The silence inside Mike's beige sedan was heavy enough to crush bone.
Ten minutes ago, the windows had been opaque with heat, desire, and pure love; the air thick with the scent of vanilla perfume and the humidity of bodies pressed too close. Now, the condensation was fading in streaks, leaving cold glass that offered a blurry, unforgiving view of Hawkins passing by in the dark.
The massive bouquet of red roses slid sadly across the dashboard every time Mike took a turn too sharp. The crinkle of the plastic wrapping sounded deafening in the quiet of the car.
Mike gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles looked like they were about to punch through the skin. His leg was bouncing nervously, his knee knocking against the plastic console in a rapid, irritating staccato—tap-tap-tap-tap. He was breathing in shallow, ragged gasps, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror as if he expected a government convoy (or worse, Dustin) to be tailing them.
Y/N sat in the passenger seat, her hands folded tightly in her lap, smoothing the ruined pleats of her cheer skirt. The adrenaline of the game, the high of the performance, and the electric thrill of the parking lot were draining away, replaced by a creeping, cold dread.
She watched him. He looked like he was vibrating apart.
"Mike," she said softly, breaking the radio silence. "Hey. Mikey, breathe."
He flinched, as if she'd shouted. He didn't look at her. "I'm breathing. I am breathing. I'm just... thinking. Calculating."
"You're spiraling," she corrected gently, followed by a delicate giggle. She reached out to touch his arm, but he shifted gears at that exact moment, unintentionally dodging her hand. She pulled back, a cold knot starting to form in her upper stomach. "It's not the end of the world, Mike. So.. they saw us. We were going to tell them eventually, right?"
"Not like that! " Mike exploded.
The words burst out of him, sharp and panicked. He hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.
"It wasn't supposed to happen like that! It was supposed to be... controlled. A conversation. Not... not Dustin banging on the window while your legs were..." He trailed off, his face flushing a deep, mortified red in the dashboard glow, but the panic didn't subside. It snowballed.
"This is a disaster," he muttered, his voice speeding up, the classic Wheeler panic-mode engaging. "You don't understand the chain reaction, Y/N. Lucas knows. Which means within the hour, he's going to tell Erica. And Erica Sinclair isn't just a child, she's a federal wiretap. If Erica knows, the entire town knows by breakfast. My mom will know. Your mom will know."
"My mom likes you," Y/N argued, though her voice was getting smaller.
"And Dustin!" Mike barreled on, staring wildly at the road, his eyes wide. "Dustin is going to tell the Hellfire Club. He's going to tell Eddie. Do you know what they're going to do? They're going to roast me alive. I'm the Dungeon Master dating the Head Cheerleader. I'm a cliché! I'm an 80s movie villain! They're never going to let me live this down."
He ran a hand through his chaotic hair, tugging at the curls.
"And Will," Mike added, his voice dropping just a fraction, losing some of the manic energy and replacing it with genuine stress. "Will was right there. He saw everything. And Will talks to Jonathan. And Jonathan talks to Nancy."
He sighed, a long, frustrated sound, shaking his head.
"And if Will knows, he's going to tell El. Obviously."
The name landed in the car like a physical blow.
Mike didn't even notice he'd said it. He kept talking, his eyes fixed on the stop sign ahead. "I just... I haven't told her yet, you know? We barely talk as it is, and I didn't want her to find out like this. From Will. It's just going to be... awkward. A total mess. She's going to think I'm rubbing it in her face or something."
He kept muttering about phone calls and damage control, completely oblivious to the fact that he had just sucked all the oxygen out of the car. Well, her oxygen.
Y/N went still.
It wasn't a rant. It wasn't a confession of undying love for his ex. It was worse, in a way. It was a reflex.
In the middle of his panic about their relationship being exposed, his mind had gone instinctively to her. To El. To how she would feel. To protecting her feelings.
Y/N stared out the window, her vision blurring instantly. The streetlights smeared into long, watery lines of orange.
She knew about El. Everyone knew about El. The girl who moved away. Mike's first love. The girl who was super intense and special and had a bond with him that Y/N could never touch. For six months, Y/N had told herself that Mike's secrecy was about him being a nerd and her being popular. She thought he was afraid of the bullies.
But as she sat there, listening to him worry about an upcoming "awkward" phone call with his ex-girlfriend while Y/N sat right next to him, the illusion shattered.
He's not protecting himself, she realized, the thought icy and sharp. He's protecting her.
Even now. Even after the roses. Even after the way he touched her in the car. He was still tiptoeing around Eleven.
Y/N felt her heart squeeze so tightly it was painful to breathe. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper, willing the tears not to fall. She told herself she was being dramatic. She told herself he just cared about his friend. But the insecurity was a loud, ugly voice in her head: You're just the distraction. You're the normal high school experience before he goes back to the girl who matters.
Mike turned into her driveway and killed the engine. The sudden silence was murdering her.
"I just need to figure out how to spin this before school Monday," Mike sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt, finally calming down now that the car was stopped. He turned to her, looking for reassurance, a plan, anything. "We just need a strategy. Right? Y/N?"
He saw her face.
The motion sensor light from the garage illuminated the interior of the car unforgivingly. It caught the wet, shiny tracks of tears sliding down her cheeks. It highlighted the red rimming her eyes and the way her lips were pressed together in a trembling line.
Mike froze. The panic about Lucas, and Dustin, and whoever evaporated instantly, replaced by a much colder, immediate confusion.
"Hey," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. He reached out, his hand hovering near her shoulder. "Wait. Why are you crying? Did I... did I say something?"
Y/N let out a shaky, wet laugh that sounded more like a sob. She unbuckled her seatbelt with trembling hands, desperate to escape the small space.
"You said enough, Mike," she whispered.
"What?" Mike blinked, looking genuinely baffled. "No, I was just—I was just explaining the fallout! I wasn't saying I didn't want to be with you. I just..."
"You're worried about her," Y/N said, finally turning to look at him. Her voice was quiet, devoid of anger but full of hurt. "We've been together for six months, Mike. Six months. And your biggest fear about us coming out isn't that I'll get teased, or that your parents will be mad. It's that your ex-girlfriend might feel bad."
Mike's mouth opened, but he faltered. He looked stricken, like a deer caught in headlights again. "Y/N, no. That's not—she's my friend. It's just complicated history, I didn't mean—"
"Maybe you were right," she interrupted, grabbing the door handle. "To keep it a secret."
"What? No, I never said—"
"Because if you're this terrified of her finding out," she whispered, "then maybe you're not ready to be with me."
She pushed the door open and scrambled out.
"Y/N, stop!" Mike shouted, scrambling to undo his own seatbelt.
She ran up the walkway, her cheer skirt swishing, the cool night air biting at her tear-stained skin. She heard Mike's car door slam, heard his Converse slapping against the pavement as he chased after her.
"Y/N! Wait!" Mike shouted, catching up to her at the bottom of the porch steps. He grabbed her wrist, gently, but desperate. "You're misunderstanding! Please, just listen to me!"
She spun around.
Mike stood there under the yellow porch light. He looked pale, disheveled, and horrified. The hickey on his neck, the one she had put there with so much pride an hour ago, stared back at her like a mockery.
"Go home, Mike," she choked out, pulling her wrist free.
"I'm not leaving," he pleaded, stepping closer. "Not like this. I wasn't thinking about her like that. I was just panicking! I'm an idiot when I panic, you know that!"
"I just want to be with someone who's proud to be with me," she said, her voice breaking. "You are the first and only person who has ever been scared to be seen with me."
"I am proud of you!" Mike insisted, his voice cracking. "I bought you roses! I came to the stupid game!"
"And then you spent the whole ride home worrying about El."
The silence that followed was brutal. Mike didn't have an immediate answer, and that hesitation was all Y/N needed.
"Leave me alone," she whispered, stepping up to the door and unlocking it. "Maybe for tonight. Maybe forever."
"Y/N, don't say that—"
She stepped inside and slammed the door.
Outside, on the other side of the wood, Mike stood in the silence. He stared at the closed door, his chest heaving, the faint smell of vanilla still clinging to his t-shirt, realizing exactly how badly he had just screwed up the best thing that had ever happened to him.
The weekend didn't just pass; it dragged Mike Wheeler behind it like a corpse attached to a bumper.
By Monday, Mike had spent seventy-two hours in a state of psychological self-flagellation that would have impressed a medieval martyr. He felt physically ill... A hollow, gnawing nausea settled deep in his gut, making food look like barf and sleep impossible. Every time he closed his eyes, his brain projected a high-definition replay of the car ride: the smell of vanilla turning sour, the look of absolute betrayal in Y/N's eyes, and his own voice, high-pitched and frantic, saying the only name he should not have said. Why the fuck had he done that?
Mike tortured himself with the question. He wasn't in love with El. He hadn't been for a long time. She was his friend, a special fragment of his history, a scar on his timeline. But definitely not whatever Y/N had thought. Y/N was the girl who made his hands shake and his brain quiet down. Y/N was the one who had straddled him in a parking lot and looked at him like he was the only guy on planet earth.
He had driven to her house five damn times. Five times, he had parked his beige sedan down the street, because pulling into the driveway felt like trespassing now, and shyly walked up to her porch in the drizzle. He had knocked until his knuckles were raw. He had stared at the white wood of her door until his vision swam, begging the universe to let the handle turn.
It never did.
Once, on Saturday afternoon, he saw the curtains in her upstairs bedroom twitch. He had frozen, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, lifting a hand in a pathetic, pleading wave.
The curtains had snapped shut instantly.
By Monday morning, Mike looked... drained—like he had been reanimated from the dead. Deep, violet circles bruised the skin under his eyes. His skin was pale and clammy. His hair was a tragic disaster that refused to be tamed, and he walked into Hawkins High at an inconvenient hour feeling like his bones were made of lead.
He found the party at their usual picnic table outside the cafeteria. They were arguing about Star Wars, but the conversation died instantly when Mike slumped onto the bench, dropping his bag with a heavy, defeated thud.
"Jesus, man," Lucas observed, staring at him. "You look like hell. Did you sleep in a dumpster?"
"Thanks," Mike croaked. His voice was wrecked. "She dumped me. Or... I think she dumped me. She won't talk to me. It's radio silence."
"Because you got caught?" Will asked gently, looking concerned.
"No," Mike whispered into his palms, pressing the heels of his hands against his burning eyes. "Because I'm a fucking catastrophic idiot."
He told them everything. He didn't spare himself. He dragged his own dignity out into the sunlight and shot it. He told them about the panic attack in the car. He told them about the rant, the one damn rant that ruined it all. He told them how, in the middle of Y/N tearing up about their relationship being unfairly exposed, he had started hyperventilating about how Eleven would react to the news.
The silence at the table was profound. It was the silence of people watching a car crash in slow motion.
Then, the explosion.
"You did what!? " Lucas practically shouted, slamming his juice box down so hard juice squirted onto the table. "Mike, are you fucking brain-dead? You talked about your ex-girlfriend? While your current girlfriend... who is literally a cheerleader, not even any cheerleader, but THE girl any guy in this damn school would die to date—was crying over you?"
"I was panicking!" Mike defended weakly, lifting his head. "I was just thinking about the chain reaction! I didn't want El to get hurt!"
"So you hurt Y/N instead?" Dustin looked at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust mixed with awe at the sheer stupidity. "Mike, that is... that is historically dumb. That is a level of fumbling that needs to be studied by scientists."
"I know!" Mike groaned, the guilt crushing him. "I know, okay? I hate myself enough for all of us. I just... I need to fix it. I need to talk to her."
"Good luck with that," Lucas scoffed, shaking his head. "If I were her, I'd have keyed your car and then backed over it."
"You have to do something big," Will said, his voice quiet but serious. "You can't just apologize, Mike. You made her feel second best. You confirmed exactly what she was afraid of. You have to prove she's first."
"I will," Mike said, a sudden frantic energy seizing him. He stood up, his heart rate spiking along with his confidence. "I'll do anything. I just need to find her. Have you guys seen her? Is she even here?"
He scanned the sea of students, all the denim jackets, the bright colors, the cliques huddled together. He was looking for her green and gold cheer uniform. He was looking for her sad face. He was prepared to crawl on his knees in front of the entire school if he had to.
Dustin, who was facing the parking lot, suddenly went stiff. His eyes widened. He grimaced, looking back at Mike with pity.
"Uh, Mike," Dustin said, his voice dropping. "Sit down."
"What?" Mike was still scanning, standing on his tiptoes. "Do you see her?"
"Mike, seriously," Lucas added, following Dustin's gaze and looking equally pained. "Don't look over there. Just sit down."
"Why?" Mike frowned, panic tightening his throat. "Is she crying? Is she okay?"
He turned. And then he wished he hadn't.
Fifty yards away, near the entrance to the gym, stood Y/N.
She wasn't crying. She wasn't wearing her cheer uniform. She was wearing a soft, baby-blue sundress that fluttered in the wind, looking devastatingly, painfully beautiful.
And of course, she wasn't alone.
Leaning against the brick wall next to her, looking like he had just stepped out of a toothpaste commercial, was Jason Carver. The annoying captain of the basketball team. The King of Hawkins High. The guy who was everything Michael Wheeler wasn't: blonde, muscular, rich, and painfully charismatic. And over everything, a fucking asshole.
Jason was saying something to her, his head tilted down, that perfect, blinding white smile plastered on his face. He was doing that thing jocks do, leaning into her personal space, creating a little intimate bubble that excluded the rest of the world, radiating a confidence that Mike had never possessed in his life.
And Y/N? She threw her head back and giggled.
It wasn't a polite laugh. It was a genuine, bright sound that carried across the courtyard like a bell. She reached out and playfully swatted Jason's arm, a touch that looked casual, comfortable, and terrifyingly flirtatious.
