#nancy stranger things

[diavalkitty]

Cuties:3

[playfetchbabe]

— RING RING RING ᥫ᭡.

pairing: college au, post season 5. nancy wheeler x fem!reader

summary: nancy discovered some new things about herself during her time at emerson. like… how she really likes a pretty girl between her legs.

cw: EXPLICIT CONTENT. sexual content. oral! nancy receiving. does this count as public sex? idk.

wc: 1.6k

the landline in nancy’s dorm is so ugly.

beige. heavy. bolted to the wall like it has a personal vendetta against fun. nancy’s noticed it since move-in day, but it’s never bothered her like this, never felt like a threat.

your mouth is on hers, warm and insistent, fingers hooked into the belt loops of her jeans like you’re scared she’ll disappear if you let go.

nancy’s back hits the edge of her desk, papers crinkling under her hands, some half-finished journalism assignment getting absolutely wrecked because she can’t focus on anything except the way you kiss her.

she makes this quiet, breathless sound into your mouth before you even realize it soft, a little wrecked. you smile against her lips. “been waiting for this all day.”

her hand slides up your skirt, grabbing your thigh before tugging and snapping the waistband of your panties. you gasp against her mouth, gripping her hips.

then the phone rings.

sharp. loud. violent.

nancy freezes.

“oh shit,” she blurts, pulling back so fast you almost laugh. her cheeks are already pink, hair a mess, lips swollen in a way that feels very incriminating. “my… my mom. she’s supposed to call tonight.”

you blink at her, then immediately lift your hands in surrender, backing up with exaggerated innocence.

“say less,” you whisper, trying to ignore the pulse between your thighs. “i’m a ghost.”

she shoots you a look that’s half panic, half oh my god why are you like this, then snatches the receiver off the hook before it rings again.

“hi, mom!” nancy says, way too bright, like she’s pitching a morning radio show.

you flop onto her bed silently, burying your face in a pillow to keep from laughing.

“yes, i’m fine. no, classes are great, actually. emerson’s… yeah, it’s really challenging. in a good way.” she nods while she listens, pacing a little. “i’m just studying. late. you know me.”

you raise your eyebrows at her from across the room. “mmhmm. no, i’m alone,” she lies, voice steady in a way that honestly impresses you. “just… going over notes.”

she turns her back to you, lowering her voice. “no, nothing weird is happening.”

you mouth wow at her.

minutes pass by, and the call is still not ending.

nancy’s been pacing the narrow strip of carpet between her desk and the window for what feels like an entire semester, phone tucked between her shoulder and ear, nodding like her mom can see her.

“yeah. i’m eating enough,” she says, rolling her eyes a little. “the dining hall’s actually not terrible.”

you’re sprawled across her bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the tiny cracks in the paint. at first, you were respectful, quiet, and patient. then you got bored.

nancy glances over at you briefly and gives you a don’t even think about it look.

you smile sweetly and slide off the bed silently.

the carpet is thin. you move carefully, exaggeratedly slow, like it’s a game. you drop to your knees across the room, hands braced on the floor, looking up at her with open mischief.

nancy senses it before she sees it. she turns and freezes.

her eyes widen just a fraction. “mom, hold on one second,” she says automatically, then immediately corrects herself. “…i mean, sorry. go ahead.”

she lowers her voice, hissing, “what are you doing?”

you don’t answer, you just start crawling.

her grip tightens on the phone. “i’m still here,” she says quickly, cheeks warming. “yeah. uh-huh. i’m listening.”

you move inch by inch, unbothered, unhurried. when you reach her, you rest your hands lightly on her knee, looking up at her like she’s the only thing in the room.

nancy exhales through her nose.

she tries to sound normal. “mom, i swear, everything is fine.”

her free hand comes down immediately, fingers curling into your hair. not rough, not gentle either. controlled. grounding. a warning.

you don’t listen whatsoever. you unzip her fly and your hands hook up into the loops of her belt again. this time, you tug down her jeans to her ankles.

she looks down at you, eyes sharp now.

nancy presses her lips together, jaw flexing. “yeah,” she says into the phone, nodding again. “i’ve been… meeting people. new friends.”

you lean forward, resting your chin against her thigh and tilt your head to place a kiss against her skin.

she almost loses it.

nancy's breath hitches as your lips brush against her thigh, her grip on your hair tightening slightly. she clears her throat, trying to keep her voice steady as she responds to her mom.

