raven ★

the real mike wheeler

[mikesayittwice]

Masterlist!!

___________________

Scott Barringer Fics

Almost pt1

Almost pt2

Almost pt3

Almost pt4

you have to believe me pt1

you have to believe me pt2

Anakin Fics

the code means nothing

between duty and desire

Stephen Glass Fics

ruined quietly

extra credit

James Kelly Fics

bad idea, right?

heat under pressure

Sam Monroe Fics

Sea Glass Hearts pt1

Sea Glass Hearts pt2

too late to pretend

Hayden Fics

focus

focus pt 2

Mike fics

Held like he matters.

All i want (is you)

a crown protected by blood

a dance we were never meant to share.

Richie fics

the bargain store.

byler fics

what he’s always known.

Miles fics

the light he could never ignore

______________________

this will be added to as much as possible ilysm !!

[mikesayittwice]

A Birthday Worth Remembering.

it’s my kings birthday so i had to write a fic 🥹🥹🫰🫰 i love u draco i mourn u everyday

_______________________

Draco Malfoy hated surprises.

Everyone knew it.

So naturally, you were planning one.

It had started two weeks before his birthday when you’d cornered Pansy Parkinson in the Slytherin common room.

“I need your help.”

Pansy looked up from her magazine. “You’re smiling. That’s concerning.”

“It’s for Draco’s birthday.”

Immediately, she sat up straighter.

By the end of the day, you had recruited nearly every one of his friends, including Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott.

The mission was simple:

Keep Draco distracted while you transformed an unused room near the common room into the perfect birthday celebration.

The mission was not simple.

Because Draco was suspicious.

Very suspicious.

⸻

Three days before his birthday, he narrowed his eyes at you during breakfast.

“Why did Pansy stop talking when I sat down?”

You nearly choked on your pumpkin juice.

“No reason.”

“Hm.”

The next day, he caught Theodore carrying decorations.

“What are those?”

Theodore stared at the box.

“Books.”

“Those are clearly not books.”

“They’re… decorative books.”

Draco looked unconvinced.

⸻

By the time his birthday finally arrived, everyone was exhausted from lying.

You spent the entire afternoon helping set everything up.

Silver and green banners hung from the ceiling.

Floating candles illuminated the room.

A huge table was covered with desserts and gifts.

It looked perfect.

Now all you had to do was get Draco there.

⸻

That evening, you found him sitting alone by the Black Lake.

“Come with me.”

He glanced up.

“Why?”

“Just trust me.”

His silver eyes narrowed.

“That’s exactly what someone says before something terrible happens.”

You laughed.

“Please?”

Draco sighed dramatically before standing.

“For you.”

Your heart fluttered.

No matter how long you’d been together, hearing things like that still affected you.

⸻

The walk back to the castle felt endless.

Mostly because Draco kept asking questions.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“Is this a prank?”

“No.”

“Am I about to be murdered?”

“Draco.”

“What? It’s a valid concern.”

⸻

When you finally reached the room, you stopped outside the door.

“Ready?”

“No.”

You grinned.

“Good.”

Then you opened it.

“SURPRISE!”

The room erupted with cheers.

Confetti exploded overhead.

Music started playing.

Everyone was smiling.

For a moment, Draco simply froze.

Completely speechless.

Which was rare.

Very rare.

His eyes swept across the decorations, the food, the gifts, and finally landed on you.

“You did this?”

You suddenly felt nervous.

“Maybe.”

For a second, he just stared.

Then a small smile appeared.

A real one.

Not his usual smirk.

The kind that was only for you.

“You planned all of this?”

“With some help.”

Pansy raised her hand.

“We suffered greatly.”

Blaise nodded solemnly.

“The lying nearly killed us.”

Laughter filled the room.

But Draco never looked away from you.

⸻

The party lasted for hours.

People ate.

They laughed.

Theodore somehow lost three games of wizard chess in a row.

Pansy claimed it was a historical event.

And through it all, Draco stayed close to your side.

Like he always did.

⸻

Later that night, after everyone had finally left, only the two of you remained.

The room was quieter now.

The candles flickered softly.

Draco sat beside you on one of the couches.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

Then he reached for your hand.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I’ve never really cared much about birthdays.”

You looked at him.

“No?”

He shook his head.

“Not until now.”

Your heart melted.

“That’s cheesy.”

“You’re cheesy.”

“Fair.”

He laughed softly.

Then he lifted your hand and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

His eyes never leaving yours.

“Thank you.”

The words were sincere.

Completely unguarded.

And somehow that meant more than anything else.

You smiled.

“Happy birthday, Draco.”

He leaned closer.

“Best one I’ve ever had.”

And before you could respond, he kissed you.

Slow.

Sweet.

The kind of kiss that made the rest of the world disappear for a moment.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Same time next year?”

You laughed.

“Already planning your next birthday?”

“No.”

A smirk tugged at his lips.

“I’m planning on keeping you around.”

And honestly?

You wouldn’t have had it any other way.

_______________________

[mikesayittwice]

The Light He Could Never Ignore.

we love me disappearing again holy fuck

_______________________

Everyone at school seemed to orbit around Miles Fairchild.

Not because he wanted them to.

Because they couldn’t help it.

He sat alone at lunch. Walked alone between classes. Spoke only when absolutely necessary. His expression was always unreadable, like he was constantly watching a storm no one else could see.

People called him cold.

You thought he looked tired.

Which was probably why you smiled at him every morning.

And every morning, he ignored you.

“Morning, Miles!”

Nothing.

The first few weeks, your friends told you to give up.

“He’s impossible.”

“He doesn’t like anyone.”

“You’re wasting your time.”

But you just shrugged.

Maybe.

Still, every morning:

“Morning, Miles.”

And eventually—

A tiny nod.

You nearly dropped your books.

⸻

The friendship started by accident.

Or maybe by stubbornness.

You found him sitting under the old oak tree behind the school, reading during lunch.

Without asking, you sat down beside him.

“What are you reading?”

Silence.

“Okay, don’t tell me.”

More silence.

You opened your own book.

For twenty minutes, neither of you spoke.

When the bell rang, you stood.

“See you tomorrow.”

As you turned away, a quiet voice stopped you.

“It’s a fantasy novel.”

You blinked.

Miles looked horrified he’d spoken.

But your grin spread instantly.

