Hi, welcome to my blog! My name is Sebastian. I don't post often but I'm always lurking. I love talking to new people so my dms are open for friendly chats! I'm also very active on discord. I love listening to music and playing dbd. I dream about Michael Myers every night and my room is covered in him, he's so dreamy.
Requests: Open! ‹𝟑.ᐟ
Status: In Progress
Current requests: 8
When sending in a request please keep in mind: . ✦ ݁ ˖
I do NOT write smut! (but I will write suggestive)
I do write for fem reader, GN, and masc! But I do tend to write all reader inserts without physicals descriptions or pronouns!!
I do have a life outside of this blog and I do not have to write every request I get!
Please try to be clear in what you're requesting! I have a hard time understanding what people want sometimes!
I mostly write oneshots or one-off things, please try to keep requests short and oneshot writeable. I struggle to write longer things/ longer ideas. so if you have a long-fic idea im NOT your person for that! ^^
Who I write for! (Feel free to request for characters that aren't on this list)
Thomas hewitt, Michael Myers, Vincent & Bo Sinclair, Art the clown, Pennywise
Soldier Boy & Dean winchester
Sonic & Shadow (whether x reader or sonadow!)
Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove, Enzo (Dmitri Antonov), Byler
Leon Kennedy
Megumi, Itadori, Sukuna, Choso, Toji
Aki or Akiangel
Eyeless Jack, Jeff the killer, Hoodie, Slenderman
Taglist:
#Mikeyposts - regular fic posts
#Mikeyreqs - Requests ive done
#Mikeyrambles - just me rambling about stuff
Slashers:
Pennywise:
Guilt
Request - Dating a pothead
Request - General relationship hcs
Michael Myers:
Combing Michaels hair
Gifting The Shape on Christmas
Michael taking care of you - drabble
You’re mine.
Request - Talkative S/O
Request - Valentines Day
Request - Comforting you after a nightmare
Request - Reaction to you getting your period
Request - Clingy S/O
Request - S/O collects porcelain dolls
Thomas Hewitt:
What Tommy would be like in a relationship
Request - Isn't she better than me?
Request - Talkative S/O
Request - Valentines Day
Request - Thomas proposing
Request - Comforting you after a nightmare
Request - Reaction to you getting your period
Art The Clown:
Request: Devil in disguise
Bo Sinclair
Request - Valentines Day
Request - Comforting you after a nightmare
Request - S/O collects porcelain dolls
Vincent Sinclair
Request - Valentines Day
Request - Reaction to you getting your period
Drabble
Request - S/O collects porcelain dolls
Jensen Ackles characters - Soldier Boy & Dean (currently)
Soldier Boy
Change PT. 1 | PT. 2
Request - Girly S/O
request - hurt / comfort with clingy S/O
Dean Winchester
Waves | Part 1 | Part 2
Request - Jingly girl
Sonic Masterlist
Shadow the hedgehog
Valentine's confession
I believe in a thing called Love - Request
Tastes like strawberry - Request
Ultraviolence - Request
Sonic the hedgehog
...
Sonadow
No good without you
Stranger Things:
Steve Harrington:
Boyfriend Steve
Request - Fearless
Billy Hargrove:
Do I Wanna Know?
Request - Fearless
Byler:
I've been gone.
Leon Kennedy:
Sudden
Halloween with Leon
Missing you
Leon comforts you after you break up with your toxic bf
JJK Masterlist:
jjk boys being clingy
jjk character reactions to "Im breaking up with you" pt. 1 | pt. 2
i have a michael request if you’re feeling up to it :)
how about a summer day with him? we always read about what it’s like during the fall and even winter, but not much of hot summer days. would he go swimming with reader? would he like to go on hikes? anything summer related lol.
it’s so beautiful outside today and it made me think about it.
A/N: hihi love, thank you so much for this request. wow its been way too long since its written for michael and im way out of my element so excuse this for being short and lacking, i do want to work on something more later on but im starting slow for now. anyways i hope you enjoy!
𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍 .ᐟ.ᐟ
Michael isn't very fond of summer, it’s too hot and makes it very uncomfortable to wear his mask and mechanics suit. you wont find him outside for long, he would only step out to feel the sun beam down on him, but once he gets too warm, he steps back into the cool air of your home. he would go out more when the sun sets and it cools down some, but even then some nights its just a little too warm for him.
Michael would become very bored during summer since he doesn’t go out much, which in turn leads to him annoying you. he would wait around corners to scare you, or simply spend too long staring at you from across the room as if he wanted something, but when you asked he would walk away.
When you propose the idea of going out for a hike or a swim in a secluded lake, he stares at you. He almost considers it, out of boredom, but ultimately walks away to let the idea roll around in his head. He isn’t much of a trip guy, he usually stays in town and doesn’t stray too far since it’s home and he’s familiar with its layout.
Michael thinks a hike is pointless, walking through the forest on a hot day for no apparent reason and getting sweaty. He did enjoy summer when he was a kid, although he faintly remembers the summers he had. He did enjoy being outside and soaking up the sun, but as you get older, it becomes hotter and less enjoyable.
He isn't sure about a swim either. Sure, he would watch you go for a swim, but I doubt he would be stepping into the water himself. He isn’t picky about activities, per se, he just thinks in black and white about them. If it doesn’t benefit him in some way, he probably won’t do it.
A picnic he may be able to get behind, but it’s in your backyard, sitting on an old blanket as you bring out lunch and a dessert. He would stand at the edge of the blanket for longer than necessary before sitting down, legs straight out and back slightly hunched.
While hes comfortable around you and has taken off his mask before, he only lifts it up to his nose to eat. its not the most efficient, but it will do. Surprisingly, he enjoys the picnic. sitting outside on a nice day where its not humid and there’s a slight breeze in the air. The sun feels warm on michaels mask and reminds him fondly of how your warm hands would hold his face in private.
Overall, Michael is split on whether he likes summer. He enjoys the nice days, and despises the hotter days where he steps outside and it’s a wave of heat that suffocates him. he also loves eating cold treats during summer, whether it be ice cream, a snow cone, or simply having a cold drink. he’s pretty basic when it comes to his ice cream, preferring vanilla over other flavors as its not too sugary like chocolate.
He spends most of his time inside though, lounging and finding new ways to bother you to keep himself from getting bored due to be stuck in the house all day.
warm as they caress your soft face. But we all know he has a trend of grabbing people by the throat and pinning them to walls, you're not any different, except he's a little gentler with you.
Pairing: Will byers x Mike wheeler ⸝⸝
Warnings: none
Summary: Modern au where Mike is a model and Jonathan is his photographer and drags Will along, insisting he gets out more. One thing leads to another and Mike ends up in Wills apartment, posing for him. ⸝⸝
Tags: @birdstalker42
You can also find this on ao3 where i am regularly updating it! link here
Read under cut!
Will stirred awake before his alarm. For a few beats, he lay still, wrapped in the thin warmth of his blankets. He listened to the distant city sounds filtering through the window. A truck rumbled by. Somewhere, a neighbors door shut. Morning existed whether he was ready for it or not.
His chest felt tight in a way that was different from anxiety. Less panicked. More aware.
He mind painfully reminded him today would be his first day.
He rolled onto his side and stared at the pale light creeping along the wall. It painted his apartment in soft grays and blues, gentle and welcoming. He swung his legs out of bed, the floor was cold beneath his feet. He welcomed it. Anything grounding helped.
He showered slowly, letting the water run hotter than necessary, steam curling around him like a cocoon. His thoughts wandered despite his best efforts. What if he messed up? What if today proved he wasn't as good as everyone thought? What if he froze up the moment someone watched him work too closely?
And something uninvited, but persistent. What if Mike looked at him differently?
He shut off the water harder than necessary.
Dressing became an act of control, something he desperately needed. He chose each item carefully. The sweater he chose was soft, a neutral color, clean lines. Something that said professional without screaming trying too hard.
He caught his reflection in the mirror, and paused. He looked…okay. More than okay, maybe. Better than he's looked in a while.
He packed his bag, checking multiple times that he had his pencils, sketchbook, everything he needed for the day. When he finally locked his apartment behind him, he stood in the hallway for a brief moment, breathing in, then out.
He told himself that he just needed to show up today, that would be enough.
…
The studio buzzed when he arrived.
It wasn't chaotic, more like a well paced rhythm. Soft music played from unseen speakers. A stylist laughed somewhere near the back. The scent of coffee mingled with perfume and the faint tang of hairspray.
"Morning!" Ava called when she spotted him. She moved with easy confidence, dressed impeccably in a dark blazer layered over something soft and flowing. Her smile was sharp but kind.
"You're early." John added from behind her, mug in hand. He dressed more casually, rolled sleeves, comfortable slacks. He gave Will an approving nod.
"Didn't want to be late." Will said, voice quiet but sincere.
"We like that." Ava said. "Come on, Ill show you where you can set up."
She guided him through the space, pointing out different areas. The main shooting floor, the wardrobe section, a smaller side room where they did editorial work. Along the way, she introduced some people in passing.
"Lena is our makeup artist."
"Chris handles lighting."
"Mae is our stylist, shes scary but brilliant."
Mae snorted without looking up from the clothing rack. "Flattery will not save you."
Will smiled faintly, tension easing just a notch.
He set up his easel and canvas where Ava suggested, slightly off to the side but with a clear view of the shooting area. As he unpacked, his hands moved on muscle memory alone. The familiar ritual soothed him.
"You'll be working with Josh this morning." John said, gesturing toward a model stretching near the backdrop. "He's patient, don't worry."
Josh waved when he noticed Will watching. "Take your time," He said casually. "I'm not going anywhere."
Will nodded, grateful.
As he began to sketch, the world narrowed. The chatter faded into background noise. His focus honed in on posture, the subtle tension in Josh's shoulders. This- this was where he felt most like himself.
Time slipped.
A presence.
Will glanced up without meaning to.
Mike stood near the lighting rig, talking with Chris, dressed in fitted black slacks and a soft gray shirt that hugged his frame just enough to be distracting. His hair was slightly damp, curls loose around his face.
Their eyes met.
Mikes expression brightened immediately. "Hey."
It was quiet yet casual, but it landed in Wills chest like a small impact.
"Hey." Will replied, voice steady despite the sudden spike in his pulse.
Mike wandered closer, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes flicking down to the sketch. "Didn't know you'd be starting this early."
"Didn't know you'd be here yet." Will said.
Mike shrugged. "Last minute shoot." He smiled, then tilted his head. "You nervous?"
Will hesitated, then nodded. "A little."
Mikes smile softened. "You'll be great. You always are."
The words settled into Will like warmth. Before he could respond, Ava called Mikes name from across the room, notifying him he had five minutes.
"Duty calls." Mike said, taking a few steps back. "Ill catch you later."
As he walked off, Will watched him longer than he meant to, heart thudding. He felt the absence immediately, like the room had lost some essential gravity. He forced himself back to his work, but it took effort now. Mikes presence lingered like an afterimage.
The tension simmered down. Will found his rhythm, but his awareness kept drifting. Every time Mike passed nearby, his body reacted before his mind could stop it. His pulse spiked. His shoulders tightened. He hated how obvious it felt inside of him, even though no one else could see it.
The day unfolded slowly.
