but he didn’t. actually, the next few blocks he stayed behind you, hands in his pockets, hood up, it’s dark so you only seen his face in the short time you looked back and he walked under a lamp post. your hearts racing, you’re sweating, and out of just quick thinking you duck into an alley, breathe heavy and shaky.

you wait, hope to see him just walk past as you take out your phone to call your boyfriend once more, but before you do, your pushed against the brick wall with a hand against your mouth, your phone dropping at the suddenness. “empty your fuckin pockets.” you hear him sneer in your ear, breath heavy as yours, holding you steady as you try and squirm away, though he overpowers you like it’s nothing.

“I said empty your fuckin pockets!” he gets louder, just loud enough to get through to you but not to alert anyone near. he pulls you deeper into the alley, it’s a dead end. he’s holding your cheeks hard, and you manage to get out a, “don’t have anything..!” beneath his grip, he’s bruising your face, not only that but his body’s pressing against you, pressing you against the cold brick, probably scraping skin.

“bullshit I saw you leave that fuckin diner, now empty everything you got ‘fore I make this harder than what it has to be, mmkay?” he keeps your in his grasp as he snatched your purse, opening it and dumping everything out, seeing nothing but lipglosses, cards and other stupid filler shit. you’re tearing up, his lower half keeps you unmovable, no matter how much your squirm it’s not doing anything but rubbing yourself against him and scraping skin against the wall.

“please..I-I don’t carry anything I promise. I don’t even have a car,” you plead quietly, tears running down your cheeks onto his jacket. he scoffs as he runs his free hand around your body, forcing his way around your jacket pockets and down your leggings. you hold your breath when you feel him start to rub you through your leggings, his fingers pressing against your folds and up your clit slowly.

“well i’m gettin somethin outta ya’.” he says lowly, and as you slowly stop squirming, you now realize the hard spot you’ve been feeling isn’t some sort of weapon. your heart drops when his fingers breaks under your leggings, draping to your clothed pussy, feeling the growing wet spot, making your heart pound. “please..anything else just please..” you whisper, feeling his breath get closer to your ear.

“you uh, you always this wet for strangers like me? huh?” he rubs you faster, his focus on your clit, quickly clamping his mouth around your mouth and looking around breifly, hearing your tiny exclaims under his hand. “dirty men who take you in alleys, use you for what you’re good for, hm?” he’s pulling your bottoms to your knees before spitting in his hand and placing hot fingers around your hole, circling around slowly before slipping both in.

you moan out under his hand and he holds you tighter, silencing you for anyone else, only being heard by himself. your soft ass is against his jeans, the slow movement of his fingers inside you make you squirm against him, his bulge making itself known between your ass. “you like that don’t you, yeah?” he breaths, speeding up, your moans faster and louder. you don’t answer, but you don’t have to. he knows for damn sure he’s got you in his corner.

“you’re really fuckin wet doll, you this wet for me?” he chuckled lightly before pulling his fingers out of you and pulling down his own pants, pulling his hard cock out, sighing in relief. you gasp, feeling the weight of his tip as he taps it against your ass, you didn’t even have to look back to know it was big.

he rubs his cock against you, allowing you to feel just how big and girthy it was. you tear up more, knowing he wasn’t gonna make this easy for you. he arches your back some before rubbing his tip against your entrance and sliding in slowly, gradually getting his tip in. you moan and squirm as he sharply inhales, “so fuckin tight, n’ you better quit fuckin movin,” he says, slapping the side of your ass hard and making you jump, and this time you listen, your legs feeling weak against him, your whole body in fact.

he fucks his length into you, inch by inch splitting you open, your moans under his hand getting louder and drawn out, drool pooling against his hand. his eyes roll back, your warm walls squeezing around him as he finally reaches the base of his cock, his pubes rubbing against your ass. “fuuck,” groans, hand grabbing your waist and pulling you closer, feeling you throb against him, your hand that holds his arm shaking.

he speeds up, you’re surprised he’s holding back what you know he could be giving you but you’re not complaining, because in all honesty, it feels unreal. “you’re so fuckin good, bein so good, just take it ok?” he says, his hot, cigarette breath against your ear. you can’t help but get turned on, you can’t even see his face and yet you’re turned on. gross. “that’s it baby,” he says as he listens to you get louder under his hand, digging his dick deeper in you.

“take it, just take it,” he repeats, it feels like a taunt, he knows you can’t, you’re already buckling under him. you’re dizzy, his pace hardens, he’s groaning in your ear, some scattered curses and, “yeah,” “fuck,” “you’re so fucking good doll,” making appearances. he’s so entranced with your pussy he doesn’t even notice you pushed back on him ever so slightly, not until he hears something faint come from you, a word, a name.

“simon,” you moan in ecstasy, you can’t help but call out to your man,. “what was that? nah, say it again,” he huffs and unhands your mouth and grabs your cheeks again, though fucking into you harder. “s..simon..!” you squeak out, and the intruder scoffs a short laugh.

“who’s that, huh? your lil boyfriend?” he taunts, not holding back on you. “does simon know you’re getting bent in an alleyway right now, hm? does he?” he grabs your throat, his other hand grabbing your wrist and holding you against the building. your mouth falls open in a silent moan, he’s so deep, hitting all the right spots that make you feel like jelly, like he knows your body inside and out.

“does simon know that pussy’s soaking me right now? does he know you’re against the wall like a toy, fuckin back on my dick?” it’s the last thing he says before covering your mouth again, cutting off a loud moan, almost yell you let out. “oh you like that, you like this dick don’t you,” he taunts, you don’t even care, your brows furrow as you feel your come down hit you hard. you’re lucky the intruders holding most of your weight, or else you would’ve been slid down the wall.

“you cummin, that’s what it is? you gonna cum on this dick huh?” he says, though your hearings going out, squeezing your eyes shut, your mascara down your face and lipgloss all on his hand, body giving out as you release yourself all on yours and his lower half. you don’t even try and resist your climax as your squirt stains his jeans, he’s doing this to you anyway. “fuckin look at that,” he whispers, sweat dripping down his face as he fucks the daylights out of you.

“you’re a dirty girl, fucked in an alley, cummin all over me. you love this shit.” he says, though he’s not that far behind you. he’s pounding into you, the claps of wet skin against each other echoes through the walls, chasing his own release. “i’m gonna fuckin cum, god i’m gonna cum,” he huffs, out of breath. “you’re so good, so fuckin good, gonna cum in you.” his voice is raspy, and when those words leave his lips you snap your eyes open, finding your strength and wriggling your body, though it’s no use.

he pushes you back against the wall as he fucks you, ignoring your complaints and pleas under his hand, your arm elbowing his side and everything. it doesn’t matter in the end, you give up, body feeling like jelly as you accept what has been done, hearing his groan and feeling him thrust into you, warmth filling you as he catches his breath. releasing your wrist and your mouth, he pulls out and leans you against the wall but immediately comes to your aid when your knees buckle, your whole body shaking as you look back to finally look at him.

he adjusts himself before pulling your underwear and pants back on, “you said my name again, baby.” simon whispers, and you giggle. “I know, I just can’t..I can’t help it. you’re so good.” you catch your breath, allowing him to fix you up as you drape on his chest. “you did really good, the squirming, everything. where’s your knife? didn’t see it in the purse,” he fixes your makeup and your hair. “I keep it in my bra, I never carry shit in that purse.” you say, and he chuckles, lighting a cigarette, to which you take and hit first.

he gives you a short kiss before a longer, deeper one. “let’s get to the truck, got food at home for ya.” you guys began to walk, only grabbing the purse, but not the other shit in it. wasn’t important anyway. “next time, you should wear the mask.” you say, smiling to yourself as you hold his hand. “yeah? challenge accepted, just don’t get too scared and stab me, little freak.” he jokes, and you guys walk on to your truck.

:3

when he tries to readjust the angle, he knocks his nose into yours, and the sheer determination your boyfriend is exhibiting causes a giggle to escape you.

mike huffs at the all too familiar sound, squeezes where his hands rest in the dip of your hips, and huffs a ‘shut up’ against your lips.

his brows are furrowed, the expression born from both concentration and frustration, and you smooth away the wrinkle with your thumb before carefully diving back in for another kiss.

this time, your lips meld perfectly. and though his tongue is a little clumsy when it sweeps over your lower lip, the pressure a touch heavy, your mouth parts willingly anyways.

"thank you." you take the bunny from his hands and set it back down. "do you want to take off your coat?"

"god y/n i've been here two seconds and you're already undressing me?" your mouth falls open and you go to defend yourself but he places a hand over your cheek.

"i'm kidding don't worry" he shrugs the coat off before dropping himself down onto your bed. the pink of the pillows a stark contrast to the black t shirt he had on and the sight immediately had your mind reeling. “this is nice, come on i missed my girl."

you allow yourself to lay by him, his arm going around you instinctively pulling you closer until your heads nestled by his.

"been thinking about you all day.." he whispers into your ear and you smile at him.

"yeah?" you peak up at him through your lashes. so pretty and so welcoming as you stare up at him with loving eyes and he leans in, his lips pressing to yours.

his hand holds the back of your neck and he pulls you in further and within minutes you find yourself straddling his lap as he tugs your t shirt over your head.

"gorgeous." he whispers as his hands ghost over your bra before making their way to your back and unclipping it. he pinches your nipples and rolls them between his fingers whilst you whine out and grind down against him.

"mike.." you whine again and he chuckles before settling you next to him and standing next to the bed.

pulls his shirt over his head and your hands reach out to unbuckle his jeans before your pulling them down and slipping your hand into the waist band of his boxers.

"wanna suck your cock." you speak quietly, not daring to meet his gaze as you’re embarrassed of your own words but he pushes your chin up to face him.

"yeah?" he asks. he’s unsure but you nod and he presses a kiss to your lips.

you move his boxers and take him into your hand pumping a few time before you place a few kitten licks to the head. you lick a long strip up the bottom before sucking at the top for a while.

"fuck baby." he groans out and you smile around him before bobbing your head letting his tip touch the back of your throat.

his head throws back and his hands find their way to tangle into your hair as he stills you at the base. "fuuuck let me fuck that pretty mouth baby."

it came out as a question but sounded more of a demand and he didn't give you chance to answer before he held your head in place and started to thrust into your mouth.

tears pricked at your eyes even though he was attempting to go slow and before enough time he was speeding up a little whilst drool dripped from your lips and onto your thighs which folded beneath you.

you continued to stare up at him watching as his face screwed up and his chest was rising as moans slipped from his lips and eyes scrunched close.

"so fucking close.. you gonna let me cum down your throat princess?" you nodded around his cock and he chuckles down at you before taking it out of your mouth “course you are.” he slaps his heavy tip against your eager tongue a few times before hes thrusting all the way back in.

he continued to fuck into your face before his body stilled and he held your nose against the base of his cock as cum squirted down your throat. your nose tickles against the dark patch of hair and he swears that image will be engrained in his mind forever.

