⏜︵ pairing 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 mike wheeler x cheerleader!reader
꒰ 🚲 ꒱ synopsis 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 wheeler learns the hard way that “why not both?” is a valid life philosophy, especially when it results in his cool girlfriend becoming a permanent, beloved fixture of the party.
part one, part two.
HAVING A HOT CHEERLEADER GIRLFRIEND IS A LOGISTICAL NIGHTMARE!
mike decides this while pedaling down maple street, backpack thumping against his spine. the problem isn’t you. the problem is that everyone else has opinions about you, and therefore about him, and therefore about how he spends his time. mostly the party. especially the party. apparently there is a correct and incorrect amount of time to spend with your girlfriend, and mike has blown past it at full speed and launched himself directly into traitor to the cause territory.
of course he’s with you all the time! you’re smart and funny and good looking and you look like you walked out of a movie where girls like you don’t even notice guys like him. except you do, you noticed him. you picked him. you lay on his bed and steal his hoodies and blow him kisses when you’re supposed to be cheering at games and radio him dumb little updates in the middle of the night like guess what i’m thinking about (it’s him. it’s always him.) why wouldn’t he want to be with you? why wouldn’t he prioritize that?
mike does not see the issue. he hears the complaints, sure. registers them in the abstract. dustin saying dude, you live at her house now like that’s some kind of indictment. lucas making pointed comments about “prior commitments.” mike files all of it away under deeply dramatic behavior from people who would absolutely do the same thing if given the chance. because look. from his perspective, this just makes sense.
why would he go home after school when you’re already leaning against his locker, fingers hooked through the strap of his backpack like you’ve claimed it? why would he bike to the basement when you’re waiting on the bleachers, swinging your legs and waving like he’s the only person in the stadium? why would he spend friday night rolling dice in a musty room when he could be on your bed, listening to you ramble about pep rallies and teachers you hate with your head on his chest?
he goes where you are. basic logic. frankly, a skill issue on everyone else’s part for not seeing it.
there are the lunches, now. used to be the table in the cafeteria, now it’s the grass by the field, or the steps out front if the weather’s bad. you steal his fries. he lets you. sometimes he pretends to be annoyed, but never convincingly. you read over his shoulder when he’s doing homework and whisper wrong answers just to mess with him. he tells you to shut up. you don’t. it’s perfect. there are the games, too. him in the stands, you on the field, exchanging looks. you blow him a kiss after a routine and he nearly falls off the bleachers trying to duck so no one sees him grin like an idiot. worth it. the party, meanwhile, acts like he’s joined a cult. “you missed hellfire.” dustin says one afternoon.
mike blinks. “it’s one meeting.”
“you missed the boss fight.”
“there’ll be another one.”
“not like that one!”
mike shrugs, unbothered. “i can read the recap.”
lucas stares at him. “you can’t read a d&d boss fight.”
“sure i can.”
you throw a crumpled piece of paper at him right then, like you have a sixth sense for these moments: are you free later?
mike doesn’t even hesitate after he reads the note, giving you a thumbs up.
he looks up to find three pairs of eyes on him. dustin, lucas, and eddie.
“what?” he says. “she asked first.”
he can miss things. that’s fine. he’s done it before. what he’s not willing to do is give you up for the sake of balance or fairness or whatever rulebook everyone else is working off of. his friends will get over it. or they won’t. either way, mike is exactly where he wants to be. missing hellfire club meetings, a few social calls, some of dustin’s overly dramatic updates about the newest “alien theories.” whatever. fine. it’s all fine.
so when dustin’s voice floats through one day afterschool again—dude, what is happening to you?—mike is halfway between shrugging and walking away. he excuses with: i’m busy. he’s lying, but not really. busy is relative. he’s with you. that counts for more than dice and strategy charts, okay? higher priority. also, it’s not like the campaign will implode without him. yes it will. also fine. whatever. he ignores them. he does not care.
except then dustin’s whining becomes nagging and eventually he refuses to let go. the kind of nagging that accumulates over seven missed hellfire meetings, half a dozen skipped lunches, and about twenty in person lectures about time management. mike is reaching a breaking point. one day the idea hits him: bring you. obvious. brilliant. problem solved. he’d been going back and forth, trying to juggle loyalty to the party and loyalty to the girl who makes him forget air is even breathable when the answer was right in front of him all along. why not both? you had been to the club once before, but you hadn’t come back after that. schedules, life, games, practice, homework. he didn’t ask. he didn’t need to. the memory of you in that element, his element, was enough, and honestly, it had been. until now. now he needs you there.
so tonight, he’s riding his bike like it’s a mission impossible chase scene, jacket flapping, heart doing that stupid thing it does when you’re about to introduce your life to the person who completes it.
okay, technically this could wait. he could tell you tomorrow at school, in the hallway, leaning against your locker. he could bring it up casually, like oh yeah, by the way, my friends are mad i’ve been ditching them, want to sit in a musty classroom afterschool for four hours and listen to us argue about imaginary monsters? normal boyfriend stuff. but that would require patience, and mike wheeler does not have patience when he wants to see you.
so instead he skids to a stop outside your house, breathless, buzzing, brain running about three steps ahead of itself. he knocks, waits, bounces on his heels like a loser. you open the door and blink at him. “hi.” you greet, pleasantly surprised.
“hey,” he says, like he didn’t just pedal here like the fate of the universe depended on it. “uh. i was—i mean. this is kind of stupid. it can wait.”
you smile in that way that tells him you’re already entertained. “uh huh?”
right. okay. focus.
mike clears his throat, immediately regrets it, because it comes out sounding like he’s about to give a presentation on the economic impact of dungeons & dragons. he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, then takes them out again because that looks weird, then settles on crossing his arms, which somehow looks worse. fantastic. nailed it. “so,” he starts, which is never a good sign. his brain helpfully supplies him with seventeen better openings, all of which arrive too late. “my friends are mad at me. not like—mad mad.” he shifts his weight and glances back at his bike like it might offer emotional support. “i’ve kind of been ditching them. a lot. since i’ve been with you. which, i don’t regret. at all.”
there’s a beat. he presses on before he can overthink it. “anyway. i had this idea.” his tone shifts—brighter, like he’s just solved something important. “come with me. tomorrow. to the club.” he looks at you, earnest to the point of pain. “they’re mad because i’m always with you. which is stupid, but also they’re my friends, so i figured—why not both? like, have you all together, at the same time.” his shoulders lift in a small, hopeful shrug. “you don’t have to play. you can just sit there. you’ve been before. you survived.”
he hesitates, then mumbles.
“also eddie keeps saying i’m ‘pussywhipped’.”
there’s a very specific pause that happens after he says that. not because you’re offended. not because you’re thinking about eddie munson at all, actually. it’s because mike wheeler is standing on your porch looking like he’s braced for impact, like you might revoke his boyfriend privileges on the spot, and something in your chest goes soft in a way you absolutely do not announce. you don’t tell him it’s cute when you care about things. you don’t say this is literally why i like you. you don’t say watching you get intense about fake worlds makes the real one feel survivable. you just nod, like this is the most reasonable request in the world. “yeah, okay.”
his eyebrows lift before he can stop them. “yeah?”
“yeah.”
oh. okay. wow. his brain does a victory lap, immediately followed by a spiral. don’t act weird. don’t say thank you like it’s charity. “cool.” he decides on, which is the most neutral word he can find on short notice. then, because he is incapable of leaving well enough alone, “i mean, you don’t have to stay the whole time. its loud. eddie yells. well, i mean, you already know that. i told you that already. before.”
you smile at him in that way that tells him you know this, that you like it anyway, that you like him anyway, then pause, eyes flicking past him. “…did you bike all the way here just to ask me that?”
damn it. busted.
“…maybe.”
“michael.”
“it wasn’t that far,” he lies. “and i was already thinking about coming over. and then i thought about the club thing. and then i thought about you. and then i was like, okay, now i’m here.”
you just look at him.
