Gwynriel Kindle Inserts pt. 2
Hey y’all! I made some more of these cute little inserts for my Kindle 🪽 If anyone wants to use it too, feel free 💘
PSA: All fan art was found on Pinterest!!🧘🏻♀️🌸

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@veilvoyager
Gwynriel Kindle Inserts pt. 2
Hey y’all! I made some more of these cute little inserts for my Kindle 🪽 If anyone wants to use it too, feel free 💘
PSA: All fan art was found on Pinterest!!🧘🏻♀️🌸
Gwynriel Kindle Inserts
Hey y’all! I made these cute little inserts for my Kindle because I couldn’t find anything like it on Pinterest or Etsy. If anyone wants to use it too, feel free 🩵
PSA: All fan art was found on Pinterest!! And I also posted these on reddit 🧘🏻♀️🫶🏼
Between the Ruins and Us | Aged up Mileven
Mike Wheeler x Eleven / Jane Hopper
Summary: After the fight is over, the adrenaline fades, but the weight of survival doesn’t. In the quiet that follows, Eleven and Mike cling to each other, finding comfort, grief, and love in the aftermath of almost losing everything.
Warnings: Post-Battle, Post-Canon Fix-It, Bonding, Trauma processing, Non-graphical sexual content, Soft angst, Bittersweet, Aftermath
Songs: Don‘t Dream It‘s Over by Crowded House & Nothing‘s Gonna Hurt You Baby by Cigarettes After Sex
Words: 2,123
Eleven’s POV
The adrenaline does not leave all at once. It clings to me, lodged deep in my chest, buzzing under my skin like a live wire. My heart is still racing, pounding hard enough that I swear it shakes my ribs. The truck pushes forward through the dark, headlights slicing through trees and drifting smoke, the road uneven beneath the tires. Only when the engine settles into a steadier rhythm do I realize how badly I’ve been holding my breath.
I let it go in a slow, trembling exhale.
It feels like my body is finally catching up to what has already happened. Like it’s realizing that I am alive.
Tonight was terrifying. Not the kind of fear that hits fast and fades just as quickly, but the kind that sinks into your bones and stays there, heavy and cold. I’ve lived with fear for most of my life. I know its shape. I know its voice. But it never gets easier. Every time something new happens, every time the danger changes form, it takes something with it. A small piece I don’t get back.
I stare out the window for a moment, watching the darkness rush past, then my eyes betray me and drift to the side.
Mike.
He sits close, his shoulder nearly touching mine, his posture finally relaxed in a way it hadn’t been all night. The tension has drained from his face, leaving something softer behind. Relief. Joy. Maybe even hope. The dashboard light catches in his eyes when he looks over, and the sight of him makes my chest ache in a way I can’t explain.
Without thinking, I grip his arm tighter.
He is the only good thing that has ever stayed. The one constant when everything else has been torn away. The best person I have ever known. When the world feels sharp and overwhelming, he is the one thing that feels steady.
Everyone else looks happy too. Tired, dirty, bruised, but smiling. Laughing softly. Like they’re already letting themselves believe this nightmare is over. I know I should feel the same way. I want to. I try to.
But my thoughts drift where I don’t want them to go.
Kali.
Her name sits heavy in my mind. Life has never been fair to me, but it was cruel to her. She was always fighting, always surviving, and in the end she paid the price while the rest of us were saved. I feel the loss like a weight pressing down on my lungs. I saved everyone else, but I lost my sister in the process.
The guilt is quiet but constant.
I make myself a promise in the silence of my own head. She will not be forgotten. She will not become another ghost people stop talking about. Whatever justice looks like in this broken world, I will make sure she gets it.
A sigh escapes me before I can stop it. Too loud. Too uneven.
Mike notices immediately.
His gaze shifts to me, concern replacing the smile on his face. He leans in without hesitation and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. The touch is soft, careful, like he knows exactly how fragile I feel. I close my eyes and rest my head against his shoulder, breathing him in. Familiar warmth.
Safe.