Jason caught her hand. He didn't let go immediately. He held it for a second too long, his thumb brushing her knuckles, saying something else that made Y/N duck her head, biting her lip to hide a smile.
She looked happy. She looked light. She looked like she belonged there, standing next to the Golden Boy, in a world of sunshine and popularity that Mike had dragged her out of for six months.
"Oh my god," Mike whispered. The nausea was back, violent and sharp.
It wasn't just jealousy. It was a deep, corrosive sense of inferiority. Seeing them together was like seeing the world correct a mistake. That was the couple that made sense.
"I told you not to look," Dustin muttered, shaking his head.
"She's... she's flirting with him," Mike said, his voice hollow, stripping raw. "It's been three days. Three days, and she's already replaced me."
"Jason has been trying to get with her since freshman year," Lucas pointed out unhelpfully. "He probably smelled the breakup in the water. Like a shark in a polo shirt."
"Look at him," Mike despaired, watching Jason run a hand through his perfect blonde hair. "He looks like he was made in a lab to destroy me."
"I mean..." Dustin grimaced, watching Jason laugh. "Can you blame her? Look at the upgrade, Mike. The guy has actual deltoids. You have... elbows."
"Dustin!" Will hissed, elbowing him.
"What? I'm just stating facts! It's a harsh statistical reality!"
Mike felt like he was going to be sick right there on the pavement. He watched Y/N smile at Jason one last time, then turn and walk into the school building, Jason following close behind her like a loyal, varsity-jacket-wearing guard dog.
Mike sank back onto the bench, defeated, burying his face in his hands.
"She hates me," Mike muffled into his palms. "She actually hates me. And now she's dating the mouth-breather version of Captain America."
"Well," Lucas patted him on the back, offering zero comfort. "At least you still have your D&D campaign. Jason can't take that away from you. I think."
The bell rang, signaling the start of the worst week of Mike Wheeler's entire life.
-
Wednesday arrived with the subtlety of a sledgehammer to the face.
Mike Wheeler had officially reached rock bottom. He had spent two days watching Y/N walk through the hallways with Jason Carver, a visual torture that was slowly turning his brain into soup. He needed a Hail Mary. He needed a miracle.
He got Dustin Henderson instead.
"Operation: Phoenix is a go," Dustin whispered aggressively, sliding a crumpled piece of notebook paper across the library table.
Mike stared at it. It was a crude drawing of the gymnasium, several arrows drawn in red marker, and a stick figure holding what looked like a stick of dynamite.
"Is that... a bomb?" Mike whispered back, horrified. "I'm not blowing up the school, Dustin."
"No, it's love, you idiot," Dustin hissed. "It's the fire alarm. Look, we've analyzed the data. You can't just talk to her. Jason has established a defensive perimeter. We need to force a localized gathering of the entire student body where you have the floor."
"You want me to commit a felony?" Mike asked, his voice cracking.
"It's a misdemeanor at best!" Lucas argued from across the table. "Look, Mike. You fumbled the bag. In fact, you willingly dropped the bag into a volcano. If you want her back, you have to go big."
"We pull the alarm," Will explained. "Protocol says everyone evacuates to the gym because it's pouring rain outside. Principal Higgins will try to use the PA system to organize everyone. That's when you strike."
"I strike?"
"You take the mic," Dustin grinned maniacally. "And you win her back. Or you get suspended. Either way, it's memorable. And you'll prove you are not scared of the exposure."
Mike looked at the drawing. He looked at his friends. He thought about Y/N's laugh in the courtyard, directed at a guy whose biggest problem in life was deciding which varsity jacket to wear.
"Okay," Mike exhaled, terrified. "Let's do it."
At 1:45 PM, the alarm screamed.
The sound was ear-splitting. Hawkins High erupted into controlled chaos. Students poured out of classrooms, grumbling about pop-quizzes being interrupted, and the entire student body began the wet, shuffling migration toward the gymnasium.
It worked exactly as predicted. Because of the torrential downpour outside, the administration herded everyone into the massive basketball court. The air instantly filled with the smell of wet denim, teen spirit, and confusion.
Mike stood in the shadow of the bleachers, heart hammering against his ribs. He was sweating... heck, even his ass was sweaty. He felt like he was about to throw up his entire digestive system.
"Go," Lucas shoved him hard. "Higgins is distracted yelling at a freshman. The mic is open. Go!"
Mike stumbled forward. He dodged a math teacher, sprinted up the three steps to the center podium where the AV setup was abandoned, and grabbed the microphone.
He didn't think. He just acted.
He tapped the mic.
The feedback wailed through the gym speakers, a high-pitched sonic boom that made six hundred teenagers cover their ears and wince. The noise in the gym died instantly. Everyone froze. Principal Higgins spun around, his face turning a dangerous shade of purple.
"Is this thing on?" Mike's voice boomed through the speakers, shaky and breathless. "Yeah. Okay. Uh.. Great."
He looked out at the sea of faces. He saw the Hellfire Club looking terrified. He saw the basketball team looking confused. And then, he saw her.
Y/N was standing near the center, next to Jason, of course. She looked startled, her hands over her ears, her eyes wide.
"I'm looking for Y/N!" Mike announced. His voice echoed, bouncing off the rafters. "I know you're down there."
A ripple of murmurs went through the crowd.
"Mr. Wheeler!" Principal Higgins roared, starting to charge toward the podium. "Step away from the microphone immediately!"
"I have the floor!" Mike shouted back, panic giving him a weird, manic confidence. "I have a permit! Sort of!"
He turned back to the crowd, gripping the mic stand with white knuckles.
"Y/N!" he yelled. "Listen to me! I know I'm an idiot. A dumbass. I know I messed up on Friday. I know I panicked and said the wrong things and acted like a total coward."
He took a ragged breath. The entire gym was dead silent. Even the teachers had stopped moving, too stunned by the odd spectacle to intervene.
"It's been..." Mike checked his Casio watch, his hands shaking so hard the watch face blurred. "It's been a hundred and forty-four hours. And fourteen minutes. Since I last talked to you. And I'm losing my mind."
He looked directly at her. She hadn't moved. She was staring up at him, her expression unreadable, cheeks slightly flushed.
"I haven't slept," Mike rambled, the words spilling out faster now. "I haven't eaten. I tried to eat a bagel yesterday, and it tasted like Dustin's mom's food. I'm miserable. And I know you think I'm not over the past. I know you think I'm still hung up on... on history."
He paused, swallowing hard.
"But you're wrong. You're the only person I want to be with. You're the only person who makes sense to me. You're smart, and you're funny, and you're the only person who understands why Return of the Jedi is flawed but essential viewing!"
A few nervous titters rippled through the crowd.
Mike's eyes drifted to the person standing next to her. Jason Carver. The Golden Boy was glaring at Mike with confused hostility, his arms crossed over his chest.
"And I know," Mike said, gesturing aggressively at Jason with the microphone. "I know he's... him. Look at him."
Mike scoffed, the sound amplifying through the gym.
"He looks like he was created in a lab to sell orange juice! It's so damn suspicious! Look at his hair! It hasn't moved an inch since freshman year! It literally defies physics! I bet if I touched it, my hand would bounce off!"
Mike was panting now, leaning over the podium, fully unhinged.
"He looks like the stock photo that comes inside a new wallet! He's too symmetrical! I bet he irons his socks, Y/N! Who irons their socks? Psychopaths, that's who!"
The gym went quiet. A tense, heavy silence hung in the air. Mike froze. Had he gone... too far? Was this it? Was he going to get expelled and rejected in the same breath because he accused the basketball captain of being a psychopath?
He stood there, panting, sweating, looking like a disheveled mess in front of the entire school.
And then, a sound broke the silence.
It started small. A snort. Then a giggle. Then, it erupted.
Y/N threw her head back and laughed.
It was the same laugh she had given Jason earlier, but this time, it was louder. It was uncontrollable. She doubled over, clutching her stomach, shaking with laughter. The sound echoed through the silent gym, bright and clear and forgiving.
She looked up at Mike, tears of mirth in her eyes, ignoring Jason who looked deeply offended and was checking his socks.
Mike felt his knees go weak with relief. He slumped against the podium, a goofy, breathless grin spreading across his face.
-
The price of romance, Mike Wheeler discovered, was approximately three days of out-of-school suspension and a permanent record that now included "Misuse of Emergency Equipment" and "Public Defamation of a Student’s Hosiery Choices."
It was Friday night. The Wheeler house was quiet, the kind of hollow silence that usually drove him insane, but honestly, Mike was too exhausted to care.
He hadn't spoken to Y/N since Wednesday. And he felt okay about it.
After the gym incident, the laughter, the applause, and the subsequent hauling away by Principal Higgins, he had made a choice. He hadn't chased her down. He had made a grand gesture, he had humiliated her new boyfriend in front of six hundred people, and he had proven that he wasn't afraid to look stupid for her.
But he also knew she needed space. He had crowded her, then he had ignored her, then he had embarrassed her. If she wanted him, she knew where to find him. He was done being a coward, but he was also done forcing things. He was going to wait, even if it felt like his chest was being compressed by a vice.
So, he was cooking.
"Cooking" was a generous term. He was standing in the kitchen, wearing gray sweatpants and an old, thin The Clash t-shirt, stirring a pot of Kraft Mac & Cheese with a wooden spoon. The radio was playing softly in the background, filling the empty air.
He stared at the neon orange pasta. It looked radioactive.
She’s probably out with Jason, his brain supplied unhelpfully. Jason probably eats organic pasta. Jason probably makes his own sauce from tomatoes he grew in a garden fertilized with his own perfect charisma.
Mike sighed, scraping the bottom of the pot. "Shut up," he muttered to the empty kitchen.
He was just reaching for the milk when three sharp knocks rattled the front door.
Mike froze.
He checked the time. 8:15 PM. It was probably Henderson, coming to mock his culinary skills (ironic), or Lucas coming to update him on the gossip mill.
"It’s open!" Mike shouted, not looking up from the stove. "If you're here to make fun of my suspension, take a number, Henderson!"
The door didn't open.
There was a pause, and then three more knocks. Louder. More insistent. Urgent.
Mike groaned, turning off the burner. "Alright, alright! Keep your trucker hat on."
He wiped his hands on his sweatpants and trudged down the hallway. He unlocked the deadbolt, prepared to give Dustin hell for making him walk fifteen feet.
He swung the door open. "I swear to God, if you—"
The words died in his throat.
Standing on his porch, illuminated by the yellow bug light and breathing hard, was Y/N.
Mike blinked, his brain buffering. "Y/N? I thought—"
She didn't let him finish. She didn't say a word.
She stepped forward, grabbed the front of his t-shirt in both fists, and yanked him across the threshold.
She slammed her mouth against his, kissing him with a wild, frantic energy that nearly knocked him backward into the hallway wall. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't the slow, sensuous heat of the car. This was a collision. It was desperate, unpolished, and starving.
Mike gasped, the sound swallowed by her mouth, and his hands flew up instinctively to catch her. He gripped her waist, his fingers digging into the soft cotton of her tank top to steady them both as she pressed him back.
She kissed him like she was trying to memorize the taste of him, her lips moving feverishly against his, open and wet and demanding. There was a clash of teeth, a tangle of tongues, a raw release of three damn days' worth of misery. She tasted like her usual cherry chapstick and rain.
She pulled back just an inch, barely enough to breathe, her forehead resting against his, her eyes wide, dark, and shining.
"Hi," she whispered between kisses, biting his lower lip, a frantic little sound escaping her throat.
"Hi," Mike managed to choke out, his heart hammering a hole in his chest, his brain short-circuiting in the best possible way.
She smiled against his lips, a real, dazzling, messy smile that he could feel more than see, and then, without breaking the kiss or letting him go, she lifted her leg and kicked the front door shut behind her.
saw a vid that says mikes the type to directly after say ‘‘steve was right it feels better when it’s not your own hand’’ and tells lucas EVERYTHING about your relationship. i just wanna see a fic that has one or both of these 🫣 theyre user was angelfawnuh on tt
And your friend Steve...
| aged up!mike wheeler x reader
| content- MDNI, blowjobs, sub!mike (?), S5 mike, crack towards the end, lucas ft.
| wc- 1.3k
| a/n - omg heyy peopleee wow. it's been awhile but tbf i haven't had motivation but im trying to push myself now so bear with me. MY FIRST REQUEST AHHH IM SO EXCITED THANK YOU ANON FOR SENDING also first time writing smut and I've never felt so awkward in my life 😭 to my girlies who write smut all the time i applaud you cause writing about cock and balls took about 10 years off my lifespan so don't expect this to be a common occurrence. not proofread and whipped up in like 20 mins so enjoy if you can
Mike sits like a rigid at the foot of your bed as if he’s been turned to stone and you were the gorgon that did it to him. You lean against the wall across from him, posture loose and lips tilted in a lazy smirk, staring at him through your lashes like a predator spotting prey.
“I’m not gonna bite you know,” You say, pushing off the wall and making your way towards him.
Mike’s head shoots up, eyes wide with terror and slight arousal. As terrified as he is that you’re going to eat him whole he can’t lie and say he doesn’t find the way you’re sauntering towards him like the cat that got the cream wasn’t the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life.
“I-I know I’m just– I’ve never really done this before,” He says, chuckling nervously as you finally reach him and use the tip of your finger to trail from the peak of his cheekbone down, down, down to the fat of his lip, “I-uh- I don’t really know what to do.”
“Oh you don’t have to do anything baby. I’ve got you,” You say, trailing your lips from the corner of his own to the crook of his neck. You can almost feel him gulp at the contact and allow yourself another smirk before marking his neck in lovebites to remember you by.
“H-holy shit,” Mike gasps, feeling himself get harder by the second if that was even possible.