“…can we hang out?” he adds, hopeful and pathetic. “since i already did the cardio.”
you roll your eyes, step aside, and gesture him in. “come on, weirdo.”
the rest of the night … you know, happens. one second you’re standing in your entryway and the next you’re on your bed, and then somehow it’s later, and mike is kissing you but it’s more like devouring because he always kisses you like he’s starving and can’t stop. it’s all hands and that laugh he does when he bumps his nose into yours and pretends that was on purpose. he keeps stopping like he’s about to say something important and then apparently deciding that kissing you again is a better use of time. you kiss him back and he melts, because mike wheeler is many things, but immune to affection is not one of them.
afterschool the next day mike is riding high on approximately four hours of sleep and the kind of physical romantic fulfillment that makes him feel invincible by the time hellfire rolls around. “dude,” dustin says suspiciously. “what’s on your neck.”
“what.” he replies way too fast.
“that. right there. don’t move.” henderson leans in and squints. “is that a hickey?”
“no. it’s—no.”
lucas looks up. “it’s a hickey.”
“it’s not.” mike insists, reaching up way too late to tug his collar higher. which only makes it worse, because now everyone is looking.
eddie’s head snaps around. “the boy king returns,” he says, delighted. “marked by his beloved.”
“shut up.” mike counters, mortified.
dustin is vibrating. “you ditched us. you show up late. and now you’re branded. unbelievable.”
shut up shut up shut up. you’re supposed to be here any minute now. any minute. any. second. everyone stop talking. “can everyone shut up.” mike tries again, which would land with more authority if his ears weren’t bright red and he wasn’t halfway hunched like that might somehow make him disappear.
“so defensive. classic hickey behavior.” lucas comments.
mike shoots him a look. “i swear to god, if you say the word ‘hickey’ one more time—”
“love bite.” eddie offers helpfully.
“mark of passion.” dustin adds, deadpan.
mike drops his head onto the table with a soft thunk. this is a nightmare. this is worse than demodogs. worse than that one time karen wheeler tried to have a talk with him about changes his body might be going through at his age. okay, maybe not worse than that last one. “i hate all of you,” he mutters into his dm notes. “i’m not answering questions.”
“we’re not asking questions,” dustin says. “we’re drawing conclusions.”
chairs scrape as the rest of hellfire trickles in, the prop room slowly filling with the familiar noise. dice clattering, eddie arguing with someone about minis, someone else complaining about the smell. mike keeps glancing at the door, casual, not obvious. except it is obvious, because he does it about every five seconds.
the door opens. mike is on his feet before he even realizes he’s moving, chair legs screeching against the floor. he doesn’t think, doesn’t plan. just there you are written across his face, relief immediate. “hey,” he greets, like the room shrank down to just you. “you made it.”
“i made it!”
behind him, eddie lets out a low, impressed whistle. “gentlemen, observe. the boy king rises to greet his queen.”
mike shoots him a look that is meant to communicate i am begging you to stop talking, then turns back to you, visibly recalibrating. okay. normal. be normal. introduce girlfriend to friends like a person who has done this before. you’ve been here before, but you never really met anyone. mike didn’t know what the hell he was doing that first time, but now that you’re here, as in, here, properly his girlfriend, he should probably introduce you, right? good job mike! great critical boyfriend thinking skills! “uh,” he starts, then winces. “okay. you already kind of know eddie. he’s… eddie.”
“thank you michael.” eddie says.
mike presses on. “and that’s lucas.” he gestures, grateful for the solid ground.
lucas nods at you, polite, curious but not invasive. “hey. good to actually meet you.”
“and dustin,” mike says, tone shifting slightly. “he’s—”
“the one who remembers what time hellfire starts.” dustin supplies, arms crossed, eyes flicking between you and mike.
you can feel it then, the way the room is watching without staring, the way mike’s hand hovers near yours like he’s not sure what the rules are here. this isn’t school exactly. this isn’t a hallway or a movie theater or his bedroom with the door very shut. this is his space. his people. for a second he looks nervous. eddie breaks it first. “so,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “you’ve returned willingly. which either means michael has blackmail on you, or you’re a woman of taste.”
you smile. “i think it’s the yelling. it’s very… immersive.”
eddie clutches his chest. “she gets me.”
lucas smiles. dustin just hums, unconvinced. “so,” dustin says, pointed. “you gonna start the campaign? or are we doing the part where you two stare at each other for another five minutes.”
mike finally reaches for your hand then. “we’re starting. relax.” he gives you a small, apologetic look. sorry they’re like this, but there’s something else there too—something proud, like he wants you here. he’s glad you’re seeing this part of him, even if it’s a little embarrassing.
eddie claps his hands once. “finally. behold—focus! or at least the illusion of it.”
the table settles into that familiar, lopsided circle where notebooks overlap and someone’s soda is always dangerously close to the character sheets. mike shifts automatically into place, spine straightening like his body remembers this even if his brain’s been elsewhere lately. he pulls his binder closer, flips it open, taps his pencil twice against the margin. okay. game face. don’t screw this up. you take the seat beside him without making it a thing, which he notices and appreciates immediately. you don’t hover, you don’t look lost. you lean in just enough to see what’s happening, elbow brushing his arm, like this isn’t some borrowed space you’re tiptoeing through. weirdly—relievingly—it works.
the campaign starts slow, as campaigns do. eddie sets the scene with way too much flourish, describing a torchlit corridor and ominous chanting and something wet dripping somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t be dripping. lucas asks a practical question. dustin challenges a rule. mike corrects him without snapping, which might actually be a first. and also because you’re in the room, so he’s on his best behavior.
his attention locks in, not just because the game’s good (it is), but because you’re there, watching him like this matters. he hears himself explaining a strategy, animated, hands moving, catches your eye once, mid-sentence, and you’re smiling like you’re genuinely impressed. that little hitch in his chest is back. great. fantastic. extremely distracting. he rolls well. like, really well. nat twenty. eddie loses his mind. lucas grins. even dustin looks up, eyebrows lifting despite himself. “okay,” dustin says, squinting at the table. “where has this been.”
mike shrugs, trying not to look pleased and failing. “i’ve always been this good.”
“lies.” dustin counters automatically, but there’s less bite to it now.
you don’t interrupt. you don’t try to insert yourself where you’re not meant to be. when eddie addresses the table, you listen. when someone cracks a joke, you laugh. when mike glances at you like he’s checking if this is still okay, you nod. yeah. still good. keep going. it’s stupid, maybe, but mike feels like something that had been slipping through his fingers clicked back into place. he’s not choosing between worlds tonight. he’s standing in both, and neither one is asking him to disappear.
it doesn’t fix everything. nothing ever does. it does, however, start a pattern, which is honestly more than mike expected. you start showing up when he hangs out with the party more, not every time, but enough that it becomes… normal. you learn fast when to talk, when to sit back, when to let them argue themselves into circles without intervening. the party adjusts. dustin complains the most, not in a you suck way. more in a this is an ecosystem and you are an invasive species way. except the more time passes, the harder it is for him to argue when mike is… better, more present. actually laughing instead of half-listening with his eyes on the door like he’s already late to somewhere else.
lucas is easier about it. he clocks what’s happening, nods once, and moves on. “as long as you still show up,” he says to mike one night. mike does. so that’s that.
eddie, meanwhile, is unbearable.
“the lady joins us again,” he announces every time you walk into a room, bowing so dramatically he nearly knocks over a chair. “our numbers grow. our power increases.”
mike tells him to shut up. you laugh. eddie takes that as encouragement.
it becomes inevitable that mike decides you should actually learn how to play.
this is his idea. fully. no peer pressure involved. just one night in his basement, surrounded by scattered dice and graph paper. “okay,” he says, serious. “i can teach you. if you want. like—really teach you.”
you agree, head over heels little thing that you are for this nerd. watching mike explain things he loves is apparently your kryptonite.
teaching you d&d turns out to be mike’s favorite activity he didn’t know existed.
he overprepares. character sheets neatly filled out, pencils sharpened, a mini-campaign he definitely spent too long thinking about. he sits across from you on the floor, knees knocking into yours, and explains stats like they are matters of national importance. “okay, strength is obvious,” he says. “but charisma is tricky. people think it’s just talking. it’s not. it’s—” he stops. “why are you smiling like that.”
