Puppy eyes (ft Mike wheeler) · Y/n story by @gracie

The Wheeler basement was dim, lit only by the glow of the television screen and a single floor lamp. The air smelled of old carpet, stale popcorn, and the faint, ever-present scent of Mike’s dad’s pipe tobacco from upstairs.

Lucas Sinclair

rolls a twenty-sided die, squints at it Ha! Take that, you gelatinous cube! Eighteen points of damage!

Dustin Henderson

through a mouthful of Cheetos Show-off. My turn. I’m casting Magic Missile. At the darkness.

Mike Wheeler

sighs, leaning back against the couch You can’t cast Magic Missile at the darkness, Dustin. You need a target.

Dustin Henderson

The darkness is my target! It’s a metaphysical foe!

Will Byers

smiling softly from his spot on the floor I think the Dungeon Master gets to decide that.

All eyes turn to Mike, who was serving as Dungeon Master for the night. He had been unusually quiet for the last half hour, his brow furrowed not in concentration over the game, but in thought. His gaze kept drifting away from the graph-paper map, landing on the empty spot on the couch next to him—the spot where Y/n usually sat.

Mike Wheeler

clears his throat, looking directly at Y/n Actually… I need a favour.