cali

[wildpalmtrees]

𖤓 cali baby — she. legal. gold girl. palm trees. lorde. the lakes. brandy melville. polka dots. vanilla. blessed. kitten heels. timothée chalamet. burts bees.

guidelines. book. ⋮ inactive for now ⋮ interact on @charlisangel365

— love, wildpalmtrees

[wildpalmtrees]

can we all admit that mike wheeler is a shit boyfriend thanks

[wildpalmtrees]

i think i need a cigarette after vol 2

[wildpalmtrees]

ur posts make me wanna blast malcolm todd idk how to explain it

PLEASEE I ALWAYS LISTEN TO HIM WHILE WRITING

[wildpalmtrees]

Omg ty ty ty ty ty ilyyyyyyyy ur the best mwuah make sure to get some rest :3

sending hearts!!!!!

[wildpalmtrees]

mikey's in his feelings and he can't get out of it ⋮ mike wheeler

content: jealous!mike, fluff(ish), angst, something light & something cute, HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO EVERYONE!!!, req by @mikewheelergf, (not proofread!)

you're all at your usual table—the one in the corner near all the band geeks, art fanatics, and theatre kids—the neglected side of the room. will and max sat on either side of you, the group all engaged in a conversation about christmas plans.

"oh my aunt gemma is coming from wisconsin tomorrow. you know the one that baked brownies for our campaign last year?" dustin points at lucas, who raises his brows an inch "yeeaaah. the aunt that gave you the ugly sweater." dustin snaps his fingers "that's the one."

"you should tell her to make some more," will adds. "i would, but my mom says she's on new meds that make her hands stinky and flakey." dustin has a straight face on, but it breaks into a gummy smile when everyone giggles.

well, everyone except for mike.

mike fooled aimlessly with his food, the plastic fork in his hand pushing the mushy peas from one side of the tray to the other. his cheek pushed down the arm that rested on the school's cheap cafeteria tables. it just looks like regular old mike is having one of those days where he chooses to ignore everyone, because if he's having a bad day, he'll make it everybody's problem. except now they all choose to dismiss him. they'll let him have his moment because eventually, he'll have to come around. mike knew he was being cold, but it was the only way he could be by himself when he was constantly surrounded by friends.

except mike's still thinking about last thursday.

four days ago, you had invited mike to go to the mall. just the two of you doing last minute holiday shopping. of course he said yes—of course he would never pass up the chance to hang out with you.

after hours of walking, you guