note: fluff, fem!reader, i just had some thoughts to get out of my system, if you have any more ideas feel free to send me a some :)
being his girlfriend means you get to love him and be loved by him.
as much as hamzah pulls his weight in the relationship, no one could argue you didn’t care for him just as much.
being his girlfriend means filming all his strange/ meme dances.
also just if he ever needs to film a video without martin.
being his girlfriend means buying and encouraging his weird t-shirt collection.
(also getting some matching ones, like his says “i come in peace ✌️” and yours is “im peace ✌️”) 😉😉.
being his girlfriend means being red and blue’s mother.
always bringing a new toy or sneaking in treats for them when you go to hamzah’s.
they love you and love a family cuddle, all four of you.
being his girlfriend means being a passenger princess.
he’s literally your private chauffeur, willingly.
he feels a lot more comfortable knowing you not on public transport or in an uber.
like if you’re going to spend the day running errands in the city, or just going to work he’s definitely dropping you off and picking you up in between being at the office.
Similarly, he’ll just take you back to the office to hang out.
being his girlfriend means helping him and martin out whenever you can, especially when they just got the office and didn’t really have a team yet.
you’d be helping packing orders or just keeping the place tidy.
hamzah would feel a bit guilty but you honestly find it therapeutic and it relieves some of his stress so why not help?
being his girlfriend means being in the back of so much content.
like you’ll be on your phone or having lunch on a chair in the back of vlogs or bts episodes.
joining in conversations in the office about the latest tiktok drama.
being his girlfriend means watching him play games and encouraging him when he can’t get past a final boss.
or when you’re playing a game and you’re stuck on a particular bit and you have to get him to pass it for you.
being his girlfriend means cozy nights in, just the two of you watching some teen drama on netflix and yapping.
being his girlfriend means hanging out with his friends.
you know how much they mean to him so you end up spending a lot of time with them, getting included in their inside jokes.
when chase or claire stay over you offered to give them all space to hang and catch up but hamzah refused and forced you to stay at his for a week long so that you could really get to know them.
and it literally felt like you guys were having a sleepover every night.
being his girlfriend means being on facetime with him all night when you guys are not yet living together, telling each other about your day and making plans to see one another, sending tiktoks and giggling all night.
being his girlfriend means being included in videos, especially vlogs but they also get you to play a couple games with them.
they get you on the podcast every now and then, sometimes with just hamzah or both.
they try so hard to get both you and mandy on together but mandy hates doing the podcasts lol.
being his girlfriend means you’re that first person to see his new fav memes and tiktoks that he will inevitably be saying “is still big” months down the line.
you of course have to play along, whether you also find it funny or not because what else are you there for, if not to encourage his brainrotted sense of humour.
he does mostly find them first cause he’s addicted but every now and then you show him a banger and he spends the next week obsessed with it.
being his girlfriend means putting him on to new music, especially the pop girlies.
you also show him your fav musicals (it was a mission to get that boy into Hamilton).
but he allows you to blast it all in the car because he loves you and you have the aux held hostage.
being his girlfriend means making him cute little crafts for special occasions like anniversaries, valentine’s day, his birthday etc.
like you learned to knit so you could make him a custom beanie, and he wears it all the time.
even if you’re stumped for ideas he’d love a homemade card, with a pop out heart or something.
he keeps all the stuff you’ve ever given him in a box under his bed.
being his girlfriend means you get to be more cheeky and mean (playfully) than he’d let anyone else towards him.
you love to play the mmm freestyle instrumental and just go into him, and he watches you with a look of pure love.
being his girlfriend means looking after his plants when he’s been too busy, changing the water in his propagation experiments, picking off dead leaves and cleaning away the dirt when one of his ginger babies knocks a pot over.
being his girlfriend means filling him in in pop culture drama, you just seem to know every celebrity and every connection it baffles him.
being his girlfriend means supporting him whenever slushy noobz have some sort of hidden project, when he gets stressed trying to keep it a secret and get everything sorted.
but you’re always there to let him rant and give suggestions when he needs a fresh outlook.
being his girlfriend means giving him head and back massages, but only for like five minutes before it’s your turn hehe.
being his girlfriend means minimal pda. physical closeness, hand holding and quick pecks hello and goodbye, yes, but nothing that would make people around you uncomfortable.
because he’s been around too many couples when he was single and hated the pda.
but he lovesss talking about you, and including you in conversations that your not involved in and forcing you to join in.
being his girlfriend means he has a bunch of pictures of you in his home, like some just of you (one he drew) and some of the both of you (some ai because it’s hamzah)
being his girlfriend means having the privilege of admiring him with his glasses on.
he looks so soft and domestic with them on, you have to stop yourself from kissing his face all over every two minutes 🫠.
being his girlfriend means you’re always laughing.
not even just because of his jokes but whenever he finds something funny his giggles set you off too.
you’re just connected like that.
being his girlfriend means showing him edits of himself and watching him either get shy or get an ego boost, depending on the day.
being his girlfriend means getting to use him as your personal heater.
holding his hands when yours are cold.
sticking your feet between his thighs when they’re freezing before bed.
just always sitting close in case you need a quick heat up.
being his girlfriend means you feel loved everyday 💖
still living with my parents as an adult is just like. i'm grateful to not have to pay for groceries. i have to get out of here. i'm grateful to have a roof over my head and not have to pay rent. i have to get out of here. i'm grateful to not have to worry about sending out endless job applications that all lead to nowhere. i have to get out of here. i'm grateful i'm grateful i'm so fucking grateful. i have to get out of here
summary: there are two things that everyone in the ER knows about you—you're incredible at your job and extremely hot. the thing that they don't know is that you're dating one of their newest residents and have been for years.
MASTERLIST
pairings: dennis whitaker x RT!reader (respiratory therapist)
cw/tags: female reader (she/her pronouns used), described as having breasts and wearing a thong and bralette, mentions of cleavage and nipples, hair long enough for the top half to be tied back in a nondescript way. established relationship, typical pitt warnings (hospitals, intubations, chest compressions, sedation drugs, etc etc), swearing, ogilvie being a freak lowkey, very very minor and casual inappropriate conduct i guess (everyone wants you badly okay is it such a crime??), garcia calls you 'hot shot,' HPV in this context stands for 'hot potato voice,' not human papillomavirus lmfao, no smut but a few sexually explicit references
takes place on the fourth of july but absolutely zero reference to any real events of season 2 so no spoilers!
the pitt needs to introduce some respiratory therapists okay or else
PART 2 HERE :)
Dennis knows you’re hot, obviously. Everyone with eyes knows that you’re hot. He still sometimes can’t believe the fact that he gets to date someone like you, even though you’ve been together for years at this point. You were working in a clinic that he did one of his first medical school rotations at, and for whatever reason, you had liked him.
You got a job at PTMC a year later, and you absolutely loved the fast-paced chaos that was the ER and ICU.
When it came time for Dennis to spend a few months at the trauma centre he decided to set some ground rules, not wanting anyone to give him special treatment because they knew he was dating one of their best respiratory therapists. No, he wanted to establish himself as a good student on his own, and he didn’t want to risk anyone making fun of you for being with him, not that he told you about that reason.
You had agreed, hesitantly, but ultimately thought that it made sense to keep things at work strictly professional.
At first, that had been fine. You actually spent the vast majority of your time in the ICU, since the patients up there typically needed more oversight regarding ventilation settings, and most of the doctors in the ER were more than capable of handling emergent intubations on their own. The two of you didn’t even cross paths for the first couple weeks that he was working in the ER, which was different from when he was doing internal medicine and admitting patients to the ICU frequently.
October 30th, 2024
“Fifty-eight year old male, severe SOB and throat swelling, sats eighty-eight on non-rebreather,” The paramedic says, wheeling a gurney through the ambulance bay doors.
“Whitaker!” Samira calls, and he races over, holding his stethoscope so it doesn’t fall as he moves.
“Temp thirty-nine, difficulty swallowing, HPV,” The paramedic continues. “History of type two diabetes, hypertension, and obstructive sleep apnea.”
The patient is propped up on the gurney, not laying fully back, likely because he wouldn’t be able to breathe if he did so. Samira counts down when they make it to the trauma room, hands moving the patient onto the hospital bed. She asks the patient for his name as Whitaker starts his exam, shifting between nurses as they try to figure out what’s going on. He shines his penlight into the man’s mouth, swallows some mild panic, then speaks.
“Drooling, significant submandibular swelling, limited mouth opening,” He says. “Unable to visualize the posterior pharynx, reduced neck extension.”
Mel has her stethoscope to the man’s back, listening carefully. “Lungs sound clear, but we’ve got significant stridor.”
Dennis takes a piece of gauze to wipe away some drool from the patient’s mouth. “Unable to handle secretions.”
“Sats decreasing,” Princess says. “Down to eighty-two.”
“Okay, we’re gonna’ need to intubate, and fast,” Samira says. “Mel, you’re up.”
Mel orders ketamine and rocuronium, then positions herself by the patient’s head. It becomes extremely obvious that this intubation won’t be easy, but Mel attempts it anyway.
“There’s a lot of swelling,” She says.
“Where’s Robby?” Samira asks, and one of the nurses leaves to go find him. The video laryngoscope is inserted, but Mel genuinely can’t see anything on the screen. Sedation starts to kick in, and the patient goes limp.
“I can’t visualize the epiglottis,” Mel says, her voice still calm, but Dennis can see a small amount of panic in her expression as she attempts to insert the tube. “I can’t get it in.”
“Okay, first pass failed,” Samira adds, keeping everyone in the room up to speed. She takes a closer look at the screen, shaking her head. “Page respiratory and surgery, stat.”
Samira gives the intubation a try, but she can’t pass the tube either, and the patient is desatting quickly. “Where the hell is Robby?”
“Stuck with another patient,” Mateo says, replacing the bag over the patient’s face, squeezing it every few seconds.
Rushed footsteps echo across the linoleum floors from outside, and Dennis looks up just in time to see you push the door to the room open, the badge that reads your name and ‘RT’ over a purple background swinging back and forth from your sprint to the department. Dennis sees the way the room relaxes, thanking god that you’re the responding respiratory therapist.
He also sees how good you look.
You don’t have an undershirt on for once, and the slight v-neck of your scrubs shows off a bit more skin than usual. You somehow manage to make hospital issued scrub pants look amazing, and if he didn’t know any better he would think that they had been tailored to your body. The fabric shows off the curve of your ass perfectly.
“What’s up?” You ask, grabbing a pair of gloves, slipping into them as you move to the head of the bed.
“Fifty-eight year old male, severe mouth and neck swelling, two failed intubation attempts,” Mel explains. “Sats down to seventy.”
You do a brief exam, hands feeling up the sides of his neck and jaw, then you look inside his mouth, nodding.
“Okay, I need more pillows under his head, prop him up more,” You say. “Ears to sternal notch alignment, please.”
You take hold of the mask that Mateo was keeping pressure on, using both hands to seal it around the patient’s face as he continues to squeeze the bag. Garcia opens the door to the room, taking in the situation.
“What’s up, party people?” She asks, looking at the patient’s face. “Yikes, we should crike.”
“You know me better than that,” You counter, shifting your arms out of the way as Jesse packs pillows and blankets underneath the patients head. “Can’t let you surgeons have all the fun.”
“What’s your plan here, hot shot?” She asks, an emphasis on hot that makes Dennis look up.
“Let’s add a PEEP valve, ten centimetres,” You say, and Mel jumps into action, grabbing the piece that you’ve asked for and fitting it to the mask. “I need someone on suction, too.”
“Yep, got it,” Dennis says, scrambling a bit with the tube, his hands shaking ever-so-slightly. You’re calmer than everyone else in the room.
“Sats up to ninety-two,” Princess says, eyes flicking over the monitor.
He doesn’t miss the way you look at Garcia, a small smirk on your face as she holds her hands up, letting you work.
“Okay, let’s try intubation again with a bougie,” You say. “Don’t stop with that suction, Whitaker. Princess, can you take over for me?”
The nurse takes your place, positioning her hands over the mask exactly how yours had been. Jesse hands you the laryngoscope, which you toy with for a second, turning the light on and making sure you can see the monitor. Princess pulls the mask off once you’re in place, and you slide it into the patient's mouth.
“Dr. Mohan, can you put some pressure right here.” You put your free hand on the patient’s neck, and Samira moves to copy the action. “Good, right against the thyroid cartilage. Press towards the spine.”
Samira follows the instructions with ease, doing exactly what you’ve asked.
“Up and to the patient’s right a bit,” You add, keeping your eyes on the monitor as you hold steady. Samira adjusts. “Okay, perfect, hold it there. Bougie.”
You take the bougie in hand, and Dennis keeps the suction going, trying to keep the field clear of fluids. You don’t look at the screen for a moment, sliding it past the tracheal rings on feel alone, and then you glance back over, confirming the placement. Jesse hands you the tube when you reach your hand out, and you slip it over the bougie, inserting it into the airway. Dennis watches it on the monitor, a rush of pride swelling over him.
“I’m in,” You say, pulling the bougie out. Mateo attaches the bag to the end of the tube, and the monitor’s beeping comes to a stop as his sats hold steady. "Yellow on end-tidal."
“Sats up to ninety-eight,” Mel says, turning to look at you. “That was awesome.”
She raises her hand, giving you a high-five, which makes you grin.
“Thanks for the assist,” Samira adds, the sentence punctuated by your last name. The door between the trauma rooms open, revealing Robby, who’s eyes instantly land on you.
“Robby,” You greet.
“Oh, good,” He says. “She got your airway, I assume?”
“Sure did,” Samira says.
“She always does,” Robby says. “What’s going on?”
Dennis doesn’t miss the way his eyes trail up and down over your figure. Mel can’t look away from you either, eyes snapping between Robby and your chest. He watches her squeeze them shut for a moment, shaking her head lightly to bring herself back to the case. You pull your gloves off as you walk over to the door, turning to Garcia before you leave.
