Legionluv
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red light, yellow light, green-a-light go by goldenasteri
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
04 Jan 2026
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IAN! @poppytuft: someone write fic where they all go to the party that night after their campaign and mike and will make out in the bathroom bc Will says I hate your hair like this. please let me fix it. and he’s running his hands through mikes hair and he goes oh. OH. don’t give a fuuuuck
IAN! @poppytuft: Dustin henderson kat stratford ten things i hate about you dancing on the kitchen table moment while mike and will are dry humping in the bathroom. Who cares anymore
IAN! @poppytuft: I'm doing it myself
(or: the party DOES go to Stacy’s party, and mike and will get so gay off that vodka)
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When Will accidentally hands Mike a personal sketchbook instead of a school notebook, he may as well have just handed Mike a full confession. Will realizes just a tad too late. Mortified, ashamed, Will flees to Castle Byers. Mike follows.
It's a sweet coming-out story with a happy ending, yo. Because Will Byers deserves a good day, okay?
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I Never Find Out 'Til I'm Head Over Heels by orphan_account
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
07 May 2017
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Wherein Mike believes he’s being obvious, Will doesn’t know what he believes, and the pair of them could use a lesson or two in effective communication. Somehow all of this has both nothing and everything to do with five years' worth of school dances.
(This piece was written for the Stranger Things Big Bang)
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“Did I do something wrong?” Mike questions, mouth twisted in a frown, eyes less wide than they were a few moments ago, sleepiness gone. His arms stay at his sides, although his fingers fiddle with his sleeves. “What did I do wrong?”
Will frowns back. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Mike doesn’t look like he believes him. Will doesn’t blame him. “Then why do you keep leaving?”
The world ends, and then some. Mike and Will find each other again, amidst the debris and distance.
Series
- Part 1 of fix-its
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It rolls, it rolls, it rolls, Will is clenching his hands into fists so tight his knuckles are white, bracing himself, preparing himself.
He’s so focused on steadying his breathing, on wrapping his heart in a guard of barbed wire before the blow lands, that he doesn’t quite see the number on the dice.
Mike lets out a shaky breath next to him. “It’s a seven.”
Will runs through the list in his head. Three times, before it clicks. He thinks he might throw up.
“C’mon, Wheeler. Don’t keep us waiting,” Max teases, and Will finally catches the satisfied gleam in her eyes.
A 20. He gets twenty minutes locked in a linen closet with Mike.
Two years ago, he would have been jumping for joy.
But Mike won’t even look at him.