will and mike threesome when 🙏 #needthat
we're sorry ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚
(sub!mike wheeler x switch!will byers x switch!reader)
⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚 summary: on a rainy night, you call mike and will over with a lame "studying for finals" excuse after not talking to them for weeks. tensions boil over, the truth comes out about your past hookups with mike and will, jealous confessions get made, and will admits he's always wanted mike. everyone's hurt and confused and it all ends in a messy threesome.
⋆ warnings: rough sex, unprotected sex, cucking, references to crying during sex, hate-sex dynamic, jealousy, guilt, manipulation, lowkey not proofread
౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ word count: 4k (not the longest but it has a great personality i promise)
the phone rings at 9:17 p.m, sharp and insistent, cutting through the steady patter of rain against the wheeler house windows. mike’s in his room, sprawled on the bed with a beat-up comic book he hasn’t actually been reading, just idly flipping through it as his mind loops the same feverish memories: your skin hot under his palms, the tight clench of you around him, the way you’d whispered “come for me” like a command from god.
he bolts upright so fast the comic slides to the floor, heart slamming as he races downstairs, bare feet thudding on the carpeted steps. he snatches the receiver off the wall, breathless. “hello?”
your voice comes through the line, low and even, carrying that same quiet edge it had the night you destroyed him.
“my parents are out until tomorrow morning. come over tonight." you say.
"oh, and bring will." you add. "tell him we’re studying for finals.”
mike’s grip tightens on the phone, knuckles whitening. the rain outside picks up, drumming harder against the glass like it’s mocking him. “yeah,” he manages, voice rough from disuse. “yeah, okay. we’ll be there,” he says, clearing his throat.
a pause. he can hear you breathing, soft and steady. then: click. the dial tone hums in his ear.
he stands there for a second, receiver still pressed to his cheek, the plastic cool and slick from his sweaty palm. the house smells like the damp earthiness seeping in from the storm. his heart won’t slow down. three weeks of nothing—of you avoiding his gaze in the hallways at school, your notes folded and slipped into his locker with curt excuses like “can’t hang out, busy”—and now this. "studying". sure.
he hangs up slowly, the click echoing in the quiet room. mike runs a hand through his dark curls, still a little damp from his shower earlier, and heads back upstairs to change his clothes and get his books. he tugs his t-shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor. he throws on a pair of jeans and an old sweater. still tugging it on as he almost falls down the stairs, he runs back into the living room and calls will. mike paces the room while the phone rings, cord stretched taut around the corner. will picks up on the fourth ring, his voice muffled like he’s just woken up.
“it’s mike. she called like ten minutes ago. wants us to come over tonight. she said to bring books, we’re… studying."
a long silence on the other end. mike can picture will’s face—his eyebrow raised, hazel eyes narrowing under his messy bangs.
“studying,” will repeats, flat and skeptical.
“yeah.” mike swallows, throat dry. “her parents are out.”
another pause. then: “okay, i’ll meet you there.”
mike hangs up, staring at the phone like it betrayed him. mike runs back upstairs and into his messy room. he grabs his backpack—stuffed with random notebooks for show—and heads out on his bike, pedaling hard through the cooling air. the streets are slick with puddles, reflecting the streetlights that flicker. his tires hiss against the wet pavement, splashing through shallow water that soaks the cuffs of his jeans.
will’s already waiting at the end of your driveway when mike rolls up, leaning against his own bike under a dripping oak tree.
his brown hair is soaked through, plastered to his forehead in dark strands that curl slightly at the ends, rain beading on his pale cheeks. he’s wearing a faded navy blue shirt, the fabric dark and heavy with water, clinging to his slim frame, and jeans that look like they’ve seen better days, frayed at the hems.
his breath fogs slightly in the chilly air, and his eyes meet mike’s with a mix of resentment and something hotter, unspoken.
“hey.” will says, voice barely above the patter of fresh rain starting up again. his own dark curls are soaked and stuck to his face, water dripping down the back of his neck, soaking into his collar.