"no, no, mom, it's nothing like that..." she says, her words coming out a bit more breathless than intended.

under normal circumstances, nancy would never let anyone make her fold like this, but your touch and the soft kisses trailing up her inner thigh were making it increasingly difficult to maintain her composure.

when you reached the hem of her panties, nancy let out a sharp breath before she could stop herself.

you could feel the heat radiating from nancy’s cunt as you pressed your mouth against the damp fabric. the scent of her arousal filled your nostrils, making your head swim slightly.

"...the, um, the people here are just so nice," she forced out, her voice cracking on the last word. she shifted her hips subtly, unconsciously seeking more of your touch even as her hand pressed down on your head, keeping you in place.

on the other end of the line, karen seemed oblivious to her daughter's distraction. she continued to chatter on about alumni events and scholarship funds.

your hands slid around to grip her ass, kneading it as you worked your mouth against her clothed slit.

"...it's just, um, it's getting a bit... a bit..." nancy stuttered out, her breath coming fast and short now. you could hear the strain in her voice, sense the effort it was taking her not to moan aloud. and you hadn’t even started.

lost in the haze of lust, you decided it was time to remove the flimsy barrier between your mouth and her bare skin. you hooked your fingers into the elastic of her panties, gazing up at her with a wicked glint in your eye as you slowly began to peel them down.

nancy’s breath hitched, a quiet whimper escaping her lips. her grip on your hair turned almost painful as she stared down at you, a conflicting mix of panic and desperation in her eyes.

"jesus..." she gasped out, before quickly clearing her throat. "...i mean, yeah, it's been... interesting... meeting all sorts of... people..."

the panties slid down to her knees and you whined as her soaked cunt came into view.

you lowered your head to press your mouth directly against her glistening folds, your tongue delving between them to lap at her.

nancy let out a strangled gasp, her hips jerking forward involuntarily as your tongue made contact with her cunt.

"yeah, i met, um, a study group actually," nancy managed to squeak out, her voice cracking badly. in the background, you could hear her mom still chatting away obliviously.

you stroked your tongue along her slit, collecting the sweet arousal before delving in deeper to mouth at her entrance. your hands gripped her ass firmer, fingers sinking into the skin hard enough to leave indents.

nancy shuddered, a tremor running through her body as she tried to hold herself back from crying out. her thighs clenched and unclenched, fighting the urge to grind herself against your face.

"...s’just, mmm... getting to know the material..." she breathed out, before biting her lip hard as you circled her clit with the tip of your tongue.

you could feel her pulse fluttering wildly against your lips. the game of trying not to let her mom hear her what was really going on on the other side of the phone line was only adding to her desperation.

"mmnh.. yes, i'll let you know..." nancy gasped out before falling silent, barely able to maintain a coherent conversation as you continued your assault against her cunt.

nancy glared down at you, her eyes blazing with a mix of lust, embarrassment, and frustration as she watched your face disappear between her thighs.

it was rare for her not to be in control and it made her feel weird.

the sight of you… your eyes half-lidded and glassy with desire, your cheeks flushed, your lips and chin glistening with her arousal, only amplified her conflicted emotions.

nancy could see how much you were enjoying devouring her cunt. it made her feel some sick satisfaction to watch you like this. pussy-drunk, so consumed by the desire to pleasure her between her legs.

but it also terrified her. nancy was not used to letting someone else have this much power over her, this much influence on her body. she was normally so put together, so in command of any situation.

nancy was ashamed at how little restraint she was showing. she could barely think of anything but you.

"...mom, ah! i've got to...unhh...go," nancy panted out between clenched teeth, rocking her hips against your face.

"...okay, love you, bye," nancy muttered, not waiting for a response before she abruptly hung up the phone with a trembling hand.

the moment the receiver hit the hook, she let out a sharp cry of pleasure. "...fuck, i can't... i can’t fucking stand this..."

she yanked your hair harshly, pulling your face harder against her soaked sex as she chased her rapidly approaching climax. "you fucking...make me feel so...oh god...so fucking crazy..."

your eyes rolled back as her thighs squeezed your head, your head trapped. you moaned against her as you felt her tug your hair again, her body tensing up.

