: was it always like this?
mike wheeler x female!reader
you thought he was still the same awkward kid from hawkins and mike thought he could handle being in the same room as you. you were both wrong.
warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, childhood friends to lovers, age gap, breast play, dry humping, over the clothes climax, inexperienced male lead, kissing, english is not my first language.
sincerely with all my heart, this is for you.
the snow has been piling up on the window for hours, blurring the line between the driveway and the yard into one thick white blanket. inside, the house smells exactly like the pine needles from the tree in the corner and the heavy, sweet scent of your mother’s cinnamon rolls that she only makes once a year.
it feels like forever since you last saw the wheelers, maybe back when you were still a sophomore in high school during that one summer visit to hawkins.
your mother and karen have been best friends since before you can remember, always chatting on the phone for hours, your mom recounting everything she and karen did back in school, often ending those calls with, “we really need to see each other.” and finally, this christmas, after all the distance and busy schedules, the chance arrived.
when the doorbell finally rings, your mother is already running to the door. a blast of cold air rushes in as it opens, immediately pushed back by the warmth of their arrival. karen and your mother are already crying in a hug before the bags even make it inside, and of course, ted follows behind holding several suitcases, complaining to your father about the slick roads.
and then there’s him.
the last time you saw mike wheeler, he was a lanky, awkward middle schooler. it feels like a lifetime ago, except for the memories of him constantly pestering you to play d&d with him, laughing at all your stories, leaning on his elbows and knees, always tripping over his own feet while following you everywhere.
but as he steps inside, shaking the snow off his coat, you actually have to look up.
mike isn't a little kid anymore. he’s a senior in high school now—at least that’s what you gathered from your dad teasing him about "manly" things, when you all sit down at the dining table for dinner.
you smile and laugh when necessary, pausing your meal when karen greets you affectionately. she asks about your college life, pairing your name with mike’s as she suggests he should ask you for advice. there’s something about the way your names sound together—it makes both of you look up at the same time, mumble a quick "of course," and look away.
by the time dinner is over, the plates are mostly crumbs and sauce. your dad and ted have moves to the living room, their voices low and rhythmic as they discuss insurance or property taxes—dad talk that sounds like a foreign language—while mike has to look away several times to avoid being caught looking at you as the moms tease him about how he’s become, peppering him with many questions.
"i'll take care of the dishes," mike says, jumping up a little too fast. he’s clearly trying to be the perfect guest—and escape the moms, who have moved from rolls to red wine and are currently laughing so hard.
you hesitate, then push back your chair to join him at the sink. standing side-by-side, you watch him from the corner of your eye as he rolls up his sleeves. his wrists aren't as thin as they used to be. he takes a deep breath, his hands moving with a sort of restless energy as he tries to find a comfortable rhythm.
"hey," you start. mike glances sideways, a bit too quickly, like he’d been anticipating the interaction and overcalculated his reaction.
"hey," he says. you smile, taking a wet plate from his hand and leaning your hip against the counter. "i'll dry."
he stiffens for a second, looking at you before nodding. "yeah, sure." he turns back to the sink, focusing intensely on a stray fork.
mike has been losing his grip on his self-control since the moment he walked through the front door. he had practiced this. he’d told himself to be mature, rehearsed how he’d mention his senior year and his college apps. but all of that vanished the moment he saw you standing a few steps up on the staircase. your confidence is the same as ever, filling the room just like it used to.
he watched you hug his mother, and a sudden, sharp pang of envy hit him. he wished he could just walk up and hug you, feel the warmth of your sweater. he’d actually planned to—you’re old friends, after all—but as he started toward you, his shoe caught on the rug. that split-second stumble was enough to shatter his nerve, leaving him to just wave lamely and say a quiet "hi" while his brain screamed at him for being a coward.
dinner was a beautiful torture. he had to fight the physical urge to keep looking across the table, desperately trying to catch every flash of a smile or a crinkle in your eyes when you laughed. he found himself listening to the conversation with a focused, hanging onto every mention of your name like it was the most important question on a calculus final that he took two weeks ago.
now, at the sink, the betrayal of his own body is complete. his adrenaline spikes as he hears your footsteps follow him. when you speak, his lips feel numb. he wants to be the confident, adult version of himself, but in your presence, he’s just a boy lost in the woods. you are everything that intoxicating, and it makes him feel like wet paper—fragile and completely undone by a first love that never actually went away.
"it’s been a while, hasn't it?" you say, pausing briefly before adding, "has everything been... good?"