When Mike returned with coffee, offering him one, Will almost laughed at the simplicity of the gesture. How easily Mike slipped into his space. How easily Will let him.
Their fingers brushed.
The contact was brief, accidental, and it sent a quiet shock through Wills system. He focused on the warmth of the cup just to keep himself steady.
They stood together, watching the studio move around them.
"You're doing great here. You fit in." Mike said.
Will felt that sentence settle deep, somewhere tender. He looked at Mike, searching his face for something, anything, that might suggest shared meaning.
But Mike just smiled. Unknowing. Kind.
By the end of the day, Will was exhausted in a way that felt earned. His hands ached. His head buzzed. Pride and doubt coexisted uneasily in his chest.
As he packed up, Mike approached again, easy as ever.
"Survived your first day." He said. "That calls for celebration."
Wills heart lept before he could stop it. Hope flared. Small, dangerous, alive.
"Does it?" He asked quietly.
Mike shrugged, smiling. "I think so."
Will nodded, even as his chest tightened. Because being near Mike felt like standing on the edge of something beautiful and terrifying.
And he didn't know how much longer he could pretend he wasn't already falling.
"We should go to a bar."
Will didn't answer right away.
Mikes suggestion, casual, tossed out like it was nothing more than a natural next step — landed heavier than it should have. A bar. Tonight. Together. The words echoed in Wills head, bumping gentled but insistently against everything he has been carefully holding in.
"Oh." He said finally, voice quiet. "A bar?"
Mike nodded, slinging his bag over one shoulder. He looked relaxed now that the shoot was winding down, the edge of work slipping off him easily. "Yeah. Nothing fancy. Just somewhere close. We usually go after long day, tradition I guess?" He paused, then added, "No pressure, though."
No pressure.
Will almost laughed.
Inside, his chest was already tight, heart fluttering in that familiar, traitorous way. He tried to catalog the feeling. Excitement, nerves, fear. All layered together so densely he couldn't separate them anymore. Going home alone sounded safe. Predictable. Quiet.
Going out with Mike felt like stepping into something unsteady.
"I- Yeah." Will said, surprising himself. "I could do that."
Mikes smile widened, pleased but not looking into it. "Cool. Just give me a few minutes to get changed and we will head out."
As Mike walked away, Will exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping as if he'd been holding himself upright by sheer willpower alone. His hands trembled just a little as he finished packing his things.
Part of him felt proud for agreeing to go, like he was finally listening to that small voice urging him to step outside of his carefully controlled solitude. Another part of him felt dangerously exposed. Bars meant noise, crowds, proximity. Alcohol loosening tongues and lowering defenses. All the things Will was bad at navigating, especially when Mike was involved.
He followed Mike and a few others out into the early evening. The sky had softened into dusky blues and purples, the air cool but not biting. Streetlights flickered on, casting everything in a gentle glow that made the world feel temporarily forgiving.
The bar was tucked along a quieter street. Warm lights in the windows, music humming low enough that conversation didn't have to fight to exist. Inside, it smelled like citrus and old wood. Comfortable and lived in.
They found a table near the back. Mike slid into the seat beside Will without thinking, close enough that their knees brushed when he shifted. The contact was light, incidental. But Wills body reacted instantly, heat blooming under his skin.
He told himself to relax.
Conversation flowed easily around them. Studio gossip. Complaints about lighting mishaps. Ava and Johns ongoing debate about expanding the place. Will listened more than he spoke, sipping his drink slowly, grounding himself with the taste.
Mike leaned in at one point, voice lowered just for him. "You holding up okay?"
Will nodded. "Yeah. Just… a long day."
Mike smiled, soft and genuine. "You did really well, you know. You seemed like you belonged."
The word belonged hit something fragile inside Will. He ducked his head slightly, embarrassed by the warmth spreading through his chest.
"Thanks." He said. "That means more than you probably realize."
Mike didn't comment on that. He just clanked his glass lightly against Wills. "To first days."
They drank.
As the night went on, the tension deepened. Settled into the spaces between words, the shared glances, the way Mikes shoulder pressed into Wills when he laughed. Mike talked more, relaxed, animated in a way Will hadn't seen in a long time. It made him ache.
Will felt present in his body in a way he wasn't used to. Every sensation was heightened, the bass of the music, the warmth of the room, the nearness of Mike. It scared him how easy it would be to tip from this into wanting too much.
At one point, Mike glanced at him, studying him with mild curiosity. "You're quieter than usual."
Will swallowed. "Just taking it all in."
Mike nodded. "I'm glad you came out."
So was Will, terrifyingly so.
As the night stretched on, he realized something subtle but important. The loneliness that usually hovered at the edges of his mind wasn't there. Instead replaced by a soft, steady awareness of connection.
He didn't know where this was leading. He didn't know if Mike would ever feel what he felt.
The night softened around them as the drinks piled up. Not recklessly, not fast, just enough to blur the sharp edges of the day.
Mike was the first to tip into it.
Will noticed in the way Mikes laugh came easier, fuller, the way he leaned back in his chair with loose limbed confidence instead of that careful awareness carried during shoots. The bar lights caught his curls, his eyes were brighter now, unfocused in a gentle way, like he was looking through the room instead of at it.
"You're really quiet tonight." Mike said again, closer this time, his shoulder was nudging Wills as he shifted. He didn't move away afterward.
Wills heart stuttered, then steadied. He told himself to breathe.
"I'm just listening." Will replied. "You talk enough for the both of us."
Mike laughed, loud and unrestrained, and the sound sent something soft and aching through Wills chest. "Rude," he finally said, smiling anyway. He lifted his glass, then forgot about it halfway through the motion and rested his elbow on the table instead. Too close now, Their arms brushing.
The contact lingered.
Mike didn't pull away.
Instead, he leaned in, lowering his voice like they were sharing a secret. "You always do that."
"Do what?"
"Say things like that." Mike said, grinning. "Like you've been watching me forever."
Wills throat tightened and he forced a small smile. "I've known you forever."
Mike hummed, thoughtful. His fingers slid, absentminded, careless, along the edge of Wills sleeve, stopping just short of his wrist. It wasn't intentional. At least, it didn't seem to be. It felt like gravity more than choice.
"Yeah." Mike said softly. "Guess that's true."
As the group thinned, people peeling off into twos and threes, hugs exchanged, plans made for later — Mike stayed planted beside Will. His knee bumped Wills again, then stayed there. Warm and solid.
Will tried not to read into it.
He failed.
Mikes touch was everywhere now. Casual and unthinking. A hand on Wills shoulder when he laughed too hard. Fingers brushing his arm when he gestured. Once, when Will leaned in to hear something over the music, Mikes hand came up to steady him at the waist. Firm, and gone too soon.
Will felt it like a phantom afterward.
"You okay?" Mike asked, squinting slightly, smile softening. "You look like you're about to disappear."
Will swallowed. "I'm okay. Just… tired."
Mike nodded, understanding in that loose, drunk way where he didn't need to ask for details. "Yeah. Long day."
He leaned closer again, head tilting toward Wills shoulder, not resting there, just hovering. The nearness made Wills breath hitch. He could smell the alcohol on Mikes breath now.
"You wanna head out?" Mike asked suddenly. "I'm… kinda done."
Will glanced around. They were almost alone now. The bartender was wiping down the counter, the music had slowed.
"Yeah." Will said, surprising himself with how quickly the word came. "We can."
Mike stood too fast, wobbling just slightly before laughing at himself. Wills hand shot out on instinct, steadying him by the elbow. Mike looked down at where Will was touching him, then up at his face, smiling.
"See?" Mike said lightly. "You've got me."
The words lodged somewhere dangerous.
Outside, the air was cool and crisp. The streetlights cast long shadows, the city quieter now, like it was holding its breath. They walked close, closer than necessary, shoulders bumping with each step. Mike stumbled once, laughing, Will caught him fully this time, arm slipping around his waist.
"Easy." Will murmured.
Mike grinned up at him, eyes soft. "You're good at that."
"At what?"
"Taking care of me."
Wills chest ached.
They walked the rest of the way like that, Mike leaning just slightly into Will, not enough to call it anything but enough that Will felt the weight of him with every step. By the time they reached Wills apartment building, Wills head was buzzing. Not just front the alcohol, but from the quiet realization that he didn't want the night to end yet.
Inside, the apartment was dim and familiar, lamplight casting soft gold across the walls. Mike kicked his shoes off clumsily, laughing again when one of them toppled over.
"Sorry." He said. "I'm a little-"
"Tipsy." Will finished, smiling. "I noticed."
Mike dropped onto the couch, sprawling comfortable like he belonged there. He looked around, eyes lingering on the art, the half finished canvases, the sketch still on the easel.
"You live in a nice place." He said, voice quiet now. "Feels like you."
Will shut the door, locking it with more care than necessary. "Yeah?"
Mike nodded. "Yeah. Calm, thoughtful. Little lonely."
The words landed gently but struck deep.
Will poured them water, setting a glass within Mikes reach before sitting beside him. Careful, leaving space. Mike closed it immediately, shifting until their thighs touched.
"Hey." Mike said softly, turning toward him. "You're really far away."
"I'm right here." Will replied. And meant it more than Mike could ever know.
Mikes gaze searched his face, unfocused but intent. "You always do that." He murmured again. "Act like you're somewhere else when you're right in front of me."
Wills heart pounded. "Maybe I'm just… thinking."
Mike hummed, leaning closer. His head tipped forward until their forehead nearly touched- not quite, just enough that Will could feel his breath. "About what?"
About us. About you. About how close this feels to something I cant survive.
"About today." Will said instead.
Mike smiled lazily. "You were incredible today."
The praise, unguarded and sincere, made Wills eyes sting. "You don't have to say that."
"I do." Mike insisted, lifting a hand to Wills arm. His fingers traced slow, careless patterns over the fabric of his sweater, sending sparks up Wills spine. "You don't see it, but I do."
Wills breath caught. He stayed very still, afraid that any movement might tip the moment into something neither of them could take back.
Mike leaned in closer, too close now. His nose brushed Wills cheek. His hand slid from Wills arm to his chest, palm resting there like it belonged.
The world narrowed.
Will could feel his heart beating rapid in his chest and wondered if Mike could feel it too.
Mikes gaze flicked down to Wills mouth. Will felt it like a physical thing, like a pull. He leaned forward without meaning to, stopping only by sheer force of will. Every instinct screamed at him to close the distance, to finally let himself have this.
Will didn't move.
He wanted to. God. He wanted to. Every part of him wanted to lean forward, aching for the closeness, the release, the truth of it. But something held him back, not fear, but care.
Mike exhaled slowly, breath warm against Wills skin. His eyes fluttered shut for a second.
Then he laughed softly, pulling back just enough to break the spell. "Wow." He said, rubbing his face. "I think I'm more drunk than I thought."
Will forced a smile, heart still racing. "Yeah. Probably." Relief and heartbreak hit Will at the same time.
Mike leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Sorry if I'm… being weird."
“You’re not,” Will said quickly. Too quickly. He softened his voice. “You’re just tired.”
Mike nodded, accepting that explanation with relief. His hand slipped from Will’s chest but didn’t go far, resting instead on his knee, warm and heavy.
They sat like that for a long time, the closeness settling into something quieter. Not gone. Just… contained.
