• REAL LOVERS OR PRETENDERS •
Pairings: Dustin Henderson x Gn!reader (collage!AU)
Summary: When college friends and hopeful parents demand answers, you panic—and say the one name you’ve always said: Dustin Henderson. What starts as a harmless fake relationship spirals into Thanksgiving dinners, sunflowers, and the confession that neither of you was pretending at all.
Themes&warnings: Fake dating trope, friends to lovers, fluff, kissing, mutual pining
Notes: Thank you for this request!! It made me explore more on my writing and made me fall more inlove with Dusty bun <33. Hope you like it! (Also forgot I had this in my drifts for 3 days..)
Masterlist || Requested prompt here.
College felt like the beginning of a thrilling new chapter for you and your friends. Everyone scattered into their own lives, chasing different futures—but somehow, you and Dustin never stopped finding your way back to each other.
Calls at odd hours. Letters when college became too overwhelming for either of you to talk through phone. Just best friends staying in touch.
Not because you still carried those quiet, unresolved feelings for him. Definitely not.
Your collage friends, however, seemed determined to ruin that comfortable illusion.
“Okay, but this one,” your roommate said one afternoon, shoving her phone toward you. “He’s literally your type. And he’s my cousin, I can set it up.”
You barely glanced at the screen. “He’s holding a fish.”
“That means he’s strong,” Maya argued from her bed.
“It means that’s a red flag.”
She groaned. “You’ve turned down five people already this semester.”
“I’m just not interested.”
“In anyone?” she pressed. “You’re smart, talented—people are obsessed with you.”
You shrugged and went back to your notes.
They pushed at lunch, during late-night study sessions, every time someone so much as glanced your way—friends, cousins, practically strangers.
Until one afternoon at a café, worn down and cornered by the same questions, you finally snapped.
“Dustin and I are… a thing.”
The table froze. “Dustin?” Maya blinked. “From Hawkins? The one you call all the time?”
“Yeah,” you said quickly, the lie heavy and exhilarating all at once. “We just keep it private.”
That bought you peace. Briefly. Until your monthly call with your parents. The conversation blurred together—except for a few moments that stuck.
“Oh, sweetheart,” your mom said warmly, “we were just saying how nice it would be if you brought someone home this year for Thanksgiving.” Your dad hummed in agreement. “Met someone special?”
So you decided to say the same name.
“Dustin? Henderson?” your mom lit up. “Oh, honey, we adore him!”
“That kid always was a sweetheart,” your dad added.
You squeezed your eyes shut. “Yes. That Dustin.”
“Well then,” your mom said happily, “you have to bring him for Thanksgiving.”
The call ended with plans already made. You stared at your phone, heart racing, not because you’d lied.
But because the name you’d said out loud– again belonged to the boy you’d been quietly in love with for years.
Now you were sitting on your dorm bed, phone clutched in your hands, heart hammering. You hadn’t told Dustin anything yet.
So you took a sharp inhale and called him.
He answered on the second ring, his familiar, bright voice filling your room.
“Hey, stranger! How’s the architecture grind treating you?”
“Hey, Dustin,” you managed. “It’s… a lot. Listen, I kind of need your advice. Or—honestly—just your ears.”
A pause. “Okay. You have my undivided attention. Shoot.”
You swallowed. “Let’s say, hypothetically, my friends and my parents have been asking about a boyfriend. And I said a guy’s name. Totally random.”
“Okay,” Dustin echoed slowly. “And this ‘totally random’ name wouldn’t happen to belong to the person currently on the phone with you?”
You winced. “Maybe it wasn’t totally random. It was… tactical. You’re universally beloved by my family.”
A long silence stretched between you.
“You told your friends and your parents we’re dating,” Dustin said finally, calm but dangerous. “And now they expect me—us—at Thanksgiving.”
“Yes,” you rushed. "I panicked, okay? They were so hopeful, Dustin, you should have heard them. I couldn't crush their dreams." You fidgeted with the hem of your sweatshirt.
You continued, "They think you're smart, funny, and they knew you since we were kids. Please, Dustin. Just for the weekend? My mental health hangs in the balance."
You can hear Dustin leaned back in his chair, a sigh escaping. He's thinking.
Turns out he was thinking about you—your infectious laugh that always made him smile, the way you were the only one who truly appreciated his campaigns, the flutter he felt every time you called his name. His name.
He’d been pining silently across state lines for months. But of course he had always loved you. So, this wasn’t just an opportunity; it was a goddamn miracle disguised as a social emergency.
“You don’t have to come,” you said softly, hearing the silance from him. “I can fix it. Lie more. Fake a breakup.”
“No!.. uh— don't,” he said. With a theatrical sigh, trying to sound reluctant he adds, “I’ll come.”
Your heart skipped. “You will?”
“Yeah,” Dustin said, steady. “You’re not doing this alone.”
"Really? Oh my god, thank you, thank you, thank you!" You were grinning now, hope resurfacing.
"But," he added quickly, "you owe me. Big time. And we need to get our story straight. Match up how he start dating and stuff."