“When will you learn to stop underestimating me?” You ask, teasingly.
“Never,” Garcia shoots back, a flirtatious smile on her lips. “Keeps you sharp.”
You roll your eyes, then leave the room without a second thought, tossing your gloves into the garbage outside. Dennis stares at the doorway until he hears Robby ask Samira what she plans on doing next.
After that it became extremely clear that everyone in the ER thought you were hot, which Dennis couldn’t blame them for, but it still bugged him. Peoples eyes lingered on you a little too long whenever you were around, movements a second delayed because they were too busy thinking about you. It didn’t matter if you were just checking on a ventilated patient or trying to intubate a critical case, people were always watching.
They also talked about you.
Like, a lot.
It was driving Dennis insane.
And after ten months he just couldn’t take it anymore.
You were elated when he landed an emergency medicine residency at PTMC, as was he, but it also meant that he had to keep watching people pine after you.
The Fourth of July—a dreaded day in the emergency room, one that both of you were working. One of the boarders who had been waiting for an ICU bed desatted an hour into the day, resulting in your subsequent page and arrival to the department. Dennis comes out of a patient’s room, Ogilvie and Joy behind him, to you leaning against the nurses desk, laughing at something Dana had said.
He almost stops walking at the sight.
Your hair isn’t fully pulled back, the lower half out and styled perfectly around your jaw and shoulders. The top half is tied up, slightly frizzed. You’re wearing the typical navy blue scrubs with a white long-sleeve underneath, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, your forearms tensed as you brace yourself against the desk.
“Oh, Whitaker and friends,” Dana says, gesturing for him to come over, then she says your name. “These are some of our new med students.”
Ogilvie moves so fast it makes Dennis’ head spin.
“Hi, James Ogilvie,” He says, outstretching his hand for you to shake, an obviously flirtatious smile on his face. “MS4.”
You raise an eyebrow, shaking his hand as you say your name. “Respiratory. Nice to meet you.”
“Uh, this is Joy,” Dennis says, and she gives you a wave. It might be the most enthusiastic thing she’s done all morning.
“She’s one of our best RT’s,” Dana adds. “Can intubate pretty much anyone.”
“Very good to know,” Ogilvie says, still smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
You smile back, completely friendly, no undertones. “Our entire team is great, don’t ever hesitate to page. We’re happy to help out. I have a patient, but again, nice meeting you.”
You turn away from them, your badge colliding with the desk, unclipping from your shirt and clattering to the floor. You huff in annoyance, bending over to pick it up. You’re flexible enough to not have to bend your knees much at all, a fact that Dennis knows very well, but the back of your shirt rides up just as your scrub pants shift, and he catches a glimpse of your hot pink thong.
Yolanda emerges from one of the rooms behind Dennis, a low whistle leaving her lips when she sees you, not hesitating to walk over as you stand back up.
“Nice thong, hot shot,” She says, and your hand collides with her shoulder in a playful push. You pull the waistband of your pants up, tug your shirt down, clip your badge back on and walk away. Trinity appears in Dennis' peripheral, a smirk on her face and arms folded over her chest as she looks to where you just were. Even Dana’s eyes are wide, and she takes a second before speaking.
“Show’s over,” She says, referring to the handful of people who look like they just saw a ghost, frozen in place.
“Holy shit,” Ogilvie mumbles, and Dennis can finally move again, hands reaching for a tablet so he can pull up a patient’s chart—any chart. “Please tell me she’s single.”
Dennis isn’t sure if the question is directed at him, but Dana answers before he can open his mouth.
“Unfortunately not, Ogilvie,” She says, eyes now focused on her computer, glasses on.
Trinity pipes up. “Yeah, you’d probably be the five hundredth med student she’s rejected if you asked her out, trust me.”
“That doesn’t mean she isn’t single,” James insists. “Maybe she just wasn’t interested in those other med students.”
Trinity clicks her tongue behind her teeth. “Nah, she’s in a relationship, trust me. No one turns down that many people without so much as a stutter unless they’re already spoken for.”
A trauma comes in a few hours later, a smoke inhalation patient. They’re coding upon arrival, one of the paramedics straddling the gurney as they’re wheeled in, instantly gaining Robby’s attention.
“Whitaker, with me,” He says, which means Ogilvie and Joy follow as well. “Page respiratory.”
“We don’t mess around with smoke inhalation,” Dennis says. “Always get RT down here as soon as you can, those airways swell like crazy.”
“As long as it’s that RT from earlier,” Ogilvie says.
Dennis says your name, followed by “and listen when they introduce themselves.”
“How was I suppose to listen when she looks like that?” He asks. Dennis wants to punch him.
“You’re disgusting,” Joy says.
“What?” Ogilvie asks. “You thought she was hot, too.”
“Yeah, but you don’t hear me talking about it.”
The trauma room fills up quickly, and you arrive just as they move the patient onto the mattress, still doing compressions. Dennis doesn’t miss the way Ogilvie looks at Joy when you walk in, completely oblivious to the small interaction.
“Talk to me,” You say, gloving up.
Robby gives you the summary, finishing up just as Dennis takes over on compressions. Your mouth goes dry at the sight, your breath catching in your throat for half a second. His biceps push against his scrubs, his chain dangling in front of him, the way it does when he’s fucking you.
“We—we should intubate right away,” You say, turning back to Robby.
“You read my mind,” He says, and you move quickly. The intubation goes relatively smoothly, all things considered, but the patient remains in asystole.
Robby says your last name, making you look at him. “Switch with Ogilvie.”
You nod, letting Donnie take over with the bag, positioning yourself over the patient and pushing into their chest hard. The arterial waveform spikes sharply on the monitor, dipping as you allow the chest to recoil, then peaks again when you push back down.
“Now that is how you do chest compressions,” Robby says. “Ogilvie, Joy, take notes.”
“Gladly,” Ogilvie whispers, happy to have an opportunity to stare at you.
“Rhythm check,” Dennis says, glancing at his watch. You stop, lifting your hands off the patient’s chest, looking towards the monitor.
“V-fib,” You say, at the same time Dennis does, too. You don’t look at him, but a small smile forms on your face, which makes his heart jump.
“Charge to two-hundred,” He says, picking up the paddles and placing them on the chest. “Clear!”
Normal sinus returns after the shock, making the room collectively exhale. Dennis steps back, putting the paddles away, just as you try to squeeze past him to get to the exit, your services no longer needed. He finds himself taking a small step forward, leaving you with a smaller gap than anticipated, resulting in your ass brushing against his crotch.
“Sorry, ‘scuse me,” You murmur, but you don’t really mean it. Dennis has to stop himself from grabbing your hips. “Page if you need me.”
“Oh, we will,” Robby says.
By the time the patient is stabilized you’re back in the department, just to check on something, but you’ve been roped into a conversation with Samira and Victoria by the water fountain. You’re playing with the cap on your water bottle, fingers flicking it open and closed repeatedly as Dennis walks out of the trauma room.
He’s sanitizing his hands when your water bottle decides to protest the action, a stream of water shooting up and out of the straw as you pull it open again, landing all over the front of your top. Victoria and Samira gasp, as do you.
“Shit, are you okay?” Ogilvie asks, and Dennis feels like he’s rooted to his spot as the med student steps closer to you, assessing the damage. Your entire shirt is soaked.
You let out a slightly humiliated laugh, waving him off. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. Just…cold.”
Your fingers grip the bottom of the shirt, yanking it over your head, revealing your almost equally wet undershirt. You frown when you look down, accepting a handful of tissues from Samira and starting to blot at the fabric.
Everyone in the immediate vicinity comes to a halt, eyes landing on you, his girlfriend, who’s standing in the middle of the room with your nipples on full display. Dennis is pretty sure you’re not wearing a bra, or at least not one of much substance, and that fact is obvious to those around him, too. Robby and Dr. Al-Hashimi stop mid conversation, both of them craning their necks to see what’s going on. Mel drops the pen she’s holding to the ground, the clattering sound ringing in his ears. The patients that line the walls are watching, unable to look away as you scrub the front of your shirt with tissues, completely unaware of what you’ve just done.
The nurses go silent. Cassie comes out of a patient’s room, feet stopping instantly, and Frank almost runs into her.
Something between possession and protection override his jealousy, forcing him to move towards you, stepping directly in front of your chest as he puts his hands on your biceps. You look up at him, then you glance over his shoulder, noticing how quiet everything has gotten.
“Come on,” He says, plucking a few more tissues from the box and holding them against your barely exposed cleavage and chest. You don’t react at all, as though his hand has been there a million times—because it has.
He pushes you towards the bathroom, locking the door behind the both of you. Trinity is the first to speak.
“She’s dating Huckleberry?”
This seems to snap everyone else out of their daze, and people scramble to get back to work, acting as though they didn’t all just collectively lose their minds over a wet t-shirt like a bunch of twelve year olds.
Your cheeks are hot, but you still find yourself making a joke.
“Guess they know we’re dating now,” You say, smiling. He exhales, a tiny laugh escaping.
“Or they think I’m a creep,” He counters, and you laugh this time. He takes his own scrub top off, revealing the tan t-shirt he has underneath and his silver chain, the one that you bought for him on his most recent birthday. “Arms up.”
You listen, raising your arms and letting him pull your shirt off, revealing your lace bralette. He swallows, passing you his scrub top before moving towards the hand dryer that sits on the opposite wall, sticking your shirt underneath it.
You grab a few paper towels, dabbing at the spots on your pants. Dennis frowns at the practically non-existent flow of air from the dryer, shaking his head.
“Pass me your scrub top,” He says, hand outstretched. You do, dropping the ball of fabric into his palm. “I’ll be right back.”
He unlocks the door, pushing it open, stepping back out into the department. Things have mostly returned to normal, but Dennis doesn’t miss the way the small group of people at central go quiet when he reappears, quickly trying to act as though they’ve been working this whole time. He sighs, walking over to the scrubs machine, unclipping your badge and tapping it to the sensor.
He inserts your old top, then dispenses a new one. He raps his knuckles against the bathroom door, smiling when you pull it open, letting him back inside. You, begrudgingly, give him his own shirt back, sliding the navy blue top on while he does the same with the black one.
“Thank you,” You say. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it would…”
You trail off, exhaling sharply, your lips curving up in a disbelieving smile. “Be such an issue.”
Dennis shakes his head, grabbing you by your waist, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.
“Not your fault,” He says. “But…maybe wear a better bra from now on, hey?”
“Yeah, yeah, definitely a good idea,” You agree.
Everyone has moved on by the time you open the door, and you walk towards the exit, pager already going off again. Dennis watches you go, so do a few others.
“See you at home!” You call over your shoulder, and Dennis’ cheeks turn pink.
A/N - wow she writes for people other than robby??? it's a miracle
punching above his weight...or is he? - dennis whitaker x f!reader
summary: once your relationship is no longer a secret, the emergency department starts to see just how perfect you and dennis are for each other, and they realize that you may not be as far out of his league as they initially thought.
aka dennis can fucking PULL okay.
pairings: dennis whitaker x RT!reader (respiratory therapist)
word count: 4.2k
cw/tags: swearing, no use of y/n, typical pitt warnings (blood, intubation, depictions of a motorcycle crash victim), you're (affectionately) nicknamed 'hot shot' by most of the department, dennis is obsessed with you, you're obsessed with him, what more could you ask. you have hair long enough for the top half to be tied back in a nondescript way. light inappropriate conduct in the workplace but it's all in good fun and no one's feelings are hurt!
more dennis x hot shot guys i told you i couldn't be stopped! inspired by this ask and @libbyqypu :)
secure chat for anyone who doesn’t know is basically a messenger system that is patient privacy compliant and integrated into the charting platform!!
MASTERLIST
TAGLIST(S)
Victoria’s killing a bit of time in the main foyer before her shift starts one day when the two of you arrive.
Dennis pulls the door open for you, as usual, holding it while you walk inside. He does the same with the inner door, despite having to speedwalk in order to get there before you. She notices that he’s carrying your backpack, the strap slung over the opposite shoulder from his own. He reaches out as you walk towards the elevators, fingers pinching the side of your shirt, gently pulling you closer to him. It’s subtle, and Victoria’s certain she’s the only one who notices that your hands now brush against eachother’s as you move.
“You coming up?” You ask, reaching forwards, hitting the button.
He checks his watch, then nods. “Still got time.”
You bite back a smile as you step into the elevator, doors closing behind you, blocking you from Victoria’s probing eyes. The ICU floor is much quieter than the ED, especially since it’s still early, most of the patients still sleeping as the hospital starts to wake up. You swipe your badge against the sensor, and then step through the double door together, like you always do.
Dana’s standing at the central desk when you come in, talking to the charge nurse there, trying to get some boarders moved before dayshift officially takes over. She clocks both of you immediately, her sentence coming to a stop when she hears your soft laughter. She turns around, watching as you approach, smiling at her.
“Dana,” You greet. “Are you finally leaving the ER to join us up here?”
“You wish,” She says, looking past your shoulder, where Dennis is waiting a half-step behind you. “Whitaker, fancy seeing you here.”
The ICU charge scoffs, laughing a bit. “What do you mean? He’s up here every morning.”
Dana raises an eyebrow, a tiny smirk on her face. “That so?”
He shrugs, cheeks flushing a light shade of pink, both bags on his back lifting with the motion. “Pretty much, yeah.”
You, wanting to save him from any further embarrassment, turn around and give him an opening. “I can take my bag, you can head downstairs.”
He frowns, shaking his head. “I got it, I’ll be right back.”
He walks over to the locker room, his figure disappearing through the door. One of the nightshift RT’s comes out of a room, and Dana doesn’t miss the way his eyes light up at the sight of you. He ignores everyone else at the desk as he approaches, saying your last name with way too much enthusiasm for six-thirty in the morning.