"yeah, you look good," mike blurs out, immediately cursing himself. he realizes you were asking about his life, not your look. he feels like an idiot.
"i mean—yeah, good. things are good." he was so flustered that he forgets to ask how you are.
you talk about things—small talk that masks the tension, that can make both of you shifts move away from the kitchen, eventually settling on the edge of the soft chair by the fireplace. sometimes the conversation doesn't exactly flow, mike is caught several times staring at you, focused more on your intonation than the actual words, nodding along and pretending he hasn't lost his train of thought.
“you guys never change, do you? i can’t remember much about dustin except for his missing teeth,” it's your turn to listen, with all the sparkle of your interest that makes mike's voice gets a little lost and unclear. he would clear his throat and continue adding lots of humorous spice to his phrases.
until his face turned slightly amused, which earned you a disapproving shake of your head, "he's so sweet." every time mike describes one of lucas's more dramatic romantic gestures for his girlfriend.
mike looks at you, his expression turning serious. "is that... is that what girls actually like?" he asks, genuinely wanting to know. you've always loved this about him—the way he asks things with such sincerity. you explain it just as seriously, which eventually leads to both of you chuckling at the absurdity of the conversation.
"you must have a boyfriend by now, right?" mike’s voice is small, a quiet tension underneath the question. he’s bracing himself. there’s no way a girl like you is single, he thought.
"do i?" you give a deliberate pause, forcing him to meet your eyes. "to have a boyfriend. do i look like that?"
you're enjoying this—the way mike's face scrunches in deep thought as he tries to find the right answer.
"no, i mean..." he’s tongue-tied. "i mean, it's not like you couldn't have one, or maybe you don't..."
his voice trails off, and you give him a playful look. "so i look like the type who doesn't have one, then?"
"it's just... if you weren't interested," mike says, stopping himself before he says something truly stupid, but then he pushes through. "it wouldn't make sense if no one was interested in you. you’re beautiful, and kind, and you have... everything."
maybe it would be better if he just stopped talking forever.
"is that so?" your gaze is intense, making mike feel like the room is getting too warm. "do you like girls like that? beautiful, and kind, and having everything?"
you didn't expect much, thinking it was just a casual, teasing question—regret it slightly because the air suddenly feels thick and suffocating. mike looks so hesitant, his lips opening and closing as if every possible answer is a trap. making every curve of your smile disappear as if interested in waiting for his answer seriously, hoping he'll say no—you don't. but shouldn't hope for a yes either. or maybe you should just end this with your usual awkward-deflection laugh.
so you do.
mike looks like he’s about to answer just as you stand up, which luckily coincides with the moms appear, looking sleepy and babbling about how everyone needs to rest for the trip tomorrow. and just like that, the noise dies down as the lights are dimmed with everyone says their goodnights.
the sound of the mattress creaking again until some lumps and mess of the sheets could be seen now, you try to close your eyes, trying to wash away the image of mike wheeler on the porch, but every time you do, all over his face and that unexpected look in his eyes back again to give you goosebumps. so your feet take the determination to stan, get out of bed, resolve to grab a drink from the fridge or maybe take a shower.
your steps were stopped by a tall figure standing in front of the door, winced slightly when you saw his face which looked like he was had been hit by something,
it shouldn't be like this. this is just him, just mike. but it seems your breath doesn't feel that way when it's suddenly being choked and dropping in to say hello to all the nervousness there.
you should just ask him, greeting him, with all your confidence. what he needs and go on with your night, but instead, you both just stand there, staring at each other, not knowing what to say.
“do you need something? is the heater in your room not working?” your voice was a bit hoarse when you asked, hoping that's the reason he looks dazed.
“no, it’s working fine.”
“that’s good.”
it’s not good.
no other thought could draw a conclusion as to why mike would be here. in the middle of the night. as messy as you. but you still do what you should do, ask silly things, anything that can dissolve all of whatever is.
“do you need anything?” you ask finally.
“yes.”
you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. okay, say something sensible, say something blankets, or anything.
“what? just tell me and i’ll get it for you.”
"yeah." his voice was full of emphasis this time, his twinkle caught your eyes, making you look at him as you hold your breath. again. “i do like girls like that.”
there it is. no one speaks. you’re too stunned to ask if he’s been awake this whole time thinking about this.