—

you’re not one to take another woman’s man. you cannot even fathom the idea of it. the mere thought of it makes you nauseous. what a cruel thing to do to someone and their heart. yet here you are, anxiously awaiting your secret lover to knock on the window of your dorm room. you’re fully aware of the consequences of your vile behavior. you pray to whatever god dares to listen, to not damn your soul for the gluttony that is willingly helping a man cheat on his girlfriend. you can’t push yourself to stop.

mike says you’re the total opposite of her, you don’t even know what he means by it. you caught a glimpse of her once at the video store. doe eyed with a smile as bright as her skin and everything you’re not. you’re softer, anxiety ridden, easily manipulated, and less determined than her. she’s the sweetest thing in the hell hole that is indiana. your stomach churned painfully at the glimmer from the m necklace around her neck. how could you do this to her?

a small knock on the glass pulls you out of your head, your feet think before you do as you’re rushing to peel apart the curtains. mike stands opposite you, visibly trying not to shiver from the cold fall breeze. you smile at him as you lift up the window to pull him in an embrace. the faint smell of embers lingers on his neck and it’s damn near addictive. “you’re so late.” you giggle, being lifted up and away from your dorm room to stand on the damp campus grass. “i’m sorry, i’ve been so busy with the party and her.” mike sheepishly smiles, kissing the flushed apple of your cheek. you ignore the usual pang in your gut at the mention.

he’s listening to you talk about your philosophy essay on the way to his beat-down pontiac, his arm is slung around your shoulder, and his fingers linger just above your bra that's shyly peaking out of your babydoll top. mike smiles at your stuttered aesthetic joke, at least that’s what you think, he could probably feel the air in your lungs shudder as his fingers tap against your exposed skin. “if i were your professor, you’d get more than a passing grade for your essay.” he teases as he opens the passenger door for you. the blood rushing through your cheeks feels like basaltic lava. your eyes search his before resting on the faint constellation of his freckles. “like what?” your tone couldn’t be more pathetic. mike settles for another kiss on your cheek before shutting the car door.

you can’t tell if the reward is the needy makeout session or the burning in your throat as you’re choking around mike’s cock, the length too much to bear. or maybe it’s the moans pouring past mike’s lips, “can’t go deeper?” the whimper you let out on his cock is enough for his eyes to go white. his hands are tangled in the strands of your hair as he fucks your throat roughly. you can’t stop yourself from gagging as your body fights for the little air you’re getting. mike finally pulls you off his cock. the air couldn’t taste sweeter. “look at what you do to me.” mike groans as he slaps the head of his cock against your pouty lips, cotton candy lip gloss smeared.

he looks at you the same way a starved wolf looks at a newborn fawn. the lust burning in his eyes sets your heart ablaze, your panties are drenched. “you’re so pathetic.” mike hisses, tugging at the straps of your bra, releasing them with a harsh snap. the moan you let out is embarrassing. mike forcefully grabs at your waist to sit you atop his lap, his nails clawing into the plush of your hips and the pain is bittersweet. his cold fingers hastily push aside the sheer lilac material covering the one thing he wants.

“please.” you dumbly beg as he’s rubbing the head of his cock on your clit, hands grasping at his shoulder for leverage. “tell me what you want.” you shake your head, too embarrassed and too shy to voice your perverted desire. “won’t get what you want if you don’t use that mouth of yours.” mike’s eyebrows pull together in frustration, his cock twitching against his abdomen. he's impatient, hungry. he only gets this way when he hasn't fucked you in weeks and here you are, depriving him of his food. "fucking talk." you suppress a moan at his words, you feel so shameless for finding him even hotter when he’s mean. “please fuck me, mike.” you whimper.

the cramped space of mike’s car makes you feel everything as if it’s your first day alive. you can feel his breathing hitch as he teases your sobbing hole with the tip of his cock, you can feel the blood rushing from your head down to your cunt. the condensation of the air is making your skin slightly sticky, you remove your bra to rid yourself of the heat. yet it’s not enough, you need mike to rid the heat within you. mike’s eyebrows scrunch together at your exposed chest, “fuck, you’re ridiculous.” and you feel ridiculous. mike finally relieves you of your ache when his cock slams into your cunt.

the air in your lungs is caught in your throat as you try to adjust to his pace, but he’s not letting up. your body struggles to keep itself up as mike bruises your cervix. the moans spilling from your lips mixes with the slaps of skin on skin, it’s enough to make you blush. “you sound like a whore.” mike grunts, gripping your thighs so hastily that the redness will last for days. the fever rushing throughout your body is heavenly. mike’s cock pumps so sweetly into you, like you were made to be used by him. your shaky fingers try to grasp onto the fogged window but all you manage to do is leave a wet handprint.

“fuck me harder, please.” you manage to whine out as you collapse atop mike. you feel a sharp tug at your hair that only has you moaning loudly. “so goddamn greedy.” mike breathes out, pulling your hair enough for the nape of your neck to show. “i wonder how you’d feel if someone where to pull up right now.” mike taunts, almost like he wants a random to witness the poronographic scene happening in his car. the thought has your heart beating against your ribcage so hard that it could break through bones if it were possible. the slick trail of your arousal on mike’s cock is pooling around you, and with the way mike is smirking at you, he noticed it too. “you’re such a fucking perv.”

the pinch of mike’s fingers tethered in your hair is enough to almost make you cum. you can hardly breathe without letting out an ungodly whine; the lining of your throat is beyond red. mike’s cock abuses your poor cunt into oblivion. his bottom lip is caught between his teeth as he witnesses you writhe before him; he could draw blood from how hard he’s biting. your eyes catch the hypnotic trance in mike’s gaze. the way he watches you is so intrusive, like you shouldn't be doing this. you shouldn't be getting fucked by a taken man. you shouldn't be loving the way his cock is making you feel so goddamn good. but you’re here, doing what you shouldn't, and you're so pathetically obsessed with the feeling.

mike’s thrusts get rougher to the point where your eyes blur. “there you go, pretty girl.” he moans, calloused palms eagerly rubbing your thighs. a breathy moan is harsh on your throat as you let it out, tears threaten to run down your cheeks at the pleasure. "please." you sound so needy, like a lost cause begging to god at the altar. you're not even sure what you're pleading for, but mike seems to know. his free hand finds it’s home on your neck, squeezing just enough for your eyes to roll back. there's a spark in your lower abdomen that is desperately trying to burst into flames.

mike’s lips latch onto your shoulder, nipping your honeysuckle skin. you’re throwing yourself down on mike’s cock, his car rocks as if it's about to flip over. “keep going.” mike growls against your collarbone, you moan out incoherent nonsense in response when his thrusts match the pace you set for yourself. mike grabs your jaw roughly, forcing you to face him, and what a sight he is in this moment. curls wrecked from the humidity, pupils blown out, cherry-bitten lips parted as he moans, cheeks flushed with the blood that’s not in his cock. you've never seen anything so obscene.

“can you cum in me?” your never-ending request slips past your lips. mike’s eyes are covered in a blissful haze but the blur doesn’t cover the answer. he doesn’t even have to say no, you already know the answer. you always do. it never fails to stop you from repeating yourself each time he’s deep in you, a crude desire you’ve yearned for since you met mike. “you’re a slut.” mike mutters under his breath before pulling you into a kiss. you whimper into his mouth as you’re pushed past your limit, his cock pounds mercilessly into you as mike’s tongue clashes with yours. it’s intoxicating, it’s sin to anyone who is curious enough to look through the fog. the sparks turn into flames as you feel yourself let go, not able to control the intense lust within you anymore.

your tired body jolts towards mike, deepening the kiss unintentionally. “fuck, you’re creaming around me.” but you can hardly hear mike as the loud ringing in your ears muffles him out. your thighs shake uncontrollably around mike’s frame and you’re gasping for the air you forgot to breathe in. you feel the sweat dripping down your spine. the strain in your eyes will last for days with the way they’re rolling to the back of your head. you swear you saw a glimpse of her as your vision went black for a moment, looking at you with an unreadable expression. a kiss to your throat brings you back to earth. mike looks up at you, struggling to catch his breath.

your mind is clouded with pure euphoria and a come down so heavy that people would think you just downed a bottle of tequila. dizzy, warm. extra warm. it takes you a second to realize why you’re so warm. mike caresses your cheek, he faintly smiles at your fucked out state. “got your wish.” he teases, looking down at where the two of you are still connected. the sting in your throat makes you wince as you gulp down dried saliva. in the pale moonlight, barely visible but still there, you see mike’s cum dripping from your cunt and down his cock. words try to form and you’re about to speak but mike’s lips melt into yours before a thought leaves them.

“i love you.” you confess in between a kiss. mike smiles against your lips, “you’re a dork.” the push to mike’s shoulder leaves him with a smile plastered on his face, a dream in human form. “i’m a dork for saying i love you?” “you’re a dork for saying it after i finally gave you what you wanted.” mike snickers, pecking your face in feathered kisses. the sound of your smothered giggles joins the humid air in mike’s car, a tune he loves to hear. “i love you.” mike confesses back, pushing a strand of your hair away and kissing you again like muscle memory. in the moment, the two of you are a real couple and nothing is in secret.

its deja vu every time, you both confess your love for each other then make out until there’s blue coating your lips. mike will drive you back to campus and help you climb back into your dorm room. he’ll surprise you with a gift, or a date plan, or even a second round. he’ll leave you to quietly cry in your bed, trying not to wake your roommate. his car will drive itself from your dorm to his girlfriend’s embrace. her laughs will replace yours as well as your kiss and your fingers in his hair.

"You’re haunting your own life, Y/N."

Will Byers’ voice crackled over the phone line, soft but cutting. Y/N lay on her bed, staring at the intricate crown molding of her ceiling, a feature of the Montgomery estate that felt less like luxury and more like the lid of a very expensive jar. 

"I'm not haunting anything," Y/N deflected, picking at a loose thread on her duvet. "I'm just... taking space. It’s healthy."

"It’s been two months," Will said. There was a shuffling sound on his end, the scratch of charcoal on paper. He was drawing. He always drew when he was telling the truth. "You haven't left your house for anything other than school. You didn't even go to the pep rally."

"Pep rallies are loud."

"Y/N," Will sighed. "Listen. I know what it’s like. To watch everyone else pair off. To feel like... like you’re the piece of the puzzle that fell under the table."

Y/N closed her eyes. Will knew. Of course, he knew. He was the only one who saw the way she looked at Mike. He was the only one who noticed when Mike stopped looking back.

"They didn't even call, Will," she whispered, the confession tasting like ash. "Not once."

"I know," Will said, and his voice held a shared, bitter weight. "Mike... he gets tunnel vision. He doesn't mean to hurt people, but he destroys everything in his peripheral view when he’s focused on something. And right now, he’s focused on... El."

"I set them up," she reminded him, a masochistic habit.

"And that was nice of you. But you can't punish yourself for their selfishness," Will said firmly. "It’s my birthday tomorrow. If you don't come, Mike wins. He gets to think you just faded away. Don't be a ghost, Y/N. Come to the party. And bring someone. Someone who actually sees you."

"A shield?" she asked.

"No," Will corrected. "A reminder. Remind him that you exist in color."

But the irony, sharp and metallic, was that Y/N had thought she was the architect of a love story.