“nothing.” you answer, which is a lie. you smile more.
lucas and dustin get roped into the practice sessions eventually, because mike decides you need “controlled exposure.”
dustin hates the phrase controlled exposure on principle. “that’s not a thing,” he says, watching mike rearrange the screen for the third time. “you just want an audience.”
“it is a thing,” mike insists. “and it’s not an audience. it’s—support.” he glances at you, like he’s checking the word fits. it does. “also you both said you missed playing.”
lucas just shrugs.
the first session is chaos. not because you’re bad—because you’re new. you forget what dice to roll. you ask if your character can “just, like, talk it out.” you are sincerely shocked when monsters do not respond to reason. mike answers every question with the patience of a saint who has waited his whole life for this exact moment.
and he cheats.
not in a way dustin can immediately prove. just… you know, gently. a roll behind the screen that takes a little too long. an enemy that mysteriously misses when it really shouldn’t. a trap that would have killed you, except actually, no, it just knocks you prone. lucky you! ♡
dustin squints at the table. “that’s not how that works.”
mike doesn’t look up. “it is tonight.”
you don’t notice. or maybe you do, a little, but you’re too busy being included to care. every success lights you up. every win has you looking at mike like he invented joy. when your character lands a hit, you gasp and clap a hand over your mouth like you’re watching a magic trick. “i did it!”
“you did.” mike agrees, immediately, like there was never any doubt.
at one point—through absolutely no fault of your own—you die. it’s dramatic. dice betray you. dustin looks vindicated for exactly half a second. you stare at your character sheet, horrified. “oh my god, i killed her.”
mike is already moving. the binder opens, papers shuffle. “okay, so—” he slides a new sheet toward you, like a magician revealing a second card. “this is her cousin.”
“mike,” dustin cuts in. “you can’t just—”
“tragic backstory,” mike continues. “sworn vengeance. slightly better stats.” he pauses, thinking. “same outfit, though.”
your face crumples in relief. “really?”
“really,” he smiles. “you’re not done.”
you take the sheet like it’s sacred and smile at him like he saved your life. mike feels something click into place in his chest and decides that this is all justified forever. he doesn’t care that dustin keeps muttering about fairness. he doesn’t care that lucas gives him a look that says i see you. you’re leaning close to him, asking questions, invested, here. every time you look at him like that—wide-eyed, delighted, he feels like maybe it’s okay that he loves things this much. that he wants to protect this space. that he wants you to win. “okay,” he says, trying very hard not to smile too big. “it’s your turn. what do you do?”
you think, then grin. “something cool.”
mike nods solemnly. “yeah. you do.”
weeks pass. months, really. the two of you are attached at the hip and have been dating for nearly 4 months. the party has largely stopped commenting because trying to compete with mike’s obsessive focus on you is exhausting. the assumption is now built-in. mike shows up somewhere, you show up too. it’s automatic. everyone just sighs and accepts it as the new normal. lucas shakes his head, muttering, “this is what we get for complaining,” and max just rolls her eyes like, yes, we’re aware, now shut up.
the thing is, they did get what they wanted. mike is around more. he just brought a plus-one and forgot to ask permission. oops. careful what you wish for.
you don’t hover, which is what mike half-expected, because everyone always acts like girlfriends are supposed to either vanish politely or become a problem. instead, you slot in, like a new piece added to a puzzle everyone swore was already complete, even though there was clearly a gap.
lucas doesn’t mind. lucas never really minded. he’s always been pragmatic about these things. mike likes you, you like mike, mike is less miserable than usual. net positive. the only issue, as far as lucas is concerned, is that the two of you have absolutely no shame. “do you have to sit like that.” he asked once, staring at the way you’re half in mike’s lap on the couch, legs tangled, mike’s arm looped around your waist.
“yes.” mike doubled down instantly.
lucas exhaled through his nose and goes back to his homework. this is his version of acceptance.
max truly does not give a fuck. she clocks the situation exactly once, files it under none of my business, and never revisits it. sometimes she smirks when mike gets distracted mid-sentence because you kissed his cheek. sometimes she flicks popcorn at his forehead and tells him to get a room. it’s all neutral to her.
dustin is the slow burn.
at first, he’s mostly just loud about logistics. mike’s not at lunch. mike’s not at hellfire. mike’s not answering his walkie because mike is, once again, with you. dustin hates unanswered questions, and mike’s priorities have become deeply inconvenient. “you’re missing character development.” dustin tells him during one argument that is absolutely not about d&d. “eddie just introduced a lich. a lich, mike.”
“i’m developing other things.” mike had replied with, which was not helpful.
but dustin starts to soften. you ask him questions. you actually listen to the answers. you remember details and bring them up later, which is dustin’s love language whether he knows it or not. you sit through explanations that definitely could have been summaries and react like they matter. you defend mike when dustin complains, but not in a way that makes dustin feel stupid—just in a way that reframes it, like, yeah, i get it, but also he’s happy. that counts for something. eventually, dustin stops saying “your girlfriend” and starts saying your name! that’s when mike knows you’ve been fully integrated.
eddie munson, unfortunately, likes you immediately. this is not mike’s favorite development.
he calls you cool. he calls you metal. he offers you the good chair without being asked. he invites you into conversations like you’ve always been there. when you laugh at his jokes eddie looks thrilled. mike is… fine. he’s not jealous. he’s just… aware. he tightens his grip around your fingers anyway. eddie clocks this one day, of course, because eddie munson is not subtle and neither is mike wheeler when he’s emotionally compromised. “relax man,” eddie observes, clapping mike on the shoulder. “i’m not stealing your girl.”
mike bristles on principle. “i wasn’t—”
“sure you weren’t,” eddie interrupts, still smiling. “she’s got good taste though.”
he’s still not sure if that was supposed to be a compliment or not, but mike decides eddie munson is on thin ice forever.
even mike has to admit it though, you really fit. you bring something softer into the group without diluting it. you don’t try to replace anyone. you just add. you remember who hates mushrooms on pizza, you bring extra sodas, you sit through arguments and don’t try to fix them. this—this—is exactly what he wanted when he thought, months ago, why not both?
it turns out both looks like this: friday nights at family video where dustin argues with the clerk about late fees like it’s a moral failing of the system, lucas reads the backs of boxes with the seriousness of a man selecting a mortgage, and mike is already angling his body so you’re closer to the shelves with the better lighting.
or the movies. the party sits together, a sticky semicircle of soda cups and candy boxes, and mike makes a big show of letting you choose seats even though he already scoped the row with the best sound. you pick your chair because you like being able to get up without climbing over knees. he does, obnoxiously, take up the entirety of your armrest without realizing. halfway through the movie you disappear together—bathroom break, need more napkins, forgot something—until you’re in the hallway, giggling like idiots, his hands warm at your waist, your lips against his while he whispers we should go back and then doesn’t move.
the mall is worse. (better.) steve harrington once said the mall makes people feral, and mike didn’t understand what that meant until he was holding your bags while you tried on sunglasses you do not need, turning to him like these or these? and he answered seriously every time, because what kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn’t? you drag him into the photo booth. you keep the strip. there’s two, so he gets to keep the other one. later, dustin asks where you both went. max shrugs. bathroom, maybe. she doesn’t ask follow-up questions. max never asks follow-up questions. when you both come back with puffy lips and flushed faces, she minds her, albeit disgusted, business.
arcade days where you cheer when lucas beats a high score and boo when dustin accuses the machine of cheating. mike stands behind you, hands light at your hips, not even watching the screen—watching you watch it. eddie notices and says something like, “wheeler, you know the game’s in front of you, right?” mike doesn’t look away. “yeah. i know.”
at pizza nights, he nudges the box toward you first. dustin groans. “you’re not even hungry?” mike shrugs. he is hungry, just not for that.
and you sneak off constantly. it becomes a running joke. don’t let them sit together, someone says. it never works. you leave jackets behind and come back flushed and smiling and pretend nothing happened. eddie starts timing it. “seven minutes,” he announces once, delighted. mike flips him off without looking. you squeeze his hand like ignore him. he does. mostly.
