RIOT GIRL

: ̗̀➛PAPA RIOT AT UR SERVICE! 🥭!HIATUS!🍐

[riotgurlll]

. . . RIOT! IS CALLING. . . ANSWER?

Heyyy riotpeeps! This blog may look familiar-except as you can see as of right now it's significantly more barren and unpopular... That's cuz ur girl deleted the OG RiotGurlll account! Yep, I'm dumber than dumb, but no worries! If you don't recognize me... HELLO! My name is Riot, I'm a young lady who enjoys writing drabbles and fics about fictional characters. My writing is probably mid at best, but I post it nonetheless! Shame is dead, amiright??

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➤ABOUT THIS BLOG!ˎˊ˗

✎ Contains: NSFW, FLUFF, ANGST, POOR GRAMMAR AND SPELLING, Y/N IN LONGER FICS, POOR WRITING, AND PROBABLY CORNY SHIT!

✎ MASTERLIST!

MY FANDOMS! (please note that these will change depending on what I get into, lol.)

🍐STRANGER THINGS

🍐DISPATCH

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| 0:40

🥝🍏What I WON'T WRITE! 🍏🥝

-racism, homophobia, sexism, incest, idk crazy gross stuff? If I see something in my ask box I don't like I'll most likely ignore it lol.

FEEL FREE TO REQUEST BABE!

. . . CALL ENDED . . .

[riotgurlll]

-LADY LIKE !!

-Eddie's Cousin! Reader x Dustin Henderson In which a girl will do anything to get her message across, dead set on inspiring others... Little does she know, she intrigues someone she wouldn't expect. NOTE:LEMME KNOW IF YOU WANT A PART TWOOO

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The announcements had started off like usual. Congratulations to honor roll students as the new quarter kicked off, mentions about dances and cheer competitions approaching around the corners. They were going to state, the cheerleaders. 

And, like routine, they ended the same way: 

“—and to remind you all, whoever is vandalizing school property in the girls restrooms, please refrain from doing so. We will find you, expulsion will follow.” The voice of Principle Higgins is monotone and tired, he was clearly fed up with this mystery girls shenanigans. 

see, for the past five months, graffiti—usually made by sharpies unfortunately, but graffiti none the less—had been popping up around school, mostly of which were located in the girls bathrooms. The culprit was unknown— but at one point, the whole bathroom from the stall doors, mirrors, walls, and even to the floors were marks with black lines and wording. It was an intricate art piece, said some.. other’s claimed that it was a disgraceful act of defiance.

Sure, they had conjured up a few suspects.. Harmony Ferraro, Marlene Hudson… But, after a good amount of handwriting tests, they were found to be clean. Now, the only ‘lead’ they had at all was a reoccurring quote left somewhere at the crime scene:

Lady-like.

“—I can’t believe they haven’t found who it is, yet.” Lucas whispered, leaning over his desk to whisper to Dustin who was to his left. The permed boy snapped out of his tired morning thoughts and registered what his friend had just said. “Yeah, I know.” He began. “But honestly? Do y’think they ever will?? It’s not like they’ve gotten anywhere.” 

“Whoever is doing it will get cocky and do something big eventually—that is what’s gonna get them caught.” Mike added. It was all theory based, of course: but these boys were smart— and honestly? They seemed to know your plans better based off of educated guesses than any staff member did. Shit, they didn’t even know who you were!

Regardless, the boys had to focus back at the front of the classroom as their teacher began talking once more. Something about… something? Whatever it was, it was important as shit for the assignment today, Dustin knew that. He was just… out of it, this morning. 

-

“You’re gonna get your ass caught!!” Eddie whispered angrily, jostling around animatedly liked he typically did. You stared up at him, a glint of rebellion in your eyes as your brows furrowed. “So?? Since when do you care about rules and stuff??” 

Your answer made him groan, rubbing his hands dramatically over his face as he tuned away from you for a second. He had dragged outside into the courtyard around the time the bell rung when he saw you walking to your first period—you thought maybe something fun and interesting had happened… but no, he was just scolding you. Him! Eddie freakin’ Munson!

“That’s me, not you.” He started to explain again once collecting himself—finally turning back around to face you, slightly hunched over to get closer to your level. “Listen kid, I’m all for defiance and shit but this??— the staff is on your trail and it’s only a matter of time before you get caught.” 

“So what?? This place is a shit hole! My messages are important!!—“ “half the school thinks your messages are stupid.” 

His words made you tick out your jaw, nodding as you looked around to make sure nobody was lingering by. Anger bloomed in your chest at his words. As childish and immature as your antics may have been: you believed in them. Every line drawn, every word written, was an act of independence. And Independence was important! Half these kids don’t even know what true independence is, and they just—

“—walk around these halls listening to all the bullshit Higgins and the assistant he’s definitely having an affair with, tell them!! Outdated, unhelpful word vomit that is killing any and all of our generations lust for life!” You bit back, and you weren’t done. “Jeremy Frost, in my grade? He wanted to become a god damn astronaut!! Then one day, he told the people at our table that he was going to go to college for Business because his school counselor advised him to be more ‘realistic.’”

There was true disgust and frustration in your tone, the chilly fall air having a bite to it this morning. Eddie seemed to be speechless, damn near dumb founded. You capped off your point by jabbing his chest with your finger. “You taught me that.” 

And with that, you whipped around and slammed the doors inside open, finally going to your class. You couldn’t believe him.

Ever since you were little, Eddie had been preaching to you about being an independent person who doesn’t take shit and follow what you believe in—and you believe in this. See: you admired your cousin your whole life. Sure, maybe you shared different last names, and didn’t get to see each other often until you finally got into high school, but you still thought of him as your best friend—and a role model.

Man, was the role model part coming back to bite Eddie in the ass. Truth was, he dug the confidence and truthfulness to your actions, he just didn’t want you to get charged with destruction of government property… y’know… a felony?

You had been sitting in your classes quietly, like usual. Except this time, you were pissed. Your arms were crossed as you slouched back in your chair, damn near huffing and puffing. Your nose was flared as you bit your lip, leg bouncing as your emotions were slowly starting to overflow. 

Your knuckles were white as they clenched the fabric of your jacket, the words from the teachers lecture purely mumbles now to you, falling on deaf ears. You couldn’t help it… you were so enraged! Eddie’s attempts to get you to stop your actions mixed with how mind numbing this school staff was, spouting garbage at these kids who didn’t know any better. Wouldn’t know any better until it was too late…

Your eyes drifted to your backpack. 

See: you had usually stuck to your sharpie brand permanent markers—black, usually. Maybe a red or a bright pink now and then. However, you had been toying with a new idea, recently… a more offensive, dramatic, and permanent idea.

Cuz you know, those markers don’t live up to their title. 

You snapped your gaze back at the teacher, hand raising abruptly as if it was doing it on its own. She faltered, stopping her lecture to respond to your signal. “Yes, sweetie?” 

Ah, Miss Robinson. You were truly the last teacher who should have been the one to excuse you from class for this. 

“Can I use the restroom?” You ask, unable to sit very still in your seat. She nodded, a little confused. The class watched as you grabbed your bag and beelined out of the classroom, and even though Miss Robinson was a little concerned with your urgency, she told herself you may have started your monthly and quickly urged everyone else to focus up, out of consideration of you and your privacy.

Like you said: the woman was too kind for this world. 

You speed walked at first, but then you ran to the main corridor of the school. You slid to a stop, sneakers squeaking as you turned your attention to the huge, long trophy case that stood proudly against the wall. Plaques of the school’s achievements sprinkled on the walls at the sides of it—and right above the display case? A picture of Higgins shaking hands with town’s mayor, receiving a ‘best principal’ award. 

Best principal your ass.

Your eyes nearly burnt holes into his in the picture, the world narrowing down to just the two of you in this moment. Even if the ‘he’ in question was just a photograph. 

You remember back to the beginning of the year. Back when all of this started for you: the urge to slander him and the other soul sucking people who worked for him. 

“We’re going to have to dress code you, Miss L/n.” He said flatly, gesturing his hands as you sat across from him in his office.

“….what??” You exasperate, brows furrowed. 

“It’s just how it has to be. That shirt is ungodly thin—and it appears that you aren’t wearing… the proper supports. It’s unladylike.” He cleared his throat, rigid as he explained this. 

“You’re kidding me.” You shake your head, looking to the office lady that stood at the side of his desk holding one of the ugliest sweaters you have ever seen. Large, frumpy—and an ugly puke green. “This is bullshit!-“

“Excuse me, young lady!” The woman interrupted. “No! No— Gabby Russel is wearing practically the same thing I am!” 

“Yes, but her attributes aren’t as… prominent.” She denied. The old woman handed you the sweater. “To be frank, you aren’t exactly leaving much to the imagination, missy. What kind of lady exposes herself in such ways?” She scolded, sounding shocked if anything. 

Your jaw had dropped at her words as she placed the sweater in your hands. “What kind of message are you trying to send out there?”

“I’ll show you my fucking message…” you mumble through gritted teeth, dropping your backpack on the floor you unzipped it, and there it was: a brand new, unused can of spray paint. 

You stopped for a second, debating the outcomes of this. Ever since you were a kid, sitting on the carpet in kindergarten, you had been told this: Think before you speak. Well, you weighed the shit out of this— and you came down to one, vital decision… 

You were going to speak. 

-

The bell rang at the end of first period, students flooding out of the classroom and chatting with one another as they spilled into the halls. The air was still—unknowing. Laughter echoed as people joked and shoved each other, the small, cramped hallways quickly becoming packed.

As the crowd began to pour into the main hallway, gasps rippled through the mass of students. The shift in atmosphere spread fast, whispers trailing from the front hall like a warning.

“What’s going on?” Will asked as he met up with Mike and the others at their usual spot. Lucas and Mike tried to peer over the crowd, craning their necks, but had no luck. They were stuck, the sea of students unmoving.

“Did someone get in a fight?” Dustin asked no one in particular.

“Nah, I don’t think so…” Lucas replied, his voice strained as he stood on his toes, trying to see. Still—nothing.

The four boys lingered like everyone else until Munson pushed through the crowd.

“Shit…” Eddie muttered, shoving past students without hesitation. He didn’t know what it was—maybe someone passed out? But Eddie knew better than that. He knew you better than that.

The boys exchanged uneasy glances before following close behind him, slipping through the opening he left before it closed again. Eddie’s urgency set their nerves on edge. Whatever was ahead, it wasn’t good.

They stopped short when they reached the clearing formed at the front of the trophy case.

“Holy shit…” Mike breathed.

Bright red paint defaced the glass, smeared in harsh, dripping letters. On the tiled floor beneath it, written sloppily and angry, were the words:

LADY LIKE

The paint bled into the grout, footprints smudging the edges where students had stepped too close.

At the bottom of the trophy case, just above the metal frame, another message was scrawled:

ARE YOU WHO YOU WANT TO BE?

Lucas’s stomach twisted as his eyes lifted higher.Above the question, bold and unmistakable, one final word was sprayed across the glass:

PIG

An arrow pointed downward, directing attention to a framed photograph inside the case—the principal and the mayor shaking hands, frozen mid-smile.

No one laughed now. The hallway was silent except for hushed whispers and the buzzing lights overhead.

Eddie stared at the paint, jaw tight, fists clenched. He was torn: a natural part of him thought that this was badass. The other half? He was worried about you. He didn’t know whether to laugh or not. 

That’s when his eyes locked on yours. Staff members had already shoved through to yell and scold students to go back to class, some demanding to know who did this. The office lady, Higgins’ assistant, gasped in the most offended way one could gasp. She tried to scrub away the pig lettering, but the paint had already dried in place.

You stared back at Eddie, smirking as your hands gripped the straps of your back pack. The boys followed his gaze, intrigued by the look that was uncharacteristic on his face. 

“Isn’t that your cousin?” Lucas asked, and all Eddie could do is reply ‘yes’ through gritted teeth. Dustin’s gaze seemed to be locked on you, a feeling he couldn’t explain blooming in his stomach. Suddenly he felt… nervous? Uncomfortable maybe? He couldn’t quite describe it. It was similar to how he had felt with Susie—but this time, it was much more…intense.

It’s not like this was the first time he had ever seen you. Eddie let you come hang out during Hellfire club to watch, learn the mechanics. Typically you sat back and did school work that you waited until the last minute to do, read books, maybe doodled in notebooks. 

Dustin had always thought you were cool, whether it be because of your clothing or attitude: he admired you. You were a lot like Eddie, which was sick, but you were also your own person. In fact, the two of you often butt heads—Dustin would always listen to the things you had to say when you and your cousin bickered. He thought you had a lot of good input, things said with worth and truth to them that most couldn’t comprehend, at least to him.

“Punk ass doesn’t listen….” Eddie shakes his head. Mike is the first to connect the dots. His gaze bounces from the graffiti, to you, to the graffiti again before going to Eddie. “Wait a second….”

Will soon followed. “Is she the lady like girl…?” His voice was hush. Dustin could piece it together from that point on, but he didn’t need to listen to his friends. In fact: he couldn’t process what was being said at all. His eyes still lingered on you, the sounds of the staff yelling at his peers now muffled as he swallowed, gripping his bag straps as your smug look damn near put a trance on him… honestly? It did. 

Your eyes sweep across the five boys, landing on Dustin’s as you slowly begin to back away, satisfied with the havoc and chaos you had caused for the day.

Were they hot on your trail? Most likely. Were you at risk of getting in a shit load of trouble? Most definitely. But as you listened to all the laughs and agreeing comments as to what you had written, you decided it was worth it. 

[riotgurlll]

˗ˏˋ I don’t actually read — MIKE WHEELER x READER

➤SYNOPSIS: Michael starts to frequent a small bookstore on the corner of Salem Boulevard…which is funny, because he much prefers writing.  

➤CONTAINS: Fem reader, time skip Mike, awkward crush vibes, bookworm!reader, shy reader, gentle and slightly smutty, making out, soft love, mike has no game I fear

✩°｡🧸𓏲⋆.🧺𖦹 ₊˚

So, it began with the bookstore. 

See, he hadn’t known it then: but it all started for you when you moved to Hawkins after you graduated—a neighboring town to your own in Indiana. Why move here of all places? Who knows. Maybe a change of pace, a desperate attempt of independence.. maybe escape. 

Either way, you got a job at a bookstore. 

The more and more Mike got involved in writing and story making, the more he tried to drag himself to libraries and places alike so that he could one: research things, and two: broaden his horizon on literature. It was sort of like a New Year’s resolution.. however, Mike wasn’t a very resolute person. He was completely content with remaining in a small, comfortable box that was his life—especially after the shit he’s been through. 

It was like he finally got to have a break. No monsters, no more imminent danger or supernatural threats: just him, his type writer, journals… and now, the book in his hand. 

‘Animal Farm’ read the title. He had heard about the book numerous times. In fact, Dustin had read it for a language arts class in freshman year and would not shut up about it for about a week straight. Mike chewed the inside of his cheek, momentarily flipping to read the back of the paper cover just to flip it back around again. 

It was almost taunting, and it wasn’t even a long book. Dustin had strongly recommended it when he rang to ask for good pieces to read. He said the message was strong, and the history behind the books controversy was interesting. It wasn’t the book itself that was the problem, it was Michael’s. Simply his own, for he had hated—

“It’s a good book.” A silken voice chimed through his head. Making him look up. His eyes fell upon a feminine figure: a mixture of muted browns and tans being the only color found in your outfit, at least today. You had been holding about four books in the crook of your arm, another in your free hand as you slide it into its correct spot on a bookshelf. 

“E-excuse me?” Mike stammered, embarrassed as his brain hadn’t quite registered what you said. Offering a small smile, you continue with your job and reply. “Oh, I just said that it’s a good book,” you repeated and gestured to it. “Animal farm?” 

Mike didn’t reply. He opened his mouth to—but nothing came out. He hadn’t looked annoyed, nor did he seem upset in general that you were speaking to him. He simply didn’t know what to say. Mike didn’t want to sound stupid— gods, anything but that.. in full honesty, he hadn’t left his small apartment in a day or maybe three, too enraptured in writing to pay any mind to the outside world. And even when he did leave, it was to go to the grocery store or to visit is parents.. he wasn’t used to interaction at this point. Had he ever been? 

“..have you read it?” You ask, getting a little awkward seeing as he was just standing there staring at you. Perhaps he was hard of hearing? By now, you had finished putting away the book donations you had gotten, so you were standing there waiting for him to say something. Anything. You almost felt trapped. You thought he looked like a nice young man when he came in—with his ironed slacks and tucked in striped polo shirt. The silver and wire framed glasses he wore made him look approachable, so you took a chance. 

“Ah, uhm—no, not yet.” He shook his head, a small and nervous smile on his face as he glanced to the book and back to you again. He ran his hand over the cool surface of the cover, trying to find a way to save himself from that strange start. “I’m sorry, I’ve been a little out of it today.. uh, would you recommend it?” He asked, and all of the sudden he did in fact feel stupid. Clearly you would, you had said it was a good read, didn’t you? 

He had expected a snide giggle or nasty look, but instead he got an even warmer and more welcoming smile. A wave of relief washed over him, the way your eyes lit up upon his question intriguing. He noted the color of them.. he wasn’t quite sure why. 

“Oh, yeah! I mean, it’s a decent length and in all honesty I think it’s good commentary..” your eyes trail to the basket he holds with only one other book in it: a dungeon and dragons guide. 

It was for a small niche category, not even one that Mike had explored to be frank: but he saw it on his way to the specific isle you both stood in now and just had to pick it up. He knew he was probably getting too old for these things, but he couldn’t help it. He missed it, and nostalgia took over. His eyes followed yours, and just like that he was anxious again: palms feeling a little too slick for his liking. 

“You enjoy Dungeons and Dragons?” Another question… gosh, why did he feel like he was being interrogated?

This wasn’t your intention—in fact, it wasn’t even what you were actually doing anyways. Michael knew that, but he was so out of touch and anxious that he had forgotten what a normal conversation with a stranger was like. While it was true that he wasn’t some dorky loser in high school anymore, it didn’t mean the habits wouldn’t stick. 

“Yes—yeah—well, I used to play a lot, when I was a kid.” He gestured towards the book itself in the basket as he placed animal farm beside it. He would buy it after all. “I don’t have time for it anymore and, the friend’s I would play it with are all caught up in their own lives, so..” he trailed off with a shrug, and to his surprise, you give him a knowing nod.

“Tell me about it. Growing up sucks, huh?” 

Despite how shy you were as a person, and how almost timid you had seemed while speaking to him, you wished to keep it going. Maybe Mike’s resolution was to read more, but yours was to talk more. So here you were. Talking. “I always chose the bard class..” you continued. “What about you?” 

“Oh, uh—Paladin.. if, if I wasn’t the DM.” He stammered out, a little surprised that he had met a new stranger—a kind one at that—who enjoyed the game like he had. Your brows raise slightly, intrigued by his answer. Looking at him now, you hadn’t quite expected the Paladin of all things to come from him. Not that it was bad, but his lanky and meek frame sang Artificer, perhaps? If only you had known justhow brave this man was. Had been.

“Paladin, huh?”

𐙚🧸ྀི

And so, it had become a regular occurrence. Mike coming to the bookstore, that is.

Every week like clock work, Friday afternoons when folks were busy working around town, he was there. Him, in his stupid sweater vests and those stupid glasses. Truth was, you hadn’t found them stupid in the slightest. You actually found him, in all his dorky glory, to be the cutest guy in Hawkins. 

It wasn’t just his studious appearance that drawled you in, no no—he was sweet. Polite, like the son of the neighbors next door would be when coming by to ask for a cup of sugar.. well, if this were the sixties when people actually did that sort of thing. Regardless, he had a sort of charm to him. His awkwardness mixed with yours in a way that made you feel recognized, comfortable. 

The second time he came in, you remember it like it was yesterday: you had been sitting at the counter, lazily flipping through a magazine as old Doris Day classics played on a nearby record player. The atmosphere was calm yet stagnate, and it had been for hours. It made sense, of course. People were working—bustling throughout the small town and going about their own business. People didn’t have time for books it seemed nowadays, and whilst you sat there lost in your own mind thinking about the costumer from exactly a week ago, you hear the door jingle.

Well, speak of the devil.

There he stood, glasses and all he was looking around as though he was trying to find something specific—eyes widening and posture straightening when he saw you staring right back at him from behind the counter. 

You couldn’t help but smile, honest! You were so relieved to have any form of interaction at this point, plus you were even more happy to see.. what was his name again? 

“Mike..!” You greet softly, sounding a tad bit more excited than you would have liked. He returned your smile, walking up to the counter. “Hey, it’s nice to see you again.” Your name sounded light on his tongue, the idea of him saying or even remembering your name giving you butterflies.

The sun bloomed through the large storefront windows and casted a warm aura around the man in front of you, his fingers fidgeting at the edge of the counter. “What brings you back here?” You begin. “Were the books from last time any good?”

“Oh, Animal farm was amazing—I actually wanted to come back sooner and uh.. ask for more recommendations? If you don’t mind..?” He timidly asked, voice hopeful and shy. 

You lit up, sitting straight in your chair and flashing him a toothy grin. You loved it when people asked you for books to read—or about anything you liked in general. Mike noted the way you seemed to grow so excited, he found it endearing.

“Totally! Yeah, uh.. let’s see..” you quickly get up, walking to a nearby shelf that was alphabetically organized. You chewed the skin around your nail for a second before catching yourself, not wanting to seem gross: you crossed your arms and gestured to the ‘V’ shelf and made room for him to join you. “I really like Kurt Vonnegut—he writes books similar to George Orwell’s, but he’s got a more sarcastic style.. it’s really interesting.” You begin to rant. You run your finger across book spines and point one out. “Cat’s Cradle? It’s really good.” 

“Or.. there’s The Outsiders, To Kill a Mockingbird, Slaughterhouse Five is also by Vonnegut—hm.. I mean, a lot—there’s a lot.” you finally clear your throat and wait for him to say something, realizing just how rambley you had grown.

Michael had been nodding along, trusting. The truth is, he didn’t just want a book. He wanted to see you.

That’s how it always went. 

He’d come in every Friday afternoon like clockwork, seeing you becoming a part of his routine. Mike would commit each outfit, as different as it may be from the last, to memory. He’d read every book you recommended, even if he didn’t like them himself. 

Michael Wheeler wasn’t much of a reader: before you, that is. Even so, he found you to be the prettiest girl he had ever seen in a long, long time. There was a gentleness to you—something he couldn’t quite name. And whether the day was sunny or cloudy. Whether rain was relentless in its downpour or if the sun baked Hawkins like one of the rings in Hell: he would come see you. 

𐙚🧸ྀི

Ah, so maybe Mike was resolute after all.

To be fair, that is mostly in reference to the reading aspects of his resolutions and goals. Mostly.

But, he’d be a fool if he didn’t admit to the fact that he was resolute when it came to you. At first it was him coming every Friday to that stupid, small bookstore.. but then, it escalated. Boy, did it escalate.

Cuz’ about after 13 failed attempts of asking you out to dinner: he finally did it. He asked on a crisp fall noon while holding a copy of the original Frankenstein story. And you remember it like it was yesterday, he was wearing a brown bomberjacket overtop of a black sweatshirt. Definitely more grunge than usual, but perhaps it was just the fall weather. Maybe it was a bit of his boyish side coming back to life because you re-lit that spark. Who knows?

It doesn’t really matter, because that was a while ago. The dinner at Enzo’s was fantastic, honestly you were surprised that he could even afford it with all the good food you got paired with the bottle of champagne he got for the both of you. It was Dom Pérignon, your personal favorite. You had told him that a few weeks before he asked you.. you found it funny that he remembered.

And little did you know, that five months in the future, you’d be lying with your back splayed against his cool comforter, bare and comfortable as his lips found yours lovingly. 

The morning sun had just barely began to peak over the towns horizon, the room cold. It was okay though, because Mike was all over you. Finally and completely all over you.

He held you close, kept you warm.

You remember thinking that you couldn’t believe it, the fact that a man as kind-hearted and handsome as Michael Wheeler was willing to spend his most vulnerable moments with you. The fact that you thought that, but couldn’t even begin to understand just how right you were, was truly a crime. Maybe one day he would open up to you about his past, but that isn’t what that moment was about.

You had been out all night, came in early. He offered to let you sleep at his place because it was closer, and you agreed. It was the new norm, after all—and after an hour or so of a deep, connecting conversation, he led you back to his room, finally.

His palm was large against your cheek, and as you lean into it you can feel him deepen the kiss you shared. Mike wanted to be so careful with you. He was handling this whole situation like you were fragile, and in the moment? It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. 

Soft rustling came from the sheets and blankets below as the two of you pressed together, limbs intertwining and sounds mixing as you were in no hurry to get anywhere else or go any further any time soon. You just wanted to be there with him, enjoy the moment.

He did too.

Mike had struggled for a long time after the incident. He felt to blame, had survivors guilt. He honestly couldn’t imagine him being anywhere near romantically available—maybe ever at all. He stayed in Hawkins while his friends ventured and lived the lives they deserved. He rented a cheap apartment and spent his time writing stories and books that he was worried no publisher would ever give the time of day. 

But then, he went to that stupid bookstore. 

He doesn’t even read.

[riotgurlll]

༄.°I LIKE IT WHEN WE KISS WITH THE TONGUE⭑.ᐟ

NOTE: Obsessed with the idea of partygirl!reader x Steve sooo here we go!

: ̗̀➛ CONTAINS: y/n used sorry, Making out, Parties, alcohol, blow job, lwk sub Steve I can't even lie, bold reader but also loser reader? read for context, party sex but not public, consent, Steve getting back in the game.

The music was bumping—bass so loud it rattled in his skull—as Steve leaned against the wall, nursing an unknown drink in a red Solo cup. It was a messy concoction of different alcohols. Tasted like shit, but it got the job done.

His eyes drifted over the scene around him: bodies packed together, people dancing, laughing, disappearing into shadowed corners to make out as the party surged on. Steve sighed, the sound swallowed whole by the obnoxiously loud music.

He hadn’t even wanted to be here. An old friend from high school—Trevor—had talked him into it. They weren’t really friends anymore; Steve had grown up, matured faster than most of them. Outgrown them, maybe. Still, he’d been stuck in a dry spell lately—nothing interesting, nothing new. No girls. No parties. No nights out. Nothing.

So when he’d run into Trevor at a gas station and gotten invited to Camila Castillo’s twenty-second birthday party, he’d said yes.

Desperately, of course.

And now, he was here. Loosely having small talk with old friends from high school before they moved on, and before he knew it, a new round of people would come up to say hi.

"Shit! Steve Harrington, surprised to see you here!" A voice yelled above the music. It was the old quarterback. "Oh, Hey Jackson. Nice to see ya!" Steve smiled awkwardly, shaking his hand. "Likewise! Haven't seen you out and about in ages. How come?!" He smiled. In his head, Steve rolled his eyes. Jackson was such a douche bag... Stupid, too.. More than himself.

"Oh yeah... I dunno man, work stuff. Not a lot of free time, you know how it is!" Steve replied dryly, trying his hardest to come off as easy going.

Jackson let out a loud laugh, clapping Steve on the shoulder a little too hard. “Yeah, yeah. Figures. Always figured you’d end up running some big company or something.” He took a swig of his drink, eyes flicking over Steve like he was still sizing him up for a play. Steve gave him a pursed smile, cringing to himself. He hadn't worked for a big company, not at even close. He had a small town job and lived in a shitty apartment, he was tired of living with his old man. “You still around Hawkins, then?”

Steve nodded, forcing another smile. “For now. Keeps pulling me back, I guess.” He glanced past Jackson’s shoulder, scanning the room for literally anyone else he could talk to—Tommy Hagan, a couple of cheerleaders, even his ex summer fling, Sarah Wilkerson.

“Well, hey,” Jackson said, leaning closer so Steve could hear him over the bass. “Good seeing you, man. We should catch up sometime. Like old times.”

