them into the shelf.

“I keep having dreams in high school where I’m failing again and none of the teachers will pass me,” he explains. “And I had one last night cause I guess seeing you again so much is reminding me of being back in school.”

“Wait,” she turns to him full of shock and awe, “you remember me?”

“Of course,” he doesn't see it as a big deal. “Your lunch table was beside ours, I saw you every day?”

He saw me looking at him often…

She wants to turn inside out with embarrassment. “Oh, I uh, I didn’t think you paid attention to that.”

“How could I not? You always reacted the best when I did something stupid,” he reminisces, stepping in closer to her. “And I remember your laugh was cute.”

She’s too nervous to even giggle awkwardly, he’s in her personal space and he smells good and his eyes are so inviting, “thanks…” all the air in her chest leaves as she melts in front of him.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t do all that shit just for your attention,” he admits, licking his lips as he stares at hers.

It’s like time stops, her brain can’t process all the information so she just blinks a few times and stares back at him with a furrowed brow. “Really?”

He nods with a laugh, pulling away and returning to the stack of boxes they had to put away. “Yeah, I uh, I should probably feel a little stupid telling you this now after all this time, but uh, you bring the stupid out of me… I kinda had a huge crush on you back then.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he teases. “You act like thats a total surprise? You’re so pretty and you were never mean to me, it was bound to happen.”

She’s completely dumbfounded, “oh… that’s— I’m nice to everyone? At least I try to be.”

But then she realizes what he really said, he used to have a crush on her, but that’s long gone. He wouldn’t tell her if he still had one, would he? Guys weren’t that open about feelings, it was always a game with them… right?

“Sorry,” he realizes he fucked up by telling her. “I didn’t want to make things awkward between us.”

“No, no, it’s fine, it’s just weird for me. I’ve never been told straight up that someone had a crush on me,” she’s really taken aback. “Thanks… really.”

“Anytime,” he blushes slightly, dropping it there.

He drives her home again like he does every night that she works cause he really can’t stand the idea of her walking home past midnight as the temperature drops. He has tried to offer to pick her up beforehand, but she doesn’t want to put him out, and her mom doesn’t mind dropping her off every night… but he asks again, anyway.

Parked outside of her house, he turns to her. “Can I please come pick you up before your next shift?” He all but begs.

“I guess,” she gives in, “why?”

He shrugs, “I like spending time with you.”

“Then why don’t you ever want to come in for a coffee?” She combats, really wanting him to come in. “I also have tea and hot chocolate…”

“Okay,” he gives in right back. “I’ll come in with you, tonight.”

“Really?” She lights right up and throws off her seatbelt, reaching for the door.

“Wait, wait, wait!” He panics, rushing out first and coming around to her side to open it up for her, “you’re gonna make me look bad, walking you to the front door and not getting the door for you is a crime.”

“If you say so,” she laughs at him as she hops out beside him.

He slams her door closed and with a hand on her back, he leads her toward the front door. “You sure you’re mom's okay with me being in her house?”

“Yeah, why not?” She honestly forgets.

“Well, I’m me?” He awkwardly laughs, feeling incredibly nervous about his reputation. “It’s honestly why I’ve not said yes yet, I don’t know who hates me still…”

“Oh god, no, she doesn’t hate you, she doesn’t hate anyone,” she puts up both hands in a sort of surrender that made him smile. She meant it. “She’s also asleep so you won’t have to talk to her at all.”

“Okay,” he assures her, rubbing his hand over her shoulder with a smile.

Every time he looks at her like that she wants to melt right into him, to swim around in the chocolate pools of his eyes for hours on end. He’s so beautiful, she’s never going to get over it.

He leans in closer, looking at her through his lashes, “Are we going inside soon, it’s cold out here?”

“Sure, yeah,” she remembers what they were doing, digging her keys out of her pocket. She unlocks the door and pushes it open, slipping in first and letting him follow.

Inside he kicks off his shoes and hangs up his jacket beside hers before following her all the way into the kitchen. He’s as quiet as a mouse, respecting that her mom is asleep somewhere in the house.

“So what’ll it be?” She asks, opening up the fridge to take a look while he sits down at the kitchen counter.

“Oh, I’m good, I just wanted to come in with you,” he admits but by the look on her face, she doesn’t believe him. “Seriously, I’m just going to go home and sleep anyway, it’s fine.”

“You’ve gotta have something… come on?” She stares him down, “Pepsi? Ginger ale? Water? What about a snack?”

“I’m fine,” he means it. “What do you normally have when you come home?”

“It’s always different, sometimes my mom makes something for us for dinner and other nights I just have like a pop tart,” she shares, opening the cupboard and taking out a box.

“I could actually go for a pop tart,” he admits, eyes up the box in her hands.

She laughs and opens up one of the silver, crinkly packets and hands him one. He takes a big bite and dramatically throws his head back with a groan, “fuck, I forgot how good these are.”

“And you would’ve kept forgetting if you didn’t come in with me, so I guess you have to from now on,” she teases, feeling a lot more confident with him suddenly… she felt like things could be fun between them. If he wasn’t going to fall in love with her, she might as well try for being his best friend.

“You’re too cute to say no to,” he can’t help but smile at her.

“Again, you’re the only one to think so,” she rolls her eyes, not believing him. He was just a flirt, it wasn’t the truth… right?

“More for me, then,” he shrugs, taking another bite from his pop tart and dropping it there.

—

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride?” Her mom asks from the kitchen.

“I’m fine,” she calls back, staring out the front window, watching the street for Eddie’s van. “My co-worker offered to pick me up.”

“Oh, which one?”

“Um, Eddie…” she turns around slowly to see her mom standing in the doorway now. “Eddie Munson.”

“Oh,” she is a little shocked to hear that name after so long. “I didn’t know he was still in Hawkins?”

“He works nights so no one has to see him,” she explains, “cause people are mean… he was really scared to come in last night after work cause he didn’t want to upset you by coming into your house.”

“Poor boy,” she feels so bad, never wanting her home to strike fear in someone. “I knew you wouldn’t have a crush on a monster, and the police cleared him, this town owes him an apology too.”

“I know,” she agrees but she doubts it’ll ever happen.

Sometime during their chat, Eddie pulled up outside and made his way to her front door where he laid a few knocks. She opens the door with a huge smile, “hi, sorry you didn’t have to come all the way to the door.”

“I wanted to,” he assures her, seeing her mom peeking over her shoulder. “Hi, Mrs. Y/L/N.”

“Hello,” she gives him a little wave. “Have fun at work you two, I’ll see you, tomorrow sweetheart.”

“Bye mom,” she slips outside with Eddie, knowing her mom was going to watch them walk back to his van.

He extends his hand and holds hers as they walk down the few steps of her porch, he drops her hand only to place it on her back as he leads her toward the passenger door. He opens for her, like always. He runs around the van, sends a wave to her mom at the door and then hops inside, “ready?”

“Ready,” she can’t bite back her smile anymore, she was so giddy about holding his hand that it made her feel like a little girl again.

He pauses for a moment and looks her up and down, “did you get all dolled up 'cause I’m driving you?”

She tilts her head to the side, annoyed cause he always asks, “I always look like this.”

“Beautiful, you mean?”

She walked right into that one.

“Fine, I’ll let you have it this time,” she gives in.

“Good,” he throws the van in drive and heads out of her little neighbourhood towards town.

He’s quiet for a bit, she looks around at the street lights and the businesses still open, as well as all the houses with their Christmas lights up already. “I miss it was still kinda sunny out at 8pm,” she sighs, staring out the window at the full moon rising over Hawkins.

“I like the dark,” he shares. “Less people are out.”

“Why don’t you move? Not that I want you to leave, but wouldn’t it be more freeing to have no one know who you are? You deserve a real life,” she lets her feelings fall right out. “You’re not a bad person, you never have been.”

“Thanks,” he reaches out his hand and rests it on her thigh. “But it’s ‘cause everyone I love is here, I can’t leave.”

“Right, so are you still in your band then?”

He lets out a very surprised chuckle, “yeah, I still have my band, we still play Tuesday nights, it's the only night I don’t work.”

She wouldn’t know that cause she didn’t work that night either, “I’ll have to come see you play sometime, I don’t have any classes that night.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were in school still?”

“Community college,” she doesn’t feel so ashamed telling him. “Most my friends went off to real schools but it’s the only place I could go to for free, so.”

“Hey, at least you got in,” he celebrates the bare minimum. “I couldn’t even dream of it with my GPA. I was thinking I’d wait a few years and get some kind of degree when I’m considered a mature student, and when people forget about me.”

She wants to tell him that she’ll never forget about him, she never did. She thought about him all the time. She couldn’t hear Metallica on the radio without thinking about him. Every jean jacket patch made her think about him. She took a double take when she saw a man with long hair hoping it was him. She thought about him before she went to bed, in her dreams and as soon as her eyes opened in the morning.

She was completely in love with him.

—

She was only going to work for the holidays, and now that Christmas was only a few days away, she was worried that she only has a few more weeks left with Eddie. And for some reason that makes her want to get him a Christmas present, almost as a way to buy a place in his heart so he doesn’t forget about her when she’s not his buddy anymore.

And then he doesn’t show up for work… she’s been waiting to see him all week, and he’s a no-show.

So she asks her shift manager who says Eddie called out earlier in the day really, really sick. It makes her heart hurt knowing he wasn’t feeling good.

So she pushes through her shift. It’s weird without him, but she does it. She walks home for the first time and it’s a lot colder than she expected. The wind on her face and the snow in her hair, melt as the heat from her body escapes from her head. She gets home finally and she’s shivering, she wants to wrap herself up in a blanket and sleep for days, instead goes right to the kitchen. She searches through her cupboards for a couple cans of chicken noodle soup and some crackers, she grabs a few cans of ginger ale and takes her mom's keys. There’s no way she’s going back out there

She drives right into the trailer park and follows the road slowly, scanning the driveways for eddies van until she finally finds it. She parks outside the blue and white trailer and carefully heads towards his door, not wanting to slip with a handful of cans.

She knocks carefully, the lights are all still on so it’s not like she’s waking him up… and then another man she doesn’t know answers. “Yes?”

“Hi, I’m so sorry but is this Eddie’s trailer?” She panics.

“It is.”

“I brought him some soup, I heard he was sick and that’s why he couldn’t make it to work tonight…”

“Oh, that’s sweet, come on in out of the cold,” he ushers her right inside the tiny trailer. “Sorry for the mess, we’ve both been battling this random cold, I got it at the plant and he finally got it from me yesterday.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry,” she sympathizes as she lays everything down on his kitchen counter. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Wayne, Eddies uncle,” he introduces himself. “He’s talked a lot about you, I was wondering when I’d get to meet ya.”

“Oh, really?” She can’t believe it.

“yeah… you know, I can put that soup on, you can go down the hall there and see him, he’s just reading in bed, I think?” He points.

“Oh, okay sure,” she doesn’t mind, she was honestly expecting Eddie to live alone and have an empty kitchen, not an uncle who loved him dearly there to take care of him.

She shrugs off her coat and takes off her boots first and then she heads down the hallways carefully, she knocks on his closed door, waiting for the all-clear to enter… and his “yeah?” Comes out so sad and sickly that it makes her heart hurt.

She pushes the door open carefully, “hey… I heard you were sick?”

“Y/N?” He sits right up, fixing his hair and wiping his nose. “I didn’t think you knew where I lived?”

“I just looked for the van, I think everyone knows you live in the trailer park,” she realizes how weird that sounds.

“True, still I can’t believe you’re here?”

She comes in and takes a seat on the edge of his bed, putting out her hand to hold the back of it to his forehead, “you’re all fevered, oh no… have you taken anything?”

He nods, “yeah, some Buckleys…”

“I brought you some soup, Wayne’s heating it up for you,” she explains with a soft smile. “He’s sweet.”

“Where’d you think I got my charm from?” He teases, still well enough to try and make her smile.

She brushes his hair off his face gently, “I’m glad you have him to take care of you.”

“I’d much prefer you as my nurse… would you give me a sponge bath?”

“No,” she holds back her laugh and just shakes her head with a smile. “But nice try.”

“Damn,” he sighs, tossing his head back against the pillow and closing his eyes. Turning on the dramatics, he looks at her with the sweetest puppy dog eyes, “will you at least keep me company while I have my soup?”

“Of course,” she planned to stay as long as he needed her. “I just have to bring my mom's car back before 8am cause she needs to go to work.”

“I promise I won’t keep you long,” he reaches out for her hand, holding them with both of his own. “I really appreciate you coming to check on me… and might I say you look very cute today, I’m glad I didn’t miss this one.”

She melts at his words, “you must not be too sick if you’re still trying to flirt with me.”

“I’m going to remind you that you’re beautiful until the day I die,” he’s very stern about that.

“Yeah, like you’ll know me that long,” she plays it off.

He gives her hands a little squeeze, “I like to think I will… I might just be high on cough syrup, but I like to think I’ll find you in every life I lead, you’re so special to me, Y/N.”

“You’re definitely high,” she teases, leaning in forward to kiss his forehead as she stands up. “I’m going to check on your soup… you sober up by the time I get back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he agrees but doesn’t drop her hands, he holds on as long as he can and then she slips away from him.

Wayne’s just putting the soup in a bowl as she walks back into the kitchen, she grabs a sleeve of soup crackers and a ginger ale, it's plated and then Wayne turns to her.

“You know he’s not kidding, right?”

“What?”

“He wouldn’t lie,” Wayne gives her those honest Munson eyes that she loves so much in his nephew. “And clearly you feel the same if you’ve come all the way out here at half midnight to make him soup.”

She feels the colour leave her face as she’s caught red-handed, she was doing this because she loved him so dearly she couldn’t stand spending a shift without seeing him. She wanted to always take care of him. She loved him. It was as simple as that. She just loves him.

“Life’s too short to not tell each other,” he adds some last words of wisdom and hands her the tray of her lover's dinner.

She’s extra quiet when she brings him his dinner, and when she sits on the end of his bed to accompany him while he eats. He has a book resting face down, cracked open to keep its page, resting beside him. She reaches for it, checking the cover, it’s the fellowship of the ring.

“I’ve never read The Lord of the Rings, is it good?”

“It’s the best book series there is,” he assures her while taking another spoonful of soup.

She keeps her thumb where Eddie was reading but skips back to the first few pages, reading it over quietly to see if she’d like it at all… it’s cute. “You can read it from the beginning if you want?”

“Out loud?” She wonders if he’d want to hear that too.

“As if you could get any better,” he manages to smile no matter how sick he feels. “Please, I’d really love that.”

“Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.”

He basks in the way her voice sounds alongside his favourite book, words he’s read so many times and heard in his own voice now being retold in hers. He listens ever so intently, enjoying it more than she’d ever know as she watches the page, trying her hardest not to stutter and to pronounce all the words right so he didn’t laugh at her… but even when she gets stuck he just affectionately corrects her and admires her as she continues.

She makes it through the prologue and the facts about hobbits and pipeweed and the shire by the time he’s done eating. He has enough energy to take his dishes out to the kitchen himself and returns with a smile. She made her way up to the pillows beside him and slipped under the covers so he could get in beside her, “come on, I’m reading you a chapter or two and then I’ve gotta go home.”

“Right,” he gets into the bed beside her and snuggles right up to her, he wraps himself around her arm with his cheek on her shoulder so he can watch the page as she reads on through chapter one.

He falls asleep like that, with a warm belly full of soup and a heart full of love, it pains her to get up and possibly disrupt him.

She does get up, slowly but surely, replacing herself with a pillow that he snuggles up to instead. She kisses him on the forehead, he’s not as fevered as before, hopefully he felt better tomorrow. She takes a look around for a scrap piece of paper, finding one on his dresser with a sharpie marker. She leaves her phone number and a little note.

Call me tomorrow, I want to know if you’re feeling better. Hopefully we can finish this sometime.

xx Y/N

She slips it into the book and leaves it on his night table and then she’s off. She says goodbye to Wayne who’s still awake because if he sleeps he’ll throw off his schedule when he goes back to work. He also did night shifts, so he wouldn’t be there next time she comes over after work… that’s good to know.

—

He takes the whole weekend off and it sucks, but she understands he needs the time to get better. He calls her to let her know that decision around 2pm on Saturday and they stay on the phone all the way up until she has to get ready for work.

Waynes gone back to work, leaving him completely alone in the trailer after they hang up the phone… and all he can think about is how she’s going to have to walk home again. It rattles around his brain most of the night, he paces the trailer, feeling like shit but his love for her is eating him alive and it hurts more than his congested nose. At 11:52 he finally says fuck it.

In his pyjamas and all, he throws on a coat and slips his feet into his boots, he snags his keys off the wall and he’s gone. He books it out of the trailer park, watching the clock on his dash to ensure midnight doesn’t sneak up on him. The streets are empty, so he doesn’t worry about racing through the yellow lights on his way to the store.

He pulls up with just a few minutes to spare, his heart racing, he just parks at the curb by the employee's only back door and he waits for her. He reaches over to the passenger door to roll down the window, wanting her to be able to see him… as if she wouldn’t notice that it’s his van. She knew his van.

She knew him.

And she liked him.

The heavy door slowly opens and he sees her, laughing with their co-worker as she buttons up the last few buttons on her jacket. She’s bundled up in a scarf and she has a hat on today, she planned to be warmer on tonight's walk home.

“Eddie?” She lights right up. “What are you doing here.”

“I may be on my death bed but I’m not letting you walk home in the dark, princess,” he assures her, pushing the door open so she can get in.

She waves goodbye to their co-worker, finishing their conversation before she hops in the van and closes the door. She rolls the window back up. “Burr, you’re you’re going to get sicker with this open.”

“I hope you don’t find it weird that I’m here?” He worries, “seriously, after everything that happened here, walking home alone at midnight isn’t smart… it killed me that you walked home yesterday and then still came to see me.”

“I know, it’s okay,” she reaches out to hold his gently in hers. “You can pick me up and drive me home all the time if it makes you feel better?”

“You’ve gotta want to spend time with me too,” he places his other hand on top of hers. “Don’t feel like you have to be nice to me, little miss I’m nice to everyone.”

“I am,” she feels offended. “I know you’re not stupid, you’ve gotta see I love spending time with you.”

“I like to hear you say it, sue me,” he smiles, his eyes flicking back and forth between her eyes and her lips. He’s so close to her already that he could kiss her.

But then he’d get her sick.

So he pulls back a bit and pats her hand as her grip loosens. “Let’s get you home.”

“Yeah,” she settles into her seat and puts on her seatbelt, he waits for the click and then he’s off, taking the familiar route back to her place.

He asks her about her day, what they did, and how they’re doing without him. She missed him, he can tell by the way she complains about being partnered with someone new. “They didn’t do anything the way you do, it felt so wrong.”

She thinks I do things the right way…

His heart soars the whole ride and then it ends too soon. He parks at the curb with a sigh, “I’m going to be up for a bit if you want to call me?”

“You don’t want to come in?”

He shakes his head, “I can’t get my germs all over your place.”

“Right, no I get it,” she understands, but she lingers. He stares at him for a sec, “walk me to my door at least?”

“Sure,” he can’t say no to her.

She stays put this time, he runs around to her door and opens it, expecting her to jump right out but she pulls him close, using her height in the seat to her advantage. She touches his forehead gently, “you’re not fevered today, that’s good at least… I’d hate to miss another week with you.”

“I’ll come get you tomorrow, but I’m not working,” he compromises, knowing he hates not getting to see her too.

She hops out of the van and takes his hand on the way up to her door, “I could get used to this treatment.”

“You should,” he agrees. “Cause I’m not giving up.”

In sickness and in health and all that jazz… he’d be there through it all if she wanted him.

At her door, she gives him those same eyes as in the van, and he wants to kiss her so goddamn bad but he can’t. He simply pulls her into a hug and holds her tight, cheek pressed to the top of her head. She holds him around the middle just as tightly, it's a beautiful goodbye for a couple of friends.

—

He comes to pick her up for her next shift once again, only this time he pulls her into a hug at the door and kisses the top of her head, “hey, sweetheart, ready for work?”

She can only nod against him, soaking in the hug as long as she can get. “What was that for?” She asks as he pulls back.

He shrugs, “just cause… I missed you, I guess.”

“I missed you, too,” she wraps her arm around his middle and holds him close as she joins him on the walk back to his van. “Which is funny 'cause we’ve been talking more than ever, lately.”

“I know,” he loved it and it was evident in his voice.

Every night that she’s not working they talk on the phone, from the time she’s done with her classwork until he has to leave for his night shifts. It was a lovely little tradition now, he loved to learn about all her projects and reports, and he even let her read things over for his opinion. More than once he’s called her a genius, but the best thing he’s ever said to her was “your future kiddos are going to love you.” In regard to the class of students, she was going to teach one day.

It’s a day like any other, they have little conversations on their way to work, clock in together and head right to the first aisle on their to-do list. He dances around to the music, they toss things at each other, he makes dirty jokes, and she shakes her head with so much love you could see hearts float around her head. It’s so completely normal.

And then she almost drops a whole shelf on herself, he’s quick to swoop in and catch it for her. They put it back in place and carefully let it go, making sure it stays put before she turns to thank him… only he’s about an inch, maybe two from her face.

“That was a close one,” he whispers, staring at her lips. “Would hate to lose you to the soup aisle.”

She can’t help staring back at his lips, wanting to kiss him so goddamn bad she forgets how to breathe for a moment. It’s like time stops while she stares at him and he stares back.

“I’d hate to lose you at all…”

“Why?” Even she’s surprised to hear it come out of her.

He doesn’t say anything, he simply leans in more, and so does she. Meeting him halfway, their lips touch slowly and then all at once. A hand of his cups her face, holding her in place while she holds his sides, pulling him closer so their chests are pressed together.

Breathing each other in deeply, she feels her soul intertwine with his at that moment. Everything makes sense. She was supposed to take this little job and spend all this time with him for this moment right here. It was always supposed to happen.

They were meant to happen.

They pull away with a matching smile, giggling as they come to terms with the fact that just happened… it finally happened.

“You understand what I mean, right?” He teases.

She nods, “yeah… I get it, but could you say it just one more time?”

“Here?” He teases, kissing her cheek. “Or here?” He kisses her jaw next and moves towards her ear, “I could say it all over you if you let me.”

“We’re still at work,” she reminds him, pushing him away slightly before he could kiss her neck and start something he couldn’t finish in the freaking soup aisle.

“Do you want to come over later? To kiss a bit and read more lord of the rings?” He offers, making it sound a lot more innocent than either of them wanted it to be.

“Only if you read the chapter this time,” she teases, heart racing in her chest at the prospect of being alone with him.

Him.

The one and the only crush she’s had for the last 6 years of her life.

He flirts with her more than ever after that, he steals kisses every time he passes her and even serenades the love songs on the speaker to her. She pokes his sides when she passes by him, learning that he’s ticklish and he yelps every time she does it.

In his van on the way home, after not being able to keep their hands off each other most of the night, they have to so he can focus on the road.

“Does this make us more than friends?” She wonders aloud, hoping he had the same worry.

He nods, “I’d hope so… but if you want me to ask, I can?”

He holds her hand in the middle of the centre console again, rubbing his thumb over her hand gently.

“What if I want to do it?” She teases. “I want to make you my boyfriend, I’ve thought about it for years.”

“That’s crazy,” he can’t believe it, shaking his head as he drives a bit faster, wanting to be home with her so bad.

“Why?” She sounds so defeated.

“I never thought you liked me, I thought you were just really smiley… you could’ve been mine this whole time,” he explains just how crazy it was for him. In a very good way.

“I can’t even imagine having a boyfriend in high school,” she admits.

He slows down when he enters the trailer park, follows the poorly plowed path towards his own trailer and parks. Finally turning to her again with a smile, “I’ve never had a girlfriend before either, it’s all really new to me too.”

“Was that your first kiss too?” She whispers, scared that it wasn’t.

She was right.

He shakes his head, “Cheryl Lenetti in grade 7… she liked to pet my head when we made out, she said my hair felt like a seal pup when it was shaved. So fuckin weird.”

It makes her laugh a bit, “I can’t imagine it short…”

“I’ve got pictures,” he assures her, “Wayne’s kept all my life well documented. He likes to tease me and say that he’ll sell the embarrassing ones to the tabloids when my band blows up.”

“I need to see them,” she agrees and lets go of his hand finally, reaching for her door but once again, Eddie rushes out to beat her to it like a bat out of hell.

She shakes her head with an affectionate smile, taking his hand again once outside and carefully treating through the lightly shovelled snow leading up to his trailer. He helps her out of her coat and hangs it up for her, leaving her to kick off her boots and awkwardly stand in his main room. It’s a lot more put together than the last time he visited. like he planned to invite her over, so it was clean this time.

“You want anything to eat?”

She shakes her head, “no… honestly I’m too nervous to eat anything right now.”

“Oh, why?” He moves into her space, hands on her shoulders, slipping down her arms while pulling her in closer.

“You’re handsome and you want to kiss me and I have no idea what I’m doing and— and,” she stops with a sigh and a shrug.

“You’re so fucking cute,” he says with so much affection his smile makes his cheeks hurt. His eyes glisten back at her, and he shakes his head ever so slightly, amazed that she likes him back this much. “You don’t need to be nervous, there’s nothing you could do that would make me stop liking you at this point.”

