۫ ⊹ michelle @mjisdying - Tumblr Blog

── mjisdying's intro !

MICHELLE ── she.her ⸝⸝ XVII yrs old ⸝⸝ multifandom

feast your eyes on: rules ݁ ˖ masterlist ݁ ˖

#𓏲ּ𝄢 mjisdying ۫ ׅ #𓏲ּ𝄢 michelle's letters ۫ ׅ #intro post #introduction #blog intro #pinned intro #introductory post #pinned post

THE BOY WITH THE PLATINUM HAIR.

DALLAS WINSTON X READER

feast your eyes on: rules ݁ ˖ masterlist ݁ ˖

⭑ synop: freshly kicked out, you thought you had escaped your previous life, until a familiar face appeared. or ,, continuation of pt.1 !!!

⭑ warnings: mentions of abusive/neglectful parents (reader & dallas), no use of y/n, angsty ending, not proofread.

⭑ w/c: 1,521 words

⭑ a/n: this is kinda lazy i apologise 4 dat, english is not my first language! ooc dallas because i kind of gave up near the end

“Dal, did you have any buddies back in New York?”

Ponyboy’s unexpected question earned him a surprising pause from Dallas, the older boy almost choking on his smoke due to that fact.

He immediately schooled his expression, quirking a brow at the youngest Curtis brother. “Buddies? ‘Course not, man. Nobody in New York has buddies.” He took a proper drag this time, blowing the smoke into Pony’s face.

Johnny finally piped up from beside the two, staring up at Dally. “You must’ve, man. Ain’t that get lonely?” This earned a glare from Dallas and a scoff, shaking his head. “I don’t get lonely.”

Then, he got wistfully silent, a rarity from the loudmouth. Pony and Johnny, noticing this change, chose not to comment on it. The… attentiveness from the smaller boys suddenly struck something deep in him, long suppressed, and he remembered something important.

“… I had one.”

Tulsa was different to New York in a lot of ways. While the big city was restless, loud and suffocating, Tulsa was lonely, empty and borderline hostile. Everyone knew everyone in Tulsa, and newcomers were hard to come by.

That’s how you felt walking off that shabby bus, glancing around the shockingly empty streets. There was a clear absence of factory-induced smog lingering in the air, and, for once in your life, the silence you'd been chasing felt biting.

Nevertheless, you began walking, determined to find somewhere to sleep for the night.

You couldn't bear staying in that horrible house any longer. Your parents had just gotten worse and worse, until it got too much to handle, and you had to flee. Unfortunately, the only train tickets available at such a late hour were to some city in New Jersey — you shuddered at the thought — or Tulsa, Oklahoma. Naturally, you chose the lesser evil of the two.

As you walked, you finally came across some throngs of people, all looking quite like the fat cats you saw when you snuck into the wealthier neighbourhoods to rifle through their dumpsters.

Paying them no mind, you continued to walk… but they didn't seem to take kindly to you on their turf.

“Hey! Greaser!” Called out a particularly grating voice, the group of them all glaring at you when you looked over. “Get back to your slum, why don’t ‘cha?!”

You merely rolled your eyes as their chortles reached your ears, turning your head away and continuing to walk.

A rough hand shoved you from behind, and when you whipped around, you were pressed against a wall. “You ignorin’ us, scum?” This blond kid pressed you up further against the wall, practically spitting in your face. “Get. Back. To. Your. Slum.”

You cringed as his face neared yours, hands reaching out to shove him backwards. “Beat it, snob. I’m not wasting my time on you.” You scoffed, your shoulder colliding with his as you moved to walk away again.

You couldn't risk getting into a scuffle on your first night; a good motel wouldn't rent to a busted-up-looking person.

A taller brunette stepped out in front of you, making you stumble over your steps in mild surprise. Before you could react, he grabbed you and spun you around, holding you motionless as the red-faced prissy boy you walked away from approached.

Before you could spit out another insult — one already on the tip of your tongue — his fist connected with your face, his ring nicking your cheekbone as the sound rang out through the area.