"hi," mike mutters, shouldering past him. his pale skin flushes from the cold. he walks up the driveway, will trailing behind him as he leans his bike against the garage door, water dripping off the frame in steady plinks. mike hesitates on the porch, rain sluicing down his back, making his sweater stick uncomfortably to his skin.
will brushes past him, pushing the door open without knocking. the entryway is dim, lit only by a single lamp in the living room, the air inside warm and heavy with the faint scent of vanilla from a candle burning somewhere upstairs. your house always smells like that, sweet and inviting, a stark contrast to the storm outside.
you’re waiting at the top of the stairs, arms crossed over a loose t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your collarbone.
“close the door,” you say softly, voice carrying down the stairs like a lure.
mike does, the latch clicking shut with a finality that makes his stomach twist. water drips from their clothes onto the hardwood floor, pooling in small puddles. will shakes out his soaked hair like a dog, droplets flying. mike runs a hand through his own curls, squeezing out excess water, his pale fingers trembling slightly from the cold—or nerves, he can’t tell.
you turn without another word, leading them up the stairs. the carpet muffles their footsteps, but the house creaks under the weight of the storm, wind whistling through the eaves. your bedroom door is open at the end of the hall, the lamp on your desk casting a soft, golden glow over the rumpled bedspread and scattered textbooks.
you sit on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, and gesture vaguely to the floor or the desk chair. they stand awkwardly in the doorway instead, dripping and tense, the air between the three of you thick enough to taste.
"we both know you didn't call us over to study." will says exasperated with your insistence on ignoring all that's happened between the three of you.
"just sit down, will." you sigh dismissively, examining your fingernails.
will nudges past mike, taking a seat on the opposite end of your bed. mike trails behind him, and sits in your desk chair, fidgeting with his hands.
mike cracks first. he shifts his weight, sneakers squeaking on the wood, and blurts,
“you haven’t talked to me in like, three weeks. seriously, what's going on?”
you meet his dark eyes, his pale face, still flushed from the bike ride—and sigh.
“i needed a break, mike. that night was a lot for us.
"i didn’t know how i was even supposed to talk to you after that.” you say, trying to justify yourself.
he opens and closes his mouth slightly, trying to find the words to say, still utterly shocked at the fact that you'd bring up what happened so freely in front of will.
will’s voice cuts in, low and edged with something bitter.
“talk to him? what about me? you're acting like i wasn’t even there.”
mike’s head turns slowly toward will, confusion knitting his brows.
“what do you mean, ‘there’? you weren’t—” his voice trails off, eyes widening as pieces click.
“wait. you… knew? about what we did? how? i though you were-”
will’s cheeks flush, water from his damp hair still trickling down his temples. he looks away, clenching and unclenching his jaw.
he cuts mike off abruptly
“i heard you two. through the door. you weren't exactly quiet, mike."
mike’s cheeks flush ever pinker, his dark curls brushing his forehead as he shakes his head in disbelief. “you heard us? and you didn’t say anything? jesus, will, what the fuck?”
“i didn’t know what to say,” will snaps back. his shirt clings to him, outlining the lean lines of his shoulders, and he smells like wet cotton and faint soap.
“you were… begging her. you were practically crying. it was hard to stop listening, but-" he practically forces the words out of himself.
"but it hurt to hear because-" he pauses trying to find the right words. "because i knew she was using you, mike. i mean, she told me she wanted me first,"
he stops, eyes flicking to you with a mix of accusation and need.
mike stares at him, dark eyes narrowing. “first?” he turns to you, betrayal flashing across his face. in his untainted view of you, the girl he adored, mike honestly assumed whatever happened between you and will was an accident, born of boredom, something trivial.
“you actually liked him?” he practically scoffs, half at his own naivety, half at the shocked look on your face as will told the truth.
“the night you bailed on hanging out it just kinda happened, but i'd thought about it for a while." you meet will's eyes, then immediately drop your gaze to the floor.
"he used me to stop thinking about you." you tell mike. "and i really, really liked him, so i let him do it."
