⣷ hi. ⠀ hey. ⠀ hello, welcome. ⠀ i’m a new addition to the writer community on here after being a lurker. ⠀ firstly, an obligatory “ english isn’t my first language “ here. ⠀ i write for a litany of fandoms and i do it at my leisure, whenever my soul happens to feel drawn to it. ⠀ but i do try, i swear …
feel free to send requests and asks — i currently write for mike wheeler ( stranger things ), finn wolfhard, lee felix, han jisung, bang chan, and kim seungmin ( skz ). ⠀ i also typically only write works using gender neutral pronouns, so i probably won’t write anything that’s too gender – specific. ⠀ when sending reqs, please be as specific as you can, as it helps me get it done faster :) ⠀ and please, have patience, it may take a few days !! <3
disclaimers ໒ྀི ⠀ i don’t write outright smut. ⠀ and you’ll never catch me using ai for my writing ( blegh … ), i promise my excessive use of em dashes is just due to compulsively good grammar and an immersion into writing.
dni if :: basic dni criteria, zionist, pro cringe culture, pro ai, hyper – religious .
┈─ inbox status :ᘚ temporarily closed while i work on current reqs .ᐟ
hiii can i req getting tutored by mike wheeler but reader can’t concentrate on the work cuz shes just so enamoured by mike?
please 🙏
𐔌♱ 𐦯 bonds ── mike wheeler x gn!reader ꫂ᭪
✿⵰ ㅤㅤㅤ in 𝓌hich // mike’s had it with you and decides to give you a very much needed private study session ( in spite of your protests ).
warnings ❤︎ gender neutral reader, established relationship, making out, brief use of y/n, wc :: 1.7k
a/n :: hi anon !! thank u so much for your request, i hope this is kinda what u wanted ! this was my excuse to yap about chemistry :P didn’t know whether or not to write established relationship here, but i thought it was more fun, so i just did that ಥ_ಥ ironically enough, i wrote this instead of studying for my last ever math exam …
𝓲t’s an arctic, frigid tuesday, as is exactly in character for the cold winter months you’re in. your and mike’s bikes lay carelessly discarded in your house’s driveway, you both having been eager to escape the frostbite threatening your skin by shielding yourselves in your warm bedroom. the lack of heating at your school today did absolutely nothing in your favor, and neither did the graded test you received back from your science class. for you, at least.
“and— honestly, i don’t even get why he’d grade me that low. i mean, a D? i only got like, a few questions wrong,” you rant, planting yourself next to mike on your fluffy bedspread. your eyes trace the outline of his equally, if not more, fluffy hair, and you fight back a building urge to smooth a stray lock diverging from it — probably a doing of the cruelly raging wind outside. his cheeks are tinted a light red, and whether that’s from the aforementioned cold or the exertion from your bike ride, you can’t guess, but it makes him look all the more cute.
at your remark, he lets out a sound of astonishment.
“a few questions? you barely got seven out of twelve right. like, sixty percent. and that grade is after rounding up. that’s a disaster.”
of course big shot, a+ student, science ace mike wheeler would think that. you, on the other hand, think getting over half the questions right on your test from a few weeks ago is a noteworthy achievement nothing short of miraculous.
the reality is, you’re failing chemistry. hard. it’s not the teacher’s fault, you love mr. clarke, and the class is interesting, but his teaching doesn’t exactly take precedence over the one thing you deem more important in class — that being, staring at mike and sneaking your pen to his notebook to draw infuriatingly silly doodles beside his messily scrawled notes that he doesn’t really need anyway. and now it just so happens that, by mysterious means, you managed to lack all important knowledge for your next test.
“you definitely need to go over it again. come on, i’ll explain it to you! i got an A on that one, it was so easy,” he decides, standing up and walking over to where he knows you carelessly hoard your stray worksheets and exam papers as if he’s in charge here, and you groan heartily.
“mike, do we have to? we just got out of class.”
he seems to have struck gold, because you can hear a snicker from where he stands, back turned to you. and even though he’s being an irritating nerd right now, you can’t help but notice the way the angles of his shoulders fill out his sweater, blocking the warm light emanating from behind him like a halo. by god, you did not want to study right now. how could you, when you had a boy akin to an angel right here in your bedroom?
“oh yes, we do. i can’t possibly be with someone who’s failing my favorite subject.”
you scoff at that, debating on pushing him off your bed and onto the hard floor as he returns to you — aka his rightful place for being a dick. and an attractive one, at that. one whose hair you’d love to touch and whose neck practically called out for your lips on it right about now.
in your frustration, you retort, “well, at least i didn’t get a C in spanish.”
now it’s his time to groan.
