Summary: soft girl of the party has a soft heart. The heart who gains all the hearts of the party no matter what she doesn’t mean to do.
Info: this is implied as a fluttershy!reader cause look at the pic I chose as a header?? Anyways will is platonic of cuz he’s gay tf?? Lumax x reader and then mileven x reader. Just greedy yall, and also Dustin is more of a brother figure that now has a little sister figure.
Genre: fluff
Wordcount: 1,190
The softest girl to ever be in Hawkins.
Y/n L/N, friends to Mike Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, Dustin Henderson, Max Mayfield, and Jane Hopper.
She’s homeschooled due to her anxiety peaking every second someone stares at her. Feeling the stares of people, feeling like they’re just gonna laugh at her makes her sick to her stomach.
She used to eat alone in Mr. Clark’s classroom, not handling school life very well. Dustin was always there for her, like a brother, as he tried to also eat lunch with her. He even suggested eating in the AV club room.
She enjoyed his comfort a lot, and Dustin enjoyed making her comfortable.
Will and Y/n always had drawing contests because Dustin said she could beat Will at anything he could draw. Which prompted the two quiet kids to immediately click due to their interest in drawings be art.
Lucas was always there to back her up, if someone was talking over her, he would shut everything down to make sure people heard her.
Even Mike did it mostly, he’d always look at y/n to make sure she was comfortable. If she’s too silent and is looking down at her fingers. Chewing on her nails, picking at the flesh of her fingers.
He’d put his hand on her shoulder or just put his hand on hers.
Having eleven in the party’s life brought more things to the table.
After Will went missing, y/n felt sick, sick physically at the thought her beloved friend was dead.
She missed all the action being homeschooled and grieving the potential loss of a friend. But she didn’t know that Mike was practically ranting about her to a girl named eleven.
Eleven saw a picture of Y/n, immediately stalking the poor soft girl in the void. She saw y/n writing, wearing a soft yellow cardigan and a pink and white dress.
Y/n didn’t know how eleven was just staring at the pretty girl.
“Pretty.” Eleven repeated out loud, eleven got out of the void. Knowing who y/n now is. She understands how Mike can just bring her up every 3 minutes.
Time passed, Will was actually alive and well, bringing y/n to a soft relief. Hugging him at the hospital, the party felt restored.
Meeting Max, was kinda weird to say. Y/n was taking a fresh breath of air after being home all evening. While she walked on the sidewalk, wearing her favorite palette clothing of pink, yellow, and white, a girl came rushing in with her skateboard towards her.
Not that she meant it on purpose, it’s just y/n didn’t see her clearly.
She ran y/n over with her skateboard, making her fall on her back, and Max fell on her side.
“SHIT!” Max yells, getting up to even grab her skateboard. Y/n got up to also get her skateboard, trying to ignore the stinging feeling in her hands and butt.
“Are you okay?” Y/n’s soft voice did her magic. Ring through someone’s head. Max felt her hands touch hers, but they left as she got electrocuted. Making the redhead pull her hand back.
“Yeah.. I’m okay. But I should be asking you that.” Max quickly said, ignoring the feeling she felt. She grabbed y/n’s hand, seeing the small bruises on the skin.
“I’m fine,” Y/n spoke, looking at Max. She realized the girl hadn’t practically seen before. “Are you new here?” She asked.
Max nodded as she started to grab her skateboard and pull y/n towards the other way. “I’m Max, what’s your name?” Max says, finding this an opportunity to just know more about this girl who has gotten her attention. And maybe even heart oddly.
“I’m y/n!” Y/n said excitedly, happy to make a friend.
And it went from there as soon as the party had fully known one thing as time grew. The party made a devoted rule towards the girl, and that was never to yell or speak loudly towards her at all.
Everyone took it seriously.
A little too seriously, eleven was by y/n who was shopping. During the summer was fun as y/n softly smiled towards the teenage girl.
“I think this cardigan would look good on me.” She says, Eleven smiled back. Loving the soft smile she and Mike adored.
“Yes. It’s perfect, for you.” She says in the same tone you spoke.
Nodding, you go to the cashier to get this. The cashier seemed to be cranky, not liking how the poor girl was trying to get her wallet from her purse.
“Can you hurry up?? This isn’t the retirement home sweetie.” The man said, gruffly and roughly which made y/n flinch a bit while she felt her heart spike. Not cause of the man’s voice. No. Cause was she really holding up the line?
“Sorry sir I’m just—”
“I don’t need a backstory, hurry up.”
Eleven’s brows narrowed, not liking how the man was talking to the girl. After getting the money on the counter and quickly leaving.
Eleven stayed a bit behind, squeezing her hand, making most of the clothing rackets fall to the ground. The man was in shock and stumbled at what happened.
“What the?!”
Eleven wiped her nose with her hand. Walking quietly by the girl’s side.
Summer came quicker than blinking.
Will and y/n would have a drawing contest at his house, he’d even let y/n play a bit of D&D mostly. She understood most of it, it was nice to know what the boys liked.
“That’s beautiful y/n!” Will complimented the girl who smiled widely. “But check mine out!” He exclaimed, showing a picture of him and y/n dancing around with music notes in medieval times.
Y/n put her work down to do some happy claps. “Omg!! That’s amazing, you should be an all-time artist.”
Her soft voice mixed with praise and excitement, and even encouragement. It brought will even more up to being open to her.
Sadly she couldn’t hang out with Dustin since he was mostly hanging out with Steve instead. But that was fine since she got to hang out with the other party members during the summer.
Although it felt like she was third wheeling.
During the summer, Mike and eleven would persuade y/n to hang out with them a lot at Hopper’s cabin. Due to of course eleven can’t be seen out in public.
Not without her pet bunny, named Angel of course. Eleven seemed to freeze seeing the bunny, y/n forgot about the lab while she goes to hide Angel away. But eleven wanted to show that she can get over her trauma.
For their girl, as Mike has said once to eleven. Practically claiming the girl for him and eleven.
And eleven liked that.
Meanwhile, Lucas and Max would plan movie dates at y/n’s house. Making sure they had her perfectly between them both.
Lucas felt like a king, having two beautiful girls with him was heaven. Max and Lucas squeezed both of y/n’s hands
Not even bothering to tell how flushed the girl was.
“What is happening…” y/n thought to herself.
She didn’t know that she was the butterfly surrounded by flowers needing her attention.
⏜︵ pairing 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 mike wheeler x reader ,, former mike x reader x eleven
꒰ 🚲 ꒱ synopsis 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 since el’s presumed death, mike has been avoiding food, people, and the concept of tomorrow, so you show up with a plate and a refusal to leave.
۶𝜚 cw’s ࣪ angst. post season five. depressed mike wheeler. #mikewheelerneedsahug. comfort. potentially sensitive content ahead! ex love-triangle.