You rise from the warmth of his neck coming to eye level with him again. A pout positioned on painted lips cooing at him like he was the most pathetic stray you’ve ever seen, “I know, it feels good doesn’t it,” Mike nods vigorously, “I know it does. I can make you feel even better Mikey trust me,”
“I do!” He nearly shouts, flushing as you raise a brow and start to lift his shirt while he’s distracted, “I mean, i do– of course I do,”
You giggle as you trail brick red kisses down his chest, not even granting him the mercy of a response.
You can’t fool yourself by saying you weren’t absolutely vibrating at the thought of getting your hands on this boy; your excitement was quickly proven by the way you practically tore his jeans and boxers from his body and grasped his cock with fervor.
Mike hisses through his teeth before a groan is ripped from his chest and he has to put his arms behind him to keep him upright as his whole body turns to mush in your hands, “Shit, shit, shit, shit, fuuuuck,”
Gods, was this boy a balm for the ego or what?
You stare transfixed at his dick, long but skinny, fitting for the type. You grasp him at the base and peek your tongue out to kitten lick his tip, looking up just to see his eyes clenched shut and his head thrown back in pleasure.
“Mike,” You say sternly, a slight frown on your face as he once again snaps to attention, looking you straight in the eyes for the first time in an hour and what a sight he is.
Glossy brown eyes and flushed pale skin framed by limp curly hair already falling flat from sweat, “Y-yeah? Sorry– um– yes?” he manages, trembling so hard you almost feel bad. Almost.
“Eyes on me, handsome. Yeah? Keep your eyes on me and I’ll keep my mouth on you, deal?” You say, slowly stroking him as you maintain eye contact. This is the most fun you’ve had in months.
“Deal,” He manages to keep his voice steady this time but it doesn’t last long as you get your mouth back on him, “D-deal I’m sorry. i’m so sorry, fuck,”
In lieu of a response you fulfill your promise and finally suck him in, determined to take all of him.
You’re starting to feel ever so grateful that your parents decided to go see the tree lighting in the town square instead of family night tonight because the way Mike just moaned you would’ve thought they were making movies this town has only seen when they decided to venture into the triple X section of family video; that is to say movies they have never seen.
It was truly a filthy sight. Mike Wheeler, butt ass naked, on your frilly pink and green bedspread moaning and panting like a low rate pornstar; all red and pathetic. And you on your knees, in a deep red bra with a pretty little green bow in the middle with matching panties you picked out just because he was coming over, drooling all over this certified dweeb’s dick like it was the best thing you’ve ever let touch you’re tongue. Saliva and precum dripping from your chin into the valley of your breasts in a sight that was so astonishingly erotic Mike was inclined to believe Lucas accidentally hit him in the head with his stupid basketball again and this was all one big beautiful hallucination.
You slowly inch your hand up his thigh, letting the tips of your fingers tease the edge of his balls and Mike literally jumps a foot off the bed in shock, “What are you doing?!” He squeals, his voice cracking in the middle so adorably you won’t even scold him for ruining your flow.
“You said you trust me, did you not?” Your eyebrow arches and Mike looks oh so apologetic.
“Well, yeah but–” He starts before you shush him again and fully grab his sack this time, effectively shutting him up.
“Then trust me,” You say, as you lean down to take him in your mouth again and you know it won’t be long now. You can feel him twitching and tightening before your tongue even hits his shaft again.
“Jesus christ! Oh-oh my god,” He shudders, eyes shutting again uncontrollably, “I’m gonna– fuck, fuck, fuck I’m gonna cum–”
You speed up your movements twirling your tongue each time you reach the tip before taking him all the way to the base; gagging a bit as you swallow around his length.
He groans loudly one last time before thick ropes of cum slide their way down your throat in warm waves. He puts his hand on your head, not pushing but holding you there, playing with the strands slightly as he comes down from his high.
You lift yourself off him, proud and awed, as you wait for him to regain the ability to speak. You aren’t expecting what he says when he finally does though,
“Steve was right, it feels way better when it’s not your own hand,” He huffs out a laugh.
Your brows furrow in confusion. Steve. Steve, Steve, Stev- “STEVE FUCKING HARRINGTON?? You talked to Steve FUCKING Harrington about–about blowjobs?!?!”
“No, No they’re right because what the hell are you talking about?! You’ve talked with Steve about this?? You’re sisters ex boyfriend Steve?! Babysitter Steve??” Mike comes back to himself, ripped from the memory of the best and only blowjob he’s ever gotten as Lucas’ incredulous voice comes crashing over him.
“It’s wasn’t like I went to him intentionally! It just sort of like happened– I don’t know! That’s not the point! The point is it felt like absolute fucking heaven, Lucas,” He says with a dopey smile, “Pure unadulterated heaven and I think they might be an angel or-or some mystical elven being sent to our realm on accident and I was lucky enough to be their human plaything,”
Lucas stared at him with nothing but shock and confusion, “Have you lost your damn mind?!”
Mike sighs and gets up from his dusty old basement couch to grab another slice of pizza and head upstairs, “You just don’t get it. I mean how could you? I have an angel and you have Max, who might as well be an eldritch beast sent to torture us all into an early grave so I can understand the confusion,” He says nonchalantly while also running up the stairs before Lucas can fully process his words.
“No I understand just fine I’m just wondering if YOU understand the bullshit that just came out your mouth– wait. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY ABOUT MY GIRLFRIEND, YOU FUCKIN’ ASSHOLE?!”
Stooooppp ur mike x reader was so good I’m dying! It has me wondering what mikes reaction would be if he saw reader get hurt after they’ve slept together 👀 like the team doesn’t know about it but then his reaction kinda makes them “???”
medicine | aged up!mike wheeler x reader
summary: Mike has been desperate to talk to you about the events of that night. Much to his dismay, you keep putting it off. However, you can't put up much of a fight when you're unable to leave the hospital due to yet another injury that Mike seems to be the cure for.
word count: 10.8k
warnings: cursing, allusions to sex, blood, discussions of death, angst, injuries, confessions of idiots in love, no l-word i find it cringe sometimes but basically a mutual confession, fluff, canon complaint-ish, protected p in v, quickie, mirror sex, f!masturbation, risk of getting caught (small)
a/n: all characters engaging in sexual acts are 18+! hi everyone! sorry this took forever, i was going through kind of a rough patch and had absolutely no inspiration to write. however, i will always keep my promises. i followed the request pretty loosely, but i did take inspo from it. side note: i'm thinking of expanding on the fandoms i write for, so although requests are closed, i'll take some ideas on who y'all would like me to write for. hope you enjoy:)
this was not beta read, so please ignore any grammatical or structural typos
[banner credit @i04rei]
masterlist
read part one here
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"Can you two maybe, like, focus?"
The dull clacking of hodgepodge wooden weapons came to an abrupt halt as Mike and Lucas paused their pretend battle to look at you.
The spiked baseball bat strapped to your back weighed you down slightly, a constant reminder of what was forthcoming.
The bunker of the WSQK was full of life, everyone bustling around in preparation for what would hopefully be the final battle. You’d been instructed to browse the stash of weapons towards the back of the bunker and pick your poison. Truthfully, it hadn’t been much of a difficult choice. Steve had unceremoniously left the bat in your care one day, and it hadn’t left your possession since.
Mike and Lucas, however, decided that exerting all their attention to solely picking weapons was an unfruitful approach to successfully killing whatever beast awaited you all. Instead, large wooden sticks were being used in a make-shift lightsaber battle- one which Mike was arguably losing.
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, I’ll just go over there.”
They both grumbled, turning to put the sticks back against the wall. Rolling your eyes at their lack of consideration for the circumstances, you headed towards the medley of medical supplies stationed on the wall inside various bins. Given the track record of your group, you knew that injuries were inevitable. You also knew that the boys would be too caught up in the promise of a fight to think preemptively of any medical supplies.
A low thump sounded as you dropped your pack at your feet, your bat clunking heavily beside it. The Squawk’s collection of medical supplies wasn’t bountiful, but you took as many packets of rubbing alcohol and gauze as your hands could hold, dropping them on the table in front of you to store momentarily.
As you dug through the bins, each repetitive find of gauze and alcohol squares had your hopes of ameture nursing crumbling down to nothing. Containing nothing more than an aspirin and some dust bunnies, it seemed the bins at face-level had proven fruitless. Hoping for a miracle, you focused your attention to the two bins atop the rack that you had yet to scrounge.
They were up high, maybe too high for you to reach, but you weren’t going to give up so easily. You stood on your tip-toes with a huff, your arm slightly grazing the bottom of the bins. Infuriatingly, your fingertips couldn’t seem to graze the bin with enough momentum to make it fall. You tried the same with your left arm, frustrated that you suddenly hadn’t grown three inches in the process.
Just as you were about to settle for the prize of old alcohol squares and flimsy, sheer gauze, something, or rather someone, warm pressed against your back, shocking you back down onto your heels, hands bracing against the table.
“Need help?”
Mike. Right.
Your brain skipped slightly, caught off-guard by his brazen display. You nodded at first, unable to pull words from your mouth. Instinctively, you looked around to check if anyone had witnessed him press against you so casually. Realizing you were safe, you allowed yourself to settle against him slightly. After a couple seconds of awkward nodding, you were able to speak. “Y-yeah, please, thanks.”
With ease, Mike reached up to grab the bins, gently placing them next to your pile of findings. You couldn’t help but stare at the way his fingers flexed around the rim, slightly ticked at how easy it all always seemed to be for him. Fuck you, Wheeler genetics. Nevertheless, your mood was slightly improved at the sight of the lime green first aid kit sticking out from the top of the bin. Bingo.
You peered your head back to look at him, a soft smile on your face, “thanks.”
“Yeah, no problem,” squeezing your hip slightly as he removed himself from behind you, he moved instead to lean against the table to your right.
“How do you feel?” he asked, watching you sort through the items in the first aid kit.
“Oh you know,” you sing-songed absentmindedly, flicking through the various packets, “the same as everyone does before facing impending doom.”
He huffed out a laugh, an uneasy smile planted on his face. “We got this, you know. We’ve been working towards this for years. We have a plan, a good plan. We’re the closest we’ve ever gotten, and this is it. I have faith in us. I think you should, too,” he offered earnestly.
You bit your lip as he spoke, thumbing a packet of Tylenol lighty while lost in thought. Mike was always so blindly optimistic- always quick to be the hero, triggerhappy, even. His consistent ability to disregard the potential consequences or failure of any given event made it hard for you to trust wholly in what he was saying.
You would love to have faith in your friends, in him, but Mike would never admit he’d bitten off more than he could chew, and you couldn’t help but wonder the size of the current mouthful. You were scared, a feeling you’ve found yourself having with increased frequency as of late, and you’d never been much of a fighter. For fear of being useless, and knowing that you wouldn’t be much use physically if your friends were to be caught in danger, you hoped you could provide some medical aid, hence your raid for supplies. You hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but anything could happen.
“I know, but don’t you think we’re going into this a bit blind? The crawls pretty much never amounted to anything of substance, and I know we have more information now, but we don’t-,” you bit your lip in slight worry, meeting his gaze.
“What if it’s a trap? I can’t- what if something happens? To you, to all of us? I can’t…,” you trailed off.
Lose you, you’d meant to say.
He looked at you with sympathy, swallowing roughly as he pondered your questions. “I know,” he said after some seconds, “I’ve thought the same, if I’m being honest.”
Your eyebrows raised slightly as his admission. It was rare of Mike to admit his unease, choosing instead to always be steadfast in his beliefs. His honesty did little to quell your worry, as hesitation in someone as confident as Mike was a useless form of reassurance.
“Y’know, I’m not really sure what we’re walking into up there. It could be anything. But what I am sure of,” he squeezed your arms lightly for emphasis, “is that I trust us to get rid of it. We’ve seen a lot of people die. We owe it to someone, to ourselves, to make sure no one gets hurt anymore.”
“But what if we get hurt? While trying to save everyone else?” You couldn’t help but be selfish. At the end of the day, you were a kid- barely twenty-something. There had to be others more qualified to kill an interdimensional being than a rag-tag group of young adults and the occasional parental figure. People who had hopefully lived more than a quarter of their lives.
“Tragic irony, I guess. Hey, maybe they’ll write a Greek tragedy about us, like uhhh…what was that one we learned about in Mr. Hauser’s class? Oh- Agamemnon.” He said, a classic grin plastered to his face.
You were not amused. You slapped his arm with a scowl, “How can you joke at a time like this Michael?”
“Hey, just tryin’ to lighten the mood. You rather I talk about us?” He crossed his arms again, oozing a quiet, daunting confidence that you immediately wanted to run away from.
You froze, ice replacing your blood and filling your veins. “W-what about us?” you choked out.
You and Mike had yet to speak of that night. Tomorrow turned into the day after, which turned into the day after that, which turned into all the days blurring together due to lack of sleep and constant action.
You don’t know how much time had passed since you’d both shared that night in the quiet of your parents home, but you’d been flustered ever since. Throughout the last few days, memories of a messy mop of black hair nestled into your shoulder, his body pressed tight against yours while you slept, would pop into your head at the most inopportune times, swiping your focus and leaving an uncomfortably cold spot in your panties.
You thought of his lips on yours as the group sat in Squawk, formulating a plan.
You thought of the way his fingers felt inside as he spoke out orders at the MAC-Z.
Most thoughts didn’t have a trigger, showing themselves as subconscious reminders of your need.
The thoughts were inescapable. You’d forced yourself to avoid him as much as possible for fear of becoming weak in the knees and collapsing on the ground. Sure, he tried to bring it up multiple times in hopes of severing through the present tension, but you’d brushed him off every time.
The ‘what are we?’ conversation would require much more energy and focus than you currently had to spare.
