nao

19

[jelloyouss]

Say It Like You Mean It

Summary: Mike calls you clingy during an argument and it doesn’t explode it just quietly destroys you. so instead of fighting, you give him the “space” he wanted. no texts. no showing up. no hovering.

Word count: 1,050 words

Warning: Angst, Fluff at the end

(This is a kinda a pt2 of my mean mike hc)

It starts with distance.

Mike hasn’t been sitting next to you lately. Hasn’t reaching for your hand. Hasn’t looking at you the same way. Every time you try to talk, he shrugs you off with a “not now.”

Tonight you finally snap.

“What did I do?” you ask, standing in his basement while the others are upstairs grabbing snacks.

He doesn’t look at you. He’s fiddling with the dice, jaw tight. “Nothing.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like I’m crazy.”

He exhales sharply. “I’m not acting like anything.”

“You’ve barely talked to me all week.”

“Maybe I’ve been busy.”

“With what? Avoiding me?”

That makes him look up. His eyes flash. “You think everything is about you.”

The words hit fast and mean.

“I don’t,” you say, but your voice is already shaking.

“You do,” he insists. “Every little mood I have, every second I’m quiet, you turn it into some issue.”

“I’m trying to fix whatever’s wrong!”

“Not everything needs fixing!” he snaps. “God, you’re so—”

He stops himself.

You swallow. “So what?”

“Clingy,” he says.

It’s quiet. Almost calm.

It hurts more that way.

The basement feels like it’s closing in. “Clingy.”

“I just need space sometimes,” he says, rubbing his temples. “You don’t have to hover over me every second.”

You nod slowly. You can feel your heart cracking in real time. “I didn’t realize loving you was hovering.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

Silence.

Upstairs, you can hear faint laughter. Normal. Easy. Nothing like this.

“Maybe,” you whisper, “I should just give you all the space you want.”

He doesn’t answer.

That’s what breaks you.

You grab your jacket and head for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” he calls.

“Home.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

You freeze. Turn slowly. “No, Mike. I’m being tired.”

And you leave.

—

You don’t text him that night.

Or the next morning.

He tells himself he needed space. That this is good. That this proves his point.

But by afternoon, he keeps unlocking his phone.

No messages.

By evening, the space feels like a mistake.

He replays it over and over.

Clingy.

The way your face fell.

The way you didn’t fight back.

That’s what scares him.

You didn’t fight.

There’s a knock at your window that night.

You’re curled up on your bed when you hear it. Soft. Hesitant.

You already know who it is.

You open the window but don’t smile. “What.”

He looks smaller somehow. Not physically. Just… less certain.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says immediately.

“You said it.”

“I was frustrated.”

“That doesn’t make it untrue.”

“It is untrue.” His voice cracks slightly. “You’re not clingy.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I’m scared,” he admits suddenly.

That catches you off guard.

“Of what?”

He swallows. “Of needing you.”

The honesty knocks the air out of you.

“When you’re not around, it feels wrong,” he says. “And instead of saying that, I push you away because it’s easier than admitting I care that much.”

Your anger softens, just a little. “So you call me clingy?”

“I panicked.”

He steps closer to the window but doesn’t touch you. “When you said you’d give me space, I thought you meant for good.”

You look at him for a long moment. “Did you want me to?”

His answer is immediate. “No.”

Not defensive. Not sarcastic. Just real.

He finally reaches for your hand, tentative, like he’s asking permission.

“I don’t need space from you,” he says quietly. “I just… need to learn how to not sabotage the only good thing I have.”

Your chest aches.

“You hurt me,” you say softly.

“I know.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles. Gentle. Careful. “I’ll spend however long it takes fixing that.”

You hesitate, then step closer.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days.

When he pulls you into his arms, it’s not rushed or possessive. It’s tight. Protective. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.

“I don’t want space,” he murmurs into your hair. “I want you. I just get stupid about it.”

You let yourself melt against him.

“Then don’t push me away next time.”

“I won’t,” he says immediately. Then softer, “I can’t.”

And this time, when he holds you, there’s no distance at all.

[jelloyouss]

— Mean!mike wheeler x reader

MEAN!MIKE … who argues with you over the smallest things just to see that annoyed look on your face, smirking when you cross your arms because he knows he’s winning.

MEAN!MIKE … who snaps back before thinking, words quick and biting, then spends the next hour replaying the look on your face and hating himself for it.

MEAN!MIKE … who says “you’re unbelievable” under his breath when you do something stupid, but makes sure he’s right there anyway, just in case.

MEAN!MIKE … who uses logic like a weapon, picking apart your words just to win, even when he knows you’re right.

MEAN!MIKE … whose comebacks disappear the second you look genuinely upset, instantly switching from smug to worried without even realizing it.

MEAN!MIKE … who insists he’s not jealous, then proceeds to roast anyone who gets too friendly with you.

MEAN!MIKE … who rolls his eyes whenever you’re being dramatic, but the second someone else does it, he’s already stepping in, voice sharp. “Back off.”

MEAN!MIKE … who calls you distracting when you talk too much, yet somehow knows every single detail you mentioned later.

MEAN!MIKE … who gets cruel when he’s jealous short answers, sharp looks, jaw clenched every time someone laughs a little too hard at your jokes.

MEAN!MIKE … who snaps back before thinking, words quick and biting, then spends the next hour replaying the look on your face and hating himself for it.

MEAN!MIKE … who scoffs when you say you’re hurt, muttering “you’re being sensitive,” but lies awake later replaying every word he said.

MEAN!MIKE … who snaps at you in front of everyone, then refuses to meet your eyes for the rest of the night because he knows he went too far.

MEAN!MIKE … who tells you he doesn’t need anyone, then immediately seeks you out the second things go wrong.

MEAN!MIKE … who never softens his words, but softens his actions walking you home, waiting for you, making sure you’re okay without ever askin

[vetckkie]

girl get off that c.ai and embrace the 'x reader'

[jelloyouss]

— Boyfriend!Mike wheeler

BOYFRIEND!MIKE … who loves when you sit with him while he’s reading or working on a campaign, leaning into your side, completely content just knowing you’re there.

BOYFRIEND!MIKE … who listens so seriously when you talk about something you love, nodding along and asking questions because he genuinely wants to understand you better.

BOYFRIEND!MIKE … whose hand always finds your waist when you’re standing close, thumb brushing small, unconscious patterns that make your heart race way more than you’d like to admit.

BOYFRIEND!MIKE … whose ears turn bright red when you compliment his intelligence, trying to brush it off but smiling for the rest of the day anyway.

BOYFRIEND!MIKE … who always ends up with his arm around your shoulders during movies, pulling you closer “so you can see better,” even though you’re already perfectly comfortable.

BOYFRIEND!MIKE … who pretends not to notice when you’re teasing him, but later gets you back by leaning close and whispering something that makes your face heat up instantly.

BOYFRIEND!MIKE … who walks you home even when it’s out of his way, insisting it’s “not a big deal,” while clearly treating it like the most important part of his day.

BOYFRIEND!MIKE … who gets defensive if anyone underestimates you, standing a little taller and saying, “You don’t know her like I do,” with quiet confidence.

BOYFRIEND!MIKE … who saves the seat next to him automatically school, at the movies, in the basement because that spot is yours.