You inhaled sharply as the stinging spread across your face, the light trickle of blood hardly registering in your brain as he went to strike you again.

Over and over.

Finally, after an unknown amount of time, you'd managed to evade their grasp and sprint away from the group. After running for a few minutes, you slowed down by a dingy-looking bar, checking your face in the rearview mirror of some car out front.

There was dried blood around your nostrils, a bruised eye, a split lip…

You didn't look too hot.

A grimace tugged at your face, and as you stepped away from the car, you ended up bumping into a group of people.

“Watch where you're walking!” A deep voice snapped, shoving you away from their body. Immediately, you turned around to confront them: “You watch where you're walking!”

Your day had already been terrible; this might be the tipping point. The taller boy’s eyes widened at the sight of your face. Surely you didn't look that bad.

“What? You ain’t ever seen someone beat up before?” You barked, fists clenching at your sides as you finally took the boy in.

Brown eyes with a ring of blue around them, brown hair with... almost white roots.

Your eyebrows furrowed at the sight, but your anger didn't dispel. At least, not until the guy murmured your name.

Surely not.

“Dal?” Your voice came out uncertain, a slight tugging at your head as you stared at him.

The guy—who you'd now discovered to be Dallas—went taut at the confirmation, before surprisingly tugging you into a bone-crushing embrace. “Holy hell…” he murmured against your hair, one big hand cradling the back of your head.

Your body went completely taut before you, finally, melted into it, arms reaching up to clutch the back of his shirt.

You stayed in this position for a good minute before a guy behind Dallas cleared his throat awkwardly, causing the greaser to immediately pull away with pale pink cheeks.

His face fell back into that familiar scowl as he turned to address his gang, but he didn't move too far away from your body.

After some… awkward interactions with Dallas’s new friends—they weren't technically new, but compared to you? They were fresh—Dallas had managed to drag you away so he could interact with you alone.

You two sat on the curb behind some gas station, Dallas chain-smoking as you spoke to him. “Why’d you dye your hair? You look like some… rock star or something.”

A rough snort escaped his mouth, along with some smoke, as he glanced at you. “You need to stop with your starin’, man.” He exhaled the smog into your face, snickering when you coughed.

You choked a little, waving a hand in front of your face as you shifted closer to nudge him. “Dip.” You snided, not moving away. “I’m looking, not staring. There's a difference.” You crossed your arms.

Dallas’s grin only widened. “Alright, wise guy, whatever you say.”

A—surprisingly natural—silence fell between the two of you, but you broke it this time:

“I missed you.”

The words felt foreign on your tongue, far too soft for someone as hardened as you. Nonetheless, they came out.

The brunet beside you went completely rigid at your almost silent admission, choking on his drag and spluttering out the smoke. “What?” he rasped, thumping his chest with a fist.

You could feel your cheeks begin to burn but, for some reason, you didn't back down. “I missed you, Dal.” You repeated slowly, enunciating each syllable.

He stared at you incredulously, as if you'd just grown a second head and simultaneously began speaking in tongues.

“I… heard you.” He started, the cigarette burning between his fingers as he blinked owlishly. He shook his head, glancing away once more. “Stop bein’ a sap.” He huffed.

You rolled your eyes, shifting closer to steal his cig, taking a drag and blowing the smog away from him. “I mean it.”

For a few moments, he could only stare at you. He didn't even let out a scathing retort as you stole his cigarette; all he could do was swallow harshly.

You glanced away for a moment, but a calloused touch on your jaw dragged your gaze back to his.

His mouth moved, as if attempting to form words that just couldn't come out. His eyes flickered over your features, letting out a low exhale.

You stared at each other for a beat before he hesitantly leaned in, hand still cupping your jaw with surprising tenderness for such a big guy.

He paused—as if waiting for a rejection that never came—before leaning in and closing the distance between your mouths.

He exhaled against your lips, moving as if he were inexperienced. “I guess you missed me too?” You broke the silence, feeling him snort against your mouth. “Shut up, sap.”