“C’mon,” he breathed out your name. “We haven’t spoken about…it, yet, and whenever I try to, you push me away.”
A small jolt of frustration rushed through you. “Well, Mike, it seems like we’ve had bigger fish to fry these last couple days.” You raised your arms in front of you, gesturing obviously to the surrounding preparations. “Saving the world kind’a trumps the post-sex talk.”
He was taken aback by your snark, looking around with his eyes to see if anyone had picked up on your exclamation. Once he saw that you were in the clear, his head dropped slightly with a nod, “No, yeah, totally. You’re right…I just expected, I don’t know-.” Something quickly flashed through his face, some sort of internal dialogue he was having with himself. Whatever he felt, it made him ask, “you don’t regret it, do you?”
The look on his face softened your features, a low feeling of guilt humming in you as you registered your previous tone. “No, Mike, never. It’s just been hard to think about the future when we have so much going on.”
He nodded in understanding, relieved that you felt no remorse about what you’d both done.
“Seriously, though. I don’t regret a thing about that night. I, um, can’t stop thinking about it, honestly.” You mumbled, gaze focused on the much more interesting motion of zipping and unzipping the first aid kit.
If you had been able to look Mike in the eyes, you would’ve noticed the smirk that began to attach itself to his mouth. Self-righteous bastard.
He let your comment settle in the air for a bit, responding with a low “good to know.” And then he was gone, summoned to the other side of the basement by a call of his name.
By the time you realized that you’d been lost in sinful, nasty thoughts, you’d accidentally pulled the zipper off the first aid kit.
“Shit.”
The sky was red all around you, filling your vision with crimson clouds and tousling your hair with strong winds. The group was too far up the radio tower to go back down if someone got cold feet, and you were lodged on the ladder between Nancy and Mike, so you couldn't have turned back if you wanted to.
As you were stuck on the trek, you willed yourself not to look down. The height was daunting, and you hadn't even reached the first platform yet.
Your heart thumped tightly in your chest- from the altitude or the physical exertion, you were unsure. What you did know, however, was that you longed for this to all be over.
The metal rungs were slick with something dark and organic, threaded through with vines that had no business being on a radio tower, and the whole structure groaned under the collective weight of all of you like it was one meager gust of wind away from toppling.
You kept your eyes up.
The Abyss hung above you like a second sky- impossibly massive and impossibly close, its surface churning slow and red and alive. Every time you made the mistake of looking directly at it, your brain tried to reject what it was seeing.
A planet. There was a planet above you. The sheer wrongness of it pressed down like a physical thing, and you were climbing toward it on purpose, which meant you were either very brave or very stupid, and you weren't confident enough in the former to rule out the latter.
The ladder shook. A vine snapped somewhere below you. You tightened your grip until your knuckles ached.
"Hey."
Mike's voice, low, pitched just above the wind. He was two rungs below you, close enough that when you faltered mid-step- your boot slipping on a patch of something slick and dark- his hand came up and pressed flat to the small of your back, steadying you before you'd even registered losing your footing.
"I've got you," he said.
You exhaled through your nose. "I know."
You didn't say thank you. He didn't need it. His hand stayed there for a few extra seconds anyway, warm through the layers of jacket and flannel, and you were annoyed at how much better it made you feel. The Abyss was thirty feet closer than it had been five minutes ago. The world was potentially ending. And Mike Wheeler's hand on your back was, inexplicably, the most grounded you'd felt all day.
He withdrew it eventually. You kept climbing.
"So," he said, after a beat, "I wanted to finish what I was saying. Back at the Squawk."
"Mike."
"I know. Bad timing."
"Genuinely the worst timing in human history."
"Which is why I'm not asking for a whole conversation." His voice was carefully even. "I just want to say one thing, and then you can tell me to shut up and I will, I swear."
Above you, Nancy had reached the first platform and was pulling herself up over the edge. Steve was close behind her, and you could hear Dustin below, muttering something breathless and complaint-adjacent that carried on the red-tinged wind. The tower swayed, a slow, sickening pendulum arc. You pressed your cheek briefly to the rung in front of you and breathed.
"One thing," you said.
"One thing," Mike confirmed.
Another rung. Another rung. The metal bit cold into your palms even through your gloves, and the vines brushed against your arms.
"Then say it," you told him. "Before I lose my nerve and fall off this thing."
"Don't, " A sharp exhale from below. "Don't even joke about that."
"Sorry." You meant it. "Say it."
A pause. Long enough that you thought he'd changed his mind.
"I don't want to do this without you knowing,” he finally spoke. His voice was quiet enough that you had to focus to catch it over the creak and groan of the tower. "However this goes today. I don't want to go up there without you knowing how I feel. Because I think- I'm pretty sure you already know, actually, I think you've known for a while, but I haven't said it, and if something happens to either of us and I never said it out loud, I'm going to be pissed at myself for the rest of however long I've got."
Your chest did something complicated. You focused on the next rung. Then the one after that.
"Michael," you said, and your voice came out steadier than you deserved credit for.
"You don't have to say anything." Quickly, preemptively. "I'm not asking you to. I know you're scared, and I know the timing is garbage, and I know this isn't exactly-" he broke off. Tried again. "I just needed you to know. That's it. That's the one thing."
You made the mistake of looking down at him. Your stomach turned at the height. As you thought the overwhelming sensation of dizziness might take you down, you caught Mike’s eyes.
That was always the problem with Mike- the looking. He was watching you with that expression he sometimes forgot to hide, the one that made him look younger and older all at once, like he was seventeen and also forty and deeply, privately terrified. His hair was a disaster. There was a smear of something dark on his jaw. He was two rungs below you, backlit by a sky the color of an open wound, and the absolutely troubling thing, the thing you hadn't quite let yourself sit with until this exact moment three hundred feet up a haunted radio tower in an alternate dimension, was that you were completely enamored by him..
You'd been for a while. You'd just been hoping if you didn't look directly at it, it might go away.
It hadn't.
"I know," you said. "I know you do. And I-, " you pressed your lips together, steadied your grip. "Me too. Okay? Me too. That's all I'm saying right now."
The look that crossed his face nearly undid you. Relieved. Like he'd been holding his breath for weeks and you'd finally told him he was allowed to stop.
"Okay," he said softly.
"Okay," you echoed.
You kept climbing. He kept pace below you, and for a while neither of you spoke, but it was a different kind of silence than before- less like something unfinished, more like something settling into its right shape. You were still terrified. Your arms were burning. The Abyss was close enough now that you could hear it, a low harmonic vibration that sat in your back teeth and wouldn't leave.
But Mike was below you, and you knew, and he knew, and that was going to have to be enough.
You reached the first platform and Nancy's hand appeared, gripping your forearm, helping you haul yourself up over the edge. The metal grating dug into your knees as you scrambled up. You shuffled sideways to make room, turned back, watched Mike pull himself up after you. He stood, brushed his hands on his jeans, looked at you.
Something small and private passed between you. Not a smile, exactly, but an acknowledgment. A collective understanding that things would be alright between you if you both miraculously managed to survive.
Then Steve said, from above, "second platform, let's go, daylight's burning," which was a deranged thing to say given there was no daylight, only the horrible churning red, but it got everyone moving, and you grabbed the next ladder and kept going.
The second platform was narrower. The wind was worse up here, a constant low moan that pressed against you from all sides, and the tower had begun to sway more intently.
It was responding, you realized, to the fact that the Abyss was close enough now to exert its own gravitational pull.
Dustin reached the platform and immediately gripped the railing with both hands, looking straight ahead at the middle distance with the expression of someone actively refusing to acknowledge how high up they were.
"If I die," he announced to no one in particular, "tell my mom I loved her and that she was right about the helmet."
"You're not dying," Steve said.
"You don't know that."
"Nobody's dying."
The Abyss shifted. It wasn't a sound, more like a change in pressure, a deep subsonic lurch that you felt in your sternum before you registered it anywhere else. The platform shuddered beneath your feet. You caught the railing. Lucas, who had been looking up, went very still.
"It's moving," he said. "It's actually moving."
"That's the plan," Jonathan said, but he didn't sound like he thought the plan was particularly fun.
"I know it's the plan, I'm just saying it's actually moving," Lucas said, "and there's a difference between hearing about the plan and being directly underneath the plan-"
The tower lurched, a violent, decisive jolt, like something had connected with the structure from outside. Metal screamed above you. You grabbed the railing with both hands as the platform tilted and righted itself and tilted again. Somewhere below, vines snapped loose in rapid succession. There was a sound like the sky tearing, high and wrong, and then a crack of metal so loud it rang in your ears and left a clean silver pain behind your right eye.
"The top!" Nancy shouted. "The top is going-"
The tower's apex caught the webbed floor of the Abyss, the tower piercing through, just like Steve had said it would, just like the plan demanded, and the collision sent a shockwave down through the entire structure, metal twisting and screaming and fragmenting, and above you something broke apart in a shower of steel and sparks and-
You didn't feel it at first.
That was the thing no one told you about adrenaline: you didn't feel the impact at first. There was a sound, sharp, bright, close, and then a sensation of impact above your right temple, there and gone in an instant, and for a moment everything was simply loud and red and tilting.
Then the platform came up to meet your knees.
Then your hands weren't holding the railing anymore.
Then there was nothing.
You don’t fall far.
That is the first thing Mike Wheeler registers, and he will hold onto it for the rest of his life as the only good thing about the next forty-five seconds. You don't fall far. The shrapnel clips you at the temple and your grip goes slack and you drop, but you drop inward, onto the platform, not outward into the void, and that is the only mercy available and he takes it with both hands.
He's at your side before he's decided to move.
"Hey-" His voice comes out wrong. Too high. He hates it. He gets both hands on your shoulders, your face, and takes in the dark slick already matting your hair above your ear, noting the way your eyes are closed and your body has gone entirely, terrifyingly still.
"Hey." He tries again. More even this time, less even in his chest. "Come on. Look at me."
You don’t.
Above them, Steve is shouting something. The tower is still screaming, still twisting, the metal still venting in percussive bursts. Lucas is saying is she okay, is she okay, and Nancy has already dropped to her other side and is pressing fingers to your neck, checking your pulse with practiced, deliberate calm, and Mike watches Nancy's face the way one would watch a verdict being read.
Nancy's shoulders drop half an inch. Relief, in the only size it comes right now. "Pulse is strong," she says. "She's breathing. It's a head wound- they bleed a lot, but don't panic at the blood."
"I'm not panicking," Mike says.
He is, absolutely, panicking.
He gets one hand flat on your sternum- steady. He needs to feel that you're steady, that your chest is rising and falling, and keeps his hand there as a point of contact, like the warmth of his palm might reach you wherever you’ve gone. He is vaguely aware that the tower has stopped convulsing. He is vaguely aware that Dustin is now talking at high speed about the structural integrity of the platform and what it means that the apex made contact. He is vaguely aware of all of it, but registers nothing but the puddle of blood slowly dripping down your face and getting lost in your scalp.
Then, above them all, a sound- the brief, wrenching sound of someone losing their grip.
And Steve's voice, cut off.
Mike's head snaps up. For one suspended, terrible second, he sees Steve's hands scrabbling at the edge of the upper railing, his body half-over, the abyss beneath him offering nothing. Lucas makes a sound that isn't language. Dustin shouts Steve's name.
And then Jonathan's hand closes around Steve's wrist, hauls back, and Steve is up, gasping, Jonathan dragging him bodily against the railing, both of them hitting the platform floor and staying there, breathing hard.
"Shit," Dustin says, with profound feeling.
Mike looks back down at you. He hadn't looked away for long, ten seconds, maybe, maybe less, but his heart is doing something he doesn't have a word for, caught between the two of them, between the boy he just watched almost fall and the girl whose temple is still bleeding slowly onto the grating and who hasn't opened her eyes.
"What do we do," Mike says. It isn't quite a question. Unfortunately, he couldn’t remember to grab the first aid kit that you’d packed just for this reason. He just froze, uselessly looking for someone to save you.
Nancy was already pulling gauze from somewhere and pressing it gently to the wound. "We keep moving," Nancy says. "She's stable. Someone should stay with her until she wakes up, but we need to keep moving. We can't do anything for her here that we can't do while we're climbing."
"She's unconscious, Nancy."
"I know," Nancy meets his eyes. Her expression is steady, determined, but she holds understanding in her gaze. "I know. But no one here is strong enough to carry her down. Even if someone was, we have no way of safely attaching her to them. The best plan is to keep moving and wait until she wakes up. Then we’ll see if she’s strong enough to climb back down on her own.”
He looks at her, really looks at her, for a long moment.
“What if she can’t? She’ll be stuck up here.” He ran a hand through his hair, pulling roughly at the strands to stimulate any development of a plan.
Nancy reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “We’ll get her down, I promise.”
He was grateful for his sister at that moment. Years had passed since they had last felt close, and he was still getting used to emotional vulnerability around her, unsure if she would use it against him as older sisters sometimes do.
The soft touch of her hand on his shoulder helped ground him.
Then he looked back down at you. The stillness of you. The way your hair had come loose from where it was tucked. The blood at your temple that Nancy is pressing gauze to with careful, methodical hands. You would hate this, he thinks with sudden, clear-eyed certainty. You would hate being still while everyone moved around you.
"Okay," he says, to Nancy. To the group. To himself.
He stands. He adjusts the strap of his bag. He looks up at where the Abyss is pressing through in slow, cataclysmic increments, and he breathes once, deep and deliberate, and shoves every other thing into a box in the center of his chest that he is absolutely going to deal with later.
"You go," he says. "I’ll stay with her."
Everyone stood still for a while, watching Mike as he addressed the group.. "Go," he says. "We're good. Go."