“Deal!” You grabbed a notebook, already energized.
You were about to hang up after hours of mapping out your so-called mission when you hesitated. “Wait—Dustin?”
“Yeah?” His voice crackled softly through the phone.
“This will work out, right?” you asked, eyes dropping to the messy notes in front of you. “You won’t hate me after this?”
He let out a quiet huff of laughter. “Yeah. I think it will.” Then he sighed and added, almost joking, “Besides, it’s not like we’re going to fall in love or anything.”
"Please, as if" you respond. He chuckled, you laughed along, forcing it to sound easy.
Too bad it was already far too late—you’d been in love with him for years. And he's been inlove with you too but you don't realize it.
You then glanced at the clock. “You should sleep. It’s late.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But… hey. I’m glad you called me.”
Another pause. Comfortable. Familiar. “Goodnight,” you said finally.
“Goodnight,” he replied. “Try not to stress. I’ve got you.”
The line went dead, but his words lingered. You set the phone down and stared at the notebook in your lap.
Fake dating rules. A shared timeline. A made-up beginning that sounded dangerously close to the truth.
You pressed the pen to the page and wrote one last note at the bottom, smaller than the rest:
Do not fall more in love than you already are.
You closed the notebook, heart aching softly. Thanksgiving was going to be a disaster. And somehow, you couldn’t wait.
Thanksgiving arrived a week later, you were helping your mom mash potatoes in the kitchen, the scent of turkey filling the air. You’d arrived earlier in the day, hoping to preemptively smooth things over with your family before Dustin arrived. The plan was that he was driving down separately after his last exam.
"So, where's this wonderful boyfriend of yours?" your dad asked from the doorway, a friendly grin on his face.
"He's driving from college," you said, a little too quickly. "Traffic is probably awful. He should be here any minute."
Your mom smiled warmly. "We're so happy you finally brought someone home, sweetheart. Especially that it’s Dustin. We always loved him."
"Thanks, Mom." You forced a smile, the anxiety building in your stomach. The lie felt heavier here, in your own home. What if Dustin didn't show? What if he realized how crazy this was and bailed?
Just as a fresh wave of panic threatened to make you drop the masher, the doorbell rang.
"Oh, that must be him!" Your mom wiped her hands on her apron and bustled toward the front door.
"Go on, honey, get the door!" Your dad said.
You dropped the masher, your heart hammering against your ribs, and rushed out of the kitchen. You arrived just as your mom opened the door.
There stood Dustin Henderson, wearing a surprisingly sharp sweater-vest over a button-down shirt, a wide grin on his face. In one hand, he held a bouquet of sunflowers and mums, and in the other, a small tin of what you knew were his famous homemade chocolate chip cookies. He was committed.
“Mrs. L/n,” he said smoothly, handing your mom the tin. “It’s so wonderful to see you again. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, Dustin, you didn’t have to bring anything!” your mom cooed.
She pulled him into a crushing hug. “You’ve grown up so much! And Y/n has told us the sweetest things.”
His eyes found yours over her shoulder, warm and amused. Once inside, your mom disappeared back into the kitchen, muttering something about giving you space with your boyfriend— and your dad watched from the living room with open curiosity.
Dustin didn’t miss a beat. He wrapped you in a warm hug that felt a little too real, pressed the flowers into your hands, and kissed your cheek. Making your breath hitched.
“Hey, stranger,” he murmured, just for you, before greeting your dad like this was the most natural thing in the world.
Then It's finally time for dinner. Dinner itself felt like a carefully orchestrated performance—one Dustin somehow nailed without missing a beat.
“So, Dustin,” your dad began, carving the turkey with theatrical seriousness, “Y/n says you’re… into science?”
Dustin lit up instantly. “Oh—yes, sir. Mostly radio astronomy, which is also my major— physics. But—well, lately I’ve been experimenting with oven heat distribution.” He gestured toward the turkey.
“Actually, the way you rotated the pan halfway through? Perfect convection strategy.”
Your dad paused. “…You noticed that?” You watched your father visibly warm to him in real time.
Across the table, your aunt leaned forward to you and him. “And how did you two meet?”
“Middle school,” Dustin answered easily. “She beat me at an arcade game and never lets me forget it.”
You scoffed. “Because you still claim the machine was broken.”
“It was,” he insisted, grinning at you before turning back to your aunt. “That was when I realized she was terrifying.”
Your mom smiled into her wine glass, clearly amused. Your dad chuckled, shaking his head as he chimed in. “Yeah, they were inseparable,” he said. “Back then, she was always missing from the house. Turns out, she was hanging out with him.”
You rolled your eyes immediately. “It wasn’t just him, Dad. I was with my other friends too.”
“Mhm,” your dad replied skeptically. “Funny how every time I called the Henderson house, he was the one who picked up.”
Dustin laughed at that, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guilty,” he admitted. “But in my defense, she was the responsible one. I just followed.”
“That is absolutely not true,” you protested. “You’re the reason I stayed out past curfew at least three times.”