"m’ gonna cum- fuck!" nancy’s words morphed into a scream of ecstasy as she finally let go, her juices flowing into your mouth and dribbling down your chin.

as she came down from her high, she slowly unclenched her thighs around your head. “i fucking hate you.”

[jaleends]

I might draw them more often who knows

[writing-the-stars]

JEALOUS NANCY JEALOUS NANCY JEALOUS NANCY

Perfectly Rational

Pairing: Nancy Wheeler x Fem!Reader

Summary: Nancy Wheeler tells herself she is perfectly rational — that the sharp pull in her chest has nothing to do with the way you with someone else, nothing to do with the space she feels slipping from her grasp. But when you get hurt and she isn't the one you turn to, she can no longer explain away what was has been brewing inside of her.

Warnings: Jealousy, Slight Possessiveness (but not toxic), Emotional Repression, Minor Injury, Mentions Blood and Bleeding, Very Light References to the Upside Down Trauma. Let Me Know If I Forgot Something

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: Hi Anon! Thank you so much for this request. I was so excited to see this in my inbox!!! This was so fun to write and I really hope you enjoy. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you have a wonderful remainder of your day!

- Nebula

Masterlist | Stranger Things Masterlist

Nancy Wheeler doesn’t get jealous.

She simply isn’t the jealous type. At least that’s what she tells herself.

She is observant. Rational. Grounded.

Jealousy is reckless. Illogical. She doesn’t indulge in things she cannot prove.

So when she looks across the room and sees you laughing — not the polite kind you use when someone tells a bad joke, but the real one — at something Vickie whispers into your ear, she does not call the sharp pull in her chest jealousy.

She calls it distraction.

Distraction from the board game playing out before her — dice clattering across the table, Mike groaning dramatically as his character takes damage, Steve saying something loudly about how he definitely understood the rules this time, and Dustin immediately calling him out on it.

Your laugh cuts through all of it.

It bubbles out of you — light, unguarded—pitching higher at the end, catching slightly on the inhale like you’re surprised by your own happiness. It’s a sound Nancy knows well. It usually ends with your forehead pressed to her shoulder — close enough that she can feel it in her collarbone. 

This time, it ends with your hand on Vickie’s arm.

Someone cheers at the table — Lucas, maybe — but Nancy doesn’t look. Her eyes narrow, jaw tightening as she watches you sit cross-legged on the couch beside Vickie. The redhead leans closer to finish whatever she’s saying and you meet her halfway, knees brushing. You don’t bother to move them apart. 

You laugh again, softer this time. 

“Shut up,” you say, but you’re smiling.

A cushion hits the floor somewhere behind Nancy. Lucas complains. Max laughs.

Nancy’s fingers tighten around her soda can and the aluminum gives with a soft, sharp crack.

She stills — looking down at the dent her fingers have pressed into the metal.

She’s being ridiculous.

You’re allowed to have friends.

Vickie Dunne is harmless. Sweet. Nervous. Still slightly overwhelmed by everything that’s happened to Hawkins.

And technically, so are you.

It made sense you would latch to each other. You were both pulled into this mess later than the rest of them — absorbed through proximity, through circumstance… through love.

Of course you’d cling to each other a little.

It’s natural. Healthy, even.

“Hey, Wheeler, you’re up.”

Nancy doesn’t respond.

“Nancy?”

She blinks, glancing up just long enough to see Dustin gesturing impatiently toward the board. She nods absently, like she’s listening — like she cares — then looks right past it again.

Back to you.

You whisper something in Vickie’s ear and her face goes pink. You both dissolve into giggles.

Something hot and sharp flares in Nancy’s chest.

She doesn’t like that she didn’t hear the joke. Doesn’t like that she wasn’t meant to.

You’re allowed to laugh, she reminds herself. Allowed to sit close to someone without it meaning something else.

Her stomach twists anyway.

She watches you grab Vickie’s wrist, stopping her from standing fully. 

It’s casual. Thoughtless.

Intimate.

The kind of touch she has to think about before she makes.

Because when Nancy touches you, it is measured. Brief. Hidden in the space between glances. Something that can be explained away if anyone looks too closely.

A brush of fingers when handing something over. A knee bump that lingers just a second too long under the table. Late-night conversations where your shoulders press together in the dark, close enough to mean something, far enough to deny it.

This—

This isn’t that.

Nancy’s throat feels tight.

Steve laughs loudly and the sound grates against her nerves.