That’s what he is. What he has always been.
Lately, though, something between us has felt strained. Like we’ve both been holding back, afraid to pull too hard on something that already feels worn thin. We’ve been distant, careful, weighed down by everything happening around us. Maybe that’s normal. Nothing about our lives has ever been simple. This was never the kind of love story people write about. Not the easy kind, at least.
But when he smiles at me the way he does now, like I belong right here, it feels perfect anyway.
-
Later that night, the quiet feels unreal.
The cabin is dim and warm, the air still carrying traces of smoke, damp wood, and adrenaline that hasn’t fully faded. I sit on the edge of the bed, wrapped in mismatched clothes, my hair still wet from what might have been the best shower of my life. The water had been hot, grounding, washing away layers of blood, dirt, and fear. For a few minutes, it felt like the world was small again.
Some of the others went back to the Wheelers’ house. The rest stayed here. Mike stayed.
I didn’t want to be alone tonight. The silence feels too loud when I’m by myself, filled with memories that refuse to stay buried. I think he understood that without me having to say it.
The sound of the shower stopping pulls me from my thoughts. My heart stutters, nerves fluttering low in my stomach. I wait, listening to footsteps down the hall, until the door opens and he steps into the room.
He looks tired. His hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends, and his shoulders sag like the weight of the night is finally settling in. Still, when his eyes meet mine, they soften.
He comes over and sits beside me on the bed. Close. Close enough that our knees brush.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Then he gently takes my hand in his. His skin is warm, solid, real. His thumb moves slowly over my knuckles, grounding me in a way nothing else can.
“I know tonight was…” He trails off, searching for the right words, then lets out a quiet breath. “I don’t even know how to describe it. Or how to thank you, El. Everything you did. It was unbelievable.”
I look down at our hands, then back at him, and nod. My voice is soft when I speak. “We did good. All of us.”
He shakes his head with a small smile, like he can’t quite accept that. Carefully, he reaches up and pushes a strand of wet hair behind my ear. His fingers linger there, resting against my skin.
“Nobody compares to you,” he says quietly.
The words send a shiver through me. Not fear this time. Something warmer. Something I’ve missed more than I realized. I lift my hand and let it close around his, where it rests against my neck. He leans in slowly, giving me time to pull away.
I don’t.
His lips meet mine in a soft, gentle kiss. Unhurried. Certain. Like a promise rather than a question.
At first there is no rush. No urgency. Finally no monsters waiting outside the door. Just the steady sound of our breathing and the fragile calm of surviving. But with every second, I realize more and more what I could have lost tonight. And that angers me. And it makes me happy.
And then I really look at Mike, at the way he’s still sitting next to me, hair wet, eyes wide but steady, holding me closely after the kiss.
And in that small, impossible moment, I realize again… we’re in this together. We always have been.
I close my eyes and slowly inhale.
My legs work faster than my mind, and I settle onto Mike’s lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and crashing my lips harder onto his. Any of us could have died tonight. And I’ll be damned if I’m not celebrating our final victory.
The kiss is desperate, messy. My fingers tangled in his hair, his hands gripping my waist like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
Mike pulls back just enough to murmur against my lips, “El-”
“Shut up,” I whisper, kissing him again. Harder this time.
He groans, his grip tightening, and suddenly we’re falling backward onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and shared breath. His mouth is warm, insistent, chasing away every frantic thought screaming in my head.
I nip at his lower lip, earning a low sound from him that sends heat spiraling through me. His hands slide under my shirt, rough palms skimming my bruised ribs, and I arch into the touch.
One of his hands cups my face, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. The other splays over my spine, holding me closer. So close I can feel the wild beat of his heart.
His lips skim my jaw, a trail of fire that makes me shiver. I tangle my fingers in his hair, tugging, needing him, needing more. The world could be falling apart outside this room, and suddenly I don’t care. Not when he touches me like this.
-
Mike’s POV
This night was too much.
I know that one day I’ll sit down and really think about everything that happened. I’ll replay it over and over, trying to understand how close we came to losing everything. How close I came to losing her. But that day is not today.