“You should’ve seen this patient last night,” He starts, diving into the story as soon as your eyes are on him, a small smile on your face as you genuinely listen.
Dennis comes back out of the locker room just as he takes your wrist in his hand, turning your arm so your palm faces the ceiling, gesturing to your forearm as he explains the IV situation the patient had. He mimes the action of fluids spewing, retelling the moment it came loose as he was in the middle of intubating.
Your face scrunches, but you’re still smiling, and he’s pretty sure you say ‘oh, gross!” before slowly pulling your arm away, tucking both hands into your pockets. He comes up behind you, setting your stethoscope and water bottle on the desk. The other RT loses all steam at the sight of him, and he immediately takes a step back, stuttering over his words for a second. You feel a single finger twist into your waistband, making you look over your shoulder, seeing Dennis and your belongings.
“Thank you,” You say, fully spinning around. He drops his hand back to his side, nodding.
“Yeah, uh, no problem,” He says. “I’ll see you later?”
“Hopefully,” You say. “Good luck down there.”
“You too,” He says, then he heads back through the doors and down the hallway. You loop your stethoscope over your shoulders and put your water bottle by your workstation before returning to the nightshifter, a tablet in hand now.
“Catch me up,” You say, the rest of his story long forgotten.
Dana follows Dennis out, still smirking, putting both hands on his shoulders as she comes up beside him.
“You’re a sweet kid, you know that?"
Around eleven that morning, the higher-ups send donuts down to the ED as a ‘thank you’ for all their hardwork. Robby’s in the breakroom when Dennis walks in, admiring the spread, trying to decide if he actually wants one or not.
“Anything good, boss?” He asks, stepping closer to the tables, looking for something specific.
Robby shrugs. “Would be nicer if they could just pay my staff what they deserve.”
“Oh, definitely,” Dennis says, spotting what he’s looking for, grabbing one of the napkins nearby. “Gotta’ take advantage though, right?”
He picks up a donut, setting it neatly on top of the napkin and putting it down on the table. He opens the fridge, pulling out his lunch and unzipping the bag. Robby watches as he places it on top of whatever’s in there, then puts it back in the fridge, brushing his hands off and closing the door.
“Worthy of saving for later?” Robby asks, slightly teasing. Dennis lets out a small laugh, already halfway out the door.
“Yeah, uhm, trying to be optimistic about getting a break today,” He jokes, stumbling over the words. He’s still getting used to joking around with his boss.
Robby shakes his head, following him back outside. “Oh, you know better than that by now, Whitaker.”
They step out just as the ambulance bay doors open, revealing two paramedics wheeling a gurney in. They both rush over as Dana directs them to an open trauma room, examining the patient while one of the paramedics gives handover.
“Twenty-three year old male, motorcycle versus guardrail,” She says. “Helmet off at the scene, significant facial trauma, breathing on his own for now, but it’s not pretty.”
They swing the door to the trauma room open. Nurses flood in behind them, taking their usual spots around the room, clicking monitors on and hooking them up to the patient.
“Hey, can you open your eyes for me?” Dennis asks, shining his penlight into them when he gets no response. “Pupils equal and reactive, GCS six.”
“Sats eighty-seven and falling,” Mateo says.
“Bag him,” Dennis instructs, setting his stethoscope against his chest, moving it around. “Decreased breath sounds bilaterally.”
“This is gonna’ be a complex airway,” Frank says, having come in a moment after them. “Let’s get respiratory down here.”
You’re adjusting some vent settings for one of your patients when your pager goes off, making you pluck it off your scrub pocket, glancing down at the tiny screen.
EMERG. DEPT. TRAUMA #3 - STAT PAGE
You shove the pager back into place, already running out of the room, calling for the other RT on shift to finish with your patient as you fly by. You take the stairs down to the ED, shoving the door open at the bottom, gripping your stethoscope in your hand so it doesn’t fall. You grab a pair of gloves before opening the trauma room door, trying to assess the situation as best you can in a few seconds. You can’t even see the patient from how many people are in there, crowding around the bed.
“Sats down to seventy-nine,” Perlah says. Garcia already has sterile gloves on, holding her hands up and shaking her head as she looks over Dennis’ shoulder. He’s holding the laryngoscope, watching the monitor, trying to get a good view of the anatomy.
“We need to crike,” She says.
“Woah, hey, I’m here, what’s going on?” You say, grabbing a gown, shifting towards the head of the bed. You look towards the patient’s face, or what’s fucking left of it, exhaling sharply. “Jesus.”
“Motorcycle versus guardrail,” Frank says. “His jaw’s completely unstable, we couldn’t get a seal with the mask, he’s bleeding like crazy.”
“Move, please,” You say, kind but firm, needing to get a closer look. Dennis pulls the tool out, stepping back, his hands up so they don’t get caught on any of the IV lines. Mateo holds the suction as you do your exam, running through options in your head. He’s already using the biggest suction that he can, and the patient's sats are still falling.
The room seems frozen around you as you think, everyone waiting on your next move. You nod to yourself when you decide on the best course of action, a small way to hype yourself up.
“I’m going in through the nasal passage,” You say.
“Blind?” Frank asks. “That’s-”
“No, not blind,” You correct. “I need a lubricated three-point-five.”
The tube is placed into your hand five seconds later. “I’m gonna’ try and advance just past the tongue, see if I can use it as a guide.”
You glance up, making eye contact with Frank, then Robby, waiting to see if either will object to your plan. Robby gives you an affirmative nod.
“Do it.”
You look to Dennis, who’s already watching you. “Could you listen for breath sounds please, Dr. Whitaker?”
“Oh, Dr. Whitaker,” Garcia repeats. “Is that what you call him in the bedroom?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You shoot back, smirking.
“Behave,” Robby says, but you don’t need to look at him to know that he’s fighting a smile. Dennis gets into place as you use your free hand to put your own stethoscope in, settling the diaphragm against the patient’s neck, moving it around until you hear what you’re looking for. Then, you slowly advance the tube through the nostril, eyes flicking towards the chest every few seconds to check for rise.
You start to get some resistance at fourteen centimetres, and the chest twitches. You hear a small amount of air pass.
“Minimal movement,” Dennis says, focusing on what he’s hearing.
“Bag it,” You instruct, and Jesse does, squeezing. The patient’s chest rises again, and Dennis looks back at you, nodding, confirming that he can hear at least some remnants of breath sounds.
“Sats up to eighty-five,” Perlah announces.
You shine your penlight into his mouth, studying the passage that the nasal tube is barely revealing, committing the location of his tracheal opening to memory each time the suction clears enough blood for you to see it.
“I can intubate now,” You say.
“Are you sure?” Frank asks, taking a look himself, seeing nothing but blood and a small clearing where the tube sits. “You still can’t visualize most of the landmarks.”
“I don’t need all the landmarks,” You counter. “Do you want a real airway or not, Dr. Langdon?”
Dennis’ breath catches in his throat, eyes wide. You’re looking at Frank expectantly, waiting for a decision. He steps back, nodding. Garcia smirks, speaking before he can.
“Blade to hot shot, please.”
You take the tool in your hand, turning on the light and sliding it into place. You don’t bother looking towards the monitor, knowing that you won’t be able to see where you’re going.
“Seven tube,” You say, reaching for it once it’s passed over, positioning it where the nasal tube already sits. You wait for the suction to expose the clearing again, not hesitating when it does, sliding the tube into the airway. You’re almost certain that it’s in the right place based on how it feels as it clears the epiglottis. “I’m in.”
The cuff is inflated, and Jesse moves the bag from the nasal tube onto the new one, nodding. “Yellow on end-tidal.”
“Good breath sounds bilaterally,” Dennis adds.
“Sats up to ninety-four,” Perlah says. The tension in the room fades as you look at Dennis, failing to contain a grin when you make eye-contact. He gives you a tiny, proud smile and a subtle nod, silently saying ‘nice work.’
You don’t realize that everyone else catches it, too.
“I’ll get him up to CT,” Garcia announces. “Glad you were here, hot shot.”
“Excellent work,” Robby says, followed by your last name. The patient is wheeled out of the room, and you’re all left behind, pulling off gowns and gloves.
“Thanks,” You say. “It’s what I’m good for.”
Dennis holds the door for you as you leave, exhaling once you’re out. Frank holds his fist up.
“Sorry for doubting you,” He says. You smile, tapping your knuckles against his.
“No harm, no foul,” You insist, waving him off. The adrenaline of the trauma starts to wear off as you move towards one of the computers, wanting to get the charting out of the way before you go back to the ICU—as long as none of your patients crash. Goosebumps splinter over your arms, despite the long-sleeve you’re wearing under your scrub top, making you shiver.
Dennis is shrugging his fleece off before you even sit down, handing it to you, already focused on the board to figure out where he should head first. He’s about to walk away when he remembers, spinning back around and leaning towards you over the desk.
“Oh, hey, there’s something for you in my lunch,” He says, voice quiet, but everyone in the vicinity hears him. They started watching the second he passed you his jacket without a single word. “You can grab it before you head back up, if you want.”
You close your hand around his fleece, trying to get your brain to function again. All work is abandoned by the people around when, for the first time possibly ever, you’re speechless. Not because this is unusual behaviour, just because he’s never done it so…publicly before.
“Okay,” You finally say, the single word breathy and faint. “Thank you.”
Everyone is staring at the two of you like it’s their favourite TV show.
“Yeah, ‘course,” He says.
He walks off, you take a seat, pulling the fleece over your head and sticking your badge to the front pocket before logging on to the computer. Your heart is racing, but you do your best to hide it from your colleagues.
“You ever wonder how they ended up together?” Frank asks, watching the interaction from afar, the question aimed at Mel, who has no idea what he’s referring to.
“Who?” She asks, barely looking up from her tablet.
“Whitaker and Hot Shot,” He clarifies. Mel looks up now, still confused.
She says your real name like it’s a question. Frank nods.
“Yeah, Hot Shot,” He emphasizes.
Mel shrugs. “I didn’t know everyone called her that, I thought it was just Garcia.”
“Doesn’t matter,” He says, moving on. “Labs back for twelve yet?”
Trinity comes back into the department twenty minutes later, having gone outside for a breather, stopping just behind your chair as she walks by. She squints, realizing that you’re definitely wearing Whitaker’s quarter-zip, the one he wears pretty much every single day once it starts getting colder. She goes straight to Victoria, who’s talking to Cassie while they wait for one of their patients to get back from CT.
“He gave her his fucking fleece,” She says, eyes drifting towards you. Victoria and Cassie look over.
“Oh my god, that’s so cute,” Victoria says, pouting slightly. “He’s so sweet to her.”
“Have you seen her?” Trinity asks, rhetorical. “He’s got to be in order to keep her around.”
Cassie raises an eyebrow. “I think it’s probably just because he loves her.”
“Or he knows he’s punching above his weight,” Trinity counters. “I love the kid, but she’s practically a supermodel.”
“Well, maybe that’s what drew her to him,” Victoria suggests. “You know, she’s so used to people tripping over themselves to impress her, maybe she liked the fact that he doesn’t make a fool out of himself to get her attention.”
Trinity thinks about that for a second, cocking her head slightly as she looks at you. “Huh. Never thought about it like that.”
“Has no one considered the idea that she just thought he was attractive?” Cassie asks. “He’s a good looking guy!”
Victoria shrugs. “Doesn’t matter either way, they clearly love eachother.”
You barely even realize that your head’s starting to hurt before a pill cup and your favourite donut are placed on your desk. You tug your eyes away from the screen, almost done with your charting, blinking a few times to clear your fuzzy vision. There’s two ibuprofen tablets in the cup, and you see Dennis standing beside you, holding his water bottle out. Robby watches from his workstation a few feet away, smiling, remembering how he watched Dennis set that donut aside a couple hours ago. It wasn’t for him, it was for you.
"Headache?" He asks.
“How…?” You ask, taking the bottle from him and opening the lid.
“You’re blinking more than usual,” He says, as though anyone would’ve picked up on it.
“Oh,” You say. “Yeah, it's not too bad, though. Thank you.”
You take the pills and a few extra sips of water before passing it back to him. He sets it on the counter, folding his arms over his chest as he leans back.
“You should eat something,” He suggests.
You nod. “I’ll eat this in one second, thank you so much, Denny.”
Robby looks towards Dana, mouthing ‘Denny?’ to her, and she mouths ‘I know!’ back.
Dennis nods, taking a seat at one of the computers across the hub. You finish your own charting a few minutes later, standing up and walking over to one of the nearby sinks, washing your hands thoroughly. You pick up the donut when you get back to the desk, tearing it in half, holding one side out towards him.
He’s so wrapped up in his work that he barely glances up when he takes it, then he does a double take, brows furrowing before he looks at you. He’s about to protest when you give him a look, one that let’s him know that you’re well aware he hasn’t eaten since his shift started. He keeps his half raised up, tilting it towards you, and you tap your own portion against his. You both take a bite at the same time, and Princess raises an eyebrow.
“Did they just…cheers with a donut?” She asks.
“You haven’t seen ‘em do that before?” Dana asks. “They do it with everything—granola bars, apple slices, sandwiches. It’s sweet.”
“I saw them do it with goldfish once,” Mateo says, spinning around in his chair to face them. “Pretty sure they made them kiss.”
You stretch your arms above your head a few minutes later, leaning against the back of your chair. A few people glance over, hoping to get a glimpse of something, but Dennis’ fleece keeps everything covered. You gather a portion of your hair in your hands, reaching towards your wrist for a hair tie.
It snaps when you go to loop it around, making you frown.
“Ow,” You murmur, dropping your hair. Victoria goes to offer you a new one, but she’s cut off by Dennis pulling one off his own arm, slingshotting it across the hub, a solid twenty feet or so. You catch it in your palm like it’s second nature, sticking it between your teeth, smoothing your hair back again.
She malfunctions for a second, trying to see if anyone else witnessed that. Most people have gone back to work, eyes focused on screens or notepads, including Dennis.