because mike wheeler, historically, is not chill about liking people. he has never been chill. he doesn’t ease into affection. he cannonballs. this is documented behavior. when mike likes someone, his brain latches on like it’s trying to solve a problem with only one possible answer, and then he rearranges his entire life around that answer and acts shocked when people notice. if that means he sneaks off too much, or misses a few conversations, or forgets his jacket again because it’s on your shoulders—well. he can live with that. he doesn’t even notice how he turns when you turn, how he checks your face in rooms, how he automatically gives you the better chair, the better view, the last slice he was absolutely going to eat until you said, oh, you can have it, and now he physically cannot eat it.
it happens so gradually mike misses it. one day you’re there because you’re dating mike, and the next day you’re there because… you’re there. because you belong, and no one questions it anymore.
max is the first one to cross the line from tolerates to claims. it’s subtle. it looks like her saving you a seat without saying anything. like handing you a controller without asking if you want to play. like looping her arm through yours at the mall and saying, casually, “come on.” she starts calling you separately from the group. not long conversations—max doesn’t do long conversations—but updates. gossip. judgment. once, she says, “i could steal you, you know,” deadpan, and you smile and say, “you’d have to fight him,” and max shrugs. “i’d win.”
dustin is just as bad. dustin decides you’re his person. not his favorite person—that’s still steve, obviously—but his designated audience. you listen. this is your fatal mistake. you listen when he talks about science, about theories, about whatever new thing he’s obsessed with that week. you ask questions. you nod like it matters. dustin notices. dustin thrives. suddenly he’s sitting next to you every time, explaining things directly to you, even when mike is right there. especially when mike is right there. mike tries not to be offended by this. tries. fails a little. “so then,” dustin says, launching into a twenty-minute explanation of something mike has heard three times already, “what do you think?”
you think. you answer. dustin lights up like he’s just been validated by god. mike stares at you both, betrayed. later, when mike shows up somewhere without you, dustin squints at him and says, “where’s your girlfriend?” not how are you. not what’s up. where’s your girlfriend. mike feels something in his soul crack.
the worst part is that they all start assuming you’ll be there.
“is she coming??” dustin asks hopefully, every time mike makes plans.
“tell her we’re getting pizza.” max adds, like mike is a messenger pigeon.
once, mike suggests hanging out alone with the party—just once—and dustin immediately frowns. “why?” mike opens his mouth, closes it. realizes he doesn’t have a good answer. later, he complains to you about it, half-serious. “they like you more than me now.” you laugh. mike does not find this funny.
you’re not just his girlfriend anymore, you’re part of the party. part of the noise and the arguments and the shared memories and the eye rolls and the inside jokes. when he looks around the room, he sees you laughing with his friends, arguing, listening, belonging—and for once, he doesn’t feel like he’s choosing.
he got both.
which is how he ends up, three weeks later, sitting on cold metal bleachers that smell like popcorn oil and school disinfectant, watching his friends try very hard to act like they belong at a varsity game. this is, objectively, hilarious.
it starts with the invitation. you ask, hey, um—if you guys want, you could come to the game on friday? totally okay if not. mike says yes before anyone else can open their mouth. dustin says yes because mike said yes and because he’s already decided this is a social experiment. lucas says yes because lucas always says yes to showing up. max shrugs and says sure, because she’s curious and because she likes you and because watching mike in unfamiliar territory sounds entertaining. eddie claims he’s busy, then shows up anyway. late. with nachos.
now they’re all here, lined up like a misplaced control group, trying to decode the rules of a sport they have never once cared about. dustin has questions. so why do they yell that? is that good yelling or bad yelling? lucas tries to explain and gives up halfway through. max steals mike’s soda because she’s thirsty and because she can. mike lets her because he’s distracted by the fact that you’re on the field, and you’re focused. hair pulled back, uniform crisp, moving with a confidence that feels illegal to witness. mike forgets to blink. dustin notices. “you know she can’t see you, right?” mike does not look away. “i know.”
when you score—when the crowd erupts and the cheer section explodes and you light up like you just did something miraculous—mike is on his feet before he realizes he stood. he’s yelling your name. dustin is yelling your name. max is yelling something unintelligible but enthusiastic. lucas claps. eddie whistles loud enough that a teacher looks over. mike feels his face heat up and decides he doesn’t care. this is pride, this is allowed.
at halftime, you run over, breathless and smiling, eyes immediately finding him like magnets. you ask, “so?” like this matters. like their opinion matters to you. mike opens his mouth. dustin beats him to it.
“that was sick!” dustin compliments, entirely sincere. “you’re terrifying.”
max nods approvingly. “yeah. you’re cool.” high praise. lucas grins. eddie adds, “wheeler, i rescind all previous jokes. you’re punching up.”
mike sputters. “hey.”
you bump your shoulder into his, quick and affectionate, before you’re pulled back onto the field. he watches you go, chest tight in a good way. after the game—after the win, after the sweaty hugs and the group photo someone insists on—you pull them all together, thank them for coming. tell them it meant a lot. dustin says, “of course we came,” like that should have been obvious. max slings an arm around your shoulders. lucas asks about practice schedules. eddie asks if this means he’s officially a sports guy now. mike hangs back for half a second, watching you laugh with his people.
this is a scene. one of those ones his brain is going to hoard forever and pull out at inconvenient times, like three years from now in the shower, or ten years from now when he’s supposed to be doing taxes or whatever adults do. late-night bleachers. floodlights humming. the air cold enough that everyone’s pretending they’re not shivering.
no one can decide where to go.
this is also a tradition, apparently.
“we could get food.” lucas suggests, reasonable as ever.
“everything’s closed.” max replies, already bored with the conversation.
eddie lifts a greasy paper tray like it’s evidence. “i stole nachos.”
“you didn’t steal them.” dustin says.
“borrowed indefinitely,” eddie corrects. “also they’re cold now.”
dustin recoils as eddie takes a step closer, threatening. “do not touch me with those. i swear to god.”
you’re still in your cheer uniform, jacket half-on, hair a mess in that way that makes mike’s brain short-circuit. you laugh. mike watches your mouth move. he forgets to join the circle until you reach out and tug him in by the sleeve, like, no, you’re part of this too. he steps in, immediately warmer.
eddie lunges. dustin shrieks. there is a brief, horrifying moment where it looks like dustin is actually going to be taken out by a rogue nacho, but max trips eddie at the knee. eddie stumbles, recovers, bows. “thank you, madam.”
“you’re disgusting.” she says fondly.
lucas laughs. you laugh harder. mike laughs because you are laughing. this is how it works now. someone—dustin, probably—starts arguing about the game again. not the rules, not the score. something deeply specific and incredibly dumb. eddie has Opinions. lucas tries to mediate. max checks her watch and then doesn’t leave. mike leans against the bleachers, you leaning into him, shoulder pressed to his chest like it belongs there. it does. eddie offers you a nacho. you hesitate. mike says, immediately, “don’t eat that.”
eddie grins. “protective.”
you eat it anyway. mike watches you like he’s bracing for impact. you survive the nacho.. he exhales.
someone suggests going somewhere again. no one moves. the night feels suspended. the parking lot is emptying. a janitor flips off the stadium lights one by one. it gets darker, quieter, closer. you look at him, smile, and yeah, he’s done for. absolutely gone. but standing there, late at night, surrounded by warmth and people he loves, he thinks—-
yeah. this one’s going to last.
and when you finally part from the group, hand in hand with mike, dustin calls out, “hey, mike?”
finn wolfhard and actor!y/n’s characters are dating, and the chemistry between them eventually becomes too unbearable.
warnings: kissing, smal bit of angst, cussing like once(?), idek… nothing much
a/n: a bit rusty, but i hope y’all enjoy! shoutout to st5 for making my lifelong finn wolfhard phase activate again.
wc: 1071
You are the only one that needs to know.
Not dating your co-star is basically rule number one of acting, and Y/N knew that very well. In fact, that might be the most consistent piece of advice she had ever gotten. It was whispered by agents, laughed about by older actors, and drilled into her from the very beginning.
Rule number two was echoed similarly: don’t fall in love just because your characters are in love.