She had grown up loving Mike Wheeler with the sort of bruised, quiet devotion that gets written into diaries and never spoken aloud. It was silent, forbidden. But even at twelve, she knew they were discordant notes. Y/N was Montgomery money—polished, poised, expected to be something great. Shit, the greatest. Her house had a ballroom; Mike’s house had a lazy-boy recliner. She was silk dresses and country club dinners; he was corduroy, stale cheetos, and shouting about demogorgons in a damp basement.

But she loved that basement. She loved the way his voice cracked when he got passionate about a campaign. She loved his loud, messy leadership. But she had always felt like a tourist there. She was too clean, too polished. She didn't fit the aesthetic of the party.

Then came Eleven.

When El had come back into her life, bruised and trying to find her footing in a normal world, Y/N saw it immediately. El was jagged edges. Mike was jagged edges. They fit together like two broken pieces of the same plate. So, Y/N had done the stupidest, most noble thing a girl in love could do. She played matchmaker.

To help those in need, and at the same time, herself. She had to get over it.

She invited El to the mall to buy clothes that Mike would like. She coached Mike on what to say when El was feeling depressed. She orchestrated the hangouts, smoothed over the awkward silences, and practically drew them a map to each other’s hearts, ignoring the way her own heart bled out with every step.

It’s fine, she had told herself, crying into her pillow at night while Mike told her about his first kiss with El over the phone. As long as they’re happy. I can just be the best friend. The rich, supportive best friend.

She didn't expect to be erased.

It didn't happen all at once. It wasn't a fight. It was a slow, suffocating fade. It started with the trio becoming a duo.

"I can't hang out Saturday," Mike would say, standing in her foyer, refusing to take off his shoes, looking everywhere but at her. He’d fiddle with his watch. "My aunt... Mildred. She’s... she’s back. Again. Mom says it’s mandatory family time. You know how she gets."

"I have to study," El would whisper over the phone the next day, her voice sounding terrified and rehearsed. "Hopper says... math is important. Grounded. Sorry."

Y/N nodded. She smiled. She pretended she didn't know aunt Mildred had died three years ago. She pretended she didn't know that El, who could move trains with her mind, wasn't actually grounded for getting a C in math.

They were lying to her. Not to be mean, but because she was an obligation. She was a chore they were trying to get out of. 

Then came the County Fair.

Y/N hadn't meant to see them. She was there with Lucas Sinclair and Dustin Henderson, trying to ignore the empty spaces where Mike and El should have been.

The air smelled of diesel fumes, fried dough, and cheap perfume. The midway lights buzzed, turning the humid Indiana night into a neon-soaked fever dream.

She saw them near the ring toss.

They weren't studying. They weren't with aunt Mildred.

Mike was holding a giant, neon-pink stuffed bear by the ear. He was looking at El with an expression Y/N had prayed for, begged for, for years. It was a look of total, consuming adoration. He brushed a stray hair out of El’s face with a tenderness that made Y/N’s stomach drop to her shoes.

El laughed, a free, light sound, and pulled him down by the lapels of his jacket.

They kissed under the flashing lights of the ferris wheel. The crowd moved around them, but they were an island. They didn't look like they were missing a third friend. They looked like they had absolutely no room in their universe for anyone else.

Y/N had stood there, holding a half-eaten funnel cake, and realized the truth. She wasn't just a third wheel. She was vestigial. She was a part of their past that they had outgrown.

She turned around and walked three miles home in her sandals, blistering her feet. She didn't cry. She just felt herself turning transparent.

-

Y/N sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection, but she wasn't really seeing herself.

She applied a faint coat of lip gloss, her hand trembling just slightly. She wasn't dressing up to make a point. She wasn't trying to be a femme fatale to make Mike Wheeler jealous. This was just... her. The emerald silk slip dress was simply what was in her closet; the polished hair was just habit.

But beneath the silk and the perfume, she felt heavy. Just get through the night, Y/N told herself, pressing her lips together to stop the tremble. It’s Will’s birthday. Don't ruin it. 

When the doorbell rang, she took a shaky breath, smoothed her dress, and went downstairs.

Patrick McKinney was waiting on the porch. He looked quite solid. He was wearing a nice button-down shirt tucked into khakis, looking like every polite boy in Hawkins. When she opened the door, he smiled, an easy, unforced expression.

"Hey," Patrick said. He didn't whistle or stare. He just nodded appreciatively. "You look beautiful, Y/N."

"Thanks, Patrick," Y/N said softly, stepping out into the cool air. "You look nice too."

They walked to his car in silence. Patrick opened the door for her, and she slipped into the passenger seat, grateful for the barrier between her and the rest of the world.

As he started the engine, Patrick glanced over. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, looking a little sheepish.

"I gotta be honest," he said, pulling out of the long driveway. "I was kinda surprised you called."

Y/N looked at her hands, folded in her lap. "Why?"

"I don't know," Patrick shrugged. "I mean, you’re a Montgomery. I’m just... me. I figured you usually hung out with the..." He trailed off, trying to find a polite word for nerds. "With Wheeler’s crew."

Y/N felt a pang in her chest at the name.

"I just didn't want to go alone," she admitted quietly, her voice vulnerable. "And I know you're friends with Lucas. I figured... you'd be safe. Reliable."

Patrick softened. He seemed to understand that "reliable" was exactly what she needed right now.

"I can do reliable," he said kindly. "Don't worry. We’ll just say hi to Will, eat some cake, and if it gets weird, we bail. Sound good?"

Y/N managed a small, real smile. "Sounds perfect."

The drive to the Byers' house was short. When they walked up to the front door, Y/N could hear the music thumping inside. Her anxiety spiked, her stomach turning over. She instinctively moved a little closer to Patrick, not for show, but for balance.

The Byers' living room was warm and cluttered. Jonathan was changing the tape in the stereo. Dustin was arguing with Steve about hair products. Y/N scanned the room, looking for Will. She spotted him by the snack table and felt a wave of relief.

But then, her gaze drifted to the center of the room. She couldn't help it.

Mike and El were on the beige sofa. They looked... comfortable. Mike was saying something, using his hands to emphasize a point, and El was listening with that intense, focused gaze she always had for him. They looked like a closed loop. A completed sentence.

She turned to Will. "Happy Birthday, Will!" she said, forcing warmth into her voice.

Will looked up and beamed. He rushed over, pulling her into a hug. "You came! I’m so glad you came."

"I promised, didn't I?" Y/N pulled back, smoothing his hair affectionately. "This is Patrick. I think you guys know each other?"

"Yeah, hey Patrick," Will said, shaking his hand.

At the sound of the new voices, the bubble on the couch finally burst.

Mike turned his head. He looked casual, happy. And then he saw her.

The smile slid off his face. He blinked, as if he wasn't sure he was seeing it right. He hadn't seen Y/N in sixty-one days. He was used to Y/N in the background, Y/N who was always just there.

He wasn't used to this Y/N, the one who looked effortlessly beautiful in green silk, standing tall next to the captain of the basketball team.

Mike scrambled to stand up, his movements clumsy. El looked up too, sensing the shift in his mood. But he didn't say a single word.

Beside him, El stood up. She smoothed her skirt, looking unbothered, almost breezy. She smiled at Y/N, a bright, easy expression that felt like a slap in the face.

"Y/N!" El said, stepping around the coffee table. She sounded light. Innocent. "Hi! Oh my god, I haven't seen you in so long."

The casualness of it tore through Y/N’s chest. So long. As if it were just a coincidence. As if they hadn't actively dodged her calls for sixty-one days. As if Y/N hadn't been screaming into the void while they played house.

"Hi, El," Y/N said, her voice steady, though she felt brittle as dried leaves.

"You look..." El tilted her head, scanning Y/N’s outfit, her makeup, her hair. She paused, searching for the word. "Different. Pretty."

The compliment landed like a soft, wet stone in Y/N's stomach.

Different. Pretty.

It made Y/N’s skin prickle with a strange, defensive heat. It wasn't just a nicety; it felt like a revision of history. As if the Y/N who wore jeans and oversized sweaters, the Y/N who sat on the floor of Mike's basement eating stale chips, the Y/N who had been their best friend... hadn't been pretty. 

"Thanks," Y/N whispered, the word tasting like vinegar.

She looked past El, her eyes finding Mike. She wanted him to say something. She wanted him to roll his eyes and say, El, she always looks like that, or make a sarcastic joke, or simply acknowledge that she was still Y/N.

But Mike just stared at her. The shock on his face hardened into something unreadable. He looked at Patrick, then back at Y/N, and then he shut down.

He visibly recoiled, his jaw clenching tight. He didn't say hello. He didn't say she looked pretty. He didn't say anything. He just sank back onto the couch, grabbed his red solo cup from the table, and took a long, aggressive sip, pointedly looking away from her, staring at a stain on the rug like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

He was ignoring her.

The silence from him was louder than if he had screamed. It was a rejection so absolute, so petulant, that Y/N felt her face burn.

Patrick shifted beside her, sensing the odd energy radiating off the trio. He cleared his throat, breaking the tension.

"Happy Birthday, Will," Patrick said again, loud and friendly, trying to bridge the gap.

Will, looking panicked by Mike’s behavior, jumped in. "Yeah! Thanks, man. Come on, drinks are in the kitchen. I think Jonathan made some... uh... special punch."

"Lead the way," Patrick said. He placed his hand gently on the small of Y/N’s back. "Y/N?"

Y/N tore her eyes away from Mike’s slumped, silent figure. She lifted her chin, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"I'm coming," she said softly.

She walked past the sofa. She walked past the boy she had blindly loved since kindergarten, the boy who couldn't even look her in the eye, and followed Patrick into the kitchen, leaving the silence behind her.

The kitchen was brighter than the living room, the fluorescent overhead light humming with a harsh, clinical buzz. It made everything feel sharper, more exposed.

Patrick handed Y/N a red solo cup filled with Jonathan’s "special" punch. "Here. Liquid courage."

"Thank you," Y/N murmured, taking a long sip. It tasted like cheap fruit juice and gasoline, but the burn was more than welcome.

She barely had a moment to breathe before El drifted into the kitchen. She wasn't holding a drink. She was just floating, looking around with wide, curious eyes until they landed on Y/N again.

"The music is so loud," El stated, leaning against the counter next to Y/N. She smiled, that same vacant, happy smile. "Hopper says loud music melts your brain. But I like it."

Y/N gripped her cup tighter. "Yeah. It's nice."

"We missed you at the arcade last week," El continued, oblivious to the fact that she hadn't invited Y/N to the arcade in three months. "Mike got the high score on Dig Dug. He was very happy."

Y/N felt a muscle in her jaw twitch. "That’s... great, El. I'm happy for him."

"Yes," El nodded, satisfied. "We are very happy."

It was excruciating. Y/N looked around for Patrick, for Will, for a trapdoor in the floor, anything to escape this one-sided conversation where El rewrote their history in real-time.

Then, a girl with frizzy hair—one of Will’s distant cousins from the city—squeezed past Patrick to get to the cooler. She stopped when she saw El.