Eventually, Mike yawned, stretching. “I should probably crash here,” he said, half-joking. “If that’s okay.”
Will’s heart lurched. “Yeah. Of course. You can take the couch.”
Mike smiled, already drifting. “You’re the best, you know that?”
Will watched him as he settled in, eyes heavy, limbs loose. He grabbed a blanket and draped it over him, careful not to wake him. Mike murmured something unintelligible, turning his face toward Will’s hand as if drawn to the warmth.
Will stood there for a moment longer than necessary, looking down at him.
When Will finally retreated to his bedroom, he closed the door quietly and leaned against it, pressing a hand to his chest.
His heart was still racing.
Will stood there for a long time afterward.
They hadn’t kissed.
But Will knew, with painful clarity, that he would feel the echo of almost for a very long time.
Morning came slowly. Will woke in stages, dragged upward from sleep by the dull throb behind his eyes and the heavier ache in his chest. He laid very still, eyes closed, breath shallow, listening to the apartment around him. The walls creaked softly as the building settled. Somewhere outside, a car door slammed. Life. Continuing. When all he wanted to do was put it on pause.
Then, a sound that didn't belong to him.
The faint scrape of a chair leg, fabric moving, the unmistakable clink of ceramic against the counter top.
Mike.
Wills stomach tightened immediately, body reacting faster than his mind. His heart kicked hard against his ribs. He didn't move. He stayed frozen beneath the covers, as though stillness might buy him a few more seconds before the day demanded something from him.
But memory flooded in anyway.
Mikes eyes, dark and unfocused, dropping to his mouth like they had been pulled there. The heat of his breath. The way Wills entire body had leaned forward without permission, craving something he had wanted for so long it felt like a second skeleton inside of him. The way he had stopped himself, hands trembling, pulse roaring in his ears. Care had outweighed desire by the narrowest, most painful margin.
Almost.
The word echoed in his chest, shallow and bruising.
Will swallowed, throat tight. His fingers curled beneath the sheets. He could already feel the disappointment waiting for him.
Another sound drifted in — Water running this time. Mike was awake enough to make coffee. Awake enough to be sober.
Will exhaled slowly through his nose.
There was no avoiding this.
He pushed himself upright, the movement heavy, like he was lifting more than just his own body. The room looked unchanged, painfully ordinary in the thin morning light. His books. His players. His clothes draped over a chair. Nothing reflected how significant the night before had felt to him.
He swing his legs over the bed. The floor was cold, biting enough to make him hiss softly. He stood there for a moment steadying himself, one hand braced against the mattress.
He told himself to get it together, just get through the morning.
He dragged a hand through his hair and opened his bedroom door.
The apartment felt exposed in daylight. Stripped of shadows. Sunlight spilled through the windows in pale, unforgiving hands that millimeter everything too clearly. The couch, the blanket folded carelessly over one arm, the faint indentation where Mikes body had been only minutes ago.
Mike stood in the kitchen, back turned, wearing Wills sweatshirt. He must've gotten cold last night.
the sight hit Will like a kick to the chest.
It was wrong how right it looked. The sweatshirt hung loose on Miles frame, sleeves pushed up his forearms, collar stretched just enough to reveal skin Will had spent too many nights imagining. The intimacy of it felt cruel now.
Mike was hunched over the counter, both hands wrapped around a mug. His hair was a mess, curls bent in strange directions, face soft with sleep. He looked smaller like this. Less certain. Not the other version from last night. Reckless, warm and dangerously close. But sober and careful.
He turned when he heard Will.
"Oh, hey." Mike said. His voice was rough, sleepy.
"Hey." Will replied.
The word landed wrong. Too heavy. Mike smiled, but it was cautious, like he wasn't sure how much friendliness was allowed yet.
"How'd you sleep?" Mike asked.
Will hesitated.
The truth pressed hard against his ribs. He barely slept, replaying how Mikes mouth was almost on his, how he woke up disappointed before he even opened his eyes.
He swallowed it down.
"Fine." He said.
Mike nodded quickly, relief flickering across his face. "Good, yeah."
He took a sip of coffee and immediately grimaced. "Jesus. Yeah. That's strong."
Will watched him too closely. "I can water it down."
"No, no." Mike said, waving him off. "It's fine. I deserve it."
"Deserve it?" Will echoed quietly.
Mike shrugged, trying to sound light. "Hangover tax."
"Oh." Will said.
They stood there in silence, the hum of the refrigerator loud enough to feel intrusive. Mike shifted his weight, gaze darting around the kitchen like he needed something else to focus on.
"You, uh." Mike started, then stopped. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks for letting me stay."
"Of course." Will said. "You didn't really have another option."
Mike huffed a small laugh. “Yeah. Guess not.”
The laugh faded too fast. Mike glanced toward the couch. Then away again.
“I hope I didn’t… make things weird last night.” he said carefully.
Will’s heart stuttered.
“No.” he said immediately. Too quickly. “You didn’t.”
Mike exhaled, shoulders relaxing. “Good. I just…” He hesitated. “I don’t always have the best filter when I drink.”
Will’s chest tightened.
“I get… overly affectionate.” Mike continued, clearly trying to normalize it. “Sometimes I do and say things I don’t totally mean.”
There it was.
Will felt something sink slowly, like a stone dropped into deep water.
“Oh.” he said.
Mike nodded, encouraged by the lack of resistance. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t think I was,” He gestured vaguely. “You know."
He didn't know.
“You didn’t.” Will said. His voice was steady, even as something inside him fractured quietly.
“Cool.” Mike said, relieved. “Yeah. Cool.”
Silence pressed in again.
Mike set his mug down. “Hey, do you want breakfast?”
The question felt absurdly normal.
“I can make eggs or something.” Mike added quickly, already moving toward the fridge. “I mean, if that’s okay.”
Will hesitated. Every instinct told him to say no. To retreat. To put space between himself and this careful erasure of last night.
But he nodded anyway. “Sure.”
Mike brightened slightly. “Yeah? Okay. Cool.”
The word cool hung between them like a placeholder for everything else.
Mike cracked eggs into a bowl, the sharp sound echoing too loudly. Will stood by the counter, hands tucked into his sleeves, watching without really seeing.
“So.” Mike said, trying for casual. “You always up this early?”
“Usually.” Will said.
“Wow.” Mike said. “Couldn’t be me.”
Will almost smiled. Almost.
The eggs hit the pan with a soft sizzle. Mike stirred them absentmindedly, glancing over at Will. “You sure you’re okay?”
Will nodded. “Yeah.”
Mike hesitated, then laughed lightly. “Man. I really went too hard last night.”
“Yeah.” Will said. “You did.”
Mike grinned sheepishly. “Thank God you stopped me from doing something stupid.”
Will froze. “What?” he asked quietly.
Mike shrugged. “You know. If I’d actually tried to.” He gestured vaguely between them, laughing under his breath. “That would’ve been a disaster.”
The words landed like a blow.
“A disaster.” Will repeated.
Mike nodded, oblivious. “Yeah. Drunk decisions are never a good idea.”
Something in Will went cold and very still. “I guess.” he said.
Mike plated the eggs and set a plate in front of Will. “Here. Eat.”
Will stared at it. His appetite had vanished entirely.
They sat at the small table, knees almost brushing. The silence was thick, uncomfortable, broken only by the scrape of forks against plates.
Mike chewed, then winced. “God. My head.”
“Maybe drink some water." Will said.
“Yeah. Good idea.”
More silence.
Mike glanced up. “You’re really quiet.”
Will’s jaw tightened. “Just tired.”
Mike nodded. “Same.”
The space between them felt unbearable now, crowded with everything they weren’t saying. Will pushed his food around his plate, unable to eat. The disappointment had deepened into something sharper, threaded now with hurt and a quiet, simmering resentment.
Mike finished eating quickly, clearly eager to escape the tension. He stood, grabbing his jacket.
“I should get going.” he said. “I’ve got stuff today.”
“Yeah.” Will said. “Sure.”
Mike slipped out of the sweatshirt and handed it back. Their fingers brushed, brief and unwanted.
“Sorry.” Mike muttered.
“It’s fine.” Will said automatically.
Mike paused at the door. “We’re good, right?”
Will looked at him. Really looked.
He thought of how careful he’d been. How much it had cost him.
“Yeah.” he said. “We’re good.”
Mike smiled, reassured. “Cool.”
Almost.
The word echoed again.
This time, it hurt worse than ever.
The door closed behind Mike with a softness that felt almost deliberate, like the apartment itself was trying not to draw attention to the moment, and that somehow made it worse.
Will stayed seated at the table long after the sound of footsteps faded from the hallway, his hands resting uselessly near the untouched plate, his body locked in that strange in-between state where everything hurt too much to move but moving felt like the only way to survive it.
The word almost kept circling in his head. Almost a kiss. Almost a confession. Almost something that might have changed the way Mike looked at him, or at least forced a truth into the open. Instead there was this quiet aftermath, this careful retreat, this reassurance that it hadn’t meant what Will had felt so clearly in his bones.
He cleaned up eventually, not because he wanted to but because the stillness was unbearable. The clink of dishes in the sink, the steady rush of water, the small domestic motions gave him something to focus on that wasn’t the ache sitting heavy in his chest.
He kept replaying Mike’s voice, the way he’d laughed off the moment like it had been nothing more than drunken affection gone a step too far, the way he’d called it a disaster without ever realizing how deeply that word would lodge itself inside Will. Disaster implied regret, implied relief that nothing had happened, and Will couldn’t stop wondering if Mike felt lighter now while he felt like he was carrying something fragile and unspoken all by himself.
Getting ready for work felt mechanical.
He moved through the motions with a careful precision that bordered on numbness, pulling on clothes that felt too neutral for the mess he was carrying inside, tying his shoes with fingers that shook only when he stopped paying attention to them.
In the mirror, his reflection looked composed enough, eyes a little tired but nothing anyone would question, and that almost made him angry. He wanted there to be some visible sign that something had cracked open in him, that the night hadn’t just slid off without leaving a mark. Instead he looked like someone heading into a normal day, and the unfairness of that made his throat tighten.
The walk to the studio passed in a blur. The city was louder than usual, every sound landing too sharply, every passing face reminding him that life was continuing at its own relentless pace while he felt stalled somewhere between what he wanted and what he had been given. He told himself, over and over, that work would help. That once he was focused, once his hands were busy and his attention anchored to something tangible, the noise in his head would quiet down. He needed that to be true.
The studio greeted him with its familiar hum, the layered sounds of movement and conversation wrapping around him in a way that was usually grounding. Today it felt overwhelming.
He set up his station with care, aligning his materials, adjusting his chair, creating order where he could because everything else felt unsteady. When he started sketching, there was a brief, precious stretch of time where it worked, where the world narrowed to line and shape and proportion, where the ache dulled just enough for him to breathe without feeling like his chest was caving in.
And then Mike arrived.
Will noticed the shift immediately, the way his focus splintered even before he looked up, his body reacting faster than his thoughts could catch up. Mike looked the same as he always did, relaxed and open, moving through the space with an ease that made it clear he belonged here. There was no hesitation in him, no visible weight from the morning, no sign that he’d spent the night toeing a line he’d later decided wasn’t worth crossing. Will hated himself a little for noticing that too.