“Cool. Tell me if it’s good.”

⸻

After that, things changed.

Slowly.

Painfully slowly.

Miles wasn’t the kind of person who opened doors all at once.

He opened them a crack and waited to see if someone would slam them shut.

You never did.

You sat with him.

Talked enough for both of you.

Made him laugh occasionally—though he’d immediately pretend he hadn’t.

The first time you heard him genuinely laugh, you stared.

“What?”

“You laugh?”

His ears turned red.

“Don’t make it weird.”

“It is weird.”

“Stop.”

You laughed until he rolled his eyes.

⸻

The more time you spent together, the more you realized Miles wasn’t cold.

He was careful.

Like someone who’d spent so long expecting disappointment that he’d forgotten how to hope for anything else.

You, meanwhile, were practically sunlight in human form.

Always talking.

Always smiling.

Always dragging him into things he claimed to hate.

And somehow…

He started showing up.

School events.

Movie nights.

Study sessions.

Even when he complained the entire time.

⸻

One evening, the two of you sat on the football field after sunset.

The sky was painted purple and silver.

Miles leaned back on his hands.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I didn’t understand you.”

You looked over.

“What do you mean?”

“At first.”

A small smile appeared.

“You were too happy.”

You gasped dramatically.

“Wow.”

“It was suspicious.”

“I am not suspicious.”

“You brought me homemade cookies after knowing me for three weeks.”

“That was kindness.”

“That was suspicious kindness.”

You laughed.

Miles watched you.

Really watched you.

And for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The air felt different.

Warmer.

Your heartbeat sped up.

⸻

The realization hit both of you around the same time.

Which was unfortunate.

Because neither of you knew what to do about it.

You caught yourself looking for him in crowded hallways.

Miles started texting you first.

You stayed on calls longer than necessary.

Neither of you said anything.

Until one rainy afternoon.

⸻

You were waiting under the front steps after school when Miles appeared beside you.

Rain hammered against the pavement.

“You waiting for someone?” he asked.

You smiled.

“Just my ride.”

He nodded.

Silence.

Then—

“I like being around you.”

Your eyes widened.

Miles immediately looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“Miles—”

“I know I’m not exactly easy to—”

You grabbed his hand.

His words stopped instantly.

Rain fell around you.

And for the first time, Miles Fairchild looked completely vulnerable.

“I like being around you too,” you said softly.

His shoulders relaxed.

A little.

Then a lot.

The smallest smile appeared.

The kind that felt earned.

⸻

After that, everything changed.

Not all at once.

But enough.

Miles started walking you to class.

Saving you seats.

Texting you first.

Sometimes you’d catch him already looking at you when you turned around.

And every single time, he’d look away like he’d been caught committing a crime.

It was adorable.

Though he’d deny that if you ever said it out loud.

⸻

The first kiss happened on a completely ordinary day.

Which somehow made it feel even more special.

You and Miles were sitting on the hood of his car after school, sharing a bag of chips while the sun dipped lower in the sky.

“You stole all the good ones.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

“You have no proof.”

Miles sighed dramatically.

“You have orange seasoning on your face.”

Your hand immediately flew to your cheek.

“Where?”

“The other side.”

You checked.

Nothing.

Then you heard it.

A laugh.

A real laugh.

You narrowed your eyes.

“You liar.”

His grin widened.

The sight nearly stopped your heart.

Miles didn’t smile often.

When he did, it felt like watching the moon appear after a cloudy night.

You stared longer than you meant to.

He noticed.

The smile softened.

“What?”

You shook your head.

“Nothing.”

But your voice came out quieter than usual.

For a moment, neither of you looked away.

The world seemed to slow down.

Miles glanced at your intertwined hands.

Then back at you.

His expression shifted.

Nervous.

Hopeful.

Like he was standing at the edge of something important.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I’ve been wanting to do something for a while.”

Your heart skipped.

“Oh?”

He laughed softly.

“I had a better plan for this.”

“You made a plan?”

“Several.”

That made you smile.

“How’d they go?”

“Terribly.”

You laughed.

Miles stared at you for a second.

At your smile.

Your eyes.

The way the evening sunlight seemed to wrap around you like it belonged there.

Then he leaned forward.

Slowly.

Giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

His hand gently cupped your cheek.

And when his lips met yours, the kiss was soft and careful.

Like he couldn’t quite believe this was real.

For a moment, everything else disappeared.

No school.

No worries.

No future to think about.

Just him.

Just you.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

Neither of you could stop smiling.

“So,” you whispered.

“So?”

“I think your plan worked.”

A quiet laugh escaped him.

“Good.”

You squeezed his hand.

Then leaned forward and kissed him again before he could start overthinking everything.

This time, Miles smiled into the kiss.

And when you finally pulled away, he rested his head against yours and closed his eyes.

Comfortable.

Happy.

Home.

The sun was setting.

The moon was beginning to rise.

And somehow, for the first time, they were sharing the same sky.

⸻

Whenever people asked how someone like Miles Fairchild ended up dating someone like you, he’d glance over from wherever he was sitting.

His eyes would soften immediately.

A look reserved only for you.

Then he’d shrug and say:

“She kept showing up.”

And everyone knew exactly who had fallen first.

Even if it took him a while to admit it.

—————————————

[mikesayittwice]

A Dance We Were Never Meant To Share.

i fucking love paladin/knight mike ugh im never stopping these

_______________________

The royal ballroom glittered like something unreal.

Crystal chandeliers burned with golden light above the marble floor, reflecting across gowns and polished boots. Violins filled the air with a slow, sweeping melody that made the entire room feel like it was gently spinning.

The princess hated it.

Not the music.

Not the ball.

Him.

Mike Wheeler stood across the room watching her, looking completely wrong without armor. No steel plates, no sword at his side—just a dark formal coat embroidered with silver thread. His curls had been forced into something resembling order.

He looked… annoyingly good.

He noticed her staring.

“Princess.”

“Knight Wheeler.”

The titles sounded more like insults.

He gave a stiff bow. “The king assigned me as your partner for the opening waltz.”

“I didn’t request you.”

“No,” Mike said dryly. “You rarely request anything that makes sense.”

Her eyes narrowed.

The orchestra swelled.

Couples moved to the floor.

Mike held out his hand.

“Protocol.”

She stared at it like it might bite her.

“Fine.”