"Oh my god," the cousin gushed, pointing a pretzel stick at El. "You're the girlfriend, right? Mike's girl?"

El blushed, ducking her head with a shy smile. "Yes. I am El."

"You two are literally the cutest thing I've ever seen," the cousin sighed, shaking her head. "I saw you on the couch earlier. It’s insane. It’s like... I don't know, like the universe just dropped you two together perfectly. Like destiny. You were definitely meant to be."

Y/N felt the blood drain from her face.

It wasn't the damn destiny. It wasn't the universe. It was Y/N.

It was Y/N dragging El to the mall to buy that yellow scrunchie because Mike liked yellow. It was Y/N coaching Mike on how to ask a girl out without stuttering. It was Y/N sitting in the middle of her bedroom floor, surrounded by fashion magazines, planning their first date because she loved them both enough to break her own heart.

But to the world? Y/N didn't exist. She was just a footnote in their epic romance.

"Yeah," El beamed, looking toward the doorway. "Destiny."

As if summoned by the word, Mike appeared.

He walked into the kitchen, looking sullen and moody, until he saw El. He moved straight to her, ignoring Y/N completely, ignoring Patrick, ignoring the random cousin. He slid his arm around El’s waist, pulling her flush against his side in a possessive, territorial gesture.

"Hey," Mike mumbled, his voice softening only for her.

"She says we are destiny," El told him, looking up with adoring, glistening eyes.

Mike looked at El. A small, genuine smile broke through his grumpy mood. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek—loud, wet, and lingering.

"Yeah," Mike whispered against her skin. "We are."

Y/N felt bile rise in her throat. The room spun. The sight of them, wrapped up in each other, celebrating a love she had built, while she stood three feet away like a ghost, was too much. Overwhelming. The emerald dress felt like it was strangling her.

"Excuse me," Y/N choked out.

She didn't wait for a response. She set her full cup down on the counter with a thud.

"Y/N?" Patrick called out, surprised.

"Bathroom," she muttered, pushing past him. "I just need a minute."

She fled the kitchen. She navigated the crowded living room, keeping her head down, dodging Jonathan and Argyle, and practically ran up the stairs to the second floor.

The hallway was quieter. Y/N made a beeline for the bathroom at the end of the hall. She needed cold water. She needed silence. She needed to not scream.

She pushed the door open, stepped inside the small, tiled room, and turned to slam it shut, eager to lock the world out.

The door swung, but it didn't click.

A hand, large and pale, slammed against the wood, blocking it from closing.

Y/N gasped, jumping back, her heart hammering against her ribs.

The door was pushed open.

Mike Wheeler stood in the doorframe. He was breathing hard, as if he had run up the stairs after her. His hair was messy, his face flushed, and his eyes were blazing with a mix of anger, confusion, and something desperate.

Y/N stared at him, her hand frozen mid-air. "Mike?" she whispered, the shock cutting through her panic. "What are you doing?"

For a long, agonizing moment, the only sound in the small, tiled bathroom was the harsh, ragged sound of Mike Wheeler breathing.

He didn't speak. He didn't move. He just stood there, his hand gripping the doorframe so tightly that his knuckles were stark white, blocking her escape like a sentry. His chest heaved, rising and falling in sharp, jagged rhythms, as if he had sprinted up the stairs just to stop her from closing a wooden door.

He stared at her. It wasn't a romantic stare. It was a frantic, consuming gaze. His dark eyes darted over her face, her hair, the slip of her shoulders, searching for something he couldn't seem to find. He looked like his brain was misfiring, smoke coming out of his ears as he tried to process the emerald dress, the silence between them, and the last sixty-one days all at once.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. The harsh fluorescent vanity light buzzed overhead, casting shadows under Mike’s eyes, making him look wild and desperate.

Y/N shifted her weight, pressing her back against the cold tile wall, clutching her elbows. She didn't know what to do with his silence. It felt dangerous. It felt volatile.

"Mike?" she asked again, her voice tight, barely a whisper. She gestured vaguely to the toilet behind her, the absurdity of the situation making her dizzy. "Do you... do you need to use the bathroom? Is that it? I can wait outside."

The mundane question seemed to snap a rubber band in Mike’s head.

He blinked rapidly, shaking his head as if waking up from a trance, his face contorting. "What? No! No, I don't need to—God, no!"

He let go of the doorframe, stepping fully into the small room. He ran a hand through his messy, dark curls, looking like he was about to vibrate out of his skin.

"God, Y/N," he huffed, a nervous, spazzy laugh bubbling out of his throat, completely devoid of humor. "It's just... it's been a long time, hasn't it? Like, a really long time. I haven't seen you since... well, since before."

Y/N stared at him, baffled by the sheer inadequacy of his words. Her heart was pounding a bruise against her ribs.

"Since before you stopped talking to me?" she corrected, her voice trembling. "Yeah. It has."

"Right, yeah," Mike nodded quickly, too quickly, his eyes darting around the room, avoiding hers. He was fidgeting, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his long limbs knocking against the towel rack. "And you look... you know. Different. The dress. It's very... green."

"It is green," Y/N agreed slowly, her brows knitting together. She crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive shield against his frantic energy. "Mike, seriously. Why are you talking to me?"

Mike faltered, looking hurt. "What?"

"Downstairs," Y/N said, her voice dropping, trembling with suppressed hurt and rising anger. "You wouldn't even look at me. You acted like you didn't know who I was. You looked at me like I was a stranger. What is this?"

Mike opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked trapped. He looked at the floor, then back at her, his expression twisting into a knot of frustration and guilt that he clearly didn't know how to handle.

"I wasn't—I didn't know what to say!" Mike exploded, the words tumbling out all at once, overlapping and messy. "You just walked in looking like that—like some... some movie star or something—and you were with him and I just—I didn't expect it, okay? I thought you were... I don't know! I thought you were home!"

"I was home!" Y/N snapped, stepping forward, her own anger finally cracking the surface. "I was home for sixty-one days! Waiting for my best friend to call me back! Waiting for anyone to remember I existed!"

Mike flinched as if she’d slapped him. "I was busy! Things have been crazy, with El, and school, and—"

"Stop," Y/N whispered, holding up a hand. "Just stop lying."

Mike’s jaw clamped shut. He looked at her, breathing hard. But then, the hurt in his eyes hardened into something else. Something darker. Something ugly and possessive.

He took a step closer, invading her personal space, looming over her with a sudden, frantic intensity.

"Are you dating him?" he blurted out.

Y/N blinked, whiplash hitting her hard. "What?"

"Patrick," Mike spat the name like a curse word, his face twisting in distaste. "Are you dating him? Since when? Is that why you didn't call me? Because you were too busy hanging out with the basketball team to remember your real friends?"

Y/N was so stunned by the sheer audacity of the question that she couldn't speak. He was the one with the girlfriend. He was the one who had "destiny" waiting downstairs. And he was cornering her about Patrick?

"You think I didn't call you?" Y/N asked, incredulous. "Mike, I called you seven times in—"

"I mean, seriously, Y/N? Patrick McKinney?" Mike barreled over her, not listening, his voice rising in pitch as he started to pace the tiny space between the sink and the door. "I saw you guys walk in. I saw him touching your back. I saw him whisper in your ear like he... like he owns you or something. Is it serious? Are you guys like... a thing?"

He spun around to face her, his eyes wild. "Are you in love with him?"

"Mike!" Y/N shouted, shocked. "What does it matter to you? You have El!"

"It matters!" Mike yelled back, his hands flying up. "Because he's an asshole!"

The word rang off the tiles. Mike stepped closer, dropping his voice to a harsh, desperate whisper, leaning down until he was inches from her face. He looked at her with intense, desperate seriousness, his eyes burning into hers.

"I'm serious, Y/N. I know guys like him. He's a total jerk. He's arrogant, he's a tool, and he... he doesn't get you," Mike insisted, shaking his head rapidly. "He doesn't know you. He doesn't know what you’re like when you’re tired, or what music you listen to, or how you get when you’re stressed. He just sees the... the dress. He just sees the Montgomery money and the face."

Mike reached out, almost touching her arm, then pulled back. He looked agonized.

"I don't think you should be with him," Mike said, his voice cracking, thick with a jealousy he had absolutely no right to feel. "You shouldn't be with a guy like that. He’s not... he’s not right for you."

Y/N stared at him, her mouth slightly open, the words dying in her throat before they could even form.

"What?" she whispered.

She wasn't yelling anymore. She wasn't even angry. She was just... profoundly, deeply confused. It felt like the world had tilted on its axis. Here was Mike Wheeler, the boy who had ignored her for sixty-one days, the boy who had just declared his girlfriend was "destiny" downstairs, standing in a bathroom, definitely hyperventilating, telling her she shouldn't date Patrick McKinney because he didn't know her.

"Mike," she stammered, shaking her head as if trying to clear water from her ears. "You... you aren't making any sense. You’re talking about me like... like I’m yours. But I’m not. You have El. You guys are happy. You just said—"

"I know what I said!" Mike groaned, looking tortured. He ran a hand down his face, dragging the skin. He looked just as confused as she was, terrified by the words vomiting out of his own mouth. "I know! I just... I don't know why seeing you with him makes me feel like I’m going to throw up, okay? I just know he’s wrong. He’s wrong for you."

"You don't get to decide that," Y/N breathed, stepping back until her shoulder blades hit the tile.

Mike opened his mouth to argue, to plead, to say something else entirely irrational, but then—

Footsteps. They were heavy and deliberate, coming up the stairs.

"Y/N?"

It was Patrick’s voice. He was coming to check on her.

The sound hit Mike like a physical blow. Panic, raw and white-hot, flared in his eyes. He looked at the door, then at Y/N, his fight-or-flight response kicking into overdrive. If Patrick opened that door, if he saw them arguing... the reality of the downstairs world would crash in.

He couldn't let the world in. Not yet.

Mike moved before he thought.

He lunged forward, grabbing Y/N by the shoulders. He shoved her backward, not hard enough to hurt, but with enough force to propel her fully into the corner of the bathroom, away from the door's line of sight.

"Mike, what are you—"

He didn't let her finish. He kicked the door shut with a slam that rattled the frame and pinned her against the cold tile wall with his own body.

"Quiet," he gasped, his eyes wild.

And then, his brain short-circuited completely.

He looked at her—her wide eyes, her parted lips, the flush on her cheeks—and the jealousy that had been eating him alive for the last twenty minutes boiled over. He didn't think about El. He didn't think about Patrick. He didn't think about consequences.

He just needed to stop the distance.

Mike crashed his mouth down onto hers.

It wasn't a movie kiss. It wasn't soft or sweet. It was frantic, messy, and desperate. His hands tangled in her hair, gripping her skull to hold her in place, tilting her head back as he kissed her with a starving intensity, trying to devour the space that had grown between them. He pressed his hips against hers, trapping her against the wall, trying to brand her, trying to prove that he was the one who knew her, he was the one who mattered.

But Y/N didn't move.

She stood frozen against the tile, her arms pinned to her sides. She didn't close her eyes. She didn't kiss him back.

