reedoesntknow
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Will and Mike bypass their usual Friday night dinner out for a soft evening in, and Mike makes sure Will knows he's very, very loved.
Bookmarked by reedoesntknow
19 Jan 2026
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It should be him kissing Will. Holding and doting on him. Mike can feel something ugly stirring in his chest. His nails dig crescent moons into his palms, and he comes to the terrifying realization that he won’t rest until it’s true.
Mike really, really doesn’t like Will’s new boyfriend.
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Bookmarked by reedoesntknow
30 Dec 2025
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Mike walks in on his roommate making out with another guy and gets really upset about it. For all of the normal, straight reasons.
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Bookmarked by reedoesntknow
28 Dec 2025
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"I can help you, if you want." Will's face went blank, but Mike was too drunk to take back what he'd said. He also didn't want to.
"What?"
"I mean, kissing isn't that big of a deal. You can practice on me, I don't mind. Low stakes." A part of him wanted to laugh and pretend he was joking, but he pushed down his fear, searching Will's face for a reaction. His eyes were wide, but he hadn't said no yet. Why hasn't he said no yet?It's Christmas in Hawkins, and Mike is desperate to finally mend his friendship with Will. But first, he needs to figure out what secrets he's been hiding.
Bookmarked by reedoesntknow
28 Dec 2025
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In a world where nearly everyone has a timer counting down to the moment they’ll meet their soulmate, Minho’s remains blank—silent proof that his other half hasn’t activated theirs yet… or never will. To shield himself from the weight of uncertainty and the ticking pressure of time, he makes a rule: only get close to those whose countdowns are nearly done. It’s a strategy that keeps him safe—until Hyunjin enters his life, with a timer that reads months instead of hours. Breaking his own rule, Minho lets him in, unaware that this choice will pull him into the quiet storm between destiny and free will—a line this world insists is absolute.
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"You're just leaving like that?"Persistent. That kind of persistence usually turns Minho off immediately—too invasive, too much. But for some reason, he doesn’t pull away this time.
The man is sitting up in bed, shirtless, hair tousled. Minho’s gaze drifts unwillingly to a mark on his neck—the one he remembers leaving by the door, when he was pinned against the wall by this fiery dancer. There’s also a faint scratch along his ribs, a poorly concealed bruise on his hip. His body is a quiet map of the night they shared. Minho swallows.
Bookmarked by reedoesntknow
04 Oct 2025