She takes the plunge this time, she presses her lips against his, holding his waist she wraps her arms around his back and holds him there. He’s shocked at first and then he settles, hand coming up to cup her face as he kisses back. She’s not completely sure what she’s doing, but she’s seen enough movies to imitate what she’s seen. He smiles into the 4th or 5th peck she presses to his lips and pulls back.

“Do you want to go sit down?”

“Like in your room?”

“If you want?”

She nods, cautious as ever but she wants to spend the whole night kissing him. He walks her down the hallway, into his dark room where he flicks on his side table lamp to show off his perfectly made bed and clean-ish room. “Welcome back,” he teases.

“You planned this,” she calls him out. “Did you know you were going to kiss me at work today?”

“Not at all,” he assures her, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. Legs spread so she could stand between them, and she brushes her hands through his hair while he looks up at her. “I was going to ask you to come over, yeah, but kissing you was a surprise to me too… I like you so much it’s fucking crazy.”

“I like you just as much,” she leans in, bumping their noses together with a smile. “You want to teach me how to make out?”

He laughs, scooting up to the head of the bed, resting against the headrest, “you want to lie down or sit in my lap, or what?”

“Um,” she bites her lip, deciding to be daring, she kneels on the bed and straddles his lap. “This is good, right?”

“Absolutely,” he rests his hands on her hips, smoothing his thumbs over the fabric of her pants. “I just want you to be comfortable, princess.”

She rests her forearms on his shoulders, hands in his hair, and she brushes his bangs out of his face to get a good look in his eyes. His big beautiful chocolate brown eyes that she loves so fucking much. “You’re so pretty,” she whispers. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

He shakes his head lightly, “no…”

“There,” she smiles. “You get my first kiss and I get to tell you how pretty you are—

“You can have all my other firsts too,” he whispers, selling his soul to her in the way he stares at her. She knows he’s giving all of himself to her at that moment. “You can have all of me.”

“I— I uh, I think we can start with kissing,” she frightens right up again.

“Sorry,” he runs his hands up her back gently, “I’m not expecting anything… I just wanted you to know there’s a lot I haven’t done with anyone either, I’m just as new to this. We’re on the same level.”

“Not yet,” she finally leans in for another kiss, holding his face in her hands to keep herself steady more than anything.

He licks at her bottom lip, it’s strange but she follows his lead, coming back in with an open mouth their tongues touch for a moment and then he sucks on her tongue. Again and again, they both come back in, exploring each other's mouths while his hands trail up and down her back and she plays with his hair once again.

She doesn’t mean to grind against him, but her hips take over like they have a mind of their own as the pace and rhythm are set with through tongues. He moans into her mouth, pulling back with a shade of embarrassment painted across his cheeks. “sorry…”

“It’s fine,” she’s a little breathless, so enamoured with him.

He stares back at her fondly, taking in how cute she looked with lust-blown eyes and swollen lips, he smiles, “you’re good at this…”

“Feels like it,” she teases, making him think she can feel how hard he’s getting under her and he panics.

“You don’t have to sit on me if it’s uncomfortable, I did’t mean to—

“To what?”

“Get hard…” he whispers, “it’s embarrassing.”

“Oh,” she hovers and looks down between them, more turned on, herself, than she realized, as well. “Oh.”

Maybe I am ready to do this…

She settles back down against him and shakes her head, “no, I’m not uncomfortable… it— it’s nice to know I did that, actually.”

“Can I just—“ he reaches between them and adjusts himself because it was a bit uncomfortable for him, he was hanging to the left and thats where her thigh was rested, and now he’s right under her… “sorry, it hurt a bit.”

“Sorry,” her cheeks heat up, she can feel his girth through his jeans, she has to fight every single urge not to grind down against him again, but she knows it would feel good.

For both of them.

“It’s okay, kiss me again?” He begs, pulling her closer.

Their lips collide again but with much more passion and need this time, knowing what she’s doing a bit better, she’s all over him this round. Biting his lip, making him whine, tugging on his hair, she grinds against him again, not so by accident because his hands on his hips help glide her over himself perfectly. She does it again this time, he gasps into the kiss and rests his forehead against hers as she does it again and again, dragging her hot core over his aching, clothed, cock. There’s so much friction from their jeans, they feel like total fucking teenagers dry humping in his bed like they can’t get enough of each other.

He kisses her jaw and down her neck, he sucks on her pulse point which makes her moan, it's so sweet and sexy that his cock twitches under his jeans in response. She feels it and whines, wanting more from him but not knowing what… it feels so fucking good she wants to just say fuck it and let him take her right here and now, but she’s still scared.

She grinds down a bit harder, the seam of her pants rubbing against her clit just right. “Oh my god,” she’s so out of breath, it feels too good.

“I’m gonna cum in my jeans if you keep this up,” he warns her, breathing against her neck between kisses.

“Me too,” she assures him, doing it again and again, she tugs on his hair to bring his mouth back to hers, wanting to be kissing him when it happens.

His hips come up to meet hers, his hands on her ass this time so he can help her press against him as hard as she can each time she grinds down against him. Her legs tremble a bit, his breathing sputters, and they’re a completely sweaty mess with too many clothes on.

She feels the all too familiar heat build in her stomach and spread throughout her body as she cums with a long drawn-out sigh, which ends more like a moan as he finishes underneath her. His grip on her ass tightens, and he groans deeply as his hips sputter under her, their foreheads resting together as they catch their breath, eyes still closed.

She feels so weightless and free, resting her head on his shoulder instead and cuddling into his chest. “Oh my god?”

His chest still rising and falling heavily, he laughs slightly, “wasn’t expecting that.”

“Me either…” she sighs, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “But I liked it.”

“Me too,” he can’t help but smile. His hands roam all over her back, holding her close and soaking up the moment as long as he can. “You wanna stay here tonight?”

She nods against him, not at all ready to leave his side. “I would love to.”

Slowly but surely, they get up, he lets her use the bathroom first, giving her some boxers of his and a t-shirt to wear when she comes back out. He changes quickly in his room, hiding all the evidence of what happened in his dirty laundry hamper. He matches her in a new pair of underwear and the same shirt from before, smiling when she comes back into his room with her things in her hands. She rests them on his dresser, she’d have to wear them again tomorrow when she goes home.

“You’re so cute in my things,” he compliments her, wrapping her up in his arms and kissing her forehead a few times.

“Thanks,” she giggles, completely blown away still that this is all real and he’s her’s and it’s happening.

They get into bed, and she snuggles into him the same way he did with her just last week with the lord of the rings. It’s cute, it feels right, and she feels at home in his arms. He runs his hands over her back. He kisses the top of her head a few times, she plays with the hem of his shirt in her hands and eventually slips her hands under his shirt to play with the slight dusting of hair on his tummy. They’re so content together it’s like they’ve always been this close.

And they always would be too.

part two

General Taglist

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @eddiemunson-rp @squishyturtle

Eddie

@fightingdragonswithwho @kyomito @reidselle @venomsvl @nomajdetective @girl-with-an-orange-cat @blairscott @princesseddie

@idkidknemore @eddiethesexy

#eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things season 4

4K notes · View notes

willowser · 11 months

Text

you had only to look at me—

part two.

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 3.3k+

tags: nsfw (18+), childhood best friend bakugou, dry humping, implied virgin bakugou, a tad angsty at the end.

even before i was touched, i belonged to you; you had only to look at me. — the burning heart, louise glück.

this is a repost.

childhood best friend bakugou is probably a wrestler. a lil' rough-houser.

games of tag end with you tackled to the ground, squashed underneath him until you finally agree that he's the king of the world. whenever your hair is long enough to pull back into a pony-tail or little bun, he's yanking on it to get your attention, harsh, especially if you're ignoring him to talk to anyone else. scraped knees and bruised elbows, coming home missing a single shoe, shirt stretched out and wrinkled at the bottom corner: all katsuki's fault.

it makes you a little volatile, too, in turn.

not so much as him, but you grow up defending yourself; the first black eye he gets is from you (if you don't count the time he hit himself in the face by accident, when you'd started a slap-fight because he was trying to hold you down) and you very quickly learn how "unfair" it (apparently) is to kick him in the groin. your parents spend a lot of time separating you, putting you in opposite corners of the room until one of you stops crying and the other is ready to mumble out an apology. you're not allowed to sit next to each other at holiday events. whatsoever. under any circumstances.

he's your best friend. you wouldn't have it any other way.

in middle school, he's just as insufferable, hardly allows you to talk to any of your girl friends without butting in some how, too loud for anyone's own good. he tries to embarrass you in front of other boys, puts you in a headlock even when he's sweaty — which he is a lot at that point, during puberty — and calls you names that make you want to hide in the bathroom.

("why is he such a jerk?" your friends will ask, trying to fix the mess of your hair during lunch. all your butterfly clips are either missing or broken, crunched under bakugou's scrawny arm. "you should tell on him for being such a bully.")

nobody else treats you the way he does, and you don't treat anyone else that way, either; you never make ugly faces at your girl group, never punch them as hard as you can in the arm, aiming to leave a bruise. with all other classmates, you're — normal, trying to discover what that even means in the grand scope of things, who you want to be as the years pass. you avoid bakugou and his little posse of brats like the plague, because detention is what awaits both of you, should your paths ever cross.

things start to change, seriously, in high-school.

bakugou goes to u.a and you — don't; instead you continue on to the shizuoka high-school without him, along with your group of girls. his time at home and in the neighborhood lessens, even moreso when he moves into the dorms on campus, and the only time you see him becomes those few and far in-between family visits he has time to make; some holidays, he doesn't come home at all.

at first you think it's a good thing, because you've never gotten to flourish while trapped in his armpit. yanking at his hair until he finally lets go in the middle of the hallway has always garnered you some weird looks, odd stares, and you finally stop being labeled aggressive, too, with him gone. boys can talk to you without being stalked by your angry, wiry, chihuahua of a best friend, and you go on dates, ride in cars, have your first kiss.

you miss him from time to time, though you'll die before admitting it, and the yearning doesn't last long whenever he does come home. even when you're seventeen, eighteen, he still lays on the couch and puts his stinky feet in your lap and in your face, purposely puts things too high up on your shelves, leans against the front door so you can't get out when it's time to leave.

(he becomes an immovable object, much to your annoyance; in the past, you've always stood somewhat of a chance against him, knowing all his weak spots, like the clump of hair at the crown of his skull and how ticklish he is on his thighs, but now, after all the training he's been doing — he's huge, unfortunately.

if he grabs your wrists in one hand — like he's never been able to do — and holds them above your head, you're useless to defend yourself; there is an absolutely zero-percent chance you'll ever manage to overthrow him if he sits on you; tickling him is impossible, because his thighs have gotten so muscular that it's hard to grab him, and even if you do manage it, he can nearly crush your hand if he closes his legs together.

bakugou doesn't even look like your scrawny best friend anymore; he looks like the guy that ate your scrawny best friend.)

you graduate and go to college. bakugou graduates and goes to work for best jeanist, in the heart of tokyo. seeing each other means planning on it, making an effort neither of you have ever had to, and there's a lot of radio silence for months at a time. somehow it always comes full circle, though, and it always ends in violence, because you two don't know any other way to be.

you're twenty the first time his touch becomes tight, bruising, purposeful — for new reasons.

it's one of the few times he's off, and you haven't seen each other since his mom's dinner party four months ago. you only agree to come over because his patrol route had taken him through your campus and you'd spotted him across the street in the early hours of the morning, after you got out of class.

now you're both tired, lazing around despite planning to get lunch once the heat died down. together doing nothing; sometimes it's a little alarming how easily the two of you fall into each other, but you've been doing it for so long that it doesn't take a second thought.

bakugou strolls out of his bathroom with damp hair, in nothing but a loose pair of sweats, and you're laying on his couch half-asleep and he puts his wet towel over your face and you ball it up and throw it at him and then he tries to whip you with it.

"stop," you groan, serious, "you're so annoying." when he only twists it tighter, you stick your arm and leg out, deflecting against the wet smack he tries to leave against your skin.

his sharp teeth flash with his ugly little grin, and you try to grab the towel twice, ending up with an angry, stinging lick up the inside of your arm, before he gets too close and you can finally yank it from his hands. you sit up to get a better angle, but you're not as quick as he is, as adept at being a brat, and when he yanks on the towel, your whole body nearly comes off the couch, arms almost coming out of their sockets.

"bakugou!" you squeal, and he cackles, evil, and grabs your hands when you try to smack him. your massive, stinking, freight train of a best friend deposits his entire body on yours, crushing your lungs with his back as you cough, "get off!"

he doesn't say anything, choosing to pretend he's watching whatever is on tv and that he can't hear you — which you could believe, because bakugou likes trash television more than he lets on — and your hands are trapped at your sides and you can't breathe and so you bite him, right in the neck.

"ow, fuck!"

when he moves, he moves fast, and you're only hope of retaliating before he flips around and grabs your wrists and holds you down is to roll the both of you off the couch. his body thuds, deep and heavy, against the carpet, and you trap his hands beneath your knees as you straddle his hips, adjusting your full weight so you can at least try and keep him down.

beneath you, bakugou sneers. "you've got five seconds t'get off me before—"

"one!" you shout obnoxiously, rolling your eyes just to hear his annoyed snort. "two! three! f—"

his body snaps up into a sitting position, nose bumping yours as he rips his hands from beneath your legs. a scream tears out of your throat as you wiggle, surprised, trying your best to stretch your arms over your head and around your back so he can't grab them; if he does, it's game over for you.

"stop!" you shout, choking out a shock of laughter when he brings his legs up, trapping you in his lap against his chest. a little grunt leaves him as you jostle, but the tension at your back never lets up, not even when his mouth sets in a firm line and a sharp exhale leaves his nose. "let me go," you tell him, squirming again as he reaches for your hands. "i'm not playin' around."

"too bad, y'shitty nerd." he says, gruff, and when you stick your tongue out at him, he buries his face in your neck and bites, too, taking advantage of your shock as his fingers close around your wrists.

"no!" you scream again, trying in earnest just to get away from him completely, but he holds your hands behind your back and keeps you squished so tightly into him that you can only breathe shallowly, and his free hand goes to ball into your shirt at your side and —

— and his face is red, you realize, delayed. you can almost feel the heat from his cheeks with him so close, and you take in the flush of his neck, how it spreads down to his bare chest, crimson and fevered. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, nervous, almost.

"what?" you breathe, quiet, as if speaking too loud will break your playful bubble, and his eyes jump around his living room before landing back on you, narrowed and black.

"what?" he echoes, voice pitched and mocking. "you lose, dumbass." and even though he closes his eyes and grits his teeth, there isn't any hiding from how hard he's breathing. how subtle he's trying to be about spreading his legs.

all at once, everything kind of — falls apart.

bakugou is a man now, much to your horror; it feels like you've closed your eyes and opened them in the lap of someone else wearing your best friend's face. there's serious muscle definition in his shoulders and biceps, and you can feel yourself getting lost in the curves and valleys of him like never before. he's — you're — so close. more than it feels like you've ever been, even though you know that's far from true.

this boy used to pin you down in the yard and threaten to lick your face, the both of you grass-stained and covered in sweat. you've tackled him face first into the ocean on various vacations, running behind him quietly and plunging his scrawny, shirtless body into the waves as they rushed forward, uncaring of what you were wearing or how it twisted when you both came up for air.

saliva is still drying on your neck from where he bit you and, unthinking, your eyes dart down to his lips; plumper than you ever realized and parted, just a bit, enough that you can feel his breath on your cheeks. and you wonder —

bakugou grunts quietly, shuffling himself so that his back is leaned against the couch, and you half-expect him to just let you go because things have — changed. but he doesn't.

instead the new position has his legs a little wider and you've sunk a little further and you're now very aware of exactly what's changed, and how much. you can feel him twitch, just barely, and the hand he has at your side balls tighter into your shirt, jostling you minutely in the process.

and finally he opens his eyes and stares at you — cheeks burning, eyebrows furrowed — and you stare back — heat lighting up your body to an uncomfortable degree as your stomach flips.

you wonder what he would do, if you kissed him. what it would feel like. what he would taste like.

you move your hips with purpose, stuck on the new and foreign change it does to him; bakugou's always been a tough little brat, and you made him cry a handful of times when you were younger, but this weakness is — different. there's so much you know about him and yet even more for you to learn, and you find yourself consumed with the desire to explore this new, enticing territory.

his lashes flutter gently when you grind against him, tentatively, and then his head thumps back against the couch as the muscle in his jaw sets. half-lidded, his red-hot gaze jumps from your face down to where you're seated against him and back, and it's only after you move again that you realize — he's watching you, too. discovering.

the fist he has in your shirt loosens and his fingers burn your bare skin when they slip under the material to grip your hip. at any moment, you're half-expecting him to tell you to cut the shit, to shove you off and ask what the hell is wrong with you. why you're being so weird, doing things friends don't do to each other. but he doesn't.

you're almost certain that if you put your hands on his chest, you would be able to feel the mirrored, nervous pace of his heartbeat; it only takes the faintest tug of your hands for him to let you go, his grip falling to the other side of your hips. you can't tell if he means to hold you in place, or keep you going.

you spread your fingers out and, gently, as if you've never touched him before, run your hands up his chest, watching the bob of his adam's apple when you rest them on the sides of his neck. stabilizing yourself a bit, before testing the waters again.

bakugou's eyes are nearly black and when you don't stop, he looks down to resume watching the movement of your hips, the way his sweatpants bunch up and tug, and you feel a little zing up your spine with his every sharp inhale and sharper exhale. even his jaw falls a little slack and, fuck, you've never seen him like this.

you never thought you'd want to, but now — you don't think you'll ever see him any other way again.

his eyes go a little wide when you lean into him, brushing the tip of your nose against his. neither of you have said anything and maybe you should keep it that way, lest the bubble burst, but you feel like you're going a little insane.

quietly, around your own heavy breath, you ask, "does this — feel good?"

you can feel the temperature of his cheeks spike, but he nods shallowly regardless, and you press your mouth into his throat to bite him again, just lightly. it should be so that he's a little biter; the feel of your teeth makes him jump, has him angling his head so that more of his neck is exposed to you. when you soothe the barely-there indentation with the flat of your tongue, his breath hitches and his shoulders shake on a shudder and he groans, like he's angry.

"hah, fuck."

the friction in his lap isn't doing much for you, realistically, but his reaction is what has you aching, has you drawn tighter than a bow string. you feel yourself growing antsy for something that you won't name, because friends don't do that, though you can't help but to wonder if he's ever done it before.

you've had a few boyfriends. had a few experiences that ended quickly and left you feeling exposed and uncomfortable and a little in pain, and even though your girl friends insist that's normal — it's nothing like this. bakugou might not last much longer, if the grip he has on your hips is any indication, but not a single piece of your clothing has been removed and you're hot and getting sort of desperate and you know your underwear are a little more than damp.

you want to dismantle his long-standing composure. you want to be — maybe — the only one that gets to see him fall apart like this.

he's been your best friend your whole life, afterall; this experience should be yours. he should be.

the thought has you shivering a little bit and bakugou bucks up against you, pulling you down hard in his lap. dragging across the thick and solid length of him becomes even more clear and another, stronger zing has you letting out a breathy little sound into his ear. it makes him groan again, this one almost whiny, but he closes his mouth to muffle it and you don't want him to do that so you tighten your fingers in the hair on the crown of his head and — just to see, in a way you've never done before — you quietly whisper,

"katsuki,"

and he loses it.

one of his hands slips up your shirt to splay against your back, forcing you closer to him so he can bury his face in your neck, and his hips become insistent, urgent, rutting up against yours eagerly.

"fuck, oh fuck, fuck," he groans into your skin, fingers gripping you so tightly that you think he might actually leave burns behind, and his shoulders tremble before he goes totally still.

for a little while, you both sit there and let your breathing even out as reality sobers you from whatever lust-drunk haze you'd both been in. distantly, you think you wouldn't mind if he pinned you to the ground the way he always does, only this time to peel all your clothes off, right here on his living room floor. but he doesn't.

doesn't say anything, just shudders every now and again, and you think you're starting to feel the wet spot soaking into the front of his sweatpants.

you pull back just a little to look at him and he lets you, face just as red as he stares back at you, like he's the one waiting for you to freak. a little bit of red has returned to his eyes, though they're still swollen and dark with want.

when you lean in again, to bump your nose against his, bakugou snaps back away from you.

"wh-the fuck are y'doin'?" he shifts his eyes to the ground and they go wide. horrified, maybe. all the blood rushes in your ears and you don't know what to say, so he continues. "i-i don't have time t-to sit around all day, so—" bakugou shakes his head and you think he's going to kick you out, and he must know it, from how stiff you go. "so, you better know what the hell you wanna eat."

your bubble has burst; you nod silently and he glances up at you twice before swallowing.

"well, i can't get dressed with you sitting on me, so get off." when you remain quiet, he finally raises his head to look at you head-on, fisting the edge of your shirt again so that you'll look back. "d'you..." bakugou wets his lips before biting them, "need anything?"

"uh," maybe to shove your head down the drain and drown yourself, so that you can get rid of all the not-so-nice feelings that are creeping up beneath your skin. instead of that, you tell him, "just the bathroom, maybe."

"hurry up then," he mutters and even tries to roll his eyes, though it feels anything but casual. "don't...take for-fuckin'-ever."

and then he's up, quick to stand so that his back is to you as he disappears around the corner to his room, leaving you to yourself, trying to smooth out the wrinkle he's left in the corner of your shirt.

#this is my attempt at being a bit more organized akhfkahfa #the second part ends so abruptly that i'm tempted to extend it a little more............#if i don't put up the second part right away it's bc i'm thinking about it LOL #bakugou x reader #bakugou x fem!reader #i did not even check over this for typos whoops #not a one shot oh well #✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

699 notes · View notes

rrxnjun · 2 years

Text

TAKE THE STAIRS ✲ n. jaemin

pairing. na jaemin x fem! reader starring. na jaemin, ning yizhuo genre. college au, strangers to lovers. fluff, comedy, suggestive. warnings. alcohol consumption, throwing up, swearing word count. 18k (18.666) a/n. thank you all so much for 1k followers! consider this fic a small gift of celebration

playlist. candy - baekhyun ; honey - l'arc en ciel ; take the stairs - coin ; cutie - coin ; rose-colored boy - paramore ; don't go yet - camila cabello ; hot crush lover - blu detiger ; teenage dream - 5sos (cover)

after having an unexpected guest witness the neverending quarrels with your roommate, na jaemin starts to practically live at your place— or— where yizhuo's flegmatic project partner starts to put a suspicious amout of effort into their assignment.

✲ PART 2 OF THE SIMPLIFY ROMANCE SERIES ✲

Hot droplets of water wash over you like raindrops during a heavy storm, the mirror fogging up at the hot temperature you always choose to shower your body in, fingers trailing through your hair making you finally relax after a long day at college. You spent the day presenting your project and having a test from Physics, so you only deserve a good shower. You would even consider taking a bath, but your small apartment doesn’t have a bathroom big enough to contain a bathtub, so a good, scorching hot shower will have to suffice.

Now, you are a hard worker– however, you also like to wait until the last reasonable time to start working on your project. And while you’re best friends with procrastination, stress also decided to visit you for the time being; since, again, there was not much time for you to finish your project, and so in the whole process of working on it and doing extensive research about a topic you weren’t really that interested in in the first place, you forgot to take care of yourself. You wouldn’t even notice at first– not until one day when Yizhuo glared at you with questions in her eyes from the couch, seeing you go to the convenience store at 10pm with your home slippers still on because of your distracted mind– but when you looked at yourself in the mirror after arriving from school today, the image of your sweaty face and hair so oily you could probably fry a schnitzel on the extraction of the liquid from your follicles, you must admit that you’ve been neglecting your appearance for quite some time now, and so a well deserved annual everything-shower is the only thing on your mind right now.

Reaching over to the side of the shower that has various shelves installed, taking your hair conditioner into your palms and opening up the bottle, you get ready for the familiar smell of citrus that always hits your nose and makes you smile in satisfaction; yet, no matter how hard you try, the pleasant scent doesn’t come– and neither does the actual conditioner.

Huffing, even slapping the bottom of the bottle a few times, squeezing the tube as hard as you can– you tried everything, but to no use. Thinking back to the last few weeks, you try to remember when you bought the conditioner– because you swear it hasn’t been that long. There’s no way you already ran out, you think, as your eyes scan over the various bottles of other products in your shower, opting to use something your roommate has in stash– when you notice that there is no other hair conditioner in the shower, which makes the gears in your brain click in realization.

Sighing, you finish showering as you prepare your mental tangent in your brain. Drying off your body and slipping into your underwear, you put on the largest T-shirt you more often than not sleep in, not even bothering to put your hair up as you roughly scrunch it with your towel to get most of the water out, opting to leave the strands lay on your shoulders instead, in their full wet, naked mole rat glory.

Swinging the door to the bathroom open, you yell out the first sentence that comes to your mind– despite planning your outburst in your head beforehand.

“Ning Yizhuo! You used up all of my fucking hair conditioner again!” you scream into the apartment, knowing damn well that the walls are thin and she can hear you. “You promised you won’t use it after the last time! That shit is fucking expensive, y’know,” you mutter, voice still raised so your roommate can hear you.

“I’ll buy you a new one, chill out,” Yizhuo finally replies, her voice coming out of your living room. Your head snaps that way, feet dangling closer into the doorway.

“Yeah, well, maybe consider buying your own conditioner so you don’t have to replace mine every other week,” you spit, rolling your eyes in annoyance, “or at least buy a new one when it runs out, so I can actually use– oh.”