She just stood there, paralyzed by the shock of it, her lips still under the assault of his, feeling the heat of his body and the frantic rhythm of his heart against her chest. 

This wasn't the kiss she had wanted for years. This wasn't love. This was panic. Jealousy. This was Mike Wheeler realizing someone else wanted his toy, and trying to snatch it back before he lost it.

He kissed her harder, a small, desperate sound escaping his throat, begging her to respond, to melt, to be the Y/N who always followed his lead.

But she remained stone.

The kiss lasted three seconds too long. Then, Y/N’s paralysis broke.

She shoved him. She didn't just push him; she slammed her palms against his chest with enough force to send him stumbling back into the sink. And then, before he could regain his balance, she swung.

CRACK.

The sound of her palm connecting with his cheek was louder than the music downstairs. It was a sharp, sickening whip-crack sound that instantly silenced the room. Mike’s head snapped to the side. He froze, his hand flying up to cup his cheek, his eyes wide and shocked, the haze of adrenaline shattering instantly.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Y/N hissed. Her voice was shaking, trembling with a rage she hadn't known she possessed.

She backed away from him until her spine hit the door, wrapping her arms around herself as if she were cold. Her chest was heaving.

"Y/N, I—" Mike started, his voice small, terrified.

"Don't," she choked out. Tears were stinging the corners of her eyes, hot, angry tears that she refused to let fall. She looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time in her life, she didn't see the boy she wanted. She saw a mess.

"You don't get to do that," she whispered, the words ragged. "You don't get to ignore me for two months, pretend I don't exist, and then corner me in a bathroom and put your hands on me just because you're jealous."

"I'm not—I just realized—" Mike stammered, stepping forward, looking desperate. "I realized I made a mistake! Seeing you with him, I just... Y/N, I think I—"

"Stop!" Y/N screamed, the sound raw. "Do not say it. Do not you dare say it."

She took a shaky breath, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to scrub the feeling of his lips away.

"I loved you, Mike," she confessed.

The words hung in the air, heavy and absolute. Mike’s face softened, a flicker of hope lighting his eyes.

"You... you love me?"

"No," Y/N corrected him sharply, her voice breaking. "I loved you. Past tense. I loved you for years. I loved you when we were twelve. I loved you when you were obsessing over D&D. I loved you so much it physically hurt to look at you sometimes."

Mike’s face fell, the hope draining out like water.

"But I don't anymore," she lied—or maybe she didn't. Maybe the slap had knocked it out of her. "Because I grew up. And you..." She looked at him with a pity that hurt worse than the slap. "You’re just selfish."

She pointed a shaking finger at the door. "You have a girl downstairs. A girl who thinks you are destiny. A girl who looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars just for her."

Y/N’s voice wavered, threatening to crack completely. "El has been through hell, Mike. She has been hunted... and tortured, and locked away. She has lost everything. And she loves you. She trusts you."

She glared at him through blurry eyes. "How could you do this to her? How could you be this person?"

Mike looked destroyed. He slumped against the sink, the red handprint blooming on his cheek, shame flooding his features. He had no defense. He had no excuse.

"Y/N..." he whispered, a plea for forgiveness she couldn't give.

"Move," she said coldly.

Mike didn't move fast enough, so she stepped around him, unlocking the door with fumbling fingers.

"Wait," Mike croaked.

Y/N opened the door. She paused, looking back at him one last time.

"Go back downstairs, Mike," she said, her voice hollow. 

She stepped out into the hallway, closing the bathroom door on him, and finally let the first tear fall as she hurried toward the stairs.

Y/N found Patrick in the hallway, looking for her. She didn't explain. She just grabbed his arm with a grip that was almost painful and dragged him down the stairs, away from the bathroom, away from the memory of Mike’s desperate mouth and the sound of her own hand striking his face.

"Y/N?" Patrick asked, concerned, steadying her as she stumbled on the last step. "Are you okay? You look pale."

"I need a drink," Y/N said, her voice brittle. "I need another drink. Right now."

She didn't wait for him to agree. She marched into the kitchen and refilled her red cup with Jonathan’s freaky punch. She drank it like it was water. Then she poured another.

Time became a blur. The sharp edges of the evening began to soften, smeared by the alcohol and the thumping bass of the music. Y/N stayed close to Patrick, using him as a physical anchor, leaning her head on his shoulder, laughing a little too loudly at jokes she didn't hear.

It was an hour later when Mike finally came downstairs.

Y/N felt him before she saw him. The air in the room seemed to curdle. She was leaning against the wall by the stereo, slightly swaying, when she saw him emerge from the crowd.

He looked wrecked. His hair was disheveled, his eyes were red-rimmed and hollow, and there was a faint, angry red mark high on his cheekbone that the dim lighting couldn't quite hide.

He didn't look for Y/N. He walked straight to El.

Y/N watched, paralyzed, sipping her drink to hide her trembling lips. She saw Mike touch El’s elbow. He whispered something. El’s face fell—her smile vanishing instantly. She nodded, looking worried, and allowed him to lead her into a quiet corner near the bookshelf, away from the dancing bodies.

Y/N couldn't look away.

They stood close together, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. Mike was doing most of the talking. He looked agitated, his hands moving jerkily, his posture slumped in defeat. He looked like a man confessing a crime.

El was still. Too still. She just stared up at him, her eyes widening, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs, faster and faster. He’s telling her, she thought, panic rising like bile. He’s telling her about the bathroom. 

Then, Mike stepped back. He looked at El one last time, a look of profound misery, and then he turned on his heel. He walked straight to the front door, pushed it open, and disappeared into the night. He didn't look back.

El stood alone in the corner. 

"Y/N?" Patrick asked, sensing her shift.

"I have to go," Y/N mumbled, pushing off the wall.

She abandoned Patrick. She weaved through the crowd, her vision tunneling. All she could see was El. She was shaking. Her hands were clutching her stomach, and tears were streaming down her face in silence, glistening under the party lights.

Y/N reached her, breathless and terrified.

"El," Y/N gasped, reaching out to touch her shoulder. Guilt crashed over her like a tidal wave. This was her fault. She had come here... she had looked pretty, and she had let Mike corner her. "El, oh my god."

El looked up. Her face was wet, her eyes broken.

"Y/N..." El whimpered.

"I'm so sorry," Y/N blurted out, the words tumbling over each other. Tears burned her own eyes. "El, I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen. I didn't want him to—I tried to stop him, I swear. I didn't want to hurt you. I’m so sorry."

El blinked, confusion cutting through her grief. She sniffled, wiping her nose.

"What?" El asked, her voice trembling. "Why... why are you apologizing?"

Y/N froze. Her mouth stayed open, but the words died.

She doesn't know.

"He..." El choked on a sob. She stepped forward and collapsed into Y/N, burying her face in Y/N’s emerald silk dress, her small body shaking with the force of her crying.

Y/N instinctively wrapped her arms around her best friend, holding her up as El wept.

"He broke up with me," El sobbed into Y/N’s shoulder, her voice muffled and thick with pain. "He left. He said... he said he did something terrible. He said he did something unforgivable and that he... he can't be with me anymore."

El pulled back just enough to look at Y/N, her eyes searching Y/N’s face for answers she didn't have.

"He said he doesn't deserve me," El whispered, fresh tears spilling over. "Y/N... what did he do?"

Y/N stood there, holding the girl she had tried so hard to protect, the girl Mike had chosen and then destroyed. The weight of the secret, the kiss, and the lie settled on Y/N’s shoulders, heavy as a tombstone.

She pulled El back into the hug, resting her chin on top of El’s head, staring blankly across the party at the empty front door.

every year, your group of friends did a secret santa, a well kept and well loved holiday tradition among the 5, now 7, of you. you’d shifted and melded to accommodate el and max, your small group growing, weaving itself even dearer to your heart. you looked forward to the gift exchange every year, giddy with anticipation, extremely committed to keeping your secret. you’d pulled max’s name from the scraps of paper, and set your focus immediately on picking the perfect gift. “just tell me,” mike practically whined as he walked you home that night, flashing his signature puppy dog eyes, “it’s no fair, you always take it so seriously.” “tell me yours, then,” you said pointedly, grinning when he groaned in frustration, shaking his head. “i can’t,” he grumbled, “it would totally ruin the surprise.”

“okay, so we’re in agreement that we can’t spoil it,” you bumped his shoulder with your own, laughing when he stumbled slightly, “you remember last year when dustin got my name? god, he was totally lost.” “i had to help him pick your gift, and he didn’t even listen to me,” mike complained, “like, why even ask for help then?” “he meant well,” you thought of the soft pink sweater dustin had given you, the puzzled look on your face when you opened the wrapping to reveal a color you’d never worn, and his final, sheepish admittance that he was the one who’d gotten your name. “i panicked!” he’d told you, frowning, “girls are so confusing.” “it’s fine, dusty. i’ll wear it eventually,” you’d reassured him, though the pepto colored wool had stayed buried in your closet since.

“it’ll be better this year,” mike assured you, “maybe one of the girls got you. you guys are the best at picking this kinda stuff.” “yeah, maybe,” you smiled over at him, trying not to let the butterflies creep in as the street lamps caught the golden hues in his brown hair, “i’m sure you’ll get something good, too, don’t worry.” “we’ll see,” he murmured, your house looming in his vision as the two of you turned onto your street, “oh, my mom asked if you’d be at our christmas party.” “duh,” you scrunched your nose at the thought of missing it, “i’ll bring cookies like i did last year, if that sounds good?” “sounds perfect,” he smiled, and your heart skipped.

“cool,” you hoped you sounded nonchalant, “i’ll see you in a few days, then?” “see you,” he hesitated at the end of your driveway, like he had something else to say, and you foolishly let yourself hope. “it’s at 7, right? at will’s?” he finally said, “the gift exchange, i mean.” “oh,” you blinked, nodded, “yeah, 7 on saturday.” “cool,” he paused again, briefly, “goodnight, then.” “night, mikey,” you smiled faintly, “see you soon.” “see you,” and then he was turning to go, and your hopes were dashed once again.

you eventually decided on a kate bush tape for max, pairing it with a new set of headphones and neatly wrapping them in green paper, tucking it safely in your backpack as you headed to will’s, your thoughts drifting to mike once again. you walked in the side door, greeted by the smell of brownies and the familiar sound of your best friend’s laughter. mike was hunched over, nearly gasping as he laughed, lucas doubled over beside him, dustin standing and continuing to animatedly tell some outlandish story. it warmed you to your bones, the soft familiarity of it all.

