hi, i’m me

But then Nancy Wheeler smiled at you—really smiled, the soft, warm kind that hit you right in the chest—and suddenly you weren't so sure you could stand anymore.

It happened on a slow Saturday afternoon in her room. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through old notebooks for a school project, and you had volunteered to "help."

Mostly you just watched her: the way strands of hair slipped from behind her ear, how she chewed on the end of her pencil when she concentrated, how she kept glancing at you like she knew exactly what you were thinking.

You were staring. You didn't realize it until she looked up, caught you, and tilted her head.

"What?" she asked, playful and suspicious all at once.

Your heart felt like it was beating 500mph. "Nothing. I mean—nothing like nothing. I was just, uh, thinking. About... stuff. Papers. Schoolwork. You know."

Her smile grew into an adorable toothy grin. "Stuff," she echoed.

Fuck. She knew. She totally knew.

You cleared your throat, desperate to recover whatever dignity you had left. "I wasn't staring at you. Or, like, admiring you. Not that there's anything wrong with admiring you—plenty of people probably do that—but I wasn't doing it. Admiring, I mean. I was just... checking the time."

"There's no clock in here," she said softly.

You froze. "Right. Which explains why I looked for so long. Because I was... confused?"

Nancy laughed under her breath, and the sound alone made your face go hot. She pushed herself to her feet and crossed the tiny distance between you.

"You know," she said, eyes sparkling up at you, "you ramble when you're nervous."

"I'm not nervous," you lied instantly, voice cracking like a dying hinge.

"Uh-huh."

She reached up, brushing her fingers along your jaw. The touch sent a shiver straight down your spine. You opened your mouth to say something else—to fix this, to distract, to dig the hole deeper, who knew—but she shut you up the simplest way possible.

Her lips pressed against yours.

Soft. Warm. Certain.

Your breath caught, and for a second neither of you moved. Then you kissed her back, hands finding her waist, everything in you melting into the moment you'd been trying so hard not to want.

When she pulled away, she rested her forehead against yours.

"For the record?" she whispered. "You're adorable when you think you're playing it off."

You'd been together for a couple years now, long enough that everyone just assumed you were attached at the hip.

Still, nights like this, when it was just the two of you and the soft lamplight, felt rare and worth holding onto.

She sat beside you on the edge of the bed, knees brushing yours. "You know," she said, twisting a strand of hair around her finger, "I love these nights. I love them even more with you."

You nudged her shoulder gently. "Even if I get too competitive and yell at Mike for fucking up rolls?"

"Especially then," she teased. Then her expression softened. "Actually... I wanted to talk to you about something."

Your chest tightened, not in fear but in that strange, electric kind of anticipation. "Yeah? What's up?"

She hesitated—Nancy Wheeler, who never hesitated—and it instantly told you this was important.

"I've been thinking about the future," she said. "About college, careers... where we'll be in a few years."

You nodded slowly. "Me too."

Nancy took a quiet breath, eyes finding yours. "I want to keep doing real reporting. Real stories. Maybe even move to a city where that's possible. I want... purpose. And I want you there. If that's still what you want."

Your heart stuttered. "Nance, of course it is. I mean—yeah, "I want to build something. A life. A career. Maybe out west. But wherever it is... I want you in it. I need my girl."

Her smile was small but full, the kind that always knocked the wind out of you. "Good. Because I keep imagining things. Stupid things. Like us having our own place. Waking up together, starting the day together—"

"Making Dustin knock before barging in?" you joked.

Nancy rolled her eyes. "Absolutely mandatory."

You shifted closer, brushing your hand against hers. "I think about that too. A future where it's not just date nights and sneaking moments before Crawls. A future where it's all... ours."

The room felt warmer somehow, quieter. Nancy leaned in just a little, her eyelashes fluttering as she searched your face. "I love you," she whispered, voice steadier than you expected. "And I want all of that with you."

You slipped a hand to her cheek, heart pounding but certain. "I love you too. More than I know how to say."

She leaned forward, breath mingling with yours, lips a breath away—

—and the bedroom door swung open with a crash.

