saw this on pinterest(no credit no fandom no nothing so i have no idea what its actually for or who made it bro đ) and thought of lawless byler
obviously mike is the âam i good?â because #praisekinkmikewheeler and will is the ehehe one
Mike Driver
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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oozey mess
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
will byers stan first human second

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@by-velith
saw this on pinterest(no credit no fandom no nothing so i have no idea what its actually for or who made it bro đ) and thought of lawless byler
obviously mike is the âam i good?â because #praisekinkmikewheeler and will is the ehehe one

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gonna cry thinking abt mike making a "photo album" in the early 90s that's just called "will" but he hadn't actually spoken to him in about two years, so when will finds it later (when they're dating), he's really confused. he opens it to find pictures and pictures that mike took of the sun:
I'm gonna cry...
Will deserved to be loved the way he loved.
Day 2 - 1920s AU (Byler)
Low class boys making the most out of it
#willbdayweek2026
Cleradin + Miwi pages :)

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nothing will hit more than the transition between little wiw casting a spell on the audience and it opening back up to mike. aka casting protection on mike. GOD
"take off your jacket" why don't you take off your jacket, michael? 𤨠why does will need to take off his jacket? 𤨠mike wheeler you are GAY
The fact that my partner and I became a couple after six years of being best friends, just because one day we jokingly decided to kiss and it felt like discovering a whole new world, is more than enough reason for me to believe that Byler is real and totally possible after the epilogue đ
Some days ago, I started this as a piece of writing, not knowing if it would ever turn into a fic. The response I got here completely overwhelmed me. So many of you asked me to tag you, to post it on AO3, to keep going, to finish it.
So⌠Iâm on it.
Iâve officially posted Chapter 1 of this story on AO3, and Iâm planning to continue it there.
A big part of why I wanted to turn this into a fic is to sit with all the gaps the show left behind, especially when it comes to Mike. There's a reason for everything he did, let him explain!
You can read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78197451/chapters/204960601
And if you feel like it, comments and kudos over there mean everything. Truly. This writer runs on them, and I appreciate every single one more than I can say. đ
For everyone who asked me to tag them: @georgeodowd @i-have-zero-chill @frogsdontcry @rain-puddles @marzix-sza @ode-to-berlermo @staphi @tchaik2 @catjuice123 @reluctantbylerblog @hawkins-family-video-backroom @danmeicoffeecat @thedayidiedwasthedaythatidied @wis3h3artt
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Mike Wheeler hadnât expected New York to feel like this.
Not the city itself âthe city was exactly what heâd imagined: loud, immense, too aliveâ but the quiet pressure that settled in his chest the moment he stepped out of the cab. A tight, persistent weight, like simply being in the same place as Will âeven without seeing him yetâ had shifted something that had been resting, untouched, for far too long.
They talked often. Long phone calls, sometimes awkward, sometimes so natural they felt pulled from another time. Will told him about the School of Visual Arts, about endless workshops, about professors who pushed him to loosen his grip on structure, to stop being afraid of what he created. He talked about spending hours shut inside the studio, about coming home tired with graphite-smudged fingers or paint on his hands, about how different the light in New York was compared to Hawkins, about how everything here seemed to move even when he stayed still.
Mike talked about the book. About how strange it felt to say it out loud. About the publishing house that had contacted him, about the invitation to travel and present something that, not long ago, had only existed in worn notebooks and half-organized files. Will sounded genuinely proud. Mike could hear it, even across the distance.
And then there was the other subject.
That guy.
Will never mentioned him outright. He always came up indirectly, almost carefully: someone heâd met, someone he was seeing, someone who made him laugh. Will sounded excited. Lighter. As if heâd found a place to lean without needing permission. Without being afraid of the answer.
On one of those calls, without making much of it, Will said he was thinking about taking the next step. That maybe he wanted something serious. Something exclusive. Mike had leaned back against the wall of his bedroom, closed his eyes, and congratulated him. Said he thought it was a good thing. That he was happy for him. And in some way, it was true. But something inside him shifted out of alignment, like that sentence had pointed toward something heâd spent years choosing not to look at directly.
The publisher had offered him a hotel. Some nights covered, close to downtown. Will, of course, had offered his place. Said he had room. Said it wouldnât be a problem. Mike had declined. Said everything was already arranged. That he didnât want to be a bother.
He didnât tell him the truth, thoughâthe one that kept surfacing quietly at the back of his thoughts.
Now he was here. In New York. In the same city where Will was building a life that no longer centered on him. The interview with the publisher had gone better than heâd expected. They told him the contract would be ready the next day, that only a few details remained. Something concrete. Stable. Almost reassuring.
And still, he couldnât feel at ease.
He hadnât told Will heâd arrived. Not yet. Willâs address was written on a folded piece of paper tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket, carrying a presence that felt almost spectral. Knowing he could see him at any moment unsettled him more than the waiting itself.
"As soon as I get some free time, Iâll call you. We can hang out or something."Â heâd said over the phone.
Going back to the hotel didnât feel like an option. Once there, the room began to feel too quiet, too small for everything circling his thoughts. The idea of staying alone with nothing but time to think pushed him back out into the street.
He walked without direction, bathed in yellow streetlights and neon, letting the city carry him along. He thought about the contract he was about to sign, about the book that was finally becoming something more than just his. He thought about Willâabout how close he was, and how far he suddenly felt. Each step took him farther from the hotel and deeper into thoughts he couldnât quite sort through.
The constant noise of traffic. Voices overlapping in different languages. The air smelled like smoke, hot street food, metal, and old rain. Without thinking too much about it, he stepped into a small, dim barâone of those places where no one asked questions.
He ordered a drink. Then another. Lit a cigarette and leaned against the counter, absently tilting the glass in his hand, watching the liquid sway and settle again.
He thought of Will at eleven, drawing on the basement floor. He thought of Will at eighteen, saying goodbye with his eyes full of things he didnât know how to sayâthings that were there, things Mike knew were there, things they had somehow silently agreed not to talk about anymore.
He thought of Will now, in New York, wanting to build something with someone else.
For a long time, Mike had told himself that what he felt was normal. That missing him made sense. That the discomfort had everything to do with distance and nothing more. But hearing Will talk about someone elseâimagining him choosing another personâforced him to face a question he still didnât know how to shape.
Maybe he didnât just miss Will.
Maybe he missed the version of himself that existed when Will was close.
Continue reading it HERE
đđ
Iâm literally devastated by how they DESTROYED a character who couldâve been so deep and brave and caring and alive. I LOVE Mike, and I refuse to believe that whatever they did in the finale is my Mike. I love the Mike we built through theories, the Mike that felt like the original intention of his arc. I believe in a Mike who grows up and understands that his feelings deserve to be seen, that he doesnât have to stay stuck in a relationship where he canât fully express his love, that he doesnât remain anchored to trauma, that learns to be honest with himself, is brave, and faces the world to be free. I refuse to think of Mike as some boring Ted, alone in a basement, numb to life, repressed and stagnant.
That is not my Mike. My Mike, OUR Mike, is wonderful.