They wait for El to play her part, and as he watches them all climb into the Abyss, he does not let himself worry. It is, without question, the hardest thing he's done today- and today has included climbing into another planet on purpose- but he doesn't worry, because if he does, he's not going to be able to do what needs to be done next, and you deserve for him to keep you safe, and to develop a plan to get you out.
You’d said me too.
Barely a confession, barely a crack in the door, but you’d said it, three hundred feet up a haunted tower, into the end of the world, and he is going to make sure you have somewhere to come back to when you open your eyes.
The first thing you were aware of was the ceiling.
It was drop-tile and off-white and completely, blessedly boring, and you stared at it for a long moment while your brain sorted through its filing system and tried to locate the relevant context. Drop-tile ceiling. Fluorescent lights, the humming kind. A smell like antiseptic and old coffee and something faintly diesel underneath both. The mattress beneath you was too firm, the blanket too scratchy, the whole room carrying that particular energy of a space that was built for function and had never once considered comfort.
You turned your head, slowly, because your skull introduced itself to you in that moment with a sharp, insistent throb that started above your right ear and radiated outward in all directions like a dropped stone in still water. You had white gauze wrapped snug around your head, the edge of it visible at the top of your peripheral vision. You raised your hand to touch it and stopped yourself, mostly because the effort of raising your hand was already more than you'd anticipated and you had a feeling that prodding a head wound was the kind of thing that would immediately make a nurse appear from nowhere to scold you.
You looked to your left instead.
Mike was asleep in the chair beside your bed.
He was all elbows and too-long legs and one knee kicked out sideways to make room for himself that the chair hadn't offered. His chin was dropped to his chest. His hair was flattened on one side and wild on the other. He was still wearing the same clothes from the tower- flannel shirt, dark jacket, the jeans with the tear at the left knee from where he'd caught it on the ladder- and there was a smear of something along his jaw that he hadn't washed off, or hadn't gotten the chance to, or hadn't thought to.
He looked terrible.
He looked terrible and young and completely exhausted, and your chest did that thing again- the complicated thing, the thing you'd been trying not to do for days now- and you looked at him for a long moment before you made any attempt at sound.
"Hey," you tried.
It came out rough, scraped-raw, like your voice had taken the shrapnel too and was only now pulling itself back together. But it was enough.
Mike's head came up.
He hadn't been deeply asleep, just hovering at the surface, waiting. His eyes found yours immediately and something moved through his face too fast to name, quick as weather, and then he was straightening in the chair and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and visibly, deliberately composing himself.
"Hey," he said back. His voice was rough too. "Hi."
"Hi."
A beat.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Like something hit me in the head."
"Something did hit you in the head."
"Then accurate." You shifted against the pillow, which rewarded you with another wave of throbbing. You made a face. "How long was I out?"
"Eleven hours, give or take." He said it like it was a fact he'd been keeping close, checking on regularly. "You woke up briefly in the transport. You don't remember that?"
You didn't. You said so.
He nodded, once, like that confirmed something he'd already suspected. "You told Lucas to stop hovering and then went back under."
You breathed out a small laugh that sounded more like a wheeze than anything else. "That sounds like me."
"It really does."
You looked at him more carefully. The exhaustion went deeper than the surface- it was not from one bad night's sleep but from weeks of accumulated not-enough, and underneath it something else, something tighter, that he was currently doing a very controlled job of not showing. You'd seen that look before.
"I'm okay," you said.
"I know." He looked at his hands. "The doctor said the shrapnel didn't- it was the impact, not a penetrating injury. No fracture. Mild concussion, significant laceration." He gestured vaguely at his own temple in demonstration. "They said you'd wake up with a headache."
"That's one word for it."
"They also said you'd probably be irritated about being in bed."
You paused, nodding slightly at Mike’s attempt to tell a joke. "How is everyone else?"
Mike exhaled, leaning back. It was a deliberate shift- he was changing gears, getting onto steadier ground. "Steve's fine. Jonathan's got some burns on his forearm from the electrical discharge, they're treating it. Nancy had a dislocated shoulder that she apparently didn't mention to anyone for three hours. Robin is fine."
You felt the smile pulling at your mouth despite everything. "Dustin? Lucas?"
"Dustin's fine. Lucas's fine." He paused. "Will's- he's okay. He's with Joyce. It was a lot, for him. But he's here, he's talking."
"And Eleven?"
The shift was immediate. His whole face changed, and for a second he looked so young and so wrecked that you wished you could take the question back.
He looked down at his hands. A long moment passed.
"I-I don't know," he said. His voice was flat, carefully emptied of everything it was trying not to carry. "She- there was an explosion. When the Upside Down collapsed. She was inside, and then the blast went off and-" he stopped. Pressed his lips together. Started again. "She's not- nobody has found her. They don't know if she-"
He stopped again. Didn't finish.
“I think I saw her,” he whispered, small and frail. You wanted for nothing more than to reach out and touch him.
You didn't say anything. There wasn't anything to say that would have been the right thing, and you knew better than to reach for the wrong thing. You just looked at him- the set of his jaw, the rigid stillness of his shoulders, the way he was staring at his hands like he was picturing himself somewhere else, somewhere far away from there.
"Mike," you said quietly.
"I'm fine." He said it immediately, reflexively, in the tone of someone who had been saying it to people all day and had worn the words down to nothing. "I'm- yeah. We don't know yet. That's all. We just don't know."
You reached over and put your hand over his. He didn't move for a second. Then he turned his hand over the same way he'd turned yours, and held it, and you felt the grip of it. Grounding himself on something real.
You sat with that for a moment, and then spoke, remembering the purpose of the mission.
"Operation Beanstalk," you said, eventually. Gentle.
He exhaled. "Operation Beanstalk," he confirmed.
"So? How’d it go?"
"He’s gone." Something firmer came into his voice.
Something hitched in your throat, a wave of emotions flooding through you all at once. Tears lined your eyes inexplicably, a warmness washing over you.
“He’s gone? Like, really gone?” You whispered, choking up.
“Yeah, really.” Mike smiled softly, gripping your hand again.
The unexplainable feeling of freedom hit you suddenly. Never again did you have to worry about Vecna, or Henry Creel, or a demogorgon, or surviving just one more day. You were crying in earnest now, tears of finalization flowing freely down your cheeks.
Simultaneously, you were mourning, struck with grief. You mourned your childhood, your adolescence. You mourned for the period of brief purity before you knew death and danger so personally. You missed the ability to be a kid, unscathed by the stressors of saving the world, and not having anyone know what you’d gone through to do it.
“H-how?” You asked, bleary eyes meeting Mike’s.
"Joyce- it was Joyce, actually. She-" for a half second, something almost like disbelief crossed his face, the good kind. "She got him. It's over. The Abyss is collapsing, the Upside Down is-" he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, "it's complicated. But it's over."
"Good." you said with finality, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your gown.
He looked at you. His eyes were tired and red-rimmed. Maybe he’d matched your current state some hours before.
"But we're here," he said, hopeful.
You looked at the ceiling for a moment. The fluorescent hum. The ordinary, indifferent off-white. You were here with a headache that was probably going to make the next forty-eight hours profoundly unpleasant, and the world had not ended, and Mike Wheeler was in the chair beside your bed still wearing yesterday's clothes.
"You've been here the whole time," you said. Not a question.
He didn't look embarrassed about it. "Yeah."
"You could've slept in an actual bed. They have, " you gestured at the room, "Rooms here. Maybe."
"I know."
"Mike."
"I know," he said again. "I wanted to be here when you woke up."
You looked at him. He looked back at you, steady, unhurried, with the particular quality of patience he only ever deployed when he was very certain of something and could afford to wait.
"That's- " you started to thank him.
"You don't have to say anything."
"I was going to say that's very sweet, actually, and then something self-deprecating to balance it out so I didn't have to deal with the guilt."
He blinked. Then the corner of his mouth moved. "That's a lot of self-awareness for someone with a head injury."
"I contain multitudes." You shifted again, and the movement pulled at the gauze in a way that wasn't pleasant. You got your arm under yourself and pushed up, slowly, rearranging until you were sitting up against the pillow. The room tilted once, politely, and then righted itself. "Okay," you said, mostly to yourself. "Okay, that's fine."
Mike had half-risen from the chair in the time it took you to sit up. He'd stopped himself, not reaching or hovering, but the readiness was there, open and obvious.
"I'm fine," you told him.
"I know," he said. He sat back down.
You looked at each other.
"So," you said.
"So," he said.
"We're doing this."
"I mean." He spread his hands slightly. "We said… you said-,"
"I know what I said."
"On the tower."
"I know where I said it, Mike, I was there, I was conscious at that point."
"Just establishing."
"Establishing." You tucked your hands in your lap. Your head was throbbing steadily, faithfully, and you were wearing a hospital gown you'd definitely not consented to, and your hair was partially shaved around a head wound, and none of this was how you'd pictured this going. But then, nothing about the last several weeks had been how you'd pictured it going, so perhaps this was fitting. "Okay. Establishing." You looked at him properly. "Ask me."
He was quiet for a moment. Then, carefully: "What are we doing?" He said your name, the statement oddly mirroring the one uttered by you some night long ago.
You'd been dreading that question for days. You'd run from it, deflected it, buried it under the logistics of pending apocalypse. And now, sitting in a military base infirmary with a bandaged head and a scratchy blanket and Mike Wheeler watching you with his whole face, you found, to your faint surprise, that you didn't actually want to run from it anymore.
Funny what a near-death experience did for your avoidance strategies.
"I don't know what the word is," you said honestly. "I know what that night was. I know it wasn't nothing. I know that I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since, and honestly before, really, which is- that's not normal for me, for the record. I don't usually-" you stopped, recalibrated. "I've been scared."
"Of me?"
"Of what it means." You met his eyes. "If it's real, then there's something to lose. And there's already been so much to lose. I think I convinced myself that if I didn't say it out loud, I could keep it…safe, maybe. Sort of."
He was quiet for a moment, absorbing this. "And now?"
"And now I got hit in the head by a radio tower and you sat in a chair for eleven hours, so." You lifted one shoulder. "Seems like I've been an idiot."
"You haven't been an idiot."
"Mike."
"You've been scared," he said, with a firmness that surprised you slightly. "That's not the same thing. I pushed too hard, too fast. I do that." A brief, wry pull at his mouth. "I've been told."
"By who?"
"Dustin, primarily. Also Will. Also Nancy once, but she was nicer about it."
"Wow."
"I know." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees again, close enough now that you could see the shadows under his eyes properly, the full depth of the tired. "I've been scared too," he said, quieter. "That's the thing I didn't say on the tower. The- I gave you the I don't want to go into this without you knowing speech, which was true, but the full truth is that I've been scared since- for a while." He paused. "Since before that night, honestly."
You looked at him. "How long?"
He laughed, short and low, and looked at his hands. "Do you want the actual answer to that?"
"I asked, didn't I?"
"Long time," he said. "Long enough that Will told me I was being embarrassing about it. Which was," he shook his head, "I don't love when Will's right, but he usually is."
Something warm was moving through you, slow and unavoidable. "What were you embarrassed about, exactly?"
"The degree of it," he said, simply. He looked up. "I think you know, since we've established that."
"I want to hear you say it."
"Oh, now you want to hear things said."
"Mike."
He held your gaze. "The degree to which I feel things, when it comes to you, it's a lot. It's more than what I said on the tower," he breathed out slowly, "I'm not going to say the word, because we just decided what we are five minutes ago. Don’t wanna make things, uh, weird, y’know."
"I'm touched by your restraint."
"I'm a very restrained person."
"You literally followed me around a hardware store for forty minutes last week because you wanted to ask me something and kept freaking out."
His face. It was spectacular. "What? No! That was- I was also buying things."
"You bought a lightbulb, Mike. One lightbulb."
"I needed a lightbulb," he shrugged sheepishly.
"Oh, did we."
"The lamp in the- yes, we did, actually, the lamp in the- that's not the point." He dragged a hand through his hair, which had nowhere further to go in terms of a mess but valiantly attempted new territory. "The point is, I'm here, and you're here, and I would very much like to- I want to do this properly. Whatever that looks like. I want to do it."
You held that for a moment. Let it mean what it meant.
"Properly," you said.
"If that's what you want, yeah."
"Properly, as in?" You smirked at him, knowing full well what he meant but just wanting to hear him say it.
"As in, not just that night, not just a thing that happened, but a thing that keeps happening. Again, if you want."
You looked at him for a long, quiet moment. The fluorescent light. His terrible hair and his yesterday's clothes and the careful, deliberate way he was watching you, waiting, not pushing.
"I want," you said.
The thing that happened to his face at that was not a triumphant thing. It was quieter than that. It was the same relief from the tower, the same exhale quality, the sense of something that had been held too tightly for too long being allowed to loosen by a fraction. He reached out and put his hand over yours where it sat on the blanket, carefully, without ceremony, and left it there.
You turned your hand over and held it back.
"Okay," he said.
"Okay," you said.
A beat of comfortable, settling quiet.
Then you said, "you know what I've been thinking about?"
"What?"
"That night." You watched his expression shift into something humorous, like his brain remembered it was running the body of a young adult boy. "Not- don't make that face. You’re disgusting."
"I wasn't making a face." He threw his hands up in mock defense.
"You were making the face."
"I've just been thinking about the before part." You settled back further into the pillow. "You were being an ass, as usual. We were fighting, if you remember. If just only briefly," you mused.
"I know, sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did,” he spoke remorsefully.
"No," you shook your head. “It’s not about that. I had forgiven you for that the moment you said it. That’s the problem. I knew that day I had it bad for you, and I discovered there was nothing you could ever say to me to make me hate you. I wanted to, so bad. But in the shower, all I could think of was how badly I’ve always wanted you.”
There was a long pause in the room, joined only by the soft beeping of the monitors at your bed-side.