“Yeah,” Steve replied automatically. “Totally.”

They exchanged a final, awkward nod before Jackson melted back into the crowd. Steve exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. High school reunions were a bad idea. He grabbed a cup from a passing tray, not even caring what was in it, and took a sip.

Across the room, someone laughed—a sound he didn’t recognize—and for the first time that night, Steve felt something shift. Maybe this reunion wouldn’t be entirely unbearable after all.

He looked to the source of the sound, not being able to find it.. until...

"Steve??"

He finally locked eyes with you, and his jaw dropped.

It was you. Y/n L/n, one of Barb's friends. Back in the day, he had heard about you threw Nancy, but even you weren't too close to her- you weren't close with anybody back then.

Steve didn't know much about you. Not then, and certainly not now. He was surprised to see you. Back in high school, you were known to be quiet. A drifter. You weren't made fun of, but you weren't popular either. You kind of just existed.

Well, when Steve fell out of the party scene, you fell in. He just so happened to miss it.

You had become friends with Ronnie Greenfield in your senior year. Ronnie was on the soccer team, a more fit and muscled girl. Even with her more tomboyish nature, she was best friends with the captain of the cheer team and popular with the guys, so when she heard that some idiot on the football team was throwing a party, she just had to invite you.

When it happened, you were surprised. It was like a brand new door had opened for you... A secret third option.

To sum up a long, long story... You ended up getting blasted, dancing on some table and helping with a keg stand later on. You don't remember it at all, in all honesty... But the people there did, and suddenly you were a party sensation. Ronnie invited you to every party after that, and then so did Francine Woodland, then it was Gabe Dipnicky. You spread through the party scene like a disease, showing people how to have a good time, getting white girl wasted, and dancing the night away like there would be no tomorrow.

"Holy shit, Y/n?!" Steve exclaimed loudly over the music. You laughed, bending forward slightly as you braced yourself on his forearm. "I can't believe you're here-- I mean, wow!" He laughed, smiling down at you all pretty and surprised.

"I could say the same thing to you! Thought you left the party life, Harrington!" You reply, sipping your own drink. Your hair was done in a classic 80's blow out, tight sweater and awfully short denim skirt hugging your figure as your sneakers seemed to have alcohol dripped onto them from god knows what or when. Steve drank you in, not used to you looking so.. dolled up.

The latest hip-hop and R&B hits thumped loudly through the large home, bass humming through the walls as he finally replied. “I—ahah… yeah, guilty.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck and nodding along as you shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips while you reassured him. “It’s alright. There’s nothing wrong with living a quiet life.”

Psh. Yeah…

His life was anything but quiet. Chaos hid beneath the polished floors and expensive speakers, tucked neatly behind laughter and casual conversations. That wasn’t something you could know, though—monsters and everything.

“A—and what about you?” he asked after a beat, the music filling the brief silence. “You used to live the quiet life…”

You laughed bashfully at that, the sound softer than the song playing behind you. Your gaze drifted away as if the answer were written somewhere on the wall, then you looked back at him, shrugging lightly.

“People realized I was a damn good partier I guess...” you said, thoughtful now. “Things change.”

Your voice carried something unspoken—nostalgia, maybe, or a story you hadn’t decided whether to tell yet. The music continued to play on, loud and lively, a sharp contrast to the momentary stillness that settled between you both. It was life things flipped between the two of you. Now, if anything, he was the dorky loser with no inherently fun things happening in his life.

"You uh.. You look kind of sick of being down here." You pointed out, a knowing smirk on your face as you looked up at him through your lashes. He gulped. He may not be a party animal anymore, but he certainty wasn't dumb... That was a line he knew well: One he used.

"Yeah?" He chuckled, watching as your face lit up in a cheeky giggle. "You know I like, invented that, right?" He teased. "Invented what?" you played a look and tone of innocence.

"That line, L/n."

"Yeah, well..." You look down again, but this time not away from him. This time: You were sizing him up. Now, it was your turn to drink in the sight of him. His stupid striped polo, tight jeans, beat up white sneakers... He looked bigger, more stocky than he was back then. Like a man. "I guess I can't help it... You look good, Steve."

The compliment hits him like a truck. It was different when people hinted at attraction, used cheesy pick up lines and what not. But when a girl alone was coming onto him? Straight forward, confident, bold? Steve could feel his control drifting away with each passing second.

He suddenly glanced towards the stairs, the ones that were home to only a few stragglers who were either passed out or on the verge of passing out that night. Mischievous thoughts flooded his mind as he looked back at you, your head tilted and doe eyes searching his own.

He licked his lips, smirking down at you as he took a sip of his drink. "And what exactly are you implying, pretty?" He asked after swallowing, fingers drumming against the red plastic.

That nickname was enough for you.

Maybe it was your lack of action recently, or the few drinks you had in your system.. But you laced your fingers with Steve's and gave him a hungry smile, biting your lip as you casually lead him to the stairs. You had both sat your drinks down on a nearby side table before you reached the banister of the stairs. You stopped before the first step, Steve towering over you as the world seemed to dull around you both. "Y'really think I'm pretty?" You asked. He smiled, a confirmation, a gesture of approval to the unspoken question that you had implied to.

"Yeah, real pretty."

That was enough for you.

You didn't reply, just smiled and led him upstairs. A few people's eyes lingered on the two of you as you disappeared down the hallway, but it didn't stick. Everyone was too busy being drunk and messing with each other to focus on either one of you.

The music grew more muffled and quiet the further you travelled down the hall, and eventually Steve found himself outside of a closed door you brought him to.

"It's a guest bedroom.. Pretty nice, I've stayed in it a few times." You let him know, back pressed against the door as you look up at him. Steve looks down at you, eyes searching yours. For what? He wasn't entirely sure... Probably a few things, but he knew it didn't matter. Not now, not anymore. All he knew was that he wanted to be with you.

It was strange to him, really. For the longest time, you hadn't existed to him. Maybe that sounds rude, but it's the truth. You were Barbs friend, the girl Nancy had Algebra with. He heard you were nice, sweet. He had supposed, in this moment, that he would find out--wouldn't he?

"You sure?"

Your soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he couldn't help but smile after registering your question. His large hands on your waist was what caused you to slowly open the door, walking backwards into the room as the two of you switched: Now his back was turned.

You smoothed your hands up his chest as you lean forward. Steve meets you half way: of course he does. You lips connect in a way you can't describe. You didn't typically hook up with people at parties, instead you were busy being the life of it downstairs with all your friends while being a plethora of drinks in. Tonight, however? You had only two and half, and while you may have felt a little buzzed, you were nowhere near drunk. At least, drunk enough to not know what you were doing. What you wanted.

Steve was in the same boat. Except, he had cut back on drinking in general and that one drink he held when you came up to him was his first and last of the month. He knew what he wanted as well. He knew it the minute you looked up at him like you knew him, like he was some old friend. Perhaps you were just that welcoming... Perhaps it was something old deep inside of him coming back to life... Like an old flame.

It didn't matter. Not now.

It didn't matter, because right now all he was focused on was the way your lips fit with his oh so perfectly. You were eager, but not desperate. The sound of soft hums and lips smacking against each other filled the room, muffled music quiet and unregistered. You couldn't help but focus intently on the little sounds that came from the man you were currently pressed against, slowly pushing him back towards the queen sized bed behind him, nicely made. Comforter soft.

Your tongues danced with each other, the taste of him igniting a fire in you that you hadn't expecting. You had heard countless stories about Steve, both from Nancy and other girls he had hooked up with in the previous years. You honestly had a hunch that some of them were chalked up to be more than they were.. But now? Since you were kissing him and listening to him moan into your mouth ever so softly? You believed more than ever.

He sits as the back of his knees hit the mattress, and for a moment, he finally gets to look at you after you first shared a kiss.. Really look.

His hands slide up from your hips to your waist, fingers splayed across your skin as he had slid them under your top. You smooth your hands down his arms and smile down at him, looking into those doe eyes as you read him like a damn book.

Nothing needs to be said. You climb into his lap and gently guide him backwards until his back hits the mattress. You instantly attach yourself to his neck: pressing butterfly kisses to every small freckle and mole you could see in the dark room, only dimly lit by a small lamp with a stained glass shade on the desk across the bedroom. The curtains were closed, the door was locked.

It was just you and Steve.

He let out a soft moan, though it was truly louder than he head meant it to be. He couldn't stop himself from squirming ever so slightly beneath you as you suck small marks onto his collar and the nape of his neck. You swear that you can feel his pulse beneath the skin you kissed. And Steve swore you could hear his heart beat.

You trailed down his body, taking in the way his clothes felt on your palms before stopping at his belt.

He's looking down at you, now propped up on his elbows. He swallows, the sight of you hovering above the aching erection he had since you opened the door to the room sending chills up his spine. "You.. I- you don't have to.." He started quietly, almost feeling guilty. He didn't know why, because truthfully? He wanted it. Wanted you.

"Shh.." You hush, giggling softly at the sincerity in his tone. You watch as his brows falter slightly at your interruption, but you note the way his chest rises and falls a bit faster as your fingers undo the belt that stood between you and him. "Relax, Harrington.. unless.. you don't want it?" You teased. You knew that was bullshit, of course: only said it in the first place so you could see the way panic flashed in his expression.

"What? No, nonono.. I do, swear-" He pleaded, and god did you find it adorable. He was just so pretty like this.. You made sure to tell him that. "Yeah?" You continue to take part of the leather out of the loop that held it after pausing earlier. "Yeah- want it.."

You giggle softly to yourself, eyes falling to the scene before you. The first thing in your mind is how tight his pants must feel. So, you unzip his jeans and gently drag them down his thighs, just enough to free him slightly. You marvel at his size, the light grey briefs leaving nothing to your imagination.

Steve's voice comes out ungodly high pitched, at least compared to his normal tone. "Oh fuck, yer' so pretty.." He whimpers out in surprise. All you do is hum as a reply, using the tip of your pointer finger to tease at the wet spot right on top of his slit. He was practically dripping with precum at this point.

"Aww, look at you, Stevie!" You tease, laughing gently before biting your lip in a mix of anticipation and curiosity. You fingers wrap around his shaft as you pull his cock upward, the feeling of fabric pressing against his tip the more you propped him up the more he had to fight the twitching in his hips.

You tested something, squeezing him at the base and watching where his tip poked through the fabric. He was girthy, that's for sure. Not only that, but he was a nice and healthy length.. Not too huge, but probably borderline. You smirk as more precum oozes out into the fabric, the dark patch only expanding at this point.

Leaning forward, you wrap your lips around him, the warmth drawing a shocked gasp from his lips. "holy shit- c'mon.." He begged, writhing his hips up gently. He wanted nothing more but to feel your mouth on him directly. To feel the back of your throat as you sucked his dick, watch as spit and precum mixed and dripped all over. "Please just- I need..! Oh fuck-"

Steve had to stop talking, cuz the feeling of your tongue through the fabric and the gentle sucking you started to do drove him nuts. While he wanted more, he'd be a damn liar if he said this wasn't fuckin' phenomenal. He slowly let his head fall back, resting against a firm pillow as he ran his hands up his face. His thighs spread, giving you more room as you continued to tease him with your mouth. As much as he hated to admit it, if you kept that up, he could probably cum from this alone.

You let out a half suppressed laugh, finally pulling off him. "What's the matter? What do ya want, hm?" your voices creeps through the air like honey, and Steve can hardly muster up the strength to look at you. "Y'mouth.. please? You're driving me nuts.." You giggle in response to his desperation, but give him what he asks for none the less.

You watch as his dick bounces free when you finally pull his waistband down all the way. You had gone slow, teasing him as he waited in anticipation. You wasted no more time, and took his shaft in your hand so you could hold him up to your mouth.

You leaned down, licking a slow, long stripe up his cock from base to tip. He's warm, and you can feel every small detail of him--every vein. He lets out a sigh of relief when you wrap your lips around his head and swirl your tongue around, focusing on the underside and slit first before lowering your head down further.

"Hhohh shit.." He whimpers through his teeth, hand sliding down his body and finally resting on top of your head. He's gentle, doesn't push you down. He leaves the pace and everything else up to you, he just needed to have his hand there. It was grounding, made him feel closer to you.

You hum softly against him as you set a nice and steady pace, slurping up any precum that mixed with your saliva. Sliding a hand up his thigh and cupping his balls as you wrap your fingers gently around his base to keep him nice and straight.

You look up through your lashes at him, and you feel yourself grow wetter at the sight of this man. He's angelic, both in the way he looks and the way he sounds. "That's it, oh.. thank you, thank you.."

His voice nearly puts you in a trance as he whines and moans all because of you. He feels his tip hitting the back of your throat more and more the faster you bob your head, sucking him down harder in the most delicious way.

And he revels in it. He thrives.

Steve had been craving this attention for so long, poor baby... and he was being so considerate, so polite. He didn't buck his hips at first, in fear of going too deep. He would feel bad if you gagged around him, because at the end of the day he wanted you to be comfortable too. He wanted you to have fun, enjoy it. And how enjoyable would sucking dick be if he was constantly going in too deep?

He fought every urge to guide your head. He held back, letting you take control. He told himself it was only because I didn't want to be overbearing or rude, but that wasn't true. He like it. He like the feeling of a woman having control over him.. Always did. However, it wasn't something he often experienced... Especially back then, he was always too afraid because he knew he had a reputation to... uphold.

Now, though: he didn't care. He couldn't give two fucks. He was relishing in the feeling of being under your control and command. Steve did nothing but moan and writhe beneath you as he twitched more and more in your mouth, the feeling of you swallowing down his cock overwhelming.

"Mmh.. Shit..- Ah, m'close.." He gently warned, smoothing down your hair with the hand he had on your head. His moans picked up and grew more desperate. "hhm..! Close, m'getting really close..!"

You moan around him cheekily, speeding up and swirling your tongue around him as you message the rest of his lower half lovingly. Your hips swayed from side to side as you arched slightly, body begging for more. You could feel how wet you are, knew that your panties were beyond soaked.

"Hah-- fuck, fuck I'm gonna.. m'cumming..!"

One moan after the other filled the room as the vibrations from your noises sent him over the edge. He gasped, sitting up on his elbows again and finally bucking slightly into your mouth, body jerking as he finally blew his load down your throat.

He was panting, whimpering and praising you. 'thank you' left his mouth every few words, you couldn't help but find him cuter and cuter with every passing second.

And you swallowed every last drop. You made sure of it.

[riotgurlll]

ׂ╰┈➤ SUCKER PUNCH! ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁

Chapter Five: The Plan

MIKE WHEELER X NOBODY!READER.

↳ in which a loser boy meets an even bigger loser girl.

𖤓 ch.5 CONTENTS: reader is described as chubby, unfortunately I do use Y/n for simplicity sake I’m sorry, mentions of bullying, awkwardness, friendlessness, eventual yearning, shitty nerd x grumpy loner trope, silliness, 80’s, physical violence, mentions of blood and slight gore..? (Scrapes n’ stuff like that), verbal bullying, talking poorly about oneself, 

𖤓NOTE: Hey ya'll! Just giving you guys a little chit chat before you go into reading chapter five... The romantical angst is coming in slow but hot today! Get ready for more of it too :)

I WILL BE UPLOADING THIS TO WATTPAD AS WELL! I like wattpads formatting :)

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

"Shit, shit shitshitshit!"

that's what comes out of you.

"Holy shit.." Lucas agrees, looking in your direction as the both of you share a weary glance. "Already??" Will said, absolutely dumbfounded. This had made no sense... It wasn't the routine. They had done what felt like a million crawls: and while it was true that none of them lead them close to Vecna, they at least set them up with a safe routine and solid plan. If this is what he thought it was...

"Paper, paper! Some one get me paper!" Mike demanded, gesturing a grabbing motion with his hand as he looked to all of you.

everyone rushed to get a piece of paper from literally anywhere--all four boys and yourself scrambling like crazy to get something to both write on and write with. You grabbed a dark green marker from your bag and practically launch it at Michael as he messily pulls out a notebook from his battered back pack.

The small knock off expo marker hit Mike square in the nose, the boy hardly catching it as it fell between him and the notebook Will grabbed. The papers were out of line, some crimping and folding unnaturally as he pulled the journal closer to his chest so he would be able to actually catch the writing utensil. "Ow-- Fuck, Y/n!" He seethed in pain, not having the time to rub his terrible, monstrous wound. What a drama queen, you thought.

"Sorry, you're freakin' nose got in the way!" You scoffed in defense, Lucas and Dustin still freaking out and trying to make sure Mike got everything in order.

Will shushed everyone, tapping harshly on Mike's shoulder as Robin continued to speak. "Shh, Shh! We have to listen!!" He silently scolded them as though they were children: As though he too wasn't just panicking and rushing to get the things they needed.

"now--before you start bumping, here's a few fun facts about the boss... She was born Diane In the North end of Detroit,"

Robins voice glitched softly from the radio as you all huddled around Mike, listening intently and watching as he wrote 'north' down onto the fresh, clean note book paper he was provided. See, typically you would have worried slightly about how crazy you all must have looked to any outsider looking in at your shared, frantic state: However, with the knowledge that this broadcast was certainly abnormal--and most importantly, very early--made you worry about more important shit.

"Berry Gordy-- That's Gordy with a G, signed her to Motown in 1961..."

'G'... Right. You all nodded in unison as Mike jotted that down as well, licking his lips in anticipation as you chewed the inside of your own.

"And One is the key number, because between 1964 and 67', the Supremes had ten songs hit the top charts--that's right, ten."

You tapped at the top of the notebook Mike held as she repeated the number ten, signaling that it was something he needed to write down--to which he nodded again, eyes quickly raking the information they had written down already. North, G1, and Ten...

"Then in 78' she tried to make it big in the movies with The Wiz--which was a colossal flop-a-roonie. But, in my personal opinion, I still dig it-- I mean, Michael Jackson as a scarecrow? Give it a chance!"

"C'mon, Buckley.." You sigh in anticipation as she slightly grew off track. You and Robin had grown decently close over the past few months as you shared a familiar love of music, kind of like you did with Max. In the time you knew her, you found her to be a bit of a rambler... That wasn't news to anyone but you, of course.

"But make sure you bring your super-sized popcorn, because this movie has a run time of over two hours,"

"There, that's it.." Dustin mumbled under his breath as Mike wrote the two hours down. Everyone re-read the info over and over as Rockin' Robin finished up her little broadcast to all of Hawkins. One that had a secret message.

"Alright, class dismissed. I hope you were taking notes, there will be a test later! Take it away, Diane."

With that, you and the group shared a sure look before you all got up, you grabbing your flannel and sliding it on as you all rushed to get outside, somewhere private... Somewhere that you could all discuss this freely.

You walked closest to Mike, holding your flannel closed as you all speed walked. "Are we gonna have enough time before the bell rings?" You ask, turning your head to him as the others follow hot on his tail. He looked at you, scoffing out a laugh. "what, you worried about missing your AP English class?" He suggested, knowing full well what your answer would be. "Hell no."

You looked forward again after shaking your head with a shiver. Honestly, you'd rather die than sit in that bland classroom with the total snooze fest of a teacher that was Mrs. McFarland, and to be frank, you wouldn't be able to focus anyways. Not with a crawl around the corner.

"Then stop with the questions and hunker down in that annoyingly dry and clever mind of yours and get ready for the important shit!" Dustin reminded, using your own words against you at the end there. You go to turn your head, to glare at him and threaten him for the fifteenth time this month: But Mike grabs your shoulder and makes you turn with him and the group as they head towards a side door at the end of a hallway. The feeling mixed with the urgency snaps you out of your usual snappy self-- but your eyes don't linger on him long before you jog closer to the door and push it open for the group, seeing as Michaels hands were full.

You quickly shook whatever that small moment was out of your head. It was ridiculous that out of all times for Mike to get in your head, it happened now, in a time like this. You brain cursed your heart as you swallow it down to deal with later, taking a deep breath as you all head into the woods. The air was chilly, hence the flannel: but the breeze was quick to be sharp and cold as you inhaled.

Orange and red leaves crunched beneath your feet as you all speed-walked deeper into the woods stretching out behind the high school. The trees stood tall and bare-boned, branches rattling softly in the cold breeze, as if whispering secrets meant only for themselves. Somewhere nearby, a squirrel bolted up a trunk in a blur of gray fur, chattering in protest at the sudden invasion. You couldn’t blame it—everything out here was in the middle of preparing for winter, settling into quiet, and the five of you were anything but quiet.

Eventually, the trees thinned just enough to reveal an old picnic table tucked away in a small clearing, forgotten and half-claimed by the forest. The wood was darkened from yesterday morning’s rain, damp and soft beneath your fingertips, cold enough to send a chill up your arm when you brushed against it. Still, all of you crowded around without hesitation, instinctively forming a loose circle as Mike slammed a large, battered book onto the table. The impact made the surface creak in complaint.

The book looked like it had lived a hundred lives—its pages yellowed and tattered, the spine loose and barely holding on. Mike flipped it open with practiced urgency, revealing a carefully marked map spread across the page. His backpack might as well have not existed as he dug into it, pulling out a small blue pouch and upending it over the table. The contents spilled out with a soft clatter—tiny figures, worn from use, each one painstakingly detailed. Character pieces. You weren’t big on D&D, but even you recognized them immediately. This was Mike’s language, his way of making sense of the chaos—and judging by the look in his eyes, he was already ten steps ahead of everyone else.

Your brows furrow as Michael lifts a miniature Squawk van replica between his fingers, the tiny details catching the light filtering through the trees. He hesitates for half a second before glancing up at you, brown eyes flicking with something close to nervous anticipation.

"I wanted it to be accurate.." he blurts out quickly, defensive even though you hadn’t said a word.

You blink, then shake the thought away, forcing your focus back onto the table and the plan unfolding in front of you. Now wasn’t the time to linger on small, stupid things. Mike sets the van down and grabs his own piece along with Lucas’s, slamming them decisively onto the square that marked their usual position.

"Lucas, Y/n and I will take our usual observation post,"

The confidence in his voice settles over the group like a practiced ritual. He continues moving pieces across the map, his fingers sure and familiar as if he’s done this a hundred times before—which, honestly, he practically has.

"Once the Burn starts and we have sufficient cover: We'll signal hopper, who will make his move."

As Mike talks, he places piece after piece in careful succession, each one representing a role, a risk, a responsibility. Everyone nods along, eyes trained on the map, committing every word to memory the way you always do—because forgetting even one detail could get someone killed.

"And, now the crawl begins. Once Hop is in the upside down, He'll be traveling roughly thirty miles and hour which means that you and Harrington will be able to follow along in the right side up."

He turns slightly, directing his attention toward Dustin, who stands to his right with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

" Just remember try and keep the signal within--"

"negative 60 and negative 70 DB, easy-peasy."

Dustin shrugs casually, like this wasn’t insanely dangerous or completely insane. Mike nods once, reassured.

"I think their gonna take the same route as last time, main to Corn Wallace.. One turn--But, if you and Steve run into any red lights then... I guess blow through them. Unless there are any military or cops around. If you guys get pulled over, then we're screwed and lose Hopper."

A quiet tension settles in as that sinks in. Lose Hopper. Mike doesn’t pause long enough for anyone to dwell on it.

"You're gonna travel up Corn Wallace for about six miles,"

He adjusts more pieces as he speaks, nudging them into place with precision.

"And as the convoy reaches the small gas station up on the corner, that's when we radio. Which will drop the old man at the boarder of G1.."

His voice trails off as he looks up—only to find every single one of you staring back at him, silent.

"What? What's wrong?" Mike asks quickly, anxiety creeping in. His brows knit together as doubt flickers across his face. Did he say something wrong? Skip a step?

"No, yeah no it's... It's great."

You nod a little too fast, tugging your sleeves further over your hands and crossing your arms like that might ground you.

"Yeah, what Y/n said.. It's fine."

Dustin squints at the map, unimpressed.

"-but, G1 is the most nothing burger of all the zones. What's even down there?? A club.. craft store, a Best buy? I don't really see the likely hood of Vecna shopping for lucky charms."

The comment lands flat but honest. None of you look particularly thrilled about this crawl—especially not after the last thirty-four turned up nothing but exhaustion and fear.

"It doesn't matter! We need to stick to the plan and break into the upside down the only way we can. We don't have a lot of options."

Mike’s voice sharpens, pulling you all back into focus.

"Through the gate, under the cover of a Burn. After that, we search every inch methodically until we figure out wherever the hell that thing is hiding."

A heavy silence follows, broken only by the wind rustling through the trees.

"What if he's already gone..?"

You shrug, the words slipping out before you can stop them. You don’t even believe it, not really—but doubt has a way of creeping in when answers don’t.

"Not that I think he is but.. We haven't come across anything in the past 34 crawls we've done."

The number hangs in the air, a quiet reminder of just how long this fight has already lasted.

" I seriously doubt it-- and based off of what he showed Nancy? He's planning on destroying our whole world. SO: we don't stop looking. Even if it takes a hundred more crawls--a thousand. We don't stop until we are god damn sure that wrinkled, rotting bastard is dead and gone and never coming back."

Mike then moved raised his arm, hand hovering over the center of the table. "Everyone in?" You exchange glances with Will and Dustin, noting in the back of your mind how dorky of a move that was. Never the less, you rolled your eyes and put your hand on top of his. "Of course, idiot." You tease.

Then it was Lucas. He didn’t hesitate for even a second—his hand came down on top of yours with a firm slap, solid and certain, like the decision had already been made long before this moment. Will followed right after, quieter but just as resolute. His fingers rested lightly against the stack, knuckles pale, jaw set.

Dustin lingered.

You all looked at him, waiting. Expecting.

He stared down at the pile of hands like it was something sacred, something heavy. His mouth twitched as if he were debating a joke, then thinking better of it.

"I wanna see Vecna's heart on a platter.. Just wish I could do it myself."

Finally, he placed his hand on top of Will’s.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head at how painfully on-brand—and corny—that was. But for the first time in what felt like forever, Dustin smiled at you. Not the forced, sarcastic kind. A real one.

"For Eddie." He nods at you. The name settles between all of you, quiet but powerful.

You all repeat the dedication together, voices overlapping, smiles breaking through despite everything. For a moment, you actually feel ready—like maybe, somehow, this time could be different.

"Kill Vecna," Lucas smirks.

You swear you’re going to keel over from how cheesy they’re being, but you don’t pull your hand away.

The countdown starts, voices growing louder, more confident, until everyone shouts it out and your hands fly into the air. Lucas whoops like a brain-dead jock, pumping his fist as laughter erupts around the table. The sound feels warm—real—a brief reminder that you’re still kids, still friends, still connected by something stronger than fear.

Lucas climbs onto the bench and jumps down toward Mike, who barely manages to catch him with Dustin’s help. The three of them collide in a chaotic mix of laughter and limbs, just enough to keep Lucas from eating shit. Honestly, you would’ve paid to see that happen.

Instead, Lucas grabs you by the elbow and yanks you into the mess. "get in here!"

"What, you think you're too good for some good old fashioned physical contact?"

He ruffles your hair, and you swat at his hand, half-hearted and laughing. You’re so caught up in the moment that you barely register Mike laughing too—until you feel his hand smooth your hair back down, gentle and quick, like he doesn’t want you to notice. You shove Lucas playfully, and Dustin takes his place, shaking you around just enough to make you dizzy.

A real smile spreads across your face as playful jabs fly between you all, voices overlapping, adrenaline buzzing in your chest.

All—except Will.

He lingers a few steps away, the noise fading as his smile slowly slips. A familiar, horrifying sensation creeps up his spine, cold and invasive. His hand rises to the back of his neck on instinct, fingers pressing there like he’s trying to ground himself—like he’s done so many times before.

The world feels like it’s closing in.