BONUS:

“These are your friends?” You murmured to Dallas sceptically, arms crossed as you tilted your head at his… gang.

He furrowed his brows at you. “Yeah, and?” He questioned, scrunching up his face in response to yours.

His friends stood there awkwardly, but Two-bit (strange name) was clearly fighting back the urge to make a joke. Dallas likely had threatened him.

“No, no, nothing…” You shook your head, cocking a brow. “Just thought they'd be... tuffer.”

They all (excluding Darrel) scoffed at that and began protesting, earning a snort from you.

“That one’s cute though.” You gestured at Johnny, causing Dallas to shove you back to end the interaction early. “What? He is!” You continued with a laugh, enjoying his reaction.

#𓏲ּ𝄢 mjisdying ۫ ׅ #𓏲ּ𝄢 michelle's letters ۫ ׅ #dallas winston #dallas winston x reader #dallas winston x y/n #dallas x reader #dally the outsiders #dally winston #dally x reader #the outsiders #dallas winston imagine #dallas winston fic

── the outsiders

dallas winston

the boy with the platinum hair. x reader ݁ ˖ angsty ending ݁ ˖ baby dallas ݁ ˖ pt.2

darrel curtis

t/b/a

johnny cade

t/b/a

ponyboy curtis

t/b/a

sodapop curtis

t/b/a

steve randle

t/b/a

two-bit matthews

t/b/a

THE BOY WITH THE PLATINUM HAIR.

DALLAS WINSTON X READER

feast your eyes on: rules ݁ ˖ masterlist ݁ ˖

⭑ synop: NYC was harsh, especially for the kids. luckily, dallas had you, and you had him... or so you thought. or ,, one last conversation before dallas moved to tulsa.

⭑ warnings: mentions of abusive/neglectful parents (reader & dallas), no use of y/n, angsty ending, not proofread.

⭑ w/c: 1,208 words

⭑ a/n: pt. 2 here!! constructive criticism appreciated since english is not my native language!

New York’s nights were a level of cold no other state could match. The temperature would nip at your skin, turning your cheeks and fingers crimson while stealing the feeling out of your body.

People visiting would rather hide indoors than get used to it, while the locals couldn't imagine a life without that familiar nip.

This was no different for Dallas Winston. A young boy with blonde hair that looked white when the sun shone on it, brown eyes with a ring of blue around them. From a young age, he knew that to be different was to be hated, so he never let his guard down. He was taken in by gangs who lurked in the dark alleyways of the city, though never stuck around long enough to call them his friends.

He was relatively lonely, not wanting to accept charity from people he deemed to be pitying him, never having a buddy to lean on when things got too tough.

Except for you.

He couldn't quite remember when you showed up, and you couldn't remember a life without him. Two small children, running around the streets together. When the two of you had both been kicked out for the night, you'd run around and steal food from stores, startle even smaller children, and attempt to make the most of your evenings.

Which was the case for this night.

Sitting on the curb outside of a corner store, the two of you were chatting, occasionally jumping at the distant sounds of gunshots or sirens. There were several things you became immune to in NYC; the smog, the yelling, but never the shots.

Dallas was smoking, the burning of the cigarette glowing ember against his pale complexion, drawing your eyes to him once more. His own gaze was drawn to every movement around him — cars, figures, just in case someone tried something.

Despite his unwavering focus, his glare kept flickering back to yours, brows furrowing almost imperceptibly. “What’re ya starin’ at, huh?” he finally snapped, smoke billowing out from his mouth.

You blinked out of your daze, immediately looking elsewhere. “Nothing.” You murmured, playing with the frayed end of your sleeve.

“Uh-huh.” he hummed, not at all convinced, but decided to drop it for now, knowing he wouldn't get an answer out of you. “You gotta stop with your starin’, man.” he added, taking another drag of his cig.

“I don’t stare.” You defended weakly, crossing your arms like a petulant child (to which you were, despite your protests) and frowning. He snorted at your expression, deeming himself far too mature for such… childish displays.