All of the couple shit that comes with acting is exactly that, acting. The kissing, the touching, the stolen glances written into scripts. It was choreography. Muscle memory. A job. It’s just a part of the job. Y/N knew it was a part of her job.
But then why did it feel so real?
Finn and Y/N’s characters had started dating on Stranger Things, which involved long days of scripted kissing, hugging, sweet nothings, you name it— they had to do it. Of course, it started as nothing more than doing their job. They had known each other for years, so it was never awkward. There was comfort and trust built between the two. Just two people doing their job, nothing more.
Until it wasn’t.
A kiss that went on for a beat too long after the Duffers yelled ‘cut!’. Eyes that stayed locked when the script said they shouldn’t. Hugs that tightened instead of loosened, arms reluctant to let go. Little moments that stacked up until they felt impossible to ignore.
Too intentional. Too warm. Too much to just be acting.
So there Y/N sat after a day of filming, anxiety curling tight in her chest as she waited for Finn. The set had mostly emptied, the noise fading into a dull hum. For a moment, she considered leaving. Just pretending this feeling didn’t exist, that none of it mattered. Maybe it would be easier to say nothing at all.
She had just started to stand when an all too familiar voice stopped her.
“Y/N?” He asked, the corners of his mouth curling up to make a soft smile, “What are you doing? Weren’t you done filming, like, forever ago?”
She let out a small laugh, more breath than sound, hoping it would hide the way her nerves were screaming, “A few hours,” she tried to brush it off nonchalantly, “it’s fine,” she trailed off, her eyes never leaving the ground for more than a split second.
“Hey, can we talk?” She tilted her head, her thumb pointing to a shadowed area off set. Somewhere quiet and private. “If you’re busy, it’s fine! I just,” she shrugged, letting out a sharp breath.
Finn’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, but he nodded anyway, following Y/N blindly. They stopped in a dim corner just far enough away to be unseen, but close enough that help wouldn’t be hard to find if something went wrong.
Y/N’s heart felt like it was about to claw its way out of her chest.
Everything felt too loud, too sharp. It was just too much. A shallow breath caught in Y/N’s chest. She wondered if it was too late to say 'never mind’ and laugh it off, pretend as though she had forgotten why she’d ask him here at all.
After a moment that felt like forever, she found the confidence to speak again.
“I need you to tell me something, ok?”
She finally looked up at him. Finn’s confusion deepened, his lips parting slightly before he nodded.
“I need you to tell me that everything we do for the show is platonic.”
The words hung heavy in the space between them.
Y/N felt a lump form in her throat, as panic surged through her veins, cold and electric.
Finn froze, his lips still parted, searching for words. “What do you mean? I…” He trailed off, looking at Y/N with those soft brown eyes she knew all too well.
“I mean, the way you kiss me,” she blurted out, the dam breaking. “How you hold onto me, the way you say your lines to me. Fuck!” Y/N’s voice cracked. “Even the way you look at me, Finn.” The words seemed to continue to spill out. She couldn’t stop it.
“Because that can’t be platonic. It just can’t!” Her voice rose with every word. It was stern, yet also shaky and desperate.
Finn’s voice stutters as he tries to find the words. A way to say something, anything, to Y/N in this moment. Maybe it was her vulnerability. Maybe it was the realization he’d been avoiding. His gaze softened, breath catching.
“Oh,” he whispered.
His hand lifted slowly, cupping her face with an almost reverent touch. “Y/N,” he murmured, voice low. His other hand settled at the small of her back, drawing her closer without asking.
Her lips trembled as tears burned her eyes, “Please,” she whispered, “say it.”
Silence falls between the pair for a moment. The air is thick. It’s full of tension and built-up emotions. Finn’s thumb rubs her cheek lightly before he gives in. In the matter of a second, his lips were pushed against hers.
It was sloppy, needy, desperate. It was careful and rehearsed like the ones on set. Y/N’s fingers tighten around the fabric of Finn’s shirt, holding onto him as though he’ll disappear.
“It’s not platonic,” whispered Finn once their lips parted. A familiar smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Their hearts were pounding. That kiss wasn’t acting this time; it was a confession. But they both knew rule one of acting. They both knew they shouldn’t do this. Or, at least, shouldn’t make it public.
Besides, a small secret never hurt anyone.
They both agreed to keep it between them. No one could know. Not their friends, not the cast, not a single soul. It made the long filming days more bearable, more electric.
And so the secret continued.
All it took was a glance across the set, a subtle smile, and they’d find each other again in their usual hidden corner. The kisses quickly grew to become feverish, needy. It felt so innocent, just teenage love, but it also felt so dirty.
Sneaking away while everyone else worked. Letting the cast and crew wonder where they went. Lying to everyone’s faces.
The thrill was unmatched. It was intoxicating.
It was exactly why rule number one existed.
any notes are greatly appreciated, tysm for reading 🤍
please reblogged if you enjoyed! it helps so much.
“Mmmm my head hurts” You whine again, as Mike leads you out of the frat house. You’re a complete mess.
“Yeah, that’s what happens when you drink 5 shots back to back and wash it down with vodka.” He scolds you like a child.
“Just cause you’re older than me doesn’t mean you get to act like Steve, mkay?” Your slurred words are so sassy. “Speaking of, he’s gonna murder you.” Mike wraps his coat over your shoulders, guiding you by the hip as your stumbled.
“Don’t remind me, can you please just bring me to your house? Please baby, please?” Mike swears your eyes could convince a man to kill.
“I don’t know that it’s a good idea.” You whine big and accidentally fall straight into the side walk making Mike sigh and pick you up by the hips, wrapping your legs around him and your arms around his neck. He’s really grown into a man.
“Mmm now this is more my jam” You giggle into his neck, attempting to give him a few hickeys.
“Enough. You’re drunk.” “So? Take me to your place and fuck me in the basement.” You suggest.
He doesn’t find you funny. “Cmon Mikey, I know you want too… Just like old times?” you play with his hair.
“We’re gonna go to my place, just so Steve doesn’t beat you but we’re doing absolutely nothing but going to bed.” You huff. Better than nothing.
“Okay, I’ll be a good girl just for you.” Biting your lip and looking down at his big brown puppy eyes, god you just loved him. No matter how much he suppressed his feelings for you, you knew he stills loved you too.
He sighed. You were such a flirt.
He entered the house finally carrying you upstairs to his room, trying not to wake up Karen or Holly.
As he got to his room he gently put you on the bed and started taking off your shoes, you were just whining and babbling about nothing. “Mm love you Mike.”
“Jesus-you can’t just-“
“I know. We’re not together anymore but I love you, and I miss you.” He looked up at you and sighed. “I know baby, I know.”
He sat on the bed and tried to get you to sit up. “Arms up, cmon.” He said as he slipped off your shirt replacing it with his old hellfire one from high school.
He slipped off your pants and left you in your panties, it’s how you always slept.
You both sat on the bed him looking at the floor you looking at him. “I wanna get back together Mike.” He looked at you. “I know you do, but it’s not that simple.” His hand moved some hair out of your face.
“We can try again, go to couples therapy, do literally anything. But I don’t want you to date other girls Mike. I really-“ your voiced cracked up. “I really can’t have you be with anyone else.”
He kissed you softly, “it’s a good thing I don’t want anyone else. We can talk about this when you’re sober okay?”
“Promise?”
“Pinky promise.” He moved to turn off the light and get into bed, he pulled you close to him, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. Kissing your head.
synopsis: when two famous people with big reputations get together, it’s gotta be a big deal. especially if they’re finn wolfhard and y/n l/n
author’s note: i was so inspired to write this after seeing this edit — like hello unexpected duo? the part where finn says “what, me?” was inspired by a deleted scene from dps that i loved. wrote this at 12am wtf lol as always, this piece is purely fictional and does not reflect any of these artists in real life!
ynuser new album coming out soon!
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user1 you are the coolest girl i know
user2 the album’s colors are EVERYTHINGG
user3 finn liked this post 😛
➥ user4 she’s friends with millie right? she’s probs friends with him too
user5 she looks so happy ugh i love yn
➥ user6 ik she looks healed and i love that for her 🥹
user7 so excited for what this album has to offer
finnwolfhard ready!