Her hand slipped into his.

Immediately the music lifted, and Mike pulled her gently into position. One hand in hers, the other settling carefully at her waist.

They began moving across the ballroom floor.

“You’re stepping on my foot,” he muttered.

“I am not.”

“You just did.”

“Well maybe if you weren’t dragging me—”

He spun her suddenly.

Her skirt flared around her legs, and she nearly lost balance before his grip tightened slightly, steadying her.

Their eyes met.

Neither of them looked away right away.

The music softened into a slower rhythm.

Around them, couples swayed closer.

“You clean up well,” she said before she could stop herself.

Mike blinked in surprise.

“Was that… a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

He huffed a quiet laugh.

They turned again, slower now.

The melody deepened, emotional in a way that made the moment feel heavier, like something important was happening whether they wanted it to or not.

“You know,” Mike said, guiding her into another turn, “this is the first ball where you haven’t tried to escape through a window.”

“I considered it.”

“And yet you stayed.”

“For the cake.”

He laughed softly.

The sound caught her off guard.

Another turn.

Another step.

Somehow they were closer now.

His hand at her waist felt warmer than it should.

“You hate me,” Mike said suddenly.

“I do not.”

“You called me ‘the human embodiment of a locked gate.’”

“That was one time.”

“It was yesterday.”

She bit back a smile.

The music slowed further, almost painfully romantic.

The ballroom blurred around them as they moved together.

Mike looked down at her, something uncertain flickering in his eyes.

“You deserve someone who doesn’t argue with you all the time.”

Her chest tightened unexpectedly.

“Well,” she said softly, “someone has to stop me from falling off castle towers.”

His voice lowered.

“Someone has to keep you safe.”

For once, it didn’t sound like a duty.

It sounded like care.

The music rose toward its final note.

Mike spun her one last time.

When she returned to him, they stopped moving.

The orchestra ended.

Applause filled the ballroom.

But neither of them stepped apart.

“Princess—”

A scream ripped through the room.

Not excited.

Terrified.

The ballroom doors burst open with a thunderous crash.

Men in dark armor stormed inside.

Steel flashed under the chandeliers.

“ASSASSINS!” someone shouted.

The elegant ballroom exploded into chaos.

Guests screamed and scattered, chairs crashing to the floor as people rushed for the exits.

Mike’s hand tightened on her arm.

“Stay behind me.”

“But you don’t even have your—”

A blade swung toward him.

Mike shoved her back and caught the attacker’s wrist mid-strike.

The knife sliced across his sleeve instead of his chest.

“Run!” he shouted.

“I’m not leaving you!”

Another attacker rushed forward.

Mike twisted the first man’s arm until the blade clattered across the floor. He grabbed it instantly.

It looked wrong.

Her knight fighting in formal clothes, no armor, no protection.

But he moved like he always did.

Fast.

Precise.

Terrifyingly skilled.

Steel rang as he blocked another strike.

Two men circled him now.

He pushed her behind a marble column.

“Stay there.”

“Mike—”

“Don’t move.”

The ballroom had become a storm of panic. People shoved past them, screaming, guards racing toward the attackers.

Mike ducked another blade and drove the dagger into a man’s shoulder, sending him crashing into a table.

But the second attacker lunged.

The knife sliced across Mike’s side.

He staggered.

“MIKE!”

“I’m fine!” he snapped, though his breathing had already grown heavier.

Another attacker moved behind him.

She saw it first.

“Behind you!”

Mike turned—

Too late.

The blade drove into his stomach.

The world seemed to stop.

Mike gasped.

The dagger slipped from his hand.

The attacker ripped the blade free and disappeared into the chaos as guards finally flooded the room.

Mike dropped to one knee.

“Mike—!”

She ran to him, catching him as he collapsed.

Blood spread across the marble beneath them.

“Hey,” he breathed weakly, trying to smile through the pain. “Guess… I should’ve worn the armor.”

“Don’t joke!” she cried, her voice shaking. “You’re bleeding!”

“Yeah… noticed.”

His hand weakly grabbed her sleeve.

“You’re safe, right?”

Tears filled her eyes.

“Why are you asking that?!”

“Because… that’s my job.”

His voice was fading.

Her chest tightened with panic.

“No. No, stay with me!”

He leaned against her shoulder—the same way he had while they danced.

Except now his breathing was shallow.

“You know…” he murmured faintly.

“What?”

“That dance…”

“What about it?”

“…worth getting stabbed.”

A broken laugh escaped her.

“You idiot.”

His eyes fluttered.

“Hey… princess…”

“Don’t close your eyes.”

“You didn’t step on my foot… near the end.”

Tears slid down her face.

“Mike.”

“I think…” he whispered, barely conscious now, “…we finally learned the steps.”

His grip on her hand weakened.

Guards rushed toward them.

“Knight down!”

“Get the physician!”

But she barely heard them.

She leaned down, pressing her forehead gently against his.

Her voice broke into a whisper only he could hear.

“I love you.”

The words trembled out like they had been waiting years to escape.

“You stubborn, insufferable knight,” she whispered through tears. “You don’t get to die before hearing that.”

His fingers twitched weakly in hers.

For a second she thought she imagined it.

Then his lips barely moved.

“…knew.”

The word was so faint she almost missed it.

Then his eyes closed.

“Mike!”

She held him tighter as the guards reached them, trying to pull him onto a stretcher.

“No, wait—be careful!”

“Your Highness, we must take him to the physician.”

Her hands shook as they lifted him away.

His blood still stained her dress.

The ballroom was nearly empty now, chandeliers still burning brightly over the wreckage of what had been a perfect evening.

The dance floor where they had just stood moments ago was streaked with red.

And the world felt like it had completely changed.

_______________________

[mikesayittwice]

A crown protected by blood.

i’m literally so sorry for disappearing oops

____________________

Winter didn’t leave quietly that year.

Storm clouds swallowed the sky, and the kingdom’s borders burned with rumors of war. Creatures from the outer forests had begun gathering—drawn by something ancient stirring beneath the mountains.

The court panicked.

The princess stayed calm.

Mike Wheeler stayed closer.

Wherever she walked, the quiet rhythm of his armor followed. Where she slept, he stood guard outside the door until morning.

He told himself it was duty.

But the truth sat heavier in his chest than his armor.

⸻

The attack came at dusk.