“i like girls like you," he says firmly. your head is spinning. you almost wish he’d stop talking, but he doesn't. “i tried to tell myself not to think about it... but it doesn't make sense because you’re here, and i really like you. more than you know. and maybe i’m being stupid standing here tonight and...”
the rest of his words feel like a distant rhythm. mike always gets chatty when he’s trying to explain himself. you haven't really seen him like this until tonight—the furrow in his brow as he searches for rational words, his hands gesturing vaguely as if he’s deciding whether or not to reach for your shoulders. maybe press there and make you look at him so you really understand how desperate he is.
and his lips, moving constantly, tongue darting out to wet them as he keeps his voice as low as possible. it makes you think: maybe it’s okay to kiss him right now. to make him stop explaining because you’re going to be just as confused trying to explain yourself if he keeps making this sound so impossible.
so, you simply tilt your head and lean in, cupping mike’s cheek, making him lean down to meet your lips. it feels like something you’ve wanted to do all night. kiss him briefly before pulling back—hand still on his cheek—looking at him. “sorry, mike. was that okay?” it’s a physical jolt to him. he stays still for a second, breath hitched, eyes wide before he remembers to blink.
he looks at you like he wants to say something about how amazing that was. this isn't how he imagined when he decided to stand outside your door, but this is better.
his body moved forward a bit rashly as if afraid that you would change your mind at any moment if he hesitated. “can i... can i come into your room?” okay, he's so adoring.
your lips meet his again.
and it becomes immediately clear that mike wheeler has no idea where to put his hands, other than using one to shut the door with a slightly too loud thud. meanwhile, you move with ease—tilting your head to deepen the contact, your thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind his ear—making mike a nervous wreck. his hands finally move, hovering awkwardly in the air for a moment before landing tentatively on your waist. his grip is shaky, fingers bunching there.
the way he kisses... it’s earnest. his lips press against yours with a pressure that’s almost desperate, but he doesn't quite know how to find the rhythm. every time you nudge him to soften or change the angle, he lets out a small, shaky breath.
your movements are a bit slow now, helping mike to feel how his lips and tongue should move, step away for a moment to breathe before returning to tread the string of saliva and tasted each other's lips again.
the curve of your lips is getting more and more prominent as he starts to catch on—the way his hands stop shaking and settle firmly on your waist, pulling you closer to his body. now his lips become clearer taste like the cherry cola he was drinking earlier.
the body's urges are increasingly felt, moving in until he’s sitting on the edge of your bed, you standing between his legs with his hands still on your waist. his eyes blink open, his lips slightly swollen and red, looking dazed like he’s forgotten his own name.
you can't hide your smile, stroking his cheek as he asks with those wide eyes, and says “was that... was that okay?” mike really looks so sweet with everything he has, making you more free to slightly lead him back. until he’s forced to lying down. your weight feels crawling into his lap until you’re right on top of him. the change in position makes him gasp, his hands sliding from your waist to the curve of your hips, squeezing gently as you guide them.
he’s a fast learner. you can feel his body starting to align with yours, his grip tightening. you move your lips from his mouth to his jawline, kissing and nipping gently at his skin as you slide down to his neck, making mike let out a long, shuddering exhale, his head falling back into the pillow as his eyes squeeze shut. “you’re doing so good, mike.”
you keep kissing his neck while his hands become more brave, touching you with a shy curiosity. he traces the line of your waist and the small of your back, light and reverent. still a little clumsy, his fingers occasionally catching on your pajamas or moving a bit too fast, but the sincerity behind every movement makes it perfect. “you’re so beautiful... oh god...” he’s trying so hard to please you, to be exactly who you need in this moment.
you guide so that mike sat back down with you on his lap, swing your legs over there, sitting flush against him so that your pajamas bunch up around your thighs. mike’s breath hitches with a sharp, jagged gasp as your full weight settles onto him. he’s only wearing a thin white undershirt and flannel pants, a stark contrast to the soft, thin cotton of your underwear.
your faces are only inches apart, sharing the same frantic air. you can really feel him this time, beneath you—solid and undeniably large, a heavy weight pressing right against your center through the layers of fabric. you let out a soft groan, "mike, oh god... you're so big." he’s already so tense, and hearing those words makes him peak even further, the long, thick heat of him making your breath catch as you lean into the curve of his thighs. mike’s hands hover near your waist, his fingers twitching with a desperate urge to touch you, yet paralyzed by the fear of doing something wrong. you reach down, grasping his wrists and guiding them upward. you don't stop until his palms are pressed against your chest, the warmth of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of your pajama top.