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I miss my S4 "You didn't have to" Mike Wheeler. SO. MUCH.
"You..." And Mikeâs heart lurched, slamming hard against his sternum, kicking into a race he didnât even stop to notice.
The anxiety he had carried through the past few months, the stress, the tears, and those nights when desire had gotten the better of himâdriving him to seek comfort in fantasies that always ended with Willâs name gasping in his throatâflashed like sped-up slides across the screen of his mind, racing faster with every second their lips brushed. There was something about Will that made him dizzier than the alcohol, and something about his kisses and his touch that soothed his wounds and quieted his deepest fears. Mike didnât know if he would regret every one of his decisions the next morning, but honestly, right nowâjust nowâhe had no intention of giving those thoughts any weight. Instead, he used his hands to pull Will closer, to feel their bodies through the layers of fabric, to notice his breath trembling against his with every new millimeter of contact.
[...]
Somehow, Mike needed Will to go further. When he had been on his way to his apartment, when he had rung the bell, when he had cried out all his guilt in front of the man standing before him, he had neverâno matter how many times he replayed it in his headâimagined they would end up in his bedroom. And even though where they were now did not promise that anything would happen, the way their breaths tangled in the small space between them made his scattered mind collapse into a single point.
Breaking that boundary he had kept for years now felt, somehow, like a forbidden fruit he ached to slide down his throat.
What would his fatherâs God say if He saw him craving Will Byers like this? At what exact point had he twisted himself so far as to want something he had always been taught was wrong? How many times had he promised himself it was just him being confused⌠and how many times had he lost again to that same need? How many prayers would it take to wash clean the thoughts he was having now?
Mike shook his head, his eyes lost on Willâs lips, his hands closing around the slim waist in front of him, daring to slip his fingers just a few millimeters under the edge of his shirt. Still, at some point, it wasnât his faith that was in dangerâit was the cage he had used it as a lock to keep himself trapped inside.
The guilt wasnât in craving him anymore, but in all the time he had condemned himself for not doing it.
[...]
Oh, the concept of using religious analogies to chew through Mike Wheelerâs guilt and internalized homophobia đđ
LINK
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mike took a picture of it
I like to think wiw used to call mike 'mikey' in kindergarten so this is how it came to be
And then he didn't correct him for like a year
Also left handed will agenda who noticed!!1

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Hopper: comes home from work
checks Jonathanâs room Door: closed
Hopper: grumbles, but canât really do anything about it since heâs technically an adult now
moves to Willâs room Door: open exactly three inches
Hopper: narrows eyes. pushes it open slightly
Will and Mike: on the bed. Will tucked into Mikeâs arms, sketchbook balanced on his knees. Theyâre definitely a little too close for Hopperâs comfort, but objectively harmless.
Hopper: low warning grumble
Mike: spots Hopper in the doorway and gives him a thumbs-up
Hopper: deepens frown. retreats.
moves on to Janeâs room Door: closed
Hopper: face immediately turning red Hopper: âOh, hell no.â
storms in, prepared for the absolute worst
Dustin and Jane: lying on the floor, a very respectable distance apart, aggressively nerding out over a book about space
Dustin: ââand thatâs why Saturn hasââ
Dustin and Jane: *look up*
Hopper: short-circuits Hopper: âUh. Yeah. Fine. Justâkeep the door open three inches!â
Jane: âSure, Dad.â
Dustin: looks Hopper dead in the eye and gives him the most diabolical grin imaginable because he 100% closed the door on purpose
Hopper: walks away with extrem grumbling
Missed you!!