Stopping mid-sentence, your sudden outburst of anger is cut short as you notice another presence in the living room. There’s a man sitting on your sofa, his head turned towards you, flashing you an amused grin, and when his eyes scan you from head to toe, you’re suddenly painfully aware of your current state– only in your panties, with your hair wet, appearing as a chicken left outside in the rain, the wetness of your locks most likely dampening the thin fabric of your shirt to the point that it’s basically see through, revealing more to the stranger than you’d like. Crossing your arms at your chest, alert, you feel heat rising to your cheeks as your eyes jump from your roommate to the stranger in your living room, textbooks and an opened laptop scattered across the coffee table, making you believe it must be your roommate’s classmate of some sort.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” she sighs and rolls her eyes, looking at you with amusement when she notices your distressed state, “this is Jaemin, by the way. We’re doing a project together.”

Humming, you look at the man again, taking a notice of his casual, yet attractive demeanor. Black bangs falling into his eyes and Adidas joggers hugging his legs, you press your lips into a thin line– somewhat resembling an embarrassed smile, before you slowly walk out of the room for the sake of their privacy and also your dignity. “Nice to meet you,” you mumble on your way out, “I’m Y/N.”

And before you’re out of the door, you turn your head towards your roommate again, biting back an ironic smile. “How nice of you to notify me that we’ll have guests over!”

With that, you’re out.

You guess that embarrassing yourself in front of Na Jaemin is how life is going to go now. Don’t get me wrong– the next time it happened, you were notified of his visit; after screaming at Yizhuo about how she handled it the last time around– and you even put some effort into your appearance, as if to balance the absolute atrocity he had to deal with the first time he laid his eyes on you. Not that you really care about his opinion, or that you want him to think you’re at least a little bit attractive, of course. You’d say this is just the basic human need to look presentable in front of people you don’t even know that well.

While you were notified about the fact that he would come over in the afternoon to work on the project, you still didn’t have it in you to just casually walk over to the living room and hang out with them, though. On top of that, they were doing a project in Neurophysiology together– and no matter how much laughter and noise you heard from the living room, where the two crashed for the time being, you still didn’t think it was okay for you to intrude to say hi to the man, or find enough courage to just hang out in the room with them, enjoying their talks and quarrel. It wasn’t the same as when you were doing a project with Minjeong from your Biology class or when Yizhuo had a few assignments to do with your mutual friend Jimin, the three of you working on your own stuff in your spacious living room, while also talking gossip and laughing about the latest fashion trends on Tiktok together.

But sitting in your room on a Wednesday evening, completely alone; because your roommate was busy working on a project and none of your other friends– not even the online ones– were there to entertain you with their talks, you had nothing to do. The only thing you could come up with while trying to entertain yourself was to watch the latest season of The Great British Bake Off, your legs swiftly moving you towards your table, where your laptop lay untouched, opening it and turning on the show.

Everyone knows that feeling of desiring something they see on the screen of the show they’re currently watching, right? The feeling only intensifies when it comes to food– delicious food, on top of that– and suddenly, you’re no stranger to the cravings in your stomach as you watch the contestants cut slices of cakes and taste the sweet, tasty pastries and doughs. Maybe you could look around your room and find something to eat to satisfy those needs, but something is telling you that the secret stash of M&M’s you had hidden in your room, away from the eyes of Ning Yizhuo– the resident M&M lover– was now long empty, the image of the packaging thrown in the trash can now vivid in your brain.

But the more you keep watching, the more you crave something sweet, and you know that if you don’t stand up from your place at the table and walk over to the snack cupboard in the kitchen, you’ll go insane. And with this knowledge, you take a deep breath in and out, trying to find some courage in you to show your face to your roommate and her new friend; your hand is soon on the door click and you almost watch yourself from the third perspective as your socked feet stumble out of the safety of your own room, bringing you towards the living room where the two of them have been sitting, intending to pass by them and silently take some sweets from the kitchen.

“Hi Y/N!” the man greets you, almost making you jump up and bump into the TV on the right side of the living room. Na Jaemin has a contagious smile on his face, and while you vividly remember greeting him when he arrived, just seconds before closing the door to your room, you still greet him again, trying hard to maintain the same amount of enthusiasm as him.

The conversation doesn’t progress much from that, the two of them too busy reading some article on Yizhuo’s laptop that’s currently sitting on one of each of their thighs, rimmed glasses adoring your roommate’s face, and you allow yourself to complete your mission as you walk over to the kitchen that connects to the room.

Reaching over to the kitchen cabinet that is designated to hold all sorts of various snacks both you and your roommate love to eat and share on movie nights, you search over the stash and try to find something that fits your cravings perfectly. Eyes scanning over Skittles, some chocolate bars and even a bag of chips, you decide to take all of them– because you never know, sometimes you have the strange desire to chase down the sweetness with some salt– and also look over the room for a drink you could take with you, since you’ve gotten a bit thirsty over the course of the last few hours you spent camping in your room.

Holding all of the items in your arms, looking as if you’ve just done a grocery run and forgot to take a bag with you, you almost don’t see the floor below your feet as you walk– no, scratch that– you literally do not see the ground below your feet at all.

We mentioned you embarrassing yourself in front of Na Jaemin again at the very beginning of this scene. You may be wondering where that part comes to play– and let me tell you, the moment is now, and it has correlation with the sheer fact that you can’t see where you’re walking and you’re also rushing to get back to your room quickly, hide yourself away from their eyes and finish the episode of bake-off while munching on the party mix of snacks you’re planning on creating.

In your true fashion, considering all the variables of the situation you found yourself in right now, the ground is suddenly swept from beneath your feet as you trip over the door sill that separates the kitchen from the living room, your body falling to the ground with all the snacks in your hands and the bottle of Diet coke secured under your shoulder.

Desperate to keep the snacks intact, you don’t even drop the bag of chips to the floor before you fall to make some room in your palms to try to soften the fall. No, you fall down like a rag doll, face first to the laminated floor, the sound of your body hitting the ground resonating through both your brain and the whole apartment. A few seconds later, the sound of a bottle rolling across the length of the living room fills your ears and you feel a sharp pain in your side, the humiliation and growing stinginess in your knees fully hitting now, when the shock is gone.

A few seconds pass, with your body lying limp on the ground– not even from the pain, just from the sheer embarrassment of the thought of facing Na Jaemin again after this– and a sound of your roommate trying to bite back her laughter fills your ears when you finally wake up and wiggle a little on the floor, trying to get up. At least the bag of chips stayed intact, you think– all of the effort was worth it in the end… or at least you hope.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” the now familiar voice of Na Jaemin fills your ears, and while he does sound a little concerned, laughter fills his voice when the touch of his hand lands on your elbow, trying to help you stand up from your fatal position.

“I’m perfectly fine, yeah,” you nod as you suppress back a scowl, the amused look that meets your eyes once you turn your head to face your visitor that took it upon himself to help you up making you feel all sorts of emotions– humiliation, however, is winning by a mile.

“Are you hurt?” he giggles out, and the question almost sounds mocking with how his face breaks out into a pained scowl, seemingly trying to hide the clear grin wanting to settle on his handsome face.

“No,” you shake your head vigorously, tears rimming your eyes from the mix of embarrassment and the sharp stinginess in your knees– you’re sure there’s gonna be a big, purple bruise forming on your legs by tomorrow morning. “I’m okay.”

In that very moment, Yizhuo finally breaks out into laughter– as if she was really waiting for you to stand up, in case you fell dead and she would then have to feel guilty for laughing at your falling corpse– and the absurdity of it all makes you join them, the caring man no longer trying to bite back his amusement either as he softly brushes his hand over your arm before he leans down and picks up the bottle of coke that rolled all the way to the corner of the room and the pack of Skittles that managed to fall from your strong grasp.

“Here you go,” he says, shaking his head at you when he sees you still holding the bag of chips to your chest. “Damn, you guarded those chips with your whole life, didn’t you?”

Nodding, you snicker. “I put my whole life on the line for these.”

Accompanied by their amused giggles, alongside with Yizhuo’s pained sigh as she wipes her cheeks from the stray tears you caused with your comedic fall, you take the snacks Jaemin’s offering you, thanking him for the help as you escape the room with a final bow to end your performance.

“I was glad to be your fun little commercial break, but I’ll get going now,” you say, “good luck with the project!”

And with that, you disappear back into your room, setting your mind to never ever show your face in front of Na Jaemin again.

While you thought your resolution of never ever wanting to see Na Jaemin again out of the embarrassment your first and second encounter cost you, it seems to be that it’s easier said than done when you end up in Liu Yangyang’s basement, the whole place smelling of weed and cheap alcohol, standing right opposite of the man that haunts you in your darkest nightmares only a few days after the initial meeting.

There is a reflex in you that makes you want to turn on your heel and hide, maybe even bury yourself alive as you recognise the raven-haired boy, his bright grin making your stomach twist uncontrollably as he comes up to you and Yizhuo, a red single cup in his hand and a leather jacket adorning his shoulders. Something inside of you is telling you to get ready for the worst possible outcome of this situation, and you don’t know why your fight or flight instinct is so alert today, but you presume that Na Jaemin just has that effect on people as your roommate hides behind you and tries to get out of her project partner’s sight.

“Hello, ladies!” the man greets you as soon as he reaches you two– with Yizhuo still tugging herself behind your figure. “Didn’t expect to see you two here!”

Smiling, although a little tight-lipped, you turn around to finally reveal your roommate– the only reason why you’re in this disgustingly-smelling basement in the first place. It’s not like you don’t have friends– you do, it’s just that most of them aren’t actually your friends. They are Yizhuo’s friends, who just happen to be your friends, because your roommate decided that because you two are best friends, she needs to drag you everywhere with her– her love language, it seems– and that’s how you always end up in the same social circles.

Her dragging you around to places also applies to her weird first meetings with guys. And while you agree with the fact that she needs to be careful around new people– men, especially– so she doesn’t get stolen for human trafficking, you’ve been to enough cringey first dates with her to know that you should start saying no to her more often. Maybe tonight was the day you should’ve started, you think– as she asked you if you wanted to go to a party with her, since Jung Sungchan invited her– and while you could argue that a party in Liu Yangyang’s basement isn’t the best place for a first date, or that there’s no use in you being there in the first place, since other people are present, you agreed; because frankly speaking, everything’s better than sitting home alone and watching Netflix. Besides, you promised Yizhuo you wouldn’t watch the new episodes of Blue lock without her, and if you were left unsupervised, you know you’d break that plea– so here you are. Even though at this very moment, you deeply wish you weren’t.

“Yeah, me neither,” you mumble as your roommate, seemingly embarrassed to be caught hanging out with Na Jaemin’s acquaintance, slowly comes up from behind you, scratching the back of her neck in embarrassment. “Yizhuo here has a date with someone, so I was forced to third-wheel,” you muse, earning yourself a slap to your shoulder from the subject of the sentence.

Jaemin’s eyes widen to twice of their original size– a shock very evident in his features– and you wish you didn’t see him so taken aback at the fact that your insanely beautiful roommate was getting invited to dates left and right, because something about it makes your stomach acid boil in a weird way. “A date with who?”

“Whom,” you mumble, nit-picky at the correct grammar.

“Huh?”

“With whom,” you repeat yourself, seeing as Jaemin shakes his head in disbelief and chuckles.

“Okay, literature major,” he rolls his eyes and averts his attention back to your roommate, the comment making you furrow your brows for two things– one, correct grammar has nothing to do with literature and two, how the fuck does he even know your major in the first place, “you have a date with whom? Because I hope it’s not Beomgyu. He lies about his age.”

Hearing a sigh escape your roommate’s lips, you watch the interaction with uttermost interest. “No,” she mumbles, “it’s Sungchan, actually.”

“You’re having a date… at a frat party?”

You chuckle at the comment. At least someone has common sense here.

“Unfortunately, yeah,” Yizhuo notes, seeing as Jaemin empathetically nods at her and smoothes a hand down her back before he nudges her in the direction of the tall boy. Watching her leave, you mentally pray for her to come back and never leave you alone at a party where Na Jaemin is present– because quite frankly, you are very much okay with looking awkward in front of anyone else; be it strangers or the acquaintances slash distant friends you’ve made along the way on these gatherings– but when it’s Na Jaemin, the idea of him seeing you aimlessly walk around and try to invite yourself to conversations with people you distantly know makes you want to crawl out of your own skin and set it on fire.

Sighing purposelessly, looking around to see if you recognise anyone that you could find a safe harbor in at least for a couple of hours before you look for Yizhuo again and drag her home, you notice the boy not leaving your side. Locking your eyes with him, you hear him clear his throat before speaking up again.

“It’s actually so good to see you here, because we were about to play beer pong and you’re just the person I need for my team,” he says, offering you his signature grin.

Finding the last bits of your sanity, you shake your head. “Oh, you don’t want to play beer pong with me.”

“Why?”

“I’m no good,” you admit, scratching the back of your neck, “I’m like, the least athletic person in this room. And I also can’t handle my liquor well.”

Jaemin only rolls his eyes in annoyance at your comments, gently shoving you towards the direction of a large ping-pong table in one of the corners of the spacious basement. The game is already prepared, a pair consisting of a tall, ripped man with an adorable eye-smile and a person that gets introduced to you as his best friend waiting for someone to join them.

“Come on, I bet you can outdrink me,” Jaemin jokes, basically forcing you to the game as he hosts a ping-pong ball into your hold, looking at you with expecting eyes.

This evening is the moment where you learn that Na Jaemin is a man of many talents; the first one you find is his irresistible puppy look that makes you comply with everything he says. You don’t know how people have it in them to say no to him, but when he’s ushering you to take the first shoot towards the cups on the other side of the table, you only nod and sigh in the image of what’s gonna be your hangover in the morning.

Leaning back a little, feeling like a true Lebron James about to take his winning score, you aim for the plastic cups and throw the little white ball into space. You haven’t even taken a drink yet, but the ball goes where it wants and not where you want it to go, the small object hitting the floor instead, making your companion shake his head at you and click his tongue.

“I told you I’m bad,” you defend yourself, throwing your hands into the air in a defensive position.

“All good with me,” Jaemin grins, “I’m like, the least competitive person in this room. So as long as neither of us end up throwing up in Liu Yangyang’s backyard, I’m okay with losing this game.”

Rolling your eyes at his nature, refusing to relax even after his roommate Jeno– the boy on the other side of the table– scores and hits two cups in a row, each one of you drinking one, the bitter taste of beer falling down your throat, you find the second of Na Jaemin’s many talents. It’s playing beer pong– and even though he almost never misses, your opponent’s side is much quicker with their game and you end up drinking most of the cups in an apology for being so shitty at the game.

“Come on! You can do it,” you hear Jaemin cheer for you from beside you, your glossy eyes scanning over his figure. You’ve drunk quite a lot now, your distance-assuming abilities thrown out of the window as you reach back to throw the last shoot, body getting out of balance and threatening to meet the ground in the laws of gravity.

Jaemin’s hands quickly shoot up to steady you, a hesitant hand reaching to your waist as he giggles in your ear, and suddenly, you wonder if it’s been this hot in the room the whole time, when your hand lets go and the ball falls carelessly to the middle of the table.

And when you take at least two shots with Jaemin and his roommate, the game long forgotten as you two lost, you find yourself in Liu Yangyang’s backyard, Na Jaemin’s talent of being an absolute gentleman shining through as he holds your hair back for you when you throw up into the bushes.

“Okay, so… you can’t outdrink me. Noted,” the man hums, a gentle pat to your back sending shivers down your spine.

And with that, you swear you’re never going to show your face in front of Na Jaemin ever again. For the third time, yes.

At least the third time’s the charm…?

The sun greets you in the morning with an aggressive shine to your eyes, reminding you of the actions of yesterday evening slash very late night. There’s only one reason why your blinds aren’t shut in the morning, since you hate waking up to the hot beams of sunlight in your eyes– they always make you sweat and don’t let you continue in your quiet somber– and the reason is that you must’ve been too drunk yesterday to remember to close them.

And sure enough, once you open your eyes with a grunt and tumble in your sheets, the memories of yesterday evening flood into your brain the same way water did to your room when your ex-roommate Yeri forgot to turn off the water in the bathtub in your Freshman year. You decided to not live with the girl since, and you also quite loved the idea of not having a bathtub in your new place with Yizhuo; at least it meant that the chance of your roommate forgetting to turn the faucet off and flooding the apartment was significantly lower– you could say this experience gave you some sort of PTSD.

When the sunlight gets too hot on your back that you can’t handle it anymore, you open the window to let some fresh air in and stumble into the kitchen, ready to drink a glass of water and forget about the last night’s party. You don’t usually drink that much– because god knows you don’t need a lot to get tipsy– but getting caught up in a drinking game was definitely your first, and while you found it quite fun at first, you would’ve never allowed yourself to play if it wasn’t for Na Jaemin, your roommate’s project partner, dragging you into this mess.

At least Yizhuo is a good drinker, for the most part. She gets drunk, but stays responsible. You don’t know how you’d get home safe if it wasn’t for the responsible girl by your side.

The sight that meets your eye in the kitchen is one you would not want to see after a night out. The sink is full of dirty dishes– because your small apartment doesn’t have a dishwasher– and when you open the cupboard for an empty glass to fill with water, you find it empty, all of them used and unwashed in the silver basin.

Heaving out a sigh, you shake your head in disappointment and get mentally prepared to do the dishes. Reminded by the fact that it was you who cooked dinner last night before heading out to the party, it was Yizhuo’s turn to wash up– you two agreed on this arrangement to make sure everyone puts a hand in when it comes to household chores. If one of you is cooking a shared meal, the other one cleans up. It was a good deal, you got used to it fairly quickly, but still, your roommate has her flaws, and sticking to the rules you two made up together is surely one of them.

“Yizhuo! It was your turn to wash the dishes last night!” you yell out, not really caring that she’s most likely still asleep, as you turn on the faucet and get to work. While it was your roommate’s turn to clean up, you’re also not willing to wait for her until she gets up from bed and decides it’s a good time to complete the task, because truth be told, you really need some coffee right now and you only have two mugs in the whole apartment– both of them sitting at the bottom of the sink, dirty with last night’s tea.

“I know we were in a rush to get to the party, but for god’s sake, if you had the audacity to be all up in my ear about how I’m taking too long to get ready, you could’ve used up that time to wash the fucking dishes, man!” you continue your small tangent, your slight anger issues getting the best out of you as you scrub the oily pan. “Now the food’s stuck on the plates and it won’t come off! I’ll quit cooking for you if you don’t clean up, I swear to god!”

Sighing a little, you turn the water on and finally get to washing off the dish soap, shaking your head a little in both disbelief and unpleasant emotions filling your insides. This is not how you imagined your day to go, and soon enough, your stomach is growling with the need of food– you two have slept in until lunchtime– and you still don’t have either the energy to cook something again, or the appliances to do so. Hearing footsteps fill the small room, not bothering to even look at the source of them, you decide to continue your little rant with the premise of your roommate finally listening to it now that she’s present in the room.

“Fancy seeing you here, dear Yizhuo,” you mutter under your nose, irony filling your voice, “good to finally see you in the kitchen, now that I’m done with the dishes,” you grunt, turning the water off and wiping your hands on the kitchen towel that’s been hanging off the counter.

“Man, living with you must really suck, Ning,” you hear a male voice joke, the familiarity of it making you jump in your place as you look at the source of it, a little bit panicked.

His face looks fresh and lively– not a sign of last night’s drinking in his features– and his hands are full with two bags of takeout that he swiftly sits on the table, his figure now awkwardly standing in the corner of the room. Yizhuo is leaning on one of the chairs, eyes a little empty and tired, as if she has just woken up from deep sleep, her hair a mess on the top of her head and her pajamas still on. God knows neither of you look ready for a visitor– a male one, on top of that– and yet, there is still one standing in your kitchen right now, voice sing-songy and body dressed in athleisure, as if he’s just came out of his morning gym session.

Which he probably has. He seems like the type.

“What are you doing here?” Yizhuo beats you to the question, your eyes jumping from her figure to your morning– well, lunch time– visitor.

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? We’re working on our project today, Yizhuo, that’s what I’m doing here,” the man complains with an offended pout, almost a scolding tone to his voice that makes you look at your roommate with shock in her eyes. She knew she’d be hungover today and still chose to work on the project? Is she truly out of her mind?

“I swear we didn’t have it scheduled for today, Jaemin-” she sighs as she straightens her back and looks at the male with irritation and a hint of exhaustion before he jumps in and shakes his head in disapproval.

“We did, I swear to god! You just forgot,” he shakes his head, satisfied when the girl is left speechless in the kitchen, his eyes drifting to you before he smiles and moves closer to the kitchen table, opening up the boxes of takeout and offering you a proud nod. “I knew you two would be tired today, so I brought some chinese with me! We can have lunch and then get right to working!”

The enthusiasm spreading off his features is almost contagious– you swear it would be, if it wasn’t for the fact that your head was severely aching and you still haven't had a single sip of water since you’ve woken up. Jaemin scrambles through your kitchen, totally uninvited, but also unstopped, until he finds some chopsticks and cutlery in one of the drawers and then puts them all in the middle of the dining table, acting as if he was at his own house, and not in a place he’s been to three times, including this one.

“Well? What are you waiting for? It’s gonna get cold,” he chirps as he sits at the table and dives in one of the boxes, humming in satisfaction as the food hits his tongue.

Staring at the male, still not quite believing your eyes, but no longer feeling as humiliated in front of him when you realize that you embarrassing yourself in front of him is your habit by now, you only opt to a sigh as you sit at the table and taste the chinese, the noodles falling down your throat finally providing some comfort to your upset stomach. Jaemin smiles at you– the kind of smile where his eyes crinkle up into small moon crescents– with his full cheeks on display when you meet his eye, seemingly satisfied with his mission.

“Fucking hell,” you hear your roommate mutter as she escapes the room, seemingly to put some more presentable clothes on. Jaemin pays it no attention as he brightens up a little, pointing one of his chopsticks your way after he swallows and speaks up again.

“And hey! Thanks to me, you don’t even have to do the dishes now!” he exclaims, his proud face on full display making you stop in your tracks when you go to tell him that’s not true, since you still have to wash the reusable chopsticks you’re both holding in your hands, afraid of bursting his bubble as you only fakely smile at the male, nodding.

“That’s… great, Jaemin. Really nice.”

Walking across the school building, you find your stomach growling once again, the relief only spreading more on your insides when you realize that the last class of the day just ended and you are headed to the cafeteria to grab some lunch. Noting that it’s Tuesday and your schedules match with your best-friend-and-roommate-in-one’s today, you swiftly walk towards the crowded space and get the lunch with your school ID card, the cafeteria lady looking at you with a wobbly side-smile you only recognise to be her customer service demeanor washing off after the long day. Thanking her and scanning the room with your eyes, you quickly find your roommate waving at you from the corner of the room, calling you over with the motion of her hand. You’re actually excited to see her, until you notice another figure sitting right next to her– the figure being none other than the intruder of your home peace for the last few weeks.

You’re seeing Na Jaemin quite a lot lately, you realize, and it’s not even your project partner to begin with. Not that you mind, of course; he’s a nice guy, a good-looking one as well, to say the least, but there’s just something about his constant close proximity to your roommate that makes your stomach drop whenever you see him in her presence. This feeling has been there for a while now, and if you recognised it in you, you never paid it much attention, but with him sticking to her like glue even outside of the premises of your apartment, it almost makes you turn on your heel and walk out of the cafeteria to eat your lunch alone– daring to even say it’s the better choice, for you think you could throw up any second at the image of their enthusiastic smiles. You can’t really put your finger on the feeling– you’re not really sure how to name it, or what to think of it. You just know that the strange annoyance bubbling inside of you whenever it comes is one of the most frustrating things you’ve ever dealt with your whole, entire life.

But it’s too late to walk out of the cafeteria now, and so you choose to put up a smile and walk over to the two, sitting at the vacant spot opposite of them and get to eating.

“Hello,” Jaemin greets you, voice cheerful– does he ever feel down? –when you sit down with your tray and smile at the two.

“Hi,” you nod, “what’s up?”

“We were just talking about this thing on Friday,” he jumps in, looking at you from above his finished plate, Yizhuo nodding along to his conversation. She keeps chewing on her lunch as the man continues his speech. “My friend Taeyong’s in a band and they have a gig at the Neo bar, you know, the one in the center of the city…”

You find yourself humming in interest, nodding along to the new information. You don’t think you’ve heard about Taeyong or his band before, but you only imagine it could be fun. “Are you going?” you ask, eyes jumping from your roommate to your new acquaintance slash friend, anticipating his response.

“Yeah,” he nods, averting his gaze from you for a moment, looking to his feet for a second as he clears his throat, “you should come too,” he adds when his eyes meet yours again, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

Halting a little in your movement, you look at your roommate again. See, Yizhuo is just the perfect girl you’d invite to see your friend’s band. She’s outgoing, loud, the life of the party, and also has an amazing alcohol tolerance– perfect to match the boy in front of you. There’s no reason for Na Jaemin to be inviting you as well, and you presume it’s the way his personality naturally is– considerate and warm– that it doesn’t let him just leave you out of the conversation and let you stay home. He’d probably feel too bad if he didn’t invite you, that’s all.