Will turns away, breath hitching as he stumbles a few steps from the group. His chest tightens, nausea twisting in his gut as his palms grow slick with sweat. He looks up—and suddenly the air feels wrong. The distant, muffled sound of children playing echoes in his ears, distorted and unreal. The ground seems to tilt, the sky spinning violently overhead.

It’s too much.

He lurches forward, bracing himself against a nearby tree, panting hard as he fights the urge to throw up.

You’re the first to notice.

"Will!"

The way your voice drops makes everyone turn. You all rush over, feet crunching through leaves as you reach his side. You place a steadying hand on his shoulder while Mike steps in front of him, gripping his arms and helping him stand upright.

"What's wrong? Are you okay??"

"Yeah, no.. I-i'm fine.."

Will’s voice wavers as he tries to collect himself, breathing uneven, eyes unfocused.

"Was it him??"

The question slips out of you, your voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it steady.

"I don't... I don't know." He swallows hard. "I had this crazy feeling and then... the sky was spinning...-I dunno, I guess maybe it's nothing but..."

He leans back against the tree, breathing heavy now, and you and Mike reluctantly step back, giving him space.

"Maybe I'm just nervous..? Y'know.. since it's before a Crawl?"

"I mean yeah, I-I get nervous too.. But the sky doesn't spin for me.."

Lucas tries to make sense of it, glancing between Will and you.

"S'it ever spin for you..?"

You feel everyone’s eyes on you. Your breath turns manual as you swallow, shaking your head slowly. "Never."

Before anyone can say more, the shrill sound of the school bell cuts through the woods—sharp, unforgiving. That god damn bell. Reality crashes back in.

"Okay, Squawk, six o'clock not a second later, okay?"

Mike’s voice is firm as he recaps, already slipping back into leader mode. Everyone murmurs agreements, throwing one last worried glance Will’s way before turning and jogging back toward the school.

Mike lingers behind, snapping the book shut with a heavy thud and shoving everything back into his bag, his jaw tight as the weight of what just happened settles in.—

The Camry idled at the edge of the school parking lot, exhaust puffing faintly into the late afternoon air. The sun sat los enough to glare off the windshield, turning everything gold and hazy, like the day was reluctant to end.

Mike would have biked along with his friends, really he would have. But he knew he needed to pick up Holly, and it would be a lot faster if your drove both to the elementary school and then to the home that you had spent so much time at the past year and some months. 

So, his bike was haphazardly shoved into the trunk of your car, and Holly’s would inevitably have to be tied to the top. It wasn’t necessarily practical—but Mike told himself it was the most reasonable action.

Now, you had to wait to meet with Lucas and Dustin to make sure everyone’s on the same page, remembers the plan, and remembers the time they need to show up.

You had one hand resting on the steering wheel, thumb tapping against the cracked vinyl in a nervous, uneven rhythm. Times like this when you were alone had grown awkward—to you, at least. After so long, it got to the point where you didn’t know what to say unless someone else was there with you.

Mike slouched in the passenger seat beside you, elbow propped against the door, chin resting in his palm as he stared out the window. He looked impossibly comfortable there—like he belonged in the space, like this had always been his seat.

“Where the hell are they?” he muttered, craning his neck slightly to peer toward the school entrance. “They said five minutes. That was, like… ten ago.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “Dustin’s probably taking a shit while Lucas hounds him to hurry up or something.”

“Yeah,” Mike said, rolling his eyes fondly. 

“That tracks.”

Silence slipped in after that—not awkward, exactly, but heavy. The kind that pressed against your ribs and made you hyper-aware of every little thing: the hum of the engine, the faint smell of gasoline and old fabric, the way Mike’s knee was angled just slightly toward yours.

Your heart started doing that stupid thing again.

To keep your hands busy—and your thoughts from spiraling—you reached toward the center console and fumbled through the scattered cassettes. You didn’t even really look at the labels. You just grabbed one, slid it into the deck, and pressed play.

A soft crackle filled the car before the smooth, unmistakable melody bled through the speakers.

I see the crystal raindrops fall…

Oh. Great.

Your stomach flipped as the song settled in, warm and slow and intimate in a way that made your chest tighten. You stared straight ahead before your eyes rolled back and you squeezed them shut, slowly but roughly smacking your head against the headrest of your seat. You’re cursing everything right now. You’d rather be in silence.

Mike shifted beside you. “Huh,” he said, voice low. “My mom plays this one sometimes.”

Of course she does, you thought faintly.

The car filled with Bill Withers’ voice, rich and tender, wrapping around the two of you like a secret neither of you had named.

Mike was quiet for a moment, then he spoke again, softer this time. “It’s weird,” he said. “Being… here. Without El.”

Your fingers tightened around the steering wheel just a little. Why does this shit always have to happen to you? Why does he always bring her up when you’re around??

“My mom, she used to play this song and dance with my dad in the kitchen when I was a kid,” he continued, nodding toward the empty back seat. “Sometimes I wondered if me and her would ever be able to do that… or, something like that. But then… well, Y’know.” He let out a humorless breath. 

“I keep thinking I’m fine, you know? Like, totally over it. And then I’m not.. but I am? I don’t like her anymore I just… I don’t know. I thought this would be easier.”

You swallowed. “Breakups don’t really work like that.”

He glanced at you then, just briefly. “Yeah. Guess not.”

The song drifted on, unhurried.

Mike leaned back again, elbow still braced against the door, head tipping into his palm. The sunlight caught him at the perfect angle—lit the sharp line of his nose, the freckles dusting his cheeks, the dark tufts of hair that never stayed where they were supposed to. 

He looked sun-kissed, tired, real.

And heartbreakingly close.

You let yourself look at him—really look—just for a second longer than you should have.

Just the two of us… We can make it if we try…

The words landed like a punch to the chest.

Your gaze traced the curve of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows like he was always thinking too hard about something. You wondered if he ever noticed the way you watched him. If he ever felt this quiet pull toward someone and didn’t know what to do with it.

Mike sighed. “I think I just liked knowing someone saw me,” he admitted. “Like… really saw me. Even when things were messed up and traumatic.. but then I realized that we just bonded over it and clung to each other because we didn’t know what else to do—it wasn’t a good idea, yanno?”

Your throat tightened, but you nodded. Your answer came out held on a breath. “Yeah.”

Truth was, you didn’t. You hadn’t ever had a boyfriend— girlfriend, anything. You used to have a crush on Ricky Hudson in the fifth grade, but it went away when you went into junior high.

And you wondered, not for the first time, what it would feel like to say his name the way Eleven used to. What it would feel like if he looked at you like that instead—like you were the person he leaned toward when things fell apart. Despite him sitting here spilling out his thoughts on how he wasn’t over his ex-superhero-girlfriend, but also apparently was, you wanted nothing more than to travel back in time and not choose this cassette. Literally any other cassette would do.

You forced your eyes back to the windshield, heart pounding far too loud for such a small space. You hated this. You were doing everything you could to push these feelings and thoughts away. You were sick and tired of it. Now was not the time… there would never be a time period.

The song played on, wrapping the moment in something tender and fragile, and for just a heartbeat, it really was just the two of you—suspended in sunlight and sound and all the things neither of you were brave enough to say.

Then, faintly, through the glass—

“There they are,” Mike said, straightening as Dustin and Lucas finally burst through the school doors.

Relief and disappointment tangled in your chest as you reached to turn the volume down, the moment slipping away as quickly as it came.

But the song lingered. And so did the feeling.

Lucas and Dustin jogged up to his window as the passenger side was on the lip of the sidewalk. They hurriedly gestured for him to roll it down—which he did.

“Alright alright— We know to get there a little before nine just incase, and we also know that Y/n’s the one driving herself but— Mike, why the hell are you here?” Lucas said, voice flattening at the end of his sentence. “Is there something wrong?” Dustin added, afraid that they missed something and actually needed to get there quicker. 

“What? No, everything’s okay.” Mike reassured. “Y/n’s driving me because I forgot I need to pick up Holly and I want to do it as fast as possible so I can work on the plan when I get home,” he explained. “The more time the better.” 

Dustin and Lucas leaned against the side of your car, panting as they had just ran from the boys bathrooms located at the back of the school to the entrance and now to your car. They shared a glance, one that was mixed with both confusion and suspicion—however, the moment was cut short when you leaned past Mike to scold them. 

“Yeah, which you guys were supposed to be out here to check with me like 15 minutes ago! What the hell?” You pried, palm flying upward while the side of your hand stayed against the steering wheel. 

Lucas squinted in the sun as Dustin internally thanked Lucas for being a sun blocker for him. He shook his head and shrugged. “I was busy.” Dustin excused.

“—busy taking the longest shit in the history of all shits.” Lucas corrected, gritting his teeth at his friend who threw up his hands in defense. “They had the chili today!!—“

“Ugh…” you gagged, leaning back in your seat. “I can’t believe you eat that gruel..” 

Dustin mumbled a small and meek ‘it’s good..’ under his breath as all his friends gave him a look of judgement. You just shook your head and switched gears. “Whatever, we need to get going. See you guys at Six?” You doubled down, eyes landing on Dustin. 

He nodded at you, patting the top of your car: a signal to leave as he and Lucas backed off further on the raised sidewalk. 

“At Six.” He confirmed.

𓏲ּ𝄢🎼ılılıll|̲̅̅●̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅●̲̅̅| llılılı🎼

TAGLIST!

@druthesigma @mosquit-no1 @aerissblog @otakusimp1 @rafessidemeal @applejjacks @olivebolivee @lalalandincraz @toeoffrog @mochi-ssu @su1c1dalt3ndenc1es @gumusservilvr @gaytron3000 @arcticwisteria @akaashiit @leysol @ch-locked @nininehaaa

[riotgurlll]

→KILL THE STEREO! ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Mike W. x Weird girl! Reader

CONTENTS: Weird girl reader, romantical feelings, hcs, fem pronouns, socially awkward reader who loves expression and art, This was originally going to be a social media au for the stranger things cast but I decided against it because I felt a little nervous writing about real people and actors, sooo we're sticking to make believe! bullying, sweetness, young lurv, teasing, lemme know if there should be a part two of some sort??

YA'LL VOTED FOR IT SO IT'S HERE FIRST!

HCS BELOW THE MOODBOARD LOVLIESSS!!!°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It all started when you got paired with the infamous Michael Wheeler for a creative project on a chemistry topic of your choice.

Unfortunately, for Mike: He was unable to choose his partner. Realistically, he would have chosen Dustin--alas, the day had been against him. It wasn't that he had an issue with you: no, no. You were also known around Hawkins High to be a freak, just like him and his friends. You typically stuck around the theatre kids, art geeks: You were one of the people who worked on the school's newspaper... even if it wasn't as popular as you would have liked...

The point is, you were just like any other nerdy-freakazoid out there. You liked what you liked, owned it, became friends with others who had similar interests... and now, it was time to loop Michael Wheeler into your madness.

However... there was no true madness--or, if there was, it would quickly be unmatched due to eventually finding out about interdimensional monsters and scary wormhole physics. No, you may have loved expression and uniqueness, but you were actually just as anxious and any teen out there. For now, though: it was just the two of you.

The two of you, working on a artistic (mandatory via rubric) posterboard on Nano chemistry of all things... In all honesty, you weren't quite sure what the hell that even was, but it was per Mike's request when you actually got together to talk about it.

The class was shuffled up and moved to sit next to their respective partners-- y'know, the ones that Mr. Clarke had pulled out of a hat.

You sat your books down as everyone moved the desks together into pods of two, shimmying your new desk in the class next to Mikes. The young man swallowed, eyes gazing at you as a familiar social anxiety began to creep up his neck.

As your eyes met, he gave you an awkward, pursed smile as he quickly looked back ahead at the chalk board, fingers playing with his beat up number two pencil. The two of you sat next to one another stiffly, listening while Clark went over the rules and rubric for the project once more: saying something about how even though you guys were older and almost out of high school, that you needed to have moments where you needed to be 'creative' and express yourself.... apparently, you were doing this by doing chemistry.

you cringed out a meek smile as he chuckled, pointing at you as he was using your uniqueness and love for art as a way to back up his point. "Isn't that right, Y/n?" He smiled wide. Mr. Clarke was one of your favorites. You may not have been the best at Chemistry class, but that didn't mean he didn't see your potential. In all honesty, you were pretty sure the teacher actually shed mercy on you while grading your work...

So, due to his obvious kindness, you nodded and replied. "Yep...!"

Mike looks to you with everyone else, practically able to feel how uncomfortable you were with all the eyes on you. It was simply not something you were expecting: but he could see it in the way you wiped your sweaty palms away on your jeans, taking a deep and shaky breath. He recognized it because he had done the same thing so many times before--just to put on a brave and calm facade at the worse of times.

Michael made a note to himself.

He had seen your work in art class from a distance... He had read small excerpts from the school paper that you wrote, where you went into detail and came off as so passionate about whatever small world issue you were allowed to actually cover in the schools moderated paper. And with said knowledge, he was a little surprised that you were so anxious. You wore brighter clothes, unique accessories some days when you felt more bold. He had noticed-- shit, it was hard not to.

"Psst.." You whispered as Clark rambled, trying to get his attention. You had seen how dead he looked staring up at the front of the classroom, assuming he was lost in whatever the teacher was saying. In reality, he was profiling you. Sizing you up, almost. Thinking about whether or not you two would clash.

He turned to you, your hushed efforts pulling him out of his own head as the teachers rambling faded into the background.

"Just to give you a heads up... I'm really bad at chem... We should probably do a topic that you're good at." you warned, giving him a small smile. You may have been scared shitless, nervous to talk to a new person... But you also weren't dense. You knew about Mike just like he knew about you: Simple things, stuff you observe from a distance. You knew he was a total dork, so you felt a little more reassured when talking to him.

It took him a second to process, but he eventually smiled and waved you off. "Oh- don't uh.. Don't worry about it... Clarke likes me, so I'm sure we'll get a good grade even if we bomb.." He whispered back, coming off more cheekily than he meant to. The two of you shared a small, huffed out laugh as you smiled at him, looking back to your notebook... Though, you stole one last glance at him when he focused back on Mr. Clarke.

Your mind wasn't focused on Mr. Clarke or what he was saying... No.

It was focused on your hallway crush: the one you just got paired up with. Gosh... the day was on your side!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ You had been left with a few minutes to talk to your new seating neighbors and project partners. It was awkward, yes: but the two of you had politely discussed some brainstorming ideas.

"Uh-- Obviously I'm gonna try really hard on this, lord knows I need the grade..." You joked lightly. "But, I was kind of hoping that I could focus on most of the looks of things? Y'know.. Of the actual project?"

Mike looked at you like he didn't speak English, eyes searching yours as he tried to process what you were saying. He wasn't sure why, but the reality of talking to you was making him more nervous than he'd like to admit. You played with the end of your sweater sleeves, searching his eyes for some sort of answer. You tilted your head, ready to ramble on as a fear that you came off as lazy entered your wacky little brain.

"I-I mean, not that I won't put effort into the actual sourcing and information, I just... I don't wanna mess this up for either of us, so I was hoping we could kind of work together and uh... and what not---" You blurted out, gesturing timidly with your hands. In a way, it reminded him of Robin.

He quickly snapped out of it upon realizing you were getting a little scared at how he didn't reply right away. He cursed himself for being dumb, why did he do that??

"No--! Yeah, no of course. I've uh, seen some of your stuff. It's cool, real cool.." he trailed off, the compliment naturally coming off as unusual on his tongue. "Yeah, no, I think we can make something really nice, get a good grade n'stuff." He nodded, concluding what he was saying.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ So, you exchanged home phone numbers and agreed to call at around five o'clock after school to do some further planning. You wouldn't have time to do it today, seeing as by the time he finished replying to you, the bell had rung and you had to go to English while he needed to go to lunch.

You took out a pen with a pom pom on the end from your patched up back, scribbling down your phone number and handing it to him on a small pink sticky note. He did the same, but instead of a cutie peace of paper, it was with his pencil and a piece of torn notebook paper.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ With that, you two separated. Not before doing an awkward exchange of 'goodbyes'.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ At lunch, he was quick to shut everyone up.

"Alright alright... you guys will not believe this.." He sighed, bracing everyone with his elbows resting against the table and his palms open for his palms to see. Will looked a little concerned, tilting his head as he took a bite of a French fry. One colder than he'd like to admit.

Mike opened his mouth to continue, but Dustin cut him off as he sat in the spot Eddie used to. "Wheeler over here got paired with the newspaper girl." He spoiled. "Dude! I was gonna tell the story!" Mike whined, looking to the permed boy. Dustin shrugged in defense, taking a swig of his milk. "What story?? You two got randomly paired together and have to work together for the next four days to make up a shitty project for an easy grade."

"wait, wait-- Newspaper girl..?" Will cut in, completely lost. Lucas was in the same boat, nodding at his friends confusion. "yeah, we don't follow.."

Michael rolled his eyes, Dustin did too. "You know her-- She's the girl that wore all the colorful plaid that one day in Sophomore year and got made fun of by Stacy Holloway?" Mike explained loosely, trying to jog their memory while also wanted to get it over with so that he could talk about what he was going to say before Dustin interrupted him.

Will and Lucas looked at each other. "ohhhh.." They clocked, wiggling their fingers at one another. "Y/n L/n? The plaid puke girl?" Lucas asked to double check. "Aw c'mon man, don't call her that." Mike scoffed. He knew that Lucas didn't mean anything by it-- the sad reality was that was what people knew you as thanks to that Stacy girl. After that fateful day... you laid off the plaid.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ "You are never going to believe this." You immediately say as you sit next to your best friend. They raise a brow, getting their notebook out for class. "believe what, exactly..?"

You look around to ensure that no one is looking before sitting down and instantly leaning towards them. They look at you surprised, brows raised at your intensity.

"I got paired with Mike Wheeler for a chem project..!" You whispered, his name coming out much quieter just to make sure the odds of someone overhearing were slim to none. your friends expression changed as they leaned back in interest, a smirk on their face. "No shit? The hellfire kid?"

"No shit! and yes!" You ensured. "Gosh, my heart dropped to my fucking stomach when Clark said his name after mine after pulling from the hat.." You whine out, flopping your head down on the desk. You were still processing, and with that came your dramatic tone and actions. "what hat...?" They asked. You shot back up, grabbing their wrists.

"Not the point!" You whispered loudly. They laughed, shaking their head. "Okay okay, relax, N/n..." They chuckled as you sighed and released them from your grip. You lean back in your squeaky chair, face palming. "God, he is so cute..." the way it comes out, it almost sounds like you're complaining. "And, and-- he's awkward, and nice, and so cute--did I say that already?"

"Y'know, I think you did?" Your friend nodded with a small smile. You groan. Your friend loved watching you freak out over this stupid crush. One time, you wouldn't shut up about how cute he looked on some random ass Wednesday in your junior year. "So... What are you guys gonna do?" they questioned.

"I don't really know yet... We exchanged numbers, so--"

"You exchanged numbers!?!"

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ Indeed, you did. And for the entirety of your English period you and your best friend were going back and forth about the whole thing, even though realistically you only found out you were partners, sat by each other, and spoke in the last fifteen minutes of class.

To sum the beginning up, you were on edge all day and it only got worse when you arrived home. Starting at four, you waited anxiously by the phone you had in your room while biting your freshly painted nails you did an hour ago... So much for that.

You waited there an hour early because: What if he called early? What if he called exactly at five on the dot and you missed it because you got distracted? Would not happen. You refused. You would rather die than miss the first ever phone call you were going to share with Mike Wheeler from chemistry class. Then, when the clock ticked closer to the time you two had agreed on to call, you realized something.

What if he was waiting for you to call?

𐔌 . ⋮ time jump .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ You're currently sitting in Mike Wheelers basement, looking around as your palms begin to sweat. You're sitting on the love seat, stiff and unfamiliar with the rather cozy yet new area.

You take in the space: The cluttered board games and Dungeon and Dragons memorabilia, the mixes of patterns and knitted blankets scattered about on seating areas. Your eyes drifted to a shelf with a plethora of books and photo albums... Four large binders with names written on the spines in colors seemingly assigned to each person that caught your eye. You debated getting up--snooping to see what they were for.

"--Sorry I took so long, my mom was interrogating me on what snacks you like.." Mike's voice came from the stairs as he walks downstairs, a big bowl of popcorn and freshly cut strawberries in hand... Maybe an odd combo, but honestly? Both sounded good.

"Oh! It's no problem, really.. I appreciate it." You smile kindly, taking the strawberries as he handed them to you. He returned the smile, setting the popcorn down nearby as your eyes followed him. "Your mom--She seems really nice."

"Oh, thanks..." He nodded, not used to small talk with new people in the slightest.

There was a beat. An unfortunately awkward one. Mike sat the farthest away from you that he could on the couch, his backpack by his feet just like your bag was beside yours. You were both stiff, rigid even. You picked at your nails, looking down at them as if they were the most interesting thing in the world--while Mike smoothed his hands up and down his knee's like he had some sort of joint pain. "Uhm.. So, our project.." He spoke a little earnestly, hoping for some conversation to start. He wanted nothing more than this to go smoothly.. For some kind of flow to ensue as you two worked together.

"Yeah, yeah our project... Uhm, do you have any ideas? For our topic, I mean?" You perked up, turning towards him on the couch. Your voice was sweet, patient. Honestly, it was a relief to Michael that you at least pretended to have interest in sharing a project with him of all people. He nodded, a small bit of him excited that you had asked him. He loved science--maybe not as much as Dustin, but it was still a subject he enjoyed.

"Yeah! So, I was trying to think of something that others wouldn't gravitate towards--cuz, y'know.. I thought you would like to make something a little different than what other people are doing... Well, obviously a lot of us are doing poster boards but I mean topic wise--" Mike ensued in a ramble, gesturing with his hands as he explained his plan for Nano Chemistry and possible things you could specifically do the project about.

Your brows raised as you listened to him talk about how he took you into consideration when thinking up ideas. Truly, he was right: You did prefer to work on something different from what the others would be doing. You wanted something intricate, something you could really work with looks wise. You didn't know much about nano-whatever, but you trusted that Mike chose something good.

You didn't know why your brain was doing this to you, but you just couldn't get over his eyes right now. Big and brown, full of energy as he ranted on and on about the topic and how passionate he was about it. The way his dark hair fell in loose curls over his forehead--and god, you just adored that stupid grandpa sweater he was wearing. The colors really complimented his complexion...

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ So, the two of you began to write out steps and processes you'd be going over in your project. He took the time to calmly and patiently explain to you what exactly it was he was talking about. You couldn't get over how sweet he was... Your crush growing the more he spoke to you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ When it came time for you to take the reigns and brainstorm the poster board, the roles reverse. You're in your element, coloring loosely on a blank sheet of notebook paper with colored pencils that Mike snatched from Holly's room and working with him on what the project itself would look like. You were talking about how using brighter colors to label correlating parts of diagrams would appeal better to the eye and help people understand better, give them something easier to follow.

Mike couldn't entirely focus on what you were saying and doing, though. He tried--god, he really did. But every once in a while his eyes would drift from what you were doodling and going to your hair, the way it framed your face... your lashes, your lip gloss. He was taking in your features, mind flooding with thoughts on how pretty you were.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ The truth was, you weren't the only one with a little hallway crush. Mike had never vocalized it, but he had a small crush on you ever since the seventh grade. The two of you had shared an art foundations class at the time, and when he saw the dragon you had painted with bursts of colors and fantasy elements he thought you were the coolest person in the world.

Flash forward to high school, he was enamored by how much you leaned into your creative side, not paying any of the rude assholes that would pick on you or your friends any mind as you walked down the halls with your head high, wearing whatever you wanted. Whether it be clothes, makeup, hair, whatever: You thrived in it.

Even his friends thought that you were a little strange, but he couldn't see it. What was strange about being confident in yourself and not conforming to high school standards? When his friend group met Eddie, that's when they began to lay off and understand a little better. Even then, this was the first time you and him had ever spent any real time together.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ The rest of the night was spent bonding over colors and nano chemistry of all things. You talked mostly about the work at first, but drifted onto other things. Things like theatre, DnD, movies, school drama that surrounded the popular people, classic things that teens talk about.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ By the end of the night, he didn't want you to leave. To be fair, you didn't want to either. But as his mother peaked her head through the basement door to let your know that your ride was there, you had no choice but to pack up and leave.

"So, when do you wanna hang next? For the project." You ask as you slide the backpack on. Mike puts the empty bowl that had the strawberries in the empty bowl of popcorn as he looked to you. "Uhh, same time tomorrow?" He asked, sounding a little excited at the thought. You nod, backing up towards the stairs.

"Same time tomorrow.

𐔌 . ⋮ OVERALL HCS .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ Needless to say, you got an A+ on that project. And afterwards? You still talked. You still hung out.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ The boys would catch him spacing out, staring in your direction as you laughed with your friends on the other side of the cafeteria. The would repeatedly say his name until he snapped out of it. "what?" He would finally reply, and all they could do was roll their eyes.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ I think Mike would love to come to the plays the theatre club hosts because he knows you helped work on the set pieces and costume designs.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ Also, he would love it if you came over to help sketch DnD stuff with him. He isn't the best artist out there, but he puts a lot of effort into the maps and character designs he makes for his binder.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ Maybe one day you come up to him to show a concept you did for a character of your own in DnD, he's head over heels, he's ecstatic. He won't shut up about how creative you are to the guys and they will get sick of it.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ That is until they meet you. One day, he invites you to go see a movie with him and his friends, which you of course agree to. The both of you are at the hip, sitting side by side in the theatre, sharing popcorn, whispering quietly about the movie in a non-distracting way.

The others had to admit, you were cooler than they'd thought you would be.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ Now you're around more. And it's actually enjoyable. You're all discussing a campaign idea as you eat lunch at a diner on a Sunday. Mike was right, you were insanely creative. The boys marveled at sketches, collages or whatever it is you brought to the table to show them. They'd all talk about your design skills.

"I told you guys she was a genius!" Mike laughed proudly, and your face heated in response.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ His mom loves you! She thinks you're awfully sweet, and loves how expressive you are: She thinks you're a cutie pie.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ Holly also thinks you're really cool!! She likes to play dress up with you and steal you away from Mike when you come over.

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷ If you ever get bummed out because someone said something about your looks, your clothes, or whatever it may be: He will give you a thirty minute pep talk on why you shouldn't give a flying fuck about what those brain eating amoebas think and to stay true to yourself.

He'll tell you that he loves your originality, admires it even.

"I think you're the coolest... I mean it."

⊹ ࣪ ˖⤷

Your first kiss happened during a movie night at your house.

You had insisted—no, begged—to watch Pretty in Pink, and after enough groaning and half-hearted complaints before the final bell rang, Mike had finally agreed. Now the credits rolled, the glow of the TV washing over the living room as you launched into your post-movie rant like it was a personal mission.

“I’m just saying,” you continued, sitting cross-legged on the couch, “she so should’ve ended up with Ducky. He was there the whole time, he cared, he was dorky but in a good way—”

Mike nodded along, pretending to focus on your words instead of how close you were sitting. Every time you gestured, your arm brushed his, and every time it did, his heart jumped.

“And honestly,” you went on, passion building, “if I had to choose between someone who actually cared about me and some boring, rich guy who was literally embarrassed to be seen with me? Yeah, no. Not happening. Ever.”

You laughed, pointing toward the TV for emphasis, completely unaware of how your next words sounded.

“I mean— in a way, you’re kind of like my Ducky. And, and— if it were me, I’d choose him. Every time.”

Silence fell over the room.

Mike swallowed hard. “I’m your… what?” he asked quietly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

Your stomach dropped.

“I— I didn’t mean— I mean, not because—” The words tangled together, your confidence vanishing as fast as it had appeared.

Mike lifted a hand, gently, and you stopped talking instantly.

He looked at you for a moment, really looked at you, eyes soft and uncertain but hopeful all the same. “You know,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t think Ducky would’ve been mad about hearing that.”

Your breath caught. “Yeah?”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah.”