➥ user8 i see you
➥ user9 WHY WOULD A MAN BE THEREE
milliebobbybrown the shirley temple looks to die for
finnwolfhard lowkey been doing whatever
view all comments
user10 very cool and nonchalant finn
user11 the second pic im inlove
user12 my king ily
ynuser love
➥ finnwolfhard what? me?
comment has been deleted
➥ user13 WHAT THE FUCK
➥ user14 FINN YOU ARE NOT SLICK I SAW THAT
➥ user15 YNFINN CONFIRMED?
user16 i could go for a smoke rn 😛
ynspriv life has been so crazy lately oh my goodness
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finnwolfhard hi
finnwolfhard my miss lucky
finnwolfhard new york suits you
➥ milliebobbybrown very subtle wolfhard
➥ finnwolfhard a man who yearns earns.
➥ ynspriv 🤭🤭
tatemcrae lover boy in these comments 🙄🙄
➥ ynspriv bye he’s the loml
➥ finnwolfhard i am🤗🤗
celebritygossip various paparazzi pics have come out of yn l/n and finn wolfhard since his comment under yn’s Instagram posts. it’s clear that the two are MORE than just friends and have no problem showing that 👀
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user17 why did my heart break
➥ user18 CAUSE IM JEALOUS BUT THEY BOTH MAKE SM SENSE
user19 love it when a beautiful popstar gf gets with a pretty boy actor
user20 will we be expecting love songs on new album then!!!
➥ user21 oh im sat
user22 “it’s clear that the two are MORE than just friends and have no problem showing that 👀” goodbye
➥ user23 no cause every pic they’re kissing im gagged
finnwolfhard big reputation x big reputation
tagged: ynuser
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user24 HELL YES
user25 hardest fucking launch ever.
user26 the caption is iconic and is the moment thank u finn for ur service
user27 HE POSTED THIS BTW.
➥ user28 love it when men love with all their hearts
milliebobbybrown the secrets out!
ynuser thanks for the feature lover boy
➥ finnwolfhard anytime baby
➥ user29 oh im sick
➥ user30 this is my clark and lana theyre both so gorgeous
iloveyn the couple we didn’t know we needed but LOVE omg they’re both so beautiful and yn’s story on the second post 🥹🥹
view all comments
user31 popstar gf and actor bf strikes again i love this dynamic
user32 very happy for my personal friends finn wolfhard and yn l/n
can you please write about Finn taking care of a drunk Y/N during the Stranger Things 5 premiere’s after party? 🤗
𝒃𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝒕𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐮 —
finn wolfhard x actress!reader
summary: you let loose at the st season five after party, and finn stayed by your side to take care of you
notes: omg this idea was sooo cute!! this was kinda rushed so sorry if it’s bad.. (requests are open!)
masterlist wc: 1k
The Stranger Things season five premiere had been anything but calm.
Tonight was the night you and Finn were finally going public with your relationship, something that somehow felt more terrifying than any red carpet, interview, or worldwide press tour you’d ever done. You’d rehearsed smiles, practiced hand-holding, joked about it in private like it didn’t matter.
But it did.
Honestly, there wasn’t much you needed to be nervous about. You and Finn were solid, happy, steady, and very much in love. You’d been together for years, quietly tucked away between filming schedules and late-night calls. You knew most fans would be supportive… minus the handful still convinced you and Caleb were endgame.
Still, nerves were nerves.
And tonight was also about celebrating the end of a show you’d grown up on. A chapter closing. A reason to let go.
Which is how you ended up at the after party on your god-knows-what number drink of the night.
Your limbs felt lighter than usual, like gravity had loosened its grip on you. Everything was warmer, fuzzier. Sounds blended together, music, laughter, voices, until it all felt like background noise to the buzzing in your head.
“Hey, y/n. Finn’s been looking for you,” a voice says behind you. You vaguely register it as Noah’s. “He looks like a lost puppy wandering through the crowd.”
You giggle at that, actually giggle, and push yourself up from your chair a little too confidently. The world tilts immediately, your balance lagging a second behind your intentions.
You take one step.
Then another.
Then stumble.
Noah catches you easily, hands steady on your arms before you can embarrass yourself in front of half of Hollywood.
“Whoa there,” he says, amused but concerned. “You okay?”
“Oh, yeah,” you insist, words slipping together like they’re in a hurry. “For sure.”
The room feels… bigger than it did earlier. Like the walls moved farther away. Maybe that’s why Finn couldn’t find you.
Then his voice cuts through the haze.
“Good. You found her.”
You turn — slowly — and there he is. Finn. Tie loosened, curls slightly flattened, eyes soft but clearly worried as they scan your face.
“Heard you were looking for me,” you say, grinning lazily as you slip from Noah’s grip and fall straight into Finn’s arms.
He smells familiar, clean, warm, grounding. Your body melts into his without thinking.
“How many drinks have you had tonight?” he asks, hands settling at your waist like they’ve done a thousand times before.
“Not many,” you shrug, resting your chin against his chest. “Maybe… five or six?”
“Plus the shot we all took before the carpet,” Noah adds helpfully.
Finn lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus, y/n. You really know how to let loose.”
You smile up at him as he brushes a strand of hair out of your face, his thumb lingering just a second longer than necessary.
“Well, I’m not letting loose,” you protest, already swaying. “I’m just sitting here. Let’s go have fun.”
You stand up again , too fast, and suddenly the room spins like someone grabbed it and gave it a good shove.
Finn’s hand immediately finds your lower back, firm and familiar, keeping you upright.
“Maybe you should take it easy for the rest of the night,” he says softly, voice low in a way that always makes your stomach flutter.
“I can take care of myself,” you mumble, trying, and failing, to sound convincing.
“I know,” he replies, leaning closer. “But I’m still gonna be here.”
Your heart does something stupid in your chest. Years together and he still makes you feel like a love-drunk teenager.
“Hate to break up this cute moment,” Noah says, “but we’re all gonna take one more cast photo.”
You nod. Talking feels like too much work.
Finn keeps a gentle hold on you as he guides you toward the rest of the cast. The closer you get, the hotter it feels. The lights are brighter. The floor definitely isn’t level anymore.
“Good, you’re both here,” Millie says. “Finn, y/n, front!”
Finn glances down at you, then back at her. “I think we’d be better off in the back.”
“I’m fine, Finn,” you drag out, rolling your eyes, immediately regretting it as your head throbs in protest.
He ignores you and leads you to the back anyway.
By the time you’re standing there, the lights feel blinding, like they’re drilling straight into your skull. You shift your weight, leaning subtly into Finn, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.
“You’re doing great,” he murmurs in your ear, lips brushing your skin. “Almost done.”
The camera clicks once.
Twice.
Your legs feel weak, knees locking awkwardly. You sway again, vision blurring at the edges.
Finn notices instantly.
Before anyone can say anything, his arm wraps fully around you, pulling you flush against his side. Your head tips toward his shoulder without permission, cheek resting there like it belongs.
When the photos finally end, he doesn’t let go.
Instead, he murmurs a quick excuse to the group and gently steers you away, guiding you through the crowd with one hand firmly anchored at your waist. You’re dimly aware of people glancing over, of whispers, but you don’t care.
All you care about is Finn.
He leads you to a quieter corner, sitting you down carefully on a couch like you’re something precious. You blink up at him, eyes heavy, cheeks warm.
“You’re very… handsome tonight,” you tell him seriously.
He laughs softly, crouching in front of you. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” You reach out, fingers clumsily tugging him closer by the lapels of his jacket. “Public boyfriend Finn is doing a really good job.”
His smile turns softer, more fond. “You’re drunk.”
“Only a little,” you whisper, leaning in until your lips brush his ear. “But I still know what I’m saying.”
His breath hitches, just barely.
“Easy,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours. “I gotta get you home in one piece.”
You pout, but it doesn’t last long. Your head tips forward again, resting against his chest.
Finn presses a kiss to the top of your head, hand warm against your back.
“C’mon,” he says gently. “Let’s get you some water. “Don’t worry I’m taking care of you.”