At first, Mike didn’t come over. He stopped near the wardrobe area, laughing with someone Will didn’t recognize, a coworker with an easy smile and a familiarity that made something tight twist in Will’s chest. They stood close, closer than necessary for a casual conversation, shoulders nearly brushing as they leaned in toward each other. The other guy reached out at one point, fingers catching lightly at Mike’s sleeve as he said something, and Mike didn’t move away. He smiled instead, soft and genuine, the same smile he’d worn last night when he’d been leaning in too close on Will’s couch.
Will’s pencil paused mid-line. His grip tightened without him realizing it, pressure building until the lead threatened to snap. He forced himself to look back down at his work, but the image blurred, his attention snagging again and again on the sight in his peripheral vision. Mike laughed, head tipping back slightly, and the sound hit Will with a sharp, unexpected pang. It was too intimate, too familiar, and suddenly all he could think about was how easily Mike seemed to give that version of himself to other people.
Jealousy crept in quietly, insidiously, not as a sudden flare but as a slow burn that settled deep and refused to be ignored. Will knew, rationally, that he had no claim here. He knew Mike hadn’t promised him anything, hadn’t even acknowledged that there had been something worth naming between them. But knowing that didn’t stop the hurt from blooming anyway, didn’t stop the bitterness that came with watching Mike be effortlessly warm and touch-comfortable with someone else only hours after assuring Will that the closeness they’d shared hadn’t meant anything.
The coworker leaned in again, murmuring something near Mike’s ear, and Mike responded without hesitation, his hand coming up to rest briefly at the other man’s back in a gesture so casual it felt practiced. That was the moment Will had to look away. His chest felt tight, breath shallow, and for a second he worried that if he didn’t pull his attention back, he might actually crack in front of everyone. He focused on his sketch with near desperation, darkening lines, refining shapes, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the pressure of graphite against paper.
All the while, his thoughts kept circling the same cruel questions. Had it really meant nothing to Mike, or was this just how he was with everyone? Was Will the outlier for feeling so deeply, for attaching significance where none was intended? The idea that Mike might move through the world like this, leaving small, unintentional imprints on people without ever realizing the damage, made something hollow open up in Will’s chest.
When Mike finally glanced his way, their eyes met briefly, and Will felt that familiar jolt of awareness, that pull he hadn’t been able to shake no matter how hard he tried. Mike smiled, easy and unburdened, like nothing had shifted between them at all. Will managed a nod in return, his expression carefully neutral, even as something inside him sank.
He went back to his work because he had no other choice. Because stopping would mean feeling everything at once, and he wasn’t sure he could survive that in the middle of a crowded studio. But the tension stayed with him, coiled tight and aching, a constant reminder that while he was trying to stitch himself back together quietly, Mike was already somewhere else, comfortable and unscarred, leaving Will to carry the weight of what had almost been alone.
Every so often, his awareness drifted back to Mike despite his efforts. He noticed the way Mike shifted his weight when he listened, the way he nodded along, fully present in conversations that weren’t with Will. There was something almost painful about how at ease he looked, how seamlessly he fit into the room. Will wondered if Mike ever felt the same dissonance Will did now, the strange sensation of being slightly out of step with everyone else, of carrying too much internally while trying to appear unaffected on the surface. Watching him, Will suspected the answer was no.
Someone called for a short break, voices rising as people stretched and moved around. Will hesitated, then set his pencil down, flexing his fingers slowly. He didn’t trust himself to look up right away. When he finally did, Mike had drifted farther across the room, talking animatedly with two other models. The earlier coworker—Leo, he thought he’d heard someone call him—was still there, leaning against a table with a familiarity that suggested history. The name stuck uncomfortably in Will’s mind, attaching itself to every laugh, every shared glance. Way back, someone had said. Will couldn’t help imagining the kind of closeness that came from years of shared space, shared experiences, shared ease.
Ava slid into the empty seat beside him, sipping from her coffee. “You’ve been quiet today,” she said gently, not accusing, just observant.
Will shrugged, keeping his eyes on his work. “Didn’t sleep much.”
She studied him for a moment longer, then nodded, letting it go. Will appreciated that more than he could say. He didn’t trust his voice to hold steady if he tried to explain, didn’t trust himself not to say too much or not enough. The truth felt too messy to articulate, too raw to offer up casually in a room full of people who were just here to do their jobs.
When they went back to work, Will found a rhythm again, slower this time, more deliberate. He focused on precision, on capturing what was actually in front of him instead of what his thoughts kept trying to overlay onto it. It helped, a little. Enough that the tightness in his chest eased from a sharp pain into a dull, constant ache he could function around.
Still, the questions wouldn’t leave him alone. He kept wondering whether he should say something to Mike, whether ignoring the tension was making it worse. But the memory of Mike’s words from that morning stopped him every time. Didn’t mean. Disaster. Will didn’t want to be the one to push, to demand clarity from someone who had already made it clear he wasn’t looking for it. The idea of making things awkward, of confirming that imbalance out loud, filled him with a quiet dread.
As the session wound down, the energy in the studio shifted again, people packing up, conversations loosening. Will gathered his things slowly, giving himself excuses to linger, to avoid the possibility of crossing paths too directly with Mike. Part of him wanted to leave without another word, to preserve what little dignity he felt he had left. Another part, stubborn and hopeful in spite of everything, kept waiting for Mike to come over, to acknowledge what had passed between them in some small, private way.
When it finally happened, it was almost accidental. Mike appeared at his side as Will was sliding his sketchbook into his bag, his presence sudden enough to make Will’s heart jump before he could stop it.
“Hey,” Mike said, easy as ever. “You heading out?”
Will looked up, meeting his eyes. Up close, he could see the faint tiredness there, the subtle shadows that hadn’t been obvious from across the room. It grounded him, just a little, reminded him that Mike was human too, not just this effortless force moving through his day. “Yeah,” Will said. “I’m done.”
Mike nodded, shifting his weight, hands tucked into his pockets. There was a brief pause, not awkward exactly, but weighted. “You okay?” he asked, voice softer than it had been all day.
Will hesitated. There were a dozen answers he could give, none of them simple. He thought about the morning, about the almosts and the unsaid things, about how much space Mike seemed to take up in his thoughts without even trying. He thought about how carefully he’d held himself together all day.
“I’m fine,” he said finally, because it was the safest thing he could offer.
Mike studied him for a second longer, like he might be looking for something beneath the words, then he smiled, relieved. “Good. I’ll see you around, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Will said, and watched as Mike turned away, already moving on, already absorbed back into the current of the room.
When Will finally stepped outside, the late afternoon air felt cooler than he expected. He drew in a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs, and held it for a moment before letting it go. He didn’t feel better, not really, but he felt steadier. Like he’d survived something quietly, without anyone noticing.
As he started the walk home, he knew the ache wasn’t going to disappear overnight. It would linger, settle into him, something he’d have to carry for a while. But for now, he put one foot in front of the other and kept going, holding onto the small, stubborn resolve that even if Mike never understood what he’d left behind, Will would eventually find a way to make sense of it on his own.
Pairing: Will byers x Mike wheeler ⸝⸝
Warnings: none
Summary: Modern au where Mike is a model and Jonathan is his photographer and drags Will along, insisting he gets out more. One thing leads to another and Mike ends up in Wills apartment, posing for him. ⸝⸝
Read under cut!
Mike didn't move away, but he didn't move closer either. He stayed just behind Will, like he hasn't quite decided what to do with the space between them. The room felt quieter somehow, the hum of the city muted, warm lamplight, and shared breaths. Will had to remind himself how to breathe.
"You're good." Mike said, soft. His gaze traced the lines on the canvas, then flicked to Wills hand that was still gripping the pencil just a little too tightly. "I mean, I've had people draw me before, but this feels different. They usually exaggerate something, like my jaw or shoulders. But you didn't."
Will swallowed, his throat felt dry. "I don't like exaggerating." If only Mike knew how much he had held back. The truth was, Will had been drawing Mike for years. Not always on paper. Sometimes it was in memory, soft and persistent, a habit Will never quite managed to break.
"Yeah." Mike said quietly. "I can tell."
He straightened, stepping away just enough that Will could breath again, but the absence of his warmth was immediately noticeable. When Will turned, they were face to face, eyes meeting. There was that familiar ache blooming in Wills chest.
Mikes gaze flicked between Wills face and the sketch. "Its weird." He admitted as he scratched the back of his neck. "Seeing yourself through someone elses eyes like that."
Will gives a faint smile. He wanted to confess, tell him he had been the only thing he noticed for years. "Weird bad, or weird… okay?"
A small huff escapes Mike. "Weird okay, maybe even good."
That made Wills chest tighten.
Mike finally steps away and crosses his arms. His posture was loose, but his eyes kept drifting back to the sketch, it pulled at something he never expected. Silence stretched between them, comfortable but heavy. Outside the apartment, cars passes by, the usual hum of the city.
Mike glances around the apartment again. The half finished canvases. The stack of sketchbooks near the couch. Will watched with an intensity he hoped didn't show. Mike belonged in the space without trying. Will wondered, for the first time, what it would be like to let Mike see the messier parts of him. The fear. The loneliness. The way he woke up sometimes already exhausted.
"You've been busy." He said.
Will shrugged. "Trying to be."
"You don't sound convinced." Mike tilted his head.
Will hesitates. "I haven't been lately." He admits quietly.
Mikes expression softens, concern flicking across his face before he masks it with a casual nod. "Yeah, I get that."
"You do?" Will asks, surprised.
Mike shrugs, uncrossing his hands as he wanders over to one of the unfinished canvases. He studies it, hands in his pockets now. "People think modeling is just standing there and looking pretty. But there are days I feel like I'm just repeating myself. Same pose. Same smiles." He frowns. "Makes you wonder when it stops meaning anything."
Will was watching him carefully, unsure how to respond. "Does it?"
Mike doesn't answer right away. "Not always. But sometimes its nice when someone reminds you that you're more than that."
Wills heart ached. "Yeah."
Mike turned around to face him, brows furrowed. "Hey, you okay?"
The question was simple. But it was genuine, real. It was almost enough to undo him.
"I'm fine." Will said, just a little too quickly. "Just tired."
Mike nodded, accepting it, thought his gaze lingered like he wanted to say more.
Eventually, they drifted back onto the couch. Mike stretched out again, one arm resting along the back cushion, but he kept a little more distance this time. Will was curled in on himself out of habit, knees pulled up and shoulders soft but guarded. The distance between them was small but felt vast in meaning. Every brush of their knees sent a jolt through him, and he hated himself for it. Hated how starved he was for contact, for closeness, for something that didn't feel temporary.
"So," Mike starts, picking up his wine again. "Studio artist now. Thats a big deal."
Will smiled faintly. "It feels unreal."
"You deserve it." Mike said without hesitation. Then, he grinned. "I mean obviously. You've been good at drawing forever."
"High praise coming from you." Will laughs, a genuine laugh that he almost forgot what it felt like.
Mike smirks. "I have excellent taste."
The words hung longer than they should have.
Mike cleared his throat, gaze drifting toward the window, deep in thought. "You know, Jonathans been worried about you."
Will tensed. "He told you that?"
"Not in a dramatic way." Mike says quickly, waving a hand. "Just, he said you don't get out much anymore."
