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pretentious-blonde · 18 hours ago

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stay for dinner?

summary: a stupid conversation, past insecurities, and a boy who thinks he isn’t enough—until you show him he always was

warnings: steve self-sabotaging, crying

a/n: part 4, can be read as a standalone too. PLS give me ideas for these two if you liked them!! they currently have my heart <3 (may or may not write nsfw, if i get an idea for that, so be on the lookout!)

series masterlist

Steve set a freshly rewound tape on the countertop. The sign on the wall stating: Be kind: Rewind, clearly had not been making an impact on the general public. And if that wasn’t enough, he was desperately trying not to roll his eyes as a certain curly-haired boy to his left, perched on the desk as if it was a lounge chair.

Dustin had been pleading with him for the past ten minutes—some elaborate scheme involving a comic book store in the next town over. Steve had already told him “no” at least four times, but the word didn’t seem to register in the boy's vocabulary. He became aware he was fighting a losing battle as the kid refused to budge.

“Please?” Dustin implored again, swinging his legs idly as he watched Steve rewind the day’s returns.

“For the last time,” Steve muttered, eyeing a slightly worn Back to the Future case with mild dismay, “I already told you no.”

He was trying to figure out how he could make his declaration any clearer.

Dustin huffed, crossing his arms. “I can’t drive yet, remember?”

“Yeah, well, that’s not my problem,” Steve shot back, sliding the VHS into its designated slot behind the counter.

“I’m telling you, it’s only like a fifteen-minute drive. Tops.” Dustin glanced at the clock pointedly. “Plus, your shift ends soon. What else are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know—go pick up my girlfriend?” Steve flashed him a wry smile, letting the term roll off his tongue with pride.

Girlfriend.

It still felt new, but it also felt good. He thought it would take longer for him to assimilate to his new title as boyfriend, but he fell into the role as easily as breathing. Something that felt completely natural.

No longer was he the designated driver for his friends after work, he did the stuff that boyfriends do. And that included spending most evenings with you.

There were a few times you insisted he needed to spend time with his own friends, but he still wished you were there. Hopefully, you would be comfortable enough to tag along with them in the future. God knows he was more than willing to show you off.

“Oh yeah?” Dustin sat up, his posture straightening. “So it’s official now?”

A tiny grin tugged at Steve’s mouth. “Yeah.” He closed a drawer of tapes and rested his hands on the counter, staring at Dustin with a slightly smug expression. “It’s official.”

“Good for you, man. Seriously. That’s nice.” He said, seemingly out of obligation rather than pure interest. Then, snapping back to the real topic at hand. “But I’m not leaving until you agree to take me to the comic book store.”

“That’s like—” Steve glanced at the clock above the television sets for rent, “an hour from now.”

“Yep,” Dustin said, unabashed. “I’m persistent.”

“Look,” Steve sighed, massaging the tension in his temples. “She’s coming here once my shift is over. I can’t just bail on her to drive you around.”

Dustin’s face lit up. “Then bring her along! Maybe she’ll like it!”

“Yeah, no. That’s not happening.” A short laugh escaped Steve before he could stop it. “I’m not dragging her to a comic book shop just so you can blow your allowance on some special-edition nonsense.”

“Hey, it’s not nonsense!” Dustin protested. “They have the rare issues I can’t find anywhere else. And who knows, maybe your girlfriend’s into comics!”

“Why do I even argue with you?” Steve groaned to himself, returning to the stack of tapes in front of him—anything to have an excuse not to keep looking at Dustin’s pleading face. “You just keep going and going. It’s exhausting.”

“That’s because I know you’ll give in eventually,” Dustin quipped, flashing that self-assured grin that made Steve want to either adopt him or toss him out a window—possibly both.

“Yeah, well, not this time,” Steve insisted, though the conviction in his voice wavered slightly.

Dustin was right about one thing: Steve did have a tendency to cave when it came to the kids, especially the ones he’d practically helped raise. But, as he filed away the last of the returns, a pang of guilt rippled through him.

He didn’t want to let you down. Truly, he didn’t. You were swinging by just to see him. It was a Sunday after all, so he was finishing early, and he wanted to spend as long as he could with you.

Unfortunately, he did feel a little regretful about letting his friend down. Perhaps he was spending a bit too much time with you—which wasn’t a crime—but he was struggling to recall the last time he spent alone time with Dustin.

The kid must have caught the trace of hesitation in Steve’s expression. Finally, a crack in his armour.

“Look,” he said, in a rare moment of sincerity, “just ask her, okay? If she says no, I’ll drop it.”

Steve mulled that over, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Fine,” he relented, not hiding his exasperation. “I’ll let you pitch your case when she gets here.”

Dustin pumped a fist triumphantly. “Yes! You won’t regret this.”

“I regret a lot of things, Henderson,” Steve muttered under his breath. “Now let me finish up so I can actually clock out at a decent time.”

“Deal,” Dustin agreed, but he made no move to vacate the desk. Instead, he just kept swinging his legs, watching with interest as Steve tried to busy himself with the returns.

The kid was relentless—he had to give him that.

He was half-leaning against the counter when you walked in, the lazy Sunday light spilling through the windows, making him look almost golden.

You instantly spotted him, features slightly fatigued but nonetheless tender. The boy who inserted himself into your daunting new life, making you feel less alone. The boy who made you feel safe whenever your eyes met—warm, reassuring, sometimes bashful if you caught him at the right moment.

Your gaze drifted to the curly-haired kid perched on the front desk, chattering away while Steve fiddled with cases. You hadn’t met him yet, but had an inkling as to who it might be from you and Steve’s many conversations.

The second Steve caught sight of you, the slight crease in his brow eased, and a genuine smile lit up his face. He straightened, set the tapes aside, and practically melted as you approached, arms opening to fit you just right.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling you into a warm hug. His vest brushed against your cheek. You tilted your head just enough to feel the soft press of his lips against your temple.

Even though the two of you were official, your cheeks still reddened at his action. It often seemed he didn’t mind that you had company, or maybe he just didn’t care. Or perhaps he didn’t realise how brazen he could be.

Either way, you weren’t going to stop his displays of affection. You enjoyed knowing he was proud to call you his.

“Hi,” you said quietly, relishing the way he lingered in that hug, not quite wanting to let go just yet.

“This is Dustin,” he turned, gesturing to the boy with the curly hair. “I told you about him, remember?”

“Right!” You offered the boy a friendly smile, glad your assumption was correct. “So great to finally meet you. Steve mentions you all the time.”

Dustin stared for a moment, then blinked like he was recalibrating.

“Um… hey,” he said, his tone surprisingly timid. “Yeah, you too.”

That made Steve grin even wider.

Dustin, rendered speechless? He never thought he would see the day. He looked at his awestruck expression and glanced over at you smugly.

Yeah, he did that. He isn’t quite sure how, but he did that.

“You ready to go?” you asked, glancing up at him over your shoulder. At your question, Steve let out a slow breath, raking a hand through his hair nervously.

“Apparently, someone wants me to be their personal chauffeur,” he said, with a pointed look at Dustin. “Says I need to drive him to a comic book store.”

“A comic book store? But there’s one like four streets over, right?”

Steve spread his hands in exasperation. “Exactly what I said!”

Dustin threw his hands up. “That one sucks! Their selection is terrible and they get new shipments like once a month!”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. He sounds like a tiny professor with the fervour in his voice. Steve shot you a look of abject guilt, like he was already imagining leaving you hanging.

“Would I be the world’s biggest jerk if I did this?” he asked, the uncertainty evident in his tone. He hated to be the one to make decisions like this, picking sides and disappointing someone in the process.

“No, honestly, it’s fine.” Gently, you shook your head. “It’s still early, right?” You gestured to the clock on the wall—three o’clock, give or take a few minutes. “I’ve been all over the place today, honestly an hour or so just to get everything in order would be amazing.”

“I mean…” Dustin started, looking between you and Steve, not sure if you're just being nice or actually had something to do. “You’re welcome to come with?”

But you waved him off with an apologetic smile. “Thanks, but seriously, I’ve got a lot to catch up on at home. You two enjoy, please, don’t let me stop you.”

Dustin beamed at you, grateful for the positive turn of events. Steve, on the other hand, still looked torn, torn between not wanting to inconvenience you and also not wanting to bail on his friend.

“Alright,” he relented, exhaling in relief when he realised you were genuinely okay with this. “I’ll… yeah, I’ll drop him off, and we’ll probably poke around for a bit if they really have something he’s looking for.”

“No worries.” You leaned forward, reaching for his hand, not missing the smitten glaze in his eyes as you squeezed it. “Swing by mine after, okay? I should be done by then.”

Steve’s posture relaxed, gratitude colouring his eyes. “Okay,” he murmured, “deal.”

He leaned in, cupping your jaw and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips this time—a sweet, unhurried gesture that made your cheeks flush—again.

There was a shuffle behind him, and you could sense Dustin being extremely polite (or maybe just temporarily stunned) enough not to comment. Steve pulled back smiling, as you made your way to the exit.

“See you, Steve,” you said, backing toward the door. You cast a quick wave at Dustin. “Later, Dustin.”

“Uh, bye,” Dustin managed, raising a hand in farewell.

And with that, you slipped outside, leaving Steve to shoulder his shift into driver mode—though, judging by the fond look on his face, he wasn’t half as annoyed about it anymore.

He just got to rub it in Dustin's face, that yes, he had a sweet girlfriend. And yes, she really was that nice. All the time. Probably when she shouldn't be.

As far as he was concerned, if you needed it, he could haul Henderson around for an afternoon to give you some free time.

“You,” Dustin said, pointing at Steve once you were gone, “are one lucky dude.”

Steve snorted, but it came out more like an affectionate laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmured, casting a glance at the door you’d just left through. “Yeah, I am.”

Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he cruised down the main road, Dustin rambling away in the passenger seat. The kid’s feet bounced on the floor mat, all brimming energy. Steve had to admit—it was nice to see him so pumped. But that didn’t stop him from cringing slightly at every new question that spilled out of his mouth.

Right now he was the subject of a very intense interrogation, and while he had mentioned he was seeing someone new, clearly that was not enough information for the teenager sitting next to him.

“So,” Dustin said, leaning forward, “this girl—your girlfriend—what does she do?”

“She’s writing for the paper in town.” He said, feeling a surge of pride in his chest as he got to gush about your achievements. “Gonna be a big-shot journalist someday. That’s what she wants, anyway.”

Dustin let out a short laugh, amused in a way that made Steve raise an eyebrow. “Why’re you laughing?”

“I’m not, I’m just—” Dustin shook his head, lips quirked in a grin. “You and your… type.”

Steve gave him a side-eye glance. “My type?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Dustin scoffed, half-exasperated, half-teasing. “Smart writer girls. You know—the go-getter, brainy ones.”

Steve’s initial instinct was to shrug it off, but something nagged at him.

He felt a twinge of déjà vu that he didn’t love.

“Yeah, okay, I can sorta see what you mean.” He spoke cooly, but the heat rising in his chest was anything but.

“Admit it,” Dustin pressed on. “You like girls that are just a little… out of your league.”

Steve bristled, tightening his grip on the wheel. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, think about it." Dustin shrugged, apparently not noticing the defensiveness in Steve’s tone. "The girls you’ve dated. They’re super smart, super driven. It’s cool how you have managed to pull this off twice.”

Steve forced a laugh, though it felt hollow on his tongue.

Pull this off? That the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Right, yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence, Henderson.” He cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to shake off the uneasy feeling creeping into his stomach. “Well, if they like me, then I must be doing something right.”

“For sure. No denying you’ve come a long way.” Dustin nodded, tapping the dashboard with one finger. “Remember how you used to act at Scoops? Man, you were just—”

Steve groaned, cutting him off as he steered into a small parking lot beside a rundown building with a neon sign advertising Comics & Collectibles. Not wanting to relive failed moments from his youth any longer than he had to.

“Alright, we’re here.” He put the car into park, his posture now rigid. “You’ve got thirty minutes, max. Then we’re outta here.”

“Thirty minutes?” Dustin repeated, eyes bulging. “But—”

“Non-negotiable,” Steve said flatly, giving him a pointed look, suddenly in a sour mood. “I’ve got places to be.”

“Fine.” Dustin grumbled under his breath but ultimately acquiesced, grabbing his backpack and popping open the door. “Thirty. Starting… now.”

He hopped out, the door slamming shut behind him. Steve exhaled, jaw still tense. He watched the kid dart across the lot and pull open the shop’s glass door with excitement.

Alone at last, Steve let his head fall back against the headrest.

Are you really that much out of his league? The question looped around in his mind like a broken record.

He could laugh it off—he had enough practise doing that—but he started remembering how he felt so inadequate around Nancy.

You made him feel needed, cared for, that much was certainly true. But how long would you need him, really?

The notion stirred up old insecurities he’d thought he’d buried.

The rational side of his mind told him he had nothing to worry about. If you liked him—chose him—that was enough, right?

Sighing, he pulled out his watch and glanced at the time. Twenty-nine minutes until he could drop Dustin off and head straight to your place. He suddenly wished the clock would run faster.

Because if there was one thing he couldn’t wait to do, it was lose himself in you. If only for the evening.

Your familiar doorstep was supposed to feel welcoming, as it had so many times before, but Steve’s mind was a bundle of half-formed worries as he stood in the familiar space.

He hated to admit when things got to him, but Dustin’s teasing—albeit lighthearted—had, indeed, gotten to him. The doubts clouding his mind like a soft static he couldn’t push away.

The one statement he kept circling back to was the whole "out of his league" idea. I mean, yeah, from the outside looking in, it could be the case. But he had something to offer, right?

If nothing else was true, he at least had a decent enough face, and his personality had come a long way from high school. Hopefully, other people could see that too.

He forced his mind into silence as he took a deep breath, knocking twice in quick succession.

When you opened the door, dressed in soft, comfortable clothes that looked unfairly adorable on you, he felt something in his chest unclench. Even on a lazy Sunday—one where you had every right to be tired from your own job—you still radiated a classic warmth, one that he was selfishly drinking up, grateful to be the one basking in it.

“Hey,” you said, smiling so easily that a bit of the tension in his shoulders melted.

“Hey, angel” he echoed, stepping inside when you ushered him through the threshold. The air hit him first—warm and fragrant, hinting at something savoury on the stove. “Wow, it smells amazing in here.”

Little did he know, you had already taken care of most of your errands that morning. Knowing you’d be spending the afternoon with Steve, you’d gotten up a little earlier than usual to make sure everything was in order. But when you saw the desperate look on Dustin’s face as he pleaded with your boyfriend to take him to the store, an idea sparked. A little surprise for him—one you hoped would land well.

“Figured I’d make dinner.” You gave a pleased little shrug. “We don’t always get Sundays like this, and I know you had to work, so…”

“Wait,” he said, blinking, “you made dinner?”

His eyes softened as he took in your words, letting them settle in his chest. He tried not to feel indebted—but God, he wished he stopped to pick up flowers or something.

“Yup,” you confirmed, leading him toward the kitchen. “Nothing fancy. Just has to reduce on the stove for a while longer, but I wanted it ready for when you came by.”

Steve’s heart twisted in two directions at once. On one hand, it was the sweetest gesture, and certainly one that should have put his mind at ease. On the other, his mind kept whispering to him. He questioned if he was even worth this kind of effort.

The bluntness of the thought shocked him a little, but he couldn’t render it completely false. He felt like he owed you something.

“You didn’t have to go all out for me,” he murmured, smiling at you in an almost apologetic manner.

“I know.” You reached up to brush a stray bit of hair off his forehead. “I wanted to.”

He swallowed, nodding. “Thanks, angel,” he said softly, the pet name rolling off his tongue with more tenderness than he intended. Like he wasn’t supposed to be using it. “Seriously.”

You tugged him gently into the living room, where he sank down onto the couch, exhaling a sigh of relief. The day had felt so long—the slow hours, Dustin’s energy, the drive out of town—but now, in the familiarity of your apartment, it all felt calm. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t quite right.

You curled against him, fitting neatly at his side as he draped an arm around you. The soft haze of a lamp cast a cosy halo over the bookshelf across the room, the very one he’d helped you build not long ago. He couldn’t help but notice the extra row of spines he didn’t remember seeing before.

“Hey,” he teased, nudging your head and gesturing to the neatly lined novels. “I thought you said no more books until you’d read all the ones you owned.”

You lifted your head to follow his gaze, a faint grin tugging at your lips. “I did read them. Which means I’m allowed new ones.”

“All of them? In, what—two weeks?”

He barely finished reading Salinger in senior year, and that took him months to work through.

“About that,” you said, sounding almost sheepish. “They were good, and I got on a roll. You know how it is when a book just sucks you in?”

He didn’t really, but now he felt as though he should.

“That’s…impressive.” He replied safely, not wanting to bring down your mood with his lack of literature knowledge. Especially when you seemed so pleased that he was there in the first place.

You used that moment to shift closer, your cheek pressing against the broad line of his shoulder. He felt the warmth you emitted, and if he allowed himself, he could imagine that maybe you enjoyed his company as much as he loved yours.

“So,” you said, glancing up at him with genuine curiosity. “How was work? How’s Dustin?”

Steve hesitated, momentarily tripping over the idea that you’d be interested in the mundane details of his shift or the kid’s comic book haul. But the way you were watching him—like you actually cared—made him sigh and lean into it.

“Pretty standard, y’know?” He ran his free hand over his jaw, trying to sound casual. “Dustin got what he wanted, as usual. He’s like a force of nature—hard to say no.”

You smiled, amused. “That kid seems unstoppable.”

“Definitely unstoppable,” Steve agreed, a soft chuckle escaping him.

Eventually, after his debrief of today's events, you got up to check on dinner, stirring the pot and releasing another wave of that delicious smell. He watched, heart clenching again with gratitude and guilt.

He could see how careful you were, minding the heat, adding a pinch of seasoning, taking the time to make something special just for him.

He wondered if he could do anything to help, something to be useful again.

It felt so domestic that for a second he let himself imagine a future where this could be the norm—where the two of you shared little traditions, teased each other about groceries, woke up side by side. Equally happy with what the other had to offer.

Soon enough, you both ended up at the small kitchen table, plates filled with a hearty meal that made him groan with delight after each bite. You just laughed, pleased by his genuine appreciation.

“Good?” you asked, grinning as he nodded enthusiastically, mouth still full.

It was good. Really good. Made only better by the fact that you made it for him.

Why didn’t he think of something like this?

At this rate, he was going to have to pull a screw loose from your bookshelf just so he could prove himself again.

When you’d eaten more than enough to satiate your hunger, you cleaned up together, bumping hips in the process, trading playful glances as you washed and dried the dishes.

He followed you back to the couch, happy to follow where you dragged him hand first. You spent the rest of the evening chatting aimlessly about books, random gossip from your workplace, and his occasional run-ins with Robin or the kids.

There was nothing particularly grand or momentous about it; just a gentle closeness. Though he was worried it was too mundane, if his crappy jokes were enough to keep this thing going.

All too soon, the clock on the wall struck a sober reminder: Monday morning was lurking around the corner, and you gave him an apologetic look.

“I hate to kick you out,” you said softly, “but I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He pretended to huff in annoyance, though the corners of his mouth twitched in a small smile. You were the one with a real job, after all. “Responsibilities and all that.”

At the door, you hugged him, chin hooking over his shoulder. He could smell the faint scent of laundry detergent on your jumper, mixed with the lingering aroma of dinner. It felt safe in your arms—safer than he’d felt all day.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your hair, voice thick with more emotion than he intended to reveal.