"HEY! Are you two done being gross? The Crawl is starting and I need my brother to witness my EPIC VICTORY—"

"Dustin!" you and Nancy snapped in unison.

He blinked, confused. "...What? Did I miss something?"

Nancy groaned into your shoulder while you tried not to laugh. You'd get that kiss later—just not with Dustin Henderson as your third wheel.

He sat hunched over beside your bed, shoulders curled inward. He hadn’t slept. Had barely eaten. His hand never left yours, afraid that if he let go, you’d slip further away from him.

You lay still, too still, bruises and bandages tracing the places Vecna had invaded—your mind, your body, your life. Eddie hated looking at them. Hated himself for letting it happen. But he forced his eyes to stay on you, because looking away felt like hell.

“This wasn’t part of the deal,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You said dating you would be exciting. Dangerous, maybe. But you didn’t tell me it would be… this.” His laugh cracked in half. “Guess I should’ve known. god, I'm so sorry.”

The door opened quietly. Dustin stepped inside, eyes softer than Eddie had ever seen them. “Any changes?”

Eddie shook his head, jaw clenching. “Nothing. She hasn’t moved. She hasn’t even twitched.” His thumb brushed your soft hand. “I almost lost her, Dust. If you guys hadn’t grabbed me, I’d be rotting in the Upside Down, and she’d be—” He swallowed hard. “She’d be alone.”

Dustin approached the bed, placing a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “She’s strong. The strongest person we know. She fought him longer than any of us could. That means something.”

“Yeah? Tell that to her.” Eddie blinked rapidly. “Two days, man. Two days and she hasn’t opened her eyes. Fuck she hasn't even moved.”

He reached out, gently pushing a strand of hair from your forehead. His fingers shook. Everything shook.

“I promised I’d protect you,” he whispered, leaning closer. “And I failed. I should’ve been quicker. Should’ve taken the hit. Should’ve done anything—anything—to keep you from ending up like this.” His breath hitched. “Please… I just need you to come back. Yell at me. Call me dramatic. Roll your eyes at my stupid guitar analogies. Something. Anything, Y/N.”

The silence filled the room once again. And then soft and faintly your fingers twitched.

Eddie froze. Dustin gasped quietly.

“Do it again,” Eddie breathed, sitting up straighter. “Sweetheart… please.”

Your hand twitched once more, a little stronger this time.

“Holy shit,” Dustin whispered.

Eddie’s eyes filled with tears he didn’t bother to hide. “That’s it. That’s it, baby. C’mon. Follow my voice.”

Your eyelids fluttered.

But an uneasy feeling started crawling slowly up your spine—like a hand tightening around your lungs. Your fingers tingled. Your vision blurred at the edges. Everyone’s voices blended together until they sounded like they were coming from underwater.

You swallowed hard.

Your sister glanced over at you, immediately catching the way your hands shook. “Hey,” she whispered, scooting closer, “are you okay?”

You opened your mouth, but the air didn’t make it to your lungs. Panic roared up too fast, too strong. You fumbled for your phone, your hands trembling so badly you almost dropped it.

“Will.” You barely got the name out.

Your sister nodded, already understanding.

You hit call. The second the line picked up, you sucked in a broken breath. “Will… can you—can you come? Please?”

His voice sharpened instantly. “Where are you? What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t answer. Tears blurred your vision.

“I’m coming,” he said without hesitation. “Stay with your El. I’m on my way.”

The room spun harder—voices muffling, lights dimming. You clutched your chest, trying to breathe, trying to stay upright. Your dad was already moving toward you, worry carved deep into his face.

“What’s going on? Honey?” Hopper’s voice, usually so steady, wavered with panic.

El stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “She’s having a panic attack,” Eleven said calmly, already kneeling beside you. “It’s okay. Will is coming.”

Not even two minutes later, the front door burst open.

Will rushed in, breathless, eyes wide with fear the second he saw you shaking on the couch.

“Baby,” he whispered, crossing the room in three long strides. He dropped to his knees in front of you and cupped your face in both hands. “Hey—hey, sweetheart. I’m right here. Look at me. Just me.”

You focused on him, barely. His thumb brushed your cheek. His forehead pressed gently to yours.