“I…how did you do that?” She asks.
Dennis doesn’t even look over. “Do what?”
“The—the hair tie thing,” She stutters. He shrugs.
“She’s always losing them,” He says, as if that remotely answers her question. She’s close enough to see his screen, catching a new secure chat rise to the top of the list that he’s working through answering. It’s your first and last name followed by ‘RRT,’ the profile photo you in scrubs, standing against a white wall.
heading back up
She glances over at you, still sitting across the hub. You’re looking at your computer, scanning some new orders for your ICU patients, face neutral as you mess with your necklace. She looks back at Dennis’ screen.
He signs the note he's working on before opening the conversation.
Come here a second
You log off of the computer, pick up your stethoscope and walk over to him. It’s casual—comfortable. His hand lifts from the keyboard once you’re close enough, reaching over and flipping the collar of his fleece out from where it’s folded in on itself. You raise an eyebrow as he pats it twice, the simple touch of his palm to your collarbone intoxicating.
“How long has that been bothering you?” You ask, teasing and quiet. The volume has picked back up in the department, so Victoria shuffles a bit closer to try and hear the conversation.
He pretends to think, glancing at his watch. “How long ago did you put it on?”
You laugh under your breath. “I didn’t realize I was causing you such distress.”
“Yeah, you should probably be more careful,” He says, the corner of his mouth twitching up, but his eyes are wide with concern. “Are you warm enough? I think I have a long sleeve in my bag if you want it.”
You do want it, but not because you’re still cold.
“No, I’m okay, thank you,” You say, trying to get your feet to move, but his presence is sucking you in. You’re tempted to wedge yourself into his side, knowing that he’d probably respond automatically, arms wrapping around you and his lips brushing your temple like they would at home.
“Okay, just come grab it if you change your mind,” He says. Your pager beeps from your pocket, and you grimace, face scrunching up in disappointment.
“I will,” You say, checking it quickly before putting it back. You’re still hesitating, not taking a step away from him. He smiles.
“Go,” He insists, softly. “They need you.”
You look at him for another second, pursing your lips. “Yeah, alright, going now, Dr. Whitaker.”
Victoria’s eyes widen as she rereads the same line on her tablet for the millionth time. A blush blooms on Dennis’ neck, and he brings a hand up to try and cover it immediately, his blue eyes following you as you get closer to the doors, filled with adoration.
He gets another secure chat five minutes later. Victoria squints to see what it says.
made it :)
don’t work too hard while im gone
He types back right away.
Yes ma’am
Victoria gasps. Dennis glances back at her.
She brings her elbow up to her face, pretending to cough a few times, clearing her throat once she’s done with the performance.
“Sorry, dry in here today,” She says, trying to give him a reassuring smile. He nods once, unconvinced, but he doesn’t press her on it.
Her own secure chat lights up.
TRINITY SANTOS, MD
smooth, crash
Seven finally rolls around, signalling the end of your shift. You go back downstairs, waiting outside the ER, like usual, backpack on and changed out of your scrubs. Dennis comes out ten minutes later with Trinity and Victoria trailing behind, his eyes softening when he sees you.
“Hey, ready to go?” He asks, making you look up from your phone. You nod, greeting his friends before falling in step beside him, bumping your shoulder against his.
“Oh, gross,” Trinity says, frowning at the heavy rain that’s pouring outside. “You want a ride, Crash?”
“Yes, please,” Victoria says, already bracing herself as Trinity opens the door, turning back to you and Dennis for a second. “Goodnight.”
“Night,” You both say, giving her a tiny wave as they step out into the rain, running to Trinity’s car.
Dennis pulls his keys out of his backpack, squeezing your wrist quickly. “Stay here.”
You smile. “I know.”
He goes outside, rounding the corner and speedwalking away from the doors. You stay inside, waiting, until you feel someone stop beside you.
“Waiting for Whitaker?” Robby asks. “I swore he left a few minutes ago.”
“Oh, yeah, he did,” You confirm. “He went to grab the car.”
Robby hums, chuckling. “Of course he did.”
You laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs, hands in his pockets. “He just really loves you, is all.”
Your chest and neck start to heat up, making you look towards the ground, scuffing your shoes against the floor. “Yeah, he does.”
“Well, have a good night,” He says.
You smile. “Goodnight, Robby.”
He walks off just as Dennis pulls the car in front of the doors, shifting it into park as he leans over, gripping the inside handle of the passenger side door. You tense up the moment you’re outside, rain pelting against you, thankful that you still have his fleece on as you run to the car. He opens the door right before you make it so you can just jump inside, slamming it shut behind you, wiping some water off your face.
You’re both soaked, him more than you, obviously—but he doesn’t care. He leans over the centre console, hand looping around the back of your neck and pulling you close, kissing you. You kiss him back, smiling into it, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. He kisses your forehead after, then pecks your lips again for good measure.
“Love you,” He says.
“I love you,” You echo, still smiling.
A/N - i love that u guys love dennis and hot shot bc i think about them constantly
about. steve likes it when you two chat, even if it's just him doing the talking.
content contains. implications of being set around season five. swearing. short.
ricky's on winter break! let the fun begin! I used to find the henderson!reader tag corny. look at me now, this is probably my favorite side series to write.
"I'm worried about your brother."
"yeah, why?" you’re not really paying attention, your speech muffled, and hands busy as you’re trying your best to unscrew the lug nuts from your tire. you're not even looking at him, but he continues to rant and ramble despite the minimal attention you were seemingly offering him.
this is how it always is now--you give steve an inch and he makes a mile out of it. any minor interaction you offer, he'll take it because he knows there won't be much more from you. you had just recently begun to warm up to him and he wasn't going to take that for granted.
you warming up to him as in you not turning the other way the moment you caught sight of him.
so, you both occupy your garage--steve leaning against the side of your car as you kneel next to the front tire of it, trying your best to lug it off it's rim in hopes to change it.
you had foolishly taken a back road too recklessly, lodging some kind of small sharp object into the rubber and only noticing the damage a day later when it was parked in your garage, flat.
"I think he's going through something... I don't know. he's just so--pissy," steve was a talker. so much so, it made you think he wasn't allowed to speak when he was a child... or even now. "and mean."
"my brother's being mean to you, harrington?" your tone is flat, like you thought it was ridiculous--because you did. the very first day of kindergarten, dustin had came home with tear stained cheeks, and every year after that till seventh grade. so, to imagine steve being the bullied in this situation, was hard and just flat out silly. you now drop your voice down to a mumble, really only speaking to yourself. "your biggest problem is an angsty teenager who invests more time in fantasy board games than his girlfriend."
"it's more than that," he still caught your murmur, moving to lean on his hip rather rather than back to look at you. "I see you more than him, y/n," he says it in a blunt way, and you finally stop tinkering around, thinking.
he was right. you knew he was right because you saw steve more than your own brother yourself.
this wasn’t on purpose—for either of you. even despite steve’s fat crush on you, your increasing time together was only coincidental.
he’d show up to your house, looking for your brother, and for the past couple of weeks, he wasn’t there. but there you were! answering his house calls like always and why waste a trip?
okay, so maybe it wasn't it a coincidence.
“that’s a problem,” you’re looking up at him now, starting to understand his frustration.
“yeah, no shit,” he drops a hand out, with a ‘duh’ tone.
as much as steve enjoyed sneaking his way into your time, he knew he wasn’t exactly your favorite person.
“this isn’t some kind of ridiculous plan of yours and dustin's, is it?” you’re growing skeptical of him, thinking of when steve and dustin get together to scheme, they tend to get dramatic. “i swear steve, if you two-“
“no, yn, no,” he denies. “we’re out of that period of our lives, okay?”
you roll your eyes, going right back to prying on the bolts holding your tire in place. in the early days--the prime of steve and dustin hanging out--they had made many attempts to get the two of you together. preparing a candle lit dinner in the dining room of your home with dustin as your waiter. coincidently stumbling across one another on your typical saturday errands that dustin most definitely didn't memorize. steve somehow charming your mother, even getting her in on the bit; leading her to pester you, butting into your love life.
"what about that nice boy dusty hangs around, yn?"
"mom, all the nice boys dustin hangs around are pre pubescent teens."
"no," she looks at you with a scrunched up face, disgusted that you'd even think that's who she was referring to. "the handsome boy, the one with the hair. he's nice."
you roll your eyes.
all their attempts quickly faded off after you told dustin you'd take clippers to steve's hair if you ever caught him outside with your mom in bathing suits enjoying a pool day together again.
"I don't know, steve," you sigh, "he's a teenager. a teenager who's a dweeb. don't you remember being a sophomore in high school? it wasn't exactly awesome."
steve purses his lips, clamping his jaw shut out of embarrassment. steve loved high school, but steve also wasn't a dweeb. there wasn't much he could say on this.
he bites on his lip, watching you now to gauge where you're at. he can tell you're no longer in that vacant state of mind you're usually in when listening to him, but rather, he can tell you're thinking. hard. he's not sure what about--whether you were concerned or confused, whether it was about dustin or your tire. but whatever it was, it was killing him that you were still trying to get those lug nuts off for the past fifteen minutes.
"can I please help you?" he sounds stressed when asking. "you're killing me."
you huff, falling back from the squat you're in, to your butt, "be my guest."
you hand him the tire iron, allowing him to pull you to your feet with his other hand, and to then replace you. it's silent now, expect for the sounds of him working so seamlessly at what you had been trying to do for the past half hour. you watch him, arms crossed, till he turns:
steve harrington and his massive hands helping you get your mascara off cause you keep complaining about how sticky your eyes are and he does not like the way that sounds
thank you for your request angel ❤︎ fem, 0.8k
Steve’s bed smells strange. You sniff his pillow, flat on your back in his sheets with your face twisted toward him, though your eyes are half-lidded and you aren’t looking at him so much as the back of his neck. He’s leaning forward, a rerun episode of Cheers lighting his face and chest.
“What are you doing?” he asks, amused. He’s nice like that —suddenly, one day, he loved you, and basically anything you did after could make him smile.
“What’s that smell?”
“What smell?” he asks, ducking over himself to sniff the same bit of pillow as you.
This close, you can see the little lines in the corners of his eyes, his flush of dark brown lashes curling lightly at their ends, and the beauty marks that cover him from head to toe. He sniffs his pillow, shrugging, before offering a cautious, “Uh, shampoo?”
“You don’t sleep with your hair wet, do you?” you ask with a feigned dropped jaw.
“Says you. How many times do I have to remind you to get up and brush your teeth before bed?”
You try not to let your embarrassment show, lest your boyfriend think you’re trying to hide a bad habit. “I brush my teeth. It’s my makeup I’m the worst at. Some nights I cannot make myself get up, n’ when I wake up in the morning I can barely open my eyes.”
“Huh?”
You squint at him, tired, though summoning up a smile is easy work. “It’s all gluey. Sticky.”
“Makeup is so weird.”
You still as he leans in. He’s glaring at your eyelashes, raising a hand to your cheek to touch you gently. “You don’t look weird,” he adds, talking at a low tenor as though he’s worried he’ll disturb you while he’s leaning down. “Why’s it sticky?”
“I dunno. It gets old. It’s not waterproof, so maybe it goes all weird with my tears?”
“You were crying?”
You smile into his hand as he lays it against your cheek. “No, just, your eyes water all day, like, self-lubrication.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll take it off for you. If you didn’t wanna get up.”
“I gotta brush my teeth anyways.”
“Could spit into my hand.”
Steve seems quietly determined once he’s suggested it, and without another word he gets out of bed to search through the canvas bag you keep in his chest of drawers. You watch as he squints at the labels on your toiletries until he finds a makeup remover, nibbling his lip as he stares down at cotton buds and pads. “These ones?” he asks, holding up a couple of cotton rounds.
You nod. Steve returns to the bed, his sweatpants a little too short, no socks, you hate boys (but you love Steve). “Aren’t your feet cold?” you ask.
He holds your forehead down firmly when you try to sit up. “No. How much of this stuff can I use?”
“Get it wet in the middle.”
He does as he’s told and so do you, waiting in the pillows for him to bring the cotton round down. He presses it to your lashes and pulls down nicely, a patient motion against your closed eye.
“It’s dark,” he says, his voice humming with a levity that could inspire an ache in your stomach if he used it long enough. “How do I know I got it all?”
“If you scrub it side to side, it like, stops catching? It’ll feel less stiff, but don’t worry about getting it all if you can’t.”
He angles your face with a big hand. “I can get it,” he murmurs, brushing your lashes with his thumb, going in again with the cotton round. His breath fans over your nose as he leans in closer again.
You dose under his careful touching. His hand are big on your face, easily encompassing the sides. He could cover you up no problem with the both of them, blot out the lamplight and his face from view.
“I think I got it,” he says eventually. “It’s greasy.”
“I usually wash them off with some water. I’ll do it when I brush my teeth.”
“One night won’t hurt,” Steve says, caressing your cheek with his thumb before he pulls away. He clambers out of bed and disappears for a half a minute. When he comes back, he wipes the residue off of your face with a face towel and kisses each damp eyelid, despite the bump of his nose into your brow. “Brush extra in the morning.”
You mumble a sleepy okay, falling asleep with his kisses still warm on your skin.
steve likes to blow up your answering machine when you’re away.
cw: maybe just a tad suggestive but nothing crazy
[ you have four new messages ]
— BEEP —
“hey, it’s steve — so i was just cleaning out my backseat and found your earring wedged between the seatbelt and the cushion. it must’ve fallen out last time you were here since we um.
anyway, it’s safe. i put it in the cupholder so i don’t lose it. but yeah, just call me back and i’ll personally deliver it to you.”
— BEEP —
“quiiick question, what’s the name of that song you really like? me and robin are trying to line up requests for the hour and i, uh… kinda wanted to put it on for you if you’re even listening.
just hurry before she picks something awful again.”