A comfortable silence befell the two of you, a common thing on those cold nights. Surprisingly, it wasn't you who broke it this time, it was Dallas.

“You ever think about…” he exhaled the dark cloud out of his mouth, moving his scrutiny up to the sky. You couldn't ever see the stars in New York, too much funk being expelled into the air. The only time you’d see them was when you left the city.

“… leavin’?” he finally finished, unusually vulnerable tonight. You looked back over at him, your eyes flickering over his face.

There was something... deeper in his eyes tonight. Maybe he’d gotten into a really bad fight with his dad? That was easy to assume, there wasn't a day that passed that Mr Winston hadn't upset Dallas one way or another. Be it with his brutal fists or his heavy absence, something was bound to hurt the platinum-haired boy.

“Leaving here?” you clarified, shifting a little closer as the cold bit at you. He only nodded, not saying much else, leaving you to ponder. “Mm… I guess so.” You finally responded, scuffing your worn shoes on the asphalt beneath your feet.

“Why?” You asked, looking back over at him. He seemed to get quieter, a shadow falling over his eyes as he glanced at the ground beneath his feet, finally snuffing the cigarette out.

He turned to look at you after a few moments of contemplation, wearing his bottom teeth with his sharp teeth. “I dunno, man… just thinkin’.” He settled, but it was clear something was wearing on his conscience.

Just as he knew not to press you on your lingering eyes, you knew not to push him to spill what was on his mind. So, you shrugged, shifting closer again.

“Where would you wanna go?” You inquired, watching him attempt to blow the hair out of his eyes. He never had grease in his hair like the older boys he hung out with, despite the length of his fair locks.

He merely shrugged at your question, flicking ash off his shabby, well-worn jeans. “Somewhere my old man can’t find me, I know that much.” he punctuated his sentence with a weak laugh, seeking to ease your worries.

Dallas could always read you. He needed to be observant to ensure no guys (or girls) had malicious intent when talking to him, so he, eventually, learned how to see right through you.

You hummed, tucking your hands into your tattered sleeves to hide them from the frost. “Well… I’d wanna go to California.” You nodded, striving to lighten the mood. “Sandra Dee lives there, you know?”

Dallas let out a genuine chuckle, that familiar boyish gleam coming back to his face at your statement. “Yeah? You gonna be some TV star?” He nudged you, pointed canines peeking out from behind his top lip.

You nodded decidedly, a grin of your own tugging at your face. “Yeah! I’m gonna be on the movies at the drive-ins, and I won't make you pay to see me.” You scooched closer, letting your knee press against his.

Dallas’s grin didn't falter at your proximity. “Generous, ain’tcha?” he snickered, almost mocking you, but you knew that it wasn't meant to be spiteful.

You merely huffed, looking away from him again. “Yeah, I am.” You pressed your legs together, attempting to conserve heat. “And I’d take you with me to California.” You decided.

Dallas seemed to go completely still at your declaration, his body going taut under his thin clothes. All he could do was hum, looking away again.

That familiar silence fell between the two of you, lingering for the rest of the night until you were forced to drag yourself back to your house before your parents got mad.

You expected to see Dallas later that day, but he never showed up. You looked around everywhere when you couldn't find him, eventually resorting to warily approaching his dad’s flat to see if he was ill or something.

Mr Winston, as expected, was drunk out of his mind, slurring over his words. The only thing you could pick out was “threw that grub out on the streets” and “won’t come back”, before the door was slammed in your face.

That conversation stuck with you, not because of the topic, but because it was the last one you shared with him before he disappeared.

That night, you cried your little heart out, knowing your best friend was gone.

You held onto hope, but as the weeks passed, you knew you’d never see the boy with the platinum hair again.

── stranger things

mike wheeler

don't leave me. byler ݁ ˖ fluff ݁ ˖ mild angst

will byers

don't leave me. byler ݁ ˖ fluff ݁ ˖ mild angst

jane hopper

to be updated

dustin henderson

to be updated

lucas sinclair

to be updated

max mayfield

to be updated

steve harrington

to be updated

nancy wheeler

to be updated

jonathan byers

to be updated

robin buckley

to be updated

eddie munson

to be updated

DON'T LEAVE ME.