“Breathe with me, okay?” His voice was steady, even though his hands shook. “In… and out… I’ve got you.”

You tried—God, you tried—but the dizziness rushed back hit you in a wave. Your body went limp.

Your dad lunged forward just as your vision went black. Will caught you first, arms wrapping securely around your waist as you slumped. He looked terrified but held on gently, lowering you against his chest.

“Woah—okay, okay, I’ve got you,” he breathed shakily. “It’s alright. You’re okay.”

Hopper moved beside him instantly, fear written all over him. “Is she breathing? Is she—”

“She’s breathing,” Will said, voice low but certain. “She just fainted.”

He lifted you with careful, trembling arms and laid you on the couch. He brushed your hair back, staying knelt beside you like he couldn’t bring himself to move even an inch away.

Everyone gathered but stayed silent, giving him space.

Minutes passed.

Then your fingers twitched.

Will leaned forward instantly. “Baby?” he whispered, eyes softening with relief. “Hey. You’re back.”

Your eyes fluttered open. The room was quieter, calmer. Will’s face was the first thing you saw—worried, gentle, full of warmth.

Your dad exhaled the breath he’d been holding. “You scared the hell out of us,” he muttered, brushing your forehead with a tenderness he rarely showed.

Your voice came out weak. “Sorry…”

Will shook his head, scooting closer until his hand found yours. “No. Don’t apologize. Ever.”

El nodded. “You’re safe. We’re all here.”

Will helped you sit up slowly, his arm wrapping behind your back.

“You call me anytime you feel like that,” he whispered. “I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing. I’ll always come for you.”

Your heart loosened—not painfully this time, but in that soft, warm way Will always made you feel.

You leaned into him, letting his heartbeat steady yours.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He kissed your forehead, lingering there. “You don’t thank me,” he murmured. “I love you. Always."

You swallowed hard, suddenly realizing how small the room felt now, how small you felt—with him filling the space like that. The mattress creaked as you shifted back, fingers twisting in the sheets.

"Maybe I am," you managed to say, your voice coming out quieter than you'd intended.

With a slow, cocky push off the doorframe, Mike stepped closer. Each footfall made your heart race.

"Good," he replied, voice low and deep. His fingers slid into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your thighs without a hint of hesitation.

"Means you know what's coming." The cool air hit your bare skin, and you instinctively tried to close your legs, but his knee pressed between them, forcing them apart.

 He clicked his tongue, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "Uh-uh. You don't get to hide from me."

His palm glided up your stomach, over your ribs, squeezing just hard enough to draw a gasp from you. His fingers dug into your hipbone, holding you in place as he lowered himself between your thighs. 

The heat radiated from him, his breath teasing your inner thigh, the roughness of his stubble against your skin, his broad shoulders blocking out the light from the bedside lamp. You could already feel your wetness, and the shame of it burned hotter than his touch. His chuckle vibrated against your thigh, dark and teasing.

"Look at you," He murmured, lips grazing the crease where your leg met your hip. "Already so fucking wet for me."

His tongue traced a slow, torturous line upward, causing you to arch your back off the mattress, a whimper caught in your throat.

He groaned in approval, the sound sending arousing chills through you. "Yeah, that's it. Let me hear you." 

You bit down on your lip to stifle another sound, but his fingers tightened on your hip, warning you with a growl. "None of that. I wanna hear every fucking noise you make, pretty."

Before you could protest, his mouth was back on you, hotter and hungrier, his tongue moving relentlessly in circles until your thighs trembled around his shoulders.

His free hand found its way to your chest, fingers curling around your throat—not tight enough to choke you, just enough to make you gasp.

"You take it so good," he murmured against your skin, the words half a growl. "But you're gonna take more."

The press of his thumb against your windpipe matched the slow, deliberate thrust of his tongue inside you, and your vision began to blur, caught between panic and dizzying pleasure.

The first blunt push of him at your entrance stole your breath away. You instinctively tensed, nails digging into his forearm, but Mike didn't let up.