THE HUMAN BODY CAN SURVIVE, WHAT, LIKE… A WHILE WITHOUT FOOD?
he’s pretty sure. it’s one of those facts you pick up from movies or school or manuals that try to be educational for no reason. water matters more. water is the real issue. three days? four? he’s not testing it. he’s not doing anything on purpose. he just… hasn’t gotten up. his legs feel glued to the mattress, like they’re not his anymore. they belong to the bed now.
trying to remember the last time he ate is a challenge. that shouldn’t be hard. that should be something you just know, like your birthday or your phone number or the names of the people you love, but his brain gives him nothing. just a vague image of a plate being set down somewhere far away from him. that’s probably normal. people forget stuff all the time.
later, he tells himself.
later i’ll get up.
later i’ll eat.
later never really shows up, though. it just keeps getting rescheduled, like an appointment he forgets to cancel and then feels vaguely guilty about without fixing it. the room looks the same every day. that’s probably the problem. or maybe it’s the point. the light shifts across the carpet sometimes, but nothing else really moves unless he makes it. and he doesn’t. he barely even moves from his spot on the bed himself. sometimes he sits up though. that counts, right? sometimes he swings his legs off the bed and just… leaves them there, feet flat on the floor, like he’s proving something to himself. see? he can get up.
most days, the farthest he goes is the desk.
the typewriter waits for him there. the keys are cool when he touches them, dusty, and that small sensation is usually what gets him to sit all the way down. the chair creaks in the same spot every time. he keeps meaning to tighten the screw. he never does. he feeds a blank page in, straightens it, pulls it back out. feeds it again, because the margin was off by a millimeter. he stares at the page. his fingers hover, then tap one key. a single letter appears, slightly off-center. he hates it immediately and tries again. a sentence this time, kind of. it doesn’t go anywhere. it just… exists, like him. he reads it over twice, then a third time, like it might reveal a hidden meaning if he stares long enough. it doesn’t. god, this is bad.
he rips the page out, crumples it, tosses it toward the trash can. it misses. he leaves it on the floor. he’s been doing that a lot. sometimes he wonders if this is what writers do. like, the real ones. the tortured genius thing. sitting alone, not eating, surrounded by discarded drafts and self-loathing.
yeah, okay. sure mike. that’s definitely what this is.
everyone’s busy now. that’s normal. they graduated. they’re supposed to be busy. jobs, plans, places to go that aren’t this house, this room, this exact stretch of carpet. he should be doing something too. he just… isn’t. it’s not like he’s choosing this. he’s not sitting here thinking, i will isolate myself today. he just keeps realizing, hours later, that the day has already happened without him. that makes him angry. at himself. mostly at himself. get it together, he tells himself. this is stupid.
he presses his fingers harder into the keys, types another sentence, then another, like force might help. it doesn’t. the words come out wrong, like he’s describing something he’s never actually felt. which is ridiculous. he’s felt plenty.
hasn’t he?
he stops. leans back. the chair creaks again. his stomach twists, sharp enough that he actually hisses under his breath. he looks at the clock. 2:18. that seems… late. early? both? he can’t tell anymore. the numbers don’t mean what they used to, they just mark how much time he’s wasted. everyone else can do this. everyone else can just live. lucas is probably running somewhere with max, dustin off with steve and robin, and will — will calls. sometimes. not every day. mike lets it ring more often than he answers, then stares at the missed call like it’s proof of something terrible about him. what, exactly, he’s not sure. just… something. what kind of person does that? what kind of best friend?
he doesn’t answer himself, because if he did, the answer would probably be something like you, and he’s not in the mood to be indicted further.
the typewriter just sits there. he stares at the page again, waiting for it to suggest something. anything. usually his brain won’t shut up—associations piling on top of each other, ideas branching out into other ideas, little what-ifs and rules and worlds clicking into place. that’s always been the thing. that’s been his thing. now it’s just quiet. nothing to grab onto. nothing to follow. write what you know, he thinks, like that’s helpful. like that hasn’t been the advice since the dawn of time.
what does he know?
he knows how the keys feel under his fingers. cold at first, then warming. he knows the exact resistance of the “e,” which sticks sometimes, just enough to be annoying. he knows the smell of ink and dust and old paper. he knows how the chair creaks when he leans back too far. he knows that every story he tries to start turns into the same thing if he’s not careful. a girl who disappears. a boy who waits. a promise that feels unfinished. he yanks the page out before it can get there and crumples it harder this time. “idiot.” he mutters, not loudly, just enough for himself to hear. he’s very good at keeping his criticism at an indoor volume.
everyone else can move on because they’re supposed to, because that’s what people do when something terrible happens and there’s nothing left to fight. they grieve. they cry. they hold each other. and then, eventually, they keep living. that’s the order of operations. mike understands that. he’s not stupid.
it just feels… wrong.
like skipping a step. like calling a campaign over when the boss fight hasn’t actually happened yet. like everyone packing up their dice and character sheets while he’s still sitting there, staring at the map, thinking, no, wait, there’s more.
eleven isn’t dead.
he knows that. she’s alive. she has to be. if she isn’t—
well.
he doesn’t finish that thought. he’s learned not to. some doors don’t need to be opened to know there’s nothing good behind them. his stomach twists again, slow and aching now, like it’s given up on urgency. he barely reacts. the pain feels like proof that something is still happening. he presses a hand there, not to soothe it, just to feel it.
you should eat, a reasonable voice says somewhere in his head. it sounds a lot like nancy.
or you could just lie down, another voice counters. that one sounds like him.
he pushes the chair back and stands. the room tilts slightly, but he steadies himself on the desk, fingers brushing the edge where old dents still live from when he was twelve and slammed his hand down too hard after a bad roll. he doesn’t bother fixing the papers or straightening the chair. he just crosses the room and collapses back onto the bed, curling in on himself without really thinking about it. knees to chest, arms tucked in, like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible. the mattress dips around him. his stomach hurts more like this, compressed, but he doesn’t move.
good, he thinks. at least something’s working.
voices float up again from downstairs. nancy’s, this time for sure. softer, careful. he knows that tone. she’s been using it a lot lately. their mom too. worried, but trying not to show it. trying not to push. mike appreciates that, even if a small, ugly part of him resents being handled at all. they knocked for a while. asked questions. offered things. then, gradually, they stopped.
space, they decided. mike needs space.
that’s probably true. when people press, he locks up. always has. pressure turns him into something brittle, something mean.
downstairs, ted’s voice cuts through it all, unconcerned, something about the tv, about dinner, about how he worked all day and would like to relax.
you don’t get to be this upset, mike reminds himself. other people have it worse. max. lucas. will. even dustin, who pretends everything’s fine. you’re not special. you’re not the only one who lost something.
the problem is, he didn’t just lose her. he lost the future he’d already lived in his head. the one where they grew up. where they argued about stupid things and kissed at beaches and survived everything because that was kind of the point. letting go of that feels like lying. like betraying her.
his chest tightens, not enough to cry. he doesn’t really do that. it just sits there. you should get up, he thinks. do something. write something. be useful.
he doesn’t.
he curls tighter, forehead pressing into the pillow, stomach aching, thoughts dull and circular. he’s fine. this is temporary.
tomorrow he’ll answer the phone.
tomorrow he’ll eat.
tomorrow he’ll write something.
for now he just lies there.
the words loop until they lose shape, until tomorrow stops meaning a real day and turns into a concept. a placeholder. a lie he’s allowed to tell himself because it sounds responsible. his brain drifts anyway. it always does, even when he doesn’t ask it to. he wonders where she is.
not if. where.
that’s the thing everyone else gets wrong. they talk about eleven like she’s gone somewhere abstract, like she’s a memory. mike pictures geography. movement. hiding. some place dark and quiet where she’s keeping her head down, waiting until it’s safe. she’s good at that. she always has been. maybe she’s somewhere cold. or somewhere loud, where no one would notice one more strange thing. maybe she cut her hair again. maybe she didn’t. maybe she’s using a fake name and hating it.
maybe she’s thinking about him.
that thought hurts worse than the hunger. he presses his face harder into the pillow like that might smother it.
downstairs something opens. a cabinet, maybe. mike doesn’t move. none of it feels like it belongs to him. after about a minute there’s a knock on his bedroom door. careful, like whoever it is already knows yelling won’t help. “go away,” mike says into the pillow. his voice comes out rougher than he expects. he clears his throat and tries again. “i’m busy.”
a pause. then, from the other side of the door, “it’s me.”
oh. shit.
he sits up too fast, the room pitching again, and for a second he thinks he might actually throw up. he doesn’t, but the possibility lingers, unpleasant and humiliating. me only ever means one person.
you.
mike looks down at himself like he’s just noticed his body for the first time. same sweatshirt. again. he can’t remember putting it on, which probably means he didn’t take it off. his hair is messy, sticking up in places it shouldn’t. his mouth tastes bad. stale. great. fantastic timing. another knock, a little firmer this time, but still gentle. you’ve always been like that. careful with doors. careful with everything, really. “mike?” you call, closer now, like you leaned in. “can i come in?”
mike swallows. his instinct is to say no. to pretend he’s asleep. to wait it out until you leave and he can go back to being a lump with thoughts instead of a human being with a face. but you’re here. actually here, not a phone call he can ignore or a memory he can rearrange until it hurts less. “yeah,” mike answers finally. “yeah. um. sure.” he considers brushing his teeth, then realizes he doesn’t have time and that would require leaving the room anyway, which defeats the purpose.
the door opens. you stand there, half in the hallway light, half in mike’s dim room, like you haven’t decided which world you belong to yet. you look thinner, tired in a way that doesn’t go away with sleep. your eyes meet. something tightens in mike’s chest—not panic, exactly. something like guilt that hasn’t figured out what it wants to be yet. “hey.” you greet.