“For what?” you asked, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes, sensing his unease.

“For dinner,” he shrugged, trying to hide the lump in his throat. “For letting me hang out… for, y’know, being you.”

A smile lit up your features, and you rose on your toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

It should’ve been reassuring, but that old worry nipped at him once again.

You gave him a playful nudge out into the hallway. “Drive safe, okay?”

“Always,” he promised, mustering a half-smirk. But the moment the door closed behind him, the warmth drained away like someone had shut off a heat lamp.

By the time he slid into his car and started the engine, he was already thinking about Dustin’s words, "girls out of his league."

Mentally, he scolded himself. But the thought stuck like glue, stubborn and unmoving. He glanced at your apartment window—light still glowing from inside—and his chest ached with longing.

You liked him. You even cooked for him, fully aware that he would have been just as content with a crappy pizza or diner fries.

So why couldn’t he let himself just be happy?

With a quiet sigh, he pulled away from the curb, leaving the comfort of your home behind. And as he drove through the sleepy streets of Hawkins, he couldn’t quite loose the hollow sense that he was missing something.

Good things always had a way of escaping him, and he couldn’t imagine how this would be any different.

You’ve never felt unsettled since moving to Hawkins—at least, not until now.

Work at the Hawkins Post can be demanding, but those pressures were somewhat tangible: deadlines, edits, the joyous feeling of being undermined for basic input. You can handle all that. But suddenly finding your supposedly devoted boyfriend slipping through your fingers for reasons you don’t understand?

That feels far worse than any work stress could ever be.

All week, you’ve told yourself not to overreact. Steve might just be busy or tired or dealing with something personal. You didn’t want to pry, and after coming clean about your own struggles, you assumed he would do the same thing. Take his own advice or whatever.

But the excuses keep piling up, and you can’t ignore the changes in his behaviour. It started with some half-hearted reasons to hang up the phone in the evenings—when he used to plead with you to stay just little longer—usually ending up with one of you falling asleep on the line, listening out for the others breathing to steady before ending the call.

The whole week he didn’t even mention spending the weekend together. Usually that was sacred time, with him arguing with Kieth and Robin to please let him have the evening shifts rather than the morning. He enjoyed waking up lazily next to you, not rushing out the door before he had his fill.

By Saturday, you decide you can’t wait for answers any longer. You head out, crossing the familiar street, eventually pushing open the door to Family Video. Robin’s face pops up from behind the counter, the bell signalling a customer.

“Hey,” Robin calls, stacking tapes. “If you’re looking for Steve, you just missed him. Morning shift—he took off like ten minutes ago.”

“I know.” You attempt a polite smile. You were already aware of his absence, watching his BMW speed away from the store, feeling even worse when it turned the opposite direction to your place. “I actually, uh… came to see you.”

“Me? Really?” She seemed half-surprised, half-intrigued.

“Yeah. I… I think I need your help.” The words spill out in a rush. You don’t realise how anxious you sound until Robin sets aside her tapes, giving you her full attention. “I’m sorry for springing this on you, but I’m kind of at a loss. You’re Steve’s best friend, and—” You pause, cheeks warming. “I don’t really know many people here yet.”

Robin’s expression softens. “Hey, hey, no need to apologise. What’s going on?” Her eyes narrow, the smallest spark of protectiveness lighting behind them. “Did Steve do something stupid? Because I can give him a good slap if—”

You lift your hands, shaking your head quickly. “No, no, it’s not that. Or… not exactly?” Your voice wavers. “I just—wanted to know if he still… likes me? Because he’s been distant, and I can’t think what I did wrong.”

Robin’s mouth opens on a short laugh, but then she sees you’re serious.

“Oh. Wait—you’re for real?”

Heat pools in your cheeks. It sounds so ridiculous when you say it out loud, but you press on. You were here already, so if she knew something, you would rather just get this over with.

“He’s barely returned my calls, and this weekend he hasn’t even tried making plans. Last week I cooked for him—nothing fancy, just dinner—and he acted so weird about it, almost like he wanted to be anywhere else. I keep replaying it in my head, wondering if I came on too strong or something.”

She watches you carefully, reading the tension in your posture, the way your hands keep twisting into your sleeves.

“Okay, okay,” she says, gentler now. “I promise I’m listening. You think you scared him off?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” You look at the floor, biting your lip. “This past week, he’s barely tried to see me at all. Usually he’s so—well, so Steve, you know? But now it’s like he’s ignoring me, except he’s still in town.”

Robin sets aside the tapes completely, leaning her elbows on the counter. Yes, she knew how Steve had been acting, practically besotted with you. So this fast turnaround was odd, but then again, Steve had his moments. Though they usually came with more of an explanation than this.

“That’s… not good,” she concedes. “But trust me, from an outside perspective, he’s been head over heels for you since day one. My guess is he’s the problem, not you. It might be in that thick skull of his, you know? It doesn’t help that it’s covered with all that hair.”

“I feel so stupid, but I didn’t know who else to ask." You let out a shaky laugh. "I’m just… worried I messed up somehow. I know it’s weird—”

“Hey, you’re not weird.” Robin shakes her head, reaching over to squeeze your arm gently. “You’re worried—totally normal. Let me talk to him, okay? I’ll figure out what’s going on.”

Your eyes widen. “No, you don’t have to do that. I don’t want to cause drama—”

She interrupts you with a wave of her hand. “Drama is my middle name, apparently, thanks to Steve. Let me handle him. I’ll be subtle. Trust me.”

A mischievous grin tugs at her lips. You have a feeling she’s never been subtle in her life, but you’re too tired to argue.

“Alright.” You sigh. “Only if you’re sure. And please, maybe don’t mention I… came here? I don’t want him thinking I’m this desperate, clingy girlfriend who needs constant reassurance.”

“Desperate? Clingy? He’s been the clingiest guy I’ve ever seen—until now.” She snorts. “Don’t beat yourself up. I know he adores you. He’s probably just… freaking out about something. He’s good at that. Self-sabotage is his specialty.”

The tight knot in your chest loosens just a bit, but her words set you on edge a little. You instantly think that you are the one freaking him out, coming on too strong. But you decide that silence is the best option here.

“Thank you,” you say, voice still unsteady. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” She offers a supportive smile. “Hey, you’re welcome to drop by anytime, you know? If you wanted someone else to talk to or something, but no pressure.”

“I might take you up on that.” You tell her, relieved.

“Good. Now go home, put on some music, try to relax. I’ll handle the Harrington situation.”

You’re not entirely sure what that entails, but her confidence is reassuring. After one more grateful nod, you thank her again and head back outside. Not quite feeling relief, but certainly not feeling any worse.

Steve juggled a soda cup in one hand and a stack of tapes in the other. He had the evening off yesterday and had spent it binge watching crappy rom coms while trying to ignore the nagging feeling in his chest. Trying to find some solace in those mundane guys managing to snag the unattainable, popular girl. They never showed what happened after the whole kiss and get-together thing. Life imitates art in a way.

He also had the day off today—normally something that would have him beaming from the inside out—but he made the decision to spend it alone. A decision that had been laced with anxiety, which now leaked into a mild depression. His nerves overshadowed any relief he felt about his schedule.

He unlocked the door to Family Video, hoping he’d be able to stash the unchecked tapes and slip out before Robin noticed the cloud hanging over him. No such luck.

She was early for her shift, waiting at the counter, arms crossed, jaw set. Her eyes locked on him the second he stepped inside.

“You.” She spoke the word like it was a challenge. “Explain yourself.”

He paused, heartbeat picking up, not expecting this level of hostility.

“What did I do now?” he asked cautiously, setting the tapes down. “I planned to bring them back before opening, I swear, I just—”

Robin cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. “Not that. Your girlfriend came in here yesterday, totally distressed. She thought she did something wrong. Actually asked if she might’ve scared you off by, and I quote, ‘making you dinner.’”

Steve’s stomach flipped. A wave of guilt slammed into him, sharper than he’d expected. He swallowed, remembering how you’d stood in your apartment, smiling so warmly, how you’d carefully stirred a pot of sauce just for him.

God, he’d been such an idiot.

He thought that you would have been too busy with work this week to notice his silence. He thought he hid his emotions better than that.

“She thinks that?” he managed to say, voice tight. “She really asked that?”

“Of course she did.” Robin slammed her palm on the counter. “Now, are you freaking out, or what? Because if you are, just say so.”

“Me? Freaking out?” A shaky laugh left Steve’s lips. Freaking out was putting it mildly. “I’m fine, Rob.”

She shook her head. “You’re clearly not,” she persisted. “Last week you’re gushing about your new relationship, and now it’s radio silence. What’s up with you? Spill it.”

He knew there was no getting out of this, well, unless he literally turned and ran out the store. But that seemed a bit extreme and would likely only delay this conversation.

He dreaded this part. The whole talking about his feelings and his subsequent inadequacies.

“It’s going to sound dumb,” he muttered, gaze dropping to the floor.

“More so than usual?” She teased.

“Robin.”

“Right, no.” She muttered. “Wrong time. Sorry.”

She sighed and walked round the counter so she was standing directly in front of him. Both so she could gauge his reaction and bring him some semblance of comfort. “Talk to me.”

“It’s like…” He trails off, looking away from her pitiful expression.”She’s going places, you know? Really going places. I’m just… here.”

Her expression softened a fraction. “What brought this on?”

Steve felt the memories swirl—Dustin’s pointed remarks, the creeping sense of déjà vu reminding him how Nancy once left him behind.

“Dustin,” he admitted after a beat. “He said some stuff… about me only dating smart girls who are outta my league. It got stuck in my head, okay?”

“Henderson?” Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “Steve, he’s a kid. A kid with zero concept of normal relationship drama. You’re really letting that get to you?”