"Relax," he ordered, his voice ragged, forehead resting against yours as he pushed forward inch by agonizing inch. A broken sound escaped your lips when he finally bottomed out, his hips pressed flush against yours, the stretch almost unbearable.

His breath was hot and uneven against your lips. "Fuck. god. You feel that? That's all me."

You whimpered, the fullness almost too much to handle, but his grip on your thigh tightened, pushing you wider.

"Look at me," he commanded, and when your eyes fluttered open, his gaze pinned you down more effectively than his hands ever could.

"You're gonna take it. Every last inch." He pulled out agonizingly slow only to slam back in, the sharp slap of skin echoing off the walls. 

Your scream got swallowed in his mouth as he kissed you, His rhythm became relentless, each thrust felt like he was nearing your stomach. The burn slowly transforming into something warm, then something hotter. You could feel the sweat gathering on your forehead, your pussy fighting to accommodate him even as pleasure coiled tightly in your stomach.

"That's it," Mike gritted out, fingers pressing deep into your hips causing bruises as he pulled you onto him harder, faster.

"C'mon, sweetheart. You can take it. I know you can, my pretty girl." The snap of his hips turned erratic, his control slipping, and when his teeth sunk into your shoulder, you let go. Suddenly, an explosion of your white-hot cum slide down his cock, your pussy clamping down around him as he cursed, his own release crashing into him with a deep groan.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight heavy, breath scorching against your neck. For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then his fingers traced your trembling chin. "Told you," he murmured. 

"All Mine."

It wasn't fear that made it pound; it was the thought of Nancy Wheeler waiting on the other side of her window.

The night was quiet. Hawkins was mostly asleep, except for the hum of distant streetlights and the soft rustle of leaves. You eased yourself up the last few inches, fingers curling around the cool window frame.

A soft tap.

The lamp by her bed flicked on, casting a warm glow across her room. Nancy appeared in view, her face lighting up the instant she saw you. She rushed forward, sliding the window open with excitement.

"You're getting faster at that," she whispered, amusement flickering over her smile.

You slipped inside and landed quietly on her bedroom carpet. "I've got good motivation."

She rolled her eyes, though her grin only grew. "Come on. Before my mom decides to check if I'm asleep."

Nancy grabbed your wrist and tugged you gently toward her bed. The room smelled faintly of her perfume—soft, floral, familiar—and the sight of her oversized sweater, sleep shorts, and messy braid made your chest warm.

You sat beside her, your legs brushing. Her lamp cast a halo around her hair as she studied your face like she always did when she thought you weren't paying attention.

"What?" you asked, nudging her shoulder lightly.

"You look tired," she murmured. "Long day?"

"Long week," you corrected, and when she leaned her head against your shoulder, some of the exhaustion melted instantly. "But this makes it better."

Nancy curled her knees up, settling closer. "I figured you could use the escape."

"And the company," you added.

She lifted her head then, eyes softening. "Always."

You stayed like that for a moment—quiet, tucked in her room, wrapped in her warmth.

She didn't need to fill silence with words; she never pushed or prodded. She simply was, and being beside her had always been enough.

Nancy shifted first, crawling back to her pillow and patting the empty space next to her. "Come on," she whispered. "You're staying, right?"

You hesitated just long enough to tease her. "Only if you ask nicely."

She threw a pillow at you.

You caught it mid-air and set it aside as she tried not to laugh. "Please," she said dramatically, "stay."

You climbed into bed beside her, both of you careful to stay quiet, the old mattress springs threatening to squeak. She pulled the blanket up, and you slid your arm beneath her shoulders so she could settle against your chest.

Her fingers drew slow,  patterns across your shirt. "I like when you're here," she said softly, almost shyly.

"I like being here," you answered, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "It feels...safe."

"Safe?" she echoed, leaning her head back to meet your eyes.

"Always."

Her cheeks flushed at that, the soft pink impossible to hide even in the dim light. She tucked herself even closer, her legs tangling with yours.

Minutes passed like that—quiet breathing, the gentle rhythm of her heartbeat pressed to your side.

Outside, a car drove by. A branch tapped lightly against the house. But her room remained its own quiet world.