Before you could overthink it, he leaned in. Slowly. Giving you time to pull away—though you didn’t. When his lips met yours, it was brief and shy and a little awkward, but warm in a way that made your chest feel light.

When he pulled back, your foreheads rested together, both of you smiling like you’d just discovered something important.

“Movie night,” he murmured, “was a good idea.”

You laughed softly. “Told you.”

[riotgurlll]

˗ˏˋ CHECK PLEASE!

⋆.˚Steve Harrington x Chubby!Reader <3

⋆.˚ CONTAINS: Smut, needy Steve, lwk sub Steve kind of..? A little?, yearning, silly, car sex sooo public sex but not actually, chubby reader as listed, pussy pronouns, fem reader, strangers->lovers, this man needed to BAD.

---

The sound of Robins muffled voice slowly creeped into the back of his mind..

“Steve..?” 

Though, it wasn’t enough at first. He was too focused on you. His mind was flooded with distracting thoughts and questions as he stared—watching your every move without even intentionally doing so. He was chewing on the inside of his lip, eyes fluttering instead of a normal blink as he watched you smile at a group in the booth across the diner. 

God… you were so beautiful—

“Steve!” Robin finally broke through his clouded head, her louder tone making Steve jump, sitting up straight like he was just caught doing something bad. To be fair, maybe he was. 

“You’ve been staring at her ever since we got here, dingus. Your food is gonna be ice cold.” She scolded in a hushed tone so no one would hear. For a moment, Harrington looked confused. But again, not a genuine look of confusion—a fake one you wear when you get caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. 

“What? Psh— what? Don’t be ridiculous Robin,” he scoffed, shrugging her off with a motion of his hand. “I was not ‘staring’—“ he let out a forced laugh with air quotes, shaking his head as he moved to take a bite of his now admittedly cold fries. He chewed slowly, a little put off as they were no longer fresh. Even then, he did his best to not let her win: he kept an off put smile on his face while he chewed. It was kinda creepy.

Robin just gave him a dumb founded look, her food already half gone by this point. You had dropped off their order roughly ten minutes ago—and his was completely untouched until just now. “Really? Then what was I talking about?” She deadpanned, elbows on the table as she leaned closer to him.

“Uhm…uh…” he stammered, searching his brain for any side information he may have obtained while he was lost in whatever trance you had apparently had him under. “Uuhh… radio—squawk stuff, duh—“ he laughed awkwardly, praying to god he guessed right.

Alas, he had not.

“Not even close, you bafoon.” She sighed. He faltered. “I was talking about something Nancy told me— and anyways, since when are you so goo-goo eyes over Y/n L/n??” Robin just had to ask the more dire and important question here: she was no longer bothered by his deliberate act of ignoring her and her rambles while she munched away on greasy fries and chicken tenders. “Last time I checked, that girl wasn’t anywhere near your radar… she isn’t like any girl you’ve ever gone after.” She laughed softly under her breath. 

Steve seemed appalled at her words and was quick to defend himself. “I am not goo-goo eyes!” He yelled all hushed like—leaning closer to Robin so their conversation would be more private. He had added something along the lines of ‘how dare you say that’, but Buckley paid no mind to it. “—And I will have you know, Steve Harrington is allowed to like any girl he so pleases, thank you very much.” He concluded, leaning back in his booth and sighing as he played with his fries, damn near getting lost in his own thoughts again. 

“Chillax! I’m not dogging on you for it—I actually had Chemistry with her, she was really nice.” Robin reassured her friend, motioning with her hands for him to calm down. “I’m just a little surprised is all, she isn’t exactly what I thought was ‘your type’.” Now, it was her turn for air quotes.

She did have chemistry with you in her senior year. She had to retake the class, and you had just taken it for the extra credit… your original science class was Physics for your junior year. That’s beside the point! 

Robin had nothing against you—you were sweet, shy, quiet, pretty funny from what she could tell on group assignments she shared with you, and honestly? She may have had a small, surface level crush on you during the beginning of the year before she met Vickie. It was innocent, harmless. 

Steve however? That was, like she had just said, a tad bit shocking.

You weren’t one of those popular, bimbo-ish girls with constantly styled hair and obnoxiously trendy outfits…you stuck to yourself, carried yourself differently due to insecurity and feeling different. You didn’t put much effort into your looks outside of work, which you only did so for your job anyways for the best shot at getting good tips.

Even then, with all your shyness and mystery, that didn’t stop Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington. He had become enraptured by you the minute he stepped foot into the old diner closest to The Squawk. He had no clue you worked there—and honestly, he was pretty sure you hadn’t until after the ‘earthquake’ that split Hawkins into four. Last time he heard, you had worked part time at some book store while finishing your senior year. 

Now, as he watched you confidently glide around the restaurant while helping others out of the kindness of your heart and keeping their stomachs full, he felt something different. Not just different towards you—different from any way a girl had made him feel ever, and that was saying something… he hadn’t even spoke to you outside ordering food and only listened into small talk you shared with Robin, he was too nervous to speak up. Him!

“I don’t— I dunno, Robin. She’s just…” he trailed off as his eyes drifted to you once more. “God, she’s beautiful…” was the only thing he could muster to say—and honestly, it came out without him even thinking about it. He would’ve been embarrassed by his very obvious swooning.. But at this point? He didn’t fucking care.

He suddenly sucked in a breath, dragging himself back to reality despite himself. “Do you think I might have a chance?” He asked his good friend quietly. Robin shrugged. “I dunno man, I mean… not to be an asshole, but..” she trailed off.

“You were kind of an asshole in high school.”

He winced, slouching down in the booth as he cursed his stupid, douchey younger self. His palms covered his face in what seemed like shame. “God, I know—“

“S’every thing alright over here?” A sweet voice suddenly filed his ears, and he was quick to remove his hands from his face and sit up straight once more. 

It was you.

Of course it was you—you were in charge of their table section for the day after all. Steve’s slow brain however couldn’t clock that right away, so he just sat there like an idiot while you nervously looked to Robin, who smiled at you and spoke for Steve. “Yes! Yeah, we’re great!” She reassured you.

Now, you gave her a nod and a relieved smile, but it faltered as you looked to Steve’s very unfinished food. 

You look to him next, tilting your head with a look of sincere concern on your face. “Is there something wrong with your meal, sir? I can take it back and get you something fresh if you’d like—“ you offered, your consideration and sweetness making him

melt. Gosh, he couldn’t believe you were talking to him…. Even if it was just your job. 

“God- oh, god no! It’s great— the food, it’s great.” He stuttered, reassuring you as it finally registered that you were in fact actually speaking to him. 

You nodded and gave him a kind smile, looking into his eyes for what felt like a second too long before you cleared your throat. “Uhm.. Robin! I’ll go get you a refill… sweet tea?” You changed the subject, grabbing her now empty glass as watered down ice swished around in it. She nodded, confirming her sweet tea request as you smiled once more and walked off to go behind the fountain to refill her beverage. 

Something they didn’t see was the way your hands began to shake the minute you turned around, taking deep breaths as you tried to steady yourself. You swore… nearly every time you were scheduled to work, Steve Harrington would show up at some point during your shift. Every. Time.

And damn, did he look good. 

To be fair, he always had.. but for someone who seemingly peaked in high school, he still  looked gorgeous. You hated it, the way you still had a stupid crush on him after all these years. You had expected what started in freshman year as a small and harmless school girl crush, would fade away into nothingness… but it hadn’t. Now, you were both graduated and working. 

And you still liked the bastard.

You didn’t even know why. He was rude, back in school. It died off his senior year, but still. He wasn’t the type of guy to be kind to a girl like you, that’s for sure. Not that he ever was actually rude to you, no… he just didn’t know you existed.

So, now you rely on seeing him during these shifts you work. The one where he comes in, always with Robin since typically they get lunch there during their break at the Squawk or dinner after a long day of radio broadcasting and playing music for the entirety of the quarantined town. 

Robin looked back at Steve after watching you leave… a sick smile on her face. She wasn’t dumb.

“On second thought… maybe you do have a chance.”

-

That brought you to tonight.

Tonight, when you were stuck closing the diner all by yourself. You had to admit—it was a little creepy. Being alone after dark in Hawkins never really felt quiet. The town had a way of humming, like it was holding its breath, waiting for something strange to crawl out of the shadows.

The scrape of your rag against the tabletop sounded too loud in the empty diner. Every clink of silverware, every buzz of the overhead lights made your nerves prickle. So when the bell above the door jingled, sharp and sudden, you nearly jumped out of your skin.

Relief and anxiety tangled in your chest as someone stepped inside—roughly a half hour before closing. You straightened slowly, fingers still worrying the damp sanitary rag as you turned toward the entrance.

The door swung shut behind them on its own, cutting off the cool night air.

You froze.

Steve Harrington stood just inside the doorway, framed by neon light and shadows that stretched too long across the tiled floor. He looked… different somehow. Quieter. Alone.

Because this time, Robin was nowhere to be seen.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and a familiar, warm smile crept its way onto your face as you were relieved to see it was just him. “Oh, Steve! It’s a pleasure to see you again!” You greeted, folding up the rag and moving behind the counter to place it in the bucket full of cleaning solution that you had pulled it from. 

“You can sit anywhere you’d like, as you can see we uh… don’t exactly have a full house.” You poorly joke, feeling a tad bit nervous. Steve returned your smile, hands shoved in his pockets as he moved to sit right in front of you at the counter. You found it odd that he didn’t want to sit in his usual booth he shared with Robin most days, but you didn’t think much of it. 

“Sorry, I uh… know it’s pretty late..” He chuckled nervously, hands clasped together on the counter as he watched you wash your hands in the nearby sink. “Oh, it’s no worries at all, really.” You reassured him while flashing him a sweet smile. 

You dried your hands and walked up opposite of him at the counter, bracing your hands in a sort of wide stance as you tilted your head at him. “What can I get you?” 

You watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed, Steve’s eyes flicking down to the low cut neckline of your uniform before quickly looking back into your eyes. Shit, he thought. He had hoped you didn’t catch that.

But, you did. You didn’t tease him about it, he could just tell by your body language. By the way that you shifted your weight onto one foot and tilted your head to the other side, adjusting your position subconsciously as you patiently waited for him to speak. 

When he finally cleared his throat, he began to answer. “Actually, I was kinda craving a milkshake… uh—strawberry?” He ordered politely, and you noted the way he nervously twiddled his thumbs. His voice was a bit softer than he had intended, voice slightly gruffer than usual at the low volume at which he spoke. 

“Of course!” You nodded, moving to the milkshake station that was right behind the fountain. He watched you as you turned you back, readying the glass and moving to the machine. “Uh, I also…” Steve trailed off, eventually going silent. You had expected him to mention something about food—which if it was any other person would be annoying, since you really didn’t like cooking this late at night and getting everything dirty again. But for Steve? Well, for Steve, it was alright.

So, you hummed: encouraging him to continue. He was glad to hear your interest, it actually gave him a small boost of confidence to finish what he was saying. 

“I also… wanted to see you.” 

That…. Now that made you gulp.

You didn’t reply at first—you didn’t know how. You just stood there, letting out a soft chuckle while his glass filled with the yummy pink treat he had ordered. “Yeah? S’it cuz’ I make the best milkshakes in Hawkins or something?” You asked, joking lightly. 

“You could say that…” he laughed softly back, but there was a hint of something you couldn’t quite place in his voice. You chewed on the inside of your lip nervously, the reality of being alone with Steve Harrington never once leaving you be. Your head was swimming— full of anxious thoughts, grateful ones that he wasn’t a creepy trucker guy, desiring ones that you couldn’t help… you felt the most naive for those ones. You knew it was pointless to fuel the want you had for him, there would be no use. 

You block it all out for a moment as the shake fills up to the required amount in the glass. Turning, you flash him a smile and grab a can of easy whip from the mini fridge behind the counter and setting his drink right in front of him on the counter. “Well, I think our shakes are the best.” You add with a small voice. You weren’t even sure why you said that, cuz it sounded more like you were saying it to yourself than to him—which in reality you were, you were trying to ground yourself.

You press a finger to the cap on the whipped cream as you shake it, just in case. Steve’s eyes had bore into yours until this point, where now he was swallowing thick and watching the way you softly jerked the can back and forth. The way the movement traveled up to your chest. The way your hair bounced softly as well. 

You hadn’t caught it. Well, maybe you did: but your brain was undoubtedly against you and purposely ignored it. You popped the cap off, giving it one last swish side to side before tilting it up and spraying a perfect, tall swirl of sweet, creamy delight to finish off the milkshake. He collected himself and smiled up at you. “Thank’s a bunch, Y/n… yer’ making my night.” 

You gave him a softer smile, looking down for a second as you felt a bit of whipped cream find itself on your clumsy finger. You giggled, looking back at him. “My pleasure, really.” You express innocently as you bring the side of your finger to your lips to lick the sweet topping away. 

Steve had to quickly look away after, staring into his shake as he took a big swig of it. God damn, he thought. You were driving him crazy.

Steve had been in his sad, little Hawkins apartment previously that night. Work was over, and there he sat all alone on his couch while drinking a beer and watching golden girls reruns of all things. Fuck, he was miserable.

Miserably lonely. 

As he watched little old ladies bicker on his TV, his mind drifted far, far away from the show. He spaced out, staring a hole into the wall besides his box television while taking a small sip from the glass bottle he held, lips lingering on the tip of it. All he could think about was you. 

Stupid, adorable, kind and amazing you.

You had always intrigued him… if he was being honest with himself—which when you were both in high school, he was not. He never spoke to you: never even had a class with you. He was typically too entranced by parties, his hair and girls at the time, but he clocked how often he spotted you in the halls. 

Your soft looking hair, the outfits you wore—whether plain or proper…his eyes would follow you as you walked to your class, walked past him. He wouldn’t be true and honest with himself at the time, but he wished deep down that you would look at him. 

Steve though—and this still applies, however it was much worse when he had his head up his own ass—was dense. So, ungodly dense. Because you did look at him. Your eyes would linger on him from afar as you leaned up against your locker, chewing on your freshly painted nails and not listening to a thing your best friend was yapping about beside you. You didn’t do it on purpose… you just yearned for him, for a reason you couldn’t place. Maybe it was ‘irresistible charm’ that every girl in Hawkins High had talked about. 

Whatever it was, Steve Harrington was your Kryptonite. 

Which, is inevitably how you ended up the way you were. 

After hours, in his prized Beamer while sitting on his lap, the drivers seat of his car pushed all the way back so you both had more room. 

Your uniform skirt rode up your thighs as your hands found themselves in his hair. You were honestly a little shocked at how soft it really was. You had a theory that it would be crunchy because of all the hair spray and product he must have used, but… no, it was silky. 

The sound of heavy breathing and small sounds that got pulled from the both of you filled the small encasement of his car. Kissing sounds, soft pants, the whole ordeal. Honestly, you weren’t even sure if this was real. You weren’t confident that this wasn’t a dream.

Steve’s hands were planted on the area just above your hips, squeezing your love handles softly and dragging you bag and forth ever so slowly in a way that matched the rhythm of the kiss you shared. It was soft at first, something you both shared as you each leaned over the center console… but now, now it was more than that. It was passionate, deep, full of desire. Honestly? He was a lot more needy than you would have thought.

“Mmh- fuck..” The man swore beneath you, fingers gripping deeper into your plush flesh through the damning fabric that separated him from the rest of you. You weren’t even sure panting, small sounds leaving you as your hand soothingly slid its way down the side of his neck. “Steve..—“ 

It came out as a whimper, even when you hadn’t intended it to. “Shh, shh… I know..” Harrington soothed, pressing a grounding and soft kiss to your lips before he ground his hips up into you, a longer and deeper stroke this time. He let out a sound, but what able to cut it off before it got embarrassing. “Y’so, so pretty…” he spoke quietly into your ear, both his voice and his touch gentle. “Y’know that..? Hm?” 

He tucked a strand of hair out of your face and looked into your eyes: you swore you grew wetter at the sight of his blow out pupils and the look alone that he gave you. You were too shy to speak, feeling like there was too much attention on you. Steve knew, god, he knew… could feel it in the way your hands shook against his body.. the look in your eyes. 

“Awh.. c’mon..” he started again. Steve leaned in and pressed hot kisses against your jaw, hands wrapping around you so that he could hug you close. While one arm stayed on your lower back, the other hand slid up your back in a soothing way. “Don’t be so shy.. want you—Y’know I do..” 

His voice was so quiet, but his words struck you like a truck. You clenched around nothing—not yet. 

You slowly swayed your hips against his as you kissed him again.. did he really? Want you, that is? And.. why? Why was he choosing you out of any girl he could realistically have in Hawkins? 

You hadn’t known. You weren’t aware of the dry spell he was in—had been in. You didn’t know that Steve Harrington was honestly not interested in other girls ever since he started coming to the diner. He was only interested in you..

“W-want you too..” you whimper back, chest bumping against his. His head fell back and his eyes fluttered shut, mouth falling open as your core ground against the erection in his jeans in the most delicious way—a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.. and honest to god, it was even better because it was from you. 

His hands slid back to your hips, beginning to rock you back and forth faster than your previous slow rhythm. Your heart was on fire, mind racing as sounds fell from his lips. In all the dreams you had of him late at night, he wasn’t nearly this loud. 

Usually he wasn’t. The girls he’d get with weren’t into that.. he had to bite back all the sounds that begged to erupt from his chest.. with you though? He couldn’t help it. All the fucks old-Steve would have given flew out the damn window with you. He knew what he wanted. He knew how he felt—a god damn it, you deserved to know that you made him feel good. 

“Hah—fuck..!” He moaned, mixed with a laugh. He smiled, which you returned. Steve leaned in, kissing you with a now familiar fervor and intensity that made you twitch. It was like electricity shooting through your veins whenever he kissed you.. you still couldn’t believe it. That he was kissing you. 

“Hm.. you taste like strawberries..” you giggled sweetly as you pulled back for air. His hands roamed your body as he laid back and took in how cute you looked… on top of him, smiling down with puffy lips and a heaving chest. He wanted to tear that uniform off with his teeth, he swore. 

“Yeah..?” He chuckled back. “Y’taste like cherries..” he returned, pointing to the lip gloss that was smeared on his lips now. The both of you shared a laugh before your hands found the sides of his face. You cupped him carefully, leaning in slower than before. This kiss was different. 

It was… appreciative, it was full of love. It was the kind of kiss you give someone when you want them to know you’re grateful.. it was a thank you. 

He returned it with the same amount of admiration. The more and more intimate time you spent together in that stupid car, the more your insecurities flew out the window. You bit your lip, grinding back down into him again. You let out a louder moan as you pressed your forehead to his. 

“Just like that baby, just like that..” he guided. Steve bit his lip and met your thrusts, his cock throbbing. He was so hard… he had been wanting this moment to happen for months—dreaming of it, thinking of it… “Y’feel that?” He asked, looking into your eyes and forcing you to look back into his. “M-mhm..! Yeah.. feel it—“ you whined in response as your hips stuttered. “Yeah you do… so needy f’me.. so pretty..” 

Your hands slid to his belt, tugging at it as you gave him a pleading look. “Please…” you begged. Suddenly, you took one of the hands that rested on your waist and guided it beneath your skirt. Steve gasped as he felt the warm, slick patch on your underwear. You kissed his jaw and whimpered. “Please.”

Steve didn’t waste any time in moving your panties to the side, using his middle finger to feel just how wet you were. Your back arched as the pad of his finger stopped at your clit, throbbing and begging for attention. He ever so slowly rubbed circles against the bundle of nerves, making your jaw drop as you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Finally.

“Fuck, you’re so wet…” he smirks up at you, giving you a teasingly small amount of attention. Your hips moved in unison with his movements and you hurriedly undid his belt, dragging your fingers along the bulge that presented itself to you through the denim—not yet pulling his cock out despite his belt and zipper being undone. 

Steve bit his lip in anticipating.. but every time he thought you were going to touch him, pull him out from his boxers and wrap those pretty little fingers around his girth—you didn’t. 

He let out a warning laugh, tilting his head at you. “C’mon.. don’t be a tease.” He spoke lowly, and it sent shivers up your spine. He slid his middle finger down to your entrance. He didn’t push in, not all the way. He just toyed with you: returning the favor.

You let out a pleading whine—not able to handle the absence of pleasure. “There y’go…” he praised as he felt you stick your hand into his pants, gently squeezing his warm erection through the soft fabric. The moment you did, he rewarded you with his finger—then two. 

“Such a beautiful girl.. so good f’me..” Steve continued, voice wavering as he whimpered at your touch. You were beyond yourself, looking down as you pulled his cock out and marveled at it. It was so pretty—and so, so big.

“Fuck-Steve..—“ you started, but he cut you off. “Aw I know.. I know baby.. s’okay…” he reassured, shoving his middle and ring finger nice and deep inside you. He smiled against the skin on your neck and he kissed you, feeling your pussy squeezing around his fingers nice and tight. 

He sucked in a breath as you dragged your fist up his cock, hardly able to wrap your fingers around it.. your middle finger just barely ghosted over your thumb, and while the thought of his cock being intimidating as you now could see just how big he was, you wanted nothing else more. No one else.

You toyed with his leaking tip, squeezing your fingers around it and focusing on the most sensitive part of him. His hips twitched intensely, body begging for more of your touch. His fingers stuttered inside of you as the pleasure he felt clouded his kind—kept him from thinking straight. “Fuck, baby—“ he stammered, bros furrowing as he looked up at you like some sort of kicked puppy.

Moans fell from his lips as you focused on his cock, finally feeling some sort of relief compared to how tight the confines of his jeans were. “hhuh— mh..” he mewled, head tilting to the side as he added a third finger inside of you. 

He wasn’t thinking, but luckily there was little to know resistance. With how wet you were and how needy your cunt was, it just slipped right in. 

You threw your head back. Hips jerking as he finger fucked you. Gosh.. he had the hands of an angel, he knew how to use them too… he was reaching the most sensitive spots. Nice and deep as the sound of squelching filled his car. Your moans mixed with his, car shaking slightly as the both of you thrusted into each other’s touch. 

“Need you… I gotta be inside you baby—please..?” He pleaded, curling his fingers at the perfect spot. “We’ll make it fit, I promise..but I—I gotta feel you..—” he rambled, whimpering your name under his breath. You eagerly nodded, stroking his cock a little faster before he removed his now soaked fingers, dragging them up to your clit again while you positioned him at your hole. 

Everything was rushed, but it felt so good. You slowly sank down. Taking his tip and letting out a moan at the stretch as you continued to swallow his length. 

Steve was on cloud nine… he had been wanting this moment to happen for so long—longer than he’d like to admit. You were just so sweet and pretty, he wanted nothing more than to hold you close and be one with you: he also didn’t mind doing so while fucking you nice and good like how he knew you deserved. 

So, as you sat on his hips taking all of him, he slowly ground his hips up into you, your eyes rolling back and closing as he made you feel just how deep he was. He held your hips down, keeping his rhythm slow but deliberate.

“Such a good girl.. god, you take me so well..” he praised you, lifting you slowly and dragging you back down on his dick. “So tight n’ warm for me..” 

You let out a long whine as he slowly picked up the pace, bouncing you up and down as your chest bounced despite still being in your uniform. He whimpered as he himself began to realize just how deep he was inside of you. The sensation of his cock finally being enclosed in your slick, gummy walls making him shiver. He had to confide in his hand for so long… but nothing beat the real thing. Nothing beat you. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck— please don’t stop— please—“ he begged, panting as he allowed himself to succumb to every desire he had in that moment. He did as he wished: held you close, rubbed soothing patterns on your back and hips as his hands roamed your soft, warm body. “Feels like you were fuckin’ made f’me…” he rambled. 

“Y’so deep..!” You manage so squeak out, clenching tightly around him every-time he dragged you back up by the hips. Just before his swollen tip popped out of your heat, he’d slam you back down all the way in the most delicious, overwhelming way possible. You had never felt anything like it. 

“Mph!—I know, I know baby.. you’re taking me so well—ughn… she loves it, know she does..!” he giggled, pussy drunk and losing himself in the pleasure the two of you made together. He pounded into you with each thrust, ecstasy racking over your body every time his tip kissed a part of you that you honest to god forgot you even had. 

The sound of your juices mixing together an skin slapping against skin filled his car as the windows fogged up, as if you were in some cheesy romance film… you didn’t care, not at all. The parking lot to the Juniper Diner had been long empty, the area surrounded by trees as it was located off the side of a back road. You knew it was just the two of you in this moment, and you cherished it.

“I do—I do idoido..!—“ now, it was your time to ramble as you sucked in some saliva that threatened to fall from your lips. Your brows were quirked up as your mouth fell open, pretty sounds falling from your lips that complimented his own. “Oh—Stevie.. Y’feel so good…”

You relish in the way his cock twitches as you say that. Call him by that cute little nickname that sounded perfect leaving your lips. “Uhhn..!— fuck… if you keep.. if you keep sayin’ my name like that I’m gonna cum..” he whimpered out, hips stuttering against yours. You both began to breathe heavily as the knot in your stomach grew, him feeling the same sort of sensation. 

“Hahh.. oh, baby— oh..—“ he moaned into your ear, fingers digging hard into the plump meat of your hips. The sounds coming from the both of you were so lewd and pornographic that for the longest time, you felt like you were in fact dreaming. 

“Been wanting you… so long—f’so long…” he mumbled. “So pretty—n’ so nice…!” He laughed again, sliding a hand up to grab a hand full of your breast as you bounced up and down on his thick, long cock. You moan at his words as they come off as heart warming despite the raunchy situation you were in. 

“And you’re soo, so sweet… got the prettiest eyes—mh! Prettiest smile…” He showered you with kisses as his palm cupped your cheek, tears brimming your eyes at both his sincerity and the feeling of him ramming into you as if he wasn’t spilling his heart out right now. 

“Most perfect pussy, too..” he teased, and it led to you biting your lip. You knew he was close… you could feel him twitching, his thrusts becoming irregular as he mostly relied on you to keep the pace. He couldn’t help it… he was drunk off you and could hardly think straight. “S’why I want you.. need you.. y’so perfect—“ he continued to ramble, but you shut him up with a kiss before pressing a finger to his lips to muffle his sounds. 

“M’all yours..”

[riotgurlll]

ׂ╰┈➤ SUCKER PUNCH! ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁

Chapter Four: Upside Down

MIKE WHEELER X NOBODY!READER.

↳ in which a loser boy meets an even bigger loser girl.

𖤓 ch.4 CONTENTS: reader is described as chubby, unfortunately I do use Y/n for simplicity sake I’m sorry, mentions of bullying, awkwardness, friendlessness, eventual yearning, shitty nerd x grumpy loner trope, silliness, 80’s, physical violence, mentions of blood and slight gore..? (Scrapes n’ stuff like that), verbal bullying, talking poorly about oneself, 

𖤓NOTE: HELLOOOO! So, this chapter takes place during 'The Crawl' Episode in season five, and while it will be similar to the canon, I will be changing things so that you, the reader, can feel more involved and immersed! Get ready for some drama, romance, and shit inducing panic! (it is a time skip btw.. but after this one, no more!)

I WILL BE UPLOADING THIS TO WATTPAD AS WELL! I like Wattpad's formatting :)

Ch.5

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

Upside down!

THE smell of freshly salted fries right out of the fryer and grilled burger patties filled the Jukebox, chatter filling the new diner in Hawkins as people sat around together and ate their deliciously deep fried and greasy meals.

Boy you turn me,

"There is absolutely zero way that Wolverine would beat The Hulk in a fight." Lucas argued with Mike as he took a bite out of three French fries at once. Michael gave the young man what was probably the nastiest, sassiest look any human being could muster as William Byers sat in-between the two boys at the counter, nervous as they literally argued over him. Poor boy.. should he excuse himself to the bathroom so they could have some privacy...?

-Inside out!