— BEEP —
“alright, i’m starting to feel like an idiot talking to your machine all afternoon. the tape’s probably almost full. um, i just wanted to say i found that cassette you lent me.
i’m gonna bring it back tomorrow, unless you want it tonight. In which case…..call me. or don’t. but preferably call.”
—BEEP—
“it’s steve again. if you’re up tonight, leave your window cracked a little? i’m off late and i kinda… i just want to see you.
not for long, just long enough to say hi without this dumb machine in the way.”
drabble summary: you accidentally kick steve in the crouch while drifting to sleep
warnings: fem!reader, nothing else :)
You were halfway asleep when it happened— that warm, drifting place where you weren’t dreaming yet but definitely not aware enough to control your limbs.
Steve, unfortunately, was very aware.
He’d fallen asleep with his arm draped over your waist, chin tucked into your shoulder like he always did when he was exhausted enough to forget he was a whole six-foot boy trying to fold himself around you.
All peaceful. All quiet.
Until your knee twitched.
Then rose.
Then… launched.
There was a thud, a strangled noise that definitely wasn’t human, and suddenly Steve wasn’t spooning you anymore, he was curled away from you, hands cupped protectively over his crotch like he’d been shot in battle.
“—ohmygod,” he wheezed, voice cracking. “Babe. Babe. Babe, you— you assassinated me.”
You jolted upright, still half-asleep, hair sticking in every direction.
“What? What happened?”
Steve rolled onto his back very, very slowly, face twisted in heroic suffering.
“You knee’d me,” he said, pointing accusingly at your legs. “Right in my future children.”
Your eyes went wide. “Steve, I was asleep!”
“I know!” he said dramatically. “That’s the worst part! You’re dangerous unconscious. A weapon of mass destruction. I gotta start wearing protective gear to bed.”
You pressed your hand over your mouth to cover the laugh threatening to escape.
“Oh my god, are you okay?”
“No,” he said immediately, but then his voice softened, playful. “Well… maybe in a minute. Ask me again when I stop seeing stars.”
You shuffled closer, resting your head on his shoulder.
“Do you want ice?”
“Not gonna lie,” he said, staring at the ceiling with the expression of a man who just met his own mortality, “I’m terrified of putting ice anywhere near there right now.”
You giggled, and he finally cracked a smile, arm slipping back around you, carefully, as if expecting your knee to attack again.
“For real though,” he said quietly, kissing your forehead. “You sleep like a gremlin.”
“I warned you before we started dating.”
“You did,” he admitted. “Didn’t think it meant I’d get taken out in my own bed, though.”
You tucked your leg between his carefully, very carefully, and he tensed immediately.
“Don’t you dare,” he whispered.
“I’m not!” you laughed. “Relax!”
He exhaled dramatically, pulling you close again.
“If I survive the night,” he said, “I’m telling Robin everything. She’ll give me sympathy.”
“No she won’t.”
“…yeah, she absolutely won’t,” he agreed.
You kissed his jaw, and he melted instantly, wincing only slightly.
“See?” you murmured. “You’re fine.”
“Barely,” he corrected, but his smile was soft, and he held you tighter— even if he did keep one cautious eye on your knee.
synopsis: you haven't seen steve harrington since high school when he strolls into your shift at radioshack and unknowingly reignites an old crush. now you're totally just 'hanging out' at family video for the movies... definitely not the guy behind the counter.
tags: fluffy friends to lovers, robin & dustin playing matchmaker, rockie snippets, reader is kind of a loser (endearing), set around season 4, very loosely proofread pls forgive any illiteracy
wordcount: 7.8k
notes: this feels terribly rushed & wildly out of character at points but i wanted it out tonight & i like the idea of steve losing confidence with girls after high school idk. also i've like solely written smut for 9 months so i've lost my fluff touch but we move
IF SOMEONE had told you six months ago that Steve Harrington would reenter your life while you were getting paid minimum wage for sorting discount battery displays, you would have laughed in their face.
And yet here you are, dressed in an oversized uniform with a crooked name tag and half listening to Dustin Henderson. He’s rambling enthusiastically about something called “Cerebro” (whatever the hell that means) while you attempt to decipher which drawer holds the coaxial cables he needs. Why a fourteen year old would ever need such a bizarre array of things was beyond you, but as Bob Newby once hammered into your brain during one of your first shifts here, a customer is a customer.
When the store bell rings, you’ve gotten yourself into the habit of preparing for a dreary thirty minutes of explaining that the problem could probably be fixed by switching it on and off again. You aren’t met with a middle-aged man ready to insist otherwise, though. When you look up on instinct, Dustin’s chatter melts into a distant sound in your ears.
Steve Harrington is just as annoyingly handsome as you remember. It’s like he’s stepped directly out of some cruel daydream you buried years ago: hair still perfect, though somehow more natural than before. He’s cut back on the product, you think. And he’s broader now. A little tired around the eyes, but so real you can feel your heart stutter in your chest.
He scans the store in that way of his—all lazy confidence—before his eyes land on you and Dustin. For half a moment, you expect him to ignore you. You weren’t exactly unforgettable in high school, not like he had been. You’d been… adjacent to important, maybe. Close enough to notice everything and far enough to be nothing.
You’re surprised when his eyes knit together in recognition.
“Hey.” The greeting itself is a shock, let alone your name following it in a questioning tone. Hearing him say it was disarming in a way you aren’t prepared for after two years. Your stomach does something unpleasant. “Right?”
“Yeah,” you say, carefully neutral. “Steve. Hi.”
Dustin, oblivious to the inner turmoil you’re facing, bounces on his heels between the two of you when Steve approaches. “You guys know each other?!” He exclaims, like his two worlds are currently being brought together.
Steve seems to blink himself out of his own stupor. “Yeah, we, uh, yeah,” he answers eloquently. “High school.”
“We had trig together,” you offer politely. As if you’re currently not on the verge of melting into a puddle of teenage hormones all over again.
“Right,” he affirms with a nod. “You sat by the window. I remember, ‘cause—” Steve drags a hand through his hair, and you swear your heart stops at the familiar gesture. The shape of his bicep under his shirt was one you’d memorised long ago. “—You had those pens that changed colours. They were cool.”
It’s something that seems so trivial, but the fact he remembers such a detail almost kills you on the spot. “Um, yeah,” you reply, too quiet to be normal. “Those.”
An awkward silence falls for a moment. Then Dustin claps loudly. “Cool! Okay! Back to the mission. Steve, she has the parts I need. See? Right there! The thingy.”
“Signal amplifier,” you supply (though you doubt Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington has any idea what that is.) You reach for it, adding it to the bundle of cables on the counter.
Steve is too busy watching you with unmistakable curiosity to care about the name. “You work here?”
“Unfortunately. Pays better than the diner, though.”
He laughs. It’s more like a snort, you think. God, even his laugh still does that to you. Makes your stomach churn and your legs feel weak in a juvenile sort of way. You force yourself to ring up the part to distract yourself from the way he’s still looking at you like he’s trying to put the pieces together again.
“That’ll be seventeen dollars.”
$17.30, actually, but you don’t have the heart to correct yourself when the wrong price slips out. You’re embarrassed enough in this situation.
Dustin turns to Steve expectantly. “You owe me from the arcade.”
“Uh, yeah. Not seventeen dollars, dude,” he retorts. You bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing when he reaches obediently into his pocket for his wallet anyways. He counts out the cash and drops it on the counter and you have to feign normalcy when your fingers brush to hand him the receipt.
“So,” Steve says after a pause. “You still live in Hawkins, then?”
“Unfortunately,” you echo again. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth.
He smiles at that. Genuine and easy and far too charming for your own good. “Yeah,” he says. “Same.” The pause feels a little less awkward this time. Then he asks, “You doing okay?”
It takes you a second to get over the initial shock at him being genuinely interested in your well-being. Probably just polite conversation, you tell yourself. He’s always been like that.
“Yeah,” you lie. “You?” You know the answer. It’s no secret he hadn't been accepted into college.
He shrugs a shoulder. “Getting there.”
Dustin chooses that moment to gather the ridiculously long cable and dumps the armful into Steve’s arms. “Carry these.”
Steve sends you a pitiful look but accepts them anyway. “Well, nice seeing you.”
“Yeah. You too,” you reply lamely as Dustin ushers him off towards the door.
“See you around, Radio Queen!” Dustin shoots over his shoulder with a peace sign. Despite yourself, you laugh under your breath.
The RadioShack feels agonisingly empty after the pair of them leave. There’s a hollowness to your chest where the warmth had been a minute ago. You’re so melodramatic, you realise with a groan, forehead thumping against the counter.
It’s just Steve. Stupidly handsome Steve that you’d been in love with for two years. You’re an adult now. Sort of. Completely over him.
You reach sullenly into your pocket to drop the last thirty cents for Dustin’s purchases into the register.
You’re so fucked.
—
Now, if someone had told you that Steve Harrington would re-enter your life twice in one week, you would assume you had done something in a past life to deserve this torture. Which is why you don’t even consider the possibility of seeing him any time soon as you pull open the glass door to Family Video five days later.
It’s a bit miserable to be spending your Friday night looking for a movie to watch alone, but it’s not as if anyone but Keith is around to witness your monthly ritual. You wander towards the horror aisle immediately—it’s less busy back here (not that there’s many people here after 10pm) and you’ve learned over the years that they shelve the good stuff back here where the parents won’t complain.
You skim the spines slowly. You’ve watched most of these movies already, but for whatever reason, you gravitate towards a copy of The Thing. It’s better than standing around for an hour trying to pick something out.
When you turn the corner, you walk directly into a firm, vested chest.
“Oh. Shit, sorry, I—” You start, already stepping back. But two strong hands come up immediately to catch your shoulders before you can stumble backwards into a rotating rack of VHS tapes.
“It’s cool, it’s cool.”
There’s that familiar voice again. You freeze for a second, then your brain (very slowly) follows the sound upward. You’re met with quite the sight: striped tee, green Family Video vest, and that perfect, stupid hair.
Steve Harrington. Again
“Oh,” you squeak—actually squeak, like a startled mouse. Brilliant. “Sorry. Wasn’t looking.”
He blinks at you like it takes him a moment to pin your face again, then breaks into a smile so immediate you almost swoon. “Hey!” He says, like he hasn’t spent the last few days living rent-free in your head. “What are the odds?”
Apparently very bad ones, you think faintly.
“Crazy,” you agree mildly. “You… work here?” You gesture weakly towards his vest like it’s not already blatantly obvious. You wish the floor would open up and swallow you right now.
He glances down at himself like he’d forgotten he was wearing it, too. “Yeah. Yeah, I just started, actually. My friend Robin and I got hired together.”
Of course they had. You swallow. “Nice. That’s… nice. This place is nice.”
Aren’t you just doing so well? He shifts his weight, hands still loosely on your arms before he realises he never actually let you go. When he finally does, he squeezes your arms apologetically in a way that makes your brain short-circuit.
“So,” he says, awkward but soft. “You looking for something specific?”
“A movie,” you answer instantly, like you don’t already have The Thing held behind your back. “Just… something dumb and loud. Had a long shift.”
Steve beams like he understands exactly what you mean. “Well,” he says, motioning with exaggerated seriousness like he wants you to follow him, “you’ve come to the right place.” You watch as he starts off, and then without thinking, you follow. You grimace at your shamelessness and slide the copy of The Thing into one of the shelves as you pass.
Steve gestures towards one of the displays. “If you want ‘dumb and loud,’ that’s kind of my entire personality in movie form. Anything from here has been personally approved by yours truly.”
You huff out a laugh and pretend to inspect the display. “Wow. You take this seriously.”
“Always,” he agrees solemnly.
You reach for a random case, barely bothering to read the title. “Do you always walk customers around, or am I a special case?”
The worlds slip out before you have the chance to think better of it. Your face burns instantly, clearing your throat and looking down at the case in your hands. God, are you flirting with him right now? Embarrassing. All because he’s doing his job.
The silence that follows makes you want to bolt for the door before he recovers and says brightly, “Guess you are.”
Ah. He’s humouring you, you think. Somehow that makes it worse. Suddenly, the carpet beneath you seems incredibly interesting. “So,” you continue quickly, holding up the tape like it’s a shield because you’re suddenly aware of how uncomfortably close he is right now. “You like working here?”
He shrugs. “It’s alright. Beats scooping ice for a bunch of thirteen-year-old girls.”
“High praise.”
Steve chuckles softly at that. Your brain traitorously tucks that sound away for later. “RadioShack doesn’t seem too thrilling either.”
Your face twists in displeasure. “I might lose my mind if I have to explain why there’s different types of batteries one more time.”
“Well, I just carry the cables,” he says. “We all have our burdens.”
You laugh fully this time. The way he watches you like it matters makes the sound die down in your throat.
“Harrington! You’re not getting paid to flirt!” A voice rings out from the counter.
Heat crawls up your spine. Steve turns an embarrassing shade of red. “It’s not—!” He starts, then gives up on yelling back and rubs at the back of his neck. “Sorry.”
You shake your head quickly. “No, no, it’s fine—”
“Steve,” another voice calls from further down the aisle. “Do you know where the returns are supposed to go?”
He groans under his breath. “I gotta go be useful.”
You nod even though your chest is currently doing something complicated and entirely inconvenient. “Yeah. Sure,” you force out.
Silence lingers, which only makes that odd feeling in your ribcage worse. Then he clears his throat. “You can always swing by again. If you, you know, want recommendations or… whatever.”
Your heart kicks against your ribs. “I mean,” you reply lightly, glancing down at the case in your hands. Fast Times at Ridgemont High, you finally process. “I don’t even know if you’ve earned my trust yet, Harrington.”
Challenge sparks behind his brown eyes. “Oh, you’ll see. You’ll be back here next Friday for something just as good.”
You smile despite yourself. Then you turn towards the counter before he has the chance to see just how much that stupid look affects you. As you check out, Robin slides your tape across the counter with a knowing look.