“Don’t say that…I don’t want to treat you that way and have you let me get away with it. It’s not right.” He shook his head.
“Ho ho,” you laughed hollowly. “I gave you a good mouthful right after, Michael. I never said I’d let you walk away unscathed,” you teased. “But I’ll forgive you. Always.”
“Thank you,” he whispered, looking at you softly. You knew your promise was more than Mike sometimes deserved, but you meant it. Wholly.
Slowly, you leaned in to him. He was stuck watching you come closer, until he finally got the memo to bridge the small gap between your faces.
When your lips touched, it’s as if you’d taken a breath of fresh air. It was reinvigorating, shocking you full of the energy you’d seemed to be missing for days. You moaned softly into his lips, sensing yourself growing more in control of your body the longer he stayed kissing you. He was better than any medicine.
It seemed Mike had learned a thing or two from last time, seeing as how your lips moved in sync, timed in perfect cadence between one another. It was slow and soft, but you might as well have been on a rollercoaster by the way your stomach kept doing spins.
His tongue had just barely grazed your bottom lip before you pulled away, panting. You didn’t know if you could control yourself if you'd let him in, and a hospital didn’t seem like the best place for such illicit affairs. The surge of his kiss also called for a fresh wave of pounding in your head, an unwanted reminder of your injured state.
“Are you-,” he began, eyes scanning you for pain.
"I'm fine," you said, preemptively.
"Are you sure?"
"You don't have to watch me like that."
You shook your head, which was a mistake headache-wise, and looked at him. He was still holding your hand.
"Mike."
"Yeah?"
"Go get some actual sleep. There's a cot, there's probably a room, you look terrible."
"Wow, just what I want to hear after swapping spit with a chick."
You laughed earnestly, slapping his shoulder lightly.
"If you want to know, it’s self-serving. Makes me feel guilty for being the reason you look terrible."
"You're not the reason-"
"You've been in that chair for eleven hours."
"Some of which I slept in."
"Folded in half."
"I'm a flexible guy, what can I say?"
"Gross, Mike. Go sleep. I'll still be here when you wake up."
He looked at you. Something moved through his face, quick and unguarded and then tucked away again. You understood it- the particular irrational need to not leave, the superstition of it, as if the thing you'd nearly lost would only remain intact if you kept eyes on it. You'd felt it yourself, before, after other scares. It made no logical sense and was also absolutely real.
"I'll be here," you said again, softer. "Go."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he stood, slowly, unfolding himself from the chair with a muffled sound that was definitely not a groan and definitely was. He stretched, briefly, and ran his hand through his hair, which accomplished nothing. He looked down at you.
"If you need anything-"
"I'll find someone,” you assured
"I mean anything-"
"I'll find you." You met his eyes. "I know where you are. You're going to be twenty feet down a hallway."
His mouth did the thing. "Yeah."
"Yeah." You settled back into the pillow. The headache was still there, faithful and dull, but it had reached a manageable plateau, and the fluorescent hum had become almost familiar, and you were very tired, and Mike was twenty feet down a hallway, and you were here. "Hey, Mike."
He'd half-turned. He looked back.
“Thank you, for everything."
He stood for another second, like he was memorizing the sight of you- terrible hospital gown, bandaged head, scratchy blanket and all.
Then he turned and walked to the door and paused with his hand on the frame and said, without looking back, "I'm going to tell you, eventually. The word."
You looked at the ceiling. The ordinary, indifferent off-white.
"I know," you said. "Me too."
He left.
You closed your eyes.
You were here, and he was twenty feet down a hallway, and tomorrow or the day after or sometime soon there was going to be a party, or a dinner, or hang-out, with you and all your friends, with nothing looming over it. The rest- the word, the name for it, all the things that were obvious and unsaid and living in the space between your hands- the rest would keep.
For the first time in a long time, you were pretty sure it would keep.
August 5, 1988
“Mike,” you broke off the kiss briefly, your body flat against the wall of your empty room with Mike’s hands aggressively fisting at your shirt. “Mike we have to go, my parents will come looking if we don’t come down soon.”
Your pleas fell on deaf ears as Mike reattached his lips to yours, hungrily grabbing at all the parts of your torso he could reach. You pulled from him again, breathing heavily against his lips.
“Mike,” you pleaded, not really making any effort to push him off you completely.
“Just tell them we’re, I don’t know, packing up the last box or something.” He countered, dragging his lips down the side of your face to kiss at your neck. Your head fell back on instinct, opening yourself up to his maneuvers.
You bit your lip in delight, eyes briefly catching on the last boxes of your items you both were encharged to take downstairs to the college caravan.
You’d gotten into the honors program at Indiana State, hence the early move-in, and while Mike would be moving into his dorm just a couple weeks after you, he’d been as insatiable these last weeks as if he’d never see you again.
As if by divine timing, you heard your mother call your name from downstairs, “Let’s go! We’re set to leave soon.”
Mike lifted his head from your neck briefly, frozen and listening to whether or not she would come upstairs to check on your work on the last of the boxes. Once he heard there were no footsteps coming up the stairs, he returned his lips to your neck.
Ever the scheming deviant, he licked lightly at your throat with a whisper “Tell her to go, c’mon. Let me give you your good-bye gift.”
No matter the fact that your parents were literally waiting downstairs for you to leave, what girl could say no to that. Mike’s voice had gotten deeper throughout the year, and his words felt like silky velvet as they passed through your ears.
Immediately you jumped into action, weak to the seductive force that was Mike Wheeler.
“Coming, Mom! Just give me a couple- we’re saying goodbye!” Mike’s hands gripped you in satisfaction as he heard your mother walk out the front door, mumbling something reminiscent about ‘young love.’
“Knew it,” you felt him smile against your neck.
You frowned at how easily he could read you. “Oh, shut up and make me come, Wheeler.”
Never one to pass on the opportunity, Mike jumped right back into action. With his lips back on yours, he dragged you into your bathroom, light shining moodily from the small window in your shower. He’d had you pushed against the counter, the granite slab digging uncomfortably into the small of your back.
Even if you could register the pain, you wouldn’t care. Mike’s lips had a way of addicting you, of making you lose any and all sense that wasn’t the warmth of his tongue fighting yours.
Abruptly, he stopped the tantalizing kiss and spun you around so you were facing your mirror. You whined meekly at the loss of contact, but he satiated you by returning his lips to your neck.
“Sorry, we gotta be quick,” he justified. With that, his hands dropped down to play with the button on your shorts, making quick work of the latching device and pulling them down without even unfastening the zipper.
His lips never left your neck as he rutted against your panty-clad rear with need. His fingers immediately attached themselves to your clit, rubbing it softly through the fabric. As if you needed more stimulation- you could feel the present wet-spot in the cotton already.
It mattered not how much sex you and Mike had been having for the past year, you could always trust him to make you feel so inexplicably good, oftentimes from doing little at all. You find yourself wet after just a bit of light kissing, more often than not. It was embarrassing, really, how much you wanted him, but Mike ate it up just the same.
His teasing only lasted a few, brief minutes before you were reaching your hand back to tangle in his hair, a pretty whine leaving your throat. “Mike, please.”
He pulled back suddenly, quickly working on shucking down his own jeans. “Okay, okay, just give me a sec.”
You watched him through the mirror impatiently, observing how he pulled a condom out from his wallet and ripped it with his teeth.
“You knew you were getting lucky, you animal,” you teased, gripping the counter with a sheepish bite of your lips.
He briefly kissed the part of your shoulder exposed by your tank top. “When have you ever denied me anything?” he joked, knowing that was fully untrue.
You rolled your eyes as he finished his preparations, one hand coming to push you down against the counter. You watched him through the bathroom mirror, bracing yourself slightly for the intrusion as he lined up against you.
Your knees buckled as you saw him spit into his hand, rubbing himself for added lubrication. The lewd sounds of his spit on his cock softly filled the room, and you couldn’t even begin to explain what it was doing to you.
Your breath caught in your throat as he pushed into you, his head falling down slightly at the feeling. You were watching him in the mirror still, never taking your eyes off him. You’d done this a couple times, in your bathroom, and you secretly relished at your ability to watch you both come apart.
The sense of urgency shadowing you both prevented him from entering slowly, but you didn’t care. You reveled in the stretch that knocked the wind out of you, forcing you to grip down harder on the counter.
You were speechless as he began to move, slowly working up his speed and force to be able to drive into you how he now had learned you needed. He threw his head back, a strand of hair framing his face so nicely, you couldn’t help the low moan you let out.
“Fuck,” he choked out, hands marking their territory on your hips.
Suddenly, your lack of privacy was remembered by your brain, and you made an effort to muffle whatever incoherent sounds wished to escape you at that moment. You turned your head to bury it in the crease of your elbow, effectively insulating the noises tumbling from your sweet lips.
“Uh- mmhmm, f-uh-ck,”
Mike, in an ever-present competition with himself, didn’t like that very much.
He picked up the speed, hitting deeper and harder with every frantic thrust. His voice didn’t match his physical cadence, however, as he spoke desperately, almost begging. “No, wanna hear- shit, please, let me hear.”
As could be established by your previous lack of backbone, you caved, dropping your head on the counter, free from the crook of your elbow.
“Yes, yes- right there, soso good,” you shook, sobbing out. You could practically cry from the simulation. Mike was hitting a spot so deep you didn’t even know it existed, and you knew you wouldn’t last long regardless of the situation.
You squeezed around him involuntarily, the pleasure causing the whole bottom half of your body to tense up. “F-uck me,” he groaned, “I won't- not if you keep doing that.”
He wasn’t really making sense- but you knew what he meant because you were there too. It was inconceivable how quickly you were nearing your peak. As he chased his high against you, knocking your hips into the counter with every bold thrust, you could sense that this would end almost as quickly as it began.
“Please don’t stop,” you pleaded, looking up to meet his eyes in the mirror. “‘M almost there, please.” You nodded your head quickly- at what, you couldn’t really place. His lips were caught between his teeth and his face was flushed in a beautiful pink, eyes glassy and brain foggy from the exertion. You wanted to take a bite of him. Unfortunately, you’d have to settle for memorizing his frame as it rocked against you.
“Oh, god, yesyesyes,” you arched your back impossibly against the counter, knocking your ass back to meet his thrusts. He drank in the sight of you spread out below him, pliant and molding to his every push. He almost couldn’t believe this was real. The sight sent him spiraling, and he fell into your back, lightly nipping at the skin.
“I’m gonna- touch yourself, pleasefuck, just do it.” He begged, sounding as wrecked as you both felt. You headed his warning immediately, one hand sneaking down to rub tight circles on your swollen nub that had been begging for attention this whole time.
It took nothing- maybe three or four embarrassingly shorts swirls around your clit for your body to react, shaking slightly as your orgasm crested upon you. You released a breathy whine, your knees buckling slightly as it rolled through you, tensing and relaxing your muscles at the same time.
Pleasure rushed through you, so blinding and jarring that you barely noticed Mike’s hips stutter against you, assuredly lost in a similar form of bliss. Your hand stopped moving against your core when your thighs trapped it between them, clenching so tightly as you came that it paused all movement in your wrist.
Slowly, as your hearing returned and your breath evened out, you felt Mike still against your back, head on your shoulder, working on his own comedown.
You let your head drop on the counter with a thud. “Shit.”
Mike mumbled something incoherent against your shoulder, hands dropping their assault on your hips.
“C’mon,” you urged after a couple seconds, “we gotta go.”
Mike made a futile attempt at keeping you planted as you pushed off the counter. You winced as he pulled out, not knowing how empty you’d feel without him.
“What do I do with this?” Mike signaled to the used condom dangling from his fingers, your bin stuffed in a box somewhere in your father’s car.
You fumbled with your shorts, pulling them up your legs and fasting the buttons as quickly as you could. “Just flush it, c’mon, we gotta go.”
He shot you a look, and walked over to flush both the condom and the wrapper down the toilet. The last thing he needed was your parents to find the tossed carelessly in the bathroom when they came to your room to miss their grown-up daughter.
“A turtle somewhere is going to die because of that, y’know.” He said pointendly, buttoning up his own jeans swiftly.
You patted your hair down slightly with a snort, trying to normalise yourself as much as possible before heading downstairs. You left him in the bathroom and walked over to the remaining boxes, picking one up to carry down.
“So, like, are we going to be able to have sex at school?” He asked from the bathroom.
“Mike, what? You mean at the place with no adult supervision and our own apartments?” You called back exasperatedly at his question. “C’mon, let's go, grab a box!” you urged, nervous that your parents would come waltzing up at any minute.
He sauntered out of your bathroom, nicely put together, and shrugged as he took a box from you. “I don’t know if we’ll be busy, or something, and roommates are a pain!”
You laughed at his worry, certain that you both would find your way just fine.
synopsis: you’re trying to focus on your missing assignments but mike practically begs for your undivided attention.
finn wolfhard/mike wheeler fans can you hear me or see me or see me and hear me? where are yall
maybe inspired by malcolm todd’s, “attention”
masterlist
“please..”
mike lays his head on top of your desk, covering your chemistry homework. he has on that face when he really wants something. puppy eyes looking up at you and his bottom lip puffing out a little.
“mike. i’m like three days late on this! i don’t have time for distractions. i need to get this done,”
you drop your pen and sigh. in all honesty you were a little frustrated because your boyfriend has been disturbing for the past few minutes. of course you love him and you want to show him that you do, but you can show him affection everyday! this chemistry assignment does not have the same privilege.
you lean down to give mike a quick peck on the lips, just to keep him satisfied for.. a few seconds..? when you pull away, you find him chasing your lips.
“i promise i’ll give you as much attention as you want after i’m done with this, okay?”