"Promise me something," Nancy murmured suddenly, her voice sleepy.

"Anything."

"Wake up with me," she said. "Just this once. I want you here when the sun comes in."

Your heart squeezed. You brushed a kiss to the top of her head, soft and slow.

"I'll be here," you whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

Nancy sighed contentedly and finally drifted off, her breathing steady and warm against your chest.

Your little brother, Oliver, sat on the living room carpet surrounded by blocks, plush toys, and a plastic dinosaur army he had been arranging with very serious concentration. Steve sat cross-legged across from him, elbows resting on his knees, watching the toddler with the same focus he once used when planning how to break into a secret underground lab.

“Okay, little dude,” Steve said, picking up a bright blue block. “Where does this one go? I’m guessing… top of the tower? Very architectural. Very modern.”

Oliver blinked up at him with huge eyes, then plucked the block from Steve’s hand and firmly placed it on the side of the tower, causing the entire thing to wobble dangerously.

Steve froze. “Oh, okay, that works too. We’re doing abstract design. Love that.”

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, unable to stop the warmth spreading through your chest. Steve didn’t know you were watching—he was too busy trying to stabilize a block tower that was, by all known laws of physics, seconds away from collapse.

Oliver, giggling, slapped another block on top. The tower immediately crumbled.

Steve gasped dramatically and threw himself backward as if he’d been struck. “Oh no! Disaster! It’s gone! The whole city is destroyed!”

Oliver burst into delighted laughter, clapping his tiny hands. It was a ridiculous scene—you never expected the former King of Hawkins High to throw himself on the floor because a toddler knocked over some blocks.

But here he was, doing exactly that.

You pushed off the doorway and walked in quietly, but Steve noticed you when Oliver crawled into his lap and bounced excitedly. Steve looked up at you with a sheepish smile, his hair slightly tangled from where Oliver had grabbed it.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softening. “Your brother and I are having a very serious architectural meeting.”

“Oh yeah?” you teased, settling down on the carpet beside them. “Looks intense.”

“It is,” Steve said with a nod. “This guy’s a visionary. I mean, look at this.” He pointed at the scattered blocks with a proud dad-like expression. “He’s breaking boundaries.”

Oliver reached out toward Steve’s face, patting his cheeks clumsily. Steve gently held his tiny hand, laughing under his breath.

You felt a tug in your chest. Something deep, warm, and so unexpected you almost leaned away from it. Watching Steve like this—gentle, patient, completely smitten with a toddler who kept mispronouncing his name—it did something to you.

And the worst part? Steve had no idea.

Oliver decided Steve’s hair needed rearranging, so he grabbed a handful and started patting it down in random directions.

“Yep,” Steve said calmly, “that’s… perfect. A new look. I’m trusting the process.”

You covered your mouth to hide your smile. “You’re really good with him.”

Steve shrugged, cheeks flushing slightly. “I like kids. They’re easier than monsters and teenagers. Plus,” he added with a teasing glance your way, “your brother likes me more than Dustin does. That’s a win.”

Oliver leaned his head against Steve’s chest with a sleepy sigh.

Your heart squeezed so hard it almost hurt.

Steve swayed gently, rocking Oliver without even thinking about it. “Guess we played him out,” he whispered.

You nodded, unable to look away. “You’re kind of… amazing with him.”

Steve met your eyes, warmth spreading slowly across his face. “Yeah? You like seeing me like this?”

Your cheeks warmed. “More than I expected.”

His smile softened into something tender, something that made that swelling feeling in your chest double.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I like being like this with you.”

And as he held your sleepy little brother in his arms, you realized it wasn’t just baby fever.

It happened behind the school, in the stretch of cracked pavement where the bikes were lined up and the seniors liked to cut class. You had been waiting for Mike, leaning against the railing and flipping through your magazine, unaware of the conversation happening around the corner. Mike had just finished history and was still half-complaining about the pop quiz when he heard it—one voice, loud, mocking, and directed at you.

“Why’s Wheeler even with her?” the guy snickered. “She looks like a total slut.”