“jesus, are you guys ever gonna let that go?”
the corners of your mouth curl in a laugh, ready to keep mocking him, but it all quickly fades when you see the overfilled notebook he pulls out of his bag. it’s then you realize, he’s actually serious about revising.
“okay, mr. clarke said the next test would only be on ionic compounds and bonds, so let’s just go over those again. simple stuff.”
he enunciates his intention by pushing his already too short sleeves to bunch up above his elbows, revealing his watch and the bracelet you made him once stacked on one of his wrists. your retinas try to burn into themselves the way his lanky forearms curve into his bony hands, and not to mention his perfectly long fingers, now clutching a pen in their grasp, reminding you of the bane of your existence, the only reason you couldn’t jump his bones.
“y’know, we could form an ionic bond,” you slur with a smile, dazedly leaning your cheek on his shoulder and placing a hand on his to bar him from using that damn pen.
he skims through the notebook on his lap dressed in coarse denim, a stark contrast to the way his soft hand feels below yours.
“no, that doesn’t even make sense, come on, you’ve gotta focus,” he assertively swats your hand away with his before waving it into the air in an attempt to shoo away your distraction, and he begins reading the first question from your bombed test aloud, “the following ionic compounds are found in common household products. write the formulas for each compound — you know how to do this! i know you do, i’ve seen it on your homework sheets!”
you giggle at his initial enthusiasm, all poised and hopeful. you’ve always admired his optimism and leadership. though right now, it was misguided.
“that was because i copied off of you, remember?”
you don’t miss the way mike takes a second to think back to, presumably, your last few post-school hangout sessions, wherein he naïvely gave in to just letting you copy his work in order to better use your precious time on — well, to put it bluntly — making out to your favorite album playing in the background. he briefly sighs at his own irresponsibility before deflecting back to the task at hand.
“okay, so, you know ionic bonds, right? two ions attract each other due to opposite charges and transfer valence electrons from a metal to a nonmetal, which is how we get cations and anions. opposites attract, basically. the ion that gets the electron becomes negative and the other positive. from that, you get ionic compounds. so for this question, you only have to determine the ions and charges,” he explains, and you catch maybe a fraction of it, too focused on the way his lips are moving and just how smart and conversant he sounds.
you’re really feeling the opposites attract part right about now: you, who’s flunking the class, with your boyfriend, who’s acing it. maybe you’re not too far removed from this chemistry thing after all.
to your dismay, but also your delight, he continues talking.
“first option’s potassium phosphate, so the answer would be…?” he quizzes you, encouragingly dragging out the last syllable as he points towards a section of his notes that is somehow supposed to be of help. it motivates you to actually think about it for a second so you can make him proud, but your old doodle of a cat on the margins of his notes looks leagues more interesting than the explanations and formulas next to it.
he clearly sees the way you’re struggling to fish for an answer and pitifully intervenes, “i just explained it to you! see, it’s a food additive, and the formula would be K₃PO₄. look here.”
he points to a more specific section of his notes and the smell of his cologne surrounding you softens the blow of any criticism he sends your way.
“okay, come on, next up, sodium chloride?”
silence. you start to laugh at yourself.
“y/n, this is the easiest one! it’s child’s play!”
“mike, i told you this wouldn’t work! just stop,” you playfully whine at him, leaning over to push at his shoulder.
“sodium chloride. NaCl — it’s table salt, y/n,” he sighs out somewhat dejectedly, running an ink-stained hand through his hair and down his face, “it’s the first thing we learned during this chapter.”
you bite your lip to stifle a giggle at how clueless he looks right about now. if you dared laugh at his bearish face, you know you wouldn’t hear the end of it.
“i’m sorry, mikey, alright? we can study another time, yeah? please?”
you blink up at him with an exaggerated pout, and you can make out a little smile gracing his face. when he turns his head to look down at you, you see it in all of its glory, and his now perfect hair shifts slightly. you internally cheer at how easily he gives in to your every whim. only with the help of your secret weapon, of course, that being the nickname only you get to call him.
“...it’s okay, baby. i guess you just need some more practice sessions with me from time to time to be ready,” he says, his voice soft, “and some motivation, hm?”
his hand drops the dreadful pen to snake around your shoulders, pulling you in and placing a reassuring kiss to your forehead. you nearly reel at the prospect of getting what you’ve been wanting this whole time. he knows you so well.
“yeah— yeah, i do. motivation, lots of that.”
at last, your hand finds purchase in his locks, and you stare past his impossibly long lashes before pulling him in for a much needed kiss. it’s deep, and he smiles into it, amused at your enthusiasm for having escaped the dreaded study session. a hand curled around your midsection pulls you away from him briefly.