And honestly?
You’ve never felt safer, or more loved, than you do right now.
️ ️ ️ ️ ️ ️ “i’ll keep you my dirty little secret, don’t tell anyone or you’ll be just another regret, my dirty little secret, who has to know?”
⤷ mike wheeler x popular! fem! reader headcannons
⋆˚࿔ ┊not a soul would ever to suspect the queen of hawkin high dating a frog faced nerd.
𑣲 sneaking into your room
Mike would sneak into your room in the after hours— when the sun dipped below the horizon, the streets grew quieter, and the streetlights lit up, away from prying eyes and avoidant of exchanged whispers.
You sat at your vanity, a soft cotton pajama set hugging your frame as you tied up your curls for the night. A warm orange glow illuminated your room, setting your floral wallpaper and posters ablaze. Your stuffed animals sat neatly on your perfectly made bed— looking up at you admirably from a distance. Your father has just left for his night shift, while your mother was out babysitting a kid— "real asshole" she told you, "but pays good."
You heard a light tap on your window, pulling you from your vanity. You eagerly set your brush down, sliding on your slippers and nearly dashing to your window. You push back the curtains to be met with your favorite person in the world— all gangly, cheekbones, and a sharp jawline. A model while wearing a shirt that reads "I'm actually quite tall for a Hobbit".
You lifted the window with a soft grunt, the cold breeze kissing your flushed cheeks— Mike looked divine under the stars. You two smile at each other like you’re inna cheesy rom-com.
“Hey…” your voice was smaller than expected, breathless.
Those brown eyes you loved getting lost in trace your frame, returning to meet you, “Hey…”
After staring at eachother like lovesick puppies:
“Soo… you gonna let me in?”
“Oh—! Right!”
You helped him inside, shutting the window and closing your curtains as he started to slip off his shoes. You didn't give him time before jumping onto him, face buried in the warmth of his neck while your fingers tread in his dark locks. You inhaled his familiar scent as his navy cashmere sweaters brushed your chin, nose tucked where neck meets shoulder, "missed you..."
Mike rested his cheek against your hair. You can feel him smiling. He slipped off his shoe and wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. You two hadn't interacted all day— not even a brush of your fingers drove you both insane. Mike saw you fuming to your friends about whatever interaction you had this weekend. Oh how he wished he could've held you as you talked his ear off, listening to every detail as he'd stroke your cheekbone, maybe even kiss your nose.
You thought you were crazy for him— he was crazier. His head slowly dipped in your neck, nose tracing the outline of your face to memorize you. Mike breathed you in like you were oxygen, fingers digging into the plush of your body. "Missed you too.. haven't seen you all day..."
You two stood there, all sappy and sweet, pressing soft kisses to each other's skin in the comfort of your cozy haven.
𑣲 shared glances across rooms
Whether it was a packed hallway, a school assembly, or even the cafeteria— Mikes’ eyes will always find yours.
You’re surrounded by your girlfriends and a few strays of boys as you leaned against your locker. You aren’t engulfed in the conversation, but you listened enough to know a few key points if they ever pulled you back in and asked for your input. Your mind was too distracted, eyes searching above the bobbing heads of students until you found those familiar brown ones.
Mike was standing at the end of a locker, huddled with his clique as they conversed. His taller frame made him stick out, looming above the heads of his friends like some group leader (technically…). He wasn’t listening in on the conversation. If anything, he was already looking at you. He was just waiting for you to look back. And when you did, that dorky smile crossed his lips. A soft smile graced yours, a __ that Mike would willingly take a picture so it could last longer. Matter of fact— he has. He keeps your picture tucked in his wallet, starting at the image when he thinks it misses you which is all the time since you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.
From your peripheral, his friends were tugging his arm and snapping his in face, lips constantly forming the world “Mike.” He begrudgingly snaps out of his entranced gaze with his girl and looks back to the trio.
You giggled to yourself and shifted your focus to the people bordering you, commoners who happened to get swept by the kind arms of the empress or established themselves as royalty and stuck around.
𑣲 purposeful brush of hands or shoulders
You and Mike are always touching each other. Walked past him in the hallway? Your hands brushed. He “accidentally” bumped into you? You grasped his forearms for balance as his fingers brushed your waist.
𑣲 giving you his sweater during as the days grew colder
The town of Hawkins grew colder— saffron leaves twisting in bitter winds, wool sweaters in storefronts, and hot chocolate held between wool gloves hands.
Your closet was stocked with jackets and coats— but they can’t compare to Mike’s . Oversized / hugs you comfortably, long sleeves that reach your knuckles, and absolutely intoxicated of his scent.
𑣲 sloppy make outs in closets and empty classrooms
You dragged Mike into the unoccupied janitor’s closet, the shutting on the door echoing in the empty hallway. You haven’t interacted with him all day— just a shared glanced across the packed hallways. Not even a purpose brush of knuckles. It drove you both insane. You wasted no time in threading your fingers those dark tresses you love tugging and twirling, smashing your lips against his.
Mike is still— Mike— so his hands stood awkwardly above your body as if you two haven’t been dating for a few weeks now. Eventually they find purchase on your hips, then your waist, then your rib cage, and back down again—
You two pulled away with a wet pop!, hot breaths mingling as you stood close, “Is this okay?” Mike panted, bony fingers hesitantly gripping the plush of your waist beneath your shirt.
A soft laugh escapes your nose— this isn’t your first rodeo. you understood him treading carefully and the rockiness of his last relationship— “I don’t wanna mess this up,” he confessed days prior when you were laid in his basement. You told him there’s room for mistakes and that he should always be honest with you. Besides, it’s the early days of your relationship,intimate moments and stolen glances uncurling the soft petals on a flower you both call love.
“You asked me the same thing yesterday, Mike.”
He crossed his thick brows like a guilty puppy and your smile only grew, “Yes, Mike. it’s completely okay,” you kissed the corner of his mouth and his fingers loosened its grip, but still relishing your warmth and softness, “and if you want,” you tone grew rather suggestive as you grasped his wrists and guided them to the underside of your breast, “you could go higher.”
Underneath the dim lightbulb hung above you two like mistletoe, his face was beet red with those big brown eyes blown wide.
But once Mike Wheeler got comfortable? He was all on you.
𑣲 intentionally picking him for projects
People would suspect you’d pick “the nerd” because he’s smart. Some might even see you as a savior.
In the real world, you just want to be with your boyfriend, your Mike.
Now he had a purpose to come through your front door instead of sneaking in your window to makeout and talk about dnd and comics.
You scrambled from your bedroom as you heard the doorbell, nearly falling off your bed. As you approached the stairs you hear heavy footsteps approach the door— crap.
You have to be strategic and normal about this— don’t be too eager to answer to the door and push him out the way, he’ll think you and Mike are dating. Don’t take too long to answer the door, then you’ll seem like a bad host.
From the top of the stairs, you watched the exchange between your boyfriend and your father.
“H-hi Mr. L/n,” Mike stammered. Your father crossed his arms to seem more intimating which worked, “I’m y/n’s project parter—“
“You dating?”
“J-just here to study!”
Your dad squints, and before he could say anything else you peeked over his forearm, “Hey Mike,” you grin and notice the tension ease in Mike’s shoulders, “come in.”
It even gave you a chance to come his house as well. And not through the back door.
You didn’t know why you were nervous. Was it because you were informally meeting your boyfriend’s parents for the first time?— maybe even his sisters if they were home. You shake off the nerves and take deep breathes, white puffs of air unfurling under the flickering porch light.
Your finger hesitatingly hovered over the doorbell, as if they’ll be consequences if you do press it. You curse under your breathe and force your finger to ring the doorbell, internally cringing.
‘Please be Mike, Please be Mike, Please be Mike—‘
An attractive, older woman with big blond hair curiously opened the door, “well hello young lady!” This must be Karen.
“Hello!” you whipped out your customer service voice, “I’m a classmate of Mike and I came so we could work on our project together.”
A light bulb switched on in her head as she remembered hearing about this prior, “Yes! Yes! Come in honey!” She moved aside for you to enter and you politely nod.
“Mike! Your classmate is here!”