"You're actually an idiot, all he has to do is- oh, I dunno, Slice his Achilles tendon and it's quite literally wraps??" Mike argued back. Will opened his mouth to say something, but quickly shut it as Lucas repeated what their friend had said in a childish, mocking tone. Mike gasped in astonishment, but before he could fuel the debate anymore, you came with a rounded tray full of hot food. "Boys, you're gonna drive away our customers." You scolded through gritted teeth. this wouldn't be the first time you had to tell them to shut up per Shepherds orders: in fact, it was a weekly occurrence... if not, daily.

What? They got a family discount on the food!

After the 'earth quake' that literally split Hawkins into sections like it was a tray of brownies getting distributed at a family gathering, the lovely record shop known as The Afterglow was sadly split with it, along with many other shops and small businesses. Both you and Shepherd were distraught, his whole life's work destroyed due to interdimensional chaos--well, to everyone else other than you and your friends, it was actually just a gnarly natural disaster.

A whole lot of shit went down since Veronica Steel punched you in the face, and ever since then your life had been permanently altered. You made new friends, found new movies and songs you liked, discovered that there were real life monsters in a creepier, nastier version of your world that were out to get people in Hawkins, found out super powers were real... Oh, and you got a car! Like you said, a whole lot of shit.

Of course, it wasn't all fun in games. You also lost people. Like Eddie, and even your best friend Maxine Mayfield, who was now in a coma that seemed to have zero improvement and no sign of changing any time soon, like she was stuck in limbo or something. You found yourself listening to Kate Bush a lot, missing your friend more than anything in the world. You visited her with Lucas quite often, but left the two of them alone most of the time because you knew that he was affected the most by the terrible, heartbreaking incident that transpired back in March. It was a rough time for all of you.

Dustin especially, he had grown... Distant.

Speaking of which, your eyes trailed to the empty stool at the counter besides Lucas, the place the curly haired geek usually sat. You pointed to it with your thumb. "Where's Dustin?" You ask the three boys in your sight. They all exchange a glance and shrug, you join the gesture with a roll of your eyes. This wouldn't be the first time Dustin had canceled or just straight up ditched plans--and you were sure as hell it wouldn't be the last.

"L/n! Table four's food is gettin' cold already! Hop to it!" Shep scolded from the window behind the fountain that led to the kitchen. Your head whipped to the food placed on the window sill and you nearly dropped your now empty tray. "Shit!" You curse, nearly slipping as you dash to get the food ready. God damn, how long had that been there??

The boys winced at Shepherds harsh tone as you carry on with your job, Will finally digging into the chicken tenders he had been waiting for. Lucas had gotten another batch of fries and onion rings, while Mike got the Jukebox classic 'Turntable Burger' with tater tots.

"Man, I've never seen her work so fast in her life." Lucas chuckled, watching with the group as you delivered table fours food and apologized kindly for the wait. "-yeah, never seen her act so nice to people either." Mike teased, of which you heard, so it earned him a glare as you moved to another table that had just sat down so you could take their orders. The actual Jukebox located by the restrooms of the joint played Diana Ross upon some strangers request, nearly giving the group of teenagers a heart attack when they first heard it start to play. Thankfully, the radio that you had conveniently kept on the edge of the counter for 'news' and 'weather updates' had remained silent the whole time.

"Y/n's a hard worker guys, give her a break. I'm sure she's always been." Will defended, taking a bite of his chicken with a smile. He hadn't known your time at the Afterglow, and hadn't even known you at all for very long. Even then, the two of you got along pretty well. "we're just messing... It is funny though, seeing her in that stupid uniform and smiling at strangers." Lucas added, earning a small laugh from both the boys. "They must pay good, cuz' I know it kills her."

Mike shrugged and spoke with a mouthful. "As long as we get heavily discounted food, I don't care."

You weren't the only one with a new job. Like previously mentioned, that radio you kept on the edge of the diners counter was used so you could tune into the radio segments from The Squawk, something that was absolutely mandatory since you and your friends with sneaking around the military and trying to find a big bad monster under the table. That's where Robin and Steve spent their time, broadcasting things like weather, musical facts, and playing tunes for the people stuck in Hawkins. Robin was the true voice, and honestly? She was pretty damn good. Sometimes, she'd let you recommend songs to play and she'd put them on the next morning for you to listen to on your way to school in the brand new car you had gotten. Okay... Not brand new, but it was new to you.

Your parents got you the car because they didn't feel safe and confident in you riding your bike everywhere. With all the past disappearances, 'murders', and natural disasters transpiring now? They wanted you in a car. So. they got you a shitty old Toyota Camry that was the most ugly color you could ever conjure up in your mind. It had rust, scrap metal that replaced damaged parts, torn seats in the interior... But, it drove. It got you where you needed to be.

Actually, you were ecstatic when your parents surprised you with it a little after they made you get your license. You then drove yourself in your new hot ride to the plans you had with your friends, surprising them as well. Dustin had said it looked like shit, so you promptly threatened him and smacked him on the shoulder. Will thought it was cool, so you offered to drive him home at the end of the movie night you all had. Now, you were one of the designated drivers... As long as Steve wasn't available-cuz' lets be honest, the beamer was way cooler than your Camry.

And due to the fact you had a car, you had obviously stopped biking to school in the mornings.. which brings you to now, waiting at a stop light right before the turn you had to take to get to the same shithole high school you had been going to since what felt like the dawn of time. Your fingers tapped to the rhythm of the song you requested as Robin kindly broadcasted it to all of Hawkins: A Blondie classic, of course. You still had a smile on your face from what she had said before playing it on the radio.

"-Which, Hawkins.. Brings me to our next song this morning: courtesy of a great, good friend of mine who always insists there's 'another way', this is Blondie's 'One way or another', enjoy kids--this one is for you, L/n."

You mouthed the lyrics that were so well known to you, reminiscing the days where you and Max would have dance parties in your bedroom while punking out to the band. Your mother would burst in, telling--no, demanding the two of you to 'knock it off' and 'quiet down', to which you would both break out into laughing fits the moment she slammed your door and walked away.

You shook the memories out of your head before you could get upset. You wanted today to be better than yesterday, you just wanted to relax... See your friends, get through school and have the night off from work. Maybe you'd take a bubble bath.

You slammed your hands against the wheel harder as the climax of the song came on, hitting in unison of the drums that played on your radio and dancing to yourself.

Not far away from where you had just drove past, The boys peddled like hell as Holly lingered behind and waited for the turn to go to the Elementary school. They glanced at the radios that were haphazardly taped to the front of their bikes as the song played. "It's a good song," Will nodded, pulling up closer to the group. Lucas and Mike looked to one another and shrugged, Mike spoke.

"Yeah, it is."

-

THE bell rang—sharp and metallic, slicing through the hallway with the same exact pitch and volume it had carried all year, all four years, probably since the beginning of time if you really stopped to think about it. The sound grated on your nerves like sandpaper against skin. You sighed and shut your locker, the hollow clang echoing just long enough to remind you how painfully bored you were. Pure, bone-deep boredom pulsed through your veins as you adjusted the strap of your bag and waited for the day to finally be over.

You had promised yourself this morning that today would be better. That somehow, miraculously, things would feel lighter.

They didn’t.

The familiar sense of dread settled in your chest again, heavy and unavoidable, wrapping itself around your ribs like it always did the moment you stepped foot inside Hawkins High. It followed you everywhere—every hallway, every classroom, every glance from people who thought they knew everything about you. You hated that you kept hoping it would disappear on its own, as if one day you’d wake up and feel normal without ever putting in the work to fix what was broken. Or maybe what was missing.

Even if that kind of change were possible, today clearly wasn’t the day.

There was a tension lingering in the air, something sharp and electric that never quite went away after everything that had happened. The jocks were back on top, loud and untouchable, ruling Hawkins High like they always had. You supposed that when you’d gotten involved with Hellfire—when you’d been pulled into late-night games, laughter, and the safety of shared understanding—you’d forgotten just how cruel the real world could be. How unforgiving. How quick it was to turn its back.

Eddie’s name was ruined. His memory twisted into something ugly by people who’d never known him. Known the truth. Students were still missing. And your best friend—the one who had been the reason you weren’t alone to begin with—was gone, in a coma. If it hadn’t been for her, you wondered sometimes if Vecna would have come for you too. If things would have played out differently.

You always reached the same conclusion: no. Nothing would have changed. If you’d stayed invisible, friendless, tucked safely into the background, the world would have kept spinning the same way it always had. Veronica made sure you remembered that.

“Nice to see ya, loser.”

The voice slid into your ears like poison disguised as honey. You turned sharply, hair bouncing slightly out of place, and found yourself face to face with the wicked bitch from hell.

“Sick hair cut.”

Your jaw tightened. Everyone had changed—senior year did that to people. Ronnie especially. Her hair was longer now, falling in soft Hollywood curls instead of the tight perm she used to wear. Her lips always shone with light pink gloss, gold jewelry delicate and intentional. She looked like she belonged everywhere. You hated how easy it seemed for her.

You hated that you envied it.

Because aside from a different hairstyle, you hadn’t really changed at all. Beneath everything, you were still the same lonely girl you’d always been.

“What do you want, Veronica?” You sighed, the exhaustion in your voice unmistakable.

Before monsters and alternate dimensions, she’d been your personal Demogorgon—only this one wore cute sweaters and smiled while she hurt you.

“Nothing from you, other than to know who did your hair so that I know to stay away from their salon.”

Her laugh rang out, sharp and unapologetic, as she glanced at her friends before looking back at you like she expected an encore. Your brows pulled together as you shook your head, already drained.

“What..?- Veronica, dude, I got my hair cut like months ago.”

You hadn’t shown up one day looking completely different. You’d eased into it over the summer, experimenting quietly, learning how to style it properly with Nancy’s help. It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t dramatic.

“Well, whoever told you it looked good is doing you a great disservice.”

She giggled.

“Nothing looks good on me to you, Steel..” you muttered, voice low.

She opened her mouth to say more, but a loud commotion erupted further down the hall, pulling both of your attention at once. You craned your neck, rising onto your tiptoes, but all you could see were bodies—students packed together, whispering, staring.

Groaning, you shoved forward, pushing past people without apologizing, leaving Veronica behind. Panic sparked when you heard it.

“Henderson!”

Andy’s voice.

Your stomach dropped. Your face went cold as you shoved harder, forcing your way through the crowd, shoulders colliding with yours as you moved. Times like this, you were grateful for your strength.

“Not again..” you muttered under your breath.

You caught fragments—raised voices, laughter, the tops of familiar heads.

“Hope you brought a new change of clothes Henderson... No one wants to see that shit.”

The words made your hands curl into fists. By the time you broke through, Andy and his friends were already leaving, laughter trailing behind them. You adjusted your bag and stared at Dustin, confusion and anger colliding in your chest.

“What the fuck was that? What just happened??”

You barely needed an answer. The torn Hellfire shirt said everything. Dustin didn’t respond. He just turned and walked, shoulders stiff, expression unreadable.

“You have to stop provoking them, man!” Mike said as you all followed, voices raised over the crowd.

“Oh, so this is my fault? Fer’ what? wearing a T-shirt?”

"It's not just a T-shirt and you know that.."

“So I should just be more like you guys and turn the other cheek while they spread more bullshit about Hellfire- about Eddie??”

The name cracked something open. Dustin pulled away again, creating distance you couldn’t bridge.

“Eddie never gave a rats ass about what those mouth breathers were saying and you know it-”

“Yeah, C’mon Dustin. We all know the only thing he’d care about right now is putting an end to all the bat shit stuff happening..!” you reminded.

Dustin stopped, spinning toward you.

“Do you seriously think I don’t care about that?” He questioned. “Really?”

“No, Dustin, We know you care but there is way more prominent and important shit going on right now!” you replied.

“Y/n’s right, Dustin- I mean, what if you get hurt? seriously hurt? You’re drawing too much attention...”

“Will and Y/n are right. Remember what Hop’ said? We need. to keep. our heads. down.” Lucas repeated.

“-Follow the rules, blend in..?”

“yeah, stay focused on our next crawl..?” Mike attached to Will's continuation and you concluded it. “Does that ring a bell, Henderson?”

He laughed—sharp, bitter—leaning against the painted brick wall.

“Do you guys even hear yourselves right now? Blend in..? When is that something we’ve ever done??”

You rubbed your face, frustration burning behind your eyes.

“We stay true to ourselves...--we’re supposed to stay true to our friends!”

“We stand up for what’s right, no matter. the cost.”

“What?- are you crazy?? Do you even hear yourself?? We need to stay alert and we need to stay out of trouble. That includes you.”

“You aren’t listening!”

“No.” Dustin was quick to cut off Lucas. “You’re not.”

And then he walked away, leaving the space between all of you wider than it had ever been. He just.. Walked away.

“You’ve got to be shitting me..!” you let out in disbelief, the words tumbling from your mouth before you could stop them. Your hands dropped stiffly to your sides, fingers curling like you were bracing yourself for impact. You stood there for a second too long, staring at the space Dustin had just occupied, like if you waited long enough he might turn back around. He didn’t. His footsteps echoed down the hall, swallowed by the noise of lockers slamming and students laughing, a sound that felt entirely wrong for the moment you were living in.

“Dustin!-” Lucas called out, his voice sharp with urgency as he took a half-step forward, instinctively ready to chase after him. His jaw was tight, frustration and worry clashing across his face in equal measure. For a split second, it looked like he might actually go after him—might say something that could still pull Dustin back from the edge.

“let him go..” Will sighed.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was tired.

Will’s shoulders sagged slightly as he spoke, his gaze fixed on the floor like he couldn’t bear to watch Dustin walk away again. There was something heavy in his tone—resignation mixed with understanding—like he knew that anything said now would only make things worse. You hated that he was probably right.

The hallway continued moving around you like nothing had happened. Students passed by, some whispering, some staring, others completely oblivious. Life went on, uncaring. You swallowed hard, your chest tight with words you hadn’t said and apologies you didn’t know how to make. Dustin wasn’t just angry—he was hurting. And the worst part was knowing that no matter how right you felt, no matter how logical your arguments were, they hadn’t reached him at all.

He was already gone.

And you were left standing there with the rest of them, the space he’d left behind feeling louder than any argument you’d had all week. Your head shook as you stood there in disbelief. You were damn near speechless. "I mean... Are you serious..?" You stammered, looking to your friends.

You had to admit, you weren't the best at controlling your temper. Honestly, that wasn't a secret. And it wasn't that you didn't feel bad for Dustin and Eddie-because you did. A lot. You just couldn't wrap your mind around the disregard he had for what you were all saying, trying to remind him. You were supposed to be best friends... Maybe not you, but Mike and Lucas? No one could reach him... It was painful to watch.

The lot of you had to quickly leave each other to get to second period, but god was the moment ricocheting in your mind... At lunch, you just knew you would have to debrief... Thankfully, you had a whole 45 minutes to collect yourself and calm down.

-

“I’m getting real sick of his shit.” You grumbled the words under your breath, stabbing your fork down into the sad pile of cafeteria food on your tray like it had personally wronged you. The plastic utensil scraped harshly against the tray, the sound sharp enough to draw a few glances from nearby tables. Your jaw was clenched, shoulders tight, irritation rolling off you in waves. You’d never claimed to be good at controlling your temper—especially not lately—and Dustin had been testing what little patience you had left.

Across from you, Will paused mid-bite. He didn’t say anything right away, just looked at you with that familiar, gentle sympathy in his eyes—the kind that said I get it, even if I don’t fully agree. Then he sighed quietly and shifted his gaze to the rest of the group, like he was bracing himself before speaking.

“I know... He actually told me he want’s to start up hellfire again...”

The table went still.

Your fork froze halfway to your mouth before you dropped it back onto the tray with a dull clatter. You stared at Will, disbelief written all over your face, a humorless scoff escaping your lips before you could stop it.

“I’m telling you- calling it right now, he has lost. his damn. mind-”

Your voice was low but sharp, frustration bleeding into every carefully separated word. Hellfire—again? After everything? After Eddie? The idea alone made your chest tighten, equal parts anger and fear bubbling just beneath your skin. It felt reckless. Dangerous. Like tempting fate when fate had already proven how cruel it could be.

“Who lost their mind?”

Dustin’s voice cut through the moment like a knife.

He appeared out of nowhere, tray in hand, and before any of you could react, he dropped it down onto the table with a solid thud and slid into the seat Eddie used to occupy. The sound of plastic against metal echoed louder than it should have, your heart lurching painfully at the sight. For just a second, the world tilted—like muscle memory had kicked in and your brain expected Eddie’s voice to follow.

It didn’t.

Dustin leaned back slightly, looking around at all of you with raised brows, confusion flickering behind his eyes as one by one, your faces went pale. Silence stretched. Mike’s mouth opened and closed uselessly. Lucas stared down at his tray like it suddenly held the secrets of the universe. Will’s shoulders stiffened.

And you—your earlier anger vanished instantly, replaced by pure, stomach-dropping dread.

“Uhm...”

The word slipped out of you weakly, all bite and attitude wiped clean in a heartbeat. Your fingers curled around the edge of your tray, knuckles whitening. You weren’t scared of Dustin—but you were terrified of hurting him, of confirming whatever ugly thoughts had been rattling around in his head lately. You scrambled for something—anything—that wouldn’t blow this wide open.

“Andy! Andy lost is mind!”

Phew. Good save.

You seized onto it immediately, nodding along like it had been the plan all along. Your heart was still hammering in your chest as you forced yourself to relax, rolling your shoulders like nothing was wrong.

“Psh, yeah... The way he’s been acting? What a cunt... Right?”

You lifted your fork and waved it dismissively in the air, doing your best impression of casual, though it felt stiff and forced even to your own ears. You shrugged, eyes flicking briefly to Dustin’s face, searching for any sign that he didn’t believe you.

Dustin watched all of you in silence, his gaze moving slowly from face to face. There was something unreadable in his expression—not anger, not amusement, just a quiet, lingering suspicion. Like he knew something was off but couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Finally, he gave a small nod.

“Yeah.”

The word was short. Flat.

He looked down at his food, poking at it absently, and the tension didn’t ease—it just shifted, settling heavier over the table. He glanced back up at you all again, eyes narrowing slightly, like he was watching a group of circus freaks trying and failing to act normal.

There was a silence.

Not the comfortable kind. Not the kind filled with jokes or shared looks or what used to be Eddie’s loud commentary echoing across the cafeteria. This silence was thick and suffocating, filled with everything none of you were saying. Forks scraped. Trays shifted. Somewhere across the room, someone laughed too loudly. Your eyes drifted to Mikes, only to see that his were already on you. It was almost like you guys spoke telepathically, but you looked away before it could go on any longer. Your eyes now glued to the food you played with sadly on your tray.

And all you could think about was how wrong it felt—Dustin sitting there, Eddie’s seat empty, Hellfire hanging over your heads like a ghost none of you knew how to put to rest.

Then, it happened.

The radio sitting at the far end of the cafeteria table let out a sudden, violent screech- feedback shrill enough to make several students wince and groan. Forks paused mid-air. Conversations around you faltered, then slowly dissolved as heads began to turn. The noise crackled and popped, static bursting through the cheap speaker like electricity crawling over exposed wires.

Your heart stuttered.

Before anyone could react, the static cleared just enough for a familiar, bright voice to break through the chaos.

“Hey there friends! This is Rockin’ Robin!”

Your breath caught instantly.

Every single one of you leaned forward at the same time, chairs scraping faintly against the cafeteria floor as you hunched over the table. All eyes locked onto the radio like it was the only thing left in the room. The laughter, the chatter, the clatter of trays faded into a dull blur at the edges of your hearing.

“Sorry for the abrupt departure, Hope you all survived without me..”

You felt it ripple through the group—shock, relief, disbelief—colliding all at once. Robin. Broadcasting. Your fingers curled tightly around the edge of the table, knuckles whitening as you stared at the radio, half-expecting the voice to disappear again.

“We had some...annoying technical difficulties!”

Her voice dipped and rose theatrically, punctuated by random sound effects—cartoonish beeps, faux explosions, static bursts—that matched her tone perfectly. It was so Robin that it almost hurt. Almost.

She continued in a sing-song cadence, bright and deliberate, like she was trying to mask something beneath it.

“But! To make it up to you, we have a very special treat...that is sure to turn your day...”

Your chest tightened.

Slowly, one by one, you looked up from the radio and met the eyes of the people around you. Mike’s brows were pulled together, disbelief etched deep into his face. Lucas had gone rigid, his hand frozen halfway to his drink. Will’s lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something but couldn’t find the words. Dustin’s gaze flicked between each of you, searching, calculating.

It couldn’t be.

Not now.

Not yet.

It made no sense. The timing was wrong. Everything was wrong. Your pulse hammered in your ears, each beat louder than the last as dread crept up your spine, cold and familiar. It was all so confusing.

…Today…?

The radio hummed softly between words, the silence stretched just long enough to make your skin prickle, and you knew—deep down—that whatever was coming next was about to change everything.

"Upside down."

𓏲ּ𝄢🎼ılılıll|̲̅̅●̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅●̲̅̅| llılılı🎼

TAGLIST!

@druthesigma @mosquit-no1 @aerissblog @otakusimp1 @rafessidemeal @applejjacks @olivebolivee @lalalandincraz @toeoffrog @mochi-ssu @su1c1dalt3ndenc1es @gumusservilvr

[riotgurlll]

ׂ╰┈➤ SUCKER PUNCH! ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁

Chapter Three: Cheap Shot

MIKE WHEELER X NOBODY!READER.

↳ in which a loser boy meets an even bigger loser girl.

𖤓 ch.3 CONTENTS: reader is described as chubby, unfortunately I do use Y/n for simplicity sake I’m sorry, mentions of bullying, awkwardness, friendlessness, eventual yearning, shitty nerd x grumpy loner trope, silliness, 80’s, physical violence, mentions of blood and slight gore..? (Scrapes n’ stuff like that), verbal bullying, talking poorly about oneself, 

𖤓NOTE: Upon season five's release, I have decided to go a more canon route just because I see a vision... This chapter is the final, filler chapter before the story really kicks off! Stay tuned lovelies, chapter four is in the works!

I WILL BE UPLOADING THIS TO WATTPAD AS WELL! I like Wattpad's formatting :)

CH.4

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

“Oh—dude, okay— you cannot actually think that Coca-Cola is better warm you freak!—“ Lucas gestures chaotically with his hand while Dustin clasps a hand to his chest, taken aback. “Are you crazy?! There is literally nothing better than drinking a coke that isn’t colder than shit! My teeth are sensitive in some places!” He defends the warm soft drink with his life, and Lucas has to hold back a gag. 

“You’re messed up man, seriously messed up.” He shakes his head, pointing at the permed boy with his fork as he stabbed a bite size amount of veggies. 

Today was Wednesday, a little less than a week after you sat with Max and her friends for the first time. You had told yourself—no, promised that it would only be a few days thing, just so you could wait out Veronica for just a bit longer… But alas, every time you went home after a day of spending lunch with them at school, you found yourself not wanting to leave the table at all. So, you didn’t.

And now, you sat watching Lucas and Dustin during one of their notorious—and may you add daily—bickering matches yesterday: it was whether or not The Smith’s sucked… to which both you and Mike argued that they didn’t. You remember the way he looked at you in some sort of surprise when you spoke up, saying something about how good they were. 

You took a bite from your cup of pears that the school handed out with lunch today, shaking your head. “I feel like when coke is cold, it kind of balances out the sweetness… it isn’t bad warm, though.” You pitched in, saying something finally after imagining yourself saying it earlier on when their argument actually started. Max nodded at you, but Michael shrugged. “Honestly? Coke isn’t even that good regardless.” 

What a bombshell.

Everyone’s jaw dropped as they instantly looked to him, you set your fork down and took a break from the pears. “What?!” Everyone exclaimed at once. “Wheeler, you’re fucking crazy.” Max concluded, shaking her head and drinking some of her milk. He threw his hands up in defense. “What— what? It isn’t! It’s always way too syrupy to me, “ he starts. “Pepsi is way better—“

“WHAT?!” 

Ah, poor Mike, always with the hot takes on the most random shit. None of you paid mind to the stares your volume got you, you were having too much fun.

“Pepsi is seriously nasty, dude..” you laughed softly, shaking your head and going back to your fruit. Mike looked from Lucas and Max to you, a smile on his face. It was nice seeing you laugh—it wasn’t that you didn’t, but typically you were quiet and kind of just observed the group. With that in mind, it felt good getting to put a smile on your face, the kind of feeling you get when you make someone’s day better with a stupid joke. 

“What? C’mon Y/n, it isn’t that bad.” He laughed, then looked to Dustin. “C’mon, you gotta see where I’m coming from-“ 

“No, man.” He cut him off with a raised hand, shaking his head like he had just witnessed something greatly dishonorable. “What?? You can drink warm coke happily like some grandma but you can’t hear me out on Pepsi.” Mikes face dropped, deadpanning at his friend. “Pepsi is a crime against soft drinks, Michael. A crime against soft drinks.” 

The table went silent as everyone let go the soda debacle. 

…

“I can’t believe you’re a Pepsi guy—““—DUDE.”

You smile to yourself as you look down at your food, mostly eaten. Max starts to talk to Lucas about… well, something. You weren’t able to pick it up because you were currently lost in your own thoughts, thinking about how much you appreciated finally having people to sit with. To be honest, you weren’t one hundred percent sure whether or not you would be considered a friend—hell, a part of you still told yourself everyone other than Maxine saw you as some charity case, but despite your ‘better’ judgement, you pushed that voice away. 

This was a new feeling. It was the first time being around people didn’t totally scare you or just straight up piss you off due to their stupidity, like Veronica for example. It was the first time you found people that were like you, liked similar things like comic books and movies. More like they found you though, right? 

Max liked the same punky music as you did, and even started listening to Fleetwood Mac after you showed her your favorite record one day at work. Dustin let you borrow one of his Spider-man comics under the condition that you tell Lucas that Marvel was better than DC: despite your true opinion, whether you believed it or not, you agreed anyways. You also took good care of that comic book. 

Safe to say, you were enraptured by what it was like to have friends… to you that’s what they were already: friends. And to your understanding, there were more of them, you just hadn’t met them yet. 

“Uh oh, twelve o’clock—“ Lucas coughed, making you look up to see what the fuss was about. Everyone got stiff, eyes glancing up at something behind you before looking down at their food quietly. You turned, just to see Steel walking up to your table. “Here we go..” Dustin mutters so quietly that Veronica can’t be bothered to pick it up. Her friend, Janice or Jackie—something like that, spoke up.

“Wow…! I’m sorry, I just—we had to come over and say something…” she started, a look of fake genuine concern that looked utterly strange on her face. “I couldn’t help but notice the sweater you’re wearing? And, you know… I just needed to let you know that you probably shouldn’t wear it again..” 

Veronica huffs out a laugh and speaks up as you roll your eyes and rest your elbows on the table. “Gotta say, L/n… I was surprised to see the freak join the freak show..” she added with quirked brows, looking to the others as they shifted uncomfortably in their seats. “You have the insults of a cartoon character, Veronica.” Max shook her head, setting her spoon down as if she had lost her appetite at her presence. You noted that, how she stuck up for her friends and yourself. 

“Hm. Maybe.” She nods once, like she’s conceding a point that doesn’t actually matter. “But it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Her gaze drifts—slow, deliberate—until it lands on Mike across from you.

“I’m just doing you guys a favor,” she says lightly, before flicking her eyes to the rest of the table. “This girl?” A small shrug. “She’s bad news. Just sayin’.” Then she looks back at Mike, her voice dropping, more intimate.

“You don’t have to stoop this low.. you too Lucas, a guy like you doesn’t belong here, not with these rejects.” She scoffed. “Just because I’m on the team, doesn’t mean I’m gonna be a brain dead scumbag like you, Veronica.” He quipped, she shrugged again. “Whatever, Keep enjoying being a lame ass I guess.” She sighed, flipping her hair over her shoulder before sauntering away with her friend. 