“hey.”
“hey,” you say again, softer this time.
mike doesn’t get up, he doesn’t even pretend like he’s going to. he stays half-curled on the bed, shoulder pressed into the mattress, one arm tucked under the pillow like he might disappear into it if he tries hard enough. part of him registers that he should stand, should do something, should at least look like a functional person greeting another human being, but the thought fizzles out before it turns into motion. you don’t comment on it. of course. you step inside and close the door behind you without being asked. mike watches you from the corner of his eye. you move carefully, but not awkwardly—comfortable. familiar. you toe your shoes off by the door out of habit, set your bag down on the chair that’s been acting as a second closet for weeks.
that’s when he smells it. food. real food. warm. greasy. unmistakable.
his stomach clenches hard enough that he actually has to bite down on his lip, a sharp little hiss escaping anyway. traitor. absolute traitor of a body. he hadn’t been hungry—not really—but now the smell hits him and it’s like his insides wake up just to remind him what he’s been ignoring. you follow his gaze, clock it immediately. “i brought something,” you offer, like it’s no big deal, like you didn’t plan this. “figured… you know. just in case.”
mike does know. he knows exactly what case this is.
the bag crinkles softly when you lift it. it’s from that place—the one on the corner near the old arcade, the one that still smells like fryer oil and burnt coffee no matter how many health inspections it passes. you, mike and el used to go there after school sometimes, squeezing into the booth, eleven always stealing fries off mike’s plate and pretending she wasn’t.
“you didn’t have to.”
“i know,” you reply easily. “i wanted to.”
you set the bag down on his desk, next to the typewriter. mike watches your hand hover for half a second over the keys, like you’re resisting the urge to touch them. you’re thinking about asking. you don’t. another kindness. you glance at the papers scattered everywhere—the half-started pages, the ripped-out sheets, the one where he typed the same sentence five times and crossed it out harder each time. mike feels weirdly exposed, like you’ve just walked in on him failing at something private. “working on something?” you ask, gentle, not pushing.
mike snorts quietly, face still half-buried in the pillow. “define working.”
you smile a little at that. not a big smile, just the corner of your mouth. there’s a pause. the kind that used to feel comfortable and now just feels heavy. mike’s brain scrambles for something to say, anything normal, but all his thoughts slide off each other. you sit on the edge of the bed without asking. the mattress dips, the movement small but noticeable. mike stiffens on instinct, then hates himself for it. you’ve been closer than this. you’ve slept on this bed before, tangled up in blankets and limbs and bad dreams and whispered jokes at three in the morning. still, he doesn’t move away.
the smell of food is stronger now. fries. something fried. something sweet underneath it. his stomach growls, loud and traitorous, and he freezes, mortified. you don’t laugh. you don’t say anything at all, actually. you just reach down, pull the bag open, and set the container on the desk, popping it open enough that the steam escapes. mike swears the smell alone could knock him unconscious. “you don’t have to eat it now,” you say, like you can hear his thoughts. “or at all. it’ll keep.”
mike doesn’t correct you. he knows that’s not true. nothing keeps forever.
everything gets cold.
everything goes bad eventually.
you glance at him again, and this time there’s worry there. real worry. not the kind adults give him when they think space is the answer to everything. “you okay?”
mike almost laughs. what a stupid question, his brain supplies automatically. what a nice question.
“yeah. totally. thriving.” you look at him. mike looks away. “right,” he says. “sorry. i mean—yeah. i’m okay.”
it’s not the truth, but it’s closer than an outright lie. you don’t argue. you don’t push. he wonders, stupidly, what you’re thinking. if you can see how bad it’s gotten. if you’re aware of the same things he is, the sweatshirt, the messy room, the collection of empty water bottles, the way he hasn’t brushed his teeth, the way he can’t seem to sit up straight anymore. he hates that you’re seeing him like this.
he hates it in the specific, irrational way where his brain immediately follows up with you should’ve cleaned, you should’ve showered, you should’ve at least pretended to be normal for ten minutes, like any of that would’ve actually changed the situation. like this isn’t already past the point of pretending. you never say anything about it though. not the sweatshirt, not the bottles lined up like some kind of hydration graveyard, not the way the room smells like dust and old paper and a person who hasn’t opened a window in days. you stand up again and move back toward the desk. mike watches you pull the container all the way open, steam fogging the air between you for a second. it’s his order.
the greasy noodles. extra sauce. the kind that always leaves his fingers slick and his stomach warm and heavy afterward. there’s a side of fries too, dumped carelessly into a cardboard tray, still smelling like salt and oil and that place. that stupid place. the one where eleven used to wrinkle her nose at the smell and then eat half of mike’s anyway. he looks away before the memory finishes forming.
you grab a fork from the bag and cross the room again, holding it out to him like it’s the most normal thing in the world. mike doesn’t take it. “i’m not hungry.”
you pause, fork still outstretched. you don’t sigh. you don’t argue. you just raise an eyebrow at him, slightly, in that way that says i know you, which is unfair, because you do. “just… eat a little.”
“i’m fine.”
liar. coward.
you don’t deserve it anyway. food is for people who are doing something. people who are moving forward. people who didn’t get someone killed. people who aren’t just… taking up space.
you don’t pull the fork back. “mike,” you encourage, gently, and something in your tone makes his chest ache. not disappointed, not angry, just tired. grieving. “please.”
he hates that word. he cracks an eye open and looks at you. your shoulders are tense, there are shadows under your eyes that weren’t there before everything went to hell. you’re holding it together the same way he is—badly—but you’re at least upright. present. here. you’re hurting too, a part of him realizes belatedly. you lost her too.
he takes the fork.
you don’t hover. you sit back down on the bed, closer now, and pick up your own container, start eating like this is just… what you’re doing. like this is a normal afternoon activity and not a delicate negotiation with his will to exist. mike stares at the food for a second. the noodles glisten under the light. his stomach tightens again, painfully loud this time, and he winces. just one bite. to shut it up. he twists the fork into the noodles, lifts them to his mouth, hesitates for half a second too long—then eats.
salt. heat. grease. his throat tightens, not from the food, but from the sudden, overwhelming reminder that his body is still capable of wanting something. still wired for survival despite his best efforts. he chews mechanically. swallows. nothing terrible happens. he eats another smaller bite. out of the corner of his eye he can see you pretending not to watch, pretending this isn’t a victory. you both eat in silence for a minute. he takes several bites, but not because he wants to.
because he doesn’t want to disappoint you.
he chews slowly, eyes fixed on the wall like if he looks at you too directly something might spill out that he doesn’t have the energy to clean up. eventually, the container is lighter. emptier. you close it without comment and set it aside, wiping your hands on a napkin you pull from the bag. mike feels suddenly, acutely, embarrassed. not just a little. deeply. he’s hyperaware now of everything he let slide while he wasn’t paying attention. the room feels smaller with you in it, cluttered with evidence of him. he clears his throat. “you don’t… uh. you don’t have to stay.”