You heard a loud thud from upstairs— he must’ve tripped on his own two feet.
Mike smiled like a lovesick fool, his voice coming out softer, “Hey.”
Your tone was also hushed, “Hi.”
Karen’s watchful eyes flicker between your exchange, “You know you two would make a cute couple—“
“Mom!”
Of course when you both walk through that front door and into the privacy of each others’ room: make-out session.
first time posting mike on any platform (made drafts for ages but never post) so let me know what u think!!
summary: an interview at a red carpet puts Finn on the spotlight regarding his favorite actress.
n/a: FIRST FIC ABOUT FINN CUS I’M OBSESSED??? also send recommendations I think I have already read every single fic out there
Hundreds of flashes blinded everyone’s eyes, the constants smile! and turn around! created this messy yet euphoric feeling around the entire event.
Finn positioned himself at the middle of the red carpet, fitted suit and sunglasses on. The paparazzi went crazy trying to get the best picture, and the reporters fought for who gets the first interview with the man who brings one of the most loved Stranger Things character to life.
Finn walked through the carpet, greeting the assistants and walking over to the corner of the venue where they interviewed people.
“Hello Finn, how are you tonight? mind if we ask some questions for Variety?” the young man talk, positioning himself in front of the talk actor.
“Sure, no problem” Finn arranged his blazer, looking at the reporter.
“Here we are with the man of the moment, Finn Wolfhard, everybody! Great outfit, by the way, very on theme with this last season of Stranger Things” the microphone move to point a soft smiling Finn.
“Thank you, thank you, yeah, the color scheme and everything” he responded casually.
“Yeah man, congrats on the end of the show, we’re really excited to see what the ending is going to be” Finn’s eyebrows went upwards, pulling an almost mocking face expression.
“Oh, you’ll be surprised” a short laugh left his lips.
“That’s what we wanted to hear!” the reporter taps Finn’s shoulder, making the interview more casual. “There’s a lot of people here, the Duffers went wild with the invitations”
“You tell me, man, I was on queue for 10 minutes for the carpet”
“Have you got the chance to say hi to everyone? We noticed that one lady you mentioned as your favorite actress was around” a cheeky smile adorned the man’s face.
Of course they were going to bring you up, and of course the Duffers were going to invite you to the premiere.
Long story short, while doing press for the show, Finn spilled the fact that he has been binge watching your movies for the past 4 years, and that you are his favorite horror movie actress, which resulted in fans going crazy with edits on TikTok and creating crazy theories about the two of you, and with a reason, because Finn could not hide the excitement when talking about you, or the way his puppy eyes basically sparked when the boys teased him with videos of you taking about how much you like Stranger Things and how Mike Wheeler has been your favorite character, besides Dustin, since the first season.
“Really? I didn’t know, man, that’s great” Finn said with an almost convincing confidence. “I guess I’ll say hi if I see her” or hide behind Caleb.
“I think the fans will appreciate it! Thank you, Finn, we hope you have a wonderful night and congratulations again”
And just as Finn prepared for another interview, the screaming from fans erupted.
The first thing he notice was the amount of flashes, making it almost impossible for him to really look who it was. But he knew, of course he knew.
You were standing in the middle of the red carpet, black dress and long gloves adorned your arms, high heels and bold makeup on your face along with a lovely smile forming on your dark red lips.
Finn stood there, looking at how you move around so naturally, practically dancing in front of the paparazzis, hypnotizing everyone around you.
And clearly hypnotizing him, cause’ Finn did not notice how you move closer to him.
“Hello Finn! Is very nice to finally meet you, thank you for inviting me by the way, the Duffers said it was your idea to bring me here” you said, thrilled with the idea of Finn thinking of you.
those motherfuckers was the first thing to cross his mind, followed by how can he look cool in front of you.
“Oh yeah, I mean I heard you liked the show, so here we are” his hand run through his hair for the fourth time in one minute, making you grin at how nervous he was.
“I mean, more than the show I like watching you on the show” you took a step closer, trying to make him ever more flustered.
“me?” Finn pointed at himself. “I mean, yeah, great, that’s awesome, uhm.” great start, genius. “I really like you to! Like an actress, uhm, I really like your work as an actress!” He looked impossibly awkward and oh man, you were enjoying it.
The true being that you have seen the TikTok’s, and the interviews, and the fan theories, and you absolutely loved it. Finn has been your celebrity crush since the first episode of Stranger Things, and when you finally landed a roll in an important movie, the first thing that came to mind was that you were a step closer to meeting him. Weird? yes, but that was almost 10 years ago, you were a child that had a crush on another child. And, god, with the years passing, Finn got even more pretty, that type of beauty that makes you stare, and you were definitely staring at him at that moment.
“Thank you, Finn, you look so pretty today” Your hand went over the red pattern of his brazer, which was starting to match the color of his face.
Were you flirting with him? Finn was usually a semi confident person, he knew how to act when someone complement him, is part of the job. But apparently that little confidence disappeared the moment you said hello, and even more when you called him pretty, you didn’t say that he looked good, or that you liked the outfit.
You called him pretty, making Finn’s brain go in short-circuit.
“Oh, pretty? I think you look pretty, and so beautiful, the dress is really, uhm, elegant? it fits you really nicely, yeah.” Finn looked you up and down, moving his hands comically in the air. “your makeup too! I like the l, liner was it? and the lips! your lips are very nice in that color, and in any other color!” a laugh emerged from you, causing even more flashes towards the two of you.
“You’re so adorable, Finn, thanks for all the compliments”
He saw it in slow motion, how you came closer and closer to his face, you stood on you tippy toes to reach his carved cheek, stumbling a little due to his impossible tall figure, and Finn, like the gentleman he was, grabbed you by the waist to prevent you falling, causing a shiver in both of you. The kiss lingered a little more than necessary, your sweet smell almost making him dizzy, he closed his eyes for a second just to enjoy the feeling of your lips and how close you were.
“god, you are so tall!” your hands on his shoulder and his hand still on your waist. “I’ll have to wear heels when we kissed”
Did he hear that correctly? you, the prettiest woman he has ever seen, just implied that you were going to kiss at some time in the future?
“I-I can always kneel” you raised one eyebrow, making Finn’s mouth open and close, looking for the right words. “No like, actually kneel, I meant like bend over, yeah.”
“I’d like to see you kneel one day, actually” the everlasting smile never left your lips, enjoying every second of having a flustered Finn in your arms.
“If you want we can do that! Whatever you like!” oh he was down, and it was your first time even meeting, he was already wrapped around your finger.
“I don’t have my phone with me right now, but can you give your number later” you tilted your head, looking adorable in Finn’s eyes.
“Of course! I’ll looked for you inside” He nodded repeatedly, his puppy eyes eager to see you later, and every day if possible.
“Okey, handsome, I have to go now. We’ll talk later, okey?” a quick peck on his other cheek made him definitely dizzy this time, feeling how you got away of his grip on your waist almost made him cry, yearning to feel you presence close again.
He saw you walk away between the mass of people, waving his hand at you like a sad kid, a sigh left his mouth, processing the entire interaction while walking to his friends and cast mates, who where waiting for the start of the premiere of the first episode.
Caleb look at Finn’s face, the soft blush still adorning his cheeks, and one lipstick stain in each cheek.
“No way! You met her?” Caleb knew you were coming, the Duffers made sure that everyone but Finn knew that you were invited. “Looks like it went well, good job, man” his hand smacked Finn’s shoulders, making him slime widely and nod his head.
“She asked for my number and said we were going to kiss” Finn perked up, showing how excited he was to talk about it, but Caleb face went serious. “What?”
“Man, you are such a pussy, that’s your job” his hand went up and down the air, a sigh of disappointment left his lips.
“I got nervous okey! I told her that I like her and everything!” his voice went softer with the last sentence. “ I don’t really know how to act around someone I find attractive, man”
“Okey, you need to stop being pathetic and man up, we need to ask Gaten for advice for your date.”
“Yeah, a good thing is that I didn’t curse in front of her!” Finn clapped his hand, looking proud.
“That’s awesome, man, try to keep it until the fifth date”