He tried to muster a shrug, but his chest felt tight. No matter what angle he looked at it, it was a statement that he couldn’t disprove.

“He’s not entirely wrong,” he mumbled. “I don’t have a big plan or anything. My job’s okay, but it’s not exactly a career, and I’m certainly not saving big money—there’s no future path. Meanwhile, she’s got all these ideas, ambitions, everything.”

Robin stared, seeming torn between wanting to hug him and wanting to smack him upside the head.

“God, you’re self-sabotaging again.”

“I am not—”

“Yes, you are!” she insisted, stepping forward. “Textbook Harrington behaviour: good thing’s happening, so you panic and decide you don’t deserve it. I just watched her walk out of here looking like someone kicked her puppy. She literally thinks she scared you off.”

Steve’s gut twisted further. He pictured you, eyes glassy with worry, probably replaying every moment you’d spent together. After your heart to heart the other day it became clear that you tended to overthink, he didn’t realise you could be doing that because of him.

The notion that you blamed yourself made his chest ache.

“I… I didn’t mean to make her feel that way,” he said, voice hollow.

“So don’t.” Robin pressed her lips together. “Fix it. You’re good at that sort of thing.”

He exhaled shakily, setting the soda on the counter before he spilled it with his shaky hands. “How?”

“You have today off, right?” Robin asked, folding her arms.

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“She does too,” Robin replied pointedly. “And it’s not even 10 a.m. yet. So do something nice for her. Show her you’re not running away. Because, believe me, if you keep pulling back, it’s gonna look like you are.”

Steve nodded, trying to will away the tightening in his throat. “What do I even plan? Something big? Flowers? Fancy dinner? She’s already done the cooking thing—”

Robin let out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes. “You’re not exactly wooing the queen of England. Just do something that says ‘I appreciate you and want to be around you.’ Could be a picnic, a drive, a movie—whatever. Don’t overthink it.”

He let out a short, humourless laugh. “But that’s kinda my specialty these days.”

“Clearly,” Robin muttered, though her tone was gentler now. “Look, the point is, she’s into you. She made that super obvious. The only person doubting it is you. So cut it out.”

Steve paused, letting her words settle. A small seed of hope unfurled in his chest, reminding him why he’d fallen for you in the first place.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, gaze locked on the floor. Then he lifted his head, determined. “I’ll, uh… yeah, I’ll figure something out.”

Robin’s tense posture eased, and she gave a curt nod. “Good. Because if you break that girl’s heart over your own insecurities, I’ll murder you. In a loving, best-friend sort of way.”

Steve managed a small grin. “In a loving way, sure.”

“Get out of here before Keith shows up.” She smirked, waving him off. “And don’t forget to call her, for God’s sake.”

Snatching up his soda again, Steve headed for the door, heart still pounding but a faint sense of relief settling in.

From the moment Steve picked up the phone at ten that morning—voice shaky with nerves—he knew he was taking a gamble.

He could feel the cautious edge in your tone, the coolness that suggested you were bracing yourself. Still, he invited you over to his place for that evening, willing the dread in his stomach to subside. He told himself it would be okay, that he’d find the right words.

Robin had told him to talk, so talk he would.

Meanwhile, you spent your Sunday feeling a dread so heavy it threatened to pin you to the floor.

Why else would Steve have been so distant all week? The only logical conclusion was that he’d decided this wasn’t working. After all, you’d had that conversation with Robin—maybe she’d reported back to him, told him something that sealed the deal.

It made sense in a heartbreakingly logical way.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, you felt like you’d gone through every stage of grief. You dragged yourself to your car and made the drive toward the Harrington residence, a place that had once felt so exciting in its promise.

Now it loomed large in your mind as the site of an upcoming breakup. When you arrived, you saw plenty of parking space—his parents, you recalled, were almost never home. You turned the keys of the ignition and exited the vehicle.

At least no one will witness what’s about to happen.

You made your way up the steps, breath tight in your chest. Just as you lifted a hand to knock, the door swung open, revealing Steve, hair meticulously styled, smelling faintly of aftershave. The pang in your heart only sharpened.

Did he seriously dress up for this?

“Hi,” he managed, the word catching slightly, like he was just as nervous as you.

“Hi,” you replied curtly.

Steve cleared his throat, looking awkward in a way that tugged at your heart—no matter how resigned you felt. “Uh, I think you should come in.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “All right.”

Inside, the house felt cavernous, every footstep echoing. He led you to the living room, and you couldn’t help but glance around, remembering how you used to marvel at this place—huge, yes, but also warm with the potential of summer get-togethers, that pool you’d joked about wanting to try. Now, the thought made your stomach twist.

Guess you won’t be swimming here after all.

You both settled on the couch, an awkward space between you. Steve’s fingers twitched at his sides, and he couldn’t quite meet your eye. The hush was almost suffocating, until finally he spoke, voice low and unsteady.

“Look, um… I think we need to talk.”

Your heart thumped. So this is it. You drew a shaky breath, forcing yourself to sound calmer than you felt.

“Okay. Sure.”

He tried not to grimace at the coolness in your tone. You’d never sounded so distant before, and it killed him to know he caused it. Robin’s words about “explaining himself” rang in his ears, so he opened his mouth—only for you to beat him to it.

“Listen, Steve,” you began, voice thick with tension. “I… I get what’s going on here.”

Steve frowned, something twisting in his chest. “Huh? You do?”

“Yeah," you nodded. "I kind of guessed it.”

“Really?” A flicker of confusion passed over his features. “You did?”

Exhaling, you steeled yourself, trying to keep your composure.

“Look, I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Maybe you didn’t appreciate me crying about my job the other day, or maybe I was too forward cooking dinner for you. I get it. I just… I can’t think of anything else I did wrong.” You forced a hollow laugh. “So I assumed it must be that. Maybe I scared you off.”

Steve’s brows shot up, genuine shock colouring his face.

“What you did wrong?” he echoed. “Wait—what are you talking about?”

You swallowed.

Get it over with.

“Aren’t you… breaking up with me?”

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin. Every worst fear he had about you feeling hurt was now a reality.

“What? No! No, I’m not breaking up with you.” He spoke in quick succession. “Are you crazy? I’m not doing that.”

The wave of relief that swept through you was immediate but fleeting.

“Then what is this?” you asked, voice unsure. “It’s obvious you’re not feeling this anymore. You’ve been ignoring me all week, and I’m not gonna force you to stay if you don’t want to. I just… I figured there’d be a reason.”

He grimaced, running a hand through his hair and messing up that careful style.

“There is a reason,” he admitted. “But trust me, it’s not you.”

“Yeah,” you snorted, a weak attempt at humour that came out more sad than anything. “That’s what everyone always says when they break up with someone.”

Steve let out a frustrated breath. He had never been good at this. You were the one who was good with words, not him.

“No, really. It—fuck, just let me talk.” He paused, gathering himself. The realisation that you thought you caused this somehow made his heart twist painfully. If you only knew how not your fault it really was.

God, what a mess.

He stared at the floor, feeling the weight of all his insecurities.

“Listen,” he started, voice shaky, “I’m not good at this, so just give me a moment.”

You watched him, a pang of sympathy slipping through your self-protective shell. He looked… rattled, more so than you’d ever seen him. Despite your own heartbreak, you nodded, letting him gather his courage.

“Okay,” he said, exhaling slowly. “So, I don’t have the best track record with relationships. Or even friendships. I thought I’d gotten better, but apparently not.” He let out a short laugh, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second—only to dart away when he saw the concern there.

It was hard to think when you looked at him like that. Like he was something to be pitied.

“What I’m trying to say is… I always seem to get left behind. My first girlfriend left me for someone else. My old friends ditched me as soon as I wasn’t cool anymore. My parents ignored me because I sucked at school.” He swallowed hard, voice thickening with old wounds. “Then I met you, this super smart girl who clearly has the world at her fingertips—you’ve accomplished so much already, more than I ever could. It made me think: how could I hold onto that? How could I keep you interested in my life when I work at a video store and spend my free time with a bunch of teenagers?”

Your heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in his words. For a second, you just stared, feeling tears prick the backs of your eyes at how wrong he was about himself.

Without thinking, you reached out and slid your hand into his, the contact gentle but resolute.

“Steve,” you whispered, voice unsteady but filled with honesty, “how can you think that about yourself?”

His gaze snapped to yours, confusion etched in every line of his face.

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing, running a thumb along the backs of his knuckles.

“You really don’t see what others see, do you?”

He frowned, looking lost. “I… I’m not following.”

Blinking back tears, you gave a soft, exasperated laugh.

Of course he couldn’t see, your sweet, stupid boy.

“Steve, the first time we met, you literally lugged and built me a whole bookshelf—remember that? You practically passed out hauling the thing up the stairs.”

“Shit,” he muttered, cheeks tinging pink, “you noticed?”

“Yeah, I noticed,” you said, remembering the moment you started falling for him. “And I saw you freaking out over the instructions, but you tried to act like you totally had it under control.”

“Damn…” he hung his head. “Not as smooth as I thought I was.”

Not in the slightest.

A weak smile tugged at your lips.

“Maybe not, but that’s overrated anyway.” Taking a breath, you tightened your grip on his hand. “Steve, you’re a giver—through and through. So you don’t have some swanky office job—who cares? You have something better. You’re selfless, you help people, you care. That’s worth more than anything else, trust me. Whenever you talk about your friends, it’s like a never-ending list of names. You’re rich, Steve. Richer than money.”

He felt tears burning behind his eyes. This was not part of the plan, for him to be openly crying while you praise him repeatedly. That should have been his job tonight. Making you feel better.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he croaked, “you’re gonna make me cry over here.”

“Me too,” you admitted, voice thick with emotion. “We’re both lame.”

“Yeah,” he managed, a watery laugh escaping, “the lamest.”