“hey, guys,” you called, disrupting their laughter as you kicked your shoes off at the door, shedding your jacket and hanging it on a haphazardly placed wall hook that jonathan had undoubtedly installed, “what’s so funny?” dustin started from the top, and you let yourself get lost in laughter until your ribs ached. eventually, everyone had arrived, and you each shielded your eyes until all the gifts were placed in the center of the circle, names scrawled onto the paper of each with messy, unidentifiable handwriting. “who wants to go first?” lucas asked, eyeing the shiny paper with his name adorning it. “oh, just go,” max bumped his knee, grinning, “you’re basically foaming at the mouth for it.” everyone took turns, and max caught your eyes as she opened hers, a knowing smile on her lips. “i love it,” she said, beaming, “it’s perfect. thank you, mystery santa.”

mike unwrapped his, revealing a sweater with the cure scrawled onto the dark fabric. “oh, sick,” his eyes found yours, and you shrugged ambiguously, smiling. it had to have been will, judging from the smile on the boys face, but you wouldn’t give away any surprises. finally, lady in the pile, was yours. it was suspiciously neatly wrapped, red and white paper tied with a string of ribbon, your name featured in handwriting you didn’t recognize. you carefully unwrapped it, covering your mouth to shield a gasp as your eyes fell on the boxes contents. inside you found a first edition of the bell jar, your favorite book of all time, in pristine condition.

“oh my god,” your hands nearly shook as you pulled it from the box gingerly, not wanting to risk sullying the pages or cover, “oh my god! this is- i don’t even know what to say.” your eyes flitted around the group, clueless as to who would’ve thought to purchase such a personal gift. el met your gaze, and you assumed, then, that it had been her. “this is incredible,” you sniffled, rubbing your teary eyes, “god, this is embarrassing. this is the best gift i ever could’ve gotten, you guys.” mike smiled at you, subconsciously moving to wipe your cheek gently, “its perfect,” there was a tinge of something you couldn’t place in his voice, but you shook it off as you moved to hug el. “merry christmas,” you mumbled as you enveloped her. “merry christmas,” you could hear the smile in her voice, “i did not know you liked that so much.” you paused, puzzled, but shrugged it off. it had to have been her, surely? none of the boys would be so thoughtful. “it’s my favorite,” you told her, “my favorite ever.”

later, when the night had given way to a blistering chill and the stars were twinkling behind hazy clouds, mike walked you home once again, his coat draped around your shoulders despite your insistence that you were just fine. “are you happy with yours?” you asked as you walked, the cure sweater already on his frame, just thick enough to keep him from shivering. “oh, yeah. it’s awesome,” he nodded, fidgeting with the material, “you like yours, right?” you thought fondly of the book now sitting in your backpack. “oh, of course. it’s perfect, honestly. i don’t know how el thought of that.” “el?” his steps faltered, “you think el got your name?” “i figured,” your brows knit as you looked over at him, “why?”

he opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head. “you’re probably right,” he finally said, “i just didn’t know she was so good at giving gifts, i guess.” “yeah, it was kinda weird,” you shrugged, “she didn’t even know it was my favorite. lucky guess, i guess.” “yeah, totally,” he nodded, looking down, “lucky.” “who do you think got yours?” you asked. “probably will,” he didn’t sound particularly interested in the conversation anymore, “he looked really happy about it, so i figured.” “yeah, i thought the same,” you nodded, “well i’ll see you at the party, then? should i bring anything besides cookies?” “nah, cookies are good,” he gave you a tired smile, “you should wear that green dress you have. it looks nice on you.” your chest warmed, “yeah, okay,” you smiled, cheeks flush, “since you requested it.” he returned your smile, looking slightly less annoyed, “night.” “night, mike,” you watched him walk away once again, only realizing his coat was still on your arms as you entered your house.

the next night, you were tucked into bed, trying hopelessly to focus on the book in your lap. finally, you sighed and pulled the bell jar from your bag, cracking it open gingerly, finger tracing the spine. you let yourself get lost in it, pouring over the words on yellowing paper, reading chapter after chapter until your eyes grew heavy. just as you moved to place it on your nightstand, a small, folded paper fell from between pages, your name written across it. your brows furrowed, and you unfolded it carefully, curiosity pricking your senses. ‘merry christmas! i hope you like this. i know it’s supposed to be a secret, or whatever, so i hope you’re not mad at me. i know how much this book means to you, and you deserve something nice. you’re my best friend, yknow? i wanted to tell you, you always make my christmas better. i didn’t really care about the holidays that much until i met you. anyway, merry christmas, happy holidays and all that. i hope you like this as much as i like you. - mike.’

your eyes filled with tears as you read the note, fingers tracing the words, and before you could think twice, you were springing out of bed. you pulled your slippers on haphazardly, grabbing mike’s coat from your desk chair and pulling it on over your flannel pajamas, bounding down the stairs. you grabbed your keys from the counter, deciding it was far too late to walk, the time on your clock reading just after midnight. you were buzzy with anticipation the entirety of your 4 minute drive to the wheeler’s familiar house, parking and hurrying over to his window, tapping on it and hoping he was awake.

he appeared moments later, shirtless and hair mussed, his pajama pants hanging low on his hips, his eyes puffy with sleep. “what’re you doing here?” he asked as he slid the window open, “are you okay? it’s like 3am.” “it’s midnight, actually,” you climbed through the window like you had so many times before, trying to will yourself not to linger on the defined lines of his stomach, “i had to see you.” “what’s wrong?” he looked you all over, brows knit, “are you hurt?” “i’m fine, mike,” you finally let yourself meet his eyes, “i was reading my book, and i-“ you fished the note from his coat pocket, holding it out like evidence, “i found this, and i had to see you.”

“oh,” he blinked slowly, eyes on the paper, on his writing, “right, yeah. okay.” “that’s it? okay?” you nearly scoffed, “i just crawled through your window and all you have to say is okay.” “you didn’t have to crawl in here,” he flipped down onto the corner of his bed, “my parents are in indianapolis for some work thing overnight. you could’ve just rang the bell.” “that’s so not the point,” you groaned, sitting across from him, “you let me think el got it for me.” “it’s supposed to be a secret,” he pointed out, “you always get on to me for trying to spoil it.” “mike,” you scolded, “i’m serious. you could’ve told me, you know.” “you should’ve known,” the words came out muffled, his hand against his chin.

“what?” you looked toward him, brows drawn, “what’d you say?” “i said- i said you should’ve known. i shouldn’t have had to tell you, you shouldn’t just known it was me.” “how would i know that?” you asked, confusion lacing your features. “because who else knows you like i do?” he stood from the bed, restlessly pacing before you, running a hand through his curls, “i mean, who else could it have been? i know you better than el, better than anyone. i just don’t understand how you didn’t know it was me.” “why are you so mad about this?” you frowned slightly, watching him pace, “i had no way of knowing, mike. it was wrapped all nice, and i didn’t recognize the writing on the label, and you gave me no indication that it was you.”

“i had nancy wrap it,” he looked nervous, you thought, “i wanted it to be nice, and i totally suck at shit like that. and i didn’t tell you because i thought you’d know, but then you looked at el, and i thought- i don’t know. better to let it be a secret, i guess. that’s the whole point of it anyway.” “i just don’t understand why you went through all that trouble,” you said softly, “i mean, last year, you just got lucas a basketball pump. you don’t usually take it very seriously.” “because it’s you!” he stopped in front of you, eyes bright, bare chest heaving slightly, “you want the truth? i asked will to make sure i got your name. he made a mark on the paper so i’d be able to find it easy, because i got your gift months ago.” “why would you-“

“because it’s you,” he repeated, softer now, “god, i don’t know how to do this shit. you’re so much better at this than i am.” you didn’t have time to question it before he started again, “i did it because it’s you, because you’re my best friend, and because i- well, fuck, it’s because i’m in love with you, okay? and i’m a total moron when it comes to relationship stuff, and you deserve better than this, but it’s the truth. you get me out of bed in the morning. you got me through the world practically ending. you are everything to me, okay? and i know this isn’t perfect, and i’ve practiced this so many times, but i’ve loved you for so long and i can’t wait another second to tell you. and if you just want to be friends, that’s okay, i promise. but i had to say it, i had to let it out. and will said you look at me the same way i look at you, but i thought last year you maybe had a thing for-“ “mike,” you exhaled, watching him ramble on, your heart racing. “and i didn’t want to assume, or overstep, or do anything to hurt you-“

“mike!” you said, louder now, pulling him from his speech. “yeah?” “i feel the same way,” you said, unable to keep the smile from your face, “i had no idea you felt like this, i- i honestly thought you liked el, maybe. i didn’t know.” “oh my god,” he let out a breath he’d been holding for what felt like ages, a slow, relieved smile spreading across his lips, “oh my god.” he sank back onto the bed beside you, his eyes searching yours, his cheeks red.

“what now?” you let out a soft, awestruck laugh, “i don’t- i suck at this stuff, too. i’m lost.” “i think now i should probably kiss you, before i lose my nerve,” he laughed, too, but you could tell he was serious, “or before you tell me this was all some elaborate prank.” “you’re an idiot, mike wheeler,” you grinned, starting to lean in just as he grabbed the front of your pajama top, surging you into him. he kissed you just as he had confessed; slowly, then all at once, like it was tearing out of him. your hands pressed against the warm skin of his chest, his own settling around your waist, his touch featherlight, as if he was scared to hurt you. “did that get your confidence up?”

you murmured when he pulled away, his forehead against yours. “maybe a little,” his voice was breathy, wistful, “you’re really good at that.” “beginners luck, i guess,” you laughed softly. “beginners?” his breath caught, “you haven’t kissed anyone either?” “no,” you shook your head, fingers trailing up to curl a lock of his hair, “i wasn’t exactly miss beauty queen in school.” “you were,” he sounded almost pained, “you’ve always been so beautiful. those guys were all idiots.” and then he was kissing you again, harder, like he was trying to convince you of his opinion, as if he could show you how beautiful you truly were.

you kissed until your lips were swollen and numb, tingling when he cool air of his bedroom met the slick skin. “wow,” he exhaled, still subconsciously chasing your mouth with his own, “that was- wow.” “yeah,” you giggled, brushing your fingertips against your lips, “should i go home? i know it’s late, and i shouldn’t keep you up just kissing you all night.” “that sounds like a perfect night,” he grinned, “don’t go. we can get some sleep, if you’re tired, but i want you to stay. if you want, obviously.” “of course,” you murmured, “i think i’m too wired to sleep.” “me too,” he admitted, sheepish, “i feel all jittery.”

you nodded; you felt like there was electricity in your veins, zapping you nonstop. you moved to lay back on his bed, finally pulling off his jacket that you’d still been wearing, and then he was kissing you all over again, your hair splayed out on the pillow in a halo as he leaned over you. you wound your arms around his neck, pulling him down closer, losing yourself in his affections. his hands found your waist, then inched up higher, running along your sides slowly as if he was trying to memorize the feeling of you. you shivered from his touch, a small, muffled sound passing from your lips to his. he seemed emboldened by this, finally working up the nerve to cup your breasts through your pajama shirt, eliciting another sound from you, causing another shiver to run up your spine.

“this is good,” mike’s voice was ragged as he mumbled between kisses, “feels really good, didn’t know it would be this nice.” you managed to nod, “really good.” kissing turned to wandering hands, and eventually his palms were running beneath your shirt, grabbing at you with a shaky hesitance. “you can touch me, mikey,” you encouraged, despite your own nerves, “it’s okay. i want you to touch me.” the confirmation seemed to spur him forward, and he cupped your chest over your thin bralette as the kiss deepened once again. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, his body pressed flush against yours. you arched into him, and a quiet, keening noise left him, muffled by your lips. “is this okay?” you panted, brows knit in concern as you pulled back.