"I like being alone." Will stared at his hands, he didn't want to have this conversation. And when the words escaped his mouth, he felt like he was lying to himself.
Mike nods. "Yeah, but theres a difference between liking it and hiding in it."
Will looked up, startled. Hearing the truth frightened him, and he wasn't ready to face it. Mike seemed to notice this. But he knew now that he was folding in on himself. But Mike saying it, noticing it? It made him feel exposed in a way that was almost unbearable. He wanted to explain how it wasn't isolation. But fear. Fear of wanting things he couldn't have or reaching for someone and finding nothing on the other side.
"I'm not judging." Mike added. "I'm just glad you're doing this. The studio. Feels likes a good step."
Something warm settled in Wills chest. "Thanks."
The two fell into another stretch of quiet. Mikes foot tapped lightly on the floor while Will traced invisible lines on his knee with his thumb.
Mike exhaled slowly. "You know. i should probably head out."
Will felt his heart dip, but his expression remained neutral. He could feel the disappointment settled deep in his chest. He told himself it was fine, that this was enough. Being near Mike, sharing a space with him and laughing with him, was better than nothing at all. "Oh, yeah, of course."
But Mike didn't get up just yet, his eyes drifted around the room once more before landing on Will. "I'm glad I came over. Its been a while."
Will smiles, sincere. "It has."
Mike smiled back, east, unaware of the way his presence filled the space he occupied. When he finally did get up and move over to the door, it felt slow and reluctant.
He paused. "Tomorrow, at the studio… Ill see you, right?"
Will nodded. "Yeah."
"Good." Mike said, smiling again. "I like knowing you'll be there."
With that, he left. The door clicking softly shut behind him. Will stayed in his spot for a moment, staring at the closed door. His sketch glowing warmly under the lamplight. The quiet didn't rush back into the apartment, rather seeped.
For some reason, Will waited stupidly. For footsteps in the hall, a pause, for a knock that never came.
When the building finally settled back into its flow, the familiar hum coming back, he finally exhaled. It felt like something in him had been hold taut for hours. The release left him tired in a bone deep way. It was heavy.
Will moved across the room slowly, the sketch still stood on the easel, catching the lamplight. Mikes likeness looked back at him, softer than reality. Will stared at it longer than he should have.
A quiet, aching fondness spread through him.
Being around Mike always did this. It left him fuller and emptier at the same time. Like he had been reminded of something essential and then asked to live without it again.
Will sank into the couch again, pulling his knees up again and wrapping his arms around them like he could hold himself together that way. His mind replayed small moments on loop. The way Mike lingered by the door, the softness in his voice when he said he liked knowing Will would be there, the warmth of his presence that felt so natural it scared him.
Some quiet part of Will wished Mike had stayed a few minutes longer. Long enough to notice how hard it was for Will to let him go.
He leaned his head back against the couch, eyes closing.
For once, the loneliness didn't feel empty. It felt shaped. Like it had an outline now, like it belonged to something real instead of something missing.
Tomorrow, he would see Mike again at the studio. They'd talk. Laugh. Exist in each other orbit like they always did.
Something deep in Wills chest tugged, tender. It hurt. But it was alive, and somehow that feeling was better than feeling nothing at all.
Pairing: Will byers x Mike wheeler ⸝⸝
Warnings: none
Summary: Modern au where Mike is a model and Jonathan is his photographer and drags Will along, insisting he gets out more. One thing leads to another and Mike ends up in Wills apartment, posing for him. ⸝⸝
Read under cut!
"Wanna see?" Jonathan strolls up to Mike, positioning himself next to him and tilting his camera so Mike could see the pictures he captured. He hummed in approval, wrapping his arms around himself as another cool breeze brushed past. Maybe taking outdoor photo-shoots when winter was around the corner wasn't a great idea.
Will sat on the park bench, sketchbook resting lightly in his lap, pencil poised but idle. Jonathan had recently started bugging him to come along so he could see Mike, stating that he 'needed to put himself out there'. Will had scoffed at the idea, insisting he was fine where he was, tucked into his own quiet orbit. He'd only agreed this time because Jonathan mentioned the spot, near the coast with scenery perfect for painting. How could he say no?
But when he arrived, the world didn't match the promise. The trees were half-bare, their skeletal branches trembling in the cold wind. Clouds stretches heavy and gray across the sky, and the ocean, vast and endless, mirrored the chill in the air. It was solemn, almost melancholy.
Will sank into the bench, shoulders hunched against the bite of the wind and let his pencil wander across the page. His lines traced the stark, leafless trees, the walkway, and the gray sweep of the ocean. The landscape seemed to echo how he felt lately — half empty, color drained, lost. There was something in the act of sketching, the way he could capture the world as he saw it, that kept the gray from feeling hopeless.
His friend group was split all ways, some either focused on their jobs, or still in college. While he found himself repeating days. A tiring cycle where he woke up past noon, tries to paint, but ultimately he is in art block and cant get anything done. Since art was his source of income, his funds were running dangerously low, after he pays rent this month he will be scraping pennies. He sighs, deciding to shut his sketch book and watch Mike and Jonathan. He hoped they would wrap up soon.
Part of him envied Mike, but it wasn’t just his looks. His dark curls caught the light, his expressive eyebrows and gentle cheekbones making him feel almost otherworldly. Will felt a quiet, persistent flutter in his chest, the kind of longing that made him notice every subtle movement, every soft laugh. Being near Mike made the world sharper, warmer, brighter. And reminded him of a crush he’d carried for years, unspoken but impossible to ignore.
After a couple more photos of Mike with the ocean behind him, they all decided on grabbing lunch before calling it a day. Will was thankful that Jonathan was his brother and could pay for his portion of the meal, but a tiny piece of him felt he should pay it back eventually. Mike knew a nice, but affordable diner in the city and they settled on that.
"So, Will, draw anything while we were out?" Jonathan questions, menu between his fingertips as hes seated across from him and Mike.
"Eh, a few sketches but I haven't been in a drawing mood." He shrugs his shoulders, setting his own menu down. The smell of all the cooked goods made his stomach rumble, he didn't realize how hungry he had been. Then again, he did skip breakfast.
"You should go back during summer, they have bands preform and festivals when the weather is nice." Mike adds, sipping on his coffee he had ordered. "Its been too cold and overcast to do anything fun."
"Yeah…" Will hums, resting his hands in his lap. The mention of festivals made him realize how much he has stayed indoors this year, he felt like he was missing out. He had such trouble getting out of bed most days, finding the motivation for anything, he felt like a zombie.
On occasion when everyone's schedules were freed up, they would make plans to hit some bars and catch up. These were probably the only moments Will has been looking forward to. He wouldn't say hes depressed, just struggling to find his path in life. His dating life was the most depressing part about him. Dates that led to nothing, or partners that turned out to be toxic. He was starting to find it to be a waste of time and money, not many people viewed relationships the same as Will, their values didn't align and that normally led to it not working out.
And too many people wanted to be friends with benefits, whatever that meant. Will did not fit into today's dating culture, he knew that for sure.
Once their food arrived, they ate in a comfortable silence, the soft clink of silverware and low murmur of conversation would them formed a steady backdrop. It had been a while since Will had eaten out like this, and he felt out of place, like he hadn't quite dressed dor the occasion. The restaurant glowed with a warm overhead lighting, nature themed paintings stretched across the walls. Tables were neatly set, and most guests wore carefully chosen outfits. Will, in contract, wore loose jeans and a hoodie that had seen better days. Jonathan looked casual yet deliberate. While Mike seemed effortlessly at home in jeans and a soft beige sweater layered over a crisp white button up. The contrast made Will look down at himself, The photo shoot had been casual and comfortable. Now, among neatly dressed strangers, he felt out of place.
Yet, as he sat next to Mike, watching the way he laughed at Jonathans jokes, Will felt a warmth settle in his chest.
He realized he had no idea what kind of outfits Mike wore for his pictures, he knew he was featured on the front of some magazines and in clothing advertisements, but he never saw them for himself.
The pressure of someones leg against Wills brought him out of his thoughts. Mikes leg was rested on Wills, he wasn't sure if this was intentional or by accident and assumed he would move. He never did, and for some reason it made Will feel some type of way. The simple touch of someone else made him feel warm inside, he found himself overanalyzing the gesture. Was he really so lonely and desperate to think there was meaning behind this action?
He abruptly excused himself from dinner, promising Jonathan he would pay him back and assuring them he was going to catch an uber back to his apartment. He didn't have money for an uber so he ended up walking home in the cold.
Finally, he makes it back to his tiny apartment and steps into the warmth. He didn't do much, but he already felt exhausted and ready to crash in his bed. However, a small part of his brain told him he should pull out his laptop and start looking for a part time job, selling art wasn't cutting it and if he was going to experience art block as bad as this? he needed another source of income.
Unfortunately for him, he found no job postings, and felt defeated. He didn't want to have to move back in with his mom, or a friend. He liked being independent, he liked having his own space, alone time, and not having to worry about cleaning up after other people or coming home to a roommate. That was another reason why Jonathan was persistent on dragging Will out, claiming he was 'isolated' and 'folding in on himself'.
Will had always denied it, but now, in the cramped quiet of his apartment, the sun slanting low and spilling gold and rose across the walls like a half-forgotten painting, he couldn’t lie to himself. He was alone. He didn’t reach out beyond the small orbit of his friends. Maybe, every few months, he’d type a half-hearted message to some old college acquaintance, but the rest of the time, he lived in a bubble of his own making. And sitting there, he realized that bubble, which had always felt like safety, might also be his undoing.
He decided that night to text Jonathan to inquire if the studio he worked with would want to hire an artist, he promised to talk to them and give him a call back in the morning.
Sleep came fulfilling that night. The next morning, the sunlight was sharp, warm. It stirred Will from his sleep, and he felt oddly energetic. He didn't realize how much anticipation and fear could bubble in his chest. He got dressed, wearing his nicest pair of jeans and throwing on a comfortable sweater despite not knowing if he would be going out today. It made him feel good to look good.
He rested on the couch with a half drunken cup of coffee sat on his little table, every buzz of his phone sending his heart racing. He didn't know just how desperately he wanted this- needed it. Beneath it all was a quiet ache, the realization of how alone he truly was. Talking to clients here and there wasn't enough social interaction, and now imagining working in a studio with models and photographers? He would really be putting himself out there.
When Jonathans text finally showed up, the three letter word he had been anticipating all morning — He felt his world light up and become warmer, a new opportunity just opened and he was excited to see what it holds for him.
For a moment, he sat there, letting the answer replay in his head. His heart fluttered in his chest, and he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to calm the nervousness that had taken over. His apartment that usually was comfortable in its familiarity suddenly felt suffocating, as if urging him to step out and explore.
He chose his portfolio with care, each sketch and painting a small piece of his potential. The thought of working in a studio both excited and terrified him. This was uncharted territory, but his chest was tight with excitement, a feeling he hadn't felt in months.
Something beneath the excitement, softer and familiar tugged his heart. Mike was his childhood best friend, and despite growing apart throughout the years, no one has come close to comparing to him. They had shared laughs, quiet moments, rooms. The thought of working alongside Mike made Wills pulse leap and face get hot.