She tells herself it’s because the basement is stuffy. Too many people. Not enough air.

She knows it’s because she’s watching the way your hand lingers around Vickie’s.

You say something Nancy can’t hear. Close. Quiet. Your mouth near her ear.

Vickie smiles, nods, then slips free, heading for the stairs. The basement door creaks open, spilling brighter light down for a moment before it swings shut again.

You watch her go.

And for a moment — just a moment — you don’t look anywhere else.

Steve says something beside her that Nancy doesn’t catch. Because, for what feels like the first time all afternoon, your eyes finally meet hers. 

Your expression softens instantly.

You smile at her.

And God, that smile is still hers. She knows it is.

You mouth, You okay?

Nancy nods once.

Of course she is.

She is not jealous.

She is simply watching.

And she will keep watching.

Because if there is something to see, she will be the first to notice.

A die skitters off the table and onto the floor finally bringing Nancy’s attention back to the game she was supposed to be playing. 

Dustin groans dramatically as he scrambles after it, accusing someone — Lucas, probably — of sabotage. Max laughs, kicking her feet up onto the couch, while Steve leans back in his chair, balancing it precariously on two legs like he has something to prove.

The door creaks open again as Vickie returns, a soda already cracked open in her hand. She hands it to you without asking.

You thank her automatically. Like it’s expected.

Nancy’s stomach twists as she watches the condensation bead along the aluminum, a droplet slipping down over your fingers before you wipe it absently against your jeans.

It’s ridiculous. It’s a soda.

She has bigger things to worry about than who brings you a drink.

But she likes getting things for you.

Likes the quiet way you lean into her shoulder and murmur, “Can you grab that for me?”

Likes knowing she’ll notice before you even ask. The way your eyes flick to her first when you need something. The way you don’t even look around the room.

It makes her feel… needed.

Chosen. 

Now she’s watching someone else step into that space like it’s nothing.

Like anyone could do it.

Nancy feels it then.

Not anger.

Not quite.

Something sharper.

Possessive.

Her spine straightens immediately, like she’s been caught doing something wrong — like the feeling itself is something she has to hide.

She is not jealous.

She is observant.

There’s a difference.

Across the room, Steve watches Vickie nudge your knee with her own. He’s half-paying attention to the game, half to everything else — as usual.

He smirks.

“Are you two, like, attached at the hip now?” he asks, gesturing lazily between you. “Seriously. I don’t think I’ve seen one of you without the other in, like, a week.”

Robin snorts from the couch, not even looking up as she flips through a magazine. “He’s not wrong.”

It’s light. Teasing.

The boys snicker.

Vickie goes pink, ducking her head as she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god.”

But you’re smiling.

Nancy isn’t.

Attached.

The word lands heavier than it should.

You don’t deny it.

You don’t correct it.

You just bump Vickie’s shoulder with your own, easy and unthinking, like it’s second nature.

Like it doesn’t mean anything at all.

Steve laughs, pointing between you again. “I’m just saying. It’s kind of adorable.”

“Steve,” Robin groans, finally looking up. “You call everything adorable.”

“Yeah, because everything is adorable,” he shoots back.

Adorable.

The word lands wrong.

Too soft. Too easy.

Nancy’s stomach tightens.

It’s ridiculous. It’s nothing. A joke.

But her chest feels hot.

Because she’s not the only one who sees it.

She’s not imagining it.

This — whatever this is between you and Vickie — it’s visible. Obvious enough to be named. Teased. Laughed about.

Adorable.

Nancy’s jaw tightens.

She doesn’t like that word on you.

Doesn’t like it attached to something that isn’t—

She cuts the thought off before it can finish.

You’re still smiling.

Still close.

Still not looking at her.

Something inside her shifts.

Not loud.

Not explosive.

Just a quiet, decisive click.

Before she can stop herself, she’s already moving toward you.

She tells herself she’s just… joining the conversation.

That’s normal. Healthy. Girlfriends join conversations.

But when she reaches you, she doesn’t look at Vickie.

She looks directly at you.

“Hey,” she says — and it comes out sharper than she means it to.

You blink at her, smile softening instantly.

There it is.

That look.

The one that’s hers.

Her shoulders ease before she can stop them.

“Hey,” you echo.

She lowers herself to the floor beside you.

Close.

Close enough that your knee has to move or press against hers.

She doesn’t give you the option.