But the more you stare at the two, noticing the familiar way Jaemin’s body leans into your roommate’s for support, the two of them growing quite close in the process of working on the project– she even trailed into his apartment a few times to work there instead, because you had exams to study for and she wanted to leave the apartment silent for you to focus better– and the more you feel the familiar feeling deep within your chest, bugging you with thoughts resonating through your brain that tell you that you’ll just be a burden if you go and that the two of them will have much more fun together if they’re alone anyways, since Jaemin is clearly interested in your roommate. The voice in your head doesn’t leave, and you get so caught up in listening to it that you zone out, only to be woken up from your state of autopilot with a soft nudge to your shin under the table.

“So? What do you say?” he asks again, raising his eyebrows at you in question, eyes wide with anticipation.

“Oh,” you let out, hesitant as you poke your fork into the slice of meat on your plate, “I’m good, thanks. I wouldn’t wanna… you know… intrude? Or something?” you say, nodding to yourself as you’re afraid to meet his eye, opting to stare into your meal instead.

“What are you talking about? Of course you won’t intrude, I’m the one who invited you,” he mutters under his nose, tone of voice close to a mother’s scolding, insistent on his words. “Come on, it will be fun!”

“Really, I-” you open your mouth to decline again, when the male sulks in his seat and turns to your roommate for help.

“Yizhuo, help me, would you?” he grunts. “Tell your roommate this is the best idea you’ve ever heard, maybe she’ll listen to you, since she clearly doesn’t trust me.”

Snickering at his offended pout, you roll your eyes in mock annoyance when your best friend finally speaks up for the first time since you sat at the table, now finished with her lunch and free to talk to you both. “I think it would be nice, Y/N,” she says casually, nodding, “besides, I bet the band guys will be hot. Maybe Jaem can hook us up with one of them, what do you say?” she says, looking at him with a teasing glint in her eye, dismissed by the male with a scoff and a wave of his hand.

“You wouldn’t want that,” he mumbles, “not saying they’re not hot, but they’re insufferable. And a little bit stupid.”

“You say that about your friends?” you grin, seeing as the male shrugs to himself.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “hanging out with them makes me feel better about myself.”

Giggling at the remark, you finish your food and stare at him with dumbfoundance in your eyes. “You’re unbelievable, Na Jaemin.”

“Mhm, whatever,” he hums, grinning, before he looks at the screen of his phone and his face scrunches up in horror. His figure stands up in hurry, slinging his backpack over his shoulder before he looks at the both of you, eyes drifting from your roommate to you in a sharp 0.2 second interval, pointing a finger at your sitting body. “I take it as I’ll see you there. I have a class in literally 5-” he says as he looks at his phone again, “no, 4 minutes, so I better get going. I’ll text the address to Yizhuo in case you two can’t find it, and don’t even think of not showing up, okay?”

Sighing in fake annoyance, you shake your head in disbelief as the man strides off, black hair flowing in the breeze as his figure jogs out of the crowded cafeteria.

You’re starting to think that Na Jaemin is actually the insufferable one. But as he made it clear that he might get mad at you if you don’t go, even though it might make the annoying voice in your head only scream at you louder if you see him and your roommate sway in the cigarette smoke, dancing together in the local bar, you take a mental note to check your journal and see if you have any plans on Friday, and if you do, to quickly cancel them.

The mental image you had of the concert in your head was mostly right. When you arrive at the local bar at 9 in the evening, the whole place is filled with cigarette smoke and the loud noise of guitars is making your ears ring a little when you try to listen to the lyrics. It’s not really your cup of tea, but the lead singer looks nice– you heard some girls in the front screaming his name; Yuta, if you weren’t wrong– and you find yourself dancing along to the beat of songs you’ve never even heard before.

Everything’s just like you imagined– smiley, flushed faces in the crowd, sweaty bodies pressed against each other in the small space that the bar provides, everything just perfect to scare a person with claustrophobic tendencies. Everything except from the small voice in your head telling you that you’ll be the third wheel tonight was right, and you find yourself thanking whatever inner motives that lead you to agree with Na Jaemin’s invitation, because when the small break the band had ends and you down the beer he bought for you and Yizhuo, the male is, to your surprise, tugging you to the dance floor. This is not really second female lead of you, you think as you sway under the neon lights of the bar; and you can’t say you hate it.

“Please tell your roommate to not get on with the boy she’s currently dancing with when you two get home,” Jaemin mutters into your ear through the music, and suddenly, the illusion’s over. Of course his eyes would be on your breathtaking, wonderful roommate– there was no way you’d have his full attention while he dances with you, no matter how much effort you put into your appearance tonight. You don’t know what it is that makes you finally admit to yourself that you’re endlessly yearning for male attention and validation– especially Na Jaemin’s, the casual heartthrob’s– but you’re willing to say it’s the effect of alcohol as you furrow your brows at him and lean closer to his face to hear him better as you two talk over the loud set.

“Why?”

“He’s insanely stupid,” he says, snickering, “and I also think he’d love to move into your apartment the first chance he gets. I’m pretty sure his roommate kicked him out last month because he wasn’t paying rent.”

“Well, aren’t you at our apartment all the time as well?” you squint at him, seeing as the male rolls his eyes at you in mock annoyance, the teasing getting to him.

“That’s because I have to,” he insists, grinning under the blue light shading his features, the hue making him look like he was cut out of a teenage movie.

Shaking your head in disbelief at the gossip, you find yourself yelling over the music again. “How do you even know all of that?” you ask, desperate to know the source of all information there is about the men on your campus.

“His roommate told me himself,” Jaemin says, “I used to play soccer with him in high school.”

“You have too many contacts,” you mutter, seeing as the male shrugs at you, taking your hand in his as he twirls you in your place, the music blending into a slower rhythm, the melody more solemn and relaxed.

“What can I say,” he grins, “I’m irresistible. Everyone wants to be my friend.”

Not even having a chance to reply a snarky comment back to him, the male suddenly brings you closer to him, taking all air out of your lungs. His strong arms are now pressed around your middle, causing you to almost automatically sneak your arms around his neck– you truly don’t know what brought you to these actions, you think it’s you working on auto-pilot after doing competitive dancing for 5 years when you were little that makes you get into position almost immediately in fear of your instructor screaming at you– and the neon lights now start slowly flashing through various colors, reminding you of disco balls you have at middle school formals. The lead singer sings a romantic song, his raspy, yet unique voice cutting through the speakers right into your poor, fragile heart, and Jaemin steps with you into a loose dance, just two bodies swinging to the music, catching their breath after jumping around to the rhythmic beats for so long.

In a moment full of embarrassing self-indulgence, you look at the boy with long eyelashes staring down at you, and you wonder if he finds joy in your company. He is that type of guy you’d naturally gravitate towards– charming and nonchalant, extremely charismatic– but you, you are the exact opposite of those qualities. Socially awkward and embarrassing with your antics, thinking too much of words to say before you speak to someone, tense shoulders giving you in as you look nervous with every new person you meet. You’re not the type of person Na Jaemin would voluntarily want to hang out with– your roommate is the one he should be dancing with right now, swaying to the slow beat.

And maybe he would be, if that other guy wasn’t faster than him at earning her attention.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks, leaning in closer to your ear, because even though the song is slower, it’s still as loud as the previous ones. Shivers run down your spine when his breath fans your heated skin, and you find yourself nodding in response.

“It’s fun,” you mumble, seeing him grin.

“See? Told you,” he sighs, “and you didn’t want to go!”

“I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, that’s all,” you say, smiling at his warm eyes. The thing about Na Jaemin is that he looks at everyone with eyes reminding you of pools of warm honey– with such a welcoming gaze it makes your knees buckle from the sweetness. He looks at everyone with such care it makes them think they perhaps mean the whole entire world to him, and that’s why you can’t bring yourself to think something more of the situation when his eyes meet yours and your eye contact is a battle of symphony. Because he looks at everyone like that. He looks at Yizhuo like that, that’s for sure.

The man gently leads you into another turn, an amused giggle escaping his lips when you clumsily get back to his arms. You open your mouth to talk back to him, but before you manage to find words worthy of a good jab, the tempo of the song gets faster again and the drums once again ring loudly in your ears, the last tune of the set bringing an enthusiastic, energetic atmosphere into the small bar.

The rest of the evening comes by like a blur– you remember Jaemin ordering you a few more beers and introducing you to the band, the lead singer flashing you a grin you can’t quite decipher in your drunken haze. Your roommate hangs from the shoulder of the man Na Jaemin warned you about, and you find yourself despising the male even though you’ve never spoken to him– something inside of you trusts Jaemin’s judgment of men, it seems (he is one of them, after all. He knows what he’s talking about).

You almost get mad at yourself for letting yourself drink too much again. It’s like once you start, you don’t know when to stop, and after all, who are you to say no when you’re not even the one paying for all the shots of alcohol? That wouldn’t be very smart of you, as a broke college student. You have to take everything that’s free, no matter how harmful to your health it might be.

Well, except from drugs. You wouldn’t take free crack cocaine even if you were offered.

But when you drink, you find Jaemin’s attention more on you– his caring eyes watching your steps when you walk, making sure you don’t trip over your feet and fall. His arms put his jacket around your shoulders when you stand outside of the club with the band, the raven haired lead singer offering you a cigarette your companion denies for you before you even have a chance to open your mouth, and his smiley face beams at you when he holds your face in his palms and asks you if you want to go home. And you can’t lie, you’re enjoying all the attention– even though it might be coming solely from the fact that he has to look after you like you’re a baby, because you pretty much turn into one when you’ve had something to drink, but still, you can’t find it in yourself to compose yourself and tune down the drinks.

You’ll worry about the guilt when you wake up in the morning. Now is not the time.

You nod to his question, though, because you must admit that you’re getting a little sleepy in your night adventures. Following him like a lost puppy, you watch him as he gathers your roommate from the bar, the three of you now walking down the street towards your block, Jaemin taking the side of the sidewalk that’s closer to the road, his careful eyes watching over your every step making you even more surprised by the fact that he doesn’t have an older sister in his family that would shape him into such a gentleman.

“Everyone, did you have fun tonight?” he asks like a kindergarten teacher somewhere towards the end of the seemingly never ending walk home.

“Yes!” you chant along with Yizhuo, giggles erupting along the neighborhood.

“And what did we learn tonight?” he asks again, making your roommate frown at the question.

“That soccer guys suck!”

“That I can’t handle my alcohol!”

You both chime at the same time, making your companion nod, satisfied by both of your answers. Something about his sweet, scolding, yet patient tone makes your cheeks hurt from smiling when you two open up the front door to your apartment, your brain focused on listening to his small pep talk. “I hope you two take this as a learning experience and never make the same mistakes again! Alcohol is bad for your liver and broke soccer guys are bad for your wallet, but don’t you worry, I’m always here to remind you of such things when you forget.”

“Yes, Mr Na– oh no the lift’s broken again!” Yizhuo whines when she walks up to the elevator, scowling at the button that doesn’t light up when she presses it, the platform stuck somewhere between the second and the third floor. Normally, you wouldn’t mind such inconvenience– you don’t go to the gym often and every time you carry your groceries upstairs, you think of it as a little workout, trying to train your brain into thinking how good your ass would look only if you took the stairs every day, but failing as you go for the lift every time it works– but tonight, drunk, dizzy and a little tired, you’re glad you don’t break into loud cries at the newly found information.

“No!” you yell out, almost falling to your knees when your roommate presses a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet– although tipsy, Yizhuo still shows much care about your neighbors, it seems. Crouching in front of the unresponding device, you shake your head in disapproval at the whole situation, suddenly feeling like the whole world is against you just because you’re drunk and have to walk up to the seventh floor.

“Come on, ladies,” Jaemin says, patiently waiting at the first step of many.

“Oh, I’m not going,” you shake your head, a pout sitting on your lips as you rest your head on the wall, “I’m sleeping here tonight.”

“Y/N, stop being ridiculous,” the man sighs, walking closer to you, but seeing as you don’t budge, he only crouches down to your level and pokes your cheek with his pointer finger, seemingly regretting inviting you to the bar tonight, “want to get on my back, then? I’ll carry you upstairs,” he asks, gentle parenting you in the process of getting you home.

And see, if you were sober and completely in tune with your emotions and thought process, you’d say no and just walk up the stairs by yourself. But that’s not your situation right now, when you’re drunk and kind of falling for your roommate’s project partner, and so you only nod at him with bright eyes and securely jump to his back, nuzzling your face into the crook of his shoulder as he walks up the stairs to the sixth floor with both of you, patient with your drunken stubbornness.

“See, girls, sometimes things don’t go as you plan. But in those situations, you have to make a new solution and try to come up with something that is going to work. Life’s a bitch and there will be many things in your way, but you always gotta find a way around your obstacles,” he mumbles somewhere between the third and the fourth floor, “the bus is late? You run to the class. You get a stain on your shirt? You tell everyone it’s supposed to be there and that it’s a fashion statement. Your friend doesn’t wanna go out with you? You bribe her with sexy band guys.”

“And sometimes,” he says again, his tone of voice slowly lulling you to sleep, “the route you have to take might be harder than the one that failed. But that’s okay, because the end goal will be worth the trouble. The lift broke? Take the stairs, because at the end, there is a warm bed waiting for you in your apartment.”

You’re not sure where all of this wisdom is coming from, or how the hell his words are still coherent after so much physical exercise and also the amount of beers he had with his friends at the bar. You’re also not sure why he’s waffling so much– you bet it’s to pass time until he walks up to the seventh floor with your body on his back,

but you bet there’s a life lesson hidden somewhere in there.

The ringing of a doorbell is an unusual sound to your ears. You never have anyone use it, because frankly, you don’t even have that many friends in the first place, and the ones that do exist and come to hang out with you in your apartment always text you that they’re in front of the door instead, like everyone in the 21st century does nowadays. You don’t recognise this as the more practical method, but it’s the one that they all use, so you’ve gotten used to the fact over the time. The only people that use the doorbell are your landlord– because he loves to come check up on your apartment from time to time and then passively aggressively mention how there's a mess in your living room– and then Yizhuo’s friend Mark Lee that she met at the bistro she works at. They started hanging out and he’s the only one that actually picks her up at the door– as opposed to all of her other guy friends and dates that wait for her in the car. You think it’s sweet; the boy always wears a shy blush on his cheeks and nervously scratches his neck when you open the front door instead of your roommate and scream at Yizhuo that her date is here– to which she tells you that they’re not dating every single time, but you actually think you’re rooting for the adorable canadian, because after the men she chose to date before, you think she’s finally getting some sense into her head.

And so when the doorbell rings again, you get mentally prepared for either of those two outcomes. You don’t think it’s gonna be Mark Lee, because he always texts Yizhuo before hanging out with her and your temperamental roommate isn’t home yet– so the only reasonable option is your landlord Jinyoung, which makes shivers run down your spine as you pick up the mess scattered all around the floor in the entry hall and throw the stuff into the big closet at the right side of the wall, making sure it’s out of his sight.

Taking a deep breath in to collect yourself before the terror starts, you open the front door and put on your best fake smile, ready to face the wrinkled face of a middle aged man in a weird tracksuit– but to your surprise, there is one more person that can still use the ringbell on the door, and it’s none other than Na Jaemin.

“Hi!” he smiles, a wide grin sitting at his face. He’s once again in his usual attire that consists of Adidas sweatpants and a mint green hoodie, the clothing acting like his default skin in the game of life, and you can’t help but let out a satisfied sigh at the fact that it’s not your landlord that you have to talk to today; although speaking to Na Jaemin after the last time you met him isn’t much easier than sparking up a conversation about the state of your rented place.

“Hello,” you drag out, humming to yourself as you press your lips into a thin line, “Yizhuo’s not here yet,” you say, trying your hardest to not meet his warm eyes.

“Oh, I know! She texted me she’ll be late, but I was already on my way, so I figured I’ll just wait for her here,” he explains, naturally walking into your apartment as if he owned the place. And you don’t stop him– because frankly enough, you don’t have it in you to do anything else. And what would you even do? Let him stand outside?

And so, even though you weren’t prepared for a visitor today– because Yizhuo still hasn’t learned how to tell you that she’ll have people over– you walk along with him to the living room and see him invite himself to sit on the couch, body sprawled out all across the soft cushions. He seems like he lives here and not you– with how awkwardly you situate yourself on the other side of the sofa (he took your side– the one you picked the first day you moved in. Neither you nor Yizhuo ever sat on the other side ever since, it was an unwritten rule) and watch as he turns on the TV and scrolls through the channels. If this was anyone else, you’d find it inappropriate, rude even, but come on… it’s Na Jaemin we’re talking about. If he walks inside of your apartment and acts like he owns the place, who are you to tell him he doesn’t?

“You must really enjoy working on the project, if you’re around so often,” you mumble out, burdened by the fact that the silence between the two of you is slowly suffocating you out of the awkwardness of it all. One would say you wouldn’t know what awkwardness and shame is after embarrassing yourself in front of the man so much, but it’s quite the opposite, actually– as if the weight of it all was just packing on to each other, creating a big, heavy mess sitting on your shoulders, not letting you breathe.

“Oh, not really,” he says, turning his whole body and attention to you, eyes perking up at the sound of your voice, “I actually find it quite boring, if I’m being honest.”

Humming in response, you suddenly start to find the whole thing a little weird. Because if Jaemin doesn’t enjoy the project– and Yizhuo absolutely despises it too, or at least she told you she did– who in them has that much enthusiasm to meet up after school so often to work on it? If you were in their place, you’d just do it all in the span of a week. Projects you don’t like get lost somewhere in the back of your brain and you only remember them a few days before the due date, quickly scattering something and putting it on paper just so you don’t fail. Jaemin and Yizhuo, however, have worked on the project multiple times a week for the last two months, which is contradicting to the nature of your roommate in particular, because you know just how much she enjoys the art of procrastination as well.

“You must be really responsible, then,” you say, thinking this is the only possible solution– Na Jaemin doesn’t like the project, but he also doesn’t want to get a bad grade in it. That’s why he’s over at your flat multiple times a month, giggling with your roommate in the living room and working on the Neurophysiology essay that requires thorough research. That’s it– it must be.

“Well, I dunno about that,” Jaemin snickers, “this is my second time taking the class, actually. I failed it last year,” he grins, leaving you to stare at him with an opened mouth out of shock, the thoughts in your brain sprinting around like an itch you can’t really get to, making you shake your head in disbelief. This doesn’t sound like the words of someone who strives to get good grades in a subject– because if you had to retake a class, you’d be glad to just pass. Getting a good grade and putting in a lot of effort would be the last of your interests, especially after failing once– you’d have so much resentment for the subject you’d actually do the bare minimum, just to spite no one in particular but yourself.

You hum at that, at a loss for words.

“Do you not like having me around?” Jaemin asks, suddenly, catching you off guard. Looking up at him, sharply turning your head, your wide eyes must have betrayed you, since your companion lets out an amused laugh.

“That’s not it,” you try to save your skin, sighing, “I’m just wondering, that’s all.”

“So you don’t like having me around.”

“That’s not what I said!” you mourn out, suddenly scared of somehow offending the boy sitting in your living room. Being completely alone with him has been an emotional tsunami so far, having you praying and manifesting for your roommate to come back soon so you don’t have to deal with the pressure anymore. One moment, he has you all curious and guessing, the other one, he has you aimlessly trying to maintain an image you already lost the first second he saw you only dressed in a thin shirt with your wet hair staining the fabric, walking out the shower the first day he met you.

“Okay, so you’re saying you do like having me around?” he grins, the teasing glint in his smile driving you crazy, the weird turmoil on your insides almost making you stand up from your place on the sofa and running up against the wall. You bet that would bring you less pain and discomfort than having a conversation with him.

“Na Jaemin, you make me want to kill myself,” you mourn, draging your hands across your face in despair. Who would’ve thought that speaking to him all alone in your apartment could’ve been so much trouble? This is not at all how it went the night of the concert, but you’re willing to say that it was the effect of alcohol that made you get through the night. You can’t drink right now, in broad daylight, though– because that would legally make you an alcoholic.

“It’s okay, don’t worry. I wouldn’t be hanging around at your apartment so much if I didn’t like being around a certain someone that lives here either,” he says, matter-of-factly, as if the information didn’t just take all breath out of your lungs at the suggestion of something you pray your brain isn’t just misinterpreting in this very moment. Opening your mouth and closing it in a second, looking like a fish that’s been thrown out of the ocean and flapping around in the sand, you gape at the boy and furrow your brows, creating an ugly crease on your forehead that Yizhuo screamed at you about (she told you to stop making that face so often, because ‘it’s gonna ruin your skin and you’re gonna look old’. Like you can help it…).

“What do you even mean by tha–” you start, desperate for more explanation, when the door opens with a loud bang and your dear roommate finally marches up to the apartment with bangs sticking to her oily forehead and a frustrated frown on her face– choosing just the right moment to finally arrive, as if you haven’t been praying for this very moment for the last few minutes.

“I’m never going back to that fucking bistro ever again. Can you believe it? Lee Jeno decided to take a day off and tell everyone twenty minutes before the end of my shift, so I had to work for two more hours before somebody could come to cover him. Who even does that? Is everything okay in his brain?” she screams, throwing her bag to the floor as she walks up into the living room, finding you two there. “Why am I even asking? Fuck, of course he’s not mentally okay. And then a rush hour began and I had to serve the rudest customer I’ve ever encountered, and don’t even let me started on that fucking grandpa that complained about the fries being cold when I just got them out of the frier!”

Watching her little tantrum, you can’t help but giggle at your roommate. It’s an usual sight to you ever since she started working at the bistro, but Jaemin seems to be surprised at her temperamental outburst as he laughs at her like a maniac, watching her with mouth wide open and eyes twice their usual size, almost bursting out of their sockets.

“Don’t even try to start something today, Na Jaemin, or I’ll literally take a kitchen knife and slice your throat in half. Let’s get to this shit so I can shower,” Yizhuo says as she falls to the sofa with a loud thud, not even greeting neither of you before she kicks her hoodie off her body with an annoyed squeak.

You take this as your cue to leave– because if there is anyone else in the apartment that could be the person she can take it out on, you’re not willingly going to sit there and take her attention from them, sparing yourself for tonight.

Jaemin’s words resonate in your brain as you stumble into your room. There’s a certain someone he enjoys being around in this apartment, and when you look over your shoulder and see him with Yizhuo’s sweaty hoodie hanging off his head– you don’t dare to ask how it got there or why it was there in the first place, hearing his hearty laugh– you feel a ping close to your heart.

You don’t think you need an answer to the question anymore. How foolish of you to think it could be you.

When you went to college, you didn’t think you’d become the epitome of an average college student you see in movies and read about in Choi Minho fanfiction. Somewhere along the way, while keeping your assignments to the last possible day, living with a roommate that both gets on your nerves and makes you think you wouldn’t be able to survive without her by your side and going to more parties in a single semester than your whole entire life, you find yourself fitting all the criteria as you hang around your bedroom and get ready for what seems to be the biggest party you’ve ever set your foot in.

Your roommate is long gone now, and while you’d be frustrated by the fact that you were supposed to get to the party on your own, you don’t find yourself filled with rage when you remind yourself of the fact that this party is hosted by her cousin, Zhong Chenle, who took it upon himself to host the biggest birthday party of the century for his childhood best friend Park Jisung. Yizhuo was dragged to the big mansion to help with all the preparations, and while you sat around in class the whole morning, she spent the time with spamming you pictures of the place, coming from half-decorated to a fully, over-the-top, red solo cup crammed and loud music bearing building. The party starts at 8 and you’re set to leave in a bit, but there’s one issue that’s keeping you from hopping into the uber you’ve called for yourself– your dear roommate still hasn’t texted you the address, and with how fast the time is going and how she hasn’t replied to any of your messages since 6:25, you don’t think you’re getting a response any time soon.

And speaking honestly, you’ve made a list of rules for yourself. And you also set yourself to making sure you don’t break any of them.

Rule number one was to not get home later than 2 in the morning. Every time you do, you hate yourself for it the next morning. Rule number two closely ties with the first one, stating that you’re not allowed to get hammered. With the amount of partying you’ve been getting yourself into, you think it’s better to save your liver before it’s too late. And rule number three– however embarrassing it must sound– is that you’re not allowed to embarrass yourself in front of Na Jaemin again. Not after he had to see you half naked, collect your broken body from the ground and carry you upstairs on his back.

With how your evening’s going and you’re not not getting replies from the main organizator of the party herself, you don’t think you need the rule list at all, since it seems that you won’t even get to the party itself in the first place.

After many minutes of aimlessly scrolling through social media, dressed in the outfit you picked out yesterday, you are brought out of your dissociative episode with a ring on the doorbell. Cursing under your breath at the unwanted visitor, you open the door without much thought, the adrenaline in your veins caused by the fact that you might miss the party of the century making you not contemplate on the motion too much before you’re standing in front of Na Jaemin, unprepared and shocked to your core.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you ask, the words rolling off your tongue without much thought.

“Good to see you too!” he chants, words dipped in irony, furrowing his brows in confusion before smiling in hesitance. “Yizhuo sent me to get you to the party.”

Blinking at him a few times, the situation downing on you, a shake of your head is performed to clear your mind. “She did what?”

“Yeah, it got a bit hectic over there and she didn’t have time to text you the address, so she told me to just come pick you up. Don’t worry, I haven’t drunk yet,” he says, the explanation making you huff out at the irresponsible nature of your roommate– because truly, how much time can a simple text take– before you put on your shoes and take the bag prepared on the ground close to the door, following the man out of the building and into his car.