“i know.”
that’s not what he meant.
he shifts, pushes himself up a little, then winces when his head swims. “i’m serious. thanks. really. but i’m fine now, so—”
“you’re not.” you say, quietly.
there it is.
irritation flares hot and sudden, like a match struck too close to something flammable. he’s always been like this—corner him, press him, and he snaps. it’s reflex. “i said i’m fine,” he repeats, sharper now. “you don’t need to—like—monitor me or whatever.”
you don’t rise to it. “i’m not monitoring you, i’m sitting with you.”
“same thing.”
you sigh softly, not annoyed, just tired. “mike.”
he swings his legs off the bed, stands too fast, sways, grabs the desk to steady himself. his heart’s pounding now, loud in his ears, his thoughts scattering like startled birds. “i just want to be alone, okay?” he snaps. “why is that so hard for everyone to understand?”
then you say, very calmly, “because this isn’t being alone. this is you disappearing.”
“dramatic much?”
you don’t smile. “i’m not leaving. you need to talk to someone.”
“i don’t,” mike fires back. “i just need—time. space. i’m allowed to grieve how i want.” his voice cracks on the next sentence and he hates that you hear it. hates that he can’t stop it. “this is because of her,” he continues, like it’s an accusation. like it explains everything. “if she hadn’t—if this didn’t happen, i wouldn’t—” he cuts himself off, breathing hard, staring at the floor like it’s done something wrong.
you stand up like you’re approaching a skittish animal. “i know.”
“no, you don’t. you don’t know. you don’t get it. none of you do. she was—she was—” he gestures uselessly, words tangling. “everything. and everyone just expects me to—what? move on? act normal?”
you’re closer now. “no one expects that. we just don’t want you to disappear with her.”
people who are depressed know they’re depressed, he thinks. they say stuff about it. they cry all the time. they can’t get out of bed because they’re sad. he’s not been sad. he just… doesn’t want to move.
something in your expression shifts. resolve, maybe. “mike, please don’t push me away. this isn’t what she would want.”
his chest tightens immediately, painfully. he sees it so clearly it almost knocks the air out of him—eleven standing in front of the both of you on the last day he ever saw her, serious and unshakable and determined, looking between the two of you like she was stitching you together with her eyes. promise me, she’d said. you take care of each other.
mike’s face crumples before he can stop it. it’s instant. humiliatingly fast. his mouth twists, his chin wobbling, breath hitching like his lungs forgot how to work. he turns his head sharply to the side like that might hide it, but it’s too late. his eyes burn. his throat closes. “don’t.” you freeze, like you hadn’t expected it to be this immediate. this bad. mike presses his palm hard into his eye like he can physically shove the feeling back in. it doesn’t work. it never does. “i’m screwing it up,” he blurts. “i’m screwing everything up.”
you reach for him then. tentative, careful. your fingers hover at his arm like you’re asking permission without words. he doesn’t pull away. that alone feels like failure. “mike.”
“i just miss her,” he chokes. it sounds pathetic even to his own ears, thin and childish and inadequate for the size of the loss. “i miss her so much. everyone keeps acting like time is doing something about it and it’s not. it’s not fixing anything.”
he drags a hand through his hair, pacing now because standing still feels unbearable and he doesn’t need you touching him right now. no one tells you how to grieve your badass girlfriend when she’s been saving your ass since you were twelve. for a second he just breathes. in. out. in. out. it doesn’t help. suddenly, he straightens. his eyes are unfocused, like he’s looking at something that isn’t in the room. “i could’ve been a lighthouse.”
you blink. “huh?”
“it’s—i know it sounds stupid. it’s not stupid.” he says quickly, almost frantic, like the idea will evaporate if he doesn’t say it all at once. “there’s this lighthouse,” he says. “on the coast. i think. i read about it somewhere. or maybe i made it up. whatever. it doesn’t matter. it’s just—there. tall. solid. built to last. it doesn’t go anywhere. it doesn’t fight storms. it just stands there and shines so ships don’t crash.” his hands are shaking now. he clasps them together, then lets them go, then clenches them again. “people act like that’s enough. like standing there is enough. but it’s only useful if someone sees it. if someone’s out there, lost and scared and looking for something to guide them. otherwise it’s just—” he gestures helplessly. “a building. empty. pointless.” he swallows hard, throat bobbing. “eleven was a storm. she was—she was everything. she had all this — this power and fire and all this… momentum. and i wasn’t. i wasn’t like that. i wasn’t strong the way she was. i wasn’t brave like her. i wasn’t— i wasn’t even close. i kept thinking if i stayed still—if i didn’t mess things up—if i just… stayed where i was, maybe that was enough. like if i didn’t move, nothing bad could happen.”
his voice cracks so hard he has to stop. “but storms don’t care. they don’t wait. and ships don’t either. they crash if there’s no light.” he looks up at you, eyes red and shining, face twisted with something close to panic. “i could’ve been her lighthouse. i could’ve given her light. i could’ve been the thing she looked at and knew she’d be okay. i could’ve been the one who burned for her, who —- who stayed lit when it mattered.” is he making sense? probably not. does he care? not at all. “instead i just—stood there. in the dark. thinking being there was enough.” his voice drops to nothing. “i let the waves take her.”
his face morphs in a way you have never and never in your life thought you’d see. michael wheeler starts to cry. in front of you. real crying. messy and uneven and embarrassing, face twisted, breath coming in gasps like he’s drowning on dry land. he hates it. hates how weak it feels, how exposed. hates that this is happening in front of you. “i could’ve been her lighthouse.”
you step closer, arms coming around him fully now, and he doesn’t resist. he leans into you without meaning to. “oh, mike..”
he hates the sound he’s making. the hitching, the wet inhale that won’t make it all the way in, the way his breath keeps stuttering like it forgot how to work. it’s humiliating. it’s loud. his dad’s voice floats up somewhere from his memory, something about pulling it together, something about how men don’t fall apart like this, especially not in front of other people. especially not over feelings.
your arms are solid around him. that’s another problem. solid things are hard to ignore. he freezes for half a second, muscles locking out of pure instinct, like if he stays still enough maybe this can rewind, maybe you’ll let go, maybe he can laugh it off later and pretend this didn’t happen. but he doesn’t pull away, he doesn’t have the energy. his forehead ends up against your shoulder, not on purpose, just gravity doing what gravity does when you’re tired and empty and everything hurts too much to hold up on your own. “i’m sorry.” he manages, which is stupid, because sorry for what? existing? taking up space? crying? proving everyone right? that he’s not okay? his hands curl in the fabric of your shirt like he needs something to anchor himself to, and he hates that too. hates that he needs anything. hates that he’s always needed things, even when people pretended he didn’t. mike’s fine, they say. mike doesn’t care. mike doesn’t get upset. mike’s tough. mike can handle it. and he always did, until now. until eleven is gone and the world kept moving like that was acceptable and he’s supposed to just… adapt.
you say his name again, tell him to stop, to not apologize, and it does something awful to his chest. he shakes his head even though you can’t see it. “i shouldn’t—” his voice gives out again, betraying him mid-sentence. “this is so dumb.” crying was never an option. even though when eleven cried, he held her. when will cried, he held him. when the world fell apart, he stood there and tried to be useful by not making it worse. but now there’s nothing left to hold together, and the worst part is that you’re not letting him go. you’re still there. he doesn’t know how to be the one being held, so he just stands there, shaking and breathing and crying into your shoulder, letting himself be something other than enough for once, even if it scares the hell out of him.
you don’t just let him spiral standing there. you guide him back toward the bed like you’ve done this before. he stumbles a little, feet catching on nothing, and lets himself be steered because resisting feels like too much work. the springs creak under the familiar weight of his body and for a second his brain latches onto that instead. same sound. same bed. still here. stupid things to notice. stupid things that keep him from floating off completely. you crouch in front of him so you’re eye level, hands warm on his knees. you’re saying things—he can tell by the way your mouth moves—but they slide right past him. it’s not your fault, mike. it’s not your fault. his chest tightens anyway, like his body is arguing even if his brain won’t engage. fault is such a loaded word. fault implies choice. something he could’ve done differently. his thoughts start drifting again, tugged sideways by images he doesn’t want: soldiers, the upside down, her face slack with exhaustion and stubborn determination. he blinks too slowly. he’s slipping. he knows that feeling now.