Right now, all I know is that I need El close. As close as humanly possible.
My hands slide up her back under her shirt, fingertips tracing the dip of her spine as she arches into me. The press of her body against mine is electric, every point of contact burning through the haze of panic that had settled in my chest hours ago.
She makes a sound against my lips, half frustration, half desperation, and I swallow it hungrily. My thumb brushes the delicate skin just below her ribcage, feeling the rapid flutter of her heartbeat.
“Mike,” she breathes, nails scraping lightly down my neck.
I don’t answer. Can’t. Not when she’s like this, kissing me like she’s trying to erase everything outside this room, outside us. Her hips roll against mine and I groan, fingers tightening involuntarily on her waist.
Her teeth graze my lower lip, sharp and sudden, and all coherent thought evaporates. I flip us over in one smooth motion, pinning her beneath me as she gasps. Her legs wrap around my hips instinctively, pulling me closer.
For one suspended moment, we’re frozen like that, her beneath me, flushed and breathless, eyes dark with something fierce. Though, the small lamp on her bedside table catches the gold in her irises.
Then she surges up to kiss me again, and the world dissolves into heat and touch and her.
It’s like a switch flipping. All I can think about is her, her fingers on my skin, her body warm against mine. I lose myself in her, forgetting everything but the way she gasps into the kiss, trembling like she might fly into pieces.
She pulls back, panting..
“Mike,” she murmurs. “How are your lips so soft?” she asks, with a small, genuinely curious smile.
My laugh shakes a little, breathless. “Are you seriously asking that now?” My thumb brushes over her cheekbone, trailing down to trace the line of her throat.
The sound she makes sends any coherent thought flying right out of my head.
“Sweetheart,” I breathe, shifting so I can bury my face in the crook of her neck. “You’re trying to kill me.”
Her small giggle is everything to me in this moment.
-
Eleven’s POV
For a moment, I forget how to breathe.
The way he’s hovering over me, the warmth of him, the weight, makes my thoughts scatter. My hands slide up his back without thinking, fingers pressing into fabric, like I need something solid to hold onto. His breath ghosts over my skin, uneven, and I can feel how hard his heart is beating, fast and reckless, matching mine.
Everything feels heightened.
Nothing outside this room exist anymore. There’s only this small pocket of heat and breath and the way he looks at me like I’m the only thing anchoring him right now.
And maybe I am.
Maybe he’s doing the same for me.
When he buries his face against my neck, I close my eyes, my hand sliding into his hair, holding him there. The moment stretches, taut and trembling, and then slowly softens. Like a wave pulling back from the shore.
He shifts slightly, resting his forehead against mine, eyes closed. I feel his exhale against my lips, long and grounding. I mirror it without realizing I am.
“Hey,” I whisper, not even sure why.
He hums softly in response, thumb brushing once over my side. Gentle now. Grounding. The intensity eases into something warmer, steadier. Safer.
Eventually, we separate just enough to breathe properly again. He sits back, running a hand through his hair, laughing quietly under his breath like he can’t believe himself.
“Wow,” he mutters.
I smile, pulling my shirt back into place, my heart still racing but no longer spiraling. “Yeah,” I say softly. “Wow.”
Then he lies down, and I lie with him. Our arms everywhere around each other and his lips against my ear, whispering “I love you.” And for the first time in months, I sleep like a baby.
I love you too, Mike Wheeler.
A/n💌
This is an aged-up (19 years old), post-canon fix-it one-shot focusing on emotional and physical closeness after trauma/the night of the battle. Hurt/comfort, soft angst, and healing ahead. I’ve thought of many scenarios after the ending, and this is one where Eleven survives and they find comfort in each other. It was inspired by the scene in the truck where they smile at each other and Mike looks so ready to kiss El‘s face off 😭
cross-posted on ao3/
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
If I Could Be With Her | Mileven
Mike Wheeler x Eleven / Jane Hopper
cross-posted on ao3/
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: She sacrificed herself to save them. And now, Mike is left in a world that doesn’t make sense, haunted by her absence, broken by her loss. The panic, the memories, the self-loathing..they crash through him with no warning. How do you survive when the one person who made life worth living is gone?