Her thigh settles firmly against yours. Solid. Intentional.

Vickie pauses mid-sentence for half a beat — just enough to notice the shift — before her smile returns, a little smaller this time.

“What did I miss?” Nancy asks, voice even as she threads her fingers through yours, resting your joined hands openly against her leg.

Visible.

Undeniable.

It’s more than she should do.

She knows that.

Knows it the second she does it.

But she doesn’t pull away.

Robin, sprawled sideways on the couch, stills for just a second as she watches it happen—eyes flicking from your joined hands to Nancy’s face.

She doesn’t say anything.

Just presses her lips together and looks back down at her magazine, turning the page a little too deliberately.

You turn toward Nancy without thinking, your body following the contact like it always does, and Vickie shifts back an inch.

The movement is subtle. Automatic.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing briefly toward Robin like she’s checking something — then back to you, expression carefully neutral.

Relief floods Nancy so fast it almost embarrasses her.

She swallows it down.

See? This is fine.

You chose her.

You always do.

So why does it still feel like something is slipping?

-*-

The rhythm of the afternoon continues around Nancy like nothing ever shifted at all.

But it did.

She can still feel it.

The weight of your hand in hers. The way your thumb brushes once, absentminded, against her knuckles.

Grounding.

Familiar.

Hers.

You shift closer to Nancy, angling your body toward her fully like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like it always has been.

“So,” you say, glancing between her and the rest of the room, “are we still pretending I didn’t just win that argument?”

“You absolutely did not win that argument,” Dustin shoots back immediately, indignant as ever.

The room swells again — voices overlapping, the argument picking back up like nothing ever paused.

Across from you, Vickie laughs at something Robin says, but it’s quieter now. Less directed at you. Her posture angled just slightly away, like she’s giving space without making it obvious.

Robin nudges her with her shoulder again, murmuring something under her breath. Vickie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling — easy, fond.

Normal.

Everything is normal.

Nancy exhales slowly through her nose.

This is what she wanted.

You’re here.

You’re close.

You’re looking at her again.

You glance down at your empty soda can, turning it idly between your fingers.

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you say, starting to pull your hand from hers.

Nancy’s grip tightens instinctively.

Just for a second.

Enough that you notice.

“I can—” she starts.

You pause, looking at her.

And for a moment, it’s right there again — that quiet, familiar rhythm. The unspoken offer. The way she usually takes care of things before you even have to ask.

But then you smile, soft, easy. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

You squeeze her hand once before letting go.

The absence is immediate.

Colder than it should be.

Nancy watches you stand, brushing your hands against your jeans before heading toward the stairs.

Vickie glances up as you pass.“Hey, can you grab me one too?” she asks, almost absentminded.

You nod without stopping. “Yeah, sure.”

Nancy’s jaw tightens.

Of course.

Of course you do.

Robin’s gaze flicks briefly toward Nancy again — quick, unreadable — before she leans back into the couch.

The room keeps moving, but Nancy doesn’t hear any of it.

Her eyes stay fixed on the doorway long after you disappear through it.

She tells herself it’s nothing.

You’re just getting a drink.

You’ll be right back.

This is fine.

It is.

But then the sharp crack of shattering glass captures everyone's attention. 

Nancy moves before she thinks, running to the kitchen where the sound came from. 

Everyone follows — chairs scraping, Dustin yelping something unintelligible — but Nancy is faster.

Nancy’s heart is already in her throat by the time she reaches you.

Too fast.

Too familiar.

Her mind is already running ahead — cataloging outcomes, worst-case scenarios, the things she’s seen before. Blood that didn’t stop. Hands she couldn’t steady. The way panic makes people sloppy.

Not you.

Not again—

You’re standing near the counter, staring down at your hand.

“Shit,” you hiss under your breath.

Blood beads bright against your palm.

It isn’t a lot.

But it’s enough.

Nancy’s vision tunnels.

You’re bleeding and you’re hurt. 

And she wasn’t there.

The thought hits sharper than it should.

She should have been here.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, breath catching just slightly.

Steve swears loudly about his mom’s hardwood floors.

“Oh my God. Okay, don’t move,” Vickie says, voice snapping into something steadier than Nancy has ever heard it. Not nervous. Not flustered. Just sure.

Nancy stops.

It’s subtle. Almost invisible. That half-second hesitation.

But it’s enough.