"i guess," you start, struggling to confess. "i guess i used you to get back at him. i'm sorry, mike. i know that's like really messed up.”
“so i was what to you exactly?"
"did i mean anything to you at all?”
he remembers the way he looked at you so reverently, how he felt like he'd be content if you were the only person he'd ever get to fuck for the rest of his life.
he looks at you, his brows pressed together, looking like he's pleading for you to take it back, to tell him its not true.
“mike, just let me explain,” you whisper, voice soft.
"it like started out that way, on the couch i guess," you stare at your hands, unable to meet his eyes.
"but when we did more i felt like i could actually be with you," you continue.
“i swear i wanted you, mike. i still do. but it’s all weird now—with will, with the way i feel about him and what he wants from you.”
will looks between you and mike.
“what i want from mike?” he echoes, voice soft. his soaked hair drips onto his collar, the water darkening the blue fabric further. will turns to look at him, struggling to meet his eyes. “i’ve liked you for years, mike. watching you fall apart for her… it killed me."
"fuck, it was like," he starts, struggling to force the words out. "it was like i was jealous of both of you. i don’t even know what that means.”
mike’s dark eyes meet will’s, something shifting there—hurt melting into curiosity. the room feels smaller, the air heavy with the smell of rain-soaked clothes and the musk of wet skin.
“so you liked it? seeing us together?” he practically mutters, struggling to meet will's eyes.
will nods, reluctant, his pale cheeks flushing under the glow of the lights. “yeah. and i hate that i did." will says softly.
mike's frustration evaporates, hearing will open up, remembering the way he felt hearing the two of you, it's all too familiar.
you stand slowly, the bed creaking under you, and the t-shirt rides up your thighs, drawing both their gazes. the sensation of the cool air on your skin raises goosebumps, and you can feel the heat radiating from them, close enough now to touch.
“we can’t keep doing this,” you say, voice trembling slightly.
"just ignoring everything isn't working. i don't want us to end up, like, totally hating each other," you practically whisper the last part, like you're afraid if you say it too loudly it might come true.
mike’s breath hitches, his dark curls falling forward as he steps into your space, the faint scent of rain and his skin, clean and boyish, washing over you. “i don’t hate you." " i swear i don't. i can’t stop thinking about you.” his hand lifts, hesitant, brushing your arm, his pale fingers cool from the outside chill.
will watches. “me neither,” he mutters, voice low, looking at mike.
he's sick with envy at the way mike stares at you instead of him, his adoring gaze sweeping over your face and not his own.
his brown hair, still soaked, curls at the nape of his neck, and a drop of water slides down his jaw, not unlike the hot tears brimming his eyes.
mike leans in first, his dark eyes locking on yours, and kisses you—soft at first, then desperate, his hands sliding under your shirt to grip your waist, skin hot despite the rain. you melt into it, submissive under his touch, letting him back you toward the bed. the mattress hits the back of your knees, and you sit, pulling him down with you.
will watches for a moment more, chest heaving. he swipes at his eyes roughly before tugging off his wet shirt, letting it drop to the floor. his hand lands on mike’s shoulder, tugging him back. “my turn,” he mutters, letting his hand find the back of your neck and pulling your face to his. his mouth crashes against yours, rougher, teeth nipping your lip, his hands fisting in your hair. you arch into him, moaning, the taste of rain on his lips mixing with the faint salt of his skin.
mike’s voice breaks through, shaky but edged. “tell me what to do.”
you pull back from will just enough to reach for mike, your fingers gripping his damp sweater, pulling him close. the fabric is damp at the edges, clinging to mike’s narrow frame as you tug the sweater up, fingers against his cold skin, wordlessly begging him to take it off. he tugs it over his head in one impatient motion. it lands with a wet slap on the carpet, forgotten.
his skin is cool from the rain, goosebumps rising under your palms as you drag your hands down his chest—pale, dark freckles scattered across his torso, ribs faintly visible when he breathes hard like this.
he shivers, partly from the cold, but mostly from the pleasure he takes in the way you and will look at him like you're absolutely starving.
will’s still kissing your neck, open-mouthed and greedy, teeth scraping just hard enough to make you gasp. his bare torso presses against your side, warm now that the soaked shirt is gone, the lean muscle of his chest and stomach flexing every time he moves. you feel the ridge of his erection through his jeans, grinding slow and deliberate against your thigh.