A heartbeat of silence passed, and then he lifted his eyes to yours with a shy, almost bashful smile, one you hadn’t seen all week. It looked like him, the real Steve you fell for.

“Come here?” he asked, sounding almost boyish in his nervousness.

You couldn’t move fast enough.

He leaned in, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the big house, the rolling ache in your gut. His lips pressed to yours, soft at first, hesitant, then deepening as relief coursed through both of you.

He couldn’t quite stop smiling against your mouth, which made the kiss a bit clumsy, but neither of you cared. The tenderness overshadowed any awkwardness. It felt like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. When he finally pulled back, he let out a shaky exhale, one hand still cupping your cheek.

“I missed doing that,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip.

“Me too,” you breathed.

He swallowed hard, glancing away as guilt resurged. “I’m really sorry I made you feel like you messed up. Like I didn’t—like I wasn’t into you anymore. I am. I really am. Probably too much”

“You should have told me,” you scold him, his brown eyes still glassy. “Aren’t you the one who preached about sharing problems?”

A choked laugh tore from his throat. “Yeah, well… ‘do as I say, not as I do.’”

“You’re impossible,” you teased, though the affection in your voice was unmistakable.

Suddenly, a shrill beeping noise cut through the charged atmosphere, making you both jump.

“What is that?” you asked, pulse still fluttering from the kiss.

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Oh, crap, the timer!” He scrambled off the couch, practically tripping over the coffee table. You followed him with a bemused smile as he disappeared into the adjacent kitchen.

Seconds later, you found him shutting off the buzzer, cheeks flushed.

“I, uh… made dinner,” he confessed, looking adorably sheepish.

Your eyebrows shot up. “You cooked?”

“I mean, I stole your idea,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Rob said I should do something nice, so… here we are. My parents were never around much, so I learned a few things. It’s probably not as good as yours, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

A laugh rose in your chest, part delight, part lingering emotional exhaustion. “Robin told you to do this? I gotta thank her.”

He set a potholder aside, shrugging with an embarrassed smile. “She said I had to make it up to you, so… yeah. I guess I’m returning the favour.”

“You’re full of surprises,” you said softly, stepping closer.

Steve let out a quiet breath, a small, relieved grin curving his lips. As you moved into his space, he reached out, fingers ghosting along your arm before settling at your waist.

“And you, deserve it.” He murmured, voice brimming with affection. “Really sweetheart, you deserve the world.”

Something in his tone made your heart clench. Before you could respond, he leaned in again, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow, tender—altogether mesmerising.

He cradled your face like you might vanish if he wasn’t careful, as though keeping you close was the only way to convince himself that this was real. You tasted the faint salt of his earlier tears, felt his almost giddy smile against your mouth, and the mix of sadness and relief and overwhelming softness made you cling tighter to him.

It was the kind of moment that made the ache worth it, the kind you knew you’d replay in your head a thousand times.

You finally broke apart, just enough to catch your breath. Foreheads touching, you could see the hint of a shaky grin still hovering on his lips.

“I guess this means we’re not breaking up?” you asked playfully.

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head vigorously. “But hey, you might change your mind after you try my cooking.”

“Hey!” you protested, giving his shoulder a playful shove—no malice behind it at all. “I’m not that cruel. Even if it was terrible, I’d never tell you.”

“And there you go being way too good for me,” he chuckles, but this time it feels more like the joke he was aiming for.

One that he knew deep down was not true.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington x y/n

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httpsserene · 7 hours ago

Note

Me agian lmak

Can I pretty please get the one from the kink list (breeding kink)

With max, pierre,lance, alex and mick

Love you 🫶🫶🫶

🧽🪣 would you like a complimentary car wash? — send me any five (5) drivers and one (1) kink from this list, and i will rank the drivers in order of who i think is most to least likely to participate/avoid, or love/hate that kink !!! each driver will have a small blurb written xxx

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. i tried my best with this one, i feel like it kind of does not eat :( happy 3k bianca xxx

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

𝐦𝐭𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 fem!bipoc!reader x mv. 1 | pg. 10 | ls. 18 | aa. 23 | ms.47 cw under the cut.

refrences to marriage, pregnancy, starting a family, baby trapping, gold digging, and more. mick has a bit of a menty b about the seriousness of pregnancy. less smutty and more focused on internal monolgue.

𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭

Pierre’s breeding kink is severe. It wasn’t as prominent with his past girlfriends—but with you, it’s like he can’t erase the thought of getting you pregnant out of his head whenever you have sex. Sometimes, he catches himself agonizing over the fact that he didn’t finish inside you, because he thinks he’s wasted an opportunity to knock you up. He hasn’t discussed this with you, though—mostly because he’s afraid that you’ll think he’s more of a weirdo than you already know he is. You’re the one who goads him into fucking you harder by begging him to fill you up, so is it his fault? It’s a miracle that you haven’t ended up pregnant from the amount of unprotected sex you two are participating in and he knows it’s disgusting to even briefly think about wanting your contraception to fail. He thinks it’s that extreme because he’s always wanted a gaggle of children, a bunch of mini-you’s and mini-him’s running around. He’s not insane enough to have you carry five of his children if you don’t want to—surrogacy and adoption are always options, too.

Max does not have a breeding kink. If he looks at you interacting with his nephews and thinks that you’re going to be the best mother to his children, that’s not proof of his so-called “breeding kink.” If he thinks he’d be thrilled to have you hand him a positive pregnancy test right now, that’s not proof of his so-called “breeding kink.” If he cradles your stomach delicately as he slowly grinds into you from behind, mumbling into your shoulder about how he can’t wait to put a baby in you, that might be a breeding kink. And, if he pretends that he’s cumming inside of you even though he’s using protection, that might be a breeding kink. Max isn’t ready to be a dad but, he knows you’d look like even more of a goddess if you were pregnant. He has dreams of you waddling around the apartment with a rounded belly, always startling awake from them drenched in sweat and rock hard.

Alex wants to start a family with you, but he just doesn’t have a fetish about impregnating you. He thinks the term “breeding kink” is a little bizarre, sounding too animalistic for his taste. If you’re the one with the kink for being bred, Alex would try his best to satisfy that urge for you, but he’s going to sound a little awkward while doing it—there’s no way he’s going to make the phrase “I’m going to knock you up” sound attractive. His tone always comes across as unsure, the two of you pausing mid-fuck to stare at each other in silence before collapsing into hysterical laughter at just how corny that was. He thinks it’s better to continue his usual dialogue of compliments and praise, instead of trying and failing to see the allure of an impregnation kink.

If there were a kink for being sexually unattracted to impregnating you, Lance would have it. It probably stems from pregnancy scares with his exes, where the elation of possibly becoming a parent was tainted by what was an attempt to baby-trap him. It doesn’t matter what precautions the two of you take during sex, Lance wouldn’t even insinuate that he’s going to breed you—he’s traumatized, and that would ruin the pleasure of sex with you. It’s not that he thinks you’re like the women in his past who were gold diggers–he knows that you’re dating him because you love him and you aren’t chasing after his wealth. But please, save the breeding kink until after the two of you have been married for a few years.

Mick is too respectful to have a breeding kink. He thinks it’s demeaning of him to be sexually aroused by impregnating you. Matter of fact, he thinks any variation of “I want to get you pregnant” said by anyone should be considered a threat if they're not serious about it. He doesn’t understand the psychology of it—are those who have the kink aware of the commitment that is having a child, let alone the risks and difficulties of pregnancy? If people did, he thinks a lot less of them would have a breeding kink—not that he’s mansplaining, he’s just trying to be a gentleman. Do you know what Mick finds attractive? He finds being able to have an uninterrupted night of sleep with his beautiful girlfriend attractive—being well-rested and childfree, turns him on. He’s young, you’re young—these years should be spent cherishing each other before he’s mentally prepared to start taking the breeding roleplay seriously.

𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x black!reader #f1 x poc!reader #max verstappen x reader #pierre gasly x reader #lance stroll x reader #alex albon x reader #mick schumacher x reader #max verstappen smut #pierre gasly smut #lance stroll smut #alex albon smut #mick schumacher smut #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 smut #⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1 #httpss :// 3k vday celly.

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cherrysurf · 2 days ago

Text

Ushijima wakatoshi always was one to wake up before sunrise and get his daily jog in. He was a man of routine, one that he hardly broke even after dating and moving in with you.

As much as anyone liked to argue, he was still human. Wakatoshi wasn’t always going to be perfect, as weird as that sounded to most. He would be forgetful, lose a few things, and maybe even wear his running shoes backward if he was extra drowsy that morning.

Yes, those things bothered him slightly, but he never took any of it too seriously because it wasn’t of importance to him.

When you first moved in with Wakatoshi, he had to adjust certain things in his life because there wasn’t just one schedule or routine in the house, now there were two.

Two alarms, two slippers by the bed, two toothbrushes, two keys, double the amount of shower, skin, body products, and lastly, two warm bodies in the bed.

Two warm bodies together throughout the night, sleeping closely and soundly next to one another, sharing the same rhythm in their hearts. One warm body that made it hard to leave the bed in the early mornings now. One warm body that he craved to sleep by now and forever.

One warm body that made him skip out on a morning run every blue moon—that warm body being you.

It was the weekend: no job, no practice for either of you. Even on days like this, when Ushijima would still carry on his day as if it were a normal day of scheduled practice. He’d wake up, go for a jog, eat, go to the gym, practice volleyball, eat, jog, and then head to bed.

Today was different though. The air was colder. The side of his body that you clung to at night was warmer and more inviting to stay by. His body was more relaxed; his brain turned off all the “important” stuff he had to do. He turned off all his alarms before they woke you up since he knew you liked to sleep in and have very lazy weekends.

He stayed in bed with you, letting himself fall back into a deep sleep with the scent of your shampoo hitting his nose as he leaned his head back on his pillow, you and he being just inches apart. He liked moments like this; he didn't know he was one to crave such domesticity with someone.