Because Vickie is already doing what Nancy was about to do.

Already assessing. Already taking control.

She takes your wrist gently but firmly.

“I’ve got it,” Vickie says, already guiding you toward the sink. “It’s probably just a surface cut. Let me see.”

You let her.

Of course you do.

Because she sounds like she knows what she’s doing.

Because she does.

And Nancy stands there, hands hovering uselessly at her sides. 

She knows what to do too.

Rinse first. Clear the blood. Check depth. Apply pressure if the bleeding continues. 

But Nancy is a step too far away while someone else takes care of her girlfriend.

Everyone crowds in, peering over shoulders.

“Is it bad?”

“Do you need stitches?”

“Steve, do you even have a first-aid kit?”

“It’s fine,” Vickie says calmly. “Seriously. It’s not deep.”

Not deep.

Nancy already knew that.

She knew it the second she saw it.

That doesn’t stop the tightness in her chest. Doesn’t stop the way her pulse refuses to slow.

Nancy hasn’t moved.

She’s still close enough to see the thin line across your palm. Close enough to see the way your mouth presses tight, pretending it doesn’t sting.

But she isn’t the one holding you steady.

Vickie rinses the cut carefully, thumb braced against the inside of your wrist. Her touch is efficient. Clinical.

Nancy swallows.

She knows how to do this.

She does.

She’s cleaned worse than this. Stitched worse than this. Held pressure on wounds that didn’t stop bleeding so easily — hands slick with it, breath steady anyway. No hesitation.

She knows how to take control when it matters.

So why isn’t she moving now?

Because she’s not the one you’re looking at.

Your focus stays fixed on Vickie, following her instructions without question.

“Hold still,” she murmurs.

You do.

Immediately.

Nancy’s chest tightens.

It’s not the injury.

It’s this.

This space she should be in.

This moment she should be part of.

And instead, she’s watching it happen from the outside.

Again.

Nancy feels something ugly flicker low in her stomach.

It makes no sense.

This is practical. Necessary. Good.

Vickie reaches for a towel. “Just keep pressure on it, okay?”

Your fingers curl around the fabric she offers without hesitation.

You smile at her — soft, grateful.

“Thanks.”

It’s automatic.

Nancy’s jaw tightens.

Around her, the energy shifts. The crisis dissolves.

Dustin loses interest first, already asking if they can go back downstairs. Steve mutters something about sweeping up glass, grabbing a dustpan from the corner. The others scatter once it’s clear you’re not bleeding out on his floor.

Relief, collective and careless. 

But Nancy doesn’t move.

She stays rooted exactly where she is.

Watching.

Vickie dabs gently at your palm, checking for more glass. Her touch is light now, less urgent but no less sure.

“You’re good,” she says after a moment. “Promise. It just looks dramatic.”

You huff a quiet laugh.

That laugh.

It bubbles up — higher at the end, catching on the inhale.

And once again, you lean toward Vickie when you do it.

Nancy feels it like a physical shift in gravity. Like something tilting just slightly out of place.

Robin is standing on the other side of the counter.

Watching.

Not you.

Not the blood.

Nancy.

Her head tilts slightly.

Nancy steps forward then. Finally.

“Let me see.”

The words come out sharper than she intends — too quick. Too controlled.

Vickie glances up, a flicker of surprise crossing her face.

For a second, she doesn’t move.

Then, carefully, “It’s really not—”

“I know,” Nancy cuts in.

Not loud.

But firm.

Certain.

Vickie stills.

Then steps back.

Just a fraction.

Just enough.

Nancy moves into the space immediately. Like if she hesitates, she’ll lose it again.

Her fingers wrap around your wrist, almost mirroring the way Vickie held you seconds ago, but tighter. More deliberate.

Your skin is warm.

Familiar.

Nancy examines the cut like she’s searching for something Vickie missed.

Something she can fix.

Something that makes this necessary.

Her thumb presses just a little too close to the cut.

Not enough to hurt.

But enough that you feel it.

She doesn’t find anything.

It’s exactly what Vickie said.

Surface-level.

Fine.

Her grip tightens anyway.

“You need to be more careful,” she murmurs.

It sounds steadier than she feels.

Controlled. Measured.

Like nothing is wrong. Like this isn’t about anything except the cut.

You soften instantly at the tone.

“I know.”

You squeeze her wrist lightly with your uninjured hand.

And there it is again — that grounding warmth.

That look.

Like she’s the one you’re tuned to. Like the room fades a little when she’s this close.

Relief spreads through her, slow and humiliating.

Because it shouldn’t matter this much.

Because she shouldn’t need this.

And yet, she can’t deny how it feels knowing you chose her.

You’re leaning into her now.

Not Vickie.

Her thumb presses, almost unconsciously, against the inside of your wrist.

Feeling your pulse.

Steady.

There.

Robin is still watching.

And there’s something knowing in her expression.

Nancy lets go of your wrist a second too late. Your skin slips from her fingers, warmth lingering where she held on.

Her pulse is still racing.

It was a small cut.

A stupid accident.

Nothing worth unraveling over.

So why did it feel like she was being replaced in real time?

She tells herself it was adrenaline.

She tells herself it was protective instinct.

She tells herself it was love.

But as Vickie tosses the blood-spotted paper towel into the trash and says lightly, “You’re lucky I was here, huh?”

Nancy’s stomach twists.

Her gaze snaps to the redhead before she can stop it.

Something sharp flickers across her face.

Gone almost instantly, but not fast enough.

Not anger exactly.

Something tighter.

Territorial.

Her eyes narrow just slightly. Her mouth presses thin.

Lucky.

The word lodges under her ribs.

Because she was here too.

She’s always here.

She would have handled it.

She does handle things like this.

The silence lasts less than a second. But it stretches — enough to notice. 

Vickie falters almost imperceptibly — her smile wavering, eyes flicking between you and Nancy like she’s trying to place something she doesn’t quite understand.

And across the counter, Robin definitely notices.

Her gaze sharpens, just slightly.

Confirming her theory.

You don’t catch it — you’re smiling sheepishly, still holding the towel to your palm, shoulders a little hunched like you’re bracing for a lecture more than anything else.

Nancy forces a small, polite smile.

“Yeah,” she says evenly. “Good thing.”

The words taste wrong.

Because what she means is:

You didn’t need to be.

The thought is immediate.

Ugly.

Unfair.

Nancy feels it settle in her chest anyway, heavy and unwelcome.

Because Vickie didn’t do anything wrong.

Because you’re fine.

Because this shouldn’t matter.

And yet—

It does.

Robin clears her throat lightly.

“Hey, Vick, can you help me find the rest of the bandages? I think Steve’s bathroom is missing half its inventory.”

It’s casual. Offhand.

But her hand settles gently at the small of Vickie’s back as she guides her toward the hallway.

Vickie glances between you and Nancy for half a second — uncertain — before letting herself be steered away.

The kitchen grows quieter.

Just the low hum of the refrigerator.

The faint sound of Steve arguing with Dustin in the living room.

And you.

Still perched on the edge of the counter, towel wrapped loosely around your palm.

Nancy doesn’t waste the opening.

She steps closer.

Not sharp this time.

Not territorial.

Just… drawn.

“Let me see it again,” she murmurs.

You smile, a little sheepish. “Nance, it’s fine.”

“I know.” Her voice is softer now. Almost apologetic. “I just want to.”

You hold your hand out to her.

Trusting.

Nancy takes it carefully, turning your palm upward.

The cut is thin. Already slowing.

She traces just beside it with the pad of her thumb, not touching the wound — just close enough to feel the warmth of your skin.

“You scared me,” she admits quietly.

Your expression shifts immediately.

“I did?”

“When the glass broke, I thought— ” She swallows, unable to voice her true fear, but you don't need her to. You understand exactly. 

“I didn’t know how bad it was,” she finally says.

You smile up at her, cupping her face with your uninjured hand. “Nancy, I’m okay. I promise.”

“Yeah,” she says. But she doesn’t sound entirely convinced.

She lifts your hand instead, pressing a small, absent kiss just below your knuckles — nowhere near the cut.

Protective.

Reverent.

Yours.

“You have to be more careful,” she whispers, but there’s no edge to it now. Just warmth.

You smile at her the way you always do when she gets like this — soft, indulgent, a little fond.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She huffs a quiet laugh despite herself.

Her free hand settles at your hip, grounding. Familiar.

“I just…” She hesitates.

This is where Nancy Wheeler usually doesn’t hesitate.

But with you, she does.

“I like taking care of you,” she finishes, barely above a whisper.

It’s not accusatory.