The word hit Mike like a gunshot, sharp and hot. For a second he froze, blinking, because he couldn’t possibly have heard it right. But the boy—Jared, a junior who thought being on the swim team made him invincible—laughed again. That sound pushed Mike over the edge.

He stepped around the corner so fast Jared jumped.

“Say it again,” Mike said, voice low, trembling not with fear but with anger.

Jared raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “What? That your girlfriend dresses like—”

He didn’t get to finish.

Mike shoved him hard enough that his backpack slipped off his shoulder. Jared staggered, recovered, and smirked. “Relax, Wheeler. It was a joke.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Mike snapped. “You don’t talk about her like that. Ever.”

Jared pushed him back, harder. “What are you gonna do? You think you’re tough?”

Mike didn’t think at all. His fist moved before his brain could catch up, connecting with Jared’s jaw. The boy stumbled, shocked, and swung back wildly. The two crashed into the bike rack, metal clattering, shouts filling the air. It wasn’t a clean fight—more shoving, grappling, and desperate punches than anything—but Mike didn’t care. He just needed Jared to understand he couldn’t say things like that. Not about you. Definitely not you.

“Mike!” Your voice cut through the chaos. You sprinted toward them, eyes wide.

Jared saw you, wiped the blood from his lip, and backed away. “Your boyfriend’s insane,” he muttered, grabbing his bag before hurrying off.

Mike stood there breathing hard, knuckles scraped, hair sticking to his forehead. When he finally looked at you, his anger melted into worry.

“Are you okay?” you asked, stepping closer, checking him for injuries even though he tried to brush it off.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. “I just—I heard what he said. I couldn’t let him talk about you like that.”

Your chest tightened. “Mike… you didn’t have to fight him.”

“Yes, I did.” He met your eyes, still catching his breath. “You deserve respect. And I’m not letting anyone treat you that way.”

You touched his cheek gently, your thumb brushing the faint bruise forming there. “Thank you,” you whispered. “But next time, maybe don’t almost get your face smashed in for me.”

Mike cracked a small, crooked smile. “I make no promises.”

You laughed softly, slipping your hand into his. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

At eighteen, everything finally felt like it was changing too fast—except the ache in his chest whenever he looked at Mike.

Tonight, that ache was worse than ever.

Mike stepped closer. His voice was low, careful. “Will… you’ve been quiet all night. What’s going on?”

Will shook his head, staring at the floor. “You won’t get it.”

“Yes, I will.” Mike’s voice cracked. “You always talk to me.”

Will’s breathing hitched. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, but the tears still came. “I’m tired, Mike. Tired of pretending things are normal when they’re not. Tired of acting like I don’t—” He broke off, shoulders shaking. “Forget it.”

Mike felt something twist painfully inside him. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Will, pulling him close without hesitation. Will collapsed into him, gripping the back of his shirt.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Mike murmured into Will’s brown hair.

Will pulled back, tears streaking his face. “It hurts being around you because I—because I feel things I shouldn’t. And I can’t lose you. You’re the most important person in my life, Mike. You always have been.”

Mike stared at him, eyes filling with tears of his own. “Will,” he whispered, reaching up to gently cradle Will’s cheek. “You’re not gonna lose me. Ever.”

Will’s breath trembled under Mike’s touch. “But if you knew how I felt—”

“I do,” Mike whispered, his thumb brushing a tear away from Will’s skin. “I didn’t understand it before, but I do now.”

Will’s eyes widened, confused. “You… do?”

Mike nodded, tears sliding down his cheeks. “Yeah. And I’m scared too. Scared of messing this up. Scared of losing you. But I don’t want to keep pretending either, I can’t.”

Their foreheads touched, both of them shaking, Will’s hands slid to Mike’s wrists, holding onto him like he might fly away.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Will whispered again, voice cracking.

“You won’t, You never will.” Mike breathed.

And then Mike leaned in, slow and passionate, and Will met him halfway.

Their first kiss was trembling and wet with tears, both of them crying the moment their lips touched. It wasn’t smooth or steady—it was raw, desperate, years of buried feelings final breaking free.

When they finally parted, eyes still wet, Mike let out a soft, shaky laugh.

“We’re a complete mess,” he whispered.