A horn blared from the watchtowers, long and sharp.

“Monsters at the eastern gate!”

The castle erupted into chaos—guards shouting, torches flaring to life, nobles scrambling through the halls.

Mike was already moving.

“Stay inside,” he told the princess.

She grabbed his arm before he could leave.

“Mike—”

For a moment the noise of the castle faded. It was just the two of them in the flickering torchlight.

He softened when he looked at her.

“I’ll come back,” he promised.

Then he ran toward the battlefield.

⸻

The eastern fields were already drowning in smoke and steel.

Creatures poured from the forest—tall, twisted things with bone-like limbs and glowing eyes. Knights clashed against them in desperate waves.

Mike didn’t hesitate.

His sword flashed silver as he charged forward, cutting through the first creature that lunged at him.

Steel rang. Shadows screamed.

He fought like someone who had something worth dying for.

Because he did.

⸻

From the castle wall, the princess watched in horror.

She could see him even among the chaos.

Mike’s armor caught the firelight as he moved through the battlefield, striking down monster after monster.

But there were too many.

One creature—larger than the rest—rose from the smoke behind him.

“Mike!” she shouted, even though he couldn’t hear her.

The monster swung.

Mike turned too late.

Claws slashed across his side and threw him hard into the dirt.

For a terrifying moment—

He didn’t move.

⸻

The princess’s heart stopped.

Down on the battlefield, the creature loomed over him, ready to strike again.

Mike forced himself to breathe.

Pain burned through his ribs, warm blood soaking his armor. His vision blurred with smoke and darkness.

But one thought cut through everything.

Her.

The monster stepped closer to the castle gates.

Closer to where she stood.

Mike gripped his sword and dragged himself to his feet.

“You’re not…” he rasped.

The creature lunged.

Mike swung.

“…getting past me.”

Steel met bone with a sharp crack.

With the last strength he had left, Mike drove the sword straight through the creature’s chest.

It collapsed beside him with a thunderous crash.

And this time—

Mike fell too.

⸻

By the time the battle ended, the princess was already running across the field.

Knights tried to stop her.

She didn’t listen.

Smoke curled through the cold air as she dropped to her knees beside him.

Mike lay half-conscious in the mud, pale beneath the streaks of blood on his face.

“Mike,” she whispered, shaking.

His eyes flickered open.

The moment he saw her, something in his expression softened.

“You’re… supposed to be inside the castle,” he murmured weakly.

Her voice broke.

“You almost died.”

Mike tried to sit up, failing halfway.

“But I didn’t,” he said.

Like that was the only part that mattered.

The princess gripped his hand tightly.

“Why would you fight like that?”

Mike looked at her like the answer was obvious.

Because to him, it was.

“Because,” he said quietly, “if something ever got past me…”

His fingers tightened weakly around hers.

“…it would reach you.”

For a moment the battlefield was silent except for the wind.

Then she leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his.

“You’re not allowed to die,” she whispered.

Mike gave a faint, tired smile.

“As you wish, princess.”

And for the first time since the battle began—

He let himself rest.

____________________

[mikesayittwice]

What he’s always known.

will and mike i’m so sorry u were written by those evil people ☹️

_______________________

Mike Wheeler has always been good at pretending.

Pretending he doesn’t notice the way his heart stutters whenever Will Byers laughs—really laughs, shoulders shaking, eyes bright like the sun caught in glass. Pretending he doesn’t feel the warmth linger when Will sits too close on the couch, knees brushing, their arms pressed together just a second longer than necessary.

Pretending he doesn’t already know.

They’re in Mike’s basement, the familiar hum of the old heater filling the silence. Dustin and Lucas had left hours ago, El complaining she was tired, Max teasing them both before heading out. Now it’s just Mike and Will, surrounded by half-finished D&D maps and discarded dice.

Will is drawing.

Mike watches him from the couch, pretending to read a campaign guide he’s already memorized. Will’s brow is furrowed in concentration, dark hair falling into his eyes as his pencil moves with careful precision. Mike feels that same tight ache in his chest—the one he’s been carrying for years now.

“You’re staring,” Will says softly, not looking up.

Mike freezes. “I—no, I’m not.”

Will finally glances over, lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile. “You are. It’s okay.”

Mike swallows. The basement suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Will says again, gentler this time. He sets the sketchbook down and shifts closer on the floor, back resting against the couch near Mike’s knees. “You okay? You’ve been weird all night.”

Mike laughs weakly. “I’m always weird.”

“Not like this.” Will hesitates, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “Did I do something?”

That hits harder than Mike expects.

“No,” he says quickly. “God, no. You—Will, you never—” He stops himself, breath shaky. You never do anything wrong. He’s thought it a thousand times.

Will looks up at him then, really looks at him, and something unspoken passes between them. Years of shared trauma. Shared secrets. Shared glances that linger too long.

“Mike,” Will says quietly. “You can tell me.”

And that’s the problem. Mike always tells Will. Always has.

Mike exhales slowly. “Do you ever,” he starts, then stops. His hands are shaking. He presses them into his jeans. “Do you ever feel like… you’ve known something for a long time, but you’re scared to say it out loud because once you do, everything might change?”

Will’s breath catches.

“Yes,” he whispers.

Mike’s heart pounds so loudly he’s sure Will can hear it. “What if,” Mike continues, voice barely holding together, “what if I don’t want it to change? What if I just—what if I don’t want to lose you?”

Will turns fully now, kneeling so they’re face to face. His eyes are glossy, emotions written all over his expression in that way Will has never been able to hide.

“You won’t lose me,” Will says. “Not ever.”

Mike laughs, but it comes out broken. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Will insists. “Because I—” He stops, swallowing hard. His shoulders tremble. “Because I love you. I always have.”

The words hang in the air, fragile and terrifying and perfect.

Mike’s world doesn’t shatter.

It settles.

He lets out a breath he feels like he’s been holding since he was twelve. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.”

Will blinks. “You… know?”

Mike nods, eyes burning. “I’ve known for a while. And—” His voice cracks. “I think I’ve been in love with you just as long. I was just too scared to admit it. To myself. To you.”

Will lets out a shaky laugh that turns into a quiet sob. “I thought I was alone.”

“You never were,” Mike says immediately. He reaches out before he can overthink it, cupping Will’s cheek with trembling fingers. Will leans into the touch like he’s been waiting for it.