“yes,” he nodded immediately, eyes wide, “i just- i’ve never done this before, obviously, and i want to so badly, but maybe it’s too soon? i don’t know, i just want to do this right.” “i think this is right,” you said softly, “i’m scared, too. but i trust you, and i want you, if that’s what you want.” “of course i want to,” he nearly laughed at the idea that he wouldn’t want this, “just don’t be mad if i totally screw it up?” “you couldn’t screw it up if you tried,” you smiled, and his heart raced, “it’ll be perfect, because it’s you.” and then you were kissing him again, and he’d never been sure of anything in his life.

your clothes were shed in a haze of shaky hands and nervous laughs, mike’s hair ruffled from yanking his shirt over his head, your face flushed from watching him. “you’re so beautiful,” he sounded awestruck, looking down at you as you laid in just your underwear, almost too shy to look at him in the eye. “i’m so happy it’s you,” you whispered as he leaned down to kiss you again, “i always hoped it would be.” “me too,” he murmured, “dreamed about this, more than i should’ve probably. you’re even more beautiful than i imagined.” he kissed you slow and deep, letting your hands wander the planes of his body, both of familiarizing yourselves with each other.

he shuddered when your hand finally brushed his aching length, nearly finishing right there. your movements were slow, your mind racing as you took him in your palm, stroking him gently. “oh, fuck,” he dropped his head to the crook of your shoulder, “that’s- god, you’re so soft.” he placed kisses along your neck and jaw, struggling to hold himself together already. hesitantly, his fingers slipped beneath your underwear, drawing a gasp from your lips when he met your slick folds. “you’re so wet,” his voice cracked slightly, “is this because of me?” “of course,” your own voice trembled, “want you so badly, mike, you have no idea.”

he had the thought that however badly you needed him, he needed you ten times more, but didn’t bother voicing it in fear of ruining the moment. he committed every muscle in his body to keeping himself from coming all over your hand, instead focusing on his fingers, gauging your reactions with each motion. your lips were parted, face red and dewy, brows all drawn together, and he thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful. “slow down,” he finally panted, nearly losing it, “sorry, sorry- too much.” “i’m sorry,” your hand stopped immediately, eyes wide almost as if you panicked, “are you okay?” “m fine,” he nodded, quick to reassure you, “just feels good, don’t wanna, yknow.” “oh,” your skin flushed impossibly darker, “right, yeah, i’m sorry.” “don’t apologize, baby,” the pet name felt surprisingly natural, “you’re doing perfect. is this okay for you?” “it’s so good,” you murmured, thighs twitching as if for emphasis, “do you have a condom?”

he froze for a moment before nodding, remembering the strip of condoms lucas had given him as a poorly aimed joke months prior that mike had immediately hidden in his nightstand drawer, tucked safely beneath a bottle of allergy medicine and unscented lotion. he pulled away from you just long enough to grab one, eyeing it unsurely, the packet cold and foreign in his grasp. “i’m so nervous,” he admitted, meeting your eyes and slightly relaxing when he saw the smile on your lips. “it’s gonna be good,” you reassured him, “we’ll figure it out as we go.” “right,” he nodded, swallowing down his fear, “just tell me if it hurts at all, okay?” “promise,” you nodded, taking his hand to guide him back to you, “it’ll be perfect.”

a few more kisses and he’d finally worked up the courage to roll on the condom, his hands trembling as he did. you slipped off your underwear, and he nearly choked at the sight of you bare before him, his heart in his throat. slotted between your thighs, he kissed you gently, one hand cupping the side of your face, the other positioning himself at your entrance. “i’ll stop if you need,” he told you between kisses, “just say my name and i’ll stop.” “okay,” you reached up to brush stray curls from his forehead, meeting his eyes, your gaze full of love, “just go slow, okay?”

he pushed into you at an agonizingly slow pace, one hand still cupping your cheek, his eyes on yours, his lips parted. “oh, god,” his voice was broken, shaky, more raw than you’d ever heard it. you winced only slightly as you adjusted to the intrusion, your fingers forming indentions onto his shoulders as you clung to him. “mike,” you gasped when he was fully inside you, the base of him pressed snugly against your clit. “are you okay?” he looked you all over, almost frantically. “i’m okay,” you nodded quickly, biting your lip, “just stretched, i guess. doesn’t hurt, though.” “you’re doing so good,” he praised softly, pressing a kiss to your cheek, lips lingering, “am i okay to move?” “yes,” you exhaled, relaxing around him, “yes, please.”

slowly, carefully, he slid back before thrusting back into you, a quiet moan tearing from his lips. “so good,” he sounded almost pained, eyes rolled back, “you’re so good, baby, you’re perfect.” you relished in the praise, nails digging slightly into his skin, squeezing around his length with each thrust. he found a rhythm, pulling a stream of steady moans from you, any hesitance or nerves dissolving. in a moment of curious confidence, he placed his thumb on your clit as he slid in and out of you, rubbing light, soft circles on the puffy bundle of nerves. “oh, mike,” you gasped sharply, back arching at the added stimulation, “that’s- just like that, please.” “that’s good?” he asked, raspy and breathless, “you like that?” “i love it,” you nodded eagerly, “that’s perfect, just like that. you’re so good, mikey, love it so much.”

“not gonna last much longer,” he panted, face all scrunched in bliss, “you’re so warm, fuck. i love you.” “i love you,” you pulled him down into a searing kiss, your tongue sliding against his, his thumb pressing more firmly to your clit, bringing you even closer to the edge. you came with a final cry, chest pressed flush against his, walls spasming around his length. “oh, baby,” he broke away from the kiss, forehead against yours, chest heaving, “was that- did you finish?” “mhm,” you mewled, dizzy with pleasure, “y’so good.” “that’s so hot,” he twitched inside of you, his muscles taut, “i’m- oh, fuck, i’m right there.” he came with a strangled gasp, thrusts losing all rhythm, his hips bucking into you as he filled the condom. his head dropped to your chest as he caught his breath, his hands on your waist, gentle and grounding.

mike was good for writing campaigns, and all of his friends knew they could rely on him to have an immersive saturday night in his basement filled with action and plot twists that he meticulously picked and wrote late at night in his room between two homework sheets, by his desk, hair falling all over his cheekbones and his brows knotting whenever something didn't feel like fitting in into his storyline. although, that wasn't the only thing he used his writing skills for, when he finally finished his upcoming campaign and of course, his homework in the very midst of the night where he finally felt truly alone he could find himself doing his favorite activity ; passionately graving all over his notebook and into his mind his character—himself and her, as the princess of his tale, and heart. it always starts off innocently, she's in the hands of the very last antagonist of all of his campaigns. his love for her and his sword lead him to victory, he saves her and they live happily ever after. but all of this fairytale takes a turn when she wants to thank him for his bravery. long are lost the shining armor and crown, they spilled unto her bed, his skilled fingers tracing the outlines of her curves under the fabric of her clothes, her dainty fingers found their way between the knots of his hair, and their lips inevitably pressed against each others. he could taste the sweet, sugary scent of her lip gloss—was there such a thing as lipgloss in the middle ages? probably not, but mike couldn't care less, he had the rights to let his storyline slip a little if it came to her.

their tongues intertwined like the strands of hair falling across his forehead. mike the paladin was full of good virtues, brave, loyal and rather cute, but patience was not one of his strengths. he stripped off her silky clothes as if they were an extension of her own skin. his lips parted from hers for a moment, and before his astonished eyes lay the reward for his many deeds. he quickly put an end to his reverie and let his lips take place on her body, his long fingers tracing her body as if she were made of nothing but a dream, capable of escaping from his memory at any moment. he kissed her neck and collarbones for each adventures he had overcome. when he reached her chest, his first milestone, he showed one of her nipple all his love and loyalty with his tongue, while his fingers gave the other one just as much affection. she moaned his name like a military chant, and he could bear this feat with pride in his accomplishment. however, the knight was not cruel and could not bear to see his lady in distress, which is why he came to her rescue, his face falling onto her abdomen, close to the source of her misfortune. he kissed her there before tracing the curve of her thighs like the path to his home. the tip of his bumped nose couldn't help but inhale the saccharine scent of her core. he couldn't help but smile at the sight of her love dripping into her cotton underwear, a small but noticeable spot acting as an evidence of it. he gently pulled her panties aside his fingers brushing against her warm welcoming wet folds. it felt nice, like he actually belonged here. he slowly inserted one finger, then another, feeling her tightness wrap around him. he began to move his fingers in and out, can't help but frowning a little bit more each time he left her pussy. he slowly pulled his fingers out, replacing them with his tongue before adding them back ; he started to lick her lips, his tongue sliding up and down her folds as his nose bumped into her clit sometimes. he spread her legs wider, for good measure burying his face deeper between her thighs, if he could die in here, suffocated, he thought, it would be one of a ending for his heroic tale. mike would think about this alternative ending later; for now he—mike the brave had something to finish. her moans grew louder as his tongue explored her depths, her juices coated his chin and lips. his fingers curled in her velvety insides, pressing against her sweet spot while his tongue flicked against her clit. she came with a final shuddering moan, her juices flooding his mouth he could taste her sweetness and god, it was intoxicating. without hesitation, he stood back up to kiss her deeply, sharing her taste with her. as he wrote the final words on his wrinkled and plenty of times crossed out notebook page, pearls of cum spilled over the words, smudging and making them almost impossible to read. his eyebrows raised in shock before he finally acknowledged his surroundings, looking around him as the burning blue haze of the sun starting to rise hurt his eyes. his eyes get his alarm clock, minutes before his aggravating ringtone is supposedly about to ring ;

mike couldn’t get enough of you. it seemed like every single night for the past five weeks, he’d fuck you like a possessed asylum escapee. each thrust, each bite to your shoulder, each time he’d fill your cunt with his cum, all became your nightly ritual. you can’t seem to even understand why he suddenly has this newfound addiction, constantly kissing you as if you’re air itself. he’s become more dauntless, more careless. taking you to his parents’ house, introduces you to his friends, but only refers to you as that. parading you around like you’re someone he has never seen naked and vulnerable. it’s infuriating, it’s risky, it’s a mental lottery.

the mention of her is faint, then none. there’s a glow around mike’s prominent cheeks, as if he had swallowed a star dry. he plays your favorite cassette each day he picks you up from the quiet corridors of your almost deserted dorm. he lets you claw at the muscles in his back as he fucks you relentlessly. he gifts you a necklace that holds a dainty locket, a picture of him hidden. it’s new, it’s whiplash to your weary brain. you’re dizzy with love and utter confusion. “did you and jane break up?” your mouth speaks before you do. mike’s eyebrows pull together in a quick burst of surprise as he drives through the wilted picket-fenced suburbs.

