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percy loves playing with your tits percy fingering you till you cry big dick!percy is canon percy ❤️ tits just the tip? from the backkk he’s teasing favorite meal of his day
Mike Wheeler being yelled at by a 4”9 short girl friend
“ARE YOU STUPID MIKE WHEELER!?” Your voice rang out through the walls of the school. Mike simply shook his head and sighed, his face flushing with embarrassment. Lucas and Will giggled behind them, “You are so lucky we are in school, or else i swear to GOD you would be dead.”
He nodded and looked down. “Say sorry.” You said. “Sorry.” He said in a quiet voice, “Look at me.” He looked a little higher, (considering how short you were) and said it again, in the same quiet tone.
“Next time you and your friends wanna mess with my stuff, maybe check if i’m not still in my house.” When Mike looked behind you to see Lucas nodding and repeating her words, Mike got annoyed and looked back to you.
You were already walking away in the direction of your next class. He thought it was over until you yelled, “Dumbass!” and laughed with your friends.
synopsis. mike wheeler comes to a horrific discovery... he has a oral fixation!
warnings. short drabble, pervy!mike, post season 5, masturbation, lewd descriptions of readers mouth, mike being an uncontrollable yearner and lusting
mike wheeler with an oral fixation.
honestly, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it all went sideways. there was no slow build, no dramatic build up to a sudden awakening, just one unremarkable morning where he woke up and realized his brain had apparently been hijacked by hormones with a wicked sense of timing. somewhere between yesterday and today, the wiring got crossed, flipped, and set permanently to loud. he chalked it up to the same awkward evolution that turned innocent middle-school makeouts into late-night pervertedly horny thoughts that refused to shut up, the kind that made him stare at the ceiling and wonder, purely hypothetically, obviously, whether still being a virgin at eighteen was statistically strange or just deeply inconvenient, considering how feral his own body seemed determined to be some days.
although it did happen, it didn't begin with anything clichéd like a banana (though, we'll get to that later).
one day, some random, unceremonious day at melvald’s, it just happened. you and mike had been going there after school forever, killing time with spoonfuls of ice cream and half-finished sentences. you and mike had been going after school forever, talking about nothing and everything while settling for vanilla, because by the time the final bell rang, vanilla was always the only flavor left. you’d ride on the back of his bike while he pedaled, the world blurring past you in a way that felt small and endless all at once. except now, somewhere along the way, melvald’s had quietly become your place. the kind of place where the workers greeted you with knowing smiles and not-so-subtle teases, where “the usual?” sounded suspiciously like “here come the lovebirds yet again,” and neither of you bothered to correct them.
flash forward to the two of you sitting there with ice cream, well, you had ice cream. mike, traitor to the cause, went with a milkshake. it felt important to note, like fate itself was already lining things up. the booth was sticky, the air smelled like pure sugar, and everything was normal in that deceptively calm way right before something changes. and then it happened. small. harmless. almost stupid, really. just a cherry. but looking back, that stupid little cherry would go down as the very first incident.
mike didn’t think anything of it at first; the way your hand darted out to steal the cherry from his vanilla milkshake like you’d done it a hundred times before. he never minded that kind of thing. truthfully, he’d let you take just about anything if it meant getting that smile out of you. but this time was… different. what he hadn’t been prepared for was the sudden, inexplicable dryness in his mouth as he watched you lift the cherry to your lips, slow and deliberate, sucking the last trace of sweet vanilla from it. the moment lingered a beat too long, heavy in a way the air hadn’t been a second ago, and mike realized, slightly horrified, deeply doomed, that something had just shifted.
sluurp, slrrp, sluurp
the sound cut through the low hum of the diner like it had personal beef with him. it was ridiculous, honestly. a cherry. a sound. and yet mike froze, painfully aware of how loud it suddenly felt in his head, the booth sticky beneath his palms, and all he could focus on was you, completely unbothered, savoring that stupid little cherry like you weren’t accidentally ruining his ability to think straight. he hated, deeply, tragically, how one sound could do that.
he licked his lips and pressed them together, forcing his mouth into a straight line like that alone might keep him under control. whatever this urge was, this weird, intrusive thing hijacking his body, he didn’t even have a name for it yet, let alone a plan to deal with it. his eyes betrayed him anyway, tracking the careless way you handled the cherry, the brief flick of your tongue, the effortless confidence of it all. his brain filled in details he absolutely did not ask for, spiraling on how your tongue cupped the cherry, covered it in saliva, and swirled around its base. how lovely your lips appeared encasing the cherry, and how warm your mouth must have felt. it was absurd. embarrassing, even. and yet, there he was, fighting a losing battle against his own thoughts over a single, stupid cherry.