Sliding into the silver Toyota Auris, only a few minutes pass before you’re strangled with the reality of being alone with Na Jaemin again, and even though this is not the first time, it still gives you just the slightest kick of adrenaline. Keeping up with conversation is harder for you than you would’ve imagined, and suddenly you’re regretting the fact that you don’t have at least a tiny bit of alcohol in you to kick some courage into your skull, but as the low melody of the radio hits your ears and your driver starts to singing along with the lyrics, using a silly voice that makes you crack up, you realize that maybe, after embarrassing yourself in front of him so much, you don’t even have to feel tense anymore. Because realistically, it can’t get much worse than this.

“You look really nice, by the way,” Jaemin smiles, making your heart run miles around your ribcage. Admittedly, you did spend a few hours picking out the perfect outfit in hopes of being recognized by someone– maybe even Jaemin himself, okay, you’ll admit that as well– but the accomplishment of actually hearing him compliment you still surprises you with great measures.

“Thanks,” you clear your throat, “you- you do too.”

“Oh, thank god,” he mumbles, sighing dramatically, “I actually had to buy some new clothes, because Jeno said I can’t attend this super fancy party in a tracksuit, but you know how it goes, shit’s expensive nowadays, and this was the only thing on sale, so I grabbed it,” he explains, going on a tangent, this mannerism of his making you break into a smile, “and I can’t lie, I think I kinda rock the style and I was hoping for a compliment of two from the ladies tonight, so I’m glad to hear this from yours truly first.”

Chuckling at his rambling, you shake your head in disbelief. “I think you’d look good in anything, Na Jaemin,” you tsk, “you have that kind of face that everyone likes.”

“Oh really?” he asks, the tone of his voice teasing. “So that means you like my face?”

“I’m not everyone, you know,” you bite back despite feeling heat rising to your cheeks, wanting to take back all the words that have come out of your mouth in the span of the last few seconds.

“Now that’s hurting my feelings.”

“You care about my opinion that much?”

“Of course,” he grunts, looking at you for a split second before he parks the car in front of a big house, already popping with people to its seams, loud music overbearing the beat of the music playing in the car. The ride wasn’t even that long– you live 15 minutes away from the wealthy neighborhood, it seems– but it's still good that you got a ride, because you don’t know how long you’re gonna last in those heels you’re wearing. “I can’t trust Yizhuo when it comes to these things. I’m convinced she hates me a little.”

“Why would she hate you?” you ask, amused.

“She always looks annoyed whenever I open my mouth,” he snickers.

“She’s like that with everyone,” you mutter, even though you remember your roommate complaining about the amount of words that Jaemin can spit in a minute just about yesterday, “it’s just her resting bitch face.”

The engine turns off and you turn around in the passenger seat to gather your bag from the back seat, where you carelessly threw it in the rush of getting to the party as soon as possible. Quickly looking through its contains– because your anxiety tells you to, just in case you somehow magically decided to leave your wallet and your keys back home, despite checking and making sure they’re there at least 8 times already– you turn back towards the front, ready to get out of the vehicle when you’re met with the sight of Na Jaemin opening the door for you like a gentleman, waiting for you to walk down the imaginary red carpet, completely ignoring the nature of the party going on just a few meters away from you.

Bashfully escaping his car and thanking him on your way, you watch him lock the car and catch up with you on the sidewalk, leading the both of you to the expensive-looking building.

The song accompanying your arrival is now Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom!! by Vengaboys, and although you can’t deny the lyrics may be a little bit relatable to your current state right now, you can’t say the whole scene doesn’t look like a circus in your eyes. It’s Park Jisung’s birthday party, though, so you can’t say it doesn’t have to be a bit comedic, at least– the boy is quite known around these parts of the town. The whole place is filled with people you hardly know, and with the amount of teenagers and college students roaming around, you’re reminded a little of the fair– the only thing missing is a bouncy castle, in which you could clearly imagine Zhong Chenle with his best friend, hollering like the kids they still are, no matter how hard they’re trying to deny it.

Upon walking through the front door, you are met with the realization that Na Jaemin was abducted by a tall man with a puppy-like smile and another one, a little shorter one with brown, longer hair and a leather jacket adorning his figure. His face is screaming in despair, and although you find the expression funny, you let him be with his roommate and who seems to be his friend (you swear you saw the other guy in Yangyang’s basement, rolling a blunt with the boy somewhere in the middle of the night), deciding on finding your dear roommate so you can scream at her for being so irresponsible with your arrival to the party of the century. It takes you no longer than 15 minutes before you’re met with her strawberry blonde locks tied up in her signature bun, low-waisted jeans and a white crop-top adorning her figure that’s currently turned to you with her back, and before you can stop yourself, you approach her from behind, intending to scare her out of spite and also humor.

Shaking her by her shoulders, the girl turns to you with a sudden yelp before she bursts into laughter at seeing your face. “I thought you were that fucker Johnny! I almost threw this drink into your face, you know?”

“Oh, you’d regret that very soon if you did that,” you threaten, pointing a warning finger towards her face.

“Trust me, I know,” she giggles, shaking her head, “anyways, you got here!”

“Yeah, Jaemin picked me up,” you say, showing her a tight-lipped smile.

“He… he did?” the girl asks, furrowing her eyebrows at you, confusion very clearly written on her face.

“You told him to…?”

“No, I didn’t,” she shakes her head, snickering to herself. “I just told him to text you the address, because I was busy pouring all the drinks in the kitchen and making the speakers in the living room work…” she explains, the more words come out of her mouth, the more she breaks into a sly grin, the expression making you sigh in terror, knowing the amount of teasing that will come next.

“Why are you grinning like that? Stop it.”

“Na Jaemin likes youuuu,” she sing-songs, pointing a finger towards your forehead and digging into your skin with the sharp edge of her stiletto nail. Wincing away from her touch, you shake your head at her with a huff of frustration, wondering if she’s had enough to drink for it to cause all of this.

“He doesn’t, and we both know it.”

“Yeah, that’s why he picked you up,” she nods, before she takes a deep breath in, preparing herself for the long sentence that’s about to come out of her mouth, “and that’s why he insists on hanging out strictly over at our apartment, why he carried you up the stairs on his motherfucking back, why he bribed me just to get you to go to the concert with him, and why he won’t shut up about you literally every second the two of us are alone–”

“You know the same thing could suggest that he likes you?” you huff, roaming your hand through your hair in an attempt to soothe the weird bundle of nerves growing in your stomach. “He hangs out with you all the time, not me, you know…”

“That’s ‘cause you keep hiding in your room like a raccoon, you know.”

“That’s not true at all–”

“Okay, whatever you say. He’s coming towards us right now– so don’t look around or you’ll be too obvious– and I bet 100 pounds that he’s gonna drag you away from me and suggest you two play beer pong again, or whatever.”

“Yizhuo, I need you to shut the fuck–”

But before you’re able to finish your sentence, you feel a hand land on your shoulder, your whole figure spinning towards the source of the contact, finding a grinning Na Jaemin in your rear point of view– how unexpected, really– his body seemingly full of adrenaline as he jumps in his place, looking like a squirrel high on caffeine, his next sentence making your brain short-circuit as you hear Yizhuo snicker in your right ear, a bump on your shoulder and a shove into the male’s figure encouraging you in your movements out the room.

“Normally, I’d drag you to play beer pong with me again, but if I come back to the events that occurred the last time you got drunk, I have a suggestion that’s more considerate to your liver– wanna sing karaoke with me? You’re not allowed to say no, by the way,” and before you’re able to register what’s going on in this very moment, the conversation you two had with Yizhuo keeps repeating over and over in your brain the whole time you’re by Jaemin’s side.

Curse Ning Yizhuo for making you think he could like you at least a little– because even though he sang a corny love song with you at the karaoke machine and introduced you to his friends, along with taking you off your feet in an enthusiastic hug when you two won against his roommate and his best friend at a make-shift karaoke battle (you two got a 98 point score, just saying…), there’s a simple man called insecurity sitting soundly in the corner of your brain not letting you contemplate the fact and take it seriously, no matter how hard you try.

jaem [10:21]: hi how are you feeling!!! jaem [10:21]: was wondering if u wanted to get lunch :p jaem [10:21]:not that im assuming u have a hangover bc u hardly drank yesterday but yknow would be nice idk jaem [10:22]: theres this new pancake place in town :OO

“You don’t look as bad as I expected!” Jaemin greets you as you two walk inside of the new bistro that opened not a long time ago– you only knew about it because Yizhuo hoped and prayed that the fact that there’s a new place in town will mean that less customers were going to show up at the one she’s working at, and you can’t say you don’t hate that logic. After hearing her stories about rude customers, you believe your roommate deserves a break. Working with people is hard– and as she said, you only realize just how stupid some of them can be when you truly start working in customer service.

“Ouch!” you utter out, your ego suddenly falling at the backhanded compliment.

“Not that you look bad, like, ever, I just– you usually look way worse after a party, you know,” he explains while opening the door for you and leading you towards one of the booths, the red sofas making the whole place look like a retro motorest you’d find somewhere on your way through the middle of nowhere. The polka dot walls only beg you to order a milkshake with your pancakes, and you do exactly that, feeling unapologetic in your actions. It’s not your fault– and you guess that you deserve to treat yourself to a nice chocolate swirl once in a while.

“I didn’t drink as much last night, you know,” you snicker, remembering the fact that you actually pretty much managed to stick to your rules the whole time you were enjoying yourself at Park Jisung’s birthday party.

“Should’ve dragged you to one more game of beer pong, then.”

“So you do want me to suffer, huh?” you roll your eyes at him, resting your back at the flashy red booth to get a better look at his shifting expressions.

“It’s fun to see you embarrassed when you recollect your memory, that’s all,” he admits, kicking your leg under the table in a teasing manner.

Snickering at his comment, you hide your face in your hands at the growing embarrassment. Taking a deep breath in to hide your hesitance, you look outside your window for a short moment before you turn back to him, continuing on with the conversation before the moment gets too awkward for you to bear. “Yizhuo’s still asleep, by the way. She drank too much because Chenle got a bet with her and she was sure she could outdrink him and then the Mark guy had to carry her limp body to our house last night,” you explain, “she’s the one with a massive hangover right now, that’s why she’s not joining.”

“I see you two like princess treatment,” Jaemin teases, referring to the time he had to collect you and bring you home on his back, “besides, I invited you, not her. If she was here, she wouldn’t stop complaining about her headache, and I really don’t need that energy in my life right now.”

Laughing, you move your hands away from the table as a server brings you two your plates, filled to the brim with pancakes smothered in syrup and chocolate topping. A shiny cherry is adorning the serving, and you can already feel yourself salivating at the sight, the sweet smell filling your senses as you dig in, feeling hypnotized by the food in front of you. You are a sweets lover, and while you don’t know how Jaemin managed to do that, he hit the right spot with making you join him for a sweet lunch– making you adore the man even more, if that was even possible.

“Does it taste good?” Jaemin asks, watching as you nod to him with your mouth filled– as if the sight wasn’t enough of a confirmation to him– a hum of satisfaction slipping out of your vocal cords.

“It’s so good,” you mumble when you swallow, wiping your mouth with the napkin you found at the corner of the table. “Just what I needed right now.”

Jaemin finally digs into his own plate, a bright smile sitting at his face, and as you eat, you find yourself glancing his way from time to time. After all this time, you’re finally starting to realize just how relaxed you’re truly feeling right in this moment, despite having oily hair that’s tugged out of your way with a headband and only wearing your casual clothes, being too lazy to change your sweatpants for jeans and your hoodie for a fancier top. Jaemin just has something about him that once kept you on your toes, nerves tingling all in your insides, the same thing now making you calm and appreciative of his presence. Who would’ve thought that it would only take you two hanging out together the whole time of Park Jisung’s birthday party to finally feel relaxed and natural around each other?

Watching him as he takes a sip of his milkshake, you get surprised at his disgusted face. “What’s up?”

“I forgot I hate strawberries,” he notes, scratching the back of his neck as he battles the face of discomfort spreading over his features.

“And you ordered a strawberry milkshake… because you hate strawberries?” you snicker, laughing at his face.

“Well, I ordered it for the aesthetic, I suppose, but the fact that it’s actually gonna taste like strawberries kind of… escaped my brain for a sec,” he explains, making you shake your head in disbelief at him, offering the boy your own milkshake that you have yet to take a sip of.

“Want mine? It’s a banana one. I don’t mind strawberries,” you say, smiling at him encouragingly when he hesitantly eyes the tall glass.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” you say, nudging the milkshake towards him, seeing as he exchanges the straws and sets the pink drink in front of you with a grin full of gratitude. The man takes a sip out of your drink, his eyes instantly growing wide at the taste, nodding his head and closing his eyes in pure bliss.

“Now, this is perfect.”

Giggling at his expression, you finish your plate and sit in a comfortable silence as the boy in front of you does the same. Seeing as he’s done with his serving as well, both of your stomachs full of the delicious meal, you watch him as he clears his throat before speaking up again. “So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

“You know, the usual,” you shrug, “check up on my roommate to see if she hasn’t died in her sleep, maybe try to wake her up in a way that doesn’t get me killed… Do the chores she was supposed to do because now she won’t stop complaining about her headache, and then watch the Spiderman movies, because I saw Tom Holland on my TikTok for you page the other day and suddenly got obsessed,” you explain, chuckling to yourself.

“No way!”

“What?”

“I wanted to watch those too!” Jaemin exclaims, expression full of surprise and excitement, his face lighting up something inside of you that makes you speak before you even get a chance to contemplate your decision.

“Let’s watch it together, then!”

His face falls into disappointment, pursing his lips as he shakes his head, full of disappointment. “I can’t today, I promised Jeno to drive him to his grandma’s in the afternoon.”

“That’s okay, let’s just watch it some other day. I’ll wait with it for you,” you say, finishing the last of your milkshake, seeing as the boy’s eyes light up at your suggestion.

“But what about your plans?”

“I can watch something else today,” you say, “maybe I’ll watch something with Yizhuo, so she forgets about her grumpy mood, you know.”

And with that, the plans are arranged. It all happens so quickly and spontaneously you can’t even let yourself process your actions, your brain only waking up when Jaemin pays for you at the counter despite your protests, deep voice full of teasing telling you that it’s okay and that it’s for all the snacks he’s eaten and will further eat while he’s over at your place.

“What do you mean it’s not on Netflix?” you hush, scrolling through the app popped up on the TV, clearly not showing any signs of the Spiderman movies. You could’ve sworn you’ve seen the movies on there when you were randomly scrolling through the service one day, not really interested in seeing them, but when it’s the time for you to actually watch the series, it’s nowhere to be seen, vanished from the face of the earth. It happens quite a lot with Netflix, actually– and while google may say the movie is available, when you open up the app yourself, it’s like you’re banned from seeing everything that’s there for the rest of the world to see.

“Well, we can just watch something else, then–”

“I am not watching anything else, Jaemin, we came here to watch Spiderman, so that’s what we’re doing,” you announce, rolling your eyes in annoyance. It’s not his fault– of course it isn’t– but the way he’s willing to give up on the movie so easily is making your blood boil. You’re no quitter when it comes to movies– either you get it on Netflix, or you do some digging (doesn’t matter if it takes you more time than the actual running time of the movie itself) and pirate it online. A few ads about hot singles in your area could never stop you when you’re about to watch something your soul has been searching for the last few weeks.

“We don’t have Disney plus, though,” the man squints, seemingly at the end with his solutions.

“We don’t need those paid streaming services,” you roll your eyes, shutting the TV off and getting your laptop from the bottom shelf of your coffee table, “let’s just find it online.”

Typing in your password and opening up the browser, a few searches of Spiderman online for free later, you’re able to find at least five sites with your desired movie in it. The only thing left for you to do is to check if it has subtitles– because when you watch a movie, all your listening comprehension abilities fly out of the window, no matter how fluent in the language you are– and see which one has the best quality. Settling on an ugly looking site with three ads covering the video window and another five around the corners, you smile to yourself, noticing as your companion only stares at you in awe. The look makes you feel like you just hacked the FBI site, and judging from his eyes, he’s admiring you as if you really did just show him the doings of Anonymous, but you only roll your eyes at him and snicker as you point towards your screen.

“Now we just click through 25 ads and pop-up windows and we’re there,” you nod, motioning towards the laptop, before a sound of the front door opening makes you jump up in surprise and halt in your movements.

Seeing as your roommate gets into the hall, seemingly out of breath and red in her face, carrying her tote bag scrunched up in the palm of her hand like a sack full of dog shit instead of the fashion statement it is, Yizhuo looks at you with furrowed eyebrows and a lost look on her face. “What’s Jaemin doing here?”

The boy next to you huffs in offense, opening his mouth and chiming in his defense. “And what are you doing here? Did the three meters from the elevator to the front door tire you this much?”

“I live here!” she exclaims, throwing her arms up in the air. “And the lift is broken again, so I had to take the stairs. I don’t think we had a hangout scheduled today?” she asks, pointing towards her project partner with a lost look, seemingly annoyed at herself just in case she forgot about the study session and made other plans instead.

“No,” Jaemin gets out, shaking his head, “we didn’t.”

“Oh,” Yizhuo says, eyes drifting from him back to you and then from you back to him, before realization settles onto her face as she nods. “Oh,” she repeats, more exaggerated now, “I see how it is. Inviting Na Jaemin over when I’m not around…”

Heat rising to your cheeks, you speak up for the first time, completely ready to shield yourself from her slandering words. “Yeah, speaking of that, weren’t you supposed to be on your date with Mark?”

The girl smiles at you in irony, noting the choice of words, before she runs into her room and comes out with a purse instead, dropping her things into the new bag. Before she’s out of the flat again, she pops a head back into the living room, waving at you with one last goodbye. “I just had to take a different bag, since this kept falling off my shoulder. I’ll see you guys in the evening, and please, out of all places, don’t shag at the kitchen counter, at least–”

“Your date is waiting.”

“At least I admit that it’s a date, sweetie, so in your place, I’d shut my mouth,” she recites, tone laced with bitterness, “okay, bye, kiss kiss!” she says before the sound of the door loudly shutting pierces through your ears, leaving the two of you in complete silence.

Clearing your throat, deciding to not go back to the things that have come out of your roommate's mouth, you shift your focus back onto the laptop, awkwardly scratching your neck before speaking up. “Now that’s out of the way…” you mumble, “can you please try to get the movie playing? There will be about 75 ads popping up, you just need to patiently close each and every one of them and not play the porn games, okay?”

“Why would I–”

“I’m gonna make some popcorn in the meantime, since I imagine it’s gonna take a while. Oh and also, you can’t pause the movie, because that makes the whole process repeat and we’ll have to close all of the ads again, so when it’s done, just call me and I’ll be quick,” you finish explaining before disappearing into the kitchen area.

Rummaging through the cupboards, you finally acquire the popcorn you’ve been searching for. Plopping it into the microwave and setting the timer to approximately 3 minutes, you go on a search for more snacks– sweet ones this time, since chasing down the saltiness with a chocolate bar is your favorite activity to do after eating popcorn– and getting out some bowls to put everything into, preparing the things onto the kitchen counter.

Too absorbed in the noise of the corn popping in the microwave, you don’t notice footsteps approaching you in the small room, the voice of Na Jaemin scaring you to death.

“I love these!” he exclaims, motioning to the M&M’s you just opened and poured into a bowl. His voice makes you turn back to him in surprise, adrenaline in your veins only heightening when your face almost meets his chest, his body so close to your figure you can almost feel the heat radiating off his figure. Gasping at the close proximity, you react automatically and try to take a step back from him, but your back only meets the counter that somehow does nothing to support your frame as you back up to it, making you lose your balance and almost crash into the hard surface.

Jaemin’s arms shoot up quickly to steady you, one hand landing on your hip and another one gently catching the back of your head into his palm so you don’t meet with the upper drawers of the kitchen counter in a painful thud, the soft gesture making pools of honey gather in your stomach at the action. “Careful,” he snickers at your taken-aback posture, your hands aimlessly clutching the edge of the countertop.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t appear out of nowhere, I wouldn’t almost smash my head open out of surprise,” you mumble, eyes shifting from his face towards his chest instead, the so well-known feeling of curiosity and nerves you thought was long gone whenever you are around Jaemin approaching you again in great measures, keeping you up on your toes.

He only shrugs at your expression, not really offering you any more words, a chuckle escaping past his lips almost driving you to insanity.

One of his arms– the one cradling the crown of your head– comes down around you and reaches into the sweets bowl, taking a few into his hold and dropping them onto his tongue. Chewing, with an overly-exaggerated hum of satisfaction, the man offers you the sweets and feeds you off his palm, the sugar melting on your tongue somehow reminding you of the man standing in front of you, the tension growing big in your stomach.

“You’re standing very close,” you mutter under your nose when you notice his and your thighs touching, hearing as he hums at your remark.

“Do you not like it?”

“I–” you stutter, cheeks only further heatening at the question, “that’s not what I said.”

“See,” he snickers, “I’m standing in perfect proximity, then.”

Eyes hesitantly jumping to his face, seeing him looking down at you with warm eyes and a teasing glint in his smile, your heartbeat quickens even more, slowly starting to match the rhythm of the corn popping in the microwave. His hand still on your hip, the contact of it with your clothed skin burning, you’re suddenly finding it really hard to keep your nerves down, swallowing harshly before you open your mouth to speak up or else you’re going to go crazy.

“Jaemin–”

“Can you admit that to yourself?” he cuts you off, suddenly, face curious and a little more hesitant than before. Looking at him with confusion in your eyes, he repeats the question. “That this is a date. Can you… can you admit that to yourself, Y/N?”

Blinking a few times at the strange inquiry, you stutter again, your thoughts running back and forth in your brain too fastly for you to catch up with them. “I– well, I–”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Jaemin snickers again. “I was told that you’re a bit oblivious, and that I should probably be more direct with my actions, because of… obvious reasons…” he chuckles, “so if you needed confirmation, I’d think of this as a date. And the lunch we had together before as well, if that wasn’t clear enough… I originally wanted to play it more subtly, but I realized that I should maybe change my ways for you to get me, so… if you don’t want this to be a date, just tell me. I just thought I should tell you.”

Gasping at his words, you shake your head in clear disapproval, suddenly too worried about him getting the wrong message. “It’s– I was hoping… this was a date? I– I mean–”

The man in front of you visibly relaxes, giggling at your reaction. His heartfelt laughter makes the mood lighter again– the knot in your stomach loosening a little only for a bit, before the man catches you off guard with another question, his face inching dangerously close to you.

“Do you do kisses on first dates, then?”

Breath shaking, eyes shifting from his deep eyes to the plush skin of his lips, you mumble out a reply. “I mean… by what you just said, this is not really a first date, so…”

“Does that mean I can kiss you?”

Gaping into his face, you nod– barely visible, but it’s there and it’s enough of a confirmation– before your eyes are shut in expectation and his soft lips land on yours, the sweetness of candy mixing in with the saccharine nature of his personality, gentle presses to your parted mouth making your knees week with bliss. Your hands hesitantly find their place on his neck, bringing him closer when he tries to pull away, earning yourself a smile from the male that you can feel in the kiss, the knot in your stomach fully disappearing and morphing into lightness and gentle fluttering.

Feeling the man sucking on your bottom lip and gently pinching the skin of your hip that he’s still kneading in between his fingers, you squeal into the contact as he gently hosts you up onto the kitchen counter, lips attacking yours only breaking apart when the microwave goes off and you try to catch your breath in between hungry kisses.

“Jaemin–”

“Hm?” he hums as his lips occupy themselves with your jaw instead, seeing as you’re meaning to talk right now and he’s a gentleman– he doesn’t want to break your words.

“The popcorn’s done,” you sigh, his lips only reaching further down your neck, not really paying attention to anything you’re saying, only responding with a content hum of acknowledgment. Seeing as he doesn’t really care– and neither do you, honestly, with his lips so magically attached to your skin– you let yourself indulge in the action again, tugging him back towards your face by his chin and connecting your lips once again, firm kisses exchanged between the two of you as his hands stay secure on the curve of your hips.

Fingers threading into the hair on his nape, you chuckle into the kiss when he talks in between, annoying you and amusing you at the same time– since you can’t get enough of his mouth, but still find his words kind of funny. “Oh look, it only took this long for you to realize I have a crush on you…”

Tired of his teasing, you shake your head in disbelief as you decide to move your lips away from his mouth, but rather pressing them along his jaw, just the way he did only a few seconds ago, shyly, yet determinately attaching yourself to his neck, pressing soft kisses steadily in between more hungrier ones, admiring the redness of his skin when you part away from him and see the wet spots you just attacked. “Can’t say it wasn’t worth it, though,” he hums as you seemingly find his soft spot, his whole body reacting as he squirms under you and moves you so you’re back against his lips, the contact more heated and rushed.

His hand slowly teases the edge of your shirt, cold fingertips drumming across your belly, and the further up he moves, the more goosebumps appear all over your back, pressing yourself closer to him on the uncomfortable kitchen counter.

“I know Yizhuo said no shagging on the kitchen counter, but I mean…” he hums as his hand reaches the hem of your bra, “what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, am I right?”

Giggling at his comment, you momentarily contemplate to giving in to the temptation, but a loud noise coming from the living room is enough to wake you up back to your senses, the sound of the movie acting as a wake up call, causing your whole body to jump and shrug Jaemin’s hands off you; his swollen lips and flushed cheeks on your full display when you gape at him.