“tell me what to do,” mike repeats, voice cracking on the last word, eyes blown wide and dark. he’s on his knees beside the bed now, looking up at both of you like he’s waiting for permission to breathe.
you thread your fingers through his wet curls, tugging gently until he tilts his head back. “kiss him,” you whisper.
mike’s gaze flicks to will—uncertain, hungry, terrified. will freezes for half a second, lips still against your throat. then he pulls back, turns his head, and meets mike’s eyes. the room is nothing but rain on the windows and the three of you breathing too loud.
will moves first. he cups mike’s jaw—thumb brushing over his sharp cheekbone—and leans in. the kiss is hesitant at the start, barely a press of lips, both of them trembling. then mike makes this small, broken sound in the back of his throat and surges forward, desperate, mouth opening under will’s like he’s been starving for it.
you watch, heat pooling low in your stomach, as will takes control almost immediately—hand sliding to the back of mike’s neck, holding him there while he licks into his mouth, slow and filthy. mike moans into it, putting on a show for you, his hands fisting in will’s damp hair.
when they finally break apart, both of them are flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy. a thin string of saliva connects them for a second before it snaps.
“fuck,” mike breathes, voice wrecked. he looks at you, then back at will, like he can’t believe any of this is actually happening.
you shift back on the bed, pulling your loose t-shirt over your head and tossing it aside. no bra underneath—just skin, nipples already tight from the cool air and the way they’re both staring. you lie back against the pillows, legs parting slightly in invitation.
“both of you,” you say, soft but firm. “take the rest off and get up here.”
they don’t hesitate. jeans and belts hit the floor in a frantic rush—will’s first, then mike’s, boxers following until they’re both bare and climbing onto the bed with you. will’s cock is flushed, curving up toward his stomach; mike’s is longer, thinner, already leaking at the tip. they kneel on either side of you, breathing hard, waiting.
"you're so beautiful" mike whispers softly, lithe fingers reaching out to touch your bare chest. you reach out—one hand wrapping around will, the other around mike—and stroke them slowly, firmly, watching their faces. will’s head tips back, a low groan ripping out of him. mike whines, hips jerking into your grip, eyes locked on where your fingers circle the head of his cock, smearing the wetness there.
they shift in, knees brushing yours, until their bodies are pressed against your sides—warm skin, rapid heartbeats. you guide will’s hand between your thighs first; he doesn’t need more instruction. two fingers slide through your slick folds and push inside without warning, curling just right. you arch with a gasp, gripping mike tighter in reward. he whines, thrusting shallowly into your fist.
mike leans down to kiss you, as you watch will's pliant fingers disappear between your trembling thighs. will watches him for a second, eyes dark, then leans over you to kiss mike again—messy, over your head, while his fingers keep fucking into you steadily.
you’re already close, embarrassingly fast, the heat coiling tight and urgent. you pull will’s hand away before you tip over, ignoring his protesting groan.
“will first,” you decide, voice shaky. “mike—watch.”
you push will onto his back beside you. he goes willingly, spreading his legs as you straddle him reverse—facing mike so he has the perfect view. you sink down slow, taking will inch by inch, both of you groaning at the stretch. his hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, guiding you until you’re fully seated, grinding down in small circles that make his thighs tremble. will's already close at the familiar sight of your ass pressed to his hips, the way you whine his name like a prayer as he ruts into you.
mike’s stroking himself now, slow and tortured, eyes fixed on where will disappears inside you.
“look at him,” you tell will, breathless. “tell him how good it feels.”
will’s gaze locks on mike, hazy and fucked-out already. “so fucking tight,” he groans. “she feels so fucking good, mike,” he mutters, running his hand over his face.
mike whimpers again, hand moving faster.
you start riding will properly—slow rolls of your hips turning into harder bounces, and the wet slap of skin filling the room along with your and will's moans. every time you sink down, will thrusts up to meet you, hitting deep enough to make you cry out.