“yeah.” he says softly, but to himself and not you. like he’s trying to answer his inner thoughts out loud. you bite your lower lip in an attempt to stop yourself from unexpectedly crying. cherry chapstick has never tasted so bitter. “yeah?” you repeat in a hiccup. it’s too real to be true, it’s a dream that’s only dreamt once in a lifetime. his eyes scatter through his brain as he parks in his parents’ driveway. mike looks over at the pile of fallen leaves on the lawn, then at you. you’re nauseous with hope. he inhales deeply, drawing in the scent of the mahogany air freshener hanging from the rearview. and he exhales, “we’re drifting apart.” not the answer you wanted.

“drifting apart, but not broken up.” you’re dumbing it down for yourself. mike looks at the bouquet of flowers you brought for his mother, resting pretty on your lap. “drifting apart and almost broken up.” he corrects you like it’s a fact you got wrong. how the hell are you supposed to know? the threads tangled in your heart become loose, slowly undoing the dam that holds your cascade of tears. you stare at mike; so pretty and so mean. “not broken up.” you repeat, correcting mike. there’s a blur walking outside, and towards mike’s window, through your dilated focus, you see mr. wheeler. “what the hell do you want me to say?” mike snaps, a growing spec of annoyance in his voice. your eyes fog from tears that are pushing past your eyelids before you hurriedly wipe them away as mr. wheeler knocks on the car roof. you want to die.

mrs. wheeler hugs you after receiving the bouquet, coincidentally matching the makeup perfectly on her face. she tells you that lunch will be ready soon, in hopes you join and mike stays. you nod with a smile, trying not to completely fall apart in front of the blonde-haired woman. you play pretend. you’re mike’s friend from norte. the two of you met in line at a star wars event. except you don’t watch star wars. you met mike when he bumped into you outside radio shack and knocked down your newly bought walkman 60. you’re not mike’s friend. “i think you’re one of his best friends. he hates to admit it, but it’s good to have one best girl friend. women’s intuitions never lie.” mrs. wheeler gushes to you, smiling so brightly like you're a double rainbow her son found. you see where mike gets his humor from.

you sit in mike’s childhood bedroom, helping him find an old whatever, a lie he told his mother. your heart is in your gut; sour, raw, and on the brink of collapsing as you mentally sob. “broken up by tonight.” mike breaks through the silence, repeating the words from moments ago. he’s kneeling in front of you, his cold fingers looping into yours. always so damn cold. “i will break up with her tonight” he says carefully, his thumb brushing over the pleated skirt that he picked out for you. his eyes are burning through yours, and you feel him picking through the diary locked inside your brain. “i’m in love with you.” it’s an answer never said before, it’s a hazy, concussed memory that you hear before passing out. the air is suffocating. you want to laugh so you don’t cry yourself into oblivion.

“and i’ll stop being your friend.” your voice is strained, and you feel small under his longing gaze. why does he have to look at you like that? his eyes are freshly brewed shots of espresso and you’re one away from your heart completely exploding. “you’ll be mrs. mike wheeler.” mike kisses the knuckles of your hand, his lips warming up your frail skin. you let out an exhausted giggle, even though you’re still one loose thread away from your eyes becoming red with tears. you should be angry, or even deadpanning at his stupid quip. but he kisses up your arm in quick pecks before his lips are attached to yours. and you forget why you're sad. you're predictable, weak, you're reminded that you are not jane. would she have given in so easily? she probably would've dumped mike. but you don't, and you're letting him kiss you.

“why are you giggling? want me to have your last name instead?” mike’s nose scrunches up as he looks at you, grinning ear to ear. he’s undoubtedly the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen, and you hate it. “i’ll take yours but i don’t think i’ll look all that flattering in a dress.” his voice is high and nasally, the voice he uses when he wants to hear your laugh. “you’d look beautiful in a dress!” you break out, laughing softly. the kind of laugh someone has when there’s a joke made at a funeral; teary-eyed and tired. mike’s lips melt into yours, his hands are carefully wrapped around your face. “i love you.” mike whispers on your lips, pushing you into the feather-soft comforter. it smells of him, but not entirely. it's warm like him, and the heat is becoming increasingly difficult to bear as the innocent kiss becomes more.

the makeout is needy, shameless, and disgusting. it's a scene in hormone-fueled, rated-r movies that's almost borderline porn. you're trying to find sweet relief against mike's knee that is so conveniently placed between your thighs. yet he pulls away, a string of salvia connecting the two of you. "you need to stay quiet if you want this." mike says lowly, hair ruffled and messy. the sunlight peeking through the ivory curtains casts a glow around him, and he looks like heaven. the soft conversations, distant but not entirely quiet, of his parents downstairs remind you that you're not alone. "i promise, mike." you reassure, pulling him back into you. coffee and your cherry chapstick linger on his pouty lips, the taste is inebriating, and you're beyond drunk.

mike lets out a groan into your open mouth, rutting himself against you. he needs you. you need him more than oxygen. his large hand gropes your breast desperately before dipping underneath the hem of your skirt, fingers rubbing your clothed clit. "so wet for me." he moans quietly, brows furrowed, eyes consumed with want. he's hungry, and you're awaiting to be devoured. your panties are pulled aside, fingers still cold, and now coated in your arousal. mike’s fingers plunge into your soaked cunt, curling into your velvety walls so sweetly that it’s impossible to keep your eyes open. there's a faint taste of copper as you bite your lip, suppressing your moans as mike torturously fingers you. you can hear how wet you are, and it has your head reeling.

"i could get off just by looking at you right now." mike confesses. there's a boiling in your blood that gets hotter with each kiss, each thrust of his fingers into you. he's leaving wet kisses on your neck, nipping the skin below the chain of your locket. mike’s prominent bulge is poking at your side, and you feel so lewd. you’re gripping onto the sheets to keep yourself from reaching your high so quickly, but you’re about done for. “bet you want me to fuck you.” mike teases, slowing down his assault on your poor cunt. “so bad, mike. please fuck me.” you whimper pathetically and a little too loud, almost giving away the obscenity happening in mike’s bedroom. the star wars figures lying across his desk have never seen anything so vile.

“shit, you’re so needy.” mike breathes out, you involuntarily buck your hips towards him. it’s enough to make him remove his fingers from you completely and bunch up your maxi skirt around your waist, exposing the sight of your red panties that are now completely soaked. his bottom lip is caught between his teeth as he unbuttons his jeans, “can’t wait to be inside you, pretty girl.” “mike, lunch will be ready in thirty!” the sound of mrs. wheeler pulls you out of your lust-filled trance, footsteps shuffling outside the door. your eyes widen at the realization of how close she sounds. mike is quick to clamp his hand over your mouth, a small whimper escaping you. “we’ll be down by then!” mike exclaims back, ears perked up for any sign of his mother’s footsteps.

you’re thinking of how you’d react if the knob turned— if mrs. wheeler opened the door and saw the position her son has you in. you’d kill yourself. maybe not right now, but eventually, tear-stained letter and all. mike watches you, eyes desperately studying your face. he shakes his head at your sudden shakiness. the relieving sound of footsteps patting down the staircase has your heart beating again. “you’re gonna have to be quiet. we have to be quick.” mike warns, slowly removing his hand from your mouth, making quick work to remove your panties and his boxers. “i don’t know if i can.” you whisper, on the brink of crying as he teases your hole with his cock; the tip the prettiest shade of dark pink. “you will.” mike covers your mouth once again before shoving his cock in your cunt.

he fucks you fast, hard, not letting his hand falter from its hold over your mouth. the moans you let out are going into his hand and straight back into your body. your nails dig into the skin of mike’s wrist as his cock kisses your cervix, you’re about to cum and he hasn’t even been fucking you for more than 5 minutes. “you’re doing so good, all for me.” mike groans lowly, only for you to hear. “i wish you could see yourself, you look so pretty when you’re trying to stay quiet.” it’s a praise that has your cunt pulsating around mike. your eyes are losing focus as he hikes up your leg to rest on his shoulder, the new angle has his cock ploughing deeper in you. you’re letting out muffled, indescribable moans at the feeling. it’s a high that an addict could only dream of.

mike’s fingers find solace on your clit, messily rubbing the puffy nerve as he fucks you stupid. your body starts to thrash as the pleasure becomes too much, tears welling up in your eyes. you’re sure you’re drawing blood as your nails scratch mike’s wrist, but he doesn’t seem to let it stop him. the headboard of his bed is hitting the wall in rhythmic thuds, and you're praying to whoever is listening for his parents not come up the stairs. mike's eyes are on you, lips parted as he's panting, wanting to let out moans himself. "fuck." mike whispers, out of breath. his thrusts get sharp, snapping into your pelvic bone with such vigor that he could break you if he wanted to. the pounding of your heart feels like it's about to burst through your heaving chest, you're practically biting mike's hand as you're struggling to keep yourself quiet. the wet sounds of mike's cock meeting your cunt is sickly euphoric. you'd cum from the sound alone.

mike's hand leaves your mouth— you're about to let out a loud whine, but his lips quickly meet yours. the kiss is a spit-filled moaning mess. the sight is sinful enough to leave his poor mother in a coma if she walked in. "need you to cum, can you do that for me?" mike says against your lips, watching you fall apart in front of him. you see yourself in his dilated pupils; you look straight out of a playboy magazine. the reflection has your stomach eating itself. "yes." you cry out softly, your hand reaching into his hair and becoming tangled in the dark curls. "gonna fill you up so good." mike kisses into your mouth, his thrusts getting rougher. his fingers leave your clit to wrap around your throat, kissing you deeper than before. your body is on fire, you feel on fire, like someone lit a flare in you.

your eyes screw shut, the faint outline of the peel-n-stick stars on mike's ceiling dances around your neon-colored vision. "mike." you moan out, loudly. it's an alarm, a cause for concern for his parents, but it's music to his ears. "there you go." you hear him pant, his lips attaching to your sugar-laced neck. you see jane when your vision goes black. hair tucked behind her ears, and a bloody nose, watching how you're cumming pathetically around mike. she gives you the same unreadable expression from the first night you saw her weeks ago. the warm feeling of mike's thick cum quickly pulls you out of your head, your eyes meet his as he's shuddering to empty himself in your cunt.

the air hitting your lungs burn as you catch your breath, mike’s afterglow is already settling into his skin. and you’re sure your hair is ruined beyond repair. mike’s thumb collects the tears on your cheek and softly smiles at you. the freckles scattered across his nose are a bit more prominent than before, cheeks baby pink, and lips swollen from all the kissing. its a mental picture for you to remember on late-nights and lonely weekends. there’s a humming coming from outside his door and rushed movements, three voices and you recognize one as his older sister’s. “mike, lunch is ready!” mrs. wheeler calls out from downstairs. "you did so good for me.” mike kisses you before pulling out.

for the next 30 minutes, you are subjected to being mike’s friend again. there’s two people at the table you’ve never met sitting next to his older sister, nancy. a guy with hair that you’ve only seen in hairstylist magazines and a girl with short hair and messily done eyeliner. you’re asked your name, if your mike’s friend. you’ll say yes and talk about the fake star wars event you met at. mrs. wheeler will boast about how you’re going to norte, how you’re mike’s best friend. mike will rub your thigh sneakily underneath the table and sneak glances at you, occasionally chiming in to brag about how smart you are. your head will pound at the emotional gymnastics. your gut will churn at the mention of jane.