Their foreheads press together.

“I’m right here,” Mike murmurs. “I always will be.”

Will closes his eyes. “Promise?”

“I swear,” Mike says. And this time, it doesn’t feel like a lie he has to pretend to believe.

Their kiss is soft—almost hesitant. Like they’re both afraid the moment might disappear if they rush it. Will’s lips are warm, familiar, fitting against Mike’s like they were always meant to be there.

When they pull back, both of them are smiling through tears.

“So,” Will says quietly. “What happens now?”

Mike grins, brushing his thumb under Will’s eye. “Now? We figure it out. Together.”

Will nods. “Together.”

And for the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel so scary.

_______________________

[mikesayittwice]

All i want (is you)

merry Christmas!!

(i’m a very big supporter of byler pls don’t attack me for this💔😔)

_______________________

Snow had been falling since noon.

Not the heavy, blinding kind—just slow, steady flakes drifting down like they had nowhere else to be. You stood outside the Wheeler house for a moment longer than necessary, watching your breath fog the cold air, heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Christmas always did this to you. It made everything feel closer. Louder. More fragile.

You adjusted the scarf around your neck and glanced down at the small bag clutched in your hands.

Please let him like it.

Before you could lose your nerve, the front door opened.

“Hey.”

Mike stood there in a dark green sweater, cheeks pink from the cold, hair slightly damp like he’d just come inside. His eyes lit up the moment he saw you, a smile tugging at his lips that felt almost automatic.

“You made it,” he said, like he hadn’t been sure you would.

“Of course I did,” you replied softly.

He stepped aside to let you in, the warmth of the house wrapping around you instantly. Christmas lights glowed along the banister, the faint sound of music floating from somewhere in the house. It felt safe here. Familiar.

And somehow… heavier tonight.

Dinner passed easily enough—laughing with Nancy, polite conversation with Karen—but your eyes kept finding Mike across the table. He seemed quieter than usual, fingers tracing patterns on the tablecloth, gaze drifting toward you like he was checking to make sure you were still there.

When the dishes were cleared, he finally spoke up.

“Do you wanna—uh—go upstairs? I mean—if you want to.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

His room was dim, lit only by the Christmas lights strung around the ceiling. They cast soft shadows across the walls, little stars of red, gold, and green flickering like they were breathing.

You sat on his bed, hands folded in your lap, heart hammering. Mike hovered by his desk before sitting beside you, leaving just enough space between your shoulders that it almost hurt.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“I always like this part,” he said finally. “When it’s quiet. When everything outside feels… far away.”

You glanced at him. “You don’t have to be strong in here.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, like the words had reached somewhere deep.

“I know,” he whispered. “That’s why I invited you.”

He stood abruptly, pacing once before stopping. “I—I got you something.”

You felt your breath hitch as he reached under his bed, pulling out a neatly wrapped box.

“It’s not much,” he said quickly. “I just—when I saw it, I thought of you. And I didn’t want to chicken out again.”

He handed it to you, fingers brushing yours for just a second.

You unwrapped it slowly, careful. Inside was a silver necklace with a small star charm, simple and beautiful.

Your chest tightened.

“Mike…” Your voice cracked. “It’s perfect.”

His shoulders sagged in relief, a shaky breath escaping him. “Yeah?”

You nodded, eyes shining. “I love it.”

You stood, closing the distance between you, and wrapped your arms around him. He stiffened for a second before holding you back, tighter than you expected, like he was afraid if he loosened his grip you’d disappear.

“I was scared,” he murmured into your hair. “That you wouldn’t feel the same. Or that I’d ruin things.”

“You could never ruin things,” you whispered.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were glossy, emotions written all over his face.

“I got you something too,” you said quietly.

His eyebrows lifted. “You did?”

You reached for the bag you’d brought, heart racing, and handed it to him. “Open it.”

He did carefully, almost reverently. Inside was a small leather-bound notebook, the edges worn soft, and tucked inside the front cover—a folded letter.

He frowned slightly. “You didn’t have to—”

“Read the letter,” you said gently.

He unfolded it, eyes scanning the page. As he read, his breath slowed, then hitched.

You’d written about how brave he was. How even when he doubted himself, he never stopped fighting for the people he loved. How his words mattered. How he mattered.

When he finished, he didn’t speak right away.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever seen me like that before,” he said quietly.

“I see you,” you replied.

His hands trembled as he set the notebook down. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he said. “For a long time.”

Your heart pounded.

“I think—I think I love you,” he admitted. “I don’t know when it happened. Maybe I always did. You make the world feel less terrifying.”

You stepped closer, resting your forehead against his. “I love you too.”

The words felt like a release, like exhaling after holding your breath for too long.

He kissed you slowly, carefully, like he was memorizing the moment. His hands found your waist, grounding, warm. When you pulled back, he smiled—soft, real, unguarded.

Outside, snow fell quietly. Inside, under the glow of Christmas lights, everything felt right.

“Best Christmas ever?” he asked softly.

You squeezed his hand. “Best Christmas ever.”

[mikesayittwice]

The Bargain Store.

my IT phase came back.

_______________________

Derry’s bargain store smelled like dust and old cardboard, the kind of place where time went to wait out its sentence. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering just enough to make Richie mutter something about horror movies and lawsuits.

You trailed behind him, fingers skimming racks of secondhand clothes. Everything here had a past—frayed sweaters, chipped mugs, picture frames missing their glass. Things people gave up on.

“Okay,” Richie said, lifting a cracked snow globe and squinting at it. “If this thing starts bleeding, I’m suing the town.”

You smiled despite yourself. Richie always filled silence like that—jokes stacked on jokes, a shield made of noise. But today his voice sounded thinner, stretched too tight.

You stopped at a shelf near the back. Jewelry tangled together, cheap chains and lone earrings. In the middle sat a ring. Simple. Silver band, scratched dull by years of wear.

You picked it up.

Richie noticed immediately. He always noticed when your hands went still.

“That one calling to you?” he asked, trying for casual.

“It’s… nice,” you said. It was a lie and it wasn’t. It wasn’t nice—it was worn. Lived in. Like it had loved someone hard and lost anyway.

Richie leaned closer. For a second, the jokes didn’t come. His eyes softened instead, something unguarded slipping through.