Warnings: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Canonical Character Death, Eleven is presumed dead, Hurt No Comfort, Trauma, Dissociation, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Intrusive Thoughts, Implied Self-Destructive Thoughts, Self-Hatred, Dark, Stream of Consciousness, Grief Focused, Hawkins Aftermath, After the battle
Song: Look After You - The Fray
Words: 1,553
The darkness in my room doesn’t just surround me. It presses in, thick and airless, like it’s trying to bury me alive. I sit there and let it happen. I don’t turn on the light. I don’t move. A few hours ago, my throat was raw from screaming her name, from choking on words that came too fucking late, and now I don’t trust my body to make a sound at all. If I opened my mouth, I think nothing would come out. Or maybe everything would.
My heart won’t slow down. It keeps slamming against my ribs, frantic and uneven, like it’s trying to escape me too. I know they’re out there, on the other side of the door. I can hear the house breathing, floorboards settling, whispered voices that stop every time I shift. They’re waiting. Watching. Afraid I’ll break. Maybe hoping I already have.
But none of them matter. Not right now.
There’s only her.
Eleven. El.
Her name cuts deeper than any knife. I don’t say it out loud because I don’t think I’d survive hearing it in my own voice. The pain that comes with it is immediate and violent, a twisting pressure in my chest that makes it hard to breathe. I want to tear my heart out, feel it beating in my hands, crush it between my fingers until it stops hurting. Until it stops remembering. Until it’s as ruined as she is.
No. Not ruined.
Sacrificed.
She chose to disappear so the rest of us could stay. She burned herself out of the world so the cycle could end, so the military wouldn’t hunt her down, so we could breathe freely again. And I hate her for it. I hate her for being brave. I hate her for being good. I hate her for leaving me behind with this hollow, rotten thing she called a future.
I don’t remember getting to my room. One moment I was there, holding onto the idea that she might still be alive somewhere, that she’d come back like she always did, and the next I was here, sitting on my bed like a ghost in my own body. I don’t even remember lying down. My limbs feel wrong, heavy and distant, like they don’t belong to me anymore.
I try to picture her face and it slips away. That scares me more than anything else. I grasp at the memory, clawing for details. Her eyes, her nose, the way her mouth tilted when she smiled, but it’s like trying to hold smoke. The harder I try, the faster it disappears.
All I have left is the blanket in my hands.
It still smells like her..faint, warm, familiar. Like soap and skin and something softer I can’t name. I press it to my face and breathe like it might keep me alive. My cheeks are tight and sticky with dried tears. I cried until there was nothing left inside me, until my body gave up, until even grief grew tired of me.
I feel empty.
And at the same time, I feel like I’m drowning.
I would die if it meant seeing her again. If someone told me that all I had to do was stop breathing, stop fighting, and she’d be there waiting for me, I wouldn’t hesitate. Not for a second. I would’ve gone with her. I should’ve gone with her. I should’ve fought harder, screamed louder, grabbed her hand and refused to let go. I should’ve stood between her and the world and let it take me instead.
None of this is worth it without her.
None of it.
Her smile keeps replaying in my head. The one she gave me right before she left, small and soft and brave in that way only her beautiful lips could manage. It’s torture. Every time I see it, something inside me splits open, raw and bleeding. I wanted to tell her I loved her. Not later. Not someday. Right then. I wanted to tuck that stupid strand of hair behind her ear and tell her how beautiful she is, how she makes everything feel less broken just by existing.
I’ve never loved anyone like her. I never will.
She wasn’t just my girlfriend. She was my safe place. My reason. The part of me that believed things could end without someone being lost forever. And now she’s gone, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all the love I still have for her. It has nowhere to go. It just rots inside me.
She was it for me.
She was my baby.
My home.
And now she’s gone.