“The movie’s playing?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he nods, “forgot to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me! I explained that you can’t pause it, now we have to load it again because rewinding it does the same,” you mourn, pushing him a little further away from you so you can jump off the counter and chime into the living room, his footsteps following you.

“I mean, I thought this was much more entertaining than the movie, but okay,” he says, causing you to playfully swat him on the shoulder before you close the tab and reopen it again, shoving him towards the kitchen instead.

“Go and get the popcorn out. I’ll load it back up, since you’re totally useless at the art of pirating,” you chime, rolling his eyes at him, battling back the grin that’s threatening to settle onto your features all while you’re trying to calm down the erratic beating of your heart.

And when the movie finally plays and you let yourself settle against Jaemin’s figure on the sofa, content with his arms around your middle and the occasional comments he lets out at the scenes rolling on the screen, you find yourself wondering how after all of this, this is the way you end up with him– spontaneously and totally unprepared.

A scene of Peter Parker appears on your laptop, the man in the red spider suit shooting webs to the top of the building to get MJ into safety, making a bubbly laugh heave out of Jaemin’s throat. “I wish I had those when I had to carry you drunk to the top floor,” he teases.

“Oh shut up, you did that to yourself,” you roll your eyes, reminding yourself of the day with much despair in your memory.

“And what was I supposed to do, leave you there?” he chuckles. “Besides, I quite liked the journey. Didn’t even mind that it took so long… it made the top floor feel like a big reward, you know,” he says, and when he looks at you from the corner of his eye, his orbs warming up like hot chocolate,

you swear there’s a metaphor– hell, a life lesson– somewhere in there.

#nct #nct dream #na jaemin #jaemin #nct x reader #jaemin x reader #nct dream x reader #jaemin fluff #jaemin fic #jaemin fanfic #jaemin drabble #jaemin imagine #nct dream fluff #nct dream scenario #nct dream fic

2K notes · View notes

minaturefics · 7 months

Text

Between the Shelves

Gift for @tolkien-fantasy ❤️: Gale x librarian!Reader, and a scene where he helps her get something from a high shelf.

A/N: My first time writing Gale - I tried very hard to get his speech and his mannerisms right. Hope you enjoy it friend!

Gale x librarian!Reader

Fem reader

No content warnings

1.9k words

---

It was raining again in Waterdeep. The cool spring showers were yet to give way to the more temperate summer drizzles and the wind still held the lingering chill of winter. The library, however, through arcane means, remained comfortably warm and dry. You looked up from the patron registry on the counter for a moment and surveyed the room.

There were only a few people milling about between the shelves, and one or two scholars sequestered away in the reading nooks poring over books. There was the soft whisper of turning pages, an occasional cough or sneeze, and the faint scratch of pen on paper. A slow morning, but that was a relief. At least you wouldn’t have to chase out handsy youths or deal with yet another patron accidentally setting fire to something.

Really, those wizards should know better than to mutter random incantations they find scrawled in the margins of books.

You glanced back down at the registry and your eyes lingered on one of the names. Gale Dekarios. Your fingers hovered above the neat, cursive script, and a wistful sigh escaped your lips. He had wandered in a few weeks ago and spent a good few hours perusing the shelves. He had stopped by the counter with a stack of books and, while you filled out the borrowing cards, had rambled on about how delighted he was to find such a quaint library.

From then on, it seemed as though Gale dropped by the library every few days. He would linger by the counter on his way in or out, commenting about the weather, chatting about some city gossip, or putting in a request for a new book or series of texts to be added to the library. He would lean on the counter, his robes stretching over his broad chest, and smile at you, his eyes alight with something you could not name.

But then he would be gone, and you would be left with your books and pens and the endless quiet, eyes always drifting towards the door, wondering when he would walk through again.

With a sigh, you stood up and stretched. Maybe it would be better to put the nervous hum underneath your skin to good use — there were books to sort and shelve. You turned towards the nearby cart and began organising the books, the rhythmic task pushing out thoughts of him.

Gale walked around his sitting room, gathering books into a small stack in his arms. Was that all of them? He checked their due dates to be sure, but he supposed if he missed one out it was a good excuse to drop by the library to see you again. For a moment, he was worried that perhaps he was being too obvious. But how could he not return again and again?

He had been enraptured the moment he stepped into the library and saw you in a beam of sunlight. The light had haloed your head, your auburn hair nearly gold, and your beautiful blue eyes had shone from behind your glasses.

“Off to the library again, Mr. Dekarios?” Tara asked from where sat curled up on the armchair. “You’ve been going an awful lot recently.”

“Yes, well,” he cleared his throat, “what can I say? They do house some interesting texts and tomes.”

“And also, perhaps, an interesting librarian too?” she asked with a smug smile.

“Tara!”

“I know it’s been a long while since you’ve… courted someone, but this is really no way to go about it.”

“I’m… taking things slow, just gauging her interest. If there is any. Gods, I hope there’s some.” He glanced at her. “There’s no harm in that, is there?”

“You can hardly gauge her interest when you are barely showing any. Chatting about the weather? Putting in requests? I would be hard pressed to call any of that romantic conversation.”

He looked down at the books in his arms. Was he truly going about it at a glacial pace? It had been some time since he attempted to woo, let alone flirt with, someone.

You were so lovely and funny, and he so out of practice, that he thought going slow would reduce the risk of him putting his foot in his mouth. But perhaps Tara was right — banal small talk was not conducive for anything more than a passing acquaintance.

“Wait, have you been spying on me?”

She blinked at him, eyes full of mischief, and then turned away and licked her paw, a clear dismissal. He shook his head and smiled, and headed out to the library.

“You’re looking wonderful as always,” a familiar voice said, and you turned. Gale stood by the counter with a stack of books and a smile on his face.

“Gale,” you greeted and placed the books you were sorting back onto the cart, trying not to flush at his words. “Back for more books?”

“Er, yes. I’m back for more books. This is a library after all, and a fine one at that. I say, I must commend your book borrowing system here with the cards and all that. It’s very — very —”

You blinked at him. “Old-fashioned?”

“Yes, perhaps, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing! Those larger libraries with their magical systems and arcane book tagging are at risk of interference if there are any fluctuations in the Weave. And of course, it’s quite nice to have the personal touch of one’s name written on a card and kept in a drawer.”

What was going on with Gale? He was usually quite chatty but this felt more like an anxious ramble than a casual conversation.

“I’m… glad you appreciate it,” you said, eyeing him.

“Especially in such a beautiful hand as yours. Were you formally trained at school in the art of penmanship?”

“Uh, no more than any other student.”

“Well,” he said with a slight bow of his head, “you have certainly outclassed your peers.”

A smile threatened to break over your face and you ducked your head to hide your rising blush. “Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“I was… hoping for a recommendation. Not for any of the arcane tomes, mind. Just… a regular book.”

“Alright,” you said slowly, taking his returned books and placing it on the desk to deal with later. You glanced around the library — it was fairly quiet and you could afford a few moments away from the counter. “We could have a look together if you’d like?”

His eyes lit up and a wide smile spread across his face. “Yes, please, after you.”

He walked beside you as you made your way down the aisle. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

He shook his head. “I’d happily take one of your recommendations.”

He had a professorial look about him. Intellectual. Maybe he would enjoy some literary fiction? Or would that remind him too much of school? You turned down one of the aisle and paused in front of the wall of books. You scanned the spines, muttering the titles, thinking out loud.

“This one was well received by the critics, and this one here is good if you like something gothic, oh, but I suppose this might be good if you’re into —”

“What about the one up there? The, uh, the one with the spine of red and gold?”

You followed Gale’s gaze up to the book in question. “That? Well, I suppose no one can resist a good epic.”

You stretched, wobbling on the tips of your toes, and reached for it. Your hands scabbled at the air, fingertips just barely grazing the shelf the book was on. You landed back on your heels with a huff and glanced down the aisle. “I’ll need to find a footstool, if you don’t mind waiting, I’ll —”

The front of his robes brushed across your back. You could feel the warmth from him, smell his scent of musk and paper, hear his voice, low and rumbly from above you. “No need for that,” he said with a chuckle as he reached up.

Pressed between his body and the shelf, you could do nothing but stand there, enveloped by him. What terrible, wonderful torture, to have him so close and yet for him to mean nothing by it. You squeezed your eyes shut, whether wishing the moment would last longer, or be over quickly, you couldn’t decide. But then he was stepping back, moving away, and the cool air of the library rushed to meet your heated skin.

“There,” he said with satisfaction. You stared at the shelves, eyes focussing and unfocusing on the book titles. “Erm, everything alright?”

“Yes, yes of course,” you said in a rush, schooling your face into something neutral and whirling around to face him.

He was no more than a step away. “Are you sure?” He tilted his head a fraction, brows knitting. “You’re looking awfully flushed.”

You fought the urge to press the back of your hand to your cheek and you looked away.

“I’m perfectly fine, really.” The bell from the counter rang out and you jumped at the chance to hide how flustered you were . “Now if that’s all, I need to head back…”

“Wait. A moment, if you will.” His hand shot out to grasp your wrist, but he withdrew it just as quickly. “Forgive me. Um.” He cleared his throat. “I must confess I did not really come by for a book.”

“You… didn’t?” You frowned at him, confused. “I mean, all we have here are books. If you were in search of something else…”

“I am in search of something else, but I rather think what I’ve been searching for is right here.”

His eyes were soft and warm, his smile tender and affectionate.

You stared at him.

“Oh.”

“Yes, I…” He gestured awkwardly, the heavy book still in his hand, and gave a strained laugh. “I realised I haven’t been particularly clear in the past and it was at the behest of a… a friend… that I thought I should speak plainly.”

Your lips parted to reply, but he carried on, a rueful smile on his face.

“Now, I wouldn’t want to make things awkward for us, for you, I mean, especially here in your own library. If, well, if you do not reciprocate my interest, have no fear — I will take my patronage elsewhere and you will not have to worry about our paths crossing.” His smile faltered and his eyes grew sincere. “Truly, I will go if you ask.”

Your heart raced, your breath hitching in your throat, and you let out an incredulous exhale. “And… if I ask you to stay?”

A grin broke out across his face. “Why, then, I find I have no choice but to stay.”

You stood there for a moment, just looking at him, taking in the grey around his temples, the way his hair curled around his ear, the creases at the corners of his eyes.

“We can’t stay here forever, you know,” you said with a playful smile, “the library closes at seven.”

“A pity, forever in such a place would be a veritable paradise.” He laughed. “No matter, I can think of at least ten other places that we could go. The gardens, if you’re so inclined? Or maybe to one of those lovely little restaurants that opened up near the harbour?”

The bell rang out again and you glanced towards the counter. “Ah, I’m wanted at the front. But maybe later…?”

“I won’t keep you,” he said with a slight bow of his head. “Shall I meet you outside by the fountain? Seven?”

You nodded, already turning away, and threw a smile over your shoulder. “Until then.”

His eyes were full of promise and anticipation. “Until then.”

---

I am 100% convinced Gale would try to flirt by complimenting you on your skills/abilities. Also 100% convinced Tara secretly keeps tabs on his attempts at dating.

#gale x tav #gale x reader #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep

137 notes · View notes

ch0k3herwithaseaview · 5 months

Text

@jegulus-microfic | may 6 strawberry | words: 1k

part 1 | next part

tw: anxiety, self hatred, intrusive thoughts, mental breakdown, implied underage smoking

Regulus couldn’t believe what he just heard. He was aware that people hide their pain behind a smile—he was Barty’s friend after all—but to learn that James Potter was doing the exact same thing? He couldn’t quite comprehend it.

He kept staring at him for the next Merlin knows how long before doing something that surprised even him.

Regulus outstretched his hand for James to grab it, then pulled them both up. For a second, they just looked at each other, their fingers intertwined. Then, taking one big step closer, Reg was holding the other boy in a warm hug. He could feel James tensing in his arms before exhaling and relaxing a little. After a moment, his hands hesitantly moved up Regulus’ back, grabbing at his jumper and holding tight. Simultaneously, the younger boy was caressing his shoulders and neck in a soothing gesture. Regulus could feel a wet stain forming on his shoulder where James hid his face.

They stood there on the Astronomy Tower in the middle of the night, embracing and crying quietly together.

After what felt like forever, Regulus pulled the other boy closer, hiding his own face in his chest, and whispered, “If you ever need to talk, or—or anything, really, just find me, okay?” He could feel James nodding against his hair, mumbling a quiet ’okay’, then falling silent again. Not for long, though.

“You smell like strawberries and cigarettes,” he muttered, not sounding exactly happy but not sad either, so Regulus allowed himself to huff out a small laugh.

***

A few weeks have passed since that night. They kept meeting at the tower, sometimes talking, sometimes sitting in complete silence. James hasn’t come looking for him aside from those meetings, still pretending he’s never been better.

Until one afternoon in late April, when Regulus sat with Evan and Pandora at the library, revising before OWLs,.

The Gryffindor approached them then, a bright smile on his face yet so much pain and sadness in his eyes. Regulus wondered how he had never noticed before.

“Hi, um,” James started awkwardly, looking straight into his eyes, “McGonagall sent me to tell you she wanted to talk with you about—about your brother.”

Regulus straightened, trying to read the other’s eyes—there was something in them that looked like a plea of some sort. “Right now?” He asked after a moment. James just nodded once in response.

So Regulus gathered all his things, told his friends he'd see them at dinner, and left the library with the older boy.

As soon as they reached the corridor, James took his hand, pulling him into the nearest room. It looked like any other classroom at school, with aisles of double desks, a blackboard next to the teacher’s pulpit, and some old books put neatly on the shelves by the window—the only difference was that it was covered in a thick layer of dust.

The moment the door closed behind them, Regulus heard James collapse against it, a loud sob escaping him. Within seconds he was kneeling before the crying boy, cradling his face. Regulus quickly casted Muffliato wandlessly, just before James started talking.

“I’m so fed up with this,” he managed between breathless sobs. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore; I don’t want to feel at all.”

“James, breathe,” he whispered, looking into his eyes. They took the first deep inhale together, letting it out together as well. Even though James was shaking all over his body, he kept taking the air into his lungs to calm down a bit. After a few minutes, when the older boy wasn’t hyperventilating anymore, Regulus asked gently, “What happened?”

Letting out a humourless laugh, James started. “Nothing really—Moony and Pads went out on a date, Pete was doing homework with Mary and Lily, and Marlene went somewhere. And I was alone in the dormitory, cleaning a little, a-and then I started thinking,” Another dry chuckle. "I convinced myself they all found something to do so they wouldn’t have to spend time with me and that they were probably shit-talking me when I wasn’t around, and then I-I just kept coming up with this kind of shit, and I felt worse and worse. And I know it’s just my head; I’m fully aware of it; it’s just—I can’t tell the difference between the nonsense it creates and what is actually true.” At the end, his voice was barely above whisper, the sobs trying to make their way back out of him.

And Regulus never stopped looking at him, still holding his cheeks and whipping away the tears that kept spilling.

“Did they ever tell you that they don’t like you?” he asked softly. James shook his head as an answer. “So why do you think so?”

“I don’t even know; I doubt I’ve ever given them a reason to hate me. But I’m just—I'm always all over the place, trying to make everyone smile, and when I’m not doing it, I overthink it. And every time I end up being angry with myself, because what if it makes all of them feel uncomfortable? What if I make them feel uncomfortable? And after the anger come the thoughts that I’m too much and I exhaust everyone and—“ a deep, shaky inhale, “I wish I could just switch it all off somehow.”

James sounded exhausted, defeated even, and Regulus has never felt so sorry for anyone besides Sirius. He felt defeated himself because he wanted to help that boy so badly; he wanted to make him feel better, but he didn’t know how. He was no specialist; he couldn’t give him some potions to muffle those thoughts—he could just sit there with him and listen, trying to take some of this pain away by simply being there for him.

“Do you want me to hug you?” Regulus asked, not taking his eyes off of James’, waiting for the approving nod that comes almost immediately.

So just like at the Astronomy Tower, he pulls James up and takes him into his arms, holding him tight.

#jegulus #james potter #regulus black #james x regulus #starchaser #sunseeker #dead gay wizards #the marauders #jegulus microfic #james potter needs a hug #angst ig #hogwarts au #1k words or more #by: allyeardepression

82 notes · View notes

a-kaash-me-outside · 1 year

Text

the walls are thin - epilogue

in which atsumu is your college neighbor with whom you share a wall. previous | epilogue [masterlist]

// proudly unpredictable and awestrukenly trusting ~ ᴀᴛsᴜᴍᴜ x ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 12504 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni omg even more smut, lots of fluff!, established relationships, seriously just a lot of fluff, we get to see all our favs, gatherings, party vibes, threesome, oral m!receive, throat fucking, oral f!receive, slight objectification but its hot?, afab she/her pronouns

a note from ♡ tori ♡: ah okay guys, i can't believe we're finally here. the END of twrt. i really didn't think that it would get this much love and all the interactions really just made me so happy and like would make my days, every week, all the time. tysm and ah, i can't wait for you guys to read THIS. it's like, ah, my fav. <3 <3 <3 can't wait to hear your guys' last thoughts on this silly little fic. ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

ever since you woke up 3 hours ago, you’ve been an anxious mess. productive, sure, but still uneasy. even now, you’re tidying, moving about the kitchen, wiping down the counters, putting away dishes, moving with purpose, quick, short movements from task to task.

“can ya stop pacing? it’s making me nervous,” atsumu calls from the living room, clicking his tongue and shaking his head as he emerges in the archway.

“how are you not more nervous already?” you ask, not stopping a single bit, actually pacing more now. before it was a way of getting around between chores, now you’re heel to toe, heel to toe, heel to heel toe until you reach the edge of the invisible barrier between your kitchen and dining room and then you turn 180° and repeat the process again.

it’s much roomier here than the kitchen in your apartment. the distance between your 180s is much longer than you had the luxury of before. you’re grateful for that, more time to overthink before spinning around.

you’re grateful for a lot of things in this kitchen compared to the last. the countertops are much nicer, shinier, easier to clean. the cupboards are roomier, don’t slam as loudly. the sink is big, spacious, with a spraying feature that actually gets the food off of the dishes. the stove has gas burners and there are two ovens instead of one really shitty one (though, those were a part of the non negotiable luxuries list you and atsumu came up with months ago). the fridge makes ice without having to fill the trays and the freezer has built-in shelves.

you’re grateful for the little things scattered around the kitchen too, the things that make it feel like home. the electric kettle is a matte sage and it matches your tea green dishware. the two cacti on the window sill, the hanging flowers to the right of the sink. photos of you and atsumu and friends, stupid lovey notes, oikawa and iwaizumi’s save the date, all attached to the fridge with tasteful souvenir magnets. the notepad on the freezer door where you and atsumu write your meal plan for the week. a dry erase calendar sprinkled with events in both yours and atsumu’s handwriting.

“hey, c’mon,” he says, walking over to you, reaching out his hand and wrapping it around your wrist gently to stop your repetitive motions. “makin’ me dizzy too.” he lets your hand fall as you stop, walking a few more steps away from him, deeper into the kitchen.

you huff, leaning your lower back against the cool countertop, heels digging into the tile floor as you cross your arms over your chest. “seriously, tsumu, how are you not nervous?”

he leans against the adjacent counter, palms gripping the edge, “what exactly are you worried about?”

“i don’t know,” you mumble, head tilting forward slowly, base leaving your spine, chin coming into soft contact with your chest as you take a deep breath.

you can’t see atsumu as he moves towards you, too busy looking down at your feet, but his voice is close to you as he speaks, “yea you do.” it’s soft, knowing, but patient.

“i just…,” you trail off. atsumu waits a few moments, trying to let you articulate whatever you’re feeling and wherever your worries are stemming from, but you look up at him and you’re not making any attempts to explain, so he tries to fill it in.

“everyone will get along, i promise. i know it’s been awhile, but that doesn’t mean that-,” he starts explaining.

you cut him off, shaking your head, “no it’s not that…”

“then what, baby?” he asks, nudging your legs apart, stepping in between them until the outsides of his thighs are pressed against the insides of yours. he grips onto the counter on either side of your hips.

you speak, small and somewhat under your breath, “we haven’t seen everyone in too long, i just really want everything to go well so i can enjoy the night.”

“come here,” he wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest, smoothing his hand over your hair as he presses a soft kiss onto the top. you let him move you, embrace you, wrapping your arms around his waist and finally taking a much needed deep breath.

you’re already feeling so much better, but he keeps explaining, “we get to see friends, some that we haven’t seen in years, all in one place, under this roof, our roof,” he pulls you back gently, kissing your cheek and then your cheekbones, “we own this roof,” he says, kissing you again and you giggle, “and we get to just hang out and play stupid games and catch up with everyone.”

atsumu steps back from you, interlocking his fingers with yours and spinning you around until your back is pressed up against his chest, swaying with you. “and we will play terrible music and feel so weird when two obscure friends talk to each other and we don’t even have to worry about stupid downstairs neighbors,” he says, spinning you back so he can see your adorable face again, watch the worry melt right off of it as he often gets to do because he’s so good at the melting, “and everyone will give us gifts, some really cool and some really bad, and we get to just have a really great night with everyone all in exchange for hours of veggie prep and hundreds of dollars in sliced meats and days of setting up and coming days of cleaning up.”

well, fuck, you can’t even remember why you were so worried a second ago.

“we still have so much work to do before everyone shows up at 6,” you note, no longer hurriedly anxious but still aware of how quickly time seems to pass when you’re being smothered in kisses by atsumu. your eyes flick to the clock above the stove that reads 10:15 am, but you don’t move an inch. even after all of this time, you’re still painfully aware of how difficult it is to unravel from a comforting atsumu.

bzz bzz. atsumu sits up, kisses your forehead quickly, and then walks back to the living room where his phone is buzzing. well, maybe it’s not so difficult for him. you almost yell out a pout, but realize that this sudden interruption should probably be welcomed, allowing you to actually focus on getting the house perfectly ready.

“hey,” atsumu says into the phone, muffled by the distance of being two rooms over now. “yea.” … “great!” … “okay.” …. “alright.” …. “okay. see you then.” …. “love you too.”

you scan your list of things to do, open the fridge to truly take in the quantity of vegetables and amount of side prepping you have to do, put the last dishes from the dishwasher away, and make a tiny note to remind atsumu to grab the mini burners from the basement. “who was that?” you call out.

“god, it’s a good thing we did all the shopping yesterday, or you’d be an even bigger mess today,” atsumu says, popping into the kitchen again, jumping up onto your freshly cleaned counter.

you throw him a look, eyes narrowed and jaw open in faux shock. “i literally just cleaned that,” you say, gesturing to the counter he is now sitting on, “also, i probably would be a smaller mess if someone was a bit more helpful.” you can’t help your smile as he shrugs his shoulders, playing along. just as you spent the entire morning cleaning the kitchen, atsumu had spent the entire morning cleaning the living room. the two of you both knew this.

you walk over to him. “can’t believe i’ve had to do everything today,” you shake your head at him, smile even wider as he leans forward and kisses it. “in return, i’d like you to go downstairs and find those stupid burners and also bring up the extra tables so i can set them.”

even amidst the chaos, clock ticking down with your to-do list still impossibly full, atsumu has a way of pulling you into these small moments. he always has, your entire relationship. it doesn’t matter what you were worried about, how you were feeling, what you were doing, he always creates space for you and him to just enjoy each other.

most of the time, just like this time, it comes in the form of teasing and poking fun. “y’know,” you tack on, leaning forward and kissing him back, “because you haven’t really done anything,” you explain.

he wraps his arms around your waist, leans back pulling you with him, kissing the side of your face, “oh is that so?”

you squirm to get out of his arms, but he holds tight, laughing now as he continues to press kiss after kiss after kiss wherever he can reach. “yes! it is so!!” you yell, laughter making it nearly unintelligible.

“right, the living room cleaned itself?” he asks.

you can’t stop laughing as you quip back, “magic, maybe.”

he lets you go completely now and shakes his head at you. “just like the table is going to magically find its way up here?” he asks, tilting his head.

you place your hands on his knees. “nope. that’s all you,” you tease.

knock knock knock. the fear creeps up on you quickly, all rational thought leaving in an instant as you worry about how much time could have passed, wrong information you could’ve sent out, unexpected people that it could be.

the crooked smile on atsumu’s face combats it instantly. “it’s a good thing i recruited back up then, huh?” atsumu says, nodding in the vague direction of your front door. your eyebrows knit together in confusion, but atsumu doesn’t say anything else, nods in the same direction again.

you make your way to the front door, tip toeing on perfectly cleaned hardwood floors and over brand new decorative rugs. just a week ago, this place was filled with boxes and disassembled furniture. now, in their places are the trinkets that filled them and the put together pieces.

the front door doesn’t even have a chance to open completely before you’re jumping into his arms, squeak of excitement leaving you, hanging off of his neck. whatever he was holding in his arms is set gently onto the ground so that he’s able to reciprocate the tightness of the hug.

you pull back, eyes wide and smile even wider before wrapping your arms around him once more and hugging him even tighter. you’re so enveloped in his embrace that you don’t hear atsumu approach behind you, only notice that he’s there when he scoffs loudly.