“So,” she drawls. “Steve’s friend?”
You clear your throat. “Hardly.”
“Mmhm,” she hums disbelievingly.
You grab your bag and bolt before she can say anything else. And when you finally push outside into the cold Hawkins air, you press your back to the glass door and stare up at the dark sky.
Yeah. You’re not over him. Not even close.
—
You don’t watch the movie that night. Can’t bring yourself to, mostly because you spent the next hour driving around town and trying not to scream into the dead of the night. It’s just Steve. Not like he plagued most of your daydreams for the entirety of junior and senior year. He’s just some stupid boy who’s growing into a young man.
But the following night…
Well, the movie isn’t what you expected. You sit cross-legged on your bed after your shift, uniform discarded for something softer, the flicker of your TV painting the walls of your room blue and gold as you sit enraptured.
You’d told Steve you wanted “dumb and loud.”
This isn’t just that. It’s funny, sure—but there’s something else there too. Something strangely familiar. You hadn’t expected to like it so much, given you’d arrived intending to spend the night huddled under the covers to a horror movie.
And then there’s Brad. At first, you hadn’t thought anything of him. He’s not the main character, after all. Just some guy who wants to be taken seriously. Wants to grow up faster than he knows how. Wants more than he knows how to ask for.
Somewhere halfway through the movie, you realise you’re not really watching anymore. You’re thinking about Steve.
Brad, with his secondhand confidence, carrying the world on his shoulders and pretending everything is fine. Stupidly, it reminds you of him, in some dramatic and cinematic sort of way that makes you feel a little ridiculous. But you hug your knees to your chest and stare as the credits start to roll anyways.
Steve’s not at all how he presented himself back in high school. The King. The Hair. Whatever other idiotic nicknames a bunch of teens came up with for a boy that was so charismatic everyone couldn’t help but be drawn to him.
You can’t believe he remembered where you sat in trig class. The same guy who had sat two rows away, leaning back in his chair and pretending not to care about the diagrams on the blackboard as Tommy nudged and muttered something crude in his ear. You remember stealing glances when he laughed too loud. When he ran his hand through his hair like he did the other day and your breath had hitched like it used to.
You’d been stupid about it back then. Painfully obvious in your own head and completely invisible everywhere else.
Your eyes drift to the clock. 11:24. Family Video is still open.
You nearly laugh at yourself. You are not going back there just to tell Steve Harrington you liked his movie pick. You are definitely not getting off your bed. You are absolutely not changing into jeans and grabbing your jacket.
And you are very much not locking your front door five minutes later.
—
He might not even be working. The thought crosses your mind as you drive into town, surrounded by the eerie silence of a sleeping Hawkins. Regardless, you choose not to turn around.
When you arrive, the lights inside are dim. Close to closing time. You catch a glimpse of Keith sweeping the floor with an expression that suggests he’d rather be anywhere else, and you linger near the entrance longer than you mean to.
Eventually, the bell chimes when you finally push through the door. Robin looks up first and her smile is immediate.
“Oh my god,” she says. “You came back.”
You flush, fishing the case out of your pocket like it’s a valid explanation to show up before midnight. “I just… was already driving through town. Wanted to bring this back so I could—”
Steve pops up from the returns cart, and the lie dies on your tongue. You shift awkwardly from foot to foot before he breaks into a grin. “Told you she would,” he says triumphantly. The thought of them discussing you in your one-day absence makes your stomach churn.
“I watched it.” You try to sound neutral. You fail miserably.
His eyes light up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You wave the case awkwardly. “I liked it. It was… good.”
Steve straightens, interest genuinely bright on his stupidly gorgeous face. “Okay, but like… good-good, or are you just being nice?”
You hesitate, then shrug. “Good-good. Brad’s kind of… sad.”
He makes a face like you’ve personally offended him. “In a cool way, though?”
“... Sure,” you indulge with a laugh.
Keith appears from one of the aisles, making a motion with his hand that says let’s wrap this up as he heads for storage. Steve clears his throat and straightens up as you hand the movie back over. “So… next Friday?”
The question is entirely casual. The way he looks at you, on the other hand, is not. You pretend to consider it, even though the answer echoes yes, yes, yes in your bones. “Well,” you say slowly, tilting your head. “I guess you get one more chance to impress me. You know, just in case that was a fluke.”
He laughs, pleased. “Deal.”
Robin slaps the counter and you startle. “Leave her alone with your sucky movies and come help me close up,” she says, earning a reluctant groan from him.
“Sorry. She’s got attachment issues. Can’t do anything without me there to hold her hand—”
“Can too!” She protests.
You smile weakly. “It’s okay. I’ll see you around.”
The two of them are too busy bickering to really hear your answer as you back away with your heart leaping out of your throat. You can’t believe you just wasted gas money to return a movie at midnight. But despite your embarrassment, you feel slightly giddy as you reach the door and hear Robin call after you:
“Bye, Steve’s friend!”
—
Steve’s friend.
You replay it stupidly in your head over the next week, even though you know Robin meant nothing by it. Still. Friend. It echoes where it probably shouldn’t. Your giddiness from that night twists into something more confused: less thrill, more fear.
You’ve only seen him three times and you’re already overthinking yourself into oblivion.
What is Robin to him? Surely she’s ‘Steve’s friend.’ She wouldn’t be so comfortable waggling her eyebrows after you if they were a thing. But maybe that’s some sales tactic. Pretty boy lures in the customers and his girlfriend plays up the amused coworker role.
No. No, you’re being utterly ridiculous. Deep down you know that, but the doubt gnaws at you anyways. It’s like watching Steve in the halls with Nancy Wheeler all over again when you think about the way they’d bickered as you left the store.
Either way, Friday comes both too quickly and not at all fast enough.
You don’t mean to go back to Family Video after all those thoughts swimming about in your head. Not really. But you find yourself standing in front of your mirror after work, fixing your hair for no practical reason. You try on three different outfits before settling on the one that looks like you didn’t try at all. You hate the part of you that hopes he’s happy to see you. By the time you get in your car, you’ve convinced yourself it’s for the movie.
Definitely not the boy.
Steve is restocking when you walk in. The universe doesn’t bother playing tricks this time—you spot him immediately, bent over to slip cases from a plastic bin back into the shelves. The vest he’s wearing is too small in the shoulders, drawn taut over the muscle beneath. You feel your mouth go dry.
He looks up and catches a glimpse of you, and his face lights up. Actually lights up, like he’s genuinely glad you’re here to brighten an otherwise dull night of restocking shelves and counting cash at the register.
“Hey,” he greets, a little too quickly. “You came.”
Your stomach flips traitorously. “I said I would,” you remind him, tugging awkwardly on your sleeve. You feel stupid now. Overdressed, even if you’d spent half an hour trying to look the exact opposite.
He scratches the back of his neck. “I mean… yeah. I just—yeah. It’s cool that you’re here. Anyways, I’ve been thinking about tonight’s selection.”
Thinking about it. Thinking about you. That’s not what he said, but your weak, pathetic heart takes it and runs with it anyways.
“You… have?”
He freezes for half a second, like he’s been caught admitting something wildly embarrassing. It’s endearing. Nothing like the suave Steve Harrington you once swooned over in the halls. His ears turn pink, and you resolutely try not to stare at them to avoid making that hopeful thing in your chest flutter dangerously.
“Not in, like, a creepy way. I told you I took my job seriously.”
Your heart almost sinks, but the way his eyes crinkle softly at the edges makes you realise he’s deflecting. You look down to hide a smile, rocking on your heels. “Right. Totally professional. What have you got for me, then?”
He gestures for you to follow him, and just like last time, you trail along behind without even thinking about it. It’s becoming something of a habit. Apparently you’re still that lost puppy from high school pining for attention.
He leads you past the “New Releases” display and into one of the aisles near the back. Steve stops, scanning the shelf like he’s picking out something special, then plucks out a tape with a satisfied little aha!
“This one,” he announces, holding it up for your perusal. “It’s kind of old. And not really funny or loud. So if you hate me for talking up my funny taste, I can pick something else.”
You take it from him. Brief Encounter. Your brows knit together. “I’ve never seen this one.”
“Yeah. Nobody our age really has,” he shrugs.
“What’s it about?”
“Two married people that meet and then spend the rest of their lives remembering it,” he supplies. You almost tell him he looks cute when he’s nervous about explaining a movie like this.
“You trying to make me cry, Harrington?”
Steve laughs, dragging a hand over his face. “No. It’s a good movie. But if you’re sensitive, maybe I should put you on to Star Wars instead.”
You roll your eyes. “Do I get to ask why you chose it?”
“I don’t know,” he lies poorly. “Just seemed like your sort of thing.”
You don’t call him out on that. Just let him walk you back to the counter to ring you up, heart aflutter in your chest.
Later that night, the movie ends up wrecking you. You don’t move for the entire runtime, your back against your headboard and your knees pulled to your chest. You’ve never been in a physical fight but you’re pretty sure this is what it feels like to get punched in the sternum over and over again.
You don’t even realise you’re crying until a tear lands on your sleeve and leaves a darker mark behind. You blink it away, embarrassed at the display even in an empty room.
God, Steve.
—
“I’m mad at you. You’re awful,” you accuse the next time you get the chance to swing by, sliding the case across the counter.
He blinks at you, alarmed. “Wait, what?”
“That movie ruined me,” you continue, tapping the case emphatically. “So sad. I didn’t know what to do with myself after.”
Relief flashes through him so fast it almost makes you laugh. “Oh,” he breathes out. “Oh, okay. I can work with that.”
You shake your head at him in exaggerated disappointment. You choose not to acknowledge how comfortable you’re becoming with him during these brief interactions. “It was beautiful. And horrible. And unfair.”
“What’s your takeaway from it?” He prompts, resting his elbows on the counter.
“That the world is awful? Life is meaningless? Happiness is impossible?”
He fixes you with a deadpan look. Your shoulders slump with a sigh. “I don’t know. What’s yours?”
“Sometimes things are better when they don’t last?” He suggests.
You almost ask if he feels that way about Nancy Wheeler. You have to swallow back the inappropriate thought, averting your eyes to the case. “Tch. Pessimistic.”
“I’m kidding. It makes me cry,” he admits with a laugh. Your eyes dart up, and he shrugs off the surprised look on your face. “Don’t tell anyone I said that, okay? Especially not Henderson. Little shit thinks I’m invincible. I’d never hear the end of it if he learned I had—” He makes a disgusted face. “—Emotions.”
You snort before you can stop yourself. “Yeah, right. God forbid the former king of Hawkins High experiences feelings for the first time.”
Steve grimaces like he’s embarrassed by that title. “Hey,” he protests indignantly. “I have always had feelings. I just happen to keep them hidden.”
“Behind the hair?” You suggest innocently.
“Behind the charm,” he corrects.
You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth keeps tugging upwards into a faint smile anyway. God, it’s unfair how easy this is all becoming. You’ve spent years carefully packing Steve Harrington away in your minds under the label things we don’t think about anymore just for him to waltz back into your life and unpack it himself.
You rest your hip against the counter, folding your arms and pretending like you’re not trying too hard to appear casual. “Charm, my ass. You’re not charming anyone by recommending movies like that.”
“I didn’t know it’d hit you like that,” he says, hands raised in surrender. “I figured you’d think it was boring.”
“So either I cry my eyes out or I’m bored out of my mind?”
“For the record,” he says, earnest, “that’s not usually the goal.”
“Liar. I think you just enjoy watching your customers suffer.”
He snorts. “Only a little.” A beat passes, then he reaches for the tape and slides it into the returns bin. “I’m kind of glad you hated it, though.”
That takes you aback slightly. “That’s rude.”
“I mean—” He rushes, then stops, thinking better of it. “No. I’m glad you felt something. People usually just… watch stuff. You actually watch it.” You’re not really sure what that means. Before you get the chance to reply, he barrels on with a rueful laugh. “Actually, most people don’t even bother watching stuff. I’ve recommended that movie to, like, two girls since I started working here. They’ve both just pretended to watch it to try to get into my pants.”
Ironic. You actually did watch it to get into his pants. Guilt stirs in your chest.
“That sucks,” you say, scuffing your foot against the carpet.
“Occupational hazard of being stupidly handsome,” he replies lightly.
“As if you don’t love it,” you shoot back.
“I don’t,” he insists, softer. It’s enough to give you pause. You glance down at your hands on the counter.
“So I get points for actually sitting through that sad bullshit, then?”
“Huge points,” he affirms instantly. “Gold star. You’re my customer of the month.”
You laugh despite the way it feels like there’s a hand squeezing your heart. It’s a strange thing, being lumped into the same category as these two girls when you’d spent most of high school being a ghost in the background of his life. And yet now you’re standing here in front of him, and he’s looking at you like you’re not just another bored kid killing time with the hot cashier.
It’s not until you’re home in bed that night, covers tucked up to your chin and staring dreamily at your ceiling, that you clock his intentions. Wait, was that a test? Did Steve Harrington just recommend you a movie to test how superficial you were being with him? And did you actually pass?
You roll over, smothering your giddy laugh into your pillow. Gold star. Hell yeah, you passed it.
—
The next few weeks you settle into a routine. You must be renting at least two movies per week by now (though Dustin single-handedly covers the cost of most of them every time he pops into RadioShack), each carefully selected by Steve. He’d been ecstatic to learn about your affinity for scary movies, and you’ve moved on from his favourite action movies to the horror genre.
Last week was Carrie and The Exorcist, the former of which you didn’t have the heart to tell him was already one of your favourites. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. You haven’t had the chance to swing by for your next selection. One of your co-workers, Jeff, has called out sick the entire week, leaving you to pick up shifts left right and centre.
You pretend you don’t miss him. You also pretend not to be disappointed that him accompanying Dustin was a one time thing. Apparently, you manifest the boy into existence when a hat and a curly head of hair appears in front of you.