"feel it," you whisper. your hands help his press into one of your breasts, enough to make him stare up at you. he lets out a sound that is sob, half-moan, his fingers finally curling around you. "is this okay? like this?" his grip is too tight, then too loose as he tries to gauge your reaction, but the sheer size of his hands means he can almost cup your entire torso.
"yes, mike... just like that, squeeze." and he feels the weight of your breast more clearly this time in his palm. his thumb begins to find your nipple, rubbing the sensitive peak until you let out a sharp intake of breath.
the sound of your pleasure seems to awaken something primal in him.
"squeeze, mike," you whisper, leaning close to his ear. "harder than before."
he lets out a low, gravelly groan and does exactly as you say. his fingers dig into your soft flesh, his large palms kneading you with a panicked, desperate hunger. watches his own hands with awe as they disappear against your chest, his jaw hanging open as he sees how his touch impact on you.
"oh god..." you're practically choking on the sensation. it's already overwhelming when your hips grinding against him in slow, wet circles. with only underwear and his pants in the way, which was left as it is this time. you can feel your own slickness coating the silk of your pajamas, making the glide against his hot skin even easier.
mike’s head snaps back as you grind your weight right against the head of his length. he's so large between your legs, pushing back against you every time you roll your hips. "god, you're so... you're so warm," mike hisses, his voice trembling. he reaches down and grips your ass, his long fingers digging into your cheeks as he pulls you even closer. he finally starts using his strength, his thighs tensing as he thrusts his hips upward to meet your downward motion.
the friction makes your clitoris throb, and every time he jolts his hips up, he hits your sensitive spot with a precision that leaves you breathless. "i'm doing good, right?" he asks with a flash of confident idiocy as he watches your face.
"yes, oh–so good..."
mike lets out a sob-like groan, his grip on your ass tightening until it’s almost bruising. he is completely lost in the feeling. "fuck..." body drenched in sweat as he grinds himself into you, the thin silk of your pajamas being the only thing keeping him from being inside you. he begins to mirror your rhythm, his hips moving in circles with a weight that makes the bed creak beneath you. he’s groaning into your mouth now, a deep, primitive sound that tells you he’s reaching his limit. he feels massive under you, a pulsing, living heat that seems to fill the entire room.
"wait, hold on..."
you guide his hand reaching down to catch your clit between two fingers. "right.. like that," you choked out a sigh. he just presses there, confused about what else to do, then you will give him directions to move it however he wants, and he does it.
the tempo gets faster. you’re bouncing on him now, make one sleeve of your pajamas fall down enough to make one of your breasts pop out, before you could even gasp, he buried his face in your chest. and then his mouth was there—hot, wet, and hungry. he latched onto your nipple, pulling it deep into his mouth. he was very confident when he heard you let out a loud, high-pitched cry of genuine shock, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself. "mike! oh—"
he didn't let go. he was growling low in his throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated want that vibrated right against your skin. he began to use his teeth, nipping and grazing there before soothing the sting with a frantic, swirling tongue. the sensation of his mouth on your breasts while your lower body was still grinding against him was too much. the double-ended friction made your vision blur. every time he swallowed, the suction felt like it was pulling a wire tight deep inside your stomach, making your internal muscles clench and pulse around nothing.
mike is panting, his breaths short and sharp against your chest. he feels so thick and heavy, a constant, blunt pressure that’s driving you crazy. "i’m gonna... i can’t hold it," he stammers, his whole body beginning to vibrate with the coming release.
you don't let him stop. pressing against him one more time, your internal muscles clenching hard. "just a second, mike—please."
but mike’s body has already gone stiff as a board. he lets out a loud, muffled cry into your shoulder as he hits his climax, his length pulsing violently against you, his hips jerking a few more times to spend himself. you feel the heat of him even through the cloth, the force of his orgasm leaving him shaking for a long, intense minute. he collapses forward, burying his face in your chest, his hands still clutching you as if he’s drowning.
mike holds you, completely exhausted. he feels like lead, his muscles finally relaxing as the adrenaline ebbs away. you stroke his hair, feeling the damp curls cling to your fingers.
he’s so cute when he looks up, his eyes practically apologizing for not being able to hold back and for not letting you finish too. "is it really okay?" he whispers against your skin, his voice muffled and shy again.
you laugh softly, rubbing his cheek while he closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. mike looks so handsome—truly, deeply handsome—making your heart feel full just seeing him like this. "it was great, really."
"we can do it again, i'm getting better at this and.."
you hug him while chuckling, making a playful sound until you both tumble backward onto the mattress. "no, mike." you say, now wrapped in his arms. "we still have plenty of time."