You groan, face in your hands now. “Ugh… I knew sitting here wouldn’t shut her up..” you complain to yourself. Why would it? It’s not like you were sitting with popular kids, max and them were labeled as freaks too. 

“Yeah, so did we.” Max reassured. “But it’s better to handle cunts like that with people who have your back instead of by yourself.” She looked at you, hand on your bicep as you turn your head from your palms to look at her. You give her a sideways smile. “Yeah… I just feel bad…—sorry, Lucas, don’t listen to her.” You awkwardly apologize for something that wasn’t your fault.

“What? Nah, don’t worry about it. Seriously, even if you weren’t here I get that stuff all the time from the guys,” Lucas gives you a kind smile. “Trust me, they’re all smooth brained.”

You sat there utterly embarrassed. You did your best not to let it show on your face, quickly going back to the quiet version of yourself that you normally were. You had hoped they didn’t notice, but they did. After exchanging glances, Dustin cleared his throat. “Uhm, Y/n… are you working tonight?” He asked.

“M’always working.” You shrug, voice a little more gruff than usual—it was the shame. 

“Cool! Then we’ll stop by, hang out with you.” Maxine pitched in after everyone giving one another knowing looks. It was unanimously decided despite the fact that no words were actually spoken about it. Your heart skipped, brows furrowing as a nervous feeling creeped through your bones.

“Oh, uh—you guys don’t have to do that. I mean, don’t you guys do dungeons and gargoyles stuff?” You shrugged it off, trying to dismiss it. You heard max laugh while Dustin rolled his eyes. “Dragons!” He corrected. “Dungeon and dragons.” 

“Yeah, right right.. same stuff.” 

Lunch eventually dissolves the way it always does—with the scrape of trays, the bell’s shrill demand, and bodies moving all at once. You part from them at the lockers, offering small goodbyes that still feel strange on your tongue, like you’ve been misplaced or like you’re aware that you’re in a dream 

By the time you clock in at Afterglow, the sky has gone the color of old, washed out denim. Rain taps against the shop’s front windows in uneven rhythms, growing heavier by the minute. Thunder rolls somewhere far off, low and distant, like it’s thinking about making itself known. You flip the sign to OPEN anyway, shrugging off your jacket and slipping behind the counter.

The shop feels quieter than usual—cozier, even. The lights hum softly overhead, vinyl sleeves stacked just a little crooked where you reorganized earlier. You slide a record onto the player, letting the opening notes fill the space, warm and familiar. You’re halfway through straightening a crate of used records when the bell above the door jingles.

Then again.

…And again.

You look up just in time to see Max shaking rain from her hair, Lucas holding the door for Dustin, and Mike lingering near the entrance like he’s not entirely sure he’s allowed to be here. Lucas and Max are laughing, rushing their friends into the building as they duck and try and hide from rain. You perk up, surprised to see your friends—especially in this whether.

Your brows lift before you can stop yourself.

“Told you she’d be working anyways,” Dustin says to Mike as he takes off his now soaked jacket. His hair is mostly dry because of his hood, but there are spots where his bangs stick to his forehead. “Well whatever, I just figured because of the storm the owner may have closed.” 

Max smiles at you, soft and genuine. “Hey.”

For a second, you just stare at them—soaked hoodies, damp sneakers, all standing in your space like they belong there. And somehow… they do.

You had been replaying Veronicas bullshit in your head all day since lunch. You felt embarrassed, in all honesty. The last thing you wanted—no, needed to do was bring your problems onto this kind group of people who already get picked on enough as is. It was ridiculous to you. 

You couldn’t harp on it much now though, because your Embarrassment quickly can from something else. 

Max quirked a brow at you, smirking and pointing to the record player on the counter with her thumb as finished she putting her coat on the rack by the door with everyone else. “You listen to Cyndi Lauper?” She teased. Your face went white. 

defensive,  nasty look of confusion contorted onto your face as you instantly stopped the record player and took the vinyl out of it, ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ coming to an abrupt end. Your cheeks heat up as you cringe at Dustin and Lucas mocking the song and singing to each other even though it was long gone. “What? No— what? Don’t be ridiculous, Shep wanted me to see if the record was scratched..” you lied, mumbling out the excuses as you put it back safely in its sleeve and putting it back in the bin you were sorting. 

Maxine didn’t believe you at all—none of them did, honestly. Even then, she dropped it and asked, “who the hell is ‘Shep’?” 

“The owner,” you explain as you put another random record on. The Smiths, apparently—you honestly weren’t looking. “He usually works while we’re in school, so… I mean, it makes sense you don’t know him, I guess.” 

Dustin stands close by, eyes gazing over a rack of misc-music related merchandise. “Shit, you guys have floppy discs too??” He exclaims, leaning down to look at the few options you carried. “Apparently now, yeah. got them in yesterday.” You answer back with a monotone voice. You heave the box of records onto the counter so you didn’t have to break your back and bend over for a good 5 minutes to sort everything alphabetically. 

Max dragged Lucas by the ear—literally—toward the Z section of the record bins, rattling off something about starting from the bottom and working their way up until they found something they’d never heard before. Lucas protested the entire time, arguing that he already knew exactly which Prince album he wanted and that this was a waste of time.

Max didn’t even look back at him. Just reminded him—sweetly, cruelly—that he’d forgotten their anniversary.

He shut up after that.

You let out a quiet sigh, pulling a Kim Wilde record from the box and scanning the spines inside it, swearing you’d just seen the other album a second ago. You shifted to the box, completely dead set on finding that damn album—until you noticed Mike lingering by the counter.

He wasn’t pretending to browse. He wasn’t pretending at all, actually. He just stood there, hands awkwardly at his sides, watching you work like he’d decided that was preferable to digging through vinyl.

You glanced up briefly, then back down at the records.

“Y’know,” you murmured, mostly to the albums, “you guys didn’t have to come out here in the pouring rain. Kinda feel bad.”

Mike huffed a soft laugh. “Really?” he said. 

“You don’t strike me as a sympathy person.”

Normally, a comment like that would’ve made you bristle. If it were Veronica—or even Sylvia Ramiro from Bio—you’d have taken it straight to the chest. But with Mike… it landed differently. With him, and the others, the teasing felt easy. Familiar. Like it was allowed.

“M’not,” you replied, dry as ever, a faint smile tugging at your mouth. “But trying is good, right?”

“Sure…” he trailed off, grinning.

A quiet settled between you—not awkward, just… tentative. Mike leaned against the counter, fingers drumming softly against the laminate before he noticed a loose guitar pick sitting near the register. He picked it up, rolling it between his fingers like it gave him something to do.

“Y’know…” he started, then stopped. Tried again. “The shit Veronica said earlier. And her friend too, I—I guess. But mostly Veronica.”

Your stomach dropped.

That familiar, ugly flush of embarrassment crawled up your spine. You hid the wince, focusing instead on sliding records back into place, lining the edges up just right.

“What about it?” you asked, your voice more guarded now. Sharper. Mike caught it immediately.

“Well— I mean,” he rushed, “it’s totally relatable, and like… I know she’s probably—no, definitely just being an asshole, but—” He paused, took a breath. “It just seems like she really has it out for you. The way she talks to you—er, about you. I dunno.”

He was rambling. He knew he was rambling. You could tell by the way he shifted his weight, by how the guitar pick clicked anxiously between his fingers.

“I’m not—” he hurried on, “I’m not trying to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I swear. I just—okay, my point is, we all get messed with, so it’s not like I’m joining the Y/N hate train or anything. I was just… curious.”

You finally looked up at him.

For a second, you didn’t know what to say. So you didn’t. You just shrugged, eyes drifting away again. What could you say? You barely knew him. You weren’t about to dump your history onto his plate—not when you hated thinking about it yourself.

“Why does it matter?” you asked quietly.

Mike swallowed.

“Oh—oh, it doesn’t,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. I just—uh—” He cleared his throat, visibly flustered. “I kinda brought it up so I could tell you it’s bullshit. Since I didn’t say anything when it was actually happening.”

That… surprised you.

“Because,” he added, softer now, “we all think you’re really cool. And—uh—”

“Yo, Mike!” Dustin’s voice cut in, loud and unashamed. “Check it out—the owner’s got a Dig Dug poster on the wall!”

Mike snapped his head around, rolling his eyes so hard it was almost impressive. “The adults are talking,” he shot back.

Dustin scoffed, waving him off and immediately redirecting Lucas and Max’s attention to the poster instead.

When Mike turned back to you, the tension in your shoulders had eased. Your face wasn’t shut down anymore—just tired. Honest.

“Anyway,” he said, quieter now, “I just wanted you to know… we’re not listening to any of the crap she says. Not now. Not ever. All the shit she says is some… cheap-shot B.S that’s worse than literally any bully dialogue ever.” And for the first time since he’d brought it up, you believed him.

For a second, you didn’t trust your voice.

The rain outside drummed harder against the windows, a steady, muffled roar that filled the space between you and made everything else in the shop feel farther away. The smell of old vinyl and dust hung in the air, warm and familiar, and the low hum of the overhead lights buzzed quietly above you.

You cleared your throat, eyes dropping back to the record in your hands. “…Thanks,” you muttered. It felt small, but it was honest.

Mike nodded like that was enough. Like he wasn’t expecting some big reaction or explanation. He just leaned back against the counter again, shoulders loosening, the tension bleeding out of him now that the words were finally said.

Outside, thunder cracked—loud enough to make the windows shudder.

Max let out a sharp laugh from the other side of the store. “Jesus—okay, that one was close.” Lucas glanced toward the door. “We’re not biking home in that.”

“No shit,” she shot back. You watched the rain streak down the glass, fat drops blurring the streetlights outside into smeared halos of orange and white. The storm had come fast—one minute a drizzle, the next a full-on downpour. Typical.

“Well,” you said after a moment, setting the Prince record aside and reaching for the one you’d been looking for earlier, “looks like you’re all stuck here for a bit.” Dustin perked up immediately. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is if you knock over the bins again,” you replied dryly. “That happened once.”“—Twice.”

“…Okay, twice.”

Mike huffed a laugh beside you, quieter than the others. You felt weirdly aware of how close he was now—it was weird, you didn’t understand what the feeling was that bloomed in your head and the back of your neck, why it made you swallow hard—but you weren’t exactly the most comfortable with it. 

“So,” he said, carefully casual, “what do people even do in a record shop during a thunderstorm?” You shrugged. “Depends. Sometimes I play whatever the owner forgot to turn off. Sometimes I just… wait it out.”

“And tonight?”

You reached under the counter and pulled out a record, holding it up between two fingers. “Tonight,” you said, “I was thinking something moody.”

Mike tilted his head, curious. “Moody how?”

You slid the record from its sleeve and set it on the turntable, lowering the needle with practiced care. A soft crackle filled the shop before the music came in—slow,

atmospheric, wrapping around the room like a blanket.

Mike’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Okay. Yeah. This fits.” Max glanced over. “What is that?”

“Joy Division,” you answered.

Lucas squinted. “Is this the ‘feel sad on purpose’ music?”

“Correct.”

Dustin nodded solemnly. “Respect.”

The storm rumbled again, lower this time, and for a while none of you spoke. The music filled the gaps. The shop felt smaller, safer—like the world outside had narrowed down to this little square of light and sound.

Mike leaned his elbows on the counter, resting his chin in his hands. “This place is kinda… nice,” he said. “I mean, obviously it is. But, like—when you’re here.” You glanced at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He flushed immediately, his words coming out the wrong way. “I—I didn’t mean—” He stopped himself, exhaled. “I just mean it feels… different. Not like..—cuz me and Nancy, my sister, she took me here a few times for a new cassette she wanted or something and uh, Shepherd or whatever his name is was kind of intimidating..”

You hummed in agreement. “Yeah. That’s kind of his thing.” Another beat of thunder rolled overhead, softer now, farther away. The rain kept falling, but it didn’t feel as loud anymore. And for the first time in a long while, being stuck somewhere didn’t feel like being trapped.

“Sorry, that was weird.” He awkwardly apologized. You shrugged. “Nah, I know what you mean. It’s easier being around people you know.. kind of.” You replied. 

He nodded, relieved, and before he could say anything else—

“ABSOLUTELY not,” Max’s voice cut across the shop.

You and Mike both looked over. She had her arms crossed, glaring down at Lucas, who was holding up a record like it personally offended him. “I’m not listening to this,” he said, flipping it around. “It looks like something my mom would play while cleaning.”

“That’s how you find good stuff,” Max shot back. “You judge it by the cover and then you’re wrong about it.” Dustin leaned in between them, peering at the sleeve. “Is that a wizard?” Lucas squinted. “No… that’s just some guy.”

“Worse,” Dustin decided. “If it was a wizard, I’d allow it.”

Max groaned. “You both have the music taste of suburban dads.”

“Hey!” Lucas protested. “Prince is not suburban dad music.” From behind a nearby rack, Dustin suddenly popped up again. “HEY—” he stage-whispered loudly, holding up a cassette. “They’ve got Weird Al.”

Mike groaned. “Put that back.”

“No.”

“Dustin.”

“No.”

You watched the chaos unfold with a quiet smile, the record humming softly behind you. The Afterglow felt fuller now—warmer. Lived in.

The rain smacked against the windows again, hard enough that Lucas finally glanced outside. “Yeah, we’re definitely not leaving anytime soon.” Max grinned. “Good.”

She wandered over toward the counter, leaning her elbows against it beside you. 

“So,” she said casually, “what’s your expert opinion? You letting Lucas buy his boring Prince album or are we forcing him to branch out?” You pretended to think, tapping your fingers against the wood. “Branch out.” Lucas gasped. “NO way— you too??”

Your lips flat-lined as you gave him a sad nod. “yes, Me too. Prince is overrated.” Your words earns another gasp from Lucas as max laughed and pointed at you. “See?! I told you!! There’s so much better stuff out there than shitty Prince.” She spoke rather matter-of-factly. 

“Anything is better than Prince.” Mike laughed. You rolled your eyes and Dustin was the only one who came to Princes’ defense—only slightly. Instead, he advocated for Weird Al, to which everybodyvetoed. 

Everyone was laughing—you included. Not the quiet, polite kind you usually kept tucked away, but real laughter, the kind that surprised you as it broke free from your chest. For once, you weren’t hovering on the edges of something, weren’t watching from a safe distance. You were in it. In the noise, the warmth, the easy chaos of people who didn’t make you feel like you had to earn your place.

All at once, the things Veronica and her friend had said lost their weight. They didn’t vanish entirely, but they dulled, like a bad song fading under something better. The shame you’d been carrying loosened its grip, replaced by the simple, startling realization that it didn’t get to define this moment. Not here. Not now.

Rain rattled against the windows of The Afterglow, the sound steady and distant, like the world had narrowed itself down to just this room—dusty shelves, spinning records, the hum of electricity, and the way laughter bounced off the walls. You felt it vibrate through you when Lucas flicked Dustin on the forehead, the ridiculousness of it sending another wave of amusement through your body before you could stop it.

You were so enraptured by the moment that you failed to notice the way Mike’s eyes lingered on your joyful form for a few seconds too long, shaking his head and laughing along with everyone else.

You swore you hadn’t felt like this in a long time—the ease, the belonging, the quiet certainty that you weren’t alone. Maybe you never had. And as the laughter lingered, warm and unguarded, you let yourself believe—just for a moment—that this feeling was real, and that it might stay.

…

And that’s how it all started.

Not with sudden monsters or blood or anything you could point to and say that’s it—that’s the moment everything broke.

It started smaller. Quieter. With friendship.

With scraped knees and late sunsets, handlebars rattling as you tore through Hawkins on bikes that were definitely one bad curb away from falling apart. With shared laughs that made your stomach hurt and secrets traded like currency under streetlights that hummed too loudly. 

Eventually, that circle widened—Steve Harrington with his stupidly perfect hair and surprisingly decent advice, Robin Buckley with her rapid-fire rambles and knowing looks that always felt like she was ten steps ahead of everyone else. You heard about Will. Jonathan. Jane.

You had to hear about Jane.

Because when crazy shit started happening in Hawkins again—when things felt too close to home, too personal, too wrong—you started asking questions. And somehow, miraculously, your new gang had answers. Not normal answers. Not comforting ones. But answers nonetheless.

Still… there was one answer that came without you even asking.

Mike’s girlfriend.

It shouldn’t have mattered. You told yourself that. Repeated it, even. But hearing her name—Jane—attached to him like it was the most obvious thing in the world left a bitter taste in your mouth you couldn’t quite swallow down. Every casual mention of “my girlfriend” or “Jane’s calling later” felt like a reminder you hadn’t asked for. Something unspoken settling heavy in your chest.

It all really kicked off when a Hawkins High cheerleader was found dead in a trailer.

The town exploded.

People whispered in grocery store aisles and stared too long at the Munson trailer park like evil might leak out of it if they watched hard enough. Fingers were pointed, conclusions jumped to, and somehow—almost immediately—it was Eddie Munson’s name rotting on everyone’s tongue. It was a shit show.

A full-blown, pitchfork-ready nightmare.

The bullying was relentless. Cruel. The kind that didn’t even pretend to be subtle. And while you watched Eddie take it on with his usual loud bravado and metalhead swagger, you noticed something else—something that sat wrong in your gut.

Your friends were… off.

They shared these looks. Long, silent ones. Like they were speaking a language you didn’t know. Like they were constantly bracing for something, shoulders tense, eyes flicking to corners of rooms that were definitely empty. Every time you asked what was going on, you got half-answers. Shrugs. Forced smiles.

“Nothing,” they’d say.

“It’s fine.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

…And then the plans started getting cancelled.

First, it was supposed to be movie night at Mike’s—junk food, bad horror flicks, the usual. You were already halfway through getting ready when the phone rang. Mike’s voice came through the receiver, nasally and whiny, claiming he’d suddenly come down with a terrible cold.

Then it was Sunday breakfast at a Waffle House just outside town. Cheap coffee, greasy hash browns, laughing at how miserable everyone looked before noon. Except—Lucas had to “babysit” Erica. Which made zero sense, considering she could probably run a small country on her own. Dustin had “errands” with his mom. Max wasn’t feeling well. Steve had work. Robin had… something. And Max? Well… Max wasn’t doing great. Everyone could see that.

Every excuse felt random. Sloppy. Like they were scrambling.

You told yourself not to overthink it. Hawkins had a way of making you paranoid if you let it.

And then, you heard that Mike was going to visit California.

Just like that, Mike Wheeler was packing up his life into a suitcase and flying across the country, chasing a girl and a life that didn’t include Hawkins—or you. Leaving behind all the crazy shit going on in this shit hole of a hometown. You watched him talk about it like it was nothing, like it wasn’t another crack forming right beneath your feet. Like the group wasn’t already splintering—and like you didn’t want to crawl into a whole and die due to embarrassment, shame, and honestly feeling quite stupid.

You smiled. You said you were happy for him. You lied. You had pushed the feelings away for weeks, months even, knowing that it was foolish for a girl like you to like a boy like him even before you found out he wasn’t even single. The moment you heard the word ‘girlfriend’ leave his mouth you felt the weight of realization come crashing down on you, it was honestly pathetic.

And then,one night after work as if your life couldn’t get any shittier, it happened.

You sitting at your desk, catching up on biology notes and other homework when the lights flickered.

Once. Twice.

Then rapidly—like the house itself was shuddering.

The air felt charged, prickling against your skin. Your bedroom lights pulsed, bright to dim to bright again, and your music cut out mid-song with a sharp, ugly snap. Somewhere downstairs, the TV died too.

“Goddamn it!” your dad shouted, furious as his reruns vanished into static.

And you just stood there.

Frozen.

Staring up at your ceiling as the last bulb flickered wildly, shadows stretching too long along the walls—until everything went dead.

No hum. No light. No sound.

Just …silence.

And the sinking, unmistakable feeling that this wasn’t a normal power outage. You couldn’t place it, maybe it was just you psyching yourself out, making things up… but something was wrong.

You told them the next day.

Not at school—because Steve Harrington had to hear about it but was unfortunately done with that place, diploma in hand and zero interest in ever stepping foot in Hawkins High again. Instead, it happened after hours, all of you crammed into Family Video. The familiar smell of carpet cleaner and stale popcorn Steve got from the cinema next door hung in the air, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like they were barely holding it together.

You had actually forgot about it in the moment, but as you randomly remembered upon seeing some old movie called ‘flicker’ on a shelf, the words spilled out casually. 

You told them about the flickering lights. The way your music cut out mid-song. How the power didn’t just go out—it died. Like something pulled the plug on your whole house at once. You laughed while telling it. Nervous. Trying to make it sound smaller than it felt. “Probably just the grid,” you said. “Storm or something.”

No one laughed back.

Dustin’s grin faded first. He pushed his cap back, eyes flicking to Lucas, then Max. Lucas went rigid, his shoulders squaring like he was bracing for a hit. Max uncrossed her ankles, then crossed her arms instead, gaze fixed somewhere past your shoulder.

Behind the counter, Steve straightened.

Robin blinked. Once. Thenn she inhaled sharply, like she’d just made a decision she couldn’t undo.

“When did this happen?” Steve asked, voice careful.

“Last night,” you said. “Why?”

That was when it happened again.

The looks. Quick, silent, loaded with way too much meaning.

Dustin nodded once, slow. Lucas exhaled through his nose. Max’s jaw tightened before she finally met your eyes.

Steve glanced at Robin. They had to. For your safety. Besides, if the issue was spreading to you— what if you were next?

Robin glanced back. “Okay,” she said softly.

Steve leaned his weight against the counter, suddenly serious in a way that made your stomach drop. “Yeah. Okay.”

Dustin turned to you, expression stripped of jokes and science metaphors for once. “So… this is probably gonna sound insane.”

Lucas added, quieter with a wince. “and we should’ve told you sooner…”

Max hesitated—then nodded. “You deserve to know.”

Your heart started pounding, loud enough you were sure they could hear it. Did you do something? Were they tired of being around you?—things and questions that didn’t even make sense flooded into your brain  

Robin swallowed. “Okay,” she repeated. “So…”

And just like that, the room felt smaller. The buzzing lights overhead seemed harsher, the shadows along the aisles deeper. Whatever they were about to say—whatever they were finally letting you in on—you knew one thing for sure:

There was no going back to normal after this.

𓏲ּ𝄢🎼ılılıll|̲̅̅●̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅●̲̅̅| llılılı🎼

TAGLIST!

@druthesigma @otakusimp1 @rafessidemeal @applejjacks @olivebolivee @lalalandincraz @toeoffrog @mochi-ssu @su1c1dalt3ndenc1es @gumusservilvr

[riotgurlll]

ׂ╰┈➤ SUCKER PUNCH! ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁

Chapter Two: Jawbreaker

MIKE WHEELER X NOBODY!READER.

↳ in which a loser boy meets an even bigger loser girl.

𖤓 ch.2 CONTENTS: reader is described as chubby, unfortunately I do use Y/n for simplicity sake I’m sorry, mentions of bullying, awkwardness, friendlessness, eventual yearning, shitty nerd x grumpy loner trope, silliness, 80’s, physical violence, mentions of blood and slight gore..? (Scrapes n’ stuff like that), verbal bullying, talking poorly about oneself, 

𖤓NOTE: Thank you so much for all the support already in chapter one! This is very experimental because typically I don't do fleshed out fanfictions like this, but I wanted to give it a shot!

I WILL BE UPLOADING THIS TO WATTPAD AS WELL! I like Wattpad's formatting :)

CH.3

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

YOU had decided to go to the Afterglow.

You had a good idea on who was clocked in right now-- and after sneaking out of school to get out of that clusterfuck, your brain immediately jumped to him.

You had never unlocked your bike lock so fast. You jingled the key and nearly dropped it, you didn't mean to be so shaky but you were so paranoid that a staff member would see you hauling ass out of there that you had to be quick. Once the lock finally released, you shoved it into your bag and swung your leg over the bike that you had painted your favorite color last summer. The second you gathered your bearings, you peddled like hell.

You zoomed past cars on the side walk, the cooler fall air rushing past you as you rode against it's force. You had to admit, it felt relieving to know you didn't have to worry about any of this garbage until you got home, where you knew your parents would know about how you skipped detention by then and that you'd probably be grounded. You were so fed up that you just couldn't find it in you to care: not now.

Ever since you were a kid, you had been different.

It was always something about you. Your skin, your hair, your eyes, your clothes, the way you spoke. Kids were mean, and they could always find something about you without fail that made you stand out compared to everyone else, and not in a good way. You never fit in, you were always too nervous, never knowing what to say as a kid. One of your first core memories flashed in your mind as you peddled down Strikers Avenue on fifth, taking a right. You remembered it like it was yesterday.

It was the first grade, and you had been sitting alone in the sandbox during recess. You were staring down, drawing circles in the sand with your finger. The sound of footsteps on the mulch made you look up.

A little girl in the class next to yours looked down at you with a smile, brown hair cut short with bangs round and fluffy-you remember thinking that she looked like a doll.

"Do you want to play princesses with us?" She asked, voice light and airy. You did nothing but stair up at her, eyes studying hers. You don't recall what you were thinking in that moment, you just remember the way her face contorted as you yelled 'no' after a moment of silence that was too long. She flinched back, face contorting into something mean... Well, as mean as a six year old could look. "Whatever... Freak..!" She yelled back in some sort of defense. She ran away.

You don't know why you did that.

You sigh as you near the Afterglow, cursing your little child self for being so fucking weird. You had nothing against playing princesses, you played it with your dad all the time at that age. Something inside you at that moment just got so scared and nervous that you had that embarrassing outburst, and every since that day, you were labeled as just that. A freak.

You just weren't good at talking to people, even as a kid.

You slow to a stop outside the record store, hopping off your bike and slowly walking in, shoulders slouched. The man behind the counter looked up, confusion washing over him as he saw you. "Y/n? What're you doing here? Shouldn't you be at school or somethin'?" He asked.

"Yeah.." you mumble, walking up to the cluttered counter top. His look was now mixed with concern. "Shit, what happened to your face?" He questioned, setting the days paper down. Your nails tap quietly on the counter as you looked down, sighing. "Veronica..."

that was all he needed to hear.

groaning out in sympathy, he leaned back in the chair, looking at you like he didn't know what to do--and to be fair, he didn't know.

His name was Shephard, least that's what everyone called him. He was the owner of the Afterglow, and after he hired you last year you had quickly grown to like him more than your own parents. It was weird, but he was much more helpful than your mom and dad: You knew that was a horrible thing to say and think, but it was true. He actually gave good advice, the stuff he said meant something. He didn't just scold you or nag you... He actually treated you like a person. Late at nights sometimes when you laid in bed after arguing with your dad about grades while your mom sat back and said nothing, you wished he was your dad instead.

"Shit kid." He sighs. He leans down, taking a diet Coke out of the minifridge hidden beneath the counter and sliding it over to you. "For yer mug. There's some Cheeto's in the back too, if you're hungry." He gestured back there with a nod. You take the cold drink with a pursed smile, pressing it gently to your jaw and wincing at both the cold and the pain. You saunter past the counter and into the small office Shephard had, home to all the filing cabinets and the stores safe. There's a sealed bag of Cheeto's that sat pristine on his rather messy desk, waiting for you as your stomach growled. "Just got them before I opened, they're all yours, kiddo." He gruffly yelled back at you to make sure you heard.

You walked back to the front, sitting on a shitty stool that you guys kept behind the counter. "Thanks, Shep." You say. All he does is nod.

Shephard was cool. No kids, no wife. Actually, you knew nothing about his personal life, just that this record shop was his everything. He was a taller guy, not fat but not skinny. He had a slightly overgrown beard and mustache, all salt and pepper like as his beard slowly began to gray out with the rest of his hair. He had sad brown eyes, like a man who had seen too much. He always wore band T-Shirts, some metal bands from the current times, but a lot of stuff from the 60's and 70's. He had told you about Blondie once because he thought you'd like it, you loved it. that was a month into working there.