“what was one of the first things i said when you learned that he existed?” atsumu jokingly scolds. you pull away from your hug, half turning to see atsumu’s smitten smile and teasing head shakes. “i said that you weren’t allowed to like my brother more than me.”

you take a step back from the doorway, allowing osamu to actually step into the house. osamu reaches down to pick up his bags, one neatly packaged reusable kitchen bag and a just as neatly packaged gift bag. “that is somethin’ he usually has to say,” osamu says, looking in your direction, “when people meet atsumu first, it sets the bar pretty low.”

atsumu reaches forward to hit the side of osamu’s head, but osamu ducks out of the way like he’s been anticipating it from the moment the thought popped into his head. “besides, most people can’t help it,” osamu loudly whispers to you, smirking, “i’m just the better twin.”

“never shoulda invited ya,” atsumu shakes his head.

“but i’m so much help,” osamu replies, leaving his shoes neatly to the right of the door.

“yea, you’re just in time to go get stuff from the basement,” atsumu points out, nodding towards the basement door down the hallway.

“oh, absolutely not,” you step in front of atsumu’s nodding, blocking the view to the basement as if to prove a point. “samu’s gonna help me in the kitchen because duh and also so he can tell me all about the onigiri miya drama,” you explain to atsumu, shifting your weight forward onto the tips of your toes and smiling huge.

“god, i made a mistake inviting you over to help prep, didn’t i?” atsumu asks, but you’re already pulling osamu by the forearm into the kitchen, loudly excited to tell him every little detail about your new kitchen.

“you remember the old kitchen, right?”

“yea, of course, was kinda shitty.”

“i know, i know, but look! look at this, samu, 2 ovens.”

“gas stove too?”

“yea! works much better with the pans you got tsumu and i last christmas.”

“oh! do ya wanna see the housewarming gift i got ya?”

“now?!”

“why not?”

“then, yea! duh!”

nope. definitely not a mistake.

atsumu peaks his head into the archway with every intention of telling you that he’s heading to the basement and asking you if you could think of anything else that was down there that he needed to bring up. instead, he gets to watch this scene unfold, doesn’t dare to interrupt as you tear the tissue paper out of the bag, throw it onto the floor that you were so worried about moments ago, dig your hand around inside to feel for the contents, and then pull out a wooden box. “no way,” you say under your breath, turning quickly to set it down on the counter with excessive care. “my own?”

“come on, yn, every time you and sumu were at my place when ya came to visit, ya wouldn’t stop talkin’ about it,” osamu says, beaming, watching you closely as you gently pop open the latch.

“yea but then i went home and tsumu and i looked up how much it was and then we couldn’t stop randomly bringing up how much you spent on a fucking knife for 3 weeks straight,” you explain, shaking your head. you reach down into the box, running your fingers over the engraving on the side and it takes everything in you not to burst into tears as you read it. miya.

“i heard ya had a lot of veggies to prep,” osamu says, shrugging, “you’ll get enough use out of it today alone, i bet.”

“this is insane, samu, fuck,” you say, turning towards him and hugging him for the third time today already. “thank you so much.”

“of course,” osamu says, hugging you back.

“not really a gift for tsumu, though, huh?” you ask.

“the gift for sumu was how happy it makes you,” he replies without missing a beat, as if he actually thought it all the way through when buying it, saw the price tag, and took into account how happy his brother would be if he bought it for you. you can’t stop smiling.

the food prep flies by, not just because of your incredible new knife, but also because of the company. it’s actually been hours by the time you get everything washed, chopped, prepped, and plated, but the entire time was spent catching up on months worth of onigiri miya drama and the trips that you and atsumu had recently taken.

the second that the door to the basement closes, you lean in close to osamu, “so how is it going with that girl who keeps coming in right before closing?” you don’t have to be as close as you are to osamu to notice how flustered he gets instantly.

“i’m gonna switch jobs with sumu,” osamu threatens, shaking his head as he brings packages of vegetables to the sink.

you follow right along. “evading the question is just going to make it worse,” you explain.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies, evidently evading the question.

“the last you told me, she was still coming in and you were still staying open just to make her food,” you say, turning off the faucet so that he pays attention to you. “is that still happening?” he doesn’t respond. “you have to at least give me that!”

he sighs, turning his attention to you. “the second that atsumu walks up those stairs, you don’t say another word about this,” he says, finger in your face.

“deal! deal deal deal!” you say, nodding along. “is it still happening?”

“and,” he adds, “you let me wash the veggies while we talk about this.” you reach over and turn the faucet on again, smiling. he continues, “yes, it’s still happening.”

“have you told her that you like her?” you ask, not contributing a single bit to the prep that osamu is doing.

“well, i’m not 12, so, no?” he replies.

you hit his shoulder, “you don’t have to be 12 to have a crush on someone, samu. but, seriously, do you get that vibe?”

“probably just hungry after work or something,” osamu mumbles.

“so nothing has happened since we last talked that would make it seem like maybe she’s into you?” you ask, squinting at him despite the fact that his attention is solely on washing the bunches of broccoli.

you hear the sound of ascending steps from the basement, the door knob jiggle open, and you know osamu does too as he quickly says, “i mean, maybe the one time we were chatting until 4 am.” the door squeaks open and osamu raises his eyebrows at you and shakes his head. you will get this information out of him later.

it’s not long until it’s just a few short hours of everyone arriving. the decorating is mostly done, the food is prepped in the fridge, the tables are mostly set up. you entrust the rest of the prep to the miya twins- which might be a terrible idea, you’ll have to see once you come back downstairs- as you go upstairs to get yourself ready.

“i will keep an eye on him,” osamu says, flinging his arm around atsumu.

atsumu instantly pushes osamu’s arm off of him, shaking his head and reaching to smack the side of his head again. “it’s my house!” atsumu yells, missing once again and then instantly trying to hit him again. when osamu keeps moving out of the way, atsumu jumps at osamu, sending the two of them flying backwards and into one of the tables that needs to be finished setting up. the table bumps against the wall and even from your place on the stairs, you can see the ding in the freshly painted wall.

atsumu and osamu look at the wall and then up at you, waiting to see how you’ll react and how much they should start blaming each other. you just laugh, “the first of many, i suppose.” and then you make your way upstairs.

/++/

5:39pm and you walk downstairs, breath held because you’re not exactly sure what the state of the house is going to be in, but whatever expectations that you had are surpassed. everything looks exactly how you want it to look.

atsumu and osamu are standing side by side looking down at the large, mostly empty table where, in an hour’s time, your closest friends will be gathered, enjoying food and each other’s company. “i still think we should just set up the broths and vegetables,” atsumu says.

your torn between pulling out the camera or committing this adorable scene to memory, atsumu and osamu in the same exact pose, arms folded across their chests, posture mimicked, head tilted to the same degree. you opt for the camera. it’s more replicable that way, more provable.

it’s over all too soon, osamu bumping his shoulder into atsumu’s and shaking his head. “i told ya already, stupid,” osamu jeers, “if people aren’t eatin’ for another hour, there’s no need to bring em out yet. ya don’t even have to do anything, just hafta take the plastic wrap off of em.”

“yeah, but when we’re-,” atsumu starts to argue.

“yer wrong, just be wrong, sumu,” osamu interrupts.

atsumu moves to hit him again, but you speak up, “we can just bring it out when everyone arrives and settles.” the two of them turn to face you and atsumu can’t help the smitten face that quickly takes over, doesn’t even have the heart to argue with you right now. “seriously, everything looks great, guys, thank you.”

osamu sends back a quick, not a problem that you don’t have a chance to reply to, because atsumu meets you in two quick strides, kissing the side of your cheek. “you look a lot less stressed,” he says against your skin and then moves to pull away. osamu, the most perfect man in the world who can read any room and react with impeccable timing, tells the two of you that he’s going to finish cleaning up the prep mess in the kitchen.

you place both of your hands on either side of atsumu’s face, pulling him to kiss you. “you’re really good to me, y’know that?” you ask.

“ya look really good tonight, y’know that?” he asks back.

you shake your head at his evaded question. you know that he knows that. you kiss him again. “don’t you have to get ready? people are going to walk through that door any minute.”

“yes,” he says quickly, kisses you once more, and is then bounding up the stairs, “i’ll be 10 minutes tops!” he yells from your bedroom.

/++/

atsumu is the third person that shows up to your party and that’s not including you and osamu. the first person that shows up is maki at 5:58pm because, sure, he could’ve waited for those 2 minutes and shown up right on time, but that would’ve been 2 minutes that he could’ve been spending with you. he earns a hug just as hard as osamu, harder even, longer, despite the fact that you saw maki just last week when he helped you move in.

“you’re early, y’know that?” you ask when you pull away. maki steps inside of your house as if he’s been there a million times, leaves his shoes right next to osamu’s and nods.

“2 whole minutes,” maki replies, shrugging, “issei’s on his way and i’m sure oikawa and iwa will be late,” he informs you and you nod along. sure, maki had helped you move in, but he hadn’t gotten to see your house put together like it is now. he takes the liberty of exploring the rooms of the ground floor and you follow him around as you ask him how his drive was.

when you make it into the kitchen, excited to start rattling off everything about it that you love, osamu is in there casually on his phone. osamu and maki had met before, several times. it was inevitable, really, the most important person in your life other than atsumu and the most important person in his life other than you knowing one another. and you’re grateful for the fact that you don’t need to introduce or entertain the two of them as they instantly start a conversation because someone is already at the door and atsumu is nowhere to be seen.

the second person that shows up at your party is kita at 6:00pm on the dot. you know everyone that’s coming to the party, but you know kita the least and yet, the second that he starts talking, you feel like you’ve known him forever. you’ve only really met one other time, but kita steps inside and tells you how gorgeous the entryway to your house is and hands you a small gift and you understand very quickly why atsumu and osamu have raved about this person for years.

atsumu makes his way downstairs, quickly and haphazardly and almost falling on his ass, at 6:14pm. he just barely beats out sakusa and hinata who show up together at 6:15pm. in fact, he’s there to greet them at the door with you. they’re the first people that you greet as a couple and it, along with the soft chatter in the kitchen from osamu, maki, and kita, is making the night feel very real.

sakusa and hinata don’t need any introductions or hand-holding. even though they have never been in your house, they make themselves feel at home, walking in and leaving the two of you in the doorway as they explore. “this is crazy, right?” you ask atsumu, unable to focus on one conversation that’s happening and it’s filling you with a joy that is unmatched.

he answers by pressing a kiss into your forehead and nodding down the hall where hinata is touching something that he maybe shouldn’t be and sakusa is scolding him, something about how he’s so glad bo isn’t here yet. you can’t help but laugh, taking a single step in their direction before the next person is knocking on the door.

issei shows up at 6:16pm. he’s the first person to say the word, congratulations! to the two of you and it feels warm on your mind and in your chest. “maki’s already here, right? he said he was coming early to see you,” issei says, peering down your hallway.

“two minutes, issei,” you say, shaking your head, “he was two minutes early and it’s a good thing too, because i haven’t been able to spare anything other than those two minutes.”

“ah, there’s that college you,” issei jokes, pulling you in for a hug, “i knew it was in there somewhere, that interesting mixture of super stressed and in love with atsumu.” you narrow your eyes at him, but can’t get a comeback out as he continues, “where’s kawa and hajime, anyway?”

“come on,” you check your imaginary watch, “it’s still practically six o’clock.”

“true, but iwa did say that he was really going to try to get oikawa here on time,” issei notes as you shut the door behind him.

“and i’m saying that even really trying, there’s no way oikawa shows up before 7pm,” you shoot back and pull issei into the direction of the kitchen. you make quick eye contact with atsumu who gives you a warm smile and gestures towards the living room, making his way over there as soon as you return an affirming nod.

“i know you’re right, but sometimes i just want to have faith in them, y’know,” issei says, the two of you entering the kitchen. maki immediately (and politely) leaves his current conversation to join you guys when he sees you.

“who?” maki asks, quickly and very nosy.

“hajime trying to get oikawa here early,” you reply.

“oh, there’s no way that oikawa shows up before 7pm,” maki says matter-of-factly.

you grab onto his shoulder, nodding with your whole body because it’s really nice to have someone in your life who understands you as much as maki does. “that’s what i said!!!!”

the three of you catch up as much as three people who are in four different group chats and who talk to each other every day can catch up with one another. it is different, though. you hadn’t seen issei in months and maki hadn’t seen him in almost as long as you and you feel like you’re back in college in the best way possible and you really wish oikawa and iwaizumi were here.

you’re so immersed in your conversation that you actually don’t hear the door open. instead, you hear the voices traveling from the foyer, through the halls, and to the kitchen at 6:43pm.

“i don’t think you’re supposed to just walk in, rin,” you hear a familiar voice at the front door.

“well, then, maybe they should lock their door, aran,” you hear a different familiar voice reply.

you excuse yourself, walking to go greet the two people at the door. atsumu beats you to it, practically running down the hallway and pulling aran and then suna into a half hug. “yo, careful, atsumu, geez,” suna pokes, but hugs him right back. “you’re gonna break whatever this gift is.”

“how do you not know what it is?” atsumu asks, grabbing the large bag from him.

“because rin just asked if we could get something together so he wouldn’t have to go shopping,” aran says before suna could offer any sort of bullshit excuse. suna doesn’t deny it then, only lets a knowing, lazy smile creep onto his face.

“yea, guilty,” suna shrugs, “but to be fair, it was really expensive, whatever it is.”

aran nods, “it was really expensive.”

atsumu shakes his head, “you guys really didn’t hafta get us anything.”

“i mean, if it was just you, we wouldn’t have,” suna explains, looking passed atsumu and walking towards you. “thanks for havin’ us.”

you are pulled into two more hugs. you should have been keeping count of the amount of hugs you’re giving out tonight because the number is definitely getting up there and you’re not sure that it’s going to stop anytime soon.

“of course,” you reply, “thank you for whatever this really expensive gift is.”

“yea, whatever it is,” suna laughs.

you rest your hand on aran’s shoulder, “kita’s already here and osamu’s been here all day.”

“what? where was our all day invite?” suna asks.

“we’re literally here 45 minutes late, rin,” aran says, face unphased but voice questioning.

“yea, and you wouldn’t have helped,” atsumu tacks on.

“alright, yea,” suna says and the four of you walk into the kitchen. you note in your head that another thing you’re very grateful for about this kitchen is how much bigger it is than your last one, the open connection to the dining area granting the ability to fit everyone without having to worry about being too cramped.

you note the different groups of people forming, the different conversations that are taking place. you’re still playing host right now, walking from group to group and adding a few words or giving a side hug or asking if anyone wants a drink.

“who else is coming?” aran asks when you interrupt his conversation with kita and sakusa.

“oh, my friends, oikawa and iwaizumi, and then bo, i think, right?” you answer and ask atsumu across the room.

“yup,” atsumu nods, returning his attention to the conversation that he’s having with issei and suna.

“oikawa and iwaizumi are usually this late, but i’m not sure why bo is so late,” you say, thoughtful, but then shrug your shoulders. as if on cue, there is a knock at the door. “oh! that’s probably him.”

you rush over to the door and are very surprised to see oikawa and iwaizumi at 7:02pm. “i’m sorry that we’re late. i really tried this time,” iwaizumi says, looking at oikawa with a death stare rather than you with an apologetic one. you laugh, shaking your head. you hug them both, one arm around each of their necks as you squeeze them tight.

you hadn’t seen them even longer than you hadn’t seen issei, almost an entire year. sure, you kept in contact all the time, but you hadn’t physically been able to hug them and see them in far too long. they had just been much too busy with life and travel and wedding plans and life. “‘ts fine, but you’re staying later to make up for it,” you reply, still not letting go.

“oh, we’re staying in town for a few days, actually,” oikawa smiles, “surprise?”

“oh my god!” you say, indeed surprised. “that’s incredible!”

“yeah, atsumu helped us set the whole thing up the second we even made a mention in passing,” oikawa explains.

“guess that’s why kawa thought it would be okay to be the last people here?” iwaizumi says, evidently still playfully bitter about the fact that oikawa made them late again.

“actually,” you say, “not the last people to get here. somehow.”

“dammit! no way?” iwaizumi says in disbelief. you’re about to question why that’s such a bad thing, but oikawa’s sweet smile contorts into mischief and told ya so.

“ha! pay up! i told you, hajime,” oikawa says, poking his finger into the side of iwaizumi’s cheek.

“ridiculous,” iwaizumi shakes his head, “who else?”

“oh, just bokuto. i’m still really not sure why he’s so late. i thought you guys were him,” you reply, shaking your head. “i’ll send him a text-.”

“hajime,” oikawa says monotonously, cutting you off, “pay. up.”

“what? not here?” iwaizumi says, shaking his head, eyebrows furrowed like oikawa has just asked for something he should not have. knowing oikawa, he probably did exactly that.

“yes, here. pay up!” oikawa says, nodding back in the direction that they came from. you tilt your head curiously, wanting to ask questions, but just letting whatever is happening unfold.

“absolutely not,” iwaizumi refuses.

“no, because i said that-,” oikawa starts, finger in iwaizumi’s face once again.

“okay, okay, fine,” iwaizumi gives in. you’ve known the two of them long enough to know exactly what’s going through iwaizumi’s brain. there were times before that he didn’t give in to oikawa as quickly as this, but all three of you know that when oikawa starts droning on about whatever he said, it never ends in iwaizumi getting his way.

“it’s in the car,” oikawa smiles.

“i’ll be back,” iwaizumi grumbles, turning around and then he’s gone again.

you choose not to ask any questions because oikawa is not responding to your very confused face and instead starts asking you about your new home. you only get halfway into a partial conversation when iwaizumi shows back up at the door, shaking his head, sighing heavily with a white t-shirt that reads oikawa was right. “perfect,” oikawa says, placing his palm against the words and patting softly.

he walks down the hallway on his toes, swaying back and forth proudly, “issei, come look at this stupid fucking shirt that hajime’s wearing!” within seconds, issei appears in the hallway, attacking oikawa with a hug and then pointing at iwaizumi, shaking his head and laughing. maki follows behind with less force, but all of his composure vanishes the second he sees the shirt.

“god, i can’t believe i get to marry that idiot,” iwaizumi says softly and you know that if anyone else were standing here with him, he wouldn’t have let it slip out into the air, but he knows that you get it more than anyone.

once everyone is settled, back into small groups conversing, you take out your phone to shoot bokuto a text message to at least ask him where he’s at. he responds in seconds.

> bokkun ♡ / 7:14 pm> SORRY. walking up now ♡♡♡♡♡♡

“well, well, well,” you say, clicking your tongue as you open the door. you’re there before he’s even knocked. “you’re very late, bokuto.”

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry,” he says, leaning down and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into an enveloping, warm, tight hug. “but i have a good reason?” he says as he steps back.

emerging from behind him is akaashi with an almost embarrassed, sheepish smile.

“oh my god! i haven’t seen you in so long! ah!” you say, greeting him with a hug as well. it’s less warm, more friendly than bokuto’s, and you can feel how nervous he is. you met akaashi a few times before and really hit it off. he was easily one of your favorite people even though you’ve known him much less than some of the other people at this party. but he didn’t live in the area and neither of you were very good at keeping up with each other.

“i’m sorry i dropped by uninvited, but bokuto said that it would be okay and-,” akaashi smiles apologetically.

“of course it’s okay!” you say, pulling him inside.

“well, okay, i didn’t bring kaashi so that you would ignore me,” bokuto says, stepping inside on your other side, throwing his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side.

“me? ignore you? come on, you’ve gotta be joking,” you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck, practically hanging off of him. “tsumu!” you yell excitedly, walking as quickly as you can with bokuto attached to your hip into the living room where everyone has migrated, “bo is here!” you emerge from the hallway. “and look who he brought!”

you’re so excited to start introducing anyone who doesn’t know akaashi to akaashi because everyone loves akaashi, but just as you’re about to start pointing everyone out and giving names to faces, akaashi speaks, soft and timid in this room of so many people, but clear nonetheless. “samu?”

osamu’s head swivels around quickly, following that voice that he evidently knows so well, because the word is already coming out of his mouth, before he’s even made eye contact with him. “keiji?” there are conversations still happening, people still chatting, but a few of them stop, and most importantly you hear it and notice it.

“you two know each other?” bokuto asks, surprised and excited all in one.

for you, it’s more about figuring out what’s happening than being excited and happy that they already know each other. “you two know each other that well?” you question.

osamu turns away, tilts his head down to the floor and clears his throat, but akaashi isn’t that quick. you watch the blush spread across his nose and cheeks.

“yeah, i work near onigiri miya and i usually stop there after work,” akaashi explains, “samu- er, osamu is usually kind enough to let me stay and eat while he cleans up.”

it all clicks.

you can’t stop the expression from creeping onto your face. the warning glance that osamu sends your way is just more proof of how heavily it’s showing. you have so many questions, need so many answers, at the very least want some sort of confirmation that you are as right about this as you feel and akaashi gives you just that.

he laughs, light and airy, and you can see the effects that it has on osamu. “just the other day he let me stay until like,” akaashi lowers his head, slightly embarrassed, “i had a really annoying day at work and he let me hang out in the restaurant until like 4 in the morning. and you had to be in at like 9 the next day, didn’t you?” he asks osamu.

“oh, even earlier, actually,” osamu teases back, “like 7 or something ridiculous.”

akaashi shakes his head, tucks a piece of hair behind his ear and exhales, “i’m not even going to make any promises that i won’t do it again.”

“well, i would never ask that of ya,” osamu says and you can feel how genuine it is and it’s not even pointed at you.

atsumu shoots you a questioning look, very aware of the silent exchanges between you and osamu. you shoot him back a wide-eyed, excited expression and mouth the word, later to him. atsumu nods back at you, gives you a quick thumbs up, and then continues talking with hinata, sakusa, aran, and suna.

osamu and akaashi practically don’t talk to anyone else that night, moving over to the quiet corner of the living room. osamu takes it upon himself to drag him into the kitchen, to grab him a drink, to ask him about work, and to tell him that he looks really nice tonight.

“it’s just because i’m actually freshened up,” akaashi reasons.

“no way.”

“yes way. you usually see me after an 8 hour shift.”

“or maybe it’s just because i always think it, but we’re finally outside of my restaurant and so i can say things like that.”

a pause. “well, i think you look better in your onigiri miya shirt.”

“oh is that so, keiji?”

“yeah. you look good in black.”

“well, i’ll have to keep that in mind.”

now that everyone is here, you’re leaving host mode. everyone is settled. everyone is having their own conversations. everyone looks like they’re genuinely enjoying themselves. you scan the people, the different groups that everyone is forming and then reforming. it’s weird, but deeply moving, to see every single facet of your life come together like this. people that would have otherwise never have met, all together in the same room. interactions that you never could have predicted, going really well. and all within these walls, your walls.

everyone eats and everyone laughs and you get to show off your new knife to everyone and halfway through the night, atsumu pulls you into his lap and wraps his arms around your waist, and you know that this night was meant to see everyone and mingle, but you’re not sure that you want to move from this very spot for the rest of the night and neither does he. in fact, he orders osamu around from his place at the table, telling osamu to clear the table and to grab the game that’s in the cabinet of the tv stand.

osamu doesn’t want to listen, really, he doesn’t, but akaashi starts walking towards the tasks before osamu can refuse. akaashi helps clear the dishes and laughs when atsumu starts yelling at osamu for making akaashi do his work and before you know it, everyone is at the table and all of the dishes are in the sink and the food is put away and there is two stacks of cards in the middle of everyone.

“game’s real easy, even samu can play,” atsumu explains, nodding towards the colorful cards. osamu doesn’t even bite back, just seems happy to be sharing a bench with akaashi. “someone draws a question card and they have to answer it or drink unless someone at the table uses their veto card which they can accrue more of by doing the dares in the other card pile, got it?”

everyone nods. “honestly, we’ve never played with this many people or this many veto cards, so it should be interesting,” you say.

“so, basically, no one is getting out of not answering a question,” sakusa replies.

“that is definitely what that means,” aran agrees.

“alright, atsumu should go first,” osamu says, “it’s only fair.”

“fine, fine,” atsumu says, waving his hand, grabbing a card from the pile, “who is the worst dressed person in this room?” he reads. “okay, actually, a lot of them are like this and there are a lot of people here.”

“well, are you going to drink or answer it?” kita asks.

“you gotta answer it,” hinata says.

“well, someone would be stupid to use their veto on this anyway, because it’s obviously iwa,” atsumu answers quickly, shaking his head and throwing the card down. iwaizumi nods in agreement as oikawa stands up in his seat.

“hey! that shirt is the best piece of clothing hajime owns!” oikawa says.

plenty of insults fly across the table as the game continues. atsumu wasn’t lying. a lot of the cards are very similar in nature, just calling out people in the room for various things like being a bad kisser or still being caught up on an ex. no one even has to use a veto card. they’re all harmless enough, poking fun and joking around, or no one cares enough to force someone to answer.

until it’s your turn.

you reach forward, getting out of atsumu’s lap for just a second to draw the card before he’s pulling you back into him. you and atsumu read the question at the same time, but atsumu reacts much quicker than you do, laughing loudly. if he had been drinking something when you pulled the card, he would have made a huge mess.

“what does it say?” maki asks, nosy, trying to peer over your shoulder and at the card before you read it.

you move away from him, cheeks warm, hoping, praying, if there’s a god out there, that no one uses their veto. you move your hand, ready to drink already as you read, “if you could have sex with any of your partner’s friends, who would it be?”

the only people in the room that aren’t laughing are akaashi and kita and even they are giggling and wide eyed at the question. “i’m drinking,” you say, already bringing the cup to your lips.