“Okay, correction,” Dustin said, grinning. “We were a mutual bad influence.”
Your mom laughed softly. “I knew it. You always came home smiling after those nights.”
You felt your face warm. “Mom.”
Dustin glanced at you, his smile softer now. “She was fun to be around,” he said simply, then turned back to your parents. “Still is.”
Your dad raised an eyebrow, but there was a smile tugging at his mouth. “Well,” he said, lifting his glass, “I suppose it all makes sense now.”
Dustin just chuckled beside you, his knee brushing yours under the table— easy, familiar, like he’d always belonged there.
Later, your uncle chimed in, far too casually, “So—how serious is this? Any wedding bells we should know about?”
You nearly choked on your mashed potatoes, but Dustin slid in smoothly. “Well,” he said, glancing at you with a thoughtful hum, “I think it’s important not to rush things. Good partnerships take time. Trust. Communication.”
You felt his knee brush yours under the table, grounding you. “Smart boy,” your mom said approvingly.
By the time dessert rolled around, everyone loved him.
Your cousin begged him to explain D&D, your aunt demanded his cookie recipe, and your dad declared, “He’s welcome back anytime,” like it was a formal decree.
You just sat there, watching Dustin laugh with your family like he belonged there—like he always had.
After the chaotic and loving dinner, when everyone was stuffed and relaxing, your mom started the "clean-up crew" assignments.
"You two lovebirds go handle the dishes," she announced with a wink.
You and Dustin escaped to the quiet kitchen, the warm water and soap a welcome distraction from the intense scrutiny of the dinner table.
"Sunflowers?" you teased, starting to load plates into the dishwasher. "Very committed, Henderson."
"Only the best for my 'partner'," he shot back, rolling up his sleeves and picking up a dish towel. "I figured if I was going to do this, I was going to do it right."
The comfortable silence stretched as you worked, filled only with the sound of running water and clinking plates. The tension that had been crackling at the dinner table felt more real now, isolated in the quiet kitchen.
"You handled my dad perfectly," you whispered, rinsing a dish.
"It's easy when half of it isn't fake," he replied quietly, leaning against the counter, drying a bowl. "I mean, I am charming."
He set the bowl down and turned to face you fully, the space between you suddenly feeling too small.
"Hey, Y/n," Dustin started, his voice suddenly quiet and serious. He took a small step closer. "About this whole 'fake dating' thing... I have a confession."
Your heart did a nervous little stutter. "Yeah?"
"The reason I agreed to this so easily, the reason I'm okay with holding your hand and playing house for your parents?" He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your eyes, his touch feather-light. "It's because I'm not really pretending."
He swallowed hard, his eyes earnest and vulnerable in the dim light, brighter than any star you'd ever seen through a telescope. "I've kind of been in love with you for years. Ever since that day you told me i suck at the arcade. "
You stared at him, breath caught in your throat. And you let out a breathy chuckle. This perfect, impossible scenario was actually happening. The mutual pining was mutual.
"Oh, Dustin," you breathed, a sheer relief and happiness flooding you. You reached for his hands, covering them with yours, your fingers linking instinctively. "You absolute idiot. I blurted out your name because you're the only person I actually wanted to bring home."
“Wait, seriously?” He blinked, a goofy, hopeful smile slowly spreading across his face. “So this means…?”
You didn’t let him finish. You leaned in, closing the small distance between you, finally letting years of quiet longing speak for you. The kiss was tentative at first. Soft, a little uncertain, tasting faintly of turkey and pumpkin pie— before it deepened, all the unspoken affection of friendship and hidden crushes melting together.
Dustin’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer like he’d been waiting to do it for years. And maybe he had.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, grinning like complete idiots.
“Well,” Dustin said, his voice slightly shaky as he laughed under his breath, “that’s going to make the rest of this weekend significantly less fake.”
“Yeah,” you murmured, leaning your forehead against his, feeling perfectly content. “And a whole lot more delicious.”
He stole a quick, teasing kiss—short, sweet, and dizzying before stepping back with a grin. You both laughed quietly, then turned back to the sink, shoulder to shoulder, continuing the dishes like nothing had changed… even though everything had.
You bumped him lightly with your hip. “Careful. You’re going to drop that plate.”
He smirked. “Relax, I’ve got it. I’m a very trustworthy boyfriend now.”
“Oh, now you’re responsible?”
He glanced at you, eyes warm. “Only for you.”
From the dining room, your parents watched the two of you through the doorway—laughing, nudging each other, moving together with an ease that couldn’t be faked.
“I honestly wasn’t sure if he was real,” your dad whispered to your mom. “I thought Y/n might be pulling some elaborate prank on us.”
Your mom didn’t look away from the kitchen. “I told you,” she said bluntly, a satisfied smile on her face. “They weren’t pretending.”
Your dad let out a quiet sigh, then smiled.
“Good,” he said softly. “I’m glad.”
He watched as Dustin leaned in to whisper something that made you laugh, bright and unguarded.
“They’re perfect for each other.”
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