By the time he locked his apartment door behind him, the day felt promising and full of potential. Will felt courage rising in him, small but undeniable. It urged him forward.
The studio smelled faintly of perfumes and polished wood. Tall windows lined the front, letting in gold sunlight. The owners- a husband and wife greeted him as he entered, giving Will a firm handshake and jumping right into the interview.
"Thank you for seeing me." He shifted nervously, sketches and paintings laid out on the table. His voice came out quieter than he meant, he internally cursed himself for being so shy.
"Of course." The wife said, a kind faced woman with a good sense of style. "Jonathan told us about you, you've been painting since you were a kid?"
Will nodded, unsure how to articulate the jumble of nerves that lodged in his throat. He watched as they inspected each piece, murmuring to each other, asking questions and nodding.
"You have good work." The husband finally said. "You have a strong attention to detail, you capture posture well too. We would love for you to work with some of our models."
Will felt his stomach flip. "I- I would love the opportunity, thank you."
The wife smiled, wrinkles forming on the edges of her eyes. "We are having a shoot tomorrow afternoon, are you available?"
"Yes." Will said immediately, heart racing. "I can be here."
They gave him a few more details, showed him pictures of the models he would work with. He also learned their names, Ava and John. They seemed like a nice couple and were quite proud with what they've built for themselves. After a few more 'thank you's and some handshakes later, the couple retreated into a back room, leaving Will to sit and imagine the possibilities. He would be making money per commission, and the studio was well known and made good money, he hoped he would too.
Then a voice broke him from his thoughts, smooth and familiar.
"Will?"
He looked up, and there he was. Mike. He was stood in the doorway that led to where he can only assume photo shoots took place. The sunlight caught the edges of his hair and shoulders, and for a moment, it was just him and Mike in the moment. Wills chest tightened in that familiar, quiet way. A mix of longing and something close to awe.
"I didn't expect to see you here." A soft chuckle escapes his pink lips that look too soft in this lighting.
"Oh- yeah, I actually just got a job here to paint the models." Will shifted in his seat to face Mike, trying not to let his excitement shine through too much. He assumed Mike wouldn't think much of it.
Mikes eyes softened. "Really? that's awesome for you. We should celebrate."
"Celebrate?" Will blinked, surprised.
"Yeah." Mike said, shrugging as if this were natural, as if they had never stopped being close. "We could head to your place, just a drink you know? You earned it."
Will was hesitant, heart hammering, trying to measure the casualness in Mikes tone. "I mean, yeah. Sure."
They left the studio together, the streets unusually quiet for the time of day. The sun was right above them, providing them warmth on this chilly day. When they finally reached Wills apartment, he excused any mess that might've been inside, he didn't have many guests. When they stepped inside, the faint smell of paint made it feel like home.
Mike seated himself at the island in the kitchen while Will rummaged his cabinets for some wine. He poured two glasses, offering one to Mike. Their gaze met, steady and unflinching. Mike smiled that slow, easy smile that made Wills chest ache.
The small space was soon filled with soft chatter, the wine giving them both a slight buzz that helped them relax. They talked about the studio, Jonathans endless rambles and unneeded advice, how tiring modeling could be. They eventually moved to the couch, Mike was facing Will, arm draped over the back of the couch, one leg outstretched across the cushions while the other hung off. Will was perched on the other side, knees brought up to his chest, shoulders relaxed. He felt a familiar tug in his chest, one hes been trying so hard to ignore and push down.
Abruptly, he stood from the couch and grabbed his easel without thinking. "What if I drew you?"
Mikes grin softened into something unreadable, something intimate. "I don't mind at all. id like that." He said, repositioning himself on the couch into a more comfortable and casual pose.
Will nodded, his hands beginning to move almost to their own accord. He sketched Mike the way he always had in his mind, alive in the soft lamplight, sunlight still catching edges of his hair. Each pencil stroke traced not just his form, but the way Will felt. Years of quiet admiration, of stolen moments and unspoken longing, now he was pouring it onto a canvas.
Moments passed, Mike got more comfortable and casually sipped his glass of wine while still remaining in his position. Will finally stepped back, chest tight. His pencil hovered, hand slightly trembling. The world had narrowing to the space between them. The warm room. The golden lights. He realized he didn't just want to paint Mike, but he wanted to hold the moment, keep it, let it linger like the sunset outside the window.
Mike set his glass on the table and rose from the couch and moved slowly until he was behind Will. Wills fingers gripped his pencil as if that might anchor him in the moment.
Mike presence settled over him like sunlight, warm and quiet. He was close enough that Will could feel the soft brush of his hair against the back of his neck. The scent of him, an expensive soap that made Wills chest tighten.
"You really captured it." Mike murmured, voice low, almost a breath against the nape of Wills neck. "You captured me…"
Wills hand froze, pencil inches from the canvas. "I try," he whispered. "I've always noticed you for…you."
Mike leaned closer, shoulders brushing Wills in a casual, intimate way, not touching more than necessary but close enough to make the air between them electric.
"You see me." Mike said, softer this time, carrying a warmth in his voice.
Wills heart hammered in his chest. "I do." He said, voice firmer now, though it trembled. "I always have."
Mike stayed there, just behind him, the quiet of the room folding around them. The intimacy wasn't forced, it was the slow gravity of years spent knowing someone, admiring them close but safe, finally allowed to exist in the same space, breathing together.
Mike exhaled, slow and soft, and for a moment Will imagined the world shrinking to the pencil strokes on the canvas, the warmth of the lamplight, and the quiet certainty of Mike behind him. In the quiet light, standing that close, neither moving nor speaking more than necessary — it felt like the world was just them, and for the first time in months, Will didn't feel alone.
Fem reader with dean. Kind of girl who jingles when she walks with bracelets and necklaces. People are rude, asking what's the need. But dean loves his jangly girl.
Idk this might be dumb
A/N: wowie sorry this took forever, i started this months ago and forgot. i personally love jewelry so i thought this was cute. sorry its short, hope you enjoy!
you happened to be working at a bar when Dean approached you. you were the only one who wore such an extensive amount of jewelry, and you would jingle every time you walked by. it caught his attention.
he showed genuine interest in your jewelry and asked about each necklace or bracelet, listening attentively to your stories behind each piece.
he kept returning to your bar, just for you, just to hear your jewelry clinking as you worked. eventually, he got the courage to ask you on a date, and specified that you wear your prettiest accessories for it.
when you finalized your relationship with him, he made it an effort to gift you things he thinks you would like. which ranges from jewelry, key chains, and hair clips. he loves supporting your accessory-filled life-style.
now, when you two are out together and people give you stares, he will glare back like a protective dog and wrap his arm around your waist. its clear that it angers him whenever people seem to be judgemental about you, he gets a little crease in his eyebrow that you call cute, and he pouts. he pulls you closer and when you mention it he denies it.
the first time someone asked you what was the need for all of the jewelry, he tells them to fuck off…
you kindly tell him its okay, that you can stand up for yourself. but hes so protective of his girl he cant help himself.
anytime after that when people ask, he explains that its just your style and it has meaning to you. you don't miss his jaw clenching or how his gaze darkens. you appreciate that hes polite to strangers out of respect for your wishes though.
it doesn't take long in your relationship before he, too, starts wearing jewelry. rings, a necklace you gifted, and a bracelet you used to wear all the time. whenever someone asks, its "my girl gave them to me."
Warnings: Mentions of Will dying, corpse. Other than that, nothing. Fluff
Summary: Mike struggles with nightmares about his best friend, leaving him confused and scared. He decides he needs to see Will and get some comfort before he leaves for college while struggling to grasp his true feelings.
A/N: yeah ive decided to hop on the byler hype train, theyre cute. this is also posted on ao3 and may get future chapters. comments are appreciated! <3 find on ao3
Read under cut.
brilliant flashes of red and blue splash across the wet streets, their reflections mingling with the sharp wails of sirens echoing through the stillness of the night. Mike pushes himself to pedal faster, the fire in his lungs intensifying with each inhalation. he couldn't be sure whether the heat enveloping him was simply because he was exerting himself, or the consuming fear of the ambulance's destination. after leaving Dustin's house, he had instinctively followed its path on his little bike. Will's disappearance was weighing heavily on him, and the only reason he could envision for such late-night urgency was because someones grandmother was having a heart attack.
his vision blurred at the edges, and he experienced the uncanny feeling of being a spectator in his own life. he brushed it aside, attributing it to the adrenaline coursing through him. but then he realized where he was headed, and a sinking feeling gripped his heart as his fingers went cold. he tried to convince himself that this emergency couldn't possibly be about his best friend.
before long, the ambulance halted at the quarry, surrounded by police vehicles. Mike knows that being caught would prevent him from discovering who was in the water, so he ducks into the woods, leaving his bike behind. from his concealed vantage point, he sees the first responders approach the water, speak with an older man, and then pull out equipment that he can only guess is intended for retrieving someone from the water.
Mikes heart is racing now, hands shaking at his sides. he refuses to believe it. he silently moves forward so hes standing behind the ambulance now, watching the first responders pull a body out of the water. the air feels too cold now, the night feels too quiet. the body is too small to be an adults, the jacket oddly resembles one Will owned. Mike felt his breath catch in his throat, chest constricting painfully.
and then…
his body jolted awake, breaths rapid and shallow. his felt immobilized as he gazed at his ceiling, his thoughts sluggish and tangled. he graduated, Will was found, alive. it was just a dream.
he should have recognized it as a nightmare — the same one he had been experiencing for months. he didn't know why, or where it came from. he hated it. night after night, for the five months leading up to graduation, these nightmares tormented him. he would see a younger Will discovered lifeless in the quarry, a vision that pierced him deeper than it should have. part of him suspected it stemmed from the impending reality that Will was preparing to leave Hawkins for an art school just hours away, a place beyond Mike's reach.
he rolled onto his side, eyes landing on his clock. 2 in the morning. shit.
his body moved on its own, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. the cold night air nipped at his bare skin, raising goosebumps. what was he doing?
he pulled a shirt over his head, packing a few pairs of clothing into his backpack before grabbing his jacket and tip-toeing downstairs, slipping out of the front door. he wasn't the type of kid to sneak out to go to parties or do something dumb in the night. the crickets chirped loudly, hushing any doubt in the back of his mind. the streets were eerily dark save for the warm lighting cast down by the streetlights.