"So, wanna talk about it?" He asked after a moment of silence, broken by the crunch of Cheetos as you swiveled sadly in the stool. "Mm'Not rweally.." You punily muffled out as you chewed, cheesy fingers reaching in for another cheesy delight. Shephard just pursed his lips and nodded, expecting that answer. "They give you detention?" He pried. You just nodded as you ate.

"...You not goin'?" He asked another question. You nodded again.

Another moment of silence fell over the both of you as you stared into the floor, wallowing in your own self pity. You didn't catch the way Shep rolled up the newspaper as he hit you on the head with it, making you choke on a Cheeto as your hand clutches your head--cheesy fingers raised so you didn't get your hair dirty. "What the heck!" You seethe, licking your lips to clean up your mouth.

"You're parents're gonna kill you, yanno that?" He scolds. Okay, so maybe he did scold you sometimes... But only when it counts. He sighed as he watched you shrink. "Sheesh, guess you can't do much of anything now, huh? Ya already left..." He shook his head, resting on his elbows on the counter. "Whatever, you can stay here until you have to go home I guess, but don't let em' know I was housing a fugitive all day," He warns, pointing at you. "it'll be my ass."

You nod. "yeah yeah, I know." you groan. "Thanks..."

another moment of silence. You watch as he picks up the wall phone and starts to dial.

"Want pizza?"

-

FOUR days later you were in your usual spot behind the counter, this time instead of doing a crossword puzzle you were flipping through some old Rolling Stones magazine, cutting out things that caught your eye as you pasted them onto a slip of bright yellow cardstock paper. Sometimes you made collages at work cuz Shephard horded a ton of old magazines that did nothing but collect dust. After he found out you made them after the first two, he encouraged you to make more so he could display them all on the open space bellow the counter that the customers see. Now, slowly the empty space gets filled with your art pieces.

The bells ring, and you look up.

It was Max.

She nods at you as she walks up to the counter, you notice that she came in alone. "How's the face?" She asks bluntly. You set the scissors down and crossing your arms, guarding yourself on instinct. "Still attached, so it could be worse."

She gives you a smile: not one of pity, but one of understanding, at least on some degree. "Right, it's always good to look on the bright side I guess.." She trails off and turns to look behind her. "Hey, do you guys have any Kate Bush cassettes?" She asked, turning her attention back to you while pointing towards all the merchandise behind her. You nod, getting up from the chair and leading her over to a small rack by the door. You look through the display before pointing to the three cassettes that were left towards the bottom shelf. "Here they are. We have records too," You started, gesturing to the Walkman sticking out of her pocket. "but judging by that, these are all we got."

"Sick.." She smiled, picking up one of the newer ones and inspecting it. "This is awesome... uhm, do you know how much it is?" She asked, looking back at you as you walked to sit behind the counter. "Nothin'." You replied simply.

Her brows furrowed, walking back up as you presumed cutting. "What?"

"You can have it..." You elaborated. "getting even for the Juicebox or... whatever." you shrug, speaking as if she was stupid for not clocking that right away. You really were trying to be nice, but as always, you weren't the best at communicating. Max looked down at the now free item smiling slightly to herself. Despite your tone, she had a sneaking feeling that you really weren't all that bad, even with the tone. "Thanks..."

silence filled the shop as she watched you cut and paste away. "I haven't seen you at school in the past few days... how come?" She pried. "Got a three day suspension because I skipped detention." You sigh simply, not looking away as you line up a cut out pair of lips with a microphone on the cardstock. "No shit." She nods.

You don't say anything, but you note in your head: Max seems pretty chill.

"Y'know... Whenever you come back, you should sit with me at lunch." She offered. "Not that it isn't totally cool that you sit by yourself and stuff, but, y'know... Maybe it'll make Veronica lay off you for a bit." She elaborated.

This made you look up. Your eyes met hers genuine ones as she waited for you to reply. "Sit with you? Don't you sit with your friends already?" You questioned. "Yeah, so?"

" 'so', don't you think your friends will think it's weird if some strange chick comes up and sits with them? Kinda weird." You point out, your first instinct being to decline, decline, decline. Maxine though, just simply shrugged. " I don't care what they think--besides, I told them I'd invite you anyways."

"What?" You looked back up confused. She scoffed out a chuckle and shook her head, stepping backwards. "Do it or don't, but they don't mind." She concluded with one last shrug of her shoulders, bells jingling again as she opened the door and finally turned around fully to leave. You watched as she slid her headphones on, walking down the sidewalk.

You had never been good at talking to people or understanding tone...

. . .was she serious?

Ever since that happened you hadn't been able to get that moment out of your head... You couldn't believe that you were invited to sit somewhere-- You, of all people. It was a miracle, an act of god or something similar to that. You laid on your bed, music blasting in your room as the scene replayed in your mind over and over.

What if it was some kind of set up..? You couldn't help but think. You had no reason to believe that other than the fact that everyone in your school seemed to either hate you or think you're creepy or both. But when it came to Max, from what you could tell from her character, she was just a normal girl trying to offer a helping hand to another 'normal' girl. Of course you didn't see yourself that way, and of course you were highly skeptical of the whole situation.

Even then... you couldn't help but let your mind drift back to that day-dreamy state. the one where you pretend that you're involved in a loving group of friends, a group you feel like you can call family.

You didn't know anything about her or her friends, but that didn't stop you. Based off of the argument you heard between Dustin and Lucas, you imagined what it would be like having your own side in an argument with them between who the best superhero was... Would you agree with Dustin? or maybe Lucas... Perhaps you'd have a whole other hero in mind like Superman or something.

Your mind flashed an image of Mike holding The Cure's album at the counter, looking at you expectedly for a reply. You wondered what it would be like to listen to music with him. Would he share similar tastes as you did? Did he like Blondie? What if he didn't?

You thought back to Max. She seemed laid back, teasing in a playful and friendly way. You imagined yourself hanging out with her, too. At the mall, at the arcade down the street from the record shop. You imagined going back and forth, messing with each other as you both took the piss and laughing about it after.

Your eyes opened, adjusting to the light.

Fuck, were you really going to do this?

After spending the entirety of your high school career alone and fending for yourself, one random day in your Senior year after getting a knuckle sandwich from no one other than Veronica Steel is what earned you a lunch table invitation. This all felt so random, that's part of the reason why you were so doubtful of the whole idea. You had tried to talk yourself out of it, you really did... But no matter what route you took in making an excuse as to why it was a bad idea, that part of you that yearned for connection drowned it out.

Eventually, you fell asleep thinking about it. And when you awoke, it was still the first thing on your mind.

You cursed yourself for harping on it so much. Today would be your first day back at school, first day facing hundreds of teenagers that saw you get punched in the mouth, and first day facing Veronica after said event. You think it goes without saying, but you were not excited.

Getting ready went a bit differently than it always did this morning. Today, you picked out some terracotta colored tights, paired with a darker denim skirt and a brown sweater that you purposefully didn't tuck in so you could hide your figure more. You lied and said you didn't know why you were now currently in the bathroom doing your hair and makeup, but you knew it was because you wanted to look at least halfway decent. Partially because you were nervous to go back in general, but mostly because you were anxious about lunch. Truth is, the only think you didn't know for sure was whether or not you'd chicken out.

You leaned back after putting small gold hoops in your ears, taking in your appearance. You felt unsure, scared. It's not like you were glammed out, or dressed like you were about to go to a fall line photoshoot--you just looked... nicer than usual? At least in your opinion. You bit your lip, eyes searching your own as a sinking pit found itself in the bottom of your stomach. You fucking hated school.

Heading downstairs to get a bowl of cereal, you're greeted by your mother. She let out a sound mixed with a scoff of surprise and a laugh when she looked up from her romance book as she sat at the dining table. "Well! Where are you goin', missy?" She joked, taking a sip of her coffee. It made you stop in your tracks, panic rushing over you. You look down at your outfit, fear setting in. Gosh, was this a mistake? You weren't a fashion god, and you definitely had limited options but... "I don't know... I thought it was nice.." You reply, voice shaking. Your gaze shoots up to hers. "Why? Why- is it bad??" You ramble, alarmed.

"woah," She chuckles. "Settle down, sweetie. You look fine-definitely better than your usual get up." She mocks, and now you just feel insulted. "right." you mumble. Typical mom. She can't compliment you without saying something that will tear you down. How kind.

She dropped you off at school today, something she only did on rare occasions. The whole drive you looked out your window, chewing the inside of your cheek and inevitably messing up your lip gloss, which resulted in you wiping it all away with a napkin. It was annoying anyways, you thought. After saying goodbye to your mother, you walked into school: it took every fiber in you to not look down at your feet the whole time as you walked past your peers. You were supposed to be tougher than your average loser, that's why you had gotten this far. If you let people know that deep down you were nothing but an anxious insecure mess, it would be your ass.

You found yourself at your locker, getting your things for the first bell while your eyes lingered in the small mirror you kept in there for too long as the bell rung. You did your best to ignore it, but you could see the stares from behind you in the mirror. Sick of it, you shut the door and went to class.

-

Surprisingly enough, you went through the first half of your day mostly unbothered. Sure, there were some looks and whispers here and there, but that was the usual for you. Honestly, you were relieved. Maybe you had been psyching yourself out too much.

Just like the fateful day you got punched in the face, you put your math folders in your locker and grabbed your English ones, getting ready for the bell after lunch so you didn't have to stop at you locker on the way there. Simple time savor.

Now, you found yourself walking into the lunch room, eyes raking over the groups of people that sat with their friends. You were suddenly so much more aware of your hair and clothes in that moment, in such a big area. One hand clutched the strap of your bag, and the others' fingers toyed with the hem of your sweater that you were realizing was a little too scratchy. You must have looked like an idiot.

where were they..?

You had a hard time spotting Max, looking around for anyone with red hair so that you could minimize the searching. After what felt like a minute too long of searching, standing in one space: your shoulders deflated. That was before a familiar voice called out to you from a table hidden by some of the student councils' tables heads.

You perked up. It was max.

"Hey, We're right here!" She smiled at you, waving you over. You swallowed, walking over. Okay, no chickening out now.

Walking up to the group, they all had their eyes on you. Not because of how you looked, whether good or bad: But simply because you were new. You couldn't see that though, all you saw were eyes on you. "Hey, guys--this is Y/n." Max gestured towards you, taking a bite of her sandwich.

You want to say something more light hearted and kind sounding than the stone cold, unenthusiastic 'hey' you did: you pursed your lips. Shaking her head, she scooted over so you had a place to sit: nearly knocking Lucas off the damn bench seat. Dustin gave you a toothy grin and waved. "Hi, Y/n." He greeted.

Everyone else, as in Lucas and Mike, let out a mixed 'hey' and 'hello.' These guys were just as awkward as you. "Man, you guys suck." Max teased. She turned to you, setting her food down and wiping her hands over her tray. She went to point to each boy. "Y/n, this is Dustin, Lucas, and Mike." She explained to you. Now, you could put names to faces.

"Cool." You nodded awkwardly... painfully so. Max could tell you didn't really know what to do or say, so she kept talking. "After I met back up with these idiots when I gave you my drink the other day I told them you were cool, asked if you could sit with us for now on." She elaborated. "--Uhm, you didn't ask, you told." Dustin added, meant as a joke, but you couldn't help but feel a twinge of 'unwantedness' at his words. Max kicked his shin from under the table. "Don't be an asshole! You literally said you thought it would be sick for her to join us so stop trying to act cool." She scolded. He threw up his hands. "what?? It was an astute statement! I don't have a problem with her sitting here!"

You sit there, watching the two bicker. Lucas shut them up with a hand meant to separate them. " Ignore them, we really don't mind if you chill with us." He reassured. You slowly nodded, something in you looking at Mike. You wanted to know if he had any input, anything at all. When your eyes met his, he glanced around before nodding. "Yeah, yeah It's fine." He added.

"Nice," You start. "Uhm, thanks." You express your gratitude with a blunt tone. Slowly settling in, you set your bag on the floor. People walk past your table as they get their lunch and go to their seats. You people watch for a second before a voice drags you out of your regular space-out.

"Where's your lunch?" Dustin asks with his mouthful of Doritos. Max mumbles something about 'gross', and you shrug. "Not really hungry. Ate a big breakfast, no big deal." You shrug, rubbing your hands on your knees trying to remain calm. You watch as he shakes his head, digging in his lunchbox for something. Everyone watches confused with a tilted head or a cocked brow.

"Here," He said, handing a wrapped candy to you. You looked down and read the label. It was a jawbreaker--you hadn't had one in ages. You look up at him with a cocked brow of your own, he just gestured it at you again. "It'll tie you over till you get home. These fuckers last ages." He smiles kindly. You make a note in your mind, Dustin seems nice.

"Real nutritious, genius." Mike adds, rolling his eyes. You look to him, and you notice his twitchy mannerisms. It intrigues you, and you look back to Dustin as he responds to his friend, hand still extended. "What? It's all I Have left! Besides, they're good." He replied. Mike went to respond back but you shook your head and took the candy, they both looked at you. "It's Fine... Thanks, Dustin."

You mess with the wrapper as your eyes get drown to the walkway of the cafeteria by your table for the day again. Low and behold, there she is, the best flyer on the Hawkins cheer team.

Veronica locks eyes with you, her usual posse as well: Though you notice that Kathy's eyes don't linger as long as the other two girls' do. You feel a familiar fear bloom within you, but your stubbornness prevailed. You unwrapped the candy, placing it in your mouth as her eyes followed you when she walked past. She didn't say anything, but the look in her eyes acted like some sort of warning you couldn't quite place.

You look back to the geeks you sat with, they were all debriefing some sort of campaign that the guys played a few days ago. They hadn't even noticed the stare-down. "Y/n, you ever play DnD?" Lucas asked, leaning past Max to look at you. The question brings you to reality. You answer.

And just like that for the rest of lunch, they're yapping your head off about Dungeons and Dragons.

𓏲ּ𝄢🎼ılılıll|̲̅̅●̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅●̲̅̅| llılılı🎼

TAGLIST!

@druthesigma @otakusimp1 @rafessidemeal @applejjacks @olivebolivee @lalalandincraz @gumusservilvr

[riotgurlll]

I'm not asking for much, I just want some fluff relationship headcanons for Punch-up, I JUST KNOW THAT HE WOULD TREAT ME RIGHT

I feel like carring him around like a teddy bear would heal me but its hard to tell if he has not only strenght, but also weight of 10 men, so for now I will give up on that😞

୨୧Punch Up Headcannons! (Fluff!)

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

→ First of all, I think this man would adore his partner. DAMN STRAIGHT HE’D TREAT YOU RIGHT!! 

Colm is actually really sweet, honestly. I feel like he’s the type of guy to get you things you want without you even having to  ask for them. Mention something about being thirsty? He’ll pour you a glass. Want water instead of alcohol? He’ll pour you a new one! 

Food, clothes, makeup—anything, honestly. If he sees your eyes linger on an item for a second too long he’ll mentally add it to a list of things he can (an probably will) get you eventually: whether it’s for a holiday, birthday, or just because. He likes seeing the way your eyes light up when he gives you the sweater you had been wanting, or the concert tickets you wouldn’t shut up about for the past month. 

→ Likes to show you his favorite Irish songs. He loves it when you spend some of your time learning about and listening to the things he likes <3 (it makes him swoon like a mf)

→ I feel like every Friday he cooks you a BOMB ass dinner. Perhaps a mean lasagna, or maybe a juicy steak… this man is breaking out the step stool and the pink frilly apron that is actually his.

If you don’t like classic American home cooked meals, he’ll make you Irish ones! If you don’t like that, or have something you like more, he’ll make it instead! I genuinely think he’s a good cook. Tell me I’m wrong.

→ probs very ooc but I think he would in fact let you put ribbon around his biceps and I do in fact think he would flex to snap it. He does it because it makes you giggle and tweak out, he does it for his ego—it’s a win-win. (Let me have fun.)

→ Saturday nights are movie nights. Get on the couch and snuggle this man while you both munch on buttery, salty popcorn and cuddle up underneath a fuzzy blanket that’s like three times the size it needs to be… moments like those are some of his favorite.

→ if you work at SDN, bring him his favorite coffee so that he doesn’t have to drink the shitty stuff in the break room. 

→ if you DON’T work at SDN, drop off some lunch for him sometimes—it is guaranteed to make this man’s day.

→ his heart will melt at worried texts from you when he’s dispatched, or afterwards when he gets out of a nasty fight. Let this man come home with a boo-boo worse than a scrape and you’ll never let him hear the end of it. 

I say that as in you won’t shut up about how worried you are—NOT scolding him. He’s a grown man, a grown man who you knew before getting together with him was in a dangerous field of work—or rehabilitation or… whatever. 

“I was worried sick!” “I’m so glad you’re okay—“ “Honey please try and be careful! I hate seeing you like this…” 

After cleaning him up or replacing his old bandages in your shared apartment, you’d press a gentle kiss to the top of his head, holding his hand. “I’m glad you’re okay, Colm.” You say with a sweet smile that he returns. 

→ NICKNAMES NICKNAMES NICKNAMES

I THINK HE WOULD CALL YOU THE FOLLOWING (as long as you like them): Angel, love, A stór(my treasure), darlin’, and probably more but I think he would like those the best! If you don’t like that stuff he’ll refrain, but definitely expect him to call you things in Gaelic. (I’m pretty sure that’s the language Irish people speak… right? Correct me if I’m wrong I tried to look it up.)

→ if you bake for this man he will eat ALLLLL of that shit. ‘Fantastic gimme fourteen of em right now.’ 

I’m being so serious. Maybe you bake a batch of cookies and tell him to bring it into work so he can share with the rest of the Z-team: he will! But eat everything in his car(if he finds a way to drive) and just tell you everyone enjoyed them. (They would have if they got to have any.) 

→ you’re the one he takes to get togethers and work parties. Every time. Without fail. 

→ I also think he lowkey won’t come to said events sometimes if you express that you yourself want to stay home. It isn’t that you tell him he can’t go or that you’d rather him stay home: no, he just makes the choice that he doesn’t want to go anymore. Having Colm pull up to a function with you not by his side is rare, very rare. 

→ I think that one day he wants to open a bar with you. He’d love to share that sort of experience with you, that kind of step. 

I also think he’d love to watch you spread your kindness with costumers: anyone who treats you bad or responds to you rudely is getting kicked (punched) the PHHHHHUCK outta there. 

→ if you’re also on the Z-team I think that he would be just as worried about you deep down, but he’d also be so confident in you and your abilities. You kick some ass during a mission? “That’s my girl/boy/lover.”

→ love love LOVES the fact that you’re taller than him. He uses you for things lwk… yes, I fear he does make you grab things in spurs when he’s feeling lazy. Let the man live 😒

→ I kind of think he uses emojis too literally, so you’d either have to teach him how to really use them OR just giggle with he uses the laughing crying emoji when he sends you a silly meme he found on Reddit. 

→ oh, I also think he uses Reddit lol. SONAR PUT HIM ON OKAY—

→ Bonus points if you help him trim his mustache… only if you’re good at it though. If you end up lopping off half of his glorious facial hair he will cry.

→ overall I think Colm is an absolutely astonishing boyfriend/husband or just friend to have. He may have a rocky past, but he’s loyal and devoted to you and the people he cares about. 

[riotgurlll]

ׂ╰┈➤ SUCKER PUNCH! ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁

Chapter One: Knuckle Sandwich

MIKE WHEELER X NOBODY!READER.

↳ in which a loser boy meets an even bigger loser girl.

𖤓 ch.1 CONTENTS: reader is described as chubby, unfortunately I do use Y/n for simplicity sake I’m sorry, mentions of bullying, awkwardness, friendlessness, eventual yearning, shitty nerd x grumpy loner trope, silliness, 80’s, physical violence, mentions of blood and slight gore..? (Scrapes n’ stuff like that), verbal bullying, talking poorly about oneself, 

𖤓NOTE: This doesn’t focus on canon lore for the most part, I wanted a more domestic approach because it’s simpler and can be seen as some sort of filler. This can either take place before or after the events of season 5, honestly it’s up to you guys?

I do want to turn this into some sort of actual fanfic, so I’m writing the ‘pilot’ chapter as some sort of test, just to see if you guys are interested! Anyways, I’ve always been a Mike girl, and I haven’t seen much for him here on tumblr OR anywhere else, so here goes nothing.

I WILL BE UPLOADING THIS TO WATTPAD AS WELL! I like wattpads formatting :)

CH.2

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

THE bell rang louder than hell, its shrill cry rattling against the white brick walls like it was echoing through a prison block. The sound bounced endlessly down the hallway, drilling straight into your skull and leaving a dull ache behind your eyes.

You snapped out of your bored trance in the back of Calc, blinking like you’d just woken up. Groggily, you reached for your bag, shoving folders and your pencil pouch inside without even looking. Loose papers bent and slid crookedly into the leather satchel, corners sticking out at awkward angles. You didn’t bother fixing them. You flipped the top closed, the worn clasp clicking softly, and stood as the rest of the class filed out.

The room emptied in single file, chairs scraping against linoleum and the teacher’s voice already lost to the noise outside. You followed, lingering behind just enough to avoid the rush, slipping into the hallway last.

The corridors were already packed—waves of denim jackets, varsity sweaters, and teased hair moving as one mass toward the cafeteria.

 Giggles, loud laughter, and half-yelled conversations bounced around you, the sound thick and overwhelming. Someone brushed past your shoulder, another nearly clipped your arm, but no one apologized.

Your face stayed flat, unreadable. One hand tightened around the strap of your old cross-body bag, the leather cracked and soft from years of use, as you shuffled through the crowd like a walking corpse. Step by step, you drifted toward your locker, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the smell of floor cleaner and cafeteria food mixing in the air.

Lunch. Just another stretch of time to get through.

The clicking as you entered the locker code was drowned out by all the commotion behind you—friends gathering with friends, girlfriends gathering with boyfriends. What was different about the painful high school experience for your senior year? Absolutely butt fuck nothing. Everything was still the same, and unfortunately, that went for you too.

You swung the door open at the same time you opened your bag again, taking out irrelevant folders and a binder, those classes now over for the day. You replaced them with your English supplies, sighing as you slammed the door shut. God, you just wanted to go home. There was nothing you hated more than high school—this school, specifically.

It was a sudden slam against the metal lockers that made you want to daydream about moving far away, about getting a clean slate. What would be a nice state to live in? You debated California, maybe South Carolina. You looked at the perpetrator—the one responsible for thundercunting you into your poor locker.

Veronica… fucking Veronica Steel.

Her obnoxiously permed brunette curls and loud purple eyeshadow matched her bangles and comically large earrings. She let out a snide giggle, clutching her books to her chest while her posse behind her shared the same laugh.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself!” she started. You rolled your eyes. Not again. (Of course again.)

While you waited for her to continue, you picked up on a group of geeks walking around you and Veronica—one with a curly mullet muttering something to the likes of, “Jesus… lucky it isn’t us, huh?” with a slight lisp to his friends, an old Hellfire shirt on. Whatever. Yeah, you should be fucking ecstatic that the meanest bitch you’ve ever met doesn’t make your life a living hell.

Veronica’s grating voice snapped you out of your bitter jealousy—wishing you were able to just walk by like those randos were. You knew they got their fair share of bullying, but Veronica was just unmatched.

“You know how shitty these lockers are… it needed something heavy enough to keep it shut!” She laughed. She gave you a shrug, and suddenly you felt your blood boil over.

“Yeah, tell me about it. You must get it, though, right?” You faked a genuine reply.

She and her friends gave you a confused look, mixed with disgust, as if they were appalled you spoke back to them today.

“Yeah, might wanna lay off the protein bars, Steel… catching up to me there.” You shrugged, voice flat. She scoffed, looking to their friends as they immediately started to pamper her.

“She’s crazy, Ronnie!” “And you’re fit—don’t even trip.”

You rolled your eyes again, shaking your head. Can they just fucking move? You just wanted to eat lunch.

“Whatever, watch your back, lardass,” she spat. With a quick spin on her heels, her friends followed as she sauntered to her Spanish class. It was like a weight lifted off your shoulders. You couldn’t help but cringe at the pain in your jaw where it had collided with your locker door. 

Your fingers brushed the tender spot, brows knitting as the pain finally caught up with you. Your other hand dropped to your side. You didn’t look at anyone. You didn’t need to.

—

PURPLE and red bloomed in the reflective glass.

You leaned back in the chair behind the record shop counter, jaw tilted toward the reflection on the display shelf, the bruise splotched across your skin like it had been waiting for you to notice it. What a bitch. 

Blondie echoed throughout Afterglow Records. Your pen scratching at the crossword puzzle on today’s newspaper that the owner lazily tossed onto the counter that morning and hadn’t bothered to throw away. 

Fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, reflecting off the glass display cases that housed cassettes, tapes, and a few rare vinyl singles behind a counter cluttered with stickers and faded posters. The walls were a riot of color: band posters plastered from floor to ceiling—Metallica, The Cure, Madonna, Prince—some peeling at the edges, others layered over older promotions so thick the old paper sometimes cracked under your fingers. 

A rack of new releases spun lazily near the door, while deeper inside, the “used vinyl” bins were carefully organized but smelled faintly of dust and coffee, a testament to the shop’s age and character.

The vinyl on the record player at the counter scratched gently as ‘Call Me’ played throughout the shop. One thing you loved about working at Afterglow was that when you were clocked in, you got to play whatever you wanted. Your foot kicked to the beat as you propped your legs up on a clear space on the counter, pondering about who the Rolling Stones Frontman was… Six letter word…

You chewed your gum quizzically: mind blanking on the name. Before you could dig yourself farther into the hole that was a brain fart, you heard the bells above the entrance door jingle. You peeled your eyes off the back of the paper, clocking the familiar faces that walked in. 

It was the guys from earlier, the ones that thanked whoever was listening that they weren’t you. 

The door jingled as Lucas and Dustin stepped into Afterglow Records. “I still don’t get why you think Spider-Man’s better than Batman,” Lucas said, grabbing a comic off the display. “Because Spider-Man’s relatable! He’s funny, he messes up, and he actually has a life outside fighting bad guys,” Dustin shot back, holding up a copy of Amazing Spider-Man like it was sacred. Lucas rolled his eyes. 

“Relatable? Please. Batman has gadgets, style, and actual villains who aren’t just giant green lizards or random henchmen.”

Dustin waved his hands dramatically. “Style doesn’t mean anything if your life sucks all the time! Peter Parker actually matters to people!”

Their petty argument faded out as Mike looked automatically at who was behind the register—and to his surprise, it was you. The girl everyone had see around school but never spoke to. What was your name again? 

He swallowed as your eyes were already on his. Not in a strange way, no. He was a little taken aback at your expression. Your eyes were half-lidded, sharp and unimpressed, like you’d  seen too much and wasn’t interested in seeing more. He looked away, directing his focus to the posters on the wall.  You did the same, looking back at the paper you held in your hands. “Welcome in.” You yell out above the music with a flat tone. 

“Duuude, they have Megadeth cassettes!” Dustin exclaimed, running over to look through the displayed options. Lucas joined him, intrigued. Meanwhile, Mike just looked around, taking in the scenery. 

He wandered further into the shop, letting his fingers ghost over the edges of vinyl sleeves. Posters and stacks of records towered around him, each corner smelling faintly of dust and coffee, a mixture that somehow felt comforting. He picked up a few random albums, flipping them over to check the liner notes, occasionally glancing at the little display crates for anything that caught his eye.

Then he spotted it. A pristine copy of The Cure. He lifted it carefully, tracing the letters on the cover with his fingertips, appreciating the moody, dark artwork. A small smile tugged at his lips—this was exactly the kind of record he’d been hoping to find.