You woke up around 11 a.m.; usually during days like this, you’d find the other side of the bed cold. You didn’t mind. Toshi had his routine, and you had yours. They might not be the same, but you still had time for each other, and he never judged you. He knew you worked hard but that you also had days of self-indulgence and a good balance.

To your surprise, you felt something warm behind you and an arm wrapped around your waist. "Was it… no, it couldn’t be,” you thought. You turned your head slightly to be met with his face looking so peaceful and content.

The sudden shift caused Ushijima to stir awake, his eyes now meeting yours as you turned your body so you two could face each other.

“Mr. Ushiwaka sleeping in? May I ask why?” A giggle escaped your mouth as you looked at the fluff-haired man in front of you, his eyes never failing to make your heart flip.

“Mm… you were too warm for me to leave today. It was cold,” he said softly as he practically buried himself in your chest.

“Ahh, I get it; that's understandable.” You adjusted yourself so you could be more comfortable as you carded through his hair since he lowered himself to hug your waist as he leaned on your chest.

Ushijima was never much of a person who sought physical affection, especially at the beginning of the relationship. Over time, he became more open to it, more so because he craved it; this only happened to him after you two started dating.

One time Ushijima heard Semi say something along the lines of, “The right man won’t have to force himself to change; it'll come naturally to him, he’ll want to change to be better for his girlfriend.” He never really understood that term until it happened to him. He was glad he could experience that.

“Should we make breakfast? I'm kinda hungry..” You know that your stomach will start speaking for you if you don't say it now.

“Yes, what should we eat?” he murmured into your skin.

“I was thinking banana bread... maybe eggs and toast too.” You leave the suggestion out in the open, hoping he’ll agree.

“That sounds good. Do you want to cook it together?” He lifts his head to glance at your features and how they look in the late morning.

“I think that’s a perfect idea, Toshi,” you giggle, staring back at him.

“Great! Let’s go.” He gets up from the bed slowly but surely, just taking his time. He eventually picks you up bridal style to take you to the kitchen so you two can get started on breakfast.

hq taglist; @heartmaddie @ellsarchive @vertejay @massacremars @bakery-anon @pneumosia @na-i1 @cryoarm

#cherrysurf writes #haikyuu #ushijima x y/n #ushijima x you #ushijima fluff #hq ushijima #ushijima headcanons #ushijima #ushijima x reader #haikyuu ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi

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atleastpleasetelephone · 2 days ago

Text

Ain't that a lotta love - Chapter 2

A/N: A story that starts on the set of the 68 Special, with Elvis and his long-term girlfriend Dorothy Valens. Dorothy has been with Elvis for a long time for good reason - she's no pushover, and she has a habit of getting exactly what she wants. As Elvis' career starts to get back on track, their relationship fundamentally changes too...

Need to catch up? Chapter 1 is here.

Pairing: Elvis x OC - Dorothy Valens

Word count: 2.5K

TWs: None, really. Tinge of angst and mention of Elvis taking pills to sleep.

Dorothy eventually surfaces even later than Elvis, exhausted from staying up until the early hours of the morning and struggling to sleep in the unfamiliar environment of the NBC dressing room. She sits next to Jerry, hands wrapped around a coffee mug like it's a lifeline. Elvis is, indeed, practicing some kind of choreography or other and doing a lot of cussing about it. Jerry hands her a croissant and she leans her head on his shoulder, heavily.

“Fuck me, I'm tired.”

Jerry laughs. Although she tries to keep herself prim and proper, a lot of the time Elvis’ girlfriend has a real potty mouth. His friend finds this very funny, especially when Elvis calls everyone he ever meets “sir” and “ma'am”. The contrast is hilarious.

“You up late last night? I saw you go out.”

“Mmm. El wanted me to ditch our girl.”

“Ah. Noticed she wasn't around this morning.”

“She was getting in the way, apparently.”

Dorothy moves her head and pulls the end of the croissant off, popping it into her mouth and chewing. The coffee cup has made its way to the floor.

“You ok?”

She sighs. “I guess so. I did like her, y’know, Jer. But she wasn't subtle enough. Or smart enough.”

Jerry looks at her quizzically. She takes another bite of croissant.

“The fat man.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

He puts a comforting arm around her. “I'm sorry.”

“Thanks. Just wish Elvis would do the breaking up for a change. Why it always gotta be me, Jer?!” She asks, in a silly, fake New York accent.

Jerry laughs. “Because we are all just his subjects,” he teases, in his own silly version of an English accent, pulling the other end off the croissant and eating it. She puts the rest in her mouth and licks the crumbs off her fingers, chuckling at the all-too-accurate description of their position in relation to the King, Elvis Presley.

“Seriously, though,” he continues, after a swig of his own coffee to wash down the pastry, “you should put yourself first, sometimes. You're always doing things for him.”

“Mmm. I guess you're right. Easier said than done, though.”

Drinking the rest of her coffee in several large gulps, she reflects that she's feeling better already. Although it was probably more to do with the company than the caffeine, yet.

“Who's that over there?” She waves her empty cup in the direction of a man walking quickly around with a clipboard. “Saw him outside the room last night.”

“Oh that's Steve Binder. He's directing this whole thing.”

“Oh! The fabled Steve.”

The man comes a little closer and she gets a slightly better look at him. Shorter and stockier than Elvis but not bad-looking. Fashionable hair and a ruggedness to his features that she doesn’t mind at all.

Jerry snorts. “Yeah. The only man to have stood up to the Colonel and won. So far.”

Dorothy has heard a lot about Steve. Elvis gushed about him when they first met, and then gushed even more after the recording sessions with him. Everything recently has been Steve this and Steve that. “Sounds like you want to marry Steve,” she'd teased him at one point, making him blush.

“Yeah I've heard plenty about him from Elvis. Nice to finally put a face to the name.” She pauses to brush crumbs off her skirt. “What d'you think of him?”

“Seems like a good guy. Knows a lot about the business. Doesn't take any shit from you know who.”

She nods, settling her head back onto Jerry’s shoulder. At least she'll have someone different to talk to this evening.

***

Elvis stands behind Dorothy with his arms wrapped around her waist and his chin on the top of her head.

“Good day?” She asks, looking from the inner part of the dressing room through to the outer part, where the guys are already assembled, singing and laughing and messing around.

“Mmm. Tirin’ but good. You ok?”

She nods. They stand there for a little longer and then he speaks again.

“You think my hair’s too black, Dodo?”

She turns around in his arms to look at him and sees his serious expression. Someone must've been joking with him about it but he's obviously hurt. Worried that people think he looks silly.

“I think it looks perfect, El,” she tells him, reaching a hand up to touch his cheek. “You're perfect.”

He smiles and blushes and his tongue pokes out over his lips cheekily.

“You think?”

“I know.”

Bowed up by the affirmation, he kisses her quickly before pushing the door open, making an entrance as usual. Grabbing her by one hand he spins her around in front of him, manoeuvring her to the side so that they can walk in together. The rest of the guys whoop and cheer, asking him where he's been, how his day was, what he wants to do. Dorothy settles down on the sofa and he flops beside her, an arm casually thrown over her shoulders. Steve has been watching them since they first came into the room, and as they start their cigarette ritual, he has to admit to being fascinated. Elvis’ girlfriend is petite and striking, with thick black hair and bangs. Her eyes are large and flick around the room, taking everyone in without comment. They meet his briefly, and then she's stretching out her arm for the cigarette and bringing it to her lips when she receives it. She and Elvis seem to communicate without talking, all little looks and gestures, and once he's stubbed out the cigarette it’s like that portion of the evening is over, and things move on to the usual talking and laughing. Charlie passes Elvis a guitar and he starts to strum, he strikes up a tune and people sing.

Dorothy ruffles Elvis’ hair affectionately as she stands up, making her way over to the drinks cabinet and pouring herself a scotch. When she turns back, she sees her seat is now occupied by Alan and makes her way to another chair between Steve and Joe.

“You got a light?” She asks Joe, as she brings another cigarette to her lips. As if her mirror, Elvis grips a cigarillo between his teeth and lit matches appear around him instantly.

Joe is too far away to join in, and anyway he's captivated by Dorothy’s cleavage, something she's well aware of as she leans towards him deliberately. He flicks the wheel on his lighter and a flame kisses the end of the cigarette. She inhales.

“Thanks, doll.”

Joe laughs and blushes a little. “Shouldn’t it be me calling you doll, not the other way around?”

“Sure,” she replies, then turns to Steve. “Hi. I hear you're Steve. I'm Dorothy.”

Joe sighs quietly at her giving him the cold shoulder, as she does so often once she’s got what she wants.

“You heard right. Nice to meet you.” Steve proffers a hand and she takes it, giving him a firmer handshake than he'd anticipated.

“How're you enjoying hanging out with these reprobates?” She asks, waving her hand around the room and producing a cloud of smoke in its wake.

Steve smiles. “Well, they're kinda fun.” He pauses to look around as Elvis moves to the piano and the other men flock around him. Dorothy gestures to the now empty sofa, and they move there to better observe the group. “How do you enjoy hanging out with them?”

Dorothy takes a long drag on her cigarette as she contemplates his question. He's a little more direct than she's used to, but she decides to play along.

“Joe likes my tits, Alan and Charlie like being told what to do, and Lamar likes whatever's left.”

She looks at Steve, eyebrow arched, ready for however he decides to respond. He feels a little spark of excitement in his belly. She's fun.

“Sounds like you have them all worked out.”

She shrugs. “I guess so. I've been around for a while.” Another drag on the cigarette. “How'd you like dealing with the Colonel, then?”

Steve laughs. She's not beating around the bush, that's for sure.

“I don't,” he replies, honestly. “How do you like it?”

That earns him his first proper laugh, her head is thrown back and her eyes are merry. “I don't either. Annoying little shit. Big shit, actually.”