Mike picked up his bike, pausing and looking back at his house. his mom was going to be worried sick if she finds his room empty, no note of where he might be. especially after everything they'd been through.
but he needed to see Will.
he sped into the night, navigating the desolate streets and familiar turns toward Will's house. as the ride extended, doubt began to gnaw at him, making him wish he could turn back. the cacophony of chirping, the looming dark forest on either side, and the oppressive darkness enveloping him caused an unsettling fear to creep in. It curled up his spine and constricted around his heart, squeezing tightly. it infiltrated his thoughts, compelling him to glance over his shoulder, anxious to ensure he wasn’t being followed.
he quickened his pace until he reached the Byers home. he dropped his bike in the front yard and rounded the house to Wills window. he weirdly felt like Steve, sneaking in through Nancy's window. he would never forget that. a sigh escaped his lips, turning into mist before his eyes. he stood in front of Will's window, rising to his tip toes. his heart fluttered with an unfamiliar sensation as he thought about sneaking in through his window. he peered in, unable to see much since Will didn't keep any lights on. he could faintly make out the outline of his bed, nightstand, and desk.
what was he doing?
he was sure Will would tell him to go home, or think he was pathetic showing up in the middle of the night because of some stupid nightmare. but, it wasn't stupid to him. countless nights waking up in a cold sweat, unable to grasp reality that Will was alive and okay. nights he cried silently to himself just at the thought of losing Will. nights he questioned why he never felt this way toward anyone else. even when he was with El, he was never this scared of losing her, he never had nightmares about it. he never had nightmares about anyone. his heart certainly didn't flutter like this for anyone. thinking back on his relationship with El made him question his feelings, his inability to say those three words, how he wasn't worried when she first dumped him. the line between romantic and platonic were blurred for Mike.
three soft knocks.
he already regretted being here.
he wasn't expecting Will to answer, he was probably sound asleep, exhausted from packing for college and spending time with his family.
just as he was about to turn away, he heard the click of the window unlocking and Wills face emerge from the dark, being illuminated by the moon. the glass slid open, the warmth of the inside hair fanning across Mikes face.
"Mike…? what are you doing?" Will spoke in a hushed tone, rubbing one of his eyes sleepily.
Mikes words were stuck in his throat, his face flushed a deep pink. he shouldn't be here. especially when he looked at Will. with his messy hair and small bags under his eyes, Mike's stomach twisted. Will appeared softer in this environment, under the moons light, tired and confused, making Mike nearly forget why he was truly here.
"Mike?"
he snapped from his thoughts, hand rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous matter. "uh, sorry. i just…shit. i had a…bad dream." he admitted shyly, avoiding Wills gaze. he didn't have to be looking at him to know he was giving him a look of pity right now. that's just who Will was, he was caring toward all his friends, and Mike seemed to forget at times that they were still friends and they could confide in each other.
"oh… i mean, sorry. come in." Will pulled up the window and reached out to Mike, who eagerly took his hand. there was a subtle contrast as he felt the softness and warmth of Wills hand against his own cold one. he managed to climb inside with caution, but his backpack scraping against the window made him flinch uncomfortably. the mere thought of Joyce or Jonathan waking up to find him sneaking into Will's room made him uneasy; everything felt strangely intimate.
inside was much warmer than he thought, he was already hot with his jacket on. he hadn't been in Wills room for ages, he couldn't even remember the last time he was. but he did remember that its always looked the same, everything was in the same place. his desk was still cluttered with pencils, sketch books, some paints. he realized Will hasn't packed a single thing for college.
"do you want to talk about it?" Will muttered, closer than Mike thought he was. it was so dark in the room he could only see his outline, feel the heat coming off his body, and breath fanning the side of his neck. normally the proximity wouldn't bother Mike, and he was stuck wondering why it made his heart race now.
he moved away sooner than he wanted to, being so close to Will made his thoughts go blank.
"uh… not really." he replied, matching Wills quietness. he was too embarrassed to tell him that he was having nightmares about him. he felt that would be too out there, too vulnerable. he slipped his backpack off his shoulders, then his jacket. he wasn't sure what to say, how to fill the silence. sleepovers used to be a normal occurrence in their friendship, but now, standing in the middle of Wills room; the air was thick with a tension Mike didn't expect.
was it a bad idea to come? was he no longer welcomed over like he was before?
"that's fine, come sit." Will trudged back to his bed, the frame groaning under his weight as he took a seat.
Mike navigated through the dark, he knew Wills room like the back of his hand and found the bed with ease. awkwardness settled deep in his bones, he had no idea how to sit, where to put his hands, where to look. he was so self aware of his own body it was frustrating. why couldn't he just relax? it was just his best friend. he was never this nervous around El, he became comfortable with her quickly. but with Will, he was aware of the way he breathed and where he was looking.
"you haven't packed for college yet?" Mike whispered, a pathetic attempt to fill the silence and try to calm his nerves.
"um, no. i guess packing just means that its real, you know?" Will shifted on the bed, now facing Mike with his legs crossed. "the school is nice and all, but after everything…"
Mike was deeply conflicted, with his thoughts racing in numerous directions as he found himself sitting on the very same bed as Will. in a position with his legs crossed and directed towards Will, he could feel a surge of tension each time their knees brushed against each other. although Mike had never intended to find himself in such close proximity, he had hoped that Will would take the initiative to create some distance between them, yet it never happened. the atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, making it increasingly difficult for Mike to gather his thoughts and emotions.
"yeah, i get that. it must be hard to move so far from home." Mikes hands rubbed up and down his thighs, sucking in a deep breath. it was warm in this room.
"you got that right." a breathy chuckle escaped Will, one that made Mikes heart flutter again. he couldn't figure out why.
the tension was too much for him.
"i keep having nightmares about you." Mike started slowly, trying to gauge Wills reaction. it was hard to see his face in the dark. "about that night they pulled that body from the quarry. i don't know why, but its almost every night now."
silence settled between them. Mike hated it. he felt the regret settle deep in his gut, and he wished he could play back time and take back that sentence. being vulnerable was not his strong suit, and never came easy. he grew up in a family where he never saw affection, or his parents being vulnerable. that was why him and El didn't work out, it was too difficult for him to open up to her. anytime El expressed her feelings, he was at a loss for words and struggled to find something good to say. when he would open his mouth he only made her further upset. he would often think back to the many times he comforted Will and wondered why he couldn't be that for El. as much as he wanted to, he was unable to communicate. but now, as he sat across from his best friend, whose been on his mind more than he would admit, the words came easy without thought.
"Mike… im okay. i understand what its like to have nightmares," Will said softly, his hand reaching out to grasp Mikes. maybe Will did notice his nervous habits. "after i was brought home… they were frequent, and harsh. but remember that they are dreams, and im just a few blocks away."
Mike was taken aback when Will unexpectedly placed his hand on top of his own, causing him to cease the nervous motion of rubbing his hands against his legs. the warmth and softness of Will's hand sent goosebumps cascading along Mike's arm, and his cheeks flushed a soft pink. as Mike processed his feelings, he came to understand that he was still welcomed here, regardless of the years that had passed since their friendship had faltered. he realized how much he truly missed Will , more than he had allowed himself to believe. he yearned for the sleepovers and the deep bond they once shared.
"Thanks, Will. that makes me feel better." Mike chuckled, wishing he could see if Will was smiling now or not.
"we should get some rest, its late." Will retracted his hand, seeming to hesitate for a moment before crawling further up the bed. Mike was just about to get up and make a makeshift bed on the floor before Will spoke again. "sleep up here, its comfier."
well shit.
Mikes stomach fluttered at the thought of sleeping in the same bed as Will, but why? they had done it before when they were kids. he couldn't figure out why, now, he was so nervous and flustered by being near his best friend. was he just exhausted?
he obliged to Wills words, carefully making his way up the bed. the sheets felt as soft as he remembered. tentatively, he lifted the covers and slid underneath, with Will joining him. the silence enveloped them, and Mike couldn't help but wonder if Will sensed the same awkwardness he did in that moment. as they both settled beneath Will's bedsheets, facing each other, Mike gazed into Will's eyes — at least he hoped Will was gazing back at him. fear gripped him, he was terrified of falling asleep, of waking from a nightmare craving Will’s comforting presence. a part of him regretted not staying home, avoiding sleep, and the torment of those dreams. yet, no matter how much he wished to escape them, they relentlessly haunted him. they dug up the dread and guilt he felt upon discovering his best friend was missing, that he hadn’t returned home that night. they also reminded him of the anguish Will endured upon his return, the trauma etched across his face. his eyes lacked their usual brightness, and he appeared as though sleep had eluded him entirely. seeing Will in such pain tore at Mike's heart.
that image of him stuck with Mike longer than he wanted it too, it gripped his heart tighter than he realized. it gave him an anxiety he never wanted.
he didn't register it at first, but his breathing quickened and his fingertips went cold. in the dark, he couldn't see if Will was still awake. if he was sleeping, he didn't want to wake him-
something warm brushed his hand, before resting on top of it. Wills hand. he gave Mike a gentle squeeze.
"you're okay, you're safe with me, i promise." Wills voice came out hoarse, sleepiness evident. Mikes chest felt warm. he blushed at his words.
Mike instinctively turned his palm and intertwined it with Will's, a movement that sent a jolt of tension through him once he realized the implication. yet, Will didn’t pull away, he shuffled closer, stirring a strange but inviting feeling in Mike's heart. though he couldn't understand it completely, he was hesitant to confront it. a little voice nudged him, suggesting that Will might be more than just a friend, but he chose to silence it. obviously, Will was his best friend, nothing more.
so why did he feel like a high school girl with a crush? why was he blushing as he laid in the same bed, why did his heart flutter every time Will spoke? his thoughts were running at a hundred miles per hour, too quick for him to catch up, or even truly understand what he was thinking. his eyelids began feeling heavy, and as much as he wanted to stay awake until sunrise so he could quietly slink out of the window before anyone knew he was gone, exhaustion won the battle.
Hurt/comfort with Ben - Basically his s/o is real clingy and physically affectionate, something they used to be real insecure about, but one day they overhear Ben talking to whoever about how annoying it is that they’re constantly all over him so his s/o gets really withdrawn and eventually, very angrily, tells him that they heard what he said
a/n: so i know its been months... lol. BUT, i started writing a few requests when i got them and just decided to finish this up just because, the ending isnt really what i hoped but eh.. i hope you enjoy, and as always thank you for request <3
Expressing your affection for loved ones always proved to be difficult for you. You were constantly told you were being overbearing, or just annoying. It caused you to become closed off from people, overthink simple ways to show loved ones appreciation or love.
However, when you met Ben, that all changed. At first, he was the last person you would even think about talking to, he was rude and often disrespectful. It took time for you to warm up to him, and for him to open up to you. Ben seemed like he was misunderstood, left broken and hurting by those he thought he could trust. You grew comfortable with him, enough to show your more clingy side.
You didn't shy away from taking his hand into yours at any given chance, or swiftly planting a kiss onto his cheek. Ben never seemed to mind your affections, or that you were by his side almost every second of the day. He wasn't the most affectionate person, his way of showing love was that he had a softer spot for you. He was nicer toward you, and put thought behind his words before speaking.
You thought everything was great between you.
"I can never get a second to myself, they're so annoying." A deep exhale came from Ben as he spoke, his tone was hushed, not wanting others to hear.
You had been looking for him all morning since you awoke to an empty bed, only to hear hushed voices speaking down the hallway. One belonging to Ben, and the other you could only guess belonged to Butcher.
Butcher laughed. "They like you, appreciate it, mate."
"They like me too much. I need space, but I can't tell them that or they will get upset. I feel suffocated."
Ben's words cut you like a knife, and he only twisted it the more he spoke. You had heard that you were too clingy all your life, but you never expected him to be one to say that. You felt your heart break a little at his comment, your stomach twisting in knots. Were you really too clingy? Annoying? You thought Ben didn't mind, since he never once seemed uncomfortable or annoyed with you. If anything, he seemed to welcome your clinginess. After that day, you distanced yourself. If Ben wanted space, then he could have it.
You were hurt more when you noticed that he didn't seem to care at all how distant you were, or how you never initiated affection with him. It made you question your relationship, and his feelings for you.