“but we’re studying tomorrow, yeah? the test is friday. no exceptions,” he pants, breath mingling with your own, and you tug him back in by his collar to stop the endless chain of assertions.
“oh, shut up, nerd. tomorrow. just let it go already,” you breathe out in between kisses, pushing his notebook and the now forgotten exam off of his lap to take back your rightful place stolen by them.
they’d just have to wait their turn.
✿⵰ ㅤㅤㅤ ❨ DRABBLE ❩ in 𝓌hich // you work an underpaid part – time job at scoops ahoy in starcourt mall, and a playful interaction with mike ensues.
warnings ❤︎ gender neutral reader, established relationship, flirting, kinda suggestive, mike is kind of a cocky lil bitch actually but we love him for it, wc :: 727
a/n :: first ever fic posted … sweats nervously … hi dear fellow mike lovers … this includes season 4 mike in a season 3 setting, don’t ask! this is an au where scoops ahoy is still up and running in s4! i guess! and also my 1OO % real and totally confirmed headcanon that mike is, for some reason, obsessed with boats!
𝔂our hand vigorously wipes a damp piece of cloth against the counter to rid it of the leftover chocolate ice cream stains. the stupid, dorky scoops ahoy hat atop your head shifts, threatening to fall, and you angrily groan at its audacity before turning around to chuck it into the open frosted window leading to the room in the back. go to hell, hat. company policy, my ass.
as you deposit the now sticky cloth into a stray bucket, silently moping about your lousy paycheck for such a demeaning job, you reapply your cherry-flavored lip balm in the reflection of the tissue dispenser… before catching a glimpse of your favorite sight to see.
michael fucking wheeler, your dear boyfriend, a sight for sore eyes, walks into your place of work, immediately sweetening the already tooth-rotting atmosphere of the ice cream parlor. you make a haphazard effort to brush down any stray hairs caused by the offending hat and now feel a twinge more self-conscious at the unserious sailor uniform they make you wear.
he spots you and that typical cocky grin graces his face, one thumb carelessly hooked into the backpack strap on his shoulder. his elbow-length hellfire club baseball tee looks so damn good on him you could just about yank him across the counter and devour him like an ice cream sundae. not like that, actually. you’d seen enough of those today.
his saunter comes to a halt in front of you, and you’re forced to peer up at him through your eyelashes despite him leaning his palms on the counter. you know the words sitting at his tongue right now, aware that he’d usually try to make some snide comment inquiring about whether or not you’d “checked the cargo before we set sail, captain”, but it seems now he’s exhausted the bottomless pit of sailing-related jokes he’s typically got on deck — damn him and his weird boat facts whenever you hang — because he’s not bellowing anything at all this time.
you giggle at his demeanor and take the initiative to tease him a little bit.
“hi there, what can i get you, sir?”
the other corner of his mouth follows the one already raised, and you can see a twinkle of determination in his eyes.
“hey,” he speaks in an almost flirtatious manner, acting as though he’d never stepped foot in this establishment before, “ah, i don’t know, what would you recommend?”
your eyes glance down at the yellowed cash register sitting near your hands, really pretending to mull it over, giving your performance of a lifetime.
“hmm, i’d say anything cherry.”
you punctuate the last word with an assured look back into his eyes. he full-on grins this time, and his tongue ghosts over his bottom lip, breaking his eye contact with you and beginning to slip away from his role as confident stranger. you know he caught exactly what you meant, and you just know he’s thinking of how clever that one was.
for a second there, he’s clearly thinking of a reply to knock yours off of first place, and the corners of his eyes crinkle as he does. he braces himself by leaning forward, his chin resting in his palm.
“oh, yeah, that sounds pretty good, but i was more thinking your number.”
you almost have to bite through your cherry-clad bottom lip to prevent yourself from laughing at that, and yet, the gaze he accentuated his words with had your knees feeling a little too wobbly for your liking. in an attempt to stabilize yourself, you mirror his posture.
“oh, i’m not sure if we have that… i’ll have to check in the back,” you muse, batting your eyelashes at your boyfriend, alluding to the many, many times he’s come to visit you — not for a taste of the ice cream, no, but instead your lips in a storage closet, a broom handle blocking outsider entry; no visible light except from the mall’s lightbulbs pooling in like a puddle from the gap in the door, his hands encircling your waist, and—
“well then, go ahead, don’t leave a paying customer waiting.”
his eyes bore so deep into yours that you’re now almost certain he could see the sordid thoughts playing out in your head, like a movie in the theater a few stores down from here.