you notice before he does. you always do. your hand comes up, thumb brushing his cheek where the tears are. “mike,” you say again, then you lean in and kiss him, soft and grounding and real, a press of lips that says stay. his brain short-circuits completely. every thought evaporates on impact. his breath catches and his hands twitch uselessly at his sides like they don’t know what their job is anymore. kissing has always been complicated for him—too many feelings, too many meanings—but this isn’t about that. this is you pulling him back into his body when he’s about to disappear again.
when you pull away his forehead tips forward until it rests against yours. he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days. his eyes are unfocused, lashes clumped, face blotchy and red and embarrassing. “three waterfalls. im such an idiot.”
you frown, a little ache in your chest, because you know exactly what he’s talking about. that stupid, beautiful, impossible dream he had proposed to you and el both before… before everything. before it all went wrong. the way he said it now—im such an idiot—makes your stomach twist. it was a nice dream. it was soft in a world that had refused to let any of you breathe for years. your lips press together to keep from saying anything. “wait—oh, shit, i—i didn’t mean—i’m not—i wasn’t—” he stumbles over the words, realizing, oh no, that in talking about what could’ve been, he’s ignored what you felt too. your grief. your love for el. the same grief he’s drowning in himself. suddenly, without thinking, his brain switches modes. protector. must protect. can’t lose anyone else.
“come here.” he says, pulling you in before you can respond, arms wrapping around you. he’s suddenly aware he’s been holding his breath for like three minutes and oh god is that even possible lungs what is happening stop breathing stop moving stop thinking and your hair smells good and maybe he should’ve eaten those last six bites but he didn’t because he’s pathetic and also embarrassed and oh shit did he just touch your arm okay maybe not maybe he didn’t and wait your arm is still there your arm is there and it feels like oxygen like it feels like he’s been underwater forever and this is the first surface he’s hit and also he’s not supposed to need oxygen from anyone and this is dumb and why is he thinking about oxygen why is he thinking about air why is he thinking about everything.
he leans in and your lips are there and suddenly that’s a thing and he doesn’t know what to do because kissing isn’t supposed to fix grief it’s supposed to be fun and light and terrible and maybe it’s terrible anyway because he can’t stop thinking about eleven and also you and also why does he need both of you at the same time like some dumb math problem that can’t be solved because numbers don’t exist and he’s a disaster and also his chest is too tight and why is breathing so hard when it’s supposed to be easy and what is normal and why did everyone leave and why is it just him holding you and also does he even deserve this at all?
he mutters against you without thinking: please don’t leave. and oh god, did he just say that out loud? probably did. fuck, you’re probably judging him for saying that. oh no, oh no no no and your arms are around him and okay maybe that’s fine —- maybe that’s the only thing keeping him from unraveling entirely, maybe he’s supposed to be the lighthouse, maybe he isn’t but oh god the storm the storm the storm eleven the storm and he just can’t think straight and you’re here and thank god and maybe he doesn’t even care that it’s wrong to feel this desperate to cling to someone like this maybe it’s okay maybe it’s safe maybe it’s the only thing standing between him and disappearing completely and maybe it’s all too much and not enough and holy shit why is everything always like this.
mike begins to wonder if something is wrong with him. why he can only feel so alive in the presence of certain people.
why does everything feel brighter when he’s with certain people? with you. with eleven. with will sometimes, but not like this. not like this gnawing, twisting, can’t-breathe kind of alive that makes his chest ache and stomach clench at the same time. he hates it. hates it because it’s uncontrollable and stupid and pathetic and also, somehow, the only thing keeping him from dissolving into the floor. why can’t he just be a normal person who sits still and waits for the world to stop being terrible? oh right, because that’s not a thing, and it never was.
he noses against your hair without thinking, and you sigh softly, the kind of sigh that’s not about being frustrated, it’s soft, and mike’s chest loosens just a hair. it’s not much. it’s not enough to be okay, but maybe it’s a start. maybe it’s enough to stop panicking for five seconds. he closes his eyes, lets himself sink into you, and the world still feels wrong, but slightly more bearable, like maybe he can survive this storm after all. then his lips are on yours again, and he’s hopeless. hopeless and desperate and obsessed, and it’s soft and warm and messy and safe. he kisses you, hands awkwardly catching yours or your arms or your shoulders wherever he can reach without looking stupid, because god forbid he look pathetic and messy and emotional and he already is all those things. somehow it’s enough to make the tears stop dripping down his cheeks for now, at least the ones he notices. he’s breathing you in, and he realizes that you’re it. the last thing he has. he doesn’t just want to hold you, he needs to. maybe that’s bad. maybe that’s codependent. maybe that’s stupid. it works for him. its how he likes to cope, if the option is available. by turning all his attention towards someone he likes. he can’t lose you too. he won’t.
it’s practical. efficient, even. worrying about you gives his brain something to chew on besides the gaping hole where the future was supposed to go. besides el. besides the way everyone else keeps talking about plans—jobs, cities, lives that keep moving forward like that’s a reasonable thing to do after the world ends for the third time. focusing on you is easier. you’re right here. you forget to eat. you don’t sleep enough. great. solvable problems. mike wheeler, problem-solver extraordinaire. this is familiar territory. this, he can do. someone has to be paying attention to you. clearly, it’s him.
all the fear, all the love, all the frantic what-if energy gets narrowed down to you. a laser beam instead of an explosion. this is better. if he’s worried about you, he doesn’t have to ask what happens when everyone else keeps leaving and he doesn’t know how to follow. if he’s holding you together, that means he’s not the one unraveling. so as your breath syncs without either of you acknowledging it, he thinks, with a detached sort of acceptance, okay. this is my thing now. not saving the world, not waiting for miracles. just this. keeping you here, making sure you’re okay. letting that be enough. it has to be enough, because if you go too —- well. he’ll deal with that later. he always does.
you finally pull back a little, just enough for both of you to breathe, and you brush a hand down his arm. “we can get through this. together.” you console, and your voice is calm and steady, and mike thinks about how steady you always seem to be and why does he have to be the opposite of that, why can’t he be normal and cool and collected like everyone else, like he’s supposed to be. “okay? it’s what she would want for us.”
mike swallows, and he nods, barely.
yes, okay, that’s what she would want. he agrees. he agrees with you. he agrees with everything you say, ever, actually. and god, el would also maybe roll her eyes at him and tease him and giggle at him for him crying like a baby into your shoulder and then immediately getting clingy. he buries his face in your neck hesitantly, and mutters something half-grumbled, “i’m never gonna be normal. ever. can you deal with that?”
you roll your eyes, a small smile tugging your lips, “probably. probably can. but first…” you tug on the hem of his hoodie, playful but gentle, “shower. you smell like shit.”
mike smiles weakly, and for half a second he almost feels like himself again. almost. the kind of almost that doesn’t count but still hurts when it slips away. he lets you tug him back just far enough to look at him, hoodie wrinkled where your fingers grip it like you’re afraid he might evaporate if you let go. he probably would. good instinct. “wow,” he says hoarsely, swiping at his face with the heel of his hand and missing at least one tear, because of course. “romance is dead.”
you huff, unimpressed. “mike.”
“okay, okay.” he concedes, because he always does with you. arguing with you feels like too much effort and also because you’re right, which is worse. he lets himself be maneuvered toward the bathroom like an uncooperative cat. it’s embarrassing how long it’s been since he’s showered. he knows that. he knows a lot of things lately and does nothing about most of them.
the bathroom light is too bright. everything is too bright. the mirror catches him off guard—hollow-eyed, hair limp, face still red like he cried at a funeral. he looks like someone who hasn’t been sleeping. or eating. or planning on being around long enough for either of those things to matter. he looks away quickly, focusing instead on the sound of you turning on the water, testing the temperature. he doesn’t say thank you. he doesn’t know how. instead, he says, “you don’t have to babysit me, you know.”