“c'mere,” you tell mike, reaching for him.
he leans into you as you pull him into a kiss—deep, filthy—then take his cock in your hand. he gasps as your soft palm grips him, hot and velvet, lithe fingers swirling around the head. his hands fist in your hair, hips stuttering as you roll your wrist with each movement.
will watches, groaning louder, thrusts turning erratic.
mike’s close already; you can feel it in the way he swells against your hand, the desperate little noises he’s making into your mouth. you pull off him just long enough to gasp, “not yet.”
you ride will harder, chasing your own edge now, clit grinding against him on every downstroke. when it hits, you come with a sharp cry—walls clenching rhythmically around will, dragging him over with you. he curses, hips snapping up as he spills deep inside you, hot and pulsing.
you keep moving through the aftershocks, fucking him dry, until he’s shuddering and oversensitive beneath you.
then you pull off slowly, turn around, and push mike flat on his back. will’s release is dripping down your thighs as you straddle mike next, sinking onto him in one smooth motion. he groans softly, hands flying to your waist.
“you're fucking soaked” he murmurs softly. “you're so full of him—”
he looks up at you as you run your hands through his damp hair and wide brown eyes raking over your face in adoration, his soft lips parted, huffing out moans as you grind down onto him.
“yeah,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss him soft and slow. “and now you get to feel it.”
will moves in behind you, chest to your back, mouth on your neck. one hand slides around to rub tight circles over your clit; the other reaches down to where you and mike are joined, fingers gathering the mess there and stroking over mike’s cock as you ride him.
"fuck," he mutters, grabbing at your waist roughly as he tries to push himself deeper into you.
"you feel so good, mike," you moan, cupping his face, running your thumbs along his damp skin.
"i love the way you fuck me," you whisper against his mouth, teeth nipping at his lip roughly as you kiss him.
mike loses it almost instantly—back arching, a strangled moan tearing out of him as he comes hard inside you, pulsing over and over, face twisted in overwhelmed pleasure.
you follow seconds later, a second orgasm crashing through you from will’s relentless fingers and the feeling of mike falling apart beneath you.
when it’s over, the three of you collapse in a tangle—limbs heavy, skin slick with sweat and rain and each other. the storm outside has quieted to a soft drizzle against the window.
your head is on mike's chest, will’s arm draped over both of you, fingers lazily tracing patterns on mike’s hip.
mike is the first to speak, his voice almost a whisper.
"i feel like everything finally makes sense and also nothing does at the same time.”
will huffs a quiet laugh against your back. “yeah. that about covers it.”
you run your fingers through mike’s hair.
“you okay?” you ask softly.
eventually mike lets out this soft, huffed laugh. “jesus. that was…” he searches for the word, gives up. “yeah.”
will snorts quietly. “eloquent.”
“shut up,” mike mumbles, but there’s zero heat in it. he tilts his head to look at you, then over your shoulder at will. “you guys are way too good at that.”
you grin, lazy. “you're not too bad yourself, wheeler”
will’s lips brush the back of your shoulder, amused. “he lasted longer than i thought he would.”
“hey,” mike protests weakly, but he’s smiling into your skin. “i’m right here.”
“yeah,” will says, voice low and fond. “you are.”
another beat of quiet. mike’s fingers start drawing little patterns on your skin, absentminded. “so… this was fun,” he says, casual as hell, like he’s talking about a good movie. “like. really fun.”
"i'm lowkey so sweaty," you mutter, lifting off mike with a soft, satisfied groan.
"scoot," you tell will, nestling yourself between them.
“so, like, if anyone asks what we did tonight, we’re sticking to the story, right? straight-a study session. crammed real hard. covered a lot of… material.”
you groan through a laugh. “oh my god, mike.”
will actually chuckles. “nailed the key points. multiple times.”
“stop,” you giggle. “you guys are the actual worst,”
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