Not even pointed.

Just honest.

Your eyes soften.

“Nance.”

You say her name softly, like you already know there’s more she’s not saying.

Your thumb brushes just under her jaw, grounding, patient.

Nancy exhales slowly, like she’s bracing herself for something she doesn’t quite know how to say.

Her hand is still wrapped around yours.

Still holding on.

“I know it’s stupid,” she murmurs, eyes dropping briefly to your hand instead of your face. “It’s just—”

She hesitates.

That careful, measured instinct kicking in again. The one that edits. That filters. That keeps her from saying too much.

You wait her out.

You always do.

“I didn’t like…” she starts, then stops, jaw tightening slightly.

She’s frustrated now because she doesn’t have proof. Because she never says something she can’t defend.

So she pivots.

Safer.

Controlled.

“You and Vickie seem to be really close,” she finishes instead, quieter.

Not an accusation.

But not nothing, either.

You tilt your head slightly, studying her — trying to understand what she’s really saying.

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “We are.”

Nancy nods once.

You shift slightly in her hold. 

“Okay,” you say carefully. “Where is this coming from?”

Nancy exhales through her nose.

“Nowhere.”

That’s a lie. You both know it.

“Nancy.”

She hates how gentle you sound. How easy you make this. Like this isn’t something sharp. Like this isn’t something she can barely hold onto.

Your gaze lingers on her for a second longer — taking in the tightness in her jaw, the way her grip hasn’t loosened, the careful way she’s choosing every word.

And something in your expression shifts.

Understanding.

You smile softly up at Nancy.

“You know how you and me are friends?” you say gently.

Nancy’s eyes flick up to yours immediately.

Sharp.

Searching.

“Yeah,” she says.

Careful.

You nod slightly toward the hallway, where Robin and Vickie disappeared.

“Robin and Vickie are friends the same way.”

It takes a second. But you can see it when it lands.

The shift.

The way Nancy’s shoulders loosen, just slightly — like something she didn’t even realize she was bracing against finally gives.

“Oh.”

Soft.

Quiet.

Relief, creeping in before she can stop it. 

A giggle slips out of you before you can stop it. 

You squeeze Nancy’s hand lightly. “I like Vickie,” you say, honest, easy. “She’s… easy to be around. She gets it.”

Nancy nods once.

She understands that.

Of course she does.

“But she’s not—” you start, then stop yourself, glancing briefly toward the doorway.

Careful.

Always careful.

Your voice drops instead.

Softer.

“She’s not you.”

Nancy’s breath catches.

Barely there.

But you feel it.

Her grip on your hand tightens just slightly, like she’s grounding herself in something real.

Certain.

“You’re—” you hesitate, searching for something safe. Something that won’t give too much away.

Your thumb brushes over her knuckles.

“You’re mine,” you finish quietly.

It’s subtle.

Could mean anything.

But it doesn’t.

Not to her.

Nancy exhales, something in her finally unclenching.

“Good,” she says, a little too quickly.

Then, softer, more honest, “Because you’re mine too.”

The words slip out before she can stop them.

And for once—

She doesn’t take them back.

There’s a flicker of something like surprise in her own expression… and then a small, almost embarrassed huff of breath.

But she doesn’t look away.

You smile.

Soft.

Fond.

Like this is exactly what you were waiting for.

“I know,” you murmur.

Your forehead nudges lightly against hers — quick, subtle, easy to miss if anyone walked in.

But it lingers just long enough to mean something.

Nancy’s hand tightens at your hip, grounding herself in the contact.

In you.

The jealousy, the sharp edges, the tightness in her chest — it all settles into something quieter now.

Not gone.

But understood.

From the hallway, there’s the faint sound of Robin laughing, followed by Vickie’s softer voice.

Normal.

Everything is normal again.

Nancy glances briefly toward the sound… then back to you.

And this time, she doesn’t feel like she’s losing anything.

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[dennys-melons]

Ronance au where Robin adopts Max and Nancy has custody of Mike and Holly and Max and Mike get in a fight at school (Max wins obviously there is no way that pathetic gay white boy would win) so the principal calls Nancy and Robin to discuss it and then they fall in love.

[nancyxwheeler]

NANCY WHEELER in the STRANGER THINGS SEASON 5 TEASER

[rockin-arrow]

I love casual and ronance so why not edit them

User : rockin._.ronance