WILL BYERS X MIKE WHEELER

⭑ synop: their D&D game just ended, and now they're all heading up for one last meal together before the party separates. will mike finally gather the courage to confront will, or will he let him slip away one last time?

⭑ warnings: fluff ݁ ˖ minor angst

⭑ w/c: 1,959 words

⭑ a/n: give me requests plspls im so bored!!!

It’s… over.

They've all graduated now. Freshly.

Lucas and Max ended up together together. They're happy.

Dustin is valedictorian, going to some… prestigious school. He’s happy.

Will’s grown up. He’s going to go somewhere big, artsy, somewhere that’ll appreciate his talents. He’s happy.

Mike? Mike isn't happy. In fact, he hasn't been happy in a good while.

He should be relieved. I mean, them all getting through school is proof that the world didn't end. That their plan worked, that Vecna was defeated, but… god, he can't possibly be happy about this.

Watching everyone put their D&D folders back onto the shelf, one last time. Their final campaign before everyone splits up and those weekends spent together just… diminish.

Max puts hers on the shelf first. She's crying. Next is Lucas. He's fighting back tears, but… he's not slick. Dustin comes after. He pauses, stares at the folder, before walking upstairs after the others.

Then there's Will.

Oh, Will.

He's crying too.

Mike can't help but stare after him. Stare in a way he's found himself doing for… years now.

They've known each other for years. Been best friends for years. He was the last person Will spoke to before he went missing. He was the one Will sat beside in the cinema when Starcourt was still around. He was the one Will looked at when he came out.

Now… it's over.

Mike doesn't realise he's moving until he’s dropped his own folder on the table, right before Will can put his next to the others’.

He can't let Will leave. Not yet. Not… not now.

Mike’s still moving subconsciously, his body driven by instinct as he reaches out, grabbing Will’s wrist.

“Will, I…” he starts, the words dying on his tongue when the shorter boy turns around.

He’s beautiful, even when he's crying. Brown hair slightly tousled, new clothes that are clearly not just Jonathan’s old hand-me-downs this time... and those eyes. Hazel eyes staring at him, brimming with tears and confusion.

Will swallowed down the lump in his throat, his eyebrows slightly pinched as he looked at Mike. “Are you okay?”

What a silly question.

It's obvious Mike’s not okay. He's not been okay in a good while.

He's clearly struggling with his words, mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water. He's struggling, he's always struggled to find the words… but he's trying. He's trying for Will.

“You can't leave.” he finally forces out, sounding nothing like the… aspiring writer he is, and more like the small boy Will used to know. The small boy Will used to hang out with every day, the small boy Will is moving away from.

Will’s obviously confused, smiling a little from disbelief as he watches Mike flounder. “I can’t… go get my dinner?” he questioned the taller boy.

“You can't leave… me.”

Oh.

Will’s faint smile dropped, gaze unwavering from Mike. “… what?” He couldn't let himself get his hopes up. He couldn't let himself believe that something would come of… this. Not after the moment on the radio tower. Or their long nights spent alone. Or…

“Will, I’m so stupid.” Mike sniffled, trying to keep himself composed, but he was failing. He always fails when it comes to things like these.

He failed every interaction with Will. He yelled at him in the rain. He didn't hug him in Lenora. He didn’t tell Will how he felt on the tower.

“I’ve been so stupid.” His grip on Will’s hand tightened, his free one gripping too, desperately. “I’m so sorry, Will.”

Will’s eyes furrowed, feeling the same way he felt eighteen months ago.

“I’m sorry. I mean, not sorry about what you said. That came out wrong.”

Mike always struggled with words.

“Friends? No thanks.”

He had let his little heart hope in that moment. Hope that Mike returned his feelings, hope that… that all of his yearning wasn't just for nothing. Wasn't just for some... Tammy.

“Best friends.”

Robin had been right.