“You really don't like him?”

She shakes her head. “No. But, I'll let you in on a little secret.” She leans close to him so she can speak more quietly, even though the amount of noise the guys are all making singing she's sure she could shout and they wouldn't hear. “Joe’s his dirty little spy. So don't tell him anything you don't want the fat man to know.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You trust me with all this? You've only just met me.”

“Ah, I've only just met you, but I've been hearing about you from El for weeks now.” She takes a sip of her scotch. “And you're not some kinda hick, which helps.”

Steve laughs again. They carry on sitting and chatting, Dorothy telling him more about the guys and him taking it in. After a while he realises she hasn't mentioned Jerry, who's standing up somewhere near the back and trying not to sing too loudly, having been told about his tunelessness in the past.

“What about Jerry?”

She blinks. “What about him?”

“Well you mentioned everyone else.”

“Jerry is a sweetheart,” she replies, entirely without irony. “He wants to get into the business. You know, movies, music, whatever.” She waves her hand about. “You should give him some advice.”

Steve is just trying to swallow being given such a direct order by a girl he's only just met when she stands up, finishing off the end of her drink and clearly signalling the end of the conversation.

“Nice to meet you.”

He takes her hand and kisses the back of it this time, telling her how nice it was to talk to her and that he'll go and chat to Jerry. She smiles, pleased with both the kiss and the fact he's agreed to follow instructions, and then turns towards Elvis and the piano. It takes her mere moments to insinuate herself into the middle of the group and between Elvis’ legs on the piano stool.

Her boyfriend greets her with an enthusiastic kiss to the neck and then asks what she wants to play. Moving towards Jerry, Steve is surprised that the next thing that comes out of the piano is a duet, and that Dorothy can play very well indeed. He shakes hands with the other man and strikes up conversation, first about the industry and then about Dorothy, finding himself oddly fascinated by her.

“She's a good girl,” Jerry enthuses, with a smile. “Good for E. Keeps him sane.”

Steve nods, wondering about the mutual admiration that Jerry and Dorothy seem to have for each other. He's surprised that Elvis would be so relaxed about their relationship, but now he comes to think of it, he's sure he saw them together earlier that day. Jerry with his arm around her too. He doesn't seem to fall into the category of the other guys, who she treats largely with disdain and orders around as if they were her lackeys, not Elvis’. Then he wonders about her telling him to go and talk to Jerry, and getting up to leave so quickly. Which category does he fit in, exactly? Friend or foe?

***

It's the early hours of the morning when Jerry finally persuades the rest of the guys to go home. Steve had left around the same time as Charlie, Alan and Lamar, but Joe stuck around for a frustratingly long time. Jerry knows he's a snitch, but surely even the Colonel has given up on trying to get rid of Dorothy at this stage. There are a couple of other hangers-on too, but once Jerry manages to persuade Joe that it's bedtime they don't stick around. It doesn't hurt that he's filling out his t-shirt nowadays, and at 6ft cuts an imposing figure.

“Thanks, Jer.” Dorothy puts her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek.

“Yeah, thanks man. Thought they were never gonna go.” Elvis sighs.

“I better go myself or Joe'll be back in here assuming I'm saying something I don't want him to hear.”

Elvis hums. “I bet it was him shopped our girl to the fat man.”

“You ever think of demoting him?”

Elvis shakes his head. “Nah. Better he's not sure if I know. Also better I have him where I can keep an eye on the bastard.”

He doesn't like the fact that Joe snitches on him to the Colonel, but he still enjoys the other man's company, even if he knows Dorothy thinks he's a letch. He likes all the guys, despite their shortcomings.

Jerry nods. “Fair ‘nough. You know best, EP.”

Elvis laughs. “I think you'll find it's Dodo who knows best.”

He pulls her to his side with one arm and she smiles up at him, her hand reaching up to dig into his hair.

“She sure does,” Jerry replies, looking at them for a moment, lost in one another's eyes. He's amazed they're still like this after so long. That a girl has managed to keep Elvis’ attention for so long. And that someone could keep Dorothy’s. He supposes they are ideally suited, though he worries a little about her. She has a hard exterior but he can't help thinking that breaking up with so many girls must be doing her some damage and he hopes Elvis realises. Though his boss has had enough problems of his own recently, so the change in Dorothy over the years might have gone unnoticed.

“Anyway, I'll head off. See y'all tomorrow.”

Elvis and Dorothy bid him goodbye and go to bed themselves. Elvis is tired anyway, but he swallows his usual handful of pills and relaxes into the mattress. He never could persuade Dorothy to join him with the tablets. She's never said anything, but he has the distinct feeling she disapproves. She's always slept like a log though, so he doesn't think she understands what it's like to have insomnia. He slowly traces the contours of her face with the backs of his fingers as he waits for the drugs to kick in.

“You're so pretty,” he drawls.

She smiles, sweetly. “You're so pretty.” Her hand catches his and she brings his fingers to her lips, peppering them with kisses.

He snuggles into her, nuzzling her neck. “You'll always be here for me, wontcha, Dodo?” It's only been a few minutes, but his words already sound slurry to her.

“Always, pumpkin.”

He mumbles something else she can't quite hear into her hair and then his breathing deepens and he lets out a little snore.

“And you'll always be there for me, won't you?” She whispers back to him, knowing there won't be a reply. She strokes his hair and traces the contours of his face with her fingers, just like he had been doing minutes ago to her. “I hope you will,” she whispers again, into the dark, closing her eyes. “I really hope you will.”

☆☆☆

Taglist:

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#elvis #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #elvis fanfic #elvis presely smut #elvis imagine #elvis presley fanfic #elvis x oc #elvis presley x oc

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moeblob · 12 hours ago

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story time but like. tw for unhinged social interactions of the "attempting to flirt?" nature ! also known as: receiving sexual harassment is my legacy in the work place.

gonna delete this (as usual) but sometimes i get the most insane feedback on my more insane stories at work like

I told a guy a while ago yeah man single as can be and delighted to not be interested. im very much asexual. and he's like ah ok thats chill.

But with valentines day approaching, of course the dating topic comes up. (note, he's a married man! and is not actually asking me for anything!) and he was mentioning it two days ago since we are putting vday balloons all up in the grocery store and im like "yeah man im really quite good solo. ive had a plethora of interest and i dont think i care for how people flirt. like that lesbian question mark who said she was straight but bit me in front of a customer in the drive thru at my first job. that was pretty awkward" and then i forgot what other work thing I mentioned in terms of dudes being just as bad at trying to flirt or express interest.

so today he was even MORE joking "sure you don't want anyone" but i forget exactly how he worded it. it was 100% a joke and a tease and not at all judging me for being single and content. but my brain immediately goes

"wait i forgot to tell you last time that i have truly amassed all sorts of genders and orientations that don't know how to talk to people!" and he looks at me like what the hell does that mean. so i continue "like that time i went into taco bell as a customer and the worker was like 'oh hey uh, dont take this the wrong way, are you in the process of transitioning?' and im like dude i want tacos idk how many brain cells I can spare for this. and so he continued 'cause im just like. you're really cute but im gay and you give off a masculine aura so. if you were going to be a guy, im interested' and. I just really want tacos. i can't process a gender dysphoria or sexual orientation right now, I just want tacos."

and he told me that if I wrote a book with these experiences it would sell for entertainment for sure.

and I really don't know HOW to take that as like. "i am so glad my 15+ years of work history have somehow made for an entertaining novel ??? i think?"

later on though he did say very seriously "you do know I'm joking correct?" after I told him I wonder if it would hurt to bash the electronic device I was holding into his head when he asked if I'd ever been proposed to a threesome and I was like "???? i would NOT joke about violence if I thought you were in any way serious. yeah dude, you're cool." and he was sincere when he said good, that he really didn't want to push too far and he realized some people wouldn't take it as well as a joke so he wanted to make sure.

(for the record, I have in fact been told by a girlfriend/boyfriend ??? duo??? friends? idk? that both of them thought I was cute and if i was at a bar or something NOT a restaurant while working, they would have tried to ask me to join them. AGAIN. NOT SURE. HOW PEOPLE ASSUME THIS IS ACCEPTABLE.)

anyway it really has just hit me hard this year that I joke a lot about my youthful looks and how i look like a child but then i remember ive had people trying to... flirt. or whatever the above is.

#moe talks a lot #not art #to delete later fosho #do you wanna know the worst part? the above is actually excluding the Actual Bad Stuff #so its me trying to be tame on main despite the people in my life not being very tame at all and its alarming tbh #man im so glad that so far this current job might be bad but no one has been inappropriate to me #the bar is so low you guys

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bunnyzweig · 3 days ago

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☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆ It Ain’t Me, Babe ☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆

(Patrick Zweig x fem!Reader)

(Note: Hiii this is kinda short buttttt… enjoy! <3)

Patrick had never really done long term.

He’d had girlfriends (plenty. Some at the same time), but none had been like you.

You had waltzed into his life one sunny day, all big eyes and smiles and your attention solely on him.

He needed you.

But, despite the warm feeling deep inside him, he was still Patrick Zweig.

It was around a year in when he broke your heart. He told you he couldn’t do it— he wasn’t the sort of person you needed. While you were off to college to get a degree (he hadn’t bothered to learn what), he would be all over the world playing tennis.

That didn’t stop him wanting you, of course.

He thought about you all the time.

(Yes, even when fucking other girls. He never claimed to be a romantic.)

But you couldn’t stay away forever. You found yourself crawling back sooner or later.

Sure you didn’t need him, but you wanted him.

And that’s why you ended up there, sat beside him on a park bench.

His sneakers are scuffed and stained, the laces undone. Your shoes are as polished as the day he bought you them.

He clears his throat, and shifts slightly.

“You look really good today.”

His voice was uncharacteristically soft.

You cross your legs, your head tilting to him almost shyly.