“yeah.. but i think i remember you saying that you were good at multitasking a few days ago,” mike responded, lifting his head up off your paper to give you another peck in an attempt to go deeper into a full on make out. you pull away and go through your chemistry papers,
“okay!! that’s enough, i actually have to do work now.”
“i’m great at chemistry, i can help you,” mike props his head on his palm and looks at you convincingly, “under one condition.. a kiss for every time i give you an answer,” he snickers.
Hey girlll love how enthusiastic you were about receiving requests!!! I humbly ask for an Insecure!Mike Wheeler x Fem!reader (she/her) with the premise of the fic being Mike feeling like he isn't very attractive at all (being bullied all his life, being quite skinny etc) and reader basically just telling him that's a bunch of nonsense and that she finds him perfectly attractive. Idk I like when men suffer a little 🥹 bonus points if reader dresses in either a goth or punk style but that's really just an extra!!!
(les yeux sans visage) eyes without a face, (les yeux sans visage) eyes without a face
₊˚⊹♡ mike wheeler x fem. reader (season 5 centered)
synopsis: just because the world was practically ending, it didn’t mean that insecurities were forgotten—especially when it’s a teenage boy. luckily, said teenage boy, mike wheeler, has you to reassure him that he is completely enough just how he is.
cw: not proofread, under case intended, set before the actual events of season 5 but like right before if that makes sense, reader has a goth style but its very loosely hinted at, lowk short im sorry anon 😣
note from author: hihi!! thank you so much for the request! and yes, i 100% agree with you, i love it when men suffer just a little bit to 🙂↕️- i didn't know how to incorporate a goth style very much, so I think its more of a hinted thing/thing you can imagine; i hope thats okay! thank you again for the request, babes! (also like im js ignoring the entire ending of st and how mike lowk became a side character and did nottt lock in, so js pretend mike is still like a good character LMAOOO)
although a crawl happened earlier that night, you found peace in your bedroom once you snuck back in. your window was slightly open, letting in a night breeze, and your lavender incense was burning on your nightstand, filling the room with its aroma. technically, you should’ve fallen asleep an hour ago, when you got home, but the call of the book that was now in your lap was to much to resist.
as you flipped the page of the book, you were broken out of your imaginary world of pictures in your head by the sound of soft knocking on your window. you lifted your eyes from the paper and towards the window; the window, that was for the record, already open. there, you saw mike, with his dark curls and even more dark eyes staring at you like you held all the answers to the universe.
as the two of you made eye contact, mike lifted his arm up slightly, giving you a small wave. you breathed out a small laugh, smiling.
"what are you doing silly? come in," you said while smiling, book long forgotten as you made your way over to the window.
mike didn't verbally respond, but he climbed the rest of the way into your room once you gave your permission. "you could've just come with me after the crawl, y'know?" you said as you moved your window to only be slightly open again. "i wouldn't have minded," mike blew a raspberry as he plopped onto your bed, arms crossing over his chest.
at his lack of response, you looked more closely at him. your eyebrows furrowed as you saw his facial expression; he had unshed tears in his eyes, and his breathing was coming out in short, fast breaths. his cheeks were red, and you could see the remnants of tears that he most likely rubbed off before getting to your window.
"mike, baby, are you okay?" you gently prompted as you sat next to him on your bed, hands in your lap. quickly, you realized you probably shouldn't have asked that, as you watched his breath hitch and how he shrank more in on himself. he promptly lifted his hand to wipe at his eyes before sighing loudly.
you pressed your lips into a thin line, eyes scrunching as you watched him. huffing out a small sigh, you shifted your weight so you were more comfortable sitting on the bed and moved your hand so it rested on top of his own. "hey," you whispered to mike.
he sniffed, but shifted his eyes to yours after you had a reassuring squeeze to his hand. "it's okay that you're crying, but i wanna make sure that you're okay," you said in a low voice. "can you tell me what happened, baby?" you prompted, still in the gentle tone you've been using. at your question, mike shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. you sighed again, but not in annoyance —never in annoyance, but in a worrying and caring sense. it wasn't like mike to come straight to someone when he was in such a vulnerable position; he preferred to stay locked in his room and face people once the visible feelings were over.
you moved again, this time so you could lean back against your pillows that were leaning against the headboard. "c'mere," you muttered, nudging mike's thigh with your foot, inviting him into your embrace. mike, as it seemed, didn't need to be told a second time before he was moving himself, so he was slotted against you. his head found its place in your neck, and his arms wrapped around your waist; your arms wrapped around his own waist, and you moved your head so your nose was pressing against his hairline.
what seemed like only a couple of minutes was actually around thirty minutes. mike pressed into your neck, starting to let his tears fall freely now, with the occasional hiccup emitting from him. you would press occasional light kisses to his hair, and one of your hands was drawing small circles into his back.
the same hand that was rubbing circles came to a halt as you shifted your weight, so mike's face was more visible to you. "you okay?" you asked, receiving a small nod from mike in response.
"...sorry," mike muttered so lightly that you couldn't have heard it if the two of you were not as close as you were now.
you hummed in acknowledgment, but shook your head at the same time. "never—and i mean never, apologize for feeling things, michael wheeler," you said, tightening your grip on him to emphasize your point.
he huffed out a small laugh in response. silence filled the room, but not for long. "it's stupid, honestly," he muttered. you could feel his hot breath on the side of your neck as he talked, along with the slight hitch in his breath halfway through the sentence. "i guess, i was just—just thinking," he trailed off.
you raised your eyebrow. "mike, hunny, m'gonna need you to be more specific about that," you hummed, hand moving to his back again to draw circles.
"i mean, you’re just—you’re you, and i’m, me,” he trailed off with a shrug of his shoulders. "y'know?" he added after you didn't reply right away.
you shuffled out of your position with mike; the two of you were now sitting across from each other, but your knees were still touching. "mike, what?" you prompted, tilting your head to the side.
mike sighed—his eyes shut for a brief moment before opening again. "sorry, that uh, that sounded bad," he muttered, hand rubbing his face. "it's just—you're so, so amazing. people like, wave to you in the hallways, want to pair with you in class—you have a group outside of the party, and..." he trailed off again, eyes leaving your figure to roam around your room.
before you could talk, he continued his ramble. "you just, you know who you are. you walk into a room and know what you want, and how to get it, and it's just—i don't know how to be that," mike said, laughing at the end of the sentence, although it was hollow. "i don't know how to be a complete person,".
you blinked as you watched mike's eyes fill with tears again. you hummed, reaching your hands out to grab his that were resting in his lap. "mike, hun. wanna know a secret?" you asked, voice in a hush whisper. mike unintentionally leaned in at the same time you also leaned in. "i have no idea how to be a complete person either,"
mike blinked. you blinked. mike furrowed his eyebrows as you giggled. "what—" he started before you hushed him.
"baby, half the people that wave to me in the hallway, i don't even know the names of. i walk into a room and seem like i know what i want to do because that's what the world taught me to do—what was expected of me."
mike's breath hitched, and he didn't try to wipe away the tears from his eyes this time. "i guess i just want to be—be more like you. you're pretty, like really pretty, you don't get called frogface or get made fun of for your limbs being too long and awkward—"
before he could continue, you interrupted him. "mike, listen." you prompted. his eyes stayed set on your dresser, which caused you to lightly tap his hand with your finger. "i need you to actually listen to what im saying, can you do that for me sweetheart?" you muttered, leaning forward toward mike. you could comfort him all you wanted, but if he didn't absorb your words, it was pointless.
mike nodded—a small movement that you wouldn't have caught if you weren't hyper aware of him. "first of all, you are so much cooler that pretty much everyone in hawkins. you have interests that—yeah, sure they're different—but it's what makes you, you."
"you think i would've fallen in love with someone who follows the crowd?" you asked while laughing to yourself slightly. "i wouldnt have, for the record," mike smiled slightly in response at your words, but didn't say anything.
"and—genuinely, who cares about your awkward limbs? you're a teenager, you're still growing into your body. plus, i think it makes you cute," you whispered the last part, nudging your knee into his.
"even if people call you things like frogface, i—for the record—think you're like really, really pretty," you said, watching as a slight pink stains his cheeks. "not only are you pretty, but looking at you reminds me of a safe place. it reminds me that there is somewhere i can look to for everything, even if it is a small thing."
"it reminds me that even with all the chaos happening around us, we'll be together and it'll all be okay," you whispered, finishing talking with leaning forward and pressing a light kiss on the side of his jaw.
mike laughed lightly as the pressure on his jaw; after blinking away his tears that haven't yet fallen, he leaned fully into you, bringing you into a tight embrace. "thank you," he whispered softly into your ear as the hug continued.
── in which...
mike isn't a great tutor. aka my homage to s1 stancy making out...💁♀️.
˗ˏˋ drabble, w/c: 300, gn reader. ೃ༄*
senioritis was kicking in hard. you started the year strong, joining as many clubs as possible, going to every pep rally, perfect grades. then the second semester came in full swing. as soon as the temperature dropped, so did your grades. fortunately for you, your boyfriend was a nerd, and had absolutely no problem tutoring you. he himself needed some motivation to study.
…motivation quickly turned into distraction.
you were sandwiched between mike’s body and the mattress, his hands fumbling with the hem of your sweater. his face was buried in your neck, lips lazily dragging along your skin as your own hands tangled in his hair. the faint scent of his shampoo and pinewood body wash flooded your nose, sweet and familiar. and although it was tempting to give in, to hold him tight in your arms and tangle your limbs with his, you desperately needed to study for your history midterm. you could feel your homemade flashcards crinkle beneath you with every subtle movement, a harrowing reminder of how many dates, world leaders, and global conflicts you still needed to memorize.
“mike.” you said with some difficulty, his weight restricting your air flow. all you got in response was a muffled grumble. your fingers tightened in his curls, trying to tug him away, but he only pressed further into the safety of your shoulder. “the flashcards.”
“later.” mike whispered, barely audible. his nose ran along the side of your neck, a shaky breath slipping past your lips. his mouth attached to your skin again, placing a small kiss before sucking harshly. a pretty little bruise blossomed under his mouth, his tongue soothing over the skin. your hands tightened in his hair, this time keeping him in place instead of trying to pull him away.
warnings: mdni, angsty to the brim, broken relationship, mention of el, implied sex, chrissy lives
One of the greatest disparities of the universe is how difficult it is to break a bad habit. It is not enough to just recognize the problem and fight it off once. In order to truly break a habit you have to commit. Really commit.
But that kind of commitment feels hopeless when the habit comes in the form of an almost six-foot, puppy-dog eyed, curly haired villain.
She had managed to be clean of Mike Wheeler for nearly a year. It hadn’t been easy. It had meant dodging her friends and spending way too much time in her room, but it was working. Every time she visited home from college, her nervous system still went haywire and kept her on edge, but even that had begun to fade. She was finally getting bold enough to leave the safety of her home.
If there hadn’t been a pinky promise involved, she probably would have cancelled on Chrissy and made up some lie about babysitting her little sister. In fact, she had tried to do just that when Chris first told her about the party, but her friend was having none of it.
“Do you know I have only seen you twice since last winter break? TWICE!” The gloves had officially come off and Chris was done handling her with care.
“I MISS YOU! YOU CANNOT LET SOME BOY DICTATE YOUR LIFE LIKE THIS. I DON’T CARE WHAT HE CAN DO WITH HIS HIPS. ENOUGH!”
Her mouth opened once, twice, and then let out a defeated sigh. “Fine, I’ll go.”
“And we are going to have so much fun that the name Mike Idiot Wheeler will not enter your brain.” Chrissy stared determinedly into her eyes with a pinky held out. “You swear?”
As she stared into her friend’s eyes, she thought about the impossible task set before her. God, she longed for a day free of thoughts of him. His pink lips. The victory buzz from making him laugh. His inebriated smile after they finished. When she was away at school and far from their small town, it was easier to ignore the panic that accompanied the thoughts. But at home, in the bed where he’d slipped through her fingers, the feelings were crushing.
“I swear.” The two women’s pinkies interlocked, although they both knew the likelihood of it being broken.
An immediate wave of regret washed over her as they crossed the threshold into Patrick’s party. The room was flooded with the people she had spent four years dying to get away from. Now, she was choosing to spend her free time watching them all get fucked up. Was this all really worth her best friend’s happiness?
One look at Chris’s smile easily confirmed that it was and left her mirroring it herself. She could handle most things to keep her sweet friend smiling. After the past few years of Chris dealing with both of their bullshit, she was owed one good night. Hence, why she had allowed Chris to do her hair and makeup and put her in a little black dress that showed off way more of her legs and chest than she was comfortable with.
Amongst the low hum of pop music in Chris’s bedroom the look hadn’t felt so daring, but now, staring out into the party, with the party staring back, her fight-or-flight was begging her to turn back. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, Chrissy’s hand grabbed on to hers and began pulling her through the crowd before she could act.
The two waded through the party, smiling and hugging old friends as they passed. It felt like extreme exposure therapy. Luckily, Pat’s punch helped dull the nerves and left them both swaying and twirling across the makeshift dancefloor. She couldn’t remember the last time she had let herself relax like this. Even when she was with Mike, she felt constantly aware of the tightrope they were walking. No, no Mike. No ghosts of the past. Tonight was about her and Chrissy and making up for lost time.
As if they heard her silent appeal, the sharks began to creep in. When she saw the hand on Chrissy’s waist appear, she had to physically refrain from rolling her eyes. Jason must have a sensor that went off whenever his ex-girlfriend dared to have too much fun without him. The high school sweethearts cycled through this same routine every time they found themselves back in Hawkins: conveniently run into each other, have a “magical” night, immediately start fighting, realize why they should not be within ten feet of the other, and not speak again until they were back. She meant to address the pattern with Chrissy before the fallout of her Mike-based psychosis, but now she had no leg to stand on.