And now you found yourself sitting across from him, twiddling with your fingers as you struggled to find the right words.
"Just- Christ. I overheard what you said to Butcher, about you feeling suffocated by me. But, now that I've given you space our relationship is damn near nonexistent." Your gaze fell the floor, you subconsciously sunk into the couch to make yourself smaller. You were afraid what Ben would say, how he would react.
Silence dragged on for what felt like hours, you could feel his gaze on you but not a word left his lips yet.
"I'm sorry doll." He sighed, shifting in his seat. You finally met his eyes, and he ran a hand through his hair while looking to the side. You've never seen him look this way before, defeated? disappointed? guilty? You couldn't quite pin his expression. "I should have never said those things, I'm sorry."
His apology seemed sincere, by his body language and the frown on his pink lips, how could you not forgive him? His words still rang in the back of your mind, cutting deep like a knife. However, he realized he was wrong to say that about you, and apologized. Before you could say anything, he was patting his thigh and looking expectantly at you.
"C'mere sweetheart."
He didn't have to tell you twice. You were up from your seat in a second and crossing the room toward him. He always had his ways of making you feel better when you were feeling down, whether it was through physical affection or through acts of service. Ben had his ways, or maybe you were head over heels for him. He was certainly attractive, handsome. As you took a seat on his lap, positioning to the side with your knees brought up to your chest, feet resting on his other thigh, one arm around his neck. He smiled at you, one of his arms behind your back for support while the other hung over your stomach.
"You can be as clingy as you want with me, baby. I love it." He muttered into your ear, beginning to leave gentle kisses down your neck, his light stubble tickling you. His lips trailed up to your jaw as his free arm moved so he could hold the side of your face, forcing you to look at him as he pressed his soft lips against yours.
A soft moan rumbled in your chest, mostly out of surprise as your fingers tangled in his hair at the back of his head. His hair was soft, more cared for than you originally thought. The kiss deepened as his tongue swiped your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth to grant him access. His tongue hinted that he might've been drinking earlier, a slight taste of alcohol still on his lips. You didn't mind, though.
You began moving from your position, shifting so you were now straddling him. His hands rested firmly on your waist, giving a gentle squeeze while your hand lightly tugged at his hair, earning you a low moan.
Finally, you pulled away, both of you breathless and cheeks flushed. "I forgive you, I guess."
Ben chuckled at your words, resting his forehead against yours. "I sure hope you do, love. I would hate if you stayed upset at me."
you knew it was wrong. so wrong. to be shadowing and protecting the very being who was behind all the disappearances? everyone would hate you if they knew. but you were in too deep to go back now, especially now that you were snuggled up with it.
your back was flush against his chest as you sat in his lap, the warmth he radiated convinced you he might be an oven in disguise. you absentmindedly fiddled with the frills on one his sleeves, the soft lace providing you comfort. his breath hitting the back of your head every now and then while his free arm was snug around your waist. you were comfortable here, in the arms of a monster.
he began shuffling, the arm you were playing with now moving so he could cup your cheek with his large hand and turn your head so you were looking at him. his usual yellow eyes were now a calm blue, they reminded you of the ocean. a calm appearance but had dangerous qualities. you were just beginning to question the motive behind his actions before he pulled your face against his chest, resting his chin atop your head. his thumb rubbed back and forth on your cheek, butterflies danced around in your stomach.
that question that had been nagging at the back of your mind brought a frown to your face, the words left your mouth before you could even think about it. "do you think my friends would hate me if they knew where i was during my free time?"
pennywise hummed at your question, mostly caught off guard. "yes."
his honesty and bluntness wasn't exactly what you needed in the moment, a sigh escapes your lips. you knew the answer already, but hearing it out loud meant that was your reality and you couldn't run away from it or push it down.
you shifted in his lap, bringing your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around his neck. he smelled oddly of popcorn with something rotten hinted underneath. you weren't sure if you were just ignorant to what he was, or if you were okay with it. either way, the metallic scent mixed with something putrid was enough to stir your stomach. is this really what your life has come to? were you really that lonely and desperate that you seek out the affection of something that wasn't human and feasted on humans? children?
self-hatred was the nicest way you could put this. but its not like you asked for this, hell, this was the last thing you ever expected to come of your life. you hated yourself more for the fact you enjoyed it. you enjoyed his embrace, how his gloved hands felt on your bare skin, how he seemed to fill your needs while barely grasping them. you enjoyed how he was both rough and gentle with you, how he gripped your wrists and pinned you beneath him. he would flash his teeth at you, he was threatening. a game of cat and mouse perhaps. a thin line of saliva would fall from between his plush red lips, falling onto your cheek. he thought he was being scary, but you were thinking other things. a warmth settled low in your belly. you became aware of the way you pushed your legs together. you hated how much you truly enjoyed his company and affection.
you hated how nice he could be to you, nicer than any human being you've ever met. you hated how comfortable you had grown.
you hated it more that you wouldn't leave, that you wouldn't stop relishing his touch.
Pennywise dating a pot head i lowkey wanna know how he’d react to them being all giggly and stuff
a/n: didnt have too many ideas on this one, funnily enough this was sent in when i was tipsy and i started writing it before knocking out lol. sorry this is short, im working on a couple different things while also taking requests because im trying so hard to get out of writing block.
since pennywise loves invoking fear into others, i feel he wouldnt take your giggly state all too well. id imagine he gets frustrated when hes trying to scare you but youre high out of your mind and cant stop laughing at him. he would be trying every trick in the book while you sat there, grin on your face as you stifled your laughs.
a few times, though, he was able to spook you, and he took these as a major victory. not sure about his ego, but when he would be putting on his normal clown act, and you found it utterly hilarious, he felt some sort of pride in himself.
now, a big part of the reason you and him even came to be a thing was because you smoked so often. it was difficult to scare you when you were in such a state of mind, he took it as a challenge. it actually created a bond between you two.
one day, while you were hanging out with him, joint between your fingers. you decided to hand it to him, and he stared, clueless. you urged him to try it, and he did. you still werent sure how everything worked with him, but when he commented on the taste you couldnt help but laugh. you quickly learned that drugs and alcohol had no affect on him, which was a shame given how you had to have the fun all by yourself.
overall, i think he would find it silly to be with you, but sometimes frustrating if he was trying to scare you and it wasnt working. he wasnt going to eat you, but tasting fear on you elicited excitement and maybe even joy from him. pennywise is twisted in many ways, which is why i think he loves to scare you, he loves the reaction he gets out of you and the way you smell when youre trembling before him. thats also why he becomes frustrating when youre high and unable to be spooked. but he has to deal with it whether he likes it or not.
Oh wait I’m so sorry I didn’t read for disc. Plz ignore the last ask I’m so sorry. Mayhaps general relationship hcs w pennywise?
a/n: dont even worry about that lol, i did consider it for a minute but i fear i would not be good at writing that kind of stuff. anyways, i like to think pennywise is just a freak, this was a little self indulgent, especially about the biting... maybe im the freak. idk. im gonna write more for him tho.
i think we all know that dating pennywise would be a rollercoaster. cosmic entity who eats children and loves the taste of fear? love is the last thing he would think about.
hes been around for ages to know what it is, to have seen it with his own eyes. such a monster like him would never be capable of feeling that way. until… you came along.
his own feelings scared him, fear being something he never felt before. he wanted you see you as just another person, just another meal. but he couldn't bring himself to sink his razor teeth into you, despite trying, despite how tasty your fear was when he unhinged his jaw like no other animal could and almost bit your head off.
pennywise is dangerously protective of you, possessive even. he keeps an eye on you any second he can, interfering when someone gets too close to you. if a coworker is laughing at your jokes a little too loudly, something will coincidentally fall off the shelf next to them to cause a momentary distraction.
you watch as they bend down to pick the item up, and take quick notice of the ominous red balloon behind them. you knew not to fuck with pennywise, if he was giving you a warning you would listen. his jealousy was unlike anything you have ever seen. you could feel his presence whenever you were out, it made you have to check over your shoulder just to make sure he wasnt in broad daylight following you. you knew he wouldnt, but he did follow you secretly, and would make it known in the most subtle ways. a poster with a clown on it, holding a red balloon. or you would feel the ghost of someones hand on your wrist. not to mention how heavy the air felt when he was around, almost suffocating. and people would give you a sideways look, as if they could see the evilness that trailed behind you everywhere you went.
he is not a gentle being by any means, he is a monster and he only knows how to hurt. you wouldn't label your relationship as abusive, but it was a classic prey and predator dynamic. he was intimidating and off-putting, but you still loved him.
hes touchy, but not in the way you would like. hes rough, he grips your wrists with his claws threatening to dig into your skin. he likes to bite, but its not love bites like you would have hoped. his teeth, needle sharp and in rows would sink into your flesh, and shortly after you would feel the warm, wet sensation of his tongue licking your blood. hes also not a kisser, which was unfortunate for you since you were dying to feel how soft his painted lips were and get a taste of him…. he probably tasted like death itself. whenever you would bring up the idea, he would look clueless and tell you he didnt understand the point of it.
you were littered in bite marks, ranging in size and severity. it was hard to cover them up, but you knew that's exactly what pennywise wanted. he wanted people to know you were his, that you belonged to someone. he was an animal, and he was going to mark his territory like one.
as if his bites weren't enough, your boundaries were non existent. his large hands would snake their way around your waist, gripping onto you possessively. although there was no one around to see you two, he still made it a thing to 'show' that you were his. his hands were all over you, cupping your face, gripping your thigh or waist, occasionally he would lick you,, which was gross at first. another gross thing was his drool, that was hard to get used to. though, there was fleeting moments that stuck out to you. sometimes you would take a nap in his embrace, it was rare, since he also didnt understand the point of cuddling. but when you had rough days all you wanted to do was lay in his arms and fall asleep. despite him not being human, he was warm, and he would smell of cotton candy and other carnival foods, though you knew he made himself smell that way on purpose. you also knew that he would breathe just to make you more comfortable. his chest would rise and fall like any other person, his breath fanning the top of your head. his arms would be snug around you and pulling you flush against him. these were the only times he was 'gentle', if you could even put it that way.
and don't think his usual attitude let up, he still loved scaring you. after a long shift at work, you were exhausted, hungry, just wanting to crawl into bed. but he would be there, fucking with you. making you see figures in the darkest parts of the room, or knocking something over. you would be thankful they were subtle scares, but he would throw a jump scare in your face every so often.
he also was, surprisingly, a gift giver. however, since he was a clown, they were often circus themed. you found it cute, though. he would give you candy, or pull out popcorn from thin air. aside from carnival food, he would give you carnival plushies. it made you laugh, usually these little stuffed animals would only be in your grasp maybe once every year, we all know carnival games are rigged to hell and back.
the most special gift he has given you is a little music box. wooden, with cute balloon engravings on the sides and on the top it adorned the same logo that was on his circus wagon. it sang a cute tune, one you have grown to love. youll let it play while doing mundane tasks around the house, cleaning, cooking, or simply getting ready for bed.
your relationship with pennywise was far from normal, but you knew you were cared for, maybe in a sick and twisted way. you loved him, for his monstrous activities and all. it worked out, you accepted him for who he was, and he didn't kill you.