“Radio Queen,” he greets with a solemn nod.
“Henderson,” you greet just as solemnly. “What can I do for you?”
“Need batteries,” he announces immediately, slapping a couple of crumpled bills down on the counter like he’s in a high-stakes poker game instead of a small electronics store. “And… wire. And maybe one of those weird plug things Mike said I’d probably forget.”
You arch an eyebrow. “That narrows it down tremendously.”
Dustin beams toothily. “I know. I’m great at instructions.”
You turn and start the shelves. You’re used to translating Dustin Henderson into something functional. “Did he actually send you with a list this time, or am I going in blind again?”
Dustin fishes a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “List.” Miracles do happen. You take it from him, eyes skimming over the unmistakable scrawl. You can’t count how many times they’ve had a Party meeting and Dustin has been sent on a shopping spree with an illegible list of items.
“Wow,” you mutter, squinting at the numbers in the margin and the title IN ORDER OF IMPORTANCE. “He’s getting organised.”
“Only when the fate of the world is involved,” he replies seriously.
You snort indulgently. “Of course.”
You gather the parts in practiced silence, Dustin trailing closely behind you like a duckling.When you finally return to the counter to begin ringing everything up, he leans forward conspiratorially.
“So,” he starts, dragging the word out. “You and Steve, huh?”
You freeze for a moment, then resume your work. “What about me and Steve?”
He shrugs like it’s obvious. “You’re always at the store. He won’t stop talking about you when we hang out.” Then, as an afterthought— “Not in a weird way. In a normal way. I think.”
Your heart stutters in your chest and you forget for a moment you’re supposed to be punching numbers into the register. “He… talks about me?”
Dustin rolls his eyes. “Yeah. He’ll be like ‘Dustin, if she doesn’t like scary movies as much as I thought, then I’m bad at my job.’ And then I’ll be like, ‘Steve, nobody cares this much about their job,’ and then he gets all quiet and weird.”
You busy yourself with pretending to double check the list so he can’t see your face. “Right,” you mutter. “Sounds exhausting.”
“For him,” he agrees readily. “For you, probably flattering.”
You shoot him a look. He just grins. You slide his change across the counter, still avoiding his eyes. “Anyone ever tell you you’re annoying?”
“I’m right,” he corrects, stuffing the bills into his pocket.
“Out,” you say, pointing towards the door.
Dustin laughs giddily, like this entire interaction has proved something he thought he already knew, and gathers his bag to swing over his shoulder. The bell jingles after him when he leaves, and the shop feels emptier for it. Too quiet. You busy yourself with reorganising a row of batteries that are already perfectly organised just to keep your brain from drifting back to that one awful, wonderful revelation:
Steve Harrington talks about you.
—
You don’t make it to Family Video for another four days. Not because you don’t want to, obviously. Life has apparently decided you’re not allowed to have nice, simple routines anymore. But Jeff finally returns to work looking suspiciously healthy, your manager immediately dumps all his shifts back on him like you never existed, and suddenly it’s Thursday and you’ve gone an entire week without seeing Steve’s stupid face.
Which is fine. You’re fine. Totally normal amount of fine.
So when you finally push open the glass door to the store that night with the bell chiming sharply overhead, you’re already bracing yourself for the familiar warmth of seeing him behind the counter. You don’t get it. Instead, it’s Robin, leaning against the register with a pen in her mouth and her eyebrows furrowed as she studies a piece of paper.
“Oh,” you say in disappointment before you can stop yourself.
She looks up and brightens instantly. “Steve’s friend! You’re alive.”
“I should hope so,” you reply uncertainly.
She grins and hops off the counter. “We’ve missed your face around here. Better than looking at Keith all the time.”
You hear a faint hey! of protest from the back, and she drops her head sheepishly. You give a weak little laugh. “... Is Steve not here?”
Oops. There it is, out in the open with no subtlety whatsoever. Robin’s smile flickers into something mischievous and knowing.
“Ah,” she says, like she’s solved the mystery. “You’re here for him.”
You feel your face flush. “No. I just… I’m used to him picking stuff out.”
“Mhm.” She nods like she’s listening to a lie she finds very entertaining. “Tragic news for you then. He’s off tonight.”
Your chest dips in dismay in a way you immediately resent. “Oh. Right. That’s okay.”
Robin studies you for half a second, then gasps dramatically. “Wait. Wait. I can fix this!”
“That feels threatening,” you squint warily at her.
“No, no,” she assures you cheerfully, already walking around the counter. “It’s fate. Destiny.” Then she points at you. “You are now invited.”
“To..?”
“Movie night!” She declares. “Tomorrow. We’re all going.”
All is a very suspicious word. “All who?”
Robin claps her hands together. “Me, Steve, and Vickie.”
“Oh,” you say lightly. Vickie. You’ve overheard Steve ribbing Robin about someone with that name a few times over the last few weeks. It sounds familiar, though you can’t quite pinpoint her face just yet. “Like a group thing.”
“Yeah!” Robin nods enthusiastically. “A very normal, very platonic, very not-at-all nerve-wracking group thing.”
That earns a smile from you, weak as it is. “Sounds fun.”
“Oh, it will be,” she assures you. “Which is why you should be there.”
“I don’t know,” you say, tugging on your sleeves. “I’ve got work, and I’ll probably be tired, and—” Robin’s deadpan stare silences you, and you bite out a sigh. “Yeah. Okay, sure. Movie night.”
—
Apparently, movie night consists of carpooling, too. Which means you’re sitting in Steve Harrington’s passenger seat with Robin and Vickie in the backseat. As it turns out, you did recognise her name. A year below you in high school, if you remember correctly.
She’s prettier than you expected.
Which feels cruel to think, but you think it anyway. Vickie is all soft curls and easy smiles, leaning forward between the seats as Steve fiddles with the radio. She laughs at something Robin says, this bright and unguarded sound, the kind of laugh that makes you immediately understand why they’d like her.
You sink a little further into your seat and pretend you are extremely invested in the streetlights flickering past the windows. To make matters worse, you have to endure thirty minutes of trying to fit in with them on the drive over. After the closure of Starcourt, the next theatre is two towns away.
“So,” Steve says from the front seat. “Everyone emotionally prepared to have their minds blown?”
Robin scoffs. “Please. Aliens is not ‘mind-blowing.’”
“It has Sigourney Weaver with a flamethrower. That’s kind of mind-blowing,” Vickie chips in.
Steve points at her through the rearview mirror. “Thank you. Case closed.”
You can’t help but smile. That same crooked little smile sneaks onto Steve’s face when he catches the expression on your face. You’re both startled out of it by the radio finally working, though it’s crackling through busted speakers. He groans.
“Every time. It either does this or plays gospel,” he mutters, reaching to change it again.
“Maybe it’s a sign,” Robin laments dramatically. “Repent now because we’re all going to die tonight.”
“You are going to die first for making me wait for twenty minutes outside your house,” Steve shoots back.
You let the sound of them wash over you. It’s a little strange to see Steve like this. Not polished and posturing like you grew up with. Just some guy driving too fast down a dark road with his friends piled into his car and the radio blasting a distorted version of Girls on Film.
You wonder—stupidly—if it ever could’ve been this easy with you back then. In another timeline. Another version of Hawkins. Another you.
Before you can dwell on it too long, the theatre blooms into view through the windshield as you roll into the carpark. The marquee reads: ALIENS - 8:45 PM.
Inside, the air is warm and smells like butter. Steve insists on buying popcorn “because movie integrity,” which starts another round of arguing between him and Robin until you slip him a couple dollars and he goes quiet in the cutest, most mortifying way possible.
You end up seated near the aisle with Steve beside you and Robin seated with Vickie behind you. You can hear them whispering and giggling amongst themselves when Steve sends you a reassuring smile, like this totally isn’t weird at all.
The movie is intense. In a good way, obviously. Though it’s hard to focus on anything but the way Steve’s arm is pressed against yours on the armrest between you. It’s just physics, though: narrow seats in a cheap theatre. Still, you’re acutely aware of how close you are in a way that has nothing to do with ergonomics.
By the time the credits roll, your nerves feel like they’ve been wrung out and hung up to dry. Not because the movie was scary—though admittedly you jumped a few times—but because god Steve Harrington smells so good up close.
Robin stretches her arms out in the row behind you as the lights come on. “Okay, whatever. I guess it was mind-blowing.”
“Knew it,” Steve says smugly as you rise to your feet. You pretend not to feel it everywhere when his hand skims your lower back as he ushers you out of the aisle.
“I’m never going to sleep again,” Vickie groans.
“Great. We’ve officially broken her.”
Outside, the night is cold and quiet. When the four of you pile back into the car, still buzzing from the movie, it feels easier this time. You’re less daunted by the conversations overlapping and brave enough to interject here and there, much to Steve’s obviously pleasure. It’s hard not to notice the way he laughs a little too loud.
Vickie gets dropped off first. Steve pulls up to the curb in front of a neat little house with a glowing porch light. She hesitates before getting out, turning back toward Robin with a soft, hopeful look. “I had fun tonight,” she says.
Robin’s voice almost cracks. “Yeah. Me too.”
It’s painfully obvious and somehow very sweet. You busy yourself with adjusting your seatbelt so you don’t have to watch the interaction too closely. It’s none of your business, but putting the pieces together makes you feel lighter. Robin and Vickie. Not Vickie and Steve.
Robin is next. Steve pulls up in front of her place, and she gives Steve a look that’s the furthest thing from discreet. “Alright. Drive safe, dingus,” she says, punching his shoulder. Before she swings out of the car, she pauses in the open doorway to give you a little smile. “I’m glad you came by the way.”
“Me too.” You mean it when you say it.
Steve waits until she gets inside—gentleman that he is—before he pulls away from the curb. Your place isn’t far from here, and you’re almost disappointed you get so little time alone with him.
It’s a peaceful drive, however short it is. When he pulls up outside your place, you brace for him to say goodnight. He doesn’t. He puts his car in park and shuts the radio off, angling himself towards you.
“So,” he says, wearing that careful little half-smile he’s been wearing lately. If you thought his signature grin was disarming, this is even worse. You can’t even think when he looks at you like this. “Uh. Aliens verdict?”
“I loved it,” you affirm. “Better than the first.”
“Good. Agreed. I’d probably ban you from the store if you hated it.”
You both laugh before lapsing into silence. It’s not awkward, you think, but you can still feel your skin crawl with anticipation. He watches you for a moment, then—like he’s decided something—he shifts in his seat again.
“This might be dumb,” he starts, and you raise an eyebrow. “Probably is dumb. Definitely is. But I can’t believe you’re, like, here. With me. Hanging out.”
You blink at him, unsure how to take that. “Uh… thanks?”
“No. I mean, back in high school,” he continues, “I was kind of a dick. So I wouldn’t really blame anyone who hates me now. I mean, half of them come into Family Video just to laugh that I ended up renting movies instead of going to college.”
Your heart twists sympathetically. “Well, it’s not like I’m much better off. Battery salesman, remember?”
“... Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he laughs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m just trying to say I’m glad you’re here. And that you haven’t totally written me off just because I was a douche as a kid.”
You swallow around the sudden tight feeling in your throat. “Yeah, well, you’re different now,” you say. Too simple, because explaining that you’re probably still in love with him is far too heavy. “In a good way.”
“Am I, or did I just finally get enough bad luck that it knocked my head out of my ass?”
“Probably both,” you snort.
He huffs a laugh, then falls quiet again. After a moment, he says quietly, “I wish I’d known you better back then.”
Your gaze drops to your bag to avoid seeing the soft earnestness in his eyes. “Yeah. Me too.”
Steve shifts in his seat, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself either. “We’re… doing that now, though. Knowing each other. Right?”
You nod weakly. “Yeah. I think we are.”
He smiles at that, and there it is again—soft and unsure and nothing like the grin he used to wear in high school. It’s a good look on him. “Good,” he says, like he means it. “I’d hate to think I missed my shot twice.”
Steve hesitates, his hand hovering near the gearshift like he’s about to bid you goodnight. Then he continues: “I had fun tonight. I mean, I’ve had fun this entire time. With the movies. You’re fun.”
Your chest tightens, fingers curling nervously in your lap. “Yeah?” You say, lifting your eyes to give him a sheepish little smile.
“Yeah,” he agrees, firmer this time. He shifts closer again, just a little, until the space between you is smaller than it has any right to be. “If I’m reading this wrong, you can totally say no. I just really want to…” His voice falters and he trails off, wetting his lips.
“You’re not reading it wrong,” you blurt out.
His smile twitches slightly. “Good,” he says. And then his lips are on yours. Slow at first, as if he’s trying to gauge whether you want this just as much as he does. As if you haven’t dreamt about this moment since you were sixteen. Your hand finds his arm, the other one drifting to rest on his chest. You can feel his heart rabbiting under your palm.
When you finally pull back, still breathing in each other’s air, that crooked smile of his makes your heart flip all over again. “Get your ass inside before I do something even more stupid.”
You laugh breathlessly—embarrassingly it’s more like a girlish little giggle—forehead still resting against his for far longer than necessary. “Goodnight, Steve,” you say, finally pulling back. You open the car door before you can lose your nerve and combust right there in his car. You make it all the way to your front steps before you hear it.
“Hey—!” He shouts. “Wait!”
When you turn around, Steve is half out of the car, one hand braced on the door and the other shoved awkwardly into his jacket pocket like he doesn’t know what to do with it. “I wanna take you out,” he elaborates.”For real. Not just a group movie thing and not sitting awkwardly in my car pretending we’re just people who recommend each other movies.”
Your mouth opens, then shuts promptly at the revelation. Steve Harrington wants to take you on a date. A grin blossoms in its stead. “Are you asking me out, Harrington?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m asking you out,” he laughs, just as breathless.
“Well, if it wasn’t obvious by how many nights I’ve spent at a movie rental store, yeah. Yeah, I want to go out without you.”