I don’t know how long it’ll take before the rest of me follows.
Gone. Gone. Gone.
Fucking Gone.
I shiver, even though my skin is slick with heat, the room radiating off me like fire that doesn’t warm. I close my eyes and she’s there. Always there. Her face. Her eyes. That adorable smile when she looks at me that I’ll never see again. She’s everywhere, and I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t stop seeing her.
My chest tightens without warning.
At first, I think it’s just the way I’m sitting, hunched over like something inside me folded in on itself and never unfolded again. But then the air stops working. I breathe in and it doesn’t feel like anything, no relief, no expansion, just pressure, building and building, until my lungs start to burn.
Something’s wrong.
Something is really wrong.
My heartbeat stutters, then takes off, wild and erratic, like it’s trying to outrun the rest of me. My hands start shaking. I stare at them in the dark, barely recognizing them as mine. They look too pale. Too far away. Like I’m watching someone else fall apart through a foggy window.
I drag in a breath and it comes out broken.
Again.
Again.
Each inhale feels shallow, useless. My vision blurs at the edges, the room shrinking, walls inching closer until I’m not sure there’s enough space left for me to exist in. I press my palm hard against my chest, like I can physically hold my heart still, like I can force it to behave if I just push hard enough.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
It doesn’t listen.
My head feels wrong, light and heavy at the same time. Thoughts slip away halfway through forming, replaced again by flashes instead. Her face. Her voice. Her hand slipping from mine. My stomach twists violently and I have to lean forward, gasping, convinced I’m going to throw up or pass out or both.
For a terrifying second, I think this might be it.
That my body is finally giving up too.
And part of me doesn’t fight the idea.
That thought lands softly, almost gently, and it scares me more than the panic itself. There’s a quiet, traitorous voice in the back of my mind whispering that it would be easier. That if my heart just stopped right now, I wouldn’t have to wake up tomorrow in a world where she doesn’t exist.
The thought doesn’t feel dramatic.
It feels logical.
I press my forehead into the mattress, breathing into the fabric like someone drowning in inches of water. My hands dig into the blanket, nails biting into my palms, grounding me just enough to remind me that I’m still here. That my body is still here, even if my mind keeps slipping away from it.
Time stops making sense.
Seconds stretch into something unbearable, or maybe hours pass, at this point I honestly can’t tell. My body goes numb in waves, starting at my fingertips, crawling up my arms, like I’m slowly being erased from the outside in. I don’t feel real. The room doesn’t feel real. It’s like I’m floating somewhere above myself, watching this version of me curl inward and shake.
I think about hurting myself, not in images, not in plans, but in impulses. There is a sharp need to feel something different. Something louder than this hollow ache. Something that proves I still exist in a way my pain hasn’t swallowed yet.
The thought disgusts me.
The thought tempts me.
I squeeze my eyes shut and rock slightly, grounding, grounding, grounding, the way mom once told me to do when the world gets too big. My teeth chatter even though I’m not cold. My muscles ache like I’ve been running for miles, even though I haven’t moved at all.
Eventually, the panic burns itself out.
Not because it resolves, just because my body can’t sustain it anymore.
I’m left exhausted, hollowed out, damp with sweat, my heart still beating too fast but no longer trying to escape my chest. I lie there staring into nothing, dissociated and empty, like a shell that’s already been abandoned.
And the worst part is this:
Even after all of that, after the terror and the shaking and the part of me that wanted to disappear?
She’s still gone.
The pain is still there, settled deep in my bones. Unmovable. Waiting for me to wake up tomorrow. And the day after that. And every day for the rest of my life.
I turn my face into the blanket again, breathing in what little remains of her, and let the darkness take me back once more.
A/n💌
Hi! This is my first fanfiction/one-shot that I’m posting on AO3/Tumblr, so thank you for bearing with me. English isn’t my first language, but I hope it comes across okay. Ever since the finale, this particular scene has been playing over and over in my mind, and I just needed to write it down. I thought maybe others might connect with it too!!
-A 🪷