“Sorry about what?” Will tentatively asked, watching Mike attempt to fight back his tears like he always did. He always keeps it in, and now…

“I didn’t tell you the truth,” Mike whispered, his voice breaking as he stepped closer to Will, the D&D still idle in the brunet boy’s hand.

“Mike-” Will tried. “No, Will, please.” Mike cut him off, bottom lip trembling as he fought himself to get the words out. “I… I wasn’t being truthful.”

“I don't want you to leave me. I don’t… I don't want you to go away to some… art school. No, wait— I do want you to, I want you happy, but…”

The irony of the future storyteller struggling with his words.

“I don't want you to leave… me. I don't want to be friends.” Will was… confused. His heart was constantly dropping, beating too fast hard, stopping altogether...

“I mean… I want to be friends, but…” His mouth stayed open, his brows furrowing again. “Will. I don't… I know El didn’t ask for the painting.”

The basement seemed to just go… silent. No faint whirring of the fan they'd plugged in, no distant clink of cutlery hitting the plates upstairs… just, silence.

Will couldn't breathe for a moment. His mouth just went completely dry, and all he could do was stare at the dark-haired boy.

Mike stayed quiet as well, waiting for a response and… when he didn't get one, he panicked. “I know… I’ve known it was your idea, not…”

He exhaled shudderingly. “Not…” He couldn't say her name. El. Eleven. Jane. He still wasn't over her death. Nobody was. He felt so… guilty about this.

“… Mike.”

He shook his head. “No, no, Will.” He looked back at Will again. I’ve always known it was you… why didn't you tell me?” his voice broke.

Will was the one floundering now, struggling with his words. “Why… why didn't you tell me you knew?” he countered.

“Don’t do that.” Mike pleaded, his voice quiet, shaking. “Why didn't you tell me it was you? Why?”

Will broke eye contact, glancing at his feet. “How was I meant to? You would've... it wouldn’t have meant as much.”

Mike let out some… choked sound of both shock and sorrow, gently tugging Will closer, trying to meet his gaze. “Wouldn't have meant as much?”

Wouldn't have meant as much?

“Will… it means the world to me,” Mike whispered, silently pleading with Will to look at him, to notice him, to stare at him the way he stares at him. “You mean the world to me.” he murmured under his breath.

Will’s eyes snapped up to meet Mike’s, his heart hurting at the pure yearning in the taller boy’s eyes. “Don’t…”

“I’m the heart… I’m your heart, but... how am I meant to beat if I’m not in your chest?” Mike asked, and Will stayed silent…

Before he snorted — a sad, wet giggle.

“Have you been practicing that?” he asked, voice wavering with both amusement and despair. Mike’s eyes widened, before blood rushed to his cheeks. “… was it good?”

Will smiled slightly, sniffling as he fought back tears. “Kinda cheesy,” he murmured, biting his bottom lip. “But yeah, I guess it worked.”

Mike smiled slightly in return, eyes glossy as he attempted to blink away his tears, moving in closer. “I wish you had told me.”

God, Mike felt guilty for even thinking like this. He had always known it was Will’s idea for the painting, not El’s, but he let himself believe.

Now, with El gone, he was finally letting himself mention it? He was disgusting.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered, his voice getting quieter and quieter. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve told her. I’m terrible.”

“Mike.”

Will’s hands were gripping Mike’s suddenly, the folder clattering to the floor, but neither of them cared much. He was crying at this point. “Just… tell me.”

Mike hesitated, seeming to struggle for air seeming to struggle with himself. “… I like you, Will.” his voice broke as he spoke the boy’s name.

It was like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, but a heavier one was placed in return. He didn't deserve Will. He hadn't deserved Eleven.

Will’s breathing was shuddering as he let go of one of his hands, moving his own up to wipe a tear off Mike’s cheek.

Mike started shaking as silent tears fell down his face, leaning into Will’s hands as he wept. “Please don’t leave me. Don’t leave me too.” he pleaded.

Will let his own tears fall freely, pressing his forehead to Mike’s. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “I’m here.”