“You deserve better than bargain-bin stuff,” he said quietly.

You laughed, but it came out wrong. “What’s wrong with the bargain store?”

He shrugged. “Means someone couldn’t afford to keep it.”

That hit too close.

You set the ring back down like it burned. “Not everything cheap is worthless.”

“I know,” Richie said quickly. Too quickly. “That’s not what I meant.”

But the words hung there, heavy. You both knew what he did mean.

Richie Tozier loved like he was shopping with empty pockets—hands shoved deep in his jacket, pretending he wasn’t looking, pretending he didn’t want. He never reached for things he thought he couldn’t afford. Especially not you.

You moved to the register with a chipped mug instead. Something safe. Something you wouldn’t miss if it broke.

Richie followed, hands jammed in his pockets. The cashier rang you up in silence.

Outside, the air was cold and sharp. You tucked the bag under your arm.

“Hey,” Richie said suddenly. “If you wanted that ring, I could’ve—”

“It’s okay,” you said. “I don’t need it.”

He swallowed. “Yeah. Right.”

You started walking, and he fell into step beside you, shoulder brushing yours. The contact lingered longer than it should’ve.

“Y’know,” he said, forcing a grin, “if I were an object in that store, I’d be, like… a VHS tape with half the movie missing.”

You snorted. “More like a scratched record that keeps playing the same dumb joke.”

“Hey,” he protested. “Those are classics.”

You stopped walking.

“So why do you treat yourself like you’re disposable?” you asked gently.

Richie froze. His smile faltered.

“I don’t,” he said. Then quieter, “I just don’t wanna be something you settle for.”

Your chest ached.

You stepped closer, close enough to see the fear hiding behind his bravado. “Richie, I’m not shopping for better. I chose you.”

His breath caught.

“But I’m—” He laughed weakly. “I’m kind of a mess.”

“So is everything worth keeping,” you said.

Silence stretched. Then Richie reached into his pocket. Slowly. Like he was afraid you’d tell him to stop.

He held out the ring.

“I bought it,” he admitted. “Didn’t want it ending up in the wrong hands.”

You stared at it. Then at him.

“I’m not asking for forever,” he rushed. “Or anything. Just—if you want it. If you don’t, that’s cool. I can put it back in a drawer and pretend I never—”

You slipped it onto your finger.

It fit perfectly.

Richie blinked. “Oh.”

You smiled. “Guess someone finally realized their worth.”

His laugh came out shaky, almost a sob. He leaned his forehead against yours, voice barely there.

“Guess I got the best thing in the store,” he whispered.

And for once, Richie Tozier didn’t feel like a bargain.

_______________________

[mikesayittwice]

Held like he matters.

i’m so sorry for not posting for a little and i just finished this mike fic so have fun ❤️❤️

WC: 422+

_______________________

Mike didn’t cry often.

Not in front of anyone, at least.

Not where someone could see the cracks in him, the pieces he kept stitched together with sarcasm and stubbornness.

So when the knock came at your apartment door—quiet, almost hesitant—you weren’t expecting anything more than a late-night visit, maybe a joke or something he’d pretend wasn’t an excuse to see you.

You swung the door open with a smile already forming.

But the moment you saw him, it died on your lips.

Mike stood in the hallway like he’d forgotten how to take up space. His shoulders were curled inward, his hoodie half-zipped like he’d rushed here without thinking. His eyes were red, rimmed in a way that only came from holding back tears long enough for them to burn. His bottom lip trembled once—just once—and he bit down hard like he could force himself into steadiness.

Your chest tightened.

“Mike?” you whispered, afraid that if you spoke too loud he’d shatter right there.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even try.

His breath wobbled—an uneven, shaky inhale that sounded like it had been dragged through thorns. It held for a second, like he was trying to pull himself together…but then your hand lifted toward him.

That tiny gesture was all it took.

Mike moved forward so suddenly you barely had time to catch him. His hands fisted into your shirt, clutching with a desperation that made your heart ache. He collapsed into you—not dramatically, not loudly, but with the heavy weight of someone who’d been carrying too much for too long.

You guided him inside, kicking the door shut behind you with the softest thud. Your arms wrapped around him immediately, instinctively, like they belonged there.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, and that was when you felt it—

the trembling.

Small, uneven, helpless tremors he tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, voice already breaking. “I—I don’t know why it hit me so bad today. I just—”

His words dissolved into a ragged inhale, like speaking hurt.

You didn’t tell him it was okay.

You didn’t ask what happened.

You didn’t try to force anything out of him.

You just held him tighter, one hand sliding up into his messy, hopelessly soft hair. Your fingers threaded through it slowly, carefully, like you were handling something fragile that had already been dropped too many times.

The effect was immediate.

A small, broken sound slipped from him—barely audible, a whimper he tried to swallow the second it escaped. His hands tightened their grip on your shirt like he hated himself for letting anything slip out.

“Hey…” you murmured softly, letting your fingers trace the curve of his scalp the way you knew calmed him. “You don’t have to hold it in with me.”

His chest shuddered against yours, the tremble running through him like a fault line finally giving way.

“It’s just—” His voice cracked, sharp and painful. “I wish she cared. I wish she even tried. I don’t—I don’t know why I still want that.”

He sounded young.

Not childish—just… hurt in that deep, old way that comes from wounds you grow around, not past.

Your hand stilled in his hair only long enough to gently cup the back of his head.

“You’re not stupid,” you whispered into the crown of his hair. “You’re human. And you deserved so much better than what you got.”

Mike made another soft, involuntary noise—raw and fragile—and pressed himself even closer, like he wanted to disappear into you completely. His breath hitched, but this time he didn’t try to hide it.

You held him through every tremble, every uneven breath, every tiny sound that slipped out despite his efforts to stay quiet. Your fingers stroked through his hair slowly, rhythmically, as if each pass was stitching him back together.

Minutes passed. Maybe more.

Eventually, his breathing started to even out. The shaking softened. The grip on your shirt loosened—not because he was pulling away, but because he was melting into you, exhaustion catching up with him now that he finally let everything spill out.

His forehead rested against your shoulder, warm and damp, his breath fanning lightly against your skin.

For a moment, it was quiet.

Really quiet.

Almost peaceful.

Then, in a voice hoarse and frayed around the edges, he murmured:

“Thank you… for being here. For… letting me fall apart a little.”

You pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head, lingering there like a promise.

“You can fall apart as much as you need,” you whispered. “I’ll be right here every time.”

Mike exhaled—a long, shaky breath that seemed to empty every last piece of tension from his body. He tucked himself closer, arms sliding around your waist in a way that made it painfully clear how much he needed this, how much he trusted you with the parts of himself he showed no one else.

Safe.

Held.

Finally allowed to feel.

And in the warm, dim quiet of your apartment, with his heartbeat slowing against yours and your fingers still tracing through his hair, Mike Wheeler finally let himself rest.

_______________________

[mikesayittwice]

sam fics please

I’m working on a few sam fics rn so there’s some that are on the way💋

[mikesayittwice]

Omg I love all of ur writings but is kinda hard to find them, have you thought of making a masterlist?

i actually made one! you can find it pinned at the top of my page❤️

[mikesayittwice]

Dude how old are these readers in all ur age gap fics... sorry thays rlly werid if they're under 20

most of my stories when there are age gaps they’re all adults! it’s mostly 2-4 years older or younger. i have stories of younger characters like Scott but i don’t plan on doing anything that wouldn’t fit his age. i’m not gonna write stories like that. ❤️

[mikesayittwice]

I’m so sorry for not being active 🫩🫩🫩 I’ve been so busy lately and I’ve had writers block for so long bro. But trust I’m gonna write soon. I love u sm and I’m so sorry for not posting💋

[mikesayittwice]

Focus.

pt 2 :3

______________________

Rehearsal ran longer than either of you expected. The director kept pushing for another take, another adjustment, another line reading. But even when the room was full of movement and noise, you could still feel Hayden’s eyes on you sometimes — those fleeting, unspoken glances that seemed to pick up right where your earlier moment had left off.

When it finally ended, the set began to empty. People filed out in clusters, chatting about call times and dinner plans. You lingered, half distracted by the quiet hum of equipment being shut off, half waiting — though you weren’t sure what for.

“You stayed.”

You turned to see Hayden, his script tucked under his arm, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Guess I’m still distracted,” you said, echoing his words from before.

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he walked closer. “Then I guess I’m not the only one.”

The overhead lights had dimmed, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of a few scattered lamps. He stopped in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him — close enough that all the noise of the day seemed to fade into nothing.

“So…” he said quietly, “you said maybe you’d distract me again.”

“Maybe I did.”

His smile deepened, and for a moment he just looked at you — really looked. Like he was memorizing everything about this second.

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face with gentle fingers. “You have no idea how many times I almost—” He stopped, his thumb lingering near your cheek.

“Almost what?” you whispered.

He hesitated, then let out a soft breath — one that carried both amusement and something far more vulnerable. “Almost kissed you.”

Your chest tightened. The air seemed to thrum between you, filled with every stolen glance, every almost-touch that had led to this.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Timing,” he said simply. His eyes softened. “But maybe now’s better.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe. You just watched him — the small shift forward, the hesitation, the focus that flickered over his face again. And yes — there it was — that little flicker of his tongue as he studied you, right before his voice dropped low enough for only you to hear.

“Still distracting.”

You smiled, your heartbeat tripping over itself. “Good.”

And though he didn’t close the distance — not yet — he leaned just close enough that his forehead brushed yours, a quiet promise in the space between. The world outside could wait; this was its own kind of moment — unhurried, certain, and real.

When he finally pulled back, the faintest grin lingered on his lips. “You make focus impossible, you know that?”

You laughed softly. “Maybe that’s the point.”

He nodded, still smiling, still close enough that your heart hadn’t quite calmed down. “Then I hope you keep doing it.”

And as he walked you out into the cool night air, his hand brushed yours — light, deliberate, and enough to make you wish that almost would turn into next time. You started walking toward the door together, the soft hum of the lights following you out. And just before you reached the hallway, his hand brushed yours — light, deliberate, and lingering a moment longer than it needed to.

You looked up at him, and he gave you a small, crooked smile — the kind that said everything words couldn’t.

“See you tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice a little breathless. “Tomorrow.”

As he turned to leave, you stood there a moment longer, watching his silhouette fade down the corridor. The air still carried the faint trace of his cologne, warm and subtle, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

Because somehow, in all the noise of the day, between scripts and lights and endless retakes, he had managed to turn almost into a promise.

______________________

[mikesayittwice]

Focus.

trying again because the smut didn’t fade tg really well.😞

______________________

The air had gone still, heavy with something that wasn’t quite tension but wasn’t innocent either. You could hear the faint hum of the city outside the window — the distant chatter, a car horn somewhere far away — but in here, it was like time had hit pause.

Hayden’s smile lingered, small but sincere, the kind that made your chest tighten. “You really think I’m adorable?” he asked again, quieter this time, like he wasn’t teasing anymore.

You swallowed, forcing a laugh that didn’t sound half as casual as you wanted it to. “You’re fishing for compliments now.”

“Maybe.” His voice softened. “Or maybe I just like hearing you say it.”

Your heart stumbled a little. He was close now — close enough that you could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his lashes caught the last bit of light, the small, unconscious twitch at the corner of his mouth. He looked focused again, that same look you’d seen when he was reading earlier — only now, it was on you.

You tilted your head, trying to break the moment with a grin. “You’re doing it again.”

He blinked. “Doing what?”

You pointed lightly at his lips. “The tongue thing.”

He laughed, quiet and warm. “Guess you’re the distraction now.”

It shouldn’t have made your pulse skip the way it did. But when his eyes dropped from yours — briefly, then back up — you felt the shift. His laugh faded into a silence that said more than words could.

He leaned in just a little — not enough to close the space, but enough that your breath caught. His hand brushed the floor beside you, fingers just barely grazing yours. You didn’t move, afraid the smallest motion would shatter it.

“Hayden…” you whispered, unsure what you were asking for.

He shook his head slightly, his voice low. “Sorry. You just—” He stopped, searching for the words. “You make it hard to focus.”

Your heart melted a little at that — a quiet, fluttery kind of ache that settled deep in your chest. “Guess we’re both distracted then.”

He smiled again, but it was softer this time — almost shy. “Yeah,” he murmured, gaze lingering a moment longer. “Guess we are.”

The moment hung there — almost something more, almost a kiss — before a knock at the door broke it apart. You both blinked, startled, as the door cracked open and someone from the crew called, “Five minutes till rehearsal!”