“not so fast,” oikawa says, slamming his veto card down on the table, “i’m sure i’m not the only person who would have done this anyway. and besides, i can use hajime’s card later if i need it.”

“no, you will not,” iwaizumi scoffs.

“fine, then you want me to take my card back?” oikawa asks.

“no, obviously not, i want to know yn’s answer,” iwaizumi laughs, directing his attention back to you. in fact, everyone’s attention is on you.

“i don’t think this question was designed to be played when every one of my partner’s closest friends are in the same room?” you challenge.

“tough shit, answer the question,” suna says, pointing his finger in your direction.

“right, and to clarify, that doesn’t include people that used to just be your friends like iwa and maki,” issei says, “because then obviously we know your answer would be me.”

you shake your head, ignoring his comment and taking a deep breath, “this is so stupid.”

“come on, ya gotta play the game,” osamu jeers.

atsumu squeezes your waist, pressing a kiss into the back of your shoulder, “yea, babe, you gotta play the game.” you turn your head and narrow your eyes at him.

“ridiculous that the first thing you two agree on is making me answer this in front of everyone right now,” you scold.

“just get it over with,” atsumu teases, “it’s not hard. even i know it.”

“no you don’t,” you scoff.

“so there is someone on your mind right now?” maki says, leaning forward as if that will make the answer come faster.

“i-,” you start, but anything that you could think of saying would just dig this hole deeper. “well, i-.”

“come on, just say it,” sakusa pokes.

your eyes flick over to him quickly, face burning, absolutely radiating heat now, you’re sure. and you’re sure that everyone can tell how flustered you’re getting, because there is an obvious answer in your mind, one that’s been in your mind since the moment you met him.

“obviously, it’s bokkun,” you mumble and atsumu, true to his word, does know it. he says the name right alongside you, laughing at how perfectly the syllables align. you and atsumu seem to be the only two people at this table that are expecting this answer because the rest of the table is in an uproar now. symphonies of what?!?!?! and bokuto?!!?! and what about me?!?? arise in stereo.

“me?” bokuto asks, floored and flustered in a way that affirms your answer perfectly. you’re feeling just as shy as before and everyone is screaming around you and at atsumu and each other and bokuto, but you offer a small nod to bokuto, just to bokuto, and you watch him attempt, and fail, to hide a smile.

after everything calms down, you’re able to play a few more rounds, thankfully not getting any other question that tops that one, not even when you get the question that reads, was your ex good in bed? and you answered a quick yes and then pushed forward.

the clock is ticking down, the night is getting later and later and as the game is packed up and put back in its safe place beneath the tv, people start to trickle home. hinata and sakusa, issei, kita, aran and suna. you offer goodbyes and thank you for comings and when you walk oikawa, iwaizumi, and maki to the door, you say a very sincere, “i don’t want it to be this long until we do something like this again.”

“come on,” oikawa says, shaking his head, “hajime and i are getting married in less than two months.” oikawa lifts his hand, showing off his dainty ring as if you forgot that they were engaged.

“shit, it’s already that close?” you ask.

“yea,” oikawa nods along, smiling, “most of those dumbasses are invited too, so, it won’t be long, i promise. it’ll be louder, and i’ll be the happiest i’ve ever been, but it won’t be too long.”

you nod, hugging oikawa tightly and then iwaizumi and then maki. “seriously, thank you guys for coming.”

“wouldn’t miss it for the world,” maki says, smiling, “i’m crashing your guys’ lunch tomorrow, so i’ll see you then.”

“obviously,” you reply, locking the door behind them once they’ve left.

the only people left in your living room that don’t live there are bokuto, akaashi, and osamu. before you can make your way back in there, atsumu grabs your forearm and pulls you into him, kissing you hard, hand cupping your cheek, fingers scratching over your jaw.

“what was that for?” you ask when he finally pulls away.

“because i can,” he shrugs, and you take that as an okay to start to move again, but he holds you in place, “and because look at this house we own together, isn’t that crazy?”

you laugh, “yes, yes it is.” you wait to see if there’s anything else.

there is.

“and because i trust you more than anything in this world.”

you cock your head. “okay…,” you say, hesitant.

“and if you want to have sex with bokuto tonight, i would be okay with that,” atsumu finishes, proudly unpredictable and awestruckenly trusting.

you physically have to jump back, unable to process that sentence any other way. “what?!” you ask, loudly, and atsumu can’t stop laughing, shushing you and shaking his head. “no! what?! why would you say that?”

“because i’ve known that you’ve wanted to fuck bokuto our entire relationship and if you want to ask him if he wants to spend the night with us, that would be okay with me,” atsumu says, calmly. way too calmly for what’s coming out of his mouth, you have to admit.

you don’t know what to say. you can barely think or understand what he’s saying, let alone how to respond. “with us?” you ask for clarification.

atsumu nods, “i’m sure he will not be difficult to convince if that’s what you want.”

you’re afraid to ask it because you’re afraid that all of this is just some elaborate joke. or, rather, you’re afraid for only a second after thinking it, because atsumu doesn’t surprise you anymore. he squeezes your forearm, looks you directly in the eyes as you ask, “and it’s something you want?”

“i offered, didn’t i?” he asks back and you nod.

“okay,” you say, nodding again. “i’ll ask him.”

it’s easy enough to pull bokuto aside with osamu and akaashi being as involved in their own conversation as they are. you don’t really know how to approach it, not completely. how do you just ask someone that? but the second that you pull him into the kitchen and away from the few people that are still in your house, he exhales and steps close to you. and it’s not anything that you’ve said all night, it’s just how he’s always acted around you.

you lean against the counter and he follows, shaking his head and standing right in front of you. “you’ve got a lot of cool friends, y’know that?”

“oh, yea,” you nod, punching his shoulder and then poking your finger into the middle of his chest, “the coolest.” he laughs and you can feel it against the tip of your pointer finger. you can hear murmuring in the living room. it fills up the comfortable spaces of silence. you look up at bokuto, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “i don’t really know how to ask this,” you say back, softly enough so that the people in the other room can’t hear your murmur.

bokuto tilts his head, “what’s up? is everything okay?”

“no, yea, really great,” you say, nodding and then you take a deep breath. just say it, just say it, just say it, just say it, just say it. “would you,” you say, you curl your fingers against his chest, “want to spend the night?”

the first emotion to come to the surface is excitement and then quickly after that confusion hits bokuto’s face much harder, like his mind filled in the blanks, but didn’t let himself get his hopes up. “like…,” he trails off, hoping that you’ll explain further without him having to ask.

you reach forward and tug on his forearm, coaxing him closer to you. “like…,” you say, heart beating violently against your chest. you try to evade his gaze, head down, focusing on the feeling of his soft skin against yours, nails scraping against it eliciting a tiny shiver from bokuto.

he reaches down, places his finger beneath your chin, and tilts your head upwards. “like?” he asks, eyes evidently flickering down to your lips. it couldn’t be helped, the way your tongue swipes against your lips and your breath catches in your throat. you just nod.

before his lips meet yours, you both talk at the same time, overlapping one another, but hearing the other perfectly.

“is this okay with atsumu?”

“like, with atsumu too.”

you put both of your hands into bokuto’s hair and he reciprocates quickly, putting both of his hands on either sides of your face and pulling you towards him, lips crashing into his. it’s like he reads your mind, one arm around your waist, one hand bracing the back of your thigh as he props you up on the counter to get closer to you.

you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper into your lips, leaning forward as if there was any space for you to move into. large hands grip onto the fats of your hips, sliding you to the edge of the counter, stomach pressed up against his, arms sliding down his back, fingernails dragging against the fabric of his shirt.

bokuto pulls away, laughing softly, “so this is why tsum tsum comes into practice complaining about his back.”

“it actually gets much worse than this,” you say back, low and airy, pressing your forehead against his and kissing him once more, quick.

atsumu appears in the archway, leaning against the wall, not an ounce of jealousy on his face, but rather, a very devilish smile. you feel warm regardless, but you don’t make a move to untangle from bo. “so, are you staying the night, bokkun?”

bokuto almost immediately says yes, but then hesitates. “god, yea, i’d really love that, but i-,” he sighs, “i have to make sure akaashi gets home and-”

“i can take akaashi home,” osamu calls from the living room.

“oh, you don’t have to do that, i can just get an uber or something-,” akaashi dismisses.

“no way,” osamu says, shaking his head. from where atsumu is standing, he can peer around the corner and see his brother’s hand grasped around the back of akaashi’s elbow. “let me take you home, keiji.”

“whose home, samu?” akaashi says so quietly that if you were not actively listening for whatever akaashi’s response is, you would not have heard. you decide that that’s enough eavesdropping, actually, allowing them their private conversation and turning your attention back to bo, having your own private conversation as you repeat atsumu’s question.

“so, are you staying the night, bokkun?” you mimic exactly.

he nods, about to say something else maybe or try to kiss you again, but it’s interrupted very quickly as osamu calls out, “we’re out of here.” you barely have time for bo to help you hop off the counter before osamu and akaashi appear in the archway behind atsumu hand in hand.

you look directly at their interlocked fingers and akaashi’s pinkish cheeks and you tilt your head at osamu. osamu looks at bokuto’s hand on your hip and your disheveled hair and he tilts his head at you. you decide to call it even.

you contemplate letting them walk out on their own because there is nothing else in your mind right now than bokuto, atsumu, and a whole bunch of fantasies coming to realization. you don’t do that. you leave bokuto’s grasp, walking towards the front door with akaashi and osamu. atsumu offers a goodbye to akaashi and osamu, unbothered because he’s sure he’ll see osamu a few more times this weekend before he makes his way back home. atsumu is much more concerned with having a very quiet conversation with bokuto.

you only catch bokuto’s concerned, “are you sure about this?” as his head moving back and forth from you to atsumu. and atsumu’s assured, “i’m the one that brought it up.”

“have a safe drive home,” you say to osamu and akaashi at the doorstep. “and a fun rest of your night.”

“yn,” osamu warns, but you just feign ignorance.

“you also have a fun rest of your night, yn,” akaashi says in the same exact tone, tugging on osamu’s hand, placing the other on his bicep.

“ha!” osamu laughs, turning around and pulling akaashi to the car. it’s like he can’t get out of here fast enough. “thanks for having us!” osamu calls from the car window and then they’re gone.

when you shut the door, locking it for the last time, you realize how quiet the house is without the different areas of chatter. in fact, you can’t even hear the conversation that you know is happening in your dining room.

except, there isn’t a conversation happening in your dining room. instead, there is atsumu, the love of your life, the most important person in the world to you making out with bokuto, your closest friend of atsumu’s, the one person you’ve wanted to fuck other than atsumu in the last 4 years. your voice is small, not because you’re timid or embarrassed, but because you think if you speak any louder, a whimper will come alongside it. “can you take me to bed?”

the whimper escapes you anyway as a tiny string of spit connects atsumu and bokuto’s lips and as atsumu looks like he’s trying to regain composure and as he leans over to bokuto and says, “i get to do it all the time, you go ahead.” your stomach is doing a million flips and as bokuto approaches you, your mind goes blank. not that you need it.

because bokuto picks you up, same hold as before. his touch feels familiar and his grasp feels strong. “i don’t even know where i’m going,” bokuto admits as he reaches the top of the stairs. you gesture in the direction of your bedroom and open the door as he walks close enough to it. he leaves the door open, lays you down on the bed and as if he’s pictured this in his mind a million times, he quickly and assuredly kisses down your clothed chest, lifting up the bottom of your shirt to press kisses into your stomach before sinking onto the floor.

everything is happening so fast and you cannot explain how grateful you are because you’ve wanted this for so long and you’re finally getting it. bokuto doesn’t waste a second in hooking his arms under your knees, pulling you to the edge of the bed, spreading your legs, and ducking under your skirt. your thighs squeeze the sides of his cheeks as you feel his warm breath between your legs.

“enjoying yourself, pretty girl?” atsumu asks as he sinks into the bed beside your head, smoothing over your head and lifting your shirt. you can feel both pairs of hands on you independently, but somehow moving in perfect time with each other. it’s overwhelming in the best way. atsumu doesn’t even take your shirt off, just pulls it up far enough for your bra to show and then pulls your bra down enough for your tits to pop out and the way that you are so clothed, but so exposed all at the same time is making you grow warm between your legs.

you whimper at the question, nodding as atsumu runs his hands down your sides and then back up to your tits and then off of you all at once. without them, you can feel bokuto’s completely, nothing to distract you from how big they feel on the inside of your thighs. with him under your skirt, you can’t see anything at all and you want to watch him, but the fact that you don’t know what’s happening, relying on touch alone, is causing you to flood.

he licks a strip into your panties, harsh enough to cause them to push between your lips, digging his tongue into your hole, slipping past the fabric, thick tongue pushing them out of the way with no help at all. you roll your hips into the sensation. “shit,” you breathe.

so focused on the feeling between your legs, you don’t notice atsumu’s cock until he’s pressing the spongy tip against your slightly parted lips. you turn your head for a better angle, parting your lips further, opening your jaw, and taking him in your mouth. atsumu puts his hands on the back of your head, pulling you onto his cock. you’ve had years and years of practice with this which means atsumu knows your limits and capabilities and he gets to move you however he wants as a result.

bokuto’s hand creeps up your inner thigh as he laps at your clothed pussy, sucking the fabric into his mouth and swallowing all of the accumulated juices before slipping his finger into you. your jaw opens further, moaning around atsumu’s cock involuntarily and atsumu needs to feel that again. “shit, bokkun, ‘m gonna need ya to do whatever ya just did again.”

he laughs against your pussy, adding another finger inside of you and you already feel so full. his fingers are so thick, they’re so fucking thick, like four of your tiny fingers are jammed inside of you in two motions, but they’re longer than your fingers too, can reach so much deeper. you’re squirming on his fingers, moving your hips to fuck yourself on bokuto’s fingers and you can’t help how much your hums and whimpers and whines are effecting atsumu. “holy fuck, don’t stop,” atsumu says, hips pressing forward, hands pulling you onto his cock to meet his thrust.

the angle is still slightly awkward, hitting the back of your cheek rather than sliding down your perfect, tight throat like he loves so much, so he swings his leg overtop of you, both knees on either side of your head, balls resting on your chin as he lifts your head and places a pillow underneath. “fuck, that’s better, baby,” he says, barely giving you a warning before fucking into your mouth, letting you hollow your cheeks on his head, tiny movements of his hips pulling the tip in and out of your tight lips.

“she’s close,” bokuto announces into the room, talking about you, not to you, and you tighten around his fingers even more. bokuto pushes his fingers inside of you completely, pulls them out to the tips, pushes inside of you completely, pulls them out to the tips, and then he curls them over and over again, and you come so fucking hard that you can’t even imagine the mess underneath your skirt.

“so fucking wet,” bokuto says, mumbles against your cunt as he moves your panties to the side, pulls his thick fingers out of you and uses the tip of his tongue to coax the come out of your fluttering hole and down his throat. the lewd sounds are filling the room and your ears even more than the sound of atsumu whining and whimpering watching his cock disappear between your lips.

“shit, fuckin’ mouth feels so goddamn good, fuck,” atsumu growls, pulling you by your hair onto his cock and you can barely breathe, spit drooling out the sides of your mouth and down your chin and neck. his strokes are long and slow, relishing the feeling of his length being squeezed by your tight throat. “gonna fuck yer throat all fucking night. won’t even be able to talk tomorrow.”

“fuck,” bokuto says, “gotta- fuck-” all at once you feel even more fucking full. bokuto slips inside of you without a word, stretching your drenched hole around his huge cock. you can feel it in your fucking guts, so fucking deep, speared. you wrap your legs around his waist, holding him in place because you don’t want to not feel him so fucking deep in you. you need to feel him this deep in you forever.

you feel the breeze on your stomach, on your sloppy clit, as bokuto pushes your skirt up and out of the way, not that you could see anything anyway with atsumu where he is and his cock destroying your throat how it is. bokuto reaches down, rubbing small circles into your sensitive, swollen, pretty clit with his thumb. “so pretty,” bokuto mumbles.

you pull bokuto closer with your legs, moving your hips to meet him and he understands perfectly, pulling his hips back and slamming into you. his moans are lower than atsumu’s, more grunts than whimpers, and the fact that you can hear them both is making your walls flutter around bokuto’s thick length. “god, so fucking tight,” bokuto praises, “shit.”

“i know,” atsumu replies, rolling his hips, sliding the underside of his cock against your tongue. “feels so fuckin’ good.” he presses forward, pulls your head onto him until his head hits the back of your throat and then he holds you there. you can’t breathe, gagging on his thick head in your throat, but the noises that are coming out of him are well worth it. they always are. you swallow around his length and something breaks in him.

bokuto starts fucking into you faster, harder, the inside of your thighs already sore and very reminiscent of another first time you had. his fingers are gripping into your waist and your fingers are gripping onto the sheets, unsure of where else to put this pure need, unable to reach atsumu’s back or arms. atsumu sees you, hands moving across the bed, looking for somewhere to root as you take all of the abuse that’s coming to you.

he removes his grip from your hair for a moment, reaching over and grabbing your hand. “pretty girl, hey, baby, here,” he guides your hands to his thighs and tears are streaming from the corners of your eyes because your cunt is throbbing and your throat is burning and you can’t breathe and atsumu is still there to take care of you in ways that you don’t even understand.

you curl your fingers around his toned thighs and everything feels right in the world, everything feels more manageable. it’s something for you to ground yourself on, the feeling of the soft, toned muscle in your hands, against your fingernails, scraping and digging. “shit, doll, feels good, harder, yea?” you nod, effectively shoving atsumu’s cock down your throat even further. you dig your fingernails into the skin harder, harder, not dragging across, but digging into. “fuck, baby.”

bokuto is fucked out of his mind with the feeling of how tight and perfect you are around him and the exchange that’s happening in front of him with you and atsumu. it’s all so fucking much. he can’t stop pounding into you, fucking as deep as he can, slamming the tops of his thighs against the insides of yours, holding you in place with his large hands spanning over your stomach. “fuck, gonna come,” bokuto breathes, stare not pulling away from the way that atsumu and him are making you feel so used, so good.

atsumu answers for you because you couldn’t be expected to answer with your mouth as full as it is. “you can come inside,” atsumu says, looking down at your tear-pricked eyes and swollen lips as you hum an affirmative plea. “she wants you to come inside,” he corrects himself.

“fuck,” bokuto says with a shaky exhale, because he wasn’t exactly expecting that, but it’s exactly what he wanted.

“and where do you want me to come, pretty?” atsumu asks, relentlessly fucking into your throat. the only air that you’ve gotten is in tiny breaths between harsh strokes and inhales from your nose. you feel lightheaded, but the fact that it’s about to be over is much worse than your inability to get a proper breath.

you can’t speak so you move your hand from his thigh, dragging your finger down your throat and fuck, if that wasn’t the cutest gesture atsumu had ever seen. there’s a lack of pressure on your chest as atsumu changes positions, leaning forward, bracing himself against the wall as he changes angles so that he can get even deeper in your throat, can fuck your throat like a pretty cunt.

bokuto watches this unfold and he can’t fucking hold it any longer. it’s so much different than atsumu, the way that bokuto unloads inside of you. he doesn’t still, doesn’t stutter. his hips keep moving at an abusive pace, fucking you even harder than before as stream after stream of his thick come coats your gummy walls. you’re coming around his cock, sobs trying to escape you, but failing because of atsumu’s cock crammed down your throat, heavy balls slapping against your chin with every quick stroke inside of you.

bokuto’s come is spilling out of you. it was inevitable with how fast he was still fucking you and how much he was coming inside of you. it feels like it’s never ending, coupled right along with the noises that are leaving bokuto, low and needy. even after he’s finished filling you, he stays completely inside of you, breath catching, not ready to pull out just yet.

atsumu’s cock is throbbing against your tongue, pulsing, leaking, and he shoves it as far as he can fit it and you’re so sure that he’s going to pump his come directly down your throat, but then he pulls out, opening your mouth with his thumb, letting his tongue fall open in hopes that you mimic it and you do. “needa see it all pretty on yer tongue, baby, open, yea, fuck.”

he doesn’t even stroke himself, comes at the sight of you with your tongue out and messy eyes and swollen lips and gasping for air. his thick come doesn’t spray in ropes against the inside of your mouth, it drools onto your tongue. it leaks out of the tip lazily, pooling and collecting on the dip in your tongue until there’s too much to fit and a part of the fat glob slips down the back of your tongue and he grunts, replacing whatever disappeared down your throat. “all of it, baby, suck,” he directs, tilting your head, placing the tip between your lips and coaxing you to suck whatever’s left from his sensitive slit. you do exactly as you're told and as a reward, you get to hear the sob tear from his throat and watch him wipe away the tiny tears that threaten to fall.

everything is quiet. no one moves for at least two minutes. it takes the entire time for you to catch your breath.

“fuck, shit, i’m sorry i didn’t savor that more,” bokuto breaks the silence, shaking his head, inhale and exhale heavy as he stands up completely, putting his boxers back on.

atsumu takes this as a cue to move as well, getting off of you maybe as he should’ve from the very beginning to help you recover faster. though, you’re actually certain that lack of immediate movement is what allowed you to feel as okay as you do this quickly.

“next time,” you say, or try to say, because it hurts and it comes out shaky and hoarse. atsumu leans down and presses a kiss into your neck and then the side of your face and then your lips. he would be more phased by this if it wasn’t a weekly occurrence.

“yea, maybe come to town more often,” atsumu says, confirming.

“don’t say that,” bokuto says, shaking his head, “because i really will.”

“then, maybe come to town more often,” atsumu repeats, a tiny smirk forming on his lips.

“alright,” boktuo affirms.

atsumu leans down, places a kiss on your forehead. “c’mon, let's get you cleaned up,” he says, helping you up. you don’t try for a thank you or a yes, just give a small nod and move towards the attached bathroom.

“do you have a guest room or something in this cool big house?” bokuto asks, clearly feeling like he’s invading.

“we do, but,” atsumu says, walking out of the bathroom, over to the dresser and pulling out a big t-shirt. he disappears into the bathroom again, water running, clothes shuffling, and emerges with your clothes in hand. he throws them into the laundry hamper in the corner of the room. “you’re welcome to spend the night here.”

“oh! no, no, i wouldn’t want to-,” bokuto starts, but is interrupted by the sink running again, teeth brushing, and now he really feels like he’s invading. but then you walk out of the bathroom, as fresh and clean as you can be without having taken a shower, and you wrap your arms around bo’s bicep. the feeling of displacement fades pretty quickly then.

“yea,” atsumu says, hand on the back of his neck, “someone gets a bit clingy after sex.” atsumu nods towards you and you playfully scowl back at him even though you know it is very true. “just until she falls asleep though. in the morning, she’s usually like, tsumu, fuck off, i’m trying to sleep. it’s weird, really.”

“i mean, if you- yea, i’ll stay if you want me to,” bokuto says and looks down at you nodding very convincingly. you walk over to the bed, pulling bokuto along by the arm and you crawl under the covers, laying perfectly in the middle of the bed. this wasn’t the exact use that you thought you would get out of your king size bed, but you can add it to the list of splurge items that are turning out to be very worth it.

“didja need anything before ya go to bed?” atsumu asks because he knows it’s something that you would ask if you weren’t so unable to ask. bokuto shakes his head no. he can’t imagine needing anything at this moment. “cool.” atsumu shuts the light off and the room goes very dark.

it’s awkward first, weird for only a few moments, figuring out your place in all of this, and then it just kinda works out.

huh, reminds you of something.

♡ tori's polls ♡ ( which tori self-indulgent element was ur fav? )

taglist: @natriae @simpfully-heartbroken @mobbbb1 @cloud-lyy @mimivinx @kjd55 @url0call1fter @kryzi @slut-for-dabi @katsunarii @unstaaableaf @misfit-megumi @solovolpe @cheezitwh0re @5sausefandom @phantomremi @ellie111593 @pizzasdeliveries @pebble-did-what @raionmikage @filipinxgirl @alienvarmint @kuroosluthoe @bbyxxm @fi-chanwrites @bear-likes-mushrooms @cyueksims @desideityy @privthemis @yoitsseulgi @hai1q @toyfortoji @ihaveacrushonjayjo @ajbutasimp @bakamuraaa @ellie111593 @heraldmoon @aam1na@boxdisappeared @yogaballkink @snazzyturtles @hxdruss @tetsurane @jewlmin @chubbygirlfics @satanblessing @centinoahs @lanalans @omisgoodgirl @hero-fucking-101 @paradisebabey @dolce-peach @writing2live @dabibreeder @miyaluv127 @iwnnabeurss @karmakarter @hehatesmati @6kiwi @kurapika-1999 @tsukiran @sasscatsunshine @mushasstuff

@useless-bicth @evbs-numberoneslut @hunny-hotline @alienvarmint @bella009888 @um-no-ok @footjib @mon-cherries @privthemis @agashki @renster05 @greeniegreengreen @tokyo-banana @fandomtrash5092

join my taglist here!! ~~ no more twrt BUT i do have other fics comin' up ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

follow my new writing updates tag: #♡ woah! tori's writing update! ♡ (pinned tag!)

#atsumu x reader #atsumu smut #atsumu x reader smut #bokuto smut #bokuto x reader smut #bokuto x reader #hq smut #hq x reader #hq x reader smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader smut #miya atsumu x reader #toriwritesshit #twrt!

620 notes · View notes