Will… wasn't going to leave him. He wasn't going to drift away from him forever and go get some… cool boyfriend.

Some boyfriend that would never understand him as he understood him. Someone who wasn't there when Will was possessed. Who didn't sleep next to the boy’s bed, who didn't comfort him when he had nightmares, who didn't deal with otherworldly threats with him?

Mike’s eyes darted between Will’s hazel ones and his lips, naturally. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve told you that day at the Squawk.”

He sniffled again, before shoving his face into Will’s neck, arms looping around his waist and crushing the boy against him.

Will let out a choked breath before melting into the embrace, pressing his cheek to the top of Mike’s head.

“I’m sorry.” Mike repeated, not loosening his grip on the shorter brunet. “I’m okay… being your friend if you want.” his voice cracked at the offer again, still shaking with each cry.

Will choked on his own spit at Mike’s words, coaxing the other boy’s head up. “Why… would I want to be just friends?”

Mike’s eyes widened, taking the question the wrong way for a moment. He doesn't want to be friends? Oh. Oh no. He doesn't want to be friends.

“Will.” Mike straightened up suddenly, almost headbutting Will as a result. “Will, don’t… you mean it?”

He was so sure he’d been too late. It had been… what, eighteen months since Will essentially confessed to Mike? And… what, he decided to just, let it simmer? Indirectly reject him?

“God, Will, I don't deserve you.” he sniffled, bumping his forehead against the artist’s. “I don’t deserved you.” he whispered, eyes drifting down to Will’s lips again, letting them linger.

When Will parted his lips, Mike seemed to gain some semblance of confidence, moving in closer until their noses brushed. “Tell me to stop.”

Will didn’t hesitate to speak, eyes never wavering away from Mike’s. “Don’t stop.”

Mike let out a sound deep in his throat, hesitating for a moment before letting his lips brush against Will’s. Gently, tentatively, as if the slightest touch could break Will.

Will huffed against Mike, hands moving to grasp his shoulders and pull him into a proper kiss.

It was like… everything was okay for once. For a moment, they could… breathe.

It was like when they held hands as kids, before Lonnie screamed at Will and he never tried to do so again.

It was like when they hung out one one-on-one, before the whole… interdimensional threat situation.

It was like they weren't Hawkin’s saviours, or the sorcerer and the storyteller, they were just… Will and Mike.

Like it always had been.

Like it always would be.

It was Will who pulled away first, letting out a soft chuckle as Mike followed him desperately, attempting to keep the kiss going.

“We need to go upstairs…” Will protested weakly, smiling to himself as Mike nudged their noses together once more.

“Yeah, yeah…” Mike’s hands slid to Will’s waist, pulling him closer. “One more. One more.” he pleaded, and Will couldn't help but give in.

── masterlist !

fandoms i'm in:

alice: madness returns ݁ ˖ arcane ݁ ˖ bully ݁ ˖ dead poets society ݁ ˖ heathers ݁ ˖ it (2017/2019) ݁ ˖ miss peregrine's home for peculiar children ݁ ˖ scream ݁ ˖ spider-man ݁ ˖ stardew valley ݁ ˖ stranger things ݁ ˖ the black phone ݁ ˖ the outsiders ݁ ˖ the owl house

if we're both going crazy, then we'll go crazy together, right? ݁ ˖ stranger things

get tough like me, and you don't get hurt. ݁ ˖ the outsiders

still updating!

── michelle's rulebook !

i am seventeen years old, but am totally fine with adults interacting as long as the comments are appropriate!

dni if ──

bigoted in any way (homophobic, racist, transphobic, misogynistic, zionist)݁ ݁ ˖ support/indulge in illegal ships ݁ ˖ are rude ݁ ˖ or under the age of 13 !

i write ──

fluff ݁ ˖ maybe angst if i can handle it ݁ ˖ character x character ݁ ˖ x reader ݁ ˖ mmmaybe smut...??

i won't write ──

noncon ݁ ˖ any weird fetishes ݁ ˖ incest ݁ ˖ etc etc

my reqs as of now are: open !