Hayden sighed, smiling to himself. “Saved by the knock.”

You laughed, trying to ignore the rush of warmth still in your chest. “Guess so.”

But as you gathered your script and stood, his voice stopped you.

“Hey,” he said, standing too. You turned, and he gave you that same smile again — small, teasing, but genuine. “Maybe later… you can distract me again.”

You tried not to smile too wide, but failed miserably. “Maybe I will.”

And with that, you both walked out — pretending like your hearts weren’t still somewhere in that golden, quiet space between almost and not yet.

______________________

[mikesayittwice]

Almost.

i have no clue what to do with the rest of this story.

pt4(i think..?)

______________________

The roof was quiet that night, the stars sharp against the dark sky. The air was cooler than before, brushing your skin with the kind of chill that made you hug your arms around yourself as you climbed up.

Scott was already there. Of course he was.

He sat with his knees bent, cigarette balanced between his fingers, the smoke curling into the night. The faint glow of the ember lit the edge of his jaw, painting him in flashes of orange that disappeared as quickly as they came.

“You’re late,” he said without turning.

“I’m two minutes late,” you shot back, settling beside him on the shingles.

“Two minutes too many.” He smirked, but it didn’t have the usual bite. His gaze lingered on you a second longer than it should have before he turned away, taking another drag.

For a while, the two of you just sat there, listening to the cicadas hum in the distance and the faint creak of the lodge below. The silence was oddly comfortable.

“You know,” Scott finally said, exhaling smoke into the sky, “if Peter finds out we’re up here again, he’s gonna give one of those long speeches about responsibility and safety.”

You rolled your eyes. “And yet here you are.”

“Yeah, well…” He glanced at you, smirk tugging at his mouth. “Some things are worth getting yelled at for.”

The words hung between you, heavier than either of you wanted to admit.

You hugged your knees, watching him. “So… are we gonna pretend it didn’t happen?”

Scott blinked, caught off guard. “What, the kiss?”

You nodded, your heart thudding.

He looked away, the cigarette burning low between his fingers. For a long moment, you thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then, in a voice softer than you’d ever heard from him, he said, “I wasn’t planning on pretending.”

Your chest tightened.

Scott flicked the cigarette away, the ember sparking as it hit the ground below. He leaned back on his hands, staring at the stars like they had the answers. “I’m not great at this. You’ve probably noticed.”

You smiled faintly. “You don’t say.”

That pulled a laugh from him, quiet and real. Then his eyes shifted back to you, sharp and searching. “But… I meant it. The other night. Today. All of it.”

The honesty in his voice made your throat go dry. You didn’t know what to say, so you just whispered, “Me too.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was loaded. His hand twitched against the roof, just inches from yours.

When you reached out, brushing your fingers against his, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned his hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

It wasn’t a kiss, not yet, but it felt just as dangerous.

Scott let out a slow breath, his usual cocky grin flickering back in place. “You know, this is the part where you’re supposed to say I’m corrupting you.”

You smirked. “Pretty sure you’re just making me worse.”

He laughed again, shaking his head, but his thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly. He looked at you then—really looked—and for a second, he wasn’t sarcastic or guarded. He was just a boy on a roof, holding your hand, trying not to fall.

“Guess we’re both screwed, huh?” he murmured.

And even though he said it like a joke, you could hear the truth under it.

______________________

[mikesayittwice]

A Jedis Promise.

another one because sami goons to both so yk i gotta cook💔

______________________

The stars above Coruscant glimmered faintly, blurred by the city lights that stretched endlessly into the horizon. Samantha sighed, leaning against the balcony railing of her small apartment. It was her birthday, but the day had felt…ordinary. Another cycle, another year, another reason to pretend it didn’t sting that no one seemed to notice.

The quiet hum of a speeder pulling up below caught her attention. A familiar figure appeared at her door moments later, his presence calm and steady, though his expression carried that secretive glint she’d come to know.

“Obi-Wan?” She blinked as the door slid open. “What are you—?”

“Surprising you,” he interrupted gently, a small smile tugging at his lips. He stepped inside, the faint scent of sand and spice clinging to his robes. In his hands, he carried a simple box. “Did you think I’d let your birthday pass without acknowledgment?”

Her heart skipped. “I wasn’t sure you even remembered.”

He arched a brow, mock offense in his tone. “I’m a Jedi, Samantha, not heartless. Of course I remembered.”

She laughed softly as he set the box on her table. When she opened it, she found not a cake—because Obi-Wan wasn’t exactly the baking type—but a delicate arrangement of Corellian sweets, each piece dusted with shimmering sugar.

“You didn’t,” she whispered, touched.

“I did,” he said smoothly, though the faintest blush colored his cheeks. “I may not know the traditions perfectly, but I know birthdays are meant to be sweet.”

Her eyes softened. “You’re full of surprises.”

“That’s hardly true,” he murmured, stepping closer. “I’m rather predictable, at least with you.”

Before she could respond, he reached into his cloak and pulled out something else—a thin silver chain with a charm shaped like a star. He held it out, his fingers brushing hers as he placed it in her palm.

“For when I can’t always be here,” Obi-Wan said quietly, his voice low and rough around the edges. “A reminder that you’re never overlooked.”

Emotion caught in her throat. “Obi-Wan…”

He smiled faintly, tilting his head in that way he did when teasing her. “Now, I believe the tradition is that you make a wish.” He gestured to the sweets, a flick of his fingers lighting a small candle with a subtle push of the Force.

Samantha closed her eyes, breathed in, and blew the candle out. When she opened them again, Obi-Wan’s gaze hadn’t left her—steady, piercing, and soft all at once.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” she whispered.

“I did,” he countered firmly, his voice a rare mixture of warmth and conviction. “Because you matter more than you realize.”

The words hung between them, heavier than the glow of city lights or the hum of speeders. Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, she stepped closer, brushing her hand against his.

His composure faltered for just a moment, a flicker of want crossing his features. He leaned down, so close their foreheads nearly touched, his breath mingling with hers.

“Careful, Samantha,” he murmured, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “If you keep looking at me like that, I might forget I’m supposed to be the composed one.”

She laughed softly, her heart pounding, and for the first time that day, her birthday felt extraordinary—not because of gifts or sweets, but because of him.

______________________