“i know,” you say again. “i want to.”
something in his chest gives, not enough to cry again—he’s tapped out for now—but enough that his throat tightens and he nods, dumbly, because if he opens his mouth he’s going to say something inconveniently honest, like please don’t leave me alone or i don’t trust myself when you’re not here or sometimes i think about how easy it would be to stop trying. none of those are things he’s ready to hand over.
he showers. eventually. you pick up his room for him a bit, then sit on his bed, reading one of his comics and pretending not to keep track of how long he’s in there. he lets the water run hotter than it should. when he comes back out, clean and damp and wrapped in a towel, you hand him clothes and he gets dressed. he sits. you sit next to him. neither of you talk for a bit. if you weren’t here, he probably wouldn’t be either. the thought is disturbingly calm. he doesn’t say it, he never will. instead, he leans into your side, testing it, and you lean back without hesitation. maybe that’s the problem. or maybe that’s the reason he’s still here.
his room looks different when it’s clean. wrong, almost. too much empty space where mess used to be. you sitting on his bed helps. proves he didn’t imagine the last few hours. he focuses on small things to keep his thoughts from getting loud again, your shoulder against his, the way the comic in your hands crinkles when you turn a page, the smell of soap still clinging to him.
everyone else is moving on, and it makes him sick. everyone but you and him, apparently. will’s leaving for college soon. lucas and max are serious now—capital S serious. dinner plans. constant dates. conversations about the future and moving in together that mike isn’t invited into because he wouldn’t know what to do with them anyway. dustin is always busy, always running somewhere with steve or robin or talking about college like it’s a sure thing and not a terrifying cliff.
and el, presumed dead? what a fucked phrase. like there’s no room for debate. no one checks on mike much anymore. sometimes he wonders what would happen if he just… didn’t come out of his room one day. he hates himself for thinking that. then he hates himself for hating himself. exhausting. a real cycle. being stuck in his head feels like being locked in a room with a narrator who won’t shut up and hates him personally. he knows, intellectually, that he should ask for help. that this is the part where people say reach out. but reach out to who? and say what? hi, i’m not actively dying but i kind of don’t want to exist most days, can you pencil me in?
you shift beside him like you felt his thoughts getting too close to the edge. this probably isn’t healthy. needing someone this much isn’t sustainable. tomorrow you’ll leave the room, and the door will close, and the silence will rush back in, and mike won’t want to do any of this for himself. but that’s not today. today, you’re here. today, he has something to lean against that leans back. if that’s all he has right now—if that’s the only reason he gets out of bed, the only reason the world hasn’t swallowed him whole—fuck it. he’ll take it.
either way, tomorrow feels impossible. tonight though, tonight he’s clean, and breathing, and not alone.
based off this request !
A/N: FIRST FIC OF THE YEAR!!!! happy new years everyone…. totally didn’t write this as an excuse to write depressed mike…… i hate him and i must make him suffer (he’s my favorite character)
The party's Reaction to male reader being Eleven's older brother:
A/n: This was actually a request but I couldn't respond for whatever reason.
Info: Reader is 2 years older than El and the party and in genral is very quiet and hates talking as per the request, which I can't respond to.
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
Dynamics with El:
. She looks up to you a lot. I mean you were pretty much the only person she was somewhat open with before you guys escaped and met the party.
. She gets kind of clingy to you sometimes, you were pretty much the only safe place she knew before she met the others.
. You were adopted by Hop as well as you are related to El.
. Being her older brother, you naturally are quite protective of her, especially after what you both have went through.
. Hop gets along with you great and you both threaten Mike together as both of you are protective and don't like him one bit El tries her best to stop you both and somewhat successeds.
Dynamics with the Others:
. Mike hates you (not actually). You threaten him constantly and the only time you speak is to do so. He is scared of you though since you have powers as well.
. You remind Hop of Sarah during her last few days and how quiet she got. He treats you like a son. He and El are the only people you are somewhat open with.
. You hate papa just like El does.
. Joyce treats you like a son just as Hop does. You eventually warm up to her.
. Will and Jonathan treat you like a sibling I mean their mom is treating you like a son so why not?
𝓢ʏᴘɴᴏꜱɪꜱ ۶ৎ : eleven hopper x fem!reader . in which : she comforts you by bringing you flowers after school .
𝓘𝓝 ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ۶ৎ : a lot of fluff
You didn’t say anything the entire ride home. Not to El, not even to Joyce when she dropped you off. You just stared out the window, your backpack hugged tight against your chest like it was keeping you from falling apart.
El knew something was wrong the second you shut your locker with more force than usual. Knew it when you didn’t smile at her dumb telepathy joke in the hallway. Knew it when you told her, “I’m fine,” with that voice you only use when you’re anything but.
So she didn’t press. She didn’t make you talk. But she made a mental note.
And that’s why, thirty minutes after you get home and throw yourself face-first into your bed, there’s a knock on your window.
You lift your head slowly, eyes still puffy, and there she is—El, standing on the roof outside your bedroom, barefoot, balancing a little too confidently with a fistful of wildflowers in her hand.
You roll over and push the window open. “You could’ve used the front door.” “I could’ve,” she says, grinning. “But this felt cooler.” You blink, then sniff, your nose still runny. “What… what’s that?”
El climbs halfway through the window and hands you the messiest, brightest little bouquet of flowers you’ve ever seen. Some look like they came from a meadow, others from the front of someone’s yard. One looks like it might be a weed, but it’s kind of cute anyway.
“They’re flowers,” she says, obviously. “For you.”
You look at her. “Why?”
She shrugs. “You had a bad day. I wanted to do something nice.”
And suddenly it’s not just a bad day anymore—it’s a day that’s trying really hard to be better, all because of her. You sit up on your bed and she settles beside you, still holding your hand even after giving you the bouquet.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asks, soft this time, her thumb brushing the side of yours. You pause. Think. Then lean your head against her shoulder. “Maybe later,” you whisper. “Just… stay for now?” She nods, already kicking her shoes off, already getting comfortable. “Okay.”
She stays. And the flowers stay too—pressed in a jar by your bed, petals a little crooked, but perfect. Just like her.
dear diary. so this oneshot was my first ever stranger things oneshot , literally anything . hope you enjoyed it babies 💐
tags. uhm i got this oneshot idea from @hargr0vefield , go read her stranger things headcannons
Preferences - What Dating This Character Would Include
I may add to these chapters if I come up with other ideas. If you think of something and want me to add it, I'm more than happy to write something up.
Eddie Munson -
Going to every single Dnd night and sitting on Eddie’s lap the whole time.
Makes you watch and read all of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit.
You’re corroded coffin's biggest fan, whether they like it or not.
Your parents don’t like Eddie at all. Say that he is a Munson and always will be.
Eddie worries that you are only dating him to get back at your parents because he knows they don’t like him and you express how much you hate your parents all the time.
Wayne adores you, more than Eddie sometimes. If Eddie isn’t at the trailer when you visit, you will spend the time with Wayne until Eddie gets back. Eddie finds it adorable and loves that his two favourite people get along.
You spend every single night together, whether it’s at the trailer or sneaking Eddie into your room.
Eddie will beg for you to play a Dnd game, and has even used some tricks to get you to agree, but you never agree.
Everyone in town calls Eddie a freak because of who he is, you call him a freak because of what he can do in the sheets.
When Corroded Coffin finally gets big, Eddie asks you to become their roadie. Always following the band so he never has to be away from each other. You agree before the words are out of his mouth.