And then he noticed you. Behind the counter, you glanced up, eyes dry, cool and detached, but somehow…unflinchingly aware of him. Mike blinked. He hadn’t known you worked here. It didn’t even occur to him that someone like you could have a day job at a place like this—you seemed almost entirely removed from the world around you. That realization made him think: you were even farther down the loner tier than he had ever been. You weren’t paying them any mind, didn’t even glance at the argument Lucas and Dustin were having in the background. You existed in your own orbit, and Mike, holding The Cure like a treasure, stood there with his eyes glued to the bruise on your jaw. 

The next song on the record started to play as you went back to minding your business. 

Mike wheeler… One of Hawkins’ notorious nerds. You had remembered him from your freshman year science class, but the two of you never interacted. Both of you, including his friends, were treated like shit by  the Hawkins Hot-Shots: and yet, you weren’t even on his level. Not that you minded, but you knew realistically that it was pathetic. Whatever, you respected it: it was nice to know that even losers could find a group of people that they’d be close with. You were just waiting—watching the clock as if at a fixed point in time you’d be blessed with a nice group of friends. Bull.

His tall, lanky form walking up to the counter snapped you out of your thoughts. Looking up once more, and I mean really looking up—cuz damn this kid had gotten tall as the years went by—you swung and planted your feet on the floor, setting the paper down and sitting up straight. “So, The Cure?” You asked, offering out your hand to take the record. His brain stalls for a moment before he nodded. “Uh—yeah- yeah.” 

You gave him a look before putting the vinyl carefully into a paper bag. “It’ll be 10 bones.” You nod your head at his stupid Fanny pack. He gave you a confused look. “Uhm.. huh?” 

“…ten dollars?” You reply slowly giving him an expecting look, and you can see the way he mentally face palms at how he didn’t clock that. God, what was getting into him? Were you really that intimidating that he couldn’t focus, or what? Your voice snapped him out of it. “It’s a standard LP, new release. Since it isn’t used, it’s more.”

Mike couldn’t quite clock it, so he just shook his head and rushed to grab the ten from the pack. “Right—yeah, of course. Sorry..” he awkwardly stammered. He handed you the crumpled up cash and you gave him a look, judgey simply based on habit. You take it and give him change back, breaking the twenty. After you put the cash in the register, you slide the bag to him with a sigh. “S’all yours.” 

He nodded, eyes locked on you for a second too long as he took the bag. He looked over at his friends, now arguing about music instead of comics. He shook his head and looked back at you. “Uhm, I didn’t know you worked here.” He started, trying to make conversation.

He hated to admit it, but he kind of felt bad for you. He knew he shouldn’t: partially because he knew that being classified as a ‘loser’ wasn’t always a bad thing, and partially because he had a sneaking feeling that if you found out about the pity, you’d beat him up or something. 

That was kind of just the vibe you gave off. No one spoke to you, both because of your established social status and because of the intimidating, unapproachable energy that radiated off of you. Ever since kids started making fun of you for your weight or your lack of friends, you became colder and colder to the world. You weren’t sure why you were so put off all the time, but it had just grown to be normal. After so long, you didn’t even want friends anymore—so when freshman year came around, you sort of just gave in. If the rest of the world wants to label you as some tubby loner, then so be it. You were content.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

You nodded slowly. “Yep..” you drawled out. “I’ve been working here since the middle of junior year… not too long I guess. Never see you come in, that’s probably why.” You point out. Mike knew you had a point: he never came in here, maybe once or twice because Nancy dragged him inside, but those were times where you weren’t working. 

A thick silence fell over the both you as he felt himself grow more and more awkward. Gosh, why was it hard to talk to you? Loser or not, he felt like you just were not interested in small talk… probably because you weren’t. 

He looked out the tall windows at the front of the shop, watching as people walked by in groups of at least three, holding shopping bags. A group of kids rode past on bikes down the road, getting in peoples ways. If it weren’t for the music, he’d be able to hear the way the older man with the brief case outside swore at them.

“Anyway… you ever do crosswords?”

Mike blinked. “Uh… yeah, I guess?”

You nudged the newspaper toward him, pointing at a question near the top of the page. “Frontman of the Rolling Stones. Six letters.”

He squinted at the puzzle, lips twitching as he thought. You leaned back again, arms crossed, watching him struggle without saying a word, the faint hum of Blondie in the background.

“…Jagger,” he said finally, almost like a whisper, as if afraid to be wrong.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing with a subtle smirk, and the corner of your mouth twitched ever so slightly. “Correct,” you said dryly, almost as if it were an afterthought, before returning to your crossword and the soft scratch of the record spinning behind you. “Thanks, dweeb.”

The bell above the door jingled faintly somewhere in the distance, but you didn’t look up. Everything else—the world, the chaos, the noise—could wait. It was just you and your precious crossword puzzle. 

-

You went home that night like you always did, bomber jacket zipped up tight as the air crept colder. When you stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the house wrapped around you. From the kitchen, your mom called out over the sound of running water, finishing up the dinner dishes.

“There’s a plate in the fridge for you—meatloaf and carrots.”

She set a plate onto the drying rack beside the sink. You nodded out of habit, even though she couldn’t see you.

You dropped your bag onto the sofa and headed for the cramped kitchen, brushing past your mother as you opened the fridge. That’s when you noticed her freeze. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the way she did a double take.

“For Christ’s sake—what happened to your face?” she gasped.

Before you could react, cold, damp hands were at your jaw and neck, tilting your head toward the light. She stared at the bruise like it had personally insulted her. You winced at the touch, pulling away with a grimace.

“Jeez, Mom, relax,” you muttered.

“I lost grip of a box at work today,” you lied quickly, peeling the plastic wrap from your plate and shoving it into the microwave. It’s fine. You could practically hear her calling bullshit in her head, and you avoided her gaze, focusing instead on the slow rotation of the plate as the microwave hummed. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, waiting for the timer.

“What happened to whose face?” your dad’s voice cut in as he wandered into the kitchen.

“Your daughter’s,” your mom said, already turning back to the sink. “She dropped a box on herself.”

Your dad chuckled, reaching out to ruffle your hair. You clenched your jaw. God, you hated that. “Clumsy ass,” he teased, grabbing a beer from the fridge.

“Language,” your mom warned.

He cracked the bottle open and took a swig. “How was your day, kid?” You shrugged, exhaling through your nose. “It was okay. Got a good grade on the test I was freaking out about.” He patted your shoulder in approval before heading toward the living room. A moment later, you heard something thump against the floor.

Right. Your bag. You’d put it in his spot.

After you finished eating, you got ready for bed, letting the heat of the shower soak into your bones. The steam filled the bathroom as you stood there, shampoo worked deep into your scalp, scrubbing like you could wash the day away.

Your thoughts drifted back to earlier—to the Afterglow.

You’d seen him there. Mike. Yeah—Mike Wheeler. He and his friends from the D&D club. You sighed, letting your hands fall to your sides as you just stood there and let the water rain down on you, rinsing away the shampoo. You hadn't ever spoken to him, not that you could recall-- well, besides today. He was weird, you thought. Not necessarily in a bad way, just... Strange. Even with that in your head, you couldn't help but wish you had a group of friends like he did. It would be nice... And with that, you started to imagine what it would be like if you were, well... not you. You conjured up fake friends, put yourself in already existing friend groups. You hated that you did that, but sometimes that's the only way you could find comfort in your day to day life. You told yourself you didn't need friends, but deep down you yearned for connection.

You rinsed the soap from your hair, eyes closed, trying to push the memory down with the rest of the day’s garbage.

You had no idea then that tomorrow would be so much worse.

THE next day at your lunch period, you slide into your designated table at lunch, shoved against the wall like it’s been reserved for permanent solitude. Tray clatters softly against the scratched plastic surface, but you barely notice. Alone.

Peace..

--Until Veronica Steel spots you. Her posse follows like shadows, heels clicking on linoleum, laughter trailing behind her.

“Hey, loser,” Veronica sneers, leaning on your table. “What are you doing all alone? Waiting for someone to notice you?” her voice is filled with faux pity.

You shrug, calm and unflinching. “Just enjoying some peace and quiet until your lame ass showed up.”

Veronica smirks, folding her arms. “At least I don’t sit around pretending to be better than everyone else,” she snaps, voice sharp, trying to land a blow in return. You meet her glare evenly. “Yeah? At least I don’t sleep with my friends’ boyfriends.” You flick a glance at Kathy, letting it land.

Time freezes. Veronica’s smirk disappears, replaced with a flash of shock. Kathy gasps, eyes wide, mouth opening slightly.

“What—?” Veronica hisses, stunned.

“What?” Kathy blurts at the exact same moment, voice small, confused, eyes darting between the two of you. “Yep, I was at that party last weekend, Steel. Saw you and Kathy’s boy toy goin’ at it in his Mercedes..” you cringed.

You knew that saying that was a mistake the second you saw Veronica's expression settle in. You also knew you weren't even supposed to be at that party--you snuck in uninvited cuz' you wanted free booze. It was worth it, but you did have to pay the price of witnessing that shit show.

Veronica’s shock quickly twists into rage. Her fingers clamp onto your collar, yanking you up slightly as her jaw tightens. Before you can react further, her fist connects with your jaw, the impact sharp and immediate. Your head snaps sideways; pain blooms hot and bright. Gasps ripple through the cafeteria. The blow on the same spot you had a gnarly bruise sending you backwards against the bench seat, hardly keeping yourself from falling over.

“You think it’s funny stating rumors, bitch?” Veronica snarls through clenched teeth, every word trembling with fury.

You touch your jaw, grimace tugging faintly at your expression despite the sting. Veronica finally releases your collar, breathing hard, but then her eyes soften slightly as she turns toward Kathy, brushing a hand down her friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Kathy… you know I’d never do anything like that, you're my best friend.” she says, voice carefully sweet, consoling, the performance of innocence perfect. Kathy swallows, nodding slowly, still unsure but reassured—or at least distracted from your comment.

From across the cafeteria, Mike Wheeler and his friends freeze mid bite, eyes wide along everyone else.. Mike’s fists twitch as he watches the scene unfold, caught between instinct and caution, while Dustin whispers frantically to Lucas, and Max frowns, shaking her head. All they can do is watch.

“Isn’t that the girl from the record shop yesterday?” Dustin whispers to Mike. Lucas nods along as Michael just watches. He felt a familiar pang of guilt rack over his body as he watch the brutal scene unfold. He could practically feel the embarrassment you must have felt, with everyone’s eyes on you like that..?

“Veronica is such a bitch.” Max mumbles.

The cafeteria hums with whispers and murmurs, but here, at your corner table, all you can feel is the heat of Veronica’s glare and threats. 

“Hey!” A staff member yelled through gritted teeth. The woman grabbed Veronica by the sweater and yanked her away from you. “That’s enough! Steel, are you crazy?!” She scolded, mentioning something about the cheer team and how this could get in the way of some scholarship. Veronica whined about how ‘cruel’ and ‘mean’ you had been, starting rumors about her and her private life. It was all bullshit. 

Your ears rung as the panic set in, palms sweating. You could feel everyone's eyes on you... you could hear the laughing, the whispers. The sound of Veronica complaining and defending herself faded away as all you could do was look around: back at everyone looking at you. This was a mess.

Well, eventually the staff member dragged Veronica to the principles office, and you were taken to the nurses office by a lunch lady that the woman called over. Turns out that staff lady was actually her Aunt, and long story short Veronica got let off with a warning and you both got detention. Her, for physically assaulting you: You, for telling the truth. (but apparently it was a rumor now, since little miss Veronica Steel always got her way.)

You sat outside the nurses office on a broken chair, the back snapped in half because some jock tried to crack his back over it. You have an ice pack pressed against your jaw, now twice more painful and bruising worse by the minute. Your bag was next to you as you waited for the lunch bell to be over. God, why does time go so slow at times like this? You debated leaving, sneaking out of school and running off literally anywhere but here. You knew you couldn't... That you shouldn't, because not only would you most likely get suspended but your parents would also blow a gasket.

“Are you good?”

The voice pulls you out of your spiraling thoughts. You look up to see a girl standing a few steps away, red hair catching the fluorescent hallway lights as well as the sunlight that shined in through the glass doors down the hall that lead to the courtyard. Headphones rest loosely around her neck, and she’s holding a juice box in one hand, the straw still still taped to the side.

You don’t answer right away.

Do you look good? The question almost makes you scoff, but you keep it to yourself. As stupid as it sounds, you can tell she’s not trying to pry—just trying to be kind.

“Uh,” you mumble finally, eyes dropping to the table. “Could be better.” She nods, awkward but understanding. “Right…”

There’s a pause. Then she shifts her weight and holds out the juice box, offering it like an olive branch.

“My name’s Max,” she says. “Um, I noticed you didn’t really have time to finish your lunch, so… I saved you mine.” You glance back up at her, really looking this time. Max. The name settles somewhere in your memory, fuzzy but familiar. You hesitate, then take the juice box anyway.

“Thanks,” you murmur, fingers curling around the cool cardboard.

Before either of you can say anything else, the bell rings—loud and sharp, slicing through the cafeteria noise. Chairs scrape back, voices rise, and suddenly everyone is moving at once.

Max winces. “Guess that’s it,” she says, slipping her headphones back around her neck.

“Yeah,” you reply, already standing. You sling your bag over your shoulder, the knot in your stomach tightening. The thought of walking into class with everyone—feeling their eyes, their whispers—makes your chest feel too tight. Max looks a bit confused as to why you're heading towards the doors that lead outside. "Where- Where are you going?"

"literally anywhere else. "

As the bell’s echo fades behind you, you let out a slow breath. Anything was better than facing a room full of people right now.

𓏲ּ𝄢🎼ılılıll|̲̅̅●̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅●̲̅̅| llılılı🎼

Chapter 2?

yes

nah

Voting ended onDec 22, 2025

[riotgurlll]

RIOTLIST!

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆

STRANGER THINGS📼📕

SUCKER PUNCH! (Mike x Chubby!Loner! Reader)

CHECK PLEASE! (Steve x Chubby!Reader NSFW)

KILL THE STEREO! (Mike W. x Weirdgirl!Reader)

LADY LIKE !! (Dustin H. x Rebellious!Reader)

I LIKE IT WHEN WE KISS WITH THE TONGUE! (Steve H. x Partygirl!Reader NSFW)

I don't actually read (Mike W. x Bookworm!Reader)

DISPATCH🌇💕

ROBERT R. x CHUBBY! READER 

Punch up headcannons!

[riotgurlll]

🍒ROBERT R. x CHUBBY! READER ༄.°

⟢ In which Robert wants you BAD.

⟢contains NSFW content, f!oral, PiV, chubby chaser Robert tbh, no plot because who needs plot, honestly idk what you would classify Robert as other than down bad… service top..? I guess? Don? Idk Unprofessional coworkers DUHH! Uhh lmk what else!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

“Hh-hah!” A gasp left you before you could even think: the feeling of Robert’s hands gripping the soft, plump flesh of your thighs making your hold mind blank. His head was buried between them, and  you couldn’t help but blush at the vulgarity of the situation. 

“R-Robert..! What has gotten into…-you!” You whisper out meekly, fingers gripping the fabric of his couch cushions until your knuckles damn near turned white. You felt him chuckle lowly as he pulled away slightly—just enough to speak. His breath was hot against your skin, your mind cursing him for moving away. How dare he have the audacity to answer a question you asked!!

“Y’too pretty to be asking dumb questions…” he grumbled—not in an annoyed way, but in a teasing way. His words made you attempt to close your legs, purely instinct, because now he was looking up at you while kissing your inner thighs, stubble tickling your skin.

Robert clicked his tongue, forcing your legs open as his grip on your thighs grew stronger. God, he loved how strong your legs were… he could feel it, and he wanted nothing more but for that strength to be wrapped around his head right now. “You have any idea how worked up you get me..? Hm?” He asked simply, voice softer than before. 

You swallowed, slowly shaking your head. 

This had all started when Robert invited you to his place for a nice dinner— one he offered to cook himself. The thought was concerning, of course: for he did not appear to be a man who could cook. But, when you arrived you were actually a tad bit surprised. His apartment was bland, pretty empty still. Even then, he had a few additions that made the place nicer, and the smell of steak fills your nose pleasantly. 

You and him had some chemistry, no doubt: hell, Prism teased you about it all the time just like Sonar teased Robert. You were beyond excited when he asked you to come over for a nice, calm, and romantic dinner at his apartment. 

But you had no idea that the romantic night would turn sultry in the slightest… no, not with you. 

A kiss to your clit snapped you out of your thoughts. “I’ll take that as a no…” He chuckled at your flustered silence. You let out a whine, wiggling your hips in both embarrassment and frustration. 

Robert rested his head on your thigh as he gazed up at you, hand caressing your thigh gently. “You’re so, so red right now.” He pointed out. He noticed how rigid you were— hence the calming strokes to your thigh. “Why so tense?” 

You gulped, looking around his living room, trying to find an answer that didn’t sound pathetic. 

“Well… I just…—“ you try, giving up on finding some elaborate excuse. “..you sure you wanna… y’know.. with me?” You asked shyly, suddenly feeling small. It was like two big spotlights were on you right now, and it made you want to shrivel up and die. 

Despite that, Robert brought you out of your trance once more. “Psh, yeah—why wouldn’t I?” He asked, as if it was obvious. After a moment of you being silent—(you had nothing to say to that)— he chuckled and shook his head. “You really are oblivious, Y’know that?” 

You gave him a look that told him to explain himself.

“Been having my eyes on you for months… at first it was your eyes.. god, you have the prettiest eyes…”  he explained kindly, slowly: as if he wanted to make sure you were following. “Then I started to notice more and more about you… y’hair… your clothes.. how they fit.”

“Made me curious..” he huffed, inching closer to your heat. “…what you’ve been hiding under all those pretty outfits..” he admitted with a sly smile. He loves the way your face heated up, got red.

“R-Robert…!” You bashfully scold while looking away, leaning your head back as he finally dove back into your pussy. “Ohfuck-“

Between the way he was gripping your thighs and the reality of this situation dawning on you, you felt yourself growing more and more relaxed: more open to it. Open to him—for him. His tongue was working fuckin’ wonders, you knew that for sure. He paid close attention to how your body reacted, the way your hips twitched more when he licked one way compared to the other. It got to the point where he figured you out so good, you could’ve sworn you were gonna cum soon if he didn’t stop. 

Your slick slowly but surely coated his mouth and chin. He clearly didn’t mind though—you could tell by the way he was grunting into your pussy. Your back arching, your thighs encased his head tighter and tighter as you felt your lower half flutter: it was purely instinct, you hadn’t even meant to do it, honestly. You caught you body’s reaction, but before you could release the slight, addicting pressure you felt his hands suddenly grip tighter on your skin, holding your thighs right where they were. 

You then caught the faint whimper-like sound he let out against you. Had he liked it? Was being squeezed between your thighs something he enjoyed? You felt stupid for it now, but you hadn’t expected him to be that type of guy. The more you thought about it though? The more fitting it seemed.

You went to peak down at him, gathering your strength between moans of his name and whimpers to look down at him. To your surprise, he was already looking up at you, and he had been the whole time. The shock of it was enough to pull a moan from deep within your chest. His tongue was dancing around your clit skillfully, sucking lightly in the most perfect way imaginable. God damn, this man could eat.

The look he gave you told you everything you needed to know. It was a look that said ‘don’t move’, that paired with the gently circles he rubbed on both thighs with his thumb confirmed your previous question: he did like it. 

You didn’t know what came over you, honestly. It was a mix of things that led up to it… the way those pretty eyes looked up at you, brows furrowed upwards as he began to whimper quietly into your core. The way you noticed his hips shift slightly. 

You bit your lip, head falling back as a small chuckle—purely from pleasure—left you, mixed with a whine. You took it one step further, tightening your legs around him even more before releasing the pressure. A part of you did that just so it wasn’t too much, but the other part just wanted to tease him. 

To Robert though, it was cruel—you letting go like that. Had you not noticed how much more desperate your actions had made him..? Not that you could see, but it made him so painfully hard in the confines of his jeans that he was practically grinding against nothing. He let out a disappointed sound as you released the pressure: though, it was more like a whine. Muffled against your pussy, he spoke. “C’mon sweetheart, don’t be shy.”

You looked back down at him, clenching around nothing at both his tone and his words. Gosh, this was all so overwhelming in the most delightful way… you had been dreaming of this for weeks—months even. 

“Mmh..Robbie..-“ you moaned, cheekily using the nickname. He sped up his antics, tongue flicking over you repeatedly at a speed your brain could barely keep up with at this point. You were so, so fucking close… just a little more…-

“I-I’m..! Ahah fuck..!” “Mmph!” Your moans mixed together as your orgasm crashed over you sooner than you expected, the slick sounds of slurping continuing as Robert rode you through your high. The way your thigh squeezed him tighter and tighter as you came was pulling all sorts of low sounds from him—holding you there so that this time, you couldn’t pull away. 

Your hips trembled, thighs shaking as he kept eating you out at the same pace he had been. The overwhelming feeling made whimpers fall from you without any breaks, whining—damn near crying as overstimulation coursed through your body. 

“I can’t..-s’too much..!!” You cry, trying to turn your hips away from him as if you weren’t willingly keeping his head there by squeezing him between your strong thighs. A voice kept repeating itself in the back of your mind.. just a lil’ more.. with every pass of his tongue. Robert didn’t mind at all, he could tap out: he just simply didn’t want to. He loved the pressure, the smothering feeling of being held against your wet pussy. It was a feeling he had dreamt of ever since you started working at SDN. 

After a few moments more of pleasurable torture, your thighs relaxed dramatically as you pulled yourself away, shuddering and giggling through moans. Your head fell back, knees pressing together and drawing closer to your chest. “Hahh.. fuck-“ you say as you try to gather yourself. You’re still twitching every now and then, but for the most part your body began to relax. 

You don’t see the way Robert smirks as he wipes your slick away with the back of his hand. He slowly rises, grabbing your calves and spreading them apart as he loomed over you. Opening your eyes, you now watched as he leans down to kiss you, forearm bracing the couch next to your head. He kissed you with a sort of passion: the same passion he had when eating you out just moments earlier. 

His free hand found your jaw, holding it gently as he kissed you nice and slow. You hummed into it, leaning closer to him and wrapping your arms around his neck. The kiss was long, grounding. The taste of your juices on his tongue, mixed with his own flavor. Your hands slid down his chest as you both had to pull back for air—your eyes immediately drifting to the erection in his pants. You smiled up at him, Robert returning the gesture. 

“We don’t have to do anything else… y’did so good for me already.” He reassures, caressing your cheek sweetly. To his surprise you shook your head, fingers already undoing his belt with patient precision. You looked up at him through your lashes, a sincere smile on your face. “I can take it,” you begin. “Want it..”

“ yeah? “ he asked, the hand that was caressing your cheek moving down to your chest, squeezing you through the simple yet flattering bra you wore. You bit your lip, leaning into his touch as you unzipped his jeans and gently cupped him through his boxers. He groaned, pressing his forehead into the crook of your neck. “Hmm.. I want you too.” He smiled, bucking into your palm. He was so, so hard… you could practically feel him throbbing through the soft fabric that covered him. 

His fingers gripped the couch as you squeezed his shaft, finding his lip between his teeth. He continued to writhe on top of you as the small amounts of pleasure began to build up. His brows furrowed, hand suddenly gripping your wrist as he moved to pull everything down. “Can’t get carried away, not yet.” He teased. “Gotta be inside you first.” 

With that, you slid around slightly so you could lay down, head resting comfortably on the arm of the couch as you watched him move with you, pulling his pretty cock out finally. You watched as he pumped his fist slowly around himself, trying to ease some of the pressure that had built up over all this time. You whimpered at the sight, a bear of pre smearing on his finger as he leaded down to kiss you. “…Y’ready?” He asked kindly, patient for you. Nodding, your hands find themselves on his shoulders as he positioned his warm tip against your core, rubbing it against your clit slowly. 

You both looked down to watch—to watch him tease you with his cock, watch him sink into your pretty pussy. You gasped at the slight stretch, the strain natural as you actually hadn’t gotten laid in a decent amount of time… you hadn’t even had much time to masturbate recently, too tired to use anything but your fingers when you actually did. 

Robert’s eyes were glued to your lower half as he steadily bottomed out. He let out a sound that made you flutter around him once his hips met yours… 

“Robert..—“ you whimper, wanting him to move already despite not exactly being fully adjusted quite yet. One of your hands roams his chest while the other found itself resting comfortably in his hair, pulling him closer as he pressed grounding kisses to your lips. “Shh, shh… I know baby..” he soothed, voice slightly strained. He wanted to move too, he wanted nothing more than to slam into your cunt like he had literally dreamed of three nights prior to this one. He knew, though: that he needed to have control. He needed to be patient, gentle—at least for now. 

One thing he did do though was unhurriedly grind his hips against you—not pulling out at all, no. Not in the slightest. He just moved against your skin as if he was trying to make sure he reached the deepest part of you, and he did. 

“Y’so deep..!” You gasped, feeling as the tip of his cock kissed a spot you honestly forgot you even had. It had been so long since you felt this sort of attention, this sort of admiration and fire. “Mhm, yeah, I know, pretty.” He chuckled. “Y’feel it? Hm?” 

All you could do was nod, pouting up at him as your body screamed for more. “What’s that look for, gorgeous?” He smirked. Now who’s the one asking dumb questions..? “Please… please move—need more..”

Robert didn’t even reply, he just pressed one last kiss to your lips before peeling his hips back slowly, almost all the way out, before ramming into your cunt to the same depth he had reached prior. “Ff-fuck!” You yelp, nails digging into his skin as his facial expression matches yours. One of his hands rested on the underside of your knee, holding you open  as he watched your stomach fold. You hadn’t noticed where he was looking, but you did notice the way he twitched inside you as he set a moderate pace. 

“Damn..” he grunted out, watching his cock slide in and out of you so easily—the sound of squelching and skin hitting skin like music to his ears. His other hand greedily found itself at the cup of your bra, fingers curling under the fabric as he yanked it down, giving him a view of your bare breast. He then cupped it, gently—at first. He leaned down to your neck and pressed hot kisses against your skin as he rolled your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger, taking breaks to envelop the mound entirely (to the best of his ability) and kneed the flesh there. 

Robert was already beginning to become a whimpery mess—but that didn’t stop him from slamming his hips into you harder and faster. He pulled back from your neck, marveling at the marks he left as he listened to your whorish sounds. 

“God…! Mmh, your cock feels so good… you feel so good..” you whine, clenching around his length. His hands slid to your hips, holding you in place as he rammed into you even faster—and he laughed. He honest to god laughed: not at you, not at anything in particular other than the pleasure he was feeling. You made him feel good late at night when he felt particularly lonely, sleeping and dreaming of your plush form bouncing on top of him or rocking your hips back into his as he took you from the back. The real thing, though? So much fucking better.

And you swear to god it’s the most attractive thing you’ve ever heard. 

“Ahah- fuck! Fuckfuckfuck-“ He moaned out, sitting up straight so he could get a good view of your hole swallowing his dick perfectly. “Goddamn..” he grunted, a smirk on his face that he just couldn’t shake. He was absolutely ravishing you at this point, and hadn’t even noticed fully. Your eyes were rolled shut, mouth open as moans left you one after another—you felt bad for your neighbors, but you know the one to your right would tell you congrats when she saw you getting your mail the next day. She was cool like that. 

You whined out swears as you gushed around him, not having the strength to speak and warn him. “Ooh, there you go..” he soothed, thumb beginning to rub steady circles over your clit. “Such a good girl—“ his praise was cut off my a moan of his own. 

Your hands gripped the couch, back arching as you focused on how deep he reached with each thrust. The speed he was going was insane, more than you had previously imagined he’d go at. You finally looked at him, his pretty eyes raking over your body as he kept his bottom lip tucked into his teeth. He was humming out the sexiest sounds you had ever heard coming from a man as he just watched you. To him, you looked like a fucking angel. Nothing could peel his attention away from you right now.

Not even the banging seemingly coming from the neighbors below.