did he mention how stupid the cherry was? because it was a pretty stupid, little cherry.
it was almost enough to make his hips buck involuntarily, muscle memory from masturbating betraying him before his brain could catch up. he was confused, deeply so, caught somewhere between why is this happening and oh, this is definitely happening. there was a flicker of thrill he refused to unpack, an awareness he didn’t have the vocabulary for yet, only the certainty that his body had very rudely decided to react on its own. embarrassing. alarming. and, if he was being honest with himself, a little exhilarating in the worst possible way.
it only went down from here.
when you started eating your ice cream, with that little spoon you lifted with all the concentration in the world, mike almost forgot how to breathe. you pressed your tongue flat against the vanilla, making sure not a single drop escaped, flicking it, licking it, savoring it like it was the most important thing in the universe. and mike? aw poor, doomed mike. he was stuck in some kind of trance, squirming in his seat, utterly helpless as he watched how your lips worked over the spoon, how your tongue traced every curve. he sat there, frozen, watching in a kind of dazed disbelief, like his brain had short-circuited and defaulted to observing the way you ate instead of forming coherent thoughts.
at one point, a stray drip of vanilla slid down to your chin, and mike felt his jaw lock like it had a mind of its own. his hands were betraying him too, opening, closing, twisting, fidgeting, anything to keep from doing something he absolutely shouldn’t. every tiny movement of yours was like a tiny electric shock straight to his nerves, and he sat there writhing in a way that was equal parts discomfort and battling against pleasure.
this just became an occurrence.
one time you were over at his house and his mom asked for help with dinner, her hand was cramping, apparently, and you called mike over like his opinion mattered. you lifted the spoon for him to taste, but apparently his verbal approval alone wasn’t enough. so, without missing a beat, you dipped a finger into the sauce and brought it to your mouth, letting it disappear between your lips as you savored every drop. mike just froze, jaw slack, eyes wide, entirely incapable of looking anywhere else. when you finally lifted your finger with a little pop and a satisfied “mhmm,” it was like watching a performance he had absolutely no business attending, but he couldn’t look away.
or that time he came over and everything seemed completely normal, until you asked if he wanted a snack. he said no, naturally, thinking that would be the end of it. but then you mentioned your own hunger was “killing you,” hopped off the bed, and disappeared down the hall. mike blinked, relaxed... and then came the slow, creeping horror: you returned, holding a banana. his worst nightmare, perfectly yellow and entirely unavoidable, now sitting smugly in your hands. he froze, caught somewhere between “why” and “oh no,” while you looked ignorant to his torture.
he was genuinely on edge, like the kind of tense silence right before a jump scare in a horror movie, trapped in the theater seats, eyes glued to the screen. only the screen was you, and the “jump scare” was the banana in your hands. every nerve in his body screamed in anticipation as you slowly peeled it, and he braced for the unimaginable: your head tilting back, taking the whole thing in, maybe even gagging. instead… you just took a bite. quite loudly, might he add. right in front of him. the sigh of relief that escaped him was embarrassingly loud, sounding almost cartoonish in the quiet of your room. phew, thank god you didn’t start bopping your head up and down!
“what?” you tried to ask, muffled and half-garbled through your mouthful, the casualness of it somehow making him even more on edge.
that’s when he realized.
oh.
oh.
your mouth turned him on. even more concerning, he wasn't alone. because his hand immediately went into his boxers when he returned home.
mike wanted to trace your lips with his thumb, slow and deliberate, feeling the soft curve beneath his fingertip. he wanted to slip it into your mouth, watch you work, the thought alone making his chest tighten. he imagined the way your warm mouth would coat his thumb, the slickness of your saliva glinting against his skin, and the way it would leave him wanting more than he had any right to admit. he knew, without a doubt, that you’d look breathtaking: submissive, eyes half-lidded, lashes heavy as you tilted your head up at him, glossy gaze locked on his, and utterly, impossibly irresistible.
he knew he wanted those same lips on his cock. god, his mind was so perverted. mike thought of himself delicately tapping your lower parted lip and slapping his dick at your lips, teasingly edging both you and himself considering that he achingly wanted to be snugly within you and feel your warmth engulf his cock. he had a dirty picture in his mind he wish he could materialize to look at; to see your pathetically puffed up, swollen lips from kissing him, stretched to fit himself inside your pretty mouth. your saliva was what he desperately wanted to see dripping down his veins like wax on a melting candle. he wanted to see your supple, slick lips kissing his tip and—
before he could even get all the thoughts out, mike had already cum in his hand.
p.s. im starting to work on your guys requests! ty for sending so many good ideas i was actually really shocked at how inspired i got. also im thinking of making this little drabble into a full fic... tho that's on the back burner <33
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