“Thank you.”

But your face turns away before he can kiss you.

He groans internally.

“Look. I’m sorry. I’m a dick and I’m stupid and I never should’ve left you. I don’t— I need you. And I’ve been missing you this whole time and I feel so—“

Your lips are on his.

They’re soft and familiar and taste like your pomegranate chapstick.

He moves closer, his hand on your jaw. It isn’t desperate. It isn’t rough. It isn’t needy.

It’s soft and gentle and perfect.

You pull away, and you smile at him.

He smiles back.

#bunny’z ficz #challengers #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #challengers fic

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pagannatural · 3 days ago

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2.20 What Is and What Should Never Be

- the djinn episode. much to think about

-Dean makes a comment on the phone with Sam about a hot actress and Sam says “are you even listening to me?” in this very effeminate way, it’s adorable.

- Dean says he’s going to check out a possible lair and Sam says “wait no no no come pick me up first” all little brother wanting to go along, but Dean hangs up on him. The next shot of Sam holding the disconnected phone and turning his head is taken from above which makes him seem small, indicating that he’s probably feeling worried or left out. He’s afraid what will happen to Dean and he wants to be a part of the hunt.

- Dean gets got by the djinn.

Okay, so in order to analyze any of the characters and events in Dean’s djinn-dream we need to understand what exactly is going on. My interpretation is that, as Dean explains toward the end of the episode, it’s not a perfect fantasy or a representation of Dean’s truest desires. It’s just the djinn picking up on his strongest wish and what he thinks his life would be like were it fulfilled. His wish is that his mom never died in a fire. The whole dream is a product of this wish and what Dean assumes would’ve happened/where the djinn’s magic takes him.

However, this wish-world is flawed because it’s limited by the things Dean is limited by. He can imagine having many of the things he wants, like a girlfriend and a regular job, but his wish isn’t that he could be happy, his wish is that the defining tragedy of his life had never happened and therefore the people he loves the most could be happy. So although he and his mom and Sam are alive and well, there are also a lot of things wrong in the dream. The things that are wrong are therefore very telling:

I think he has an alcohol problem in the dream because he figures that even if things were different he would screw up or not be good enough in some very important ways. Again, it’s just a wish- his beliefs about himself haven’t changed.

John doesn’t make an appearance because Dean can’t really imagine a healthy relationship with him or any version of him at all that doesn’t revolve around hunting.

He and Sam aren’t on good terms because they never hunted together. Dean fears that the only thing that binds Sam to him is their fucked up history. He thinks that if their mom hadn’t died, Sam would’ve had the things that he’s said he wanted: graduated from Stanford, studying law, engaged to a beautiful woman. This is what Dean assumes Sam would’ve become. He assumes they would not be close and that he himself would lowkey be a fuck-up, albeit a fuck-up in a more common way.

So what is the significance? This suggests that Dean believes his relationship with Sam and his place in Sam’s life was only earned through raising him and taking care of him, which he wouldn’t have done if their lives were normal. His self-worth stems from his relationship with Sam and his ability to care for him and love him, so in the dream Dean has the outline of the normal life he wants to want, but he’s also not a person he would respect. Even his djinn-girlfriend tells him (jokingly) she’s with him because she has low standards. He doesn’t have the job he said in s1 that he always wanted, which is being a firefighter. He works in a garage just like his dad did. He doesn’t save people. And most damning of all, he’s ruined his relationship with Sam by letting him down over and over. He’s completely lost himself. So yeah, this is far from a reflection of Dean’s deepest desires.

- Another element that needs unpacking in terms of what exactly is going on in the dream is that Sam has a point of view. Djinn-Sam is still his own character, he’s shown to have thoughts and reactions even when Dean isn’t around or isn’t looking. He has his own point of view even though he exists in Dean’s head. So how is it possible for the version of Sam that exists in Dean’s subconscious to act independently of Dean?

My interpretation is that the characters in the dream are animated by the Djinn’s magic, which has a purpose. Its purpose is to make the dream appealing so that the victim will remain unconscious and happy rather than trying to wake up. This is why, when Dean realizes that he is actually unconscious, the other characters from the dream appear to him to try and convince him not to wake up and to stay with them forever. They have a directive. The characters follow this directive by behaving in ways that Dean both expects and wishes for. I really don’t think they’re the djinn or that they’re nefarious, I think they’re just Dean’s conceptions of the people they represent. They don’t really act out of character, aside from the fact that their purpose is to fulfill Dean’s wish and keep him from waking.

So basically, djinn-Sam is his own character because he’s animated by the djinn’s magic, but all of his thoughts and feelings and behaviors are both what Dean wishes for and what he would expect under the circumstances.

So. Keeping that in mind as we take a look at Djinn-Sam.

-Sam’s response to Dean calling him late at night is to giggle and say “you’re drunk dialing me.” Drunk dialing is very much a trope used to link romantic interests. Also he picks up after the first ring. Sam is eager to hear from Dean and flirts with him even though they’re on the outs -> Dean wants and expects Sam to answer his calls immediately and flirtatiously

- Dean asks his mom where Sam is and says “I’m dying to see him.”

Dean is literally dying, hanging by his wrists with his blood slowly draining out of him, so that he can see a version of Sam who is happy. He’s thrilled to see his mom, but a huge part of this wish is seeing Sam happy and educated and successful and loved. Dean seems truly, glowingly happy and proud of Sam. It’s this part of him that wishes Sam had everything Dean couldn’t give him and that wishes they could both not only be normal but be fulfilled by anything besides one another.

- From the conversation Dean has with himself at his dad’s grave, it’s clear that he doesn’t believe his dad cared much about his personal happiness. He’s sacrificed himself in so many ways for his entire life at the altar of his dad’s mission, but now that Sam’s humanity is on the line it’s too much. He increasingly just doesn’t want to do this any more.

- When Dean decides to go after the djinn and reenacts the break-in scene from the pilot, it cues a reset in his relationship with Sam in this world. From this point Sam has to change his behavior if there’s any hope of Dean staying, so he starts to act a lot more like the version of Sam that Dean knows and loves in real life. This Sam is still saying and doing things that Dean wants and acting how Dean would expect him to act, but now the context has changed. He’s doing more of what Dean wants and breaking from the version Dean assumes would exist if their mom were alive.

-> Dean’s wish for Sam to be happy and normal is not as strong as his need to be close to Sam, for Sam to choose him and follow him and leave everything else behind to be together. Ostensibly Dean doesn’t ask Sam to come with him, but it’s his head and Sam is doing whatever will convince Dean to stay, so ultimately this is Dean. He needs Sam.

- Dean apologizes to Sam and Sam gives him this incredibly guarded look

and then this deeply worried and scared look

and then he decides to go with Dean “because you’re still my brother” which is the affirmation Dean needs. “Because we’re brothers” for these two is a deeper and holier connection than any other. And the way Sam is now more vulnerable and scared for Dean is exactly what Dean is used to from his little brother.

- Sam is trying to help and Dean says “what, you protect me? That’s hilarious.” It’s probably hilarious because this version of Sam is a pansy by their usual standards, but in reality Sam is on his way to find Dean and protect him. Dean keeps accidentally saying things that are true in real time.

- when she’s trying to convince Dean to stay in the dream, Mary promises no pain or fear, just love and comfort and safety, and specifically not worrying about Sam any more and watching him live a full life. So we have the bones of Dean’s deepest wish: love, comfort, safety, and to see Sam happy and safe.

In reality, Sam can only be any important kind of happy and safe when he’s with Dean. And the love that Dean wants can only come from Sam.

- Dean says “I’m sorry” to Sam, and only Sam, before plunging the knife into his heart and waking up. Mary and his dream-girlfriend are right there. His dead mom who he wished back to life is right there. But he looks at this version of Sam to say he’s sorry before waking up. This feels like another thing that he wants to tell Sam in real life but can’t.

- Dean has been tied up bleeding and on drugs for probably not that long but long enough that he lost consciousness and yet he snaps the remaining bits of rope with brute strength and kills the djinn when Sam is threatened. So he not only gets himself out of the djinn’s spell, but also saves Sam. And then he goes straight to help the other victim. It’s such a stark contrast to the man he thinks he would have been.

- Dean tells Sam that the dream wasn’t a perfect fantasy, it was just a wish, and that since he and Sam never became hunters they “never…” and Sam says “I’m glad we do.”

Never what? And is Sam saying he’s glad they hunt together or he’s glad that they became what they are to each other? This phrasing is purposefully vague. But it highlights Sam’s resolve this season in actually choosing to hunt, he’s not just doing it because he feels obligated. Even in the opening scene to this episode, remember how Sam asked to come along with Dean and went out looking for him right away when he hung up.

Dean looks at him so sadly, one eyebrow raised, like he doesn’t believe him that he’s glad, or doesn’t want to. He’s skeptical that Sam is really choosing this, or him.

- Sam tells Dean “I’m glad you dug yourself out, most people wouldn’t have had the strength” and Sam is the researcher so he probably knows this is true of djinn victims. It’s one of so many things that Sam admires and looks up to about Dean.

But Dean doesn’t want to be strong any more. He wants to stop worrying about Sam. Dean says all he can think about is how much this job’s cost them, and it’s Sam who argues that saving people’s lives hurts and isn’t fair but is worth it.

Dean’s eyes flick to Sam in this vulnerable, fearful way. I think he’s thinking about Sam here, about how nothing could be worth losing him. Not all the lives they’ve saved, not getting his mom back, nothing. He had to dig deep to find the will to wake up and his reason is Sam. Dean knows he’s in love with Sam and would do anything for him, but he believes he’s only as good as his ability to care for him, and those two things are at constant war. I think he thinks that if they could walk away from this life and be normal maybe Sam could be safe, even though he knows that’s not true.

#wincest #samdean #supernatural #spn meta #sam and dean #spn 2x20

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