With the alcohol slowing her mind and reflexes, all she could do was watch as the peaked Golden Boy led her friend away leaving her alone. Chris had at least thrown her an apologetic smile and mouthed “be right back” before she disappeared, but both women knew the likelihood of it being broken.
As if the sight of one former flame wasn’t enough to tank the night, while turning around she made hard eye contact with the specter of Mike Wheeler through the window, leaning against the back porch. He stared at her hard like he was looking for something specific.
Her fight-or-flight had previously been shut down, but it chose now to return full-force and without the support of Chrissy’s hand, all she could do was spin around and rush back to the haven of the kitchen. Her mind was running too quickly to process what the hell was actually happening.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit.” She repeated the word as a prayer to herself as if it might save her. She needed something to drink. It was as if all the night’s previous alcohol and fun had drained from her system with just one look. As she struggled to pump the keg into her cup, the feeling of a cold hand over hers had her jumping back nearly into the cabinets. But when she looked up it was Patrick with a confused smile on his face and his hands up.
“Hey, it’s all cool! I was trying to help. The pump keeps getting blocked.”
“Oh… okay…” Her lungs were fighting to catch her breath. “Um, thank you Pat.”
He gave her an easy smile like she wasn’t having a mental breakdown next to his spice rack. “Of course! Chrissy mentioned you might be coming, but to be honest, I didn’t really believe it. Figured you’d have some fancy boyfriend in the city keeping a tight hold on you. Are you liking school out there? The community college here is awful…”
Patrick’s rambling gave her time to breathe and try to get her brain under control. How long had he been standing out there? Was he watching her? Was she really so tipsy that she wouldn’t have noticed if he was? Why the fuck was he even at this party? He hates these people.
When Pat finally handed her a full cup of beer—still venting about how at least Hawkins Community had a half-decent basketball team—she hastily threw it back. As the cup left her eye-line, the apparition of Mike was crossing the party seemingly heading her way.
The prayer returned. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.”
She barely uttered a sorry to Patrick before dashing out the front door. If the cold air hadn’t shocked her body, she might have taken off running. The mix of dread and too much to drink was suddenly hitting her hard. He can’t have been coming to see her. He probably needed a drink too. It was just a horrifying, terrifying coincidence. Just a coincidence.
Her mind narrowed its focus on repeating it to herself and breathing before the panic could overtake her entirely. The breathing had just gotten to a regular pace when she heard the door open behind her. Surely if she didn’t turn around and look, he couldn’t possibly be there. The universe could bless her just this one time.
“Hey.”
“Shit.”
She should have known the universe was no friend of hers.
It felt like she was in a horror movie of her own making. The bad guy she managed to dodge the whole movie had finally caught up to her and now all she could do was face him.
She took the deepest breath of her life and slowly turned around.
“Hi.”
For some reason, he seemed shocked to see her, as if he hadn’t just chased her out of the party. His eyes softened as he watched her shiver in her dress.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”
All she had to do was salvage whatever dignity she had left and channel it into a wall of confidence. “Yeah, Chrissy really wanted to come and have a girls’ night… so… here I am…” Tough, and not really a sentence, but it was words.
She can do this. She can be an adult. She can have a conversation with the person that held her heart in his hand and crushed it in front of her.
“How come you’re here-“
“I haven’t seen you in awhile-“
They spoke at the same time and both tried to awkwardly cover up.
“I mean at this party, not here-here, it’s obvious why you’re here-here-“
“I just meant you never seem to be around anymore-“
She wondered if she prayed hard enough if the town might split open again and take her with it this time. She stared down at the heels Chrissy had put her in, no such luck.
There was a beat where they both seemed to hope the other might take the lead. He broke first, “Lucas and Patrick are still good friends from the team so he begged us all to come. Some stupid shit about ‘teenage revelry strengthening the bonds of friendship.’”
She fought the small smile that threatened to break out. While they were in different years, they had all gone to school together and she always admired how tight his group of friends was. But, as her mind always seemed to remind her, she thought of how he refused to introduce her to them. How he purposefully kept them apart. As if the reality of her was too shameful to intersect with the reality of his real life.
Any kindness fled from her body. Her voice arrived without her brain’s instruction. “A year. It’s been a year since we last saw each other. That’s why you ‘haven’t seen me in a while,’” she stated, quoting him at the end.
The sound of him swallowing hard reverberated in the gated front yard. Good, he should be nervous.
There had been purposeful avoidance on her part to stay away from his eyes. She thought looking into them might be what finally, truly broke her. But once she did, she found that the wall of confidence she was faking had turned into a very real shield of anger.
The beautiful brown eyes she had spent three years agonizing over, just seemed like eyes now. Yeah, she had loved that blue sweater and had worn it many times, but now she thought of how many other girls he had pawned it off to. Of course he was pretty, the devil always was.
The fire in her veins sent her back to the last time she had looked in his eyes. At her house. Always her house. He had snuck her into his basement a few times, but never let her upstairs to meet his family or see his room. God, she was so dumb.
He laid there on her chest, still glassy-eyed with that grin on his face. Despite the hundreds of thoughts pounding through her head, she couldn’t help but smile when she saw his face. The face that could either start or stop her heart. Her whole being. It made her brave.
“I was thinking, maybe this spring break you could come up and visit me at school. My roommate will be gone, so you could stay with me at the dorms. And I could show you the city. We could even go to the MSI if you wanted to…”
It was said casually, but she felt anything but. She had spent weeks going over this plan and what it might mean and how he might react. They’d be out of Hawkins and away from everyone they knew.. She could show him her life and where he could fit into it. They could try out being an actual couple without the pressure. The worst he could say is no, right? Stupid, dumb girl.
“Oh… I already have plans actually.” He didn’t even lift his head to look her in the eyes when he told the obvious lie.
“Really? It’s like four months away. What are you doing?” Perhaps she said it too strongly but she refused to believe he would lie. They had literally been doing the most intimate thing two people could do, multiple times a year, for two years now. She had always kept his secrets, even the batshit insane ones she didn’t fully understand. She had always done as he asked. She had been lying to Chrissy about them for years—albeit poorly. Why would she be someone he needed to lie to?
“I— I have to visit my Grandma in Bloomington… The whole family is going. She’s been sick for a while so we’re trying to make the most of her time left.”
Another obvious lie. His grandma passed away last year. That’s why he couldn’t come with her to the annual Hawkins Christmas parade. At least that’s what he had told her. She pushed forward anyway. Maybe this was his other grandma. Why would he lie?
“Huh, I’m sorry to hear that. Well, it could just be a small thing like you come up for a long weekend. We could still pack a lot in!”
He abruptly moved from her chest to lying on his back. Eyes glued to her popcorn ceiling.
“Why are you pushing this?”
She felt the first fissure in her heart burst. She tried to laugh it off, in spite of his deadly serious tone. “I just thought it might be nice to spend some time together outside of my childhood bedroom… Maybe see if this could be something more.”
Her hand twitched like she could catch the words as they left her mouth. It was pushing too much and she knew it. But it was true. And why should she lie?
Then there was a silence that felt so long and so deep that it seemed to get under her skin and fill her throat. The panic was eating at her gut. She was vibrating with emotion, just waiting to be set off.
The silence snapped swiftly as he jumped out of her bed and messily threw his clothes back on.
Quietly, deadly, he said. “It can’t. It won’t.”
He slammed his boots on without tying them up and moved to the door.
“See you later.”
And then he was gone. He didn’t look at her once. Pathetic, stupid, dumb girl.
She cried so hard her mom called Chrissy—and almost the paramedics. The sobs racked her body. She hardly calmed down enough to explain to Chris what had happened. Of course, her best friend knew. She was certainly shocked by who, but she recognized something like this was happening over a year and a half ago. Yet, she didn’t tell her ‘I told you so’ or anything of the like. Chrissy just rocked her and quietly said “I know” into her hair.
Why would he lie? Because he never wanted to ‘try out’ being a ‘real couple’ with her. She was just the meat puppet he got to play with and fuck when he came home. They weren’t even friends with benefits because they weren’t friends. They were old, school acquaintances that fell into something neither fully understood. And somehow he seemed to think it could continue. “See you later.” No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. It was done. It had to be done. You can’t cry that hard over a boy and let him keep using you. It was against the laws of the universe.
So, she decided to make a clean break and never see him again. Even if it meant alienating herself from most of her school friends and isolating herself from her family. It was worth it to try and sweat out this curse he had placed upon her. He likely wouldn’t even notice. He never called first or sought her out anyway.
It had to be done.
If he planned to speak, she stepped right over him. “What do you want Mike?” She said with a sigh.
The shock of her demeanor change jolted his body. She didn’t think she had ever seen him this surprised before. It felt good. It felt like power.
He barely gulped out a “what” before she jumped over him again. Taking a physical step forward this time.
“I said… What—do—you—want? Why did you chase me out here? I’m not interested in secretly fucking in your car so you can go back to friends.” She knew she was raising her voice and someone might hear, but fuck it. Why did her anger, just like their entire relationship, have to be kept quiet. She was done being a secret.
“I— That’s not why— fuck.” He pressed his hands into his eyes and tugged on his curls. He tried to take a deep breath and try again but she got him again.
“Most people would take a year of silence as a clear sign to leave someone alone. I know I sure did. My phone number didn’t change by the way. But, I guess you probably never learned it, huh.”
She took another step towards him. The panic and tension was gone. It felt like someone was taking over her. Someone she didn’t know yet, but greatly preferred to her typical meek self.
“Usually when you’re this quiet you’ve either just come or you’re trying to figure out the most hurtful thing to say, so which is it? To be honest, I’d vastly prefer the latter this time around.”
Before she snowballed further, he let out a quiet “enough.” It stilled her. Quiet, angry Mike was someone she knew and someone who could tear her to shreds.
“I— I came to this stupid party and followed you out here to apologize. To take accountability for what I did and how I treated you. It wasn’t right—.”
“You can say that again!” The voice came from the shadowed side of the house and made them both jump. Before the other girl came into the light, she knew it was Chrissy. Oh my god, it was Chrissy. And there was Jason five steps behind her looking absolutely befuddled.
While she had gotten progressively closer to him in the past few minutes, Chrissy closed the distance on Mike instantly. And by god was she loud about it.
“Do you really think you can just run into her and apologize as if it’s some grand gesture! As if she should be so lucky you happened upon her! Fuck you Mike Wheeler! You piece of shit!” Chrissy stuck her finger into Mike’s chest to punctuate each sentence.
The party began following the noise outside. Mike’s own friends came around to see the fight until they realized he was the recipient of the profanities screamed by the lovely, former head cheerleader. What the fuck was going on?
Dustin was the first to come to. “Hey Mike, what is happening?” Chrissy didn’t bother turning his way, still pointing her eyes and words at the man in front of her.
“Yeah Mike, what is going on? Do you wanna bother telling your friends how you lied and snuck around with my friend for two years or will you keep taking the coward's way out?”
Mike looked like he had been petrified. He had barely bottled up enough bravery to try and talk to her, never mind be screamed at by the head-fucking-cheerleader in front of all their former classmates. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lucas doing the math.
“Wait– for two years. So while you were still dating El?”
It was potentially the only sentence that could have made this situation somehow even worse. Immediately there was gasps and titters throughout the growing crowd. In the wind there was a faint “Damn! Who knew Wheeler had it going like that?” It looked like actual steam might burst out of Chrissy’s ears. But all Mike could do was stare at the girl behind her whose hands were cradling her stomach. Her mouth was still agape with tears threatening to break free.
She wasn’t worried about crying though. She was desperately holding herself back from throwing up. This whole time she thought he just didn’t want to be her boyfriend. But no, he already was a boyfriend. Of course she couldn’t meet his friends or family, that would give the game away. Of course he couldn’t spend spring break with her, he had to spend it with this real girlfriend being a real couple.
The bile was rising up her throat. This was so much worse than just being a secret meat puppet. He made her a home wrecker! A mistress! What in the world did she do to deserve this? Why was karma paying her back like this?
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! YOU CHEATED ON YOUR GIRLFRIEND WITH HER?! FOR FUCKING YEARS?!” Chrissy clocked her arm back like she might actually hit him, but Jason stepped in and yanked her back.
Mike covered his face with his hands again. “No! That’s not true! It’s way more complicated than that.” He looked across the walkway trying to find her eyes. “If we could just get away from everyone for a bit, I promise I can explain it all. If we could just talk.”
Chrissy jumped into his vision, still being restrained by Jason. “You are never talking to her again, you fuck!” Chrissy twisted out of Jason’s arms and grabbed her hand. She also tried to find her eyes but to no avail. “Hey, let’s get the hell out of here. I’m so sorry I made you come. Let’s go, okay?”
Chrissy tried to pull her away but her feet were glued to concrete. Something was missing.
She finally looked up from the grass and stared into Mike’s eyes. The feeling in them made him gasp. It stunned him far more than anything Chrissy had done or said.
“Out with it then.” While her voice was controlled, the edges of it were frayed.
“What? What do you mean?” He couldn’t believe she might actually hear him out. It seemed too good to be true. And it was.
“You said you came out here to apologize but you’ve yet to actually say it. Or was that a lie too?”
The whole party let out an “ooo”, including Lucas which earned him a glare and elbow from Max. Mike didn’t even hear it. He was too focused on her and how she was looking at him. Like she didn’t know him. Like they hadn’t spent countless nights tangled up in each other. Like he was some monster.
“I’m sorry,” was all he could choke out.
“Fuck you.”
And then she left. The habit was broken.
author's note: hi! so i don't really go here but stranger things has taken over as my main hyper fixation so i had to. i really wanted to write something to this song and what came out is waaaaay more angsty than i planned but i love it. i had to physically stop myself from writing more. i haven't written for anyone to read in very long so hopefully it is halfway decent! thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed!!!