Eddie is very affectionate. You’re having a bad day, you’re wrapped in his arms and watching your favourite movies. Random kisses and hugs throughout the day. Will always be touching you in some way.
You’ll spend hours playing with Eddie’s hands or tracing his tattoos. You’ve even played with his hair a few times which he secretly loves, even though he complains that he hates it.
Your first tattoo was done by Eddie. He was trying to get into the business at one point and started off with your tattoo.
On your first date, Eddie plays the guitar for you.
His table speeches doing school? Now he gives you those speeches while lounging around the house.
After listening to Eddie’s music, you find you enjoy it more than anything else. You never tell Eddie though because you know he’ll overact to it.
Steve Harrington –
Movie nights with all of the kids and adult kids.
Teasing him about his old scoops ahoy days.
You go to all of his games to support him because his parents never do. He’ll look through the crowd to see if they’re there but always find you in their place. He’s never been happier.
You tease him about being so close with Robin but it does worry you that he still loves her, even though he reassures you he isn’t her type.
There’s a reason everyone used to call him King Steve, now it’s all for you though.
Steve spends a lot of his time trying to work out the person he wants to become. You are there for him every step of the way.
You both spend days working out the type of jobs that would fit Steve and even yourself.
When Steve isn’t able to drive the kids around, they come to you. Knowing that you are just as bad as saying no to them.
You and Steve are known as the Mum and Dad of the group.
Whenever his parents aren’t home, which is almost always, you spend the night with him so that he doesn’t feel alone. When they are home, you try and drag him out of the house so he doesn’t have to deal with his parents.
When you first got together, you told Steve you were scared he still loved Nancy and would go back to her if she asked. He reassured you that he’d never go back because she cheated on him and he wouldn’t go back to something that wasn’t real when he has the real deal.
Nancy Wheeler –
You let her practice her interview questions on you.
Nancy takes you everywhere. If she needs to go to New York for work, an extra plane ticket for you is always bought as well.
You were on and off when you were younger. Nancy would say she didn’t want a family but all you ever wanted was a family.
You find cute little gifts around your apartment from Nancy when she is away for work.
Nancy would find a few gifts from you in her bags.
You are worried about Nancy and Steve sometimes because of their old relationship.
Nancy has admitted that she did cheat on Steve when they were together so she knows she’ll never go back in fear of hurting him again.
You found her guns when you were packing her things for your new apartment. She told you that it was to protect her because of some things that happened to her. It was the first and last lie she told you.
You help her with some of her cases. You’re very tech savvy and would help research while she was away and send her the information that you found.
Mike is protective of his sister. He’s told you that he’ll never like you because you are dating but you know he has a soft spot for you.
You’re relationship is public, even in Hawkins. Everyone knows that you don’t mess with Nancy and you let her be.
People whose lives have been destroyed by Nancy have tried to attack and kidnap you but Steve or Eddie or Nancy stop it from getting too bad.
You never go out alone. You’re either with Nancy, Eddie, Steve or Robin.
Robin is your best friend and was before you met Nancy. She is how you met.
Nancy sometimes gets jealous about your relationship with Robin as you’ve admitted that although you never dated, you did use to sleep together.
You’re really good friends with Eddie. You don’t know why Eddie and Nancy are good friends but you and Eddie got along as well.
Robin Buckley –
Robin almost didn’t ask you out, thinking you were flirting with Steve and not getting information on his cute best friend.
Every job Robin gets, you either get the same one or one very close by. Even before you date. You wanted to see her more.
When you first start dating, Robin is a rambling mess, never able to focus on one thing.
You find her rambling so cute that you’ve fallen asleep many times on the phone while she does it. You’ve even done it in person. Robin thought that she was boring but you made sure she understood what you really thought of her rambling.
When you first get her into bed, she’s so nerves she completely forgets about her own pleasure, only focussing on your pleasure.
All the tricks she used on you the first time you had sex, she admitted that Steve was the one that told her what to do.
You used to get jealous about Robin and Nancy when you first started to date. Robin would tell you over and over she wouldn’t, but you couldn’t believe her because of your past.
When Robin worked at scoops, she would bring you ice cream during and after her shift if you were also working in the mall.
With dating Robin also comes having Steve around. You don’t mind having him around thought because he almost always brings around your platonic soulmate with him, Eddie.
You go on double dates with Steve and Eddie all the time. Even before they started dating.
If you have a bad dream or if Robin has one, Steve and Eddie will join your bed with the both of you.
Buying an apartment with Robin, Steve and Eddie.
You help Robin study when she goes to college even though you’re in college as well.
Robin was the one that helped you find your passion. You were mucking around with different things when she randomly said the job. You feel in love and she loves that you are finally happy at work.
You weren’t involved with the upside-down stuff. You would be jealous when Steve and Robin went somewhere before the mall fire, but you never tried to get involved. You blow up one night when Eddie ended up at the hospital after the worst week of there lives.
Robin broke down crying to you while you waited for Eddie to get out of surgery. You held her every where you went, even when you got weird looks.
Jonathan Byers –
You were out with Jonathan every day when Will went missing.
Jonathan doesn’t understand why you stay with him. He sometimes forgets you love him and makes himself believe you are only together because you pity him.
You would be a model for him when he goes to college for photography. You both make it fun and you’ve convinced a few of the others to join as well.
You’ve been scared that Jonathan would go back to Nancy but he’s shown you over and over that he’d rather be with only you.
Jonathan never tells you about what happened with his dad. You pieced together how he grow up but never brought it up to him.
You went through the upside-down stuff with Jonathan.
Every once in a while, Jonathan shuts down like he did when Will first went missing. The first few times you didn’t know what to you and you felt like you always made it worse. Over time you realised what you needed to do and the best ways to help him.
You hide when you get nightmares because you don’t want Jonathan to worry about you when he already worries about Will and Joyce.
He found out about your nightmares from Steve. He was furious and thought that you didn’t trust him and Steve was getting back at him for Nancy.
Joyce parents you like a mother. You’ve told her about your home life and she makes sure that you never have to go through that again.
Will is like you’re little brother. If there is something he can’t or doesn’t want to tell Jonathan, he comes to you for help.
You were the first-person Will told that he was gay. Jonathan was a little jealous, but he was glad his brother finally told someone.
Billy Hargrove –
When he gets angry, he locks himself in the spare room so that he doesn’t hurt you.
He makes sure you never meet his father. You are close to Max though. When Billy tries to drive off without her once, you tear him a new one.
The first time Billy hit you, you ran out of the house and spent the night with your dad. He ends up arresting Billy, something that helps to turn his attitude around.
It’s an on and off again relationship. You both want it to work but you know that you need to work yourselves out before you can be with each other.
You get pregnant at a young age. You struggle to tell Billy about it in fear that he’ll leave you and never be a part of the baby's life.
Instead of an angry situation, Billy is excited about the life that you both created. He wants to leave Hawkins but with you instead of without you.
Your relationship is a secret. Billy is worried about what everyone could do if they find out he cares for someone.
He drives you everywhere. If you need to go to the mall, Billy is there in a second.
Steve and you are friends before you met Billy. Billy hates when you are with other guys but tries to let this one slide.
He’ll bring you little gifts after a fight. Like your favourite flowers or chocolate or even something you’ve had your eye on for a really long time.
After your daughter is born, Billy asks you to marry him. Saying that he could imagine anyone else he wants to raise his daughter with.
You’re adoptive little sister, El, sometimes spies on Billy after a fight because you want to make sure he’s ok.
You don’t get married until your daughter can walk. You begged Billy to wait till then so you could both watch her walk down the aisle.
Will Byers (Male Reader) –
Arguments about him still liking Mike.
Jonathan becomes like a big brother to you and Joyce your mother.
Mike seems weird whenever you and Will are together. You thought he was being homophobic, but you found out that he likes Will more than a friend.
After all of the upside stuff that has happened, you are more aware of Will’s feelings and making sure he’s always ok. Will is also worried about everyone you both meet.