You watch the nerves practically drain from his body, replaced by relief. “Cool. Perfect. That’s great,” he says, then grimaces in embarrassment. “I’ll… I’ll swing by tomorrow with the details, then. Give me tonight to plan something.”
The thought of Steve Harrington spending an entire night planning out a date makes you swoon all over again. “Okay,” you say, in a very failed attempt at playing it casual. “Goodnight, Steve.”
“Goodnight,” he parrots.
You give him a little wave, then head inside with your heart thudding loudly in your ears. You barely bother greeting your parents before bolting up the stairs, your thoughts echoing a very repetitive stream of: Oh my god he just kissed me. When you collapse onto the bed, you muffle a squeal into your pillow.
It’s just a date, but…Steve’s girlfriend sounds a hell of a lot better than Steve’s friend.
and yet for some reason the internet decided you and hamzah were a thing.
you’ve never been in his videos. never streamed together. you’re not part of the slushynoobz circle. your vlogs are quieter, dry edits, simple captions, chill gameplay streams.
he’s louder. faster. messier.
but your content overlaps in the way playlists do, unexpected, but satisfying.
and somehow, every few months, your timelines sync up just enough to send fan accounts spiraling.
⸻
tonight is one of those nights.
you post a photo dump around 7PM.
no caption. not even a dot.
@noty/n:
the vibe is: i was somewhere doing nothing.
an hour later, hamzah posts his.
@hamzahthefantastic:
the posts aren’t flashy. they’re not even good. but they’re identical in mood, in lighting, in too many things.
and within ten minutes, twitter is cracked wide open:
@hamzahfanpage: “nah this is actually insane”
@slushernoobz: “do they think we’re stupid”
@slushionoobz: “they posted 53 minutes apart. they’re either dating or legally obligated to keep us guessing.”
@hamzahisfantastic: “they are the most accidentally obvious people alive.”
you text mandy:
“okay so twitter is going insane”
she replies:
“don’t tell me you two are hanging out right now...”
you glance over at hamzah, who’s eating fries off your plate, phone in hand, fully aware.
“you think we should stop posting at the same time?” you ask.
he chews. shrugs. “let them figure it out i guess.”
you nod. then grab your glass back.
you’re halfway through scrolling the theories when he says, ‘‘we could just tell them’’
a/n: hey y’all i’m back !!! i needed like a few weeks to just come up with ideas and take some time for college (it’s so tiring help) anyways i hope you liked it ! 🕯️
different times hamzah mentioned you on the podcast ♡
warnings: mention of wet dreams but nothing in depth lol
when you’re away for a girls trip with mandy and he just keeps talking about how much he misses you. he tells martin how empty his apartment has been since you’ve been away; even taking out the garbage is lonely now because you’re not there to walk outside with him while bombarding him with ‘useless’ girl knowledge or story times. martins happy that hamzah can finally relate to him about missing their girlfriends while they’re away though.
during the ‘wine and wet dreams’ podcast when they’re talking about wet dreams. hamzah literally called you in the midst of filming to ask you if you were okay with him sharing. he talks about how you have wet dreams of him often and wake up horny, and how he didn’t realize a lot of other women also relate. you felt more comfortable since martin was also over sharing ….
he’ll often just talk about things you and him did throughout the past week. “yeah, y/n dragged me to this new cafe.” or he’ll talk about your recent venture to the farmers market and how you’re just so good at picking the perfect vegetables and he’s jealous.
kind of relating to the first one, during the ‘sherman’ episode when martin is talking about how lonely he gets when mandy is away, for once hamzah can relate to him. he talks about how he loves being alone and having alone time, but when you’re away he’s missing his spark and joy. you rarely listen to the podcast but you always get clips and it’s so cute to see your boyfriend basically fanboy over you to the whole internet.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ BF!HAMZAH HEADCANNONS, written by cup1dluvhs
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ how hamzah soft launched you + little details about you and hamzah’s relationship, and how much the slushies adore you! (request)
| warnings: fluff
| taking requests!
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ hamzah soft launched you on an episode of out of character, and since then you were a little scared to appear on the channel. you had appeared in some of his instagram posts, and finally made an appearance in a sims video with mandy, and everyone adored you. people also make frequent jokes that hamzah’s ‘paying you’ to date him, which never fails to make the both of you laugh.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ you ended up making your own youtube channel a couple months after hamzah announced your relationship due to high demand from the slushies, and you film vlog-type videos with mandy, hamzah also making frequent appearances. your videos garnered a lot of attention online and hamzah often jokes that you might ‘accidentally’ become more famous than him.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊both you and hamzah often forget when the camera is on while filming for the patreon, and he can regularly be seen with his arms around you, or you with your head on his shoulder, which makes the viewers go crazy. not to mention he still flirts with you on camera as if the two of you aren’t already dating.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ you tend to appear a lot in the patreon episodes of out of character, but not in a particularly planned way. it’s usually because red or blue are causing chaos, and your yells for them to stop or be quiet are always within earshot. hamzah will always stop talking to listen to your pleas, laugh, and then continue speaking again.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ during one of your more recent vlogs, you gave a tour of both you and hamzah’s now shared home. the viewers found it so funny how much the house had changed since you’d moved in, compared to the house tour hamzah gave in the hot ones video. it is now impeccably clean, and a lot of the furniture had been moved around. the couches now had fluffy pink cushions, and red and blue have their own little beds with their names on them. not to mention the bedsheets in you and hamzah’s bedroom, which have little red hearts scattered here and there, which hamzah gets shit from martin about. also, 90% of the ai photos hanging on hamzah’s wall had vanished, but you still let him keep one or two.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ during the video where martin and hamzah collaborated with quen, hamzah disappeared for a solid five minutes. martin eventually called him to come back into frame, but as the camera turned to him it was very clear that he had ran off to talk to you, who was sitting on the couch with a stupid smile on your face as he kissed your cheek before heading back to the kitchen. during the video, all he did was talk about you and would randomly say things like, ‘y/n likes strawberries.’ or, ‘y/n, can you tell me if this is still raw?’
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ during the camping vlog, hamzah started to miss you a lot very early into the trip. he kept face timing you, updating you on where he and martin were, or what shit they had to force feed themselves that particular day, showing his phone to the camera with a wide smile as you waved. hamzah also admitted to the viewers that he couldn’t sleep well because he was so used to having you beside him, and instead had to sleep with martin. martin didn’t like this, although, and began repeating ‘bros before hoes’ every time hamzah dared to mention you.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ hamzah talks a lot about random experiences he’s had with you on the podcast a lot. when you made your first appearance on it, hamzah chose to recite the story of the first time he met your parents, and how nervous he was. you were laughing the whole time, although, because sometimes you swear your mom loves him more than you, and you often joke that she fell in love with him when he brought her flowers the first time he met her.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ hamzah ‘jokes’ a lot on the channel when you make an appearance that he wants to marry you, but you both know he’s not joking. he’s told you many times before how he wants you to be his future wife, and also how he wants you to be his ‘baby momma’, but you only ever roll your eyes and tell him to be patient, even though you love it.
Thinking... Hamzah hard launching your relationship with the boxing match and in the documentary... you being a youtuber/podcaster (thinking Drew&Enya vibes) and just being seen in the background of the weigh in, like Mandy was, and obviously sparking some rumors. Then the documentary comes out and Omg!! new It couple confirmed hello .
Also imagine going to see him while he's at the locker room and he just sees you in your little blue dress and his eyes just obviously soften infront of everyone!!! like he's just sooo in love
waittttt i love this so much ..... bless your mind and heart nonnie <3 this is literally me just giving my thoughts and adding onto it 🧁 warnings: suggestive content + one mention of sex at the end
when you show up to the weigh in everyone is excited but also a little confused because they had no idea you and hamzah were friends like that. there's a few assumptions that you and hamzah could possibly be in a romantic relationship; the comments and theories definitely keep you and hamzah awake at night while you chuckle together reading through them. everyone is completely unaware that their theories are going to be proven right when the documentary drops.
and when the documentary finally drops you're both filled with insane nerves and anticipation as to how people are going to respond. not only are you hard launching your relationship, but you're had launching some raw and intimate parts of it, hence the whole reason of the documentary in the first place. the docu features an in depth conversation between you and hamzah discussing the pros and cons of making your relationship public. you and him were so happy and your relationship was truly thriving so you both felt ready to share your love with the world, you both just weren't exactly sure if you were ready to face backlash, especially you. hamzah really let you have the final say, he knew you'd receive majority of the hate if you got any (unfortunately), so he was ready if you were ready.
it's also filled with lots of clips of you training with/helping hamzah train for the fight. people see how supportive you really are for hamzah, they're glad he has someone who is so bubbly and encouraging.
and when the fight finally rolls around, you're wearing your mini, way too short, blue dress and hamzah swears you make his mind go everywhere but the fight. it gets to a point where he asks everyone to leave his locker room for awhile just so he can kiss you how he actually wants to kiss you (also ends up pausing the live stream lol idek if thats possible). "you're so fucking fine baby, you know that?" he chuckles, giving your ass a firm squeeze before he tells everyone they can come back in.
hamzah doesn't exactly say it verbally, but you can tell he's just so fucking grateful for you. he's grateful he's got a girl as special as you to stick by his side and support him even in his .... kind of stupid ..... youtube endeavors where he literally just fights his bestfriend for the fun of it.
and you already know when he wins ya'll participating in dat celebration sex ..... give it a few days tho ...... bae has to rest up ....
longterm!reader on their videos, how does she act, what do comments say abt her, etc
hihi! tysm for the request, i switched it up a little and gave reader her own youtube channel :p hope u guys enjoy i had sm making these hehe lmk if u want more :P ignore the date/timestamps
warnings: one singular suggestive joke (mdni)
—————
the very first video on your youtube channel!! it’s pretty self explanatory, hamzah tagging along with you as you travel back to your hometown to see family!!
you were used to and comfortable with hamzah’s audience by now so you weren’t necessarily nervous about sharing a little more insight on your day-to/day life, i imagine you’re feeling awkward about the general concept of filming yourself (and everything) constantly, considering you’re used to being in the background of someone else’s content and not the star of your own.
the vlog itself is on the shorter side (around 15 mins or less) due to you constantly forgetting to film until hamzah would remind you 😭
you: okay guys, im apologizing in advance for this vlog being so short but its only because my cameraman keeps forgetting to do his job 😑
hamzah (behind the camera): girl just pick out the damn hello kitty so we can go
2nd video slayyy, this time you and hamzah spend a week in italy!
you’re starting to warm up to the camera finally as you document the entire vacay, from packing your bags to arriving at the airport so on and so forth. the video itself ended up being a little under an hour long, which you were kinda nervous about since you weren’t sure anyone would wanna watch a video that long but everyone LOVED IT. so many of the comments were abt people watching the entire thing while they ate dinner or did work :3
you (behind the camera): you promise you’re not going to sleep the entire plane ride?
hamzah: no no. just gonna nap for an hour i swear
then it cuts to you waking hamzah up once the plane landed bc he slept the entire time 😭
a girls day vlog with mandy :D this one you’re both very excited about bc you don’t get to hang out with her alone much!!
it starts off with the two of you getting your nails done together, then probably going shopping going to a movie, doing an activity together, etc. and even tho you’ve only known each other for a few years, the two of you were so comfortable with each other it’s honestly like the two of you were just two childhood friends spending another day together 😭 mandy is #Sister fr
and yeah ofc hamzah is blowing up your phone every chance he gets
hamzah (texting): What u guys doing
h (t): Heellooooo
h (t): Can u bring me back something
h (t): So what position she got you in 🤔
mandy has to hold in a laugh watching the text notifs pop up on your phone and all you can do is sigh bc … what’s wrong with him
moving in with hamzah WELL YES! :D this vlog however is on the shorter side bc moving just takes SOOO much work and trying record the entire process of it is lowkey unrealistic
it’d probably consist of a few clips of you packing up the remainder of your bedroom items and loading them into the moving van, followed by an underwhelming tour of your new home (due to the lack of furniture and the general mess that comes with moving) and, finally, your first night in the new home!!
during the move, hamzah’s humidifier broke somehow and he insisted that he absolutely needed a humidifier in order to sleep, so he’d insisted on making a last minute trip to walmart while you stay home.
he returns while you were laying in bed filming an outro for the vlog when he’s literally bursting through the door while shouting your name??? and you have no choice but to switch the camera angle over and start recording him as he quite literally straddles you LOL
hamzah: okay you are never going to believe this. wait, what are your subscribers called? DiDi’s?
you: no
h: Didi’s, you guys and your mother are never going to believe what i found at walmart: sonny angels, and i got the last two in stock.
y: and where’s the humidifier?
h: huh? oh i knew i was forgetting something…anyways here this one’s yours
i like kpop which means reader/you must like kpop #SorryNotSorry
hamzah tagging along with you to a twice concert aka your ult group :D he’d been to a few of them with you in the past for groups you casually liked, but seeing your ult group for the first time?? oh he was not prepared
waking up at 5 in the morning to get ready bc you have to show up early for the vip check in, waiting in the long ass merch line, and having to buy the venue’s overpriced food bc there was no other options…it was a lot.
i don’t imagine this vlog being super long either due to you both getting overstimulated from time to time and needing a break from the camera, but it was still sooo much fun. especially when you finally make it into the venue and he’s lowkey geeked about how close to the stage you guys are!!
he doesn’t know many of the songs but he does sing along to the ones he recognizes and spends most of the time recording you and making sure no one steals the very expensive merch he just paid for lmao
hamzah (behind the camera): so tell them about how you cried when nayeon looked at you
you: i wouldn’t call that crying
h: saying this while your mascara is dripping is actually crazy
a little before the concert he’d ask to take a cute pic of you holding up your nayeon merch and smiling and you honestly don’t think much of it until the next day you see he’s posted it on his ig story with the song that’s like “how can i be homophobic? my bitch is gay” SO ANNOYINGGGF