The group become your family as well. Even when you try to fight them away.
Your parents don’t like the fact you’re dating a man. They throw you out and you are forced to live with the Byers home, not that you’re really complaining about that.
Steve becomes another one of your big brothers. He helps you understand your feelings and what you’re feeling for Will.
Will is worried about you. He’s always checking up on you and making sure nothing has happened to you.
You convince Will to move out of home and Hawkins with you after you graduate from High School.
You try to keep the relationship a secret from the town but Jason finds out and told everyone the year you graduate. You protect Will from everyone and so do Nancy, Steve, Robin and Eddie. Even everyone else makes sure that Will isn’t affected by you both getting outted to the town.
Will gets jealous easily. When you’re both out, as soon as he leaves, a group of girls always surround you.
You get matching tattoos of your Dnd characters from Eddie’s last campaign. Will hides his tattoo because of his job but you show yours off every chance you get.
You make sure that a light is always on when Will is coming home late. Someone is always home if he’s getting back late. You don’t want him to go through something like what he did go through again.
Dustin Henderson –
You fall in love because of your shared interests of nerdy things.
You spend hours coming up with a character each for Eddie’s campaign. Making sure their backstories are intertwined as well.
You’re the one that asked if Eddie would look after Dustin and his friends when you all go to school. Eddie made a show of it and makes sure no one knows that you asked him.
Dustin doesn’t know Eddie is your brother. No one does.
When Dustin finds out the truth you both argue about why you lied about it. Dustin said he couldn’t trust you and you argued that he wouldn’t talk about anything that happened since Will’s disappearance. Eddie had to break it up and drag you away from him.
After Dustin and you calm from your fight, you start to let him in on Eddie’s campaign so you both can come up with stronger characters.
You convince Dustin to go to the science camp, knowing that it’s exactly his type of thing.
Dustin still asks Steve for dating advice even after he already gets you.
When you finally get the chance to introduce Wayne to Dustin. He gives him a few grunts while you’re around but as soon as you leave, Wayne and Eddie jump on him and give him one hell of a shovel talk.
Max gives you a shovel talk when you start dating Dustin. She explains that he is like her brother and she’ll murder me and hide the body if you ever hurt him.
Max Mayfield –
You met before Hawkins. You use to be best friends before you started to date. You just started dating when Max’s family moved to Hawkins.
After telling your parents about Max moving, they make the decision to do the same.
Max hiding out at yours when her stepdad got too violent.
When Max gets angry, she pulls away from you. She’s scared that she’ll become violent even though she never even raised her hand a little bit.
Your parents love Max. Even ask for you when you're older if she would be their legal daughter-in.
You go skateboarding together whenever you can.
You keep your relationship a secret, even from the party. You have to watch Lucas and Dustin flirt with Max and try to date her.
Your relationship becomes public when Max kisses you after one of the boys tried to flirt with you. It was only at Steve’s house so only the party found out.
Your parents are the only ones that know about your relationship but they haven’t told you both they know. They want you both to come to them when you’re ready.
Never let you near her house. Her brother doesn’t like you and her stepdad could get violent towards you both. You’ve only met her mum but that was very quick and she didn’t listen to you or Max.
When Billy dies and her stepdad runs off, you spend a lot of nights at Max’s new trailer so she isn’t alone when her mum is working.
Billy hates you. He’s threatened you about leaving Max alone but you couldn’t. He almost kills you but Hopper steps in before that happens.
You make sure that if Max can’t come to your house for the night, that she heads over to Eddie’s or Steve’s so that you know she’ll be safe and protected.
You’re first kiss was at Skull Rock. You made sure you didn’t tell Steve about it cause he would’ve been too snug about the whole thing.
Max and you would hang out at Skull Rock all the time. You even talk about what you both want to do in your future. Both of you have each other in them.
Lucas Sinclair –
You ask Steve to help Lucas practice for basketball tryouts.
You go to his first basketball game. Cheering him on from the sidelines.
You continue to go to every one of his games, even the ones where he doesn’t leave the bench the whole game.
You tag along to all of his Dnd games so he doesn’t try to use you as an excuse to not play.
Whenever he scores a goal during his game, he runs over to you and gives you a kiss.
The Basketball team always makes comments to you about dumbing Lucas and dating one of them. He doesn’t know and you don’t know how to tell him about it.
You were scared that if Max wanted Lucas back he would go back to her.
Erica is a pain in your ass. You both pretend you hate each other but you both really love each other like sisters.
You showed Erica how to play Dnd. You even created her first character that she used at her first Hellfire game.
You and Erica never tell Lucas when you hang out. He gets worried when you don’t tell him where you are and he’s scared that you are with another guy.
You cheer Lucas up when none of his friends goes to the championship game and he got the final goal.
Lucas is protective of you. He doesn’t know about the basketball team but whenever you are around a guy, he is only a few steps behind you.
Steve finds out about the basketball team and gets the group to back you up, including Lucas. Lucas doesn’t talk to you much during or after.
Lucas is hurt by the secret of the team and doesn’t understand why you couldn’t trust him. Did you think he could protect you?
Lucas goes to all your events for everything you do. When you played in a battle of the bands, he was in the front cheering you on, just like you did with his games.
Mike Wheeler –
Nancy and you get along well. You help each other annoy Mike when he’s being too much.
Before you and Mike got together, Nancy gave you a shovel talk but you didn’t understand who she was giving it to at the time. You almost thought she was trying to protect Dustin.
Arguments about him still loving El. He’s always defensive about it and it sets you off more.
Your arguments about Mike still loving El was stronger at the start of your relationship as Mike asked for you not to tell anyone because he didn’t want people to know yet.
You know how Will feels about Mike and want to help him move on. Not because you are protecting yourself but because you want to help Will and help him not get too hurt.
You’d both seek out at random times to see each other and hang out at a little dinner.
You don’t get along with Mike’s dad. You try not to be at Mike's when he’s home.
Mike taught you how to play Dnd. He mentioned that Will was upset about no one playing Dnd because of girlfriends and you wanted to fix that.
You take over as Dm when Will or Eddie can’t because you love to write campaigns and torment everyone while you play.
You and Mike create characters that are almost always together. The one time you didn’t, your rogue elf killed his fighter human because he stole your lover’s ring.
After that campaign, Mike got you a ring that was almost the exact same. Called you your promise ring for the future.
Eleven (El) –
You are best friends with Max as well. It’s a package deal.
She never talks about her life before you met her. You try to get her to talk about it but she gets scared and angry about it every time.
Hopper didn’t know that you were together and used to let you have the door closed. Until he walked in and found you both kissing on her bed.
Hopper has the 3 feet rule still.
You and El sneak out every once in a while and lay in a field to look up at the sky.
One time while you’ve snuck out, El tells you a little about her childhood. Mainly that she was taken as a baby and locked away for most of her life.
You bring El Eggos every time you go over. You’d eat them together and talk about what you were going to do for the day.
El always hides her tattoo from you so you go with her to get it corrected. You even get a matching tattoo on your wrist as well.
You would softly explain things to El if she gets confused.
Never any big fights. You were seen as the perfect couple, even though there were still secrets between you both.
If I see one more 18+ blog writing about the ST kids (the main party) PRE-EPILOGUE, ESPECIALLY SMUT, I’m genuinely gonna combust on the spot. I do not care if they are 2 years younger than you WHY IS A MINOR, EMPHASIS ON WHEN THEY ARE STILL A MINOR IN THE SHOW, AN OBJECT OF DESIRE TO YOU, IF YOU ARE 18 OR OLDER? I need some of you to separate a celeb crush from a character they play. You can observe and call an attractive person attractive, you can enjoy a characters personality, but you need to REMEMBER THE AGE THE CHARACTER IS. THE AGE OF THE PERSON THEY ARE PORTRAYING.
Some of you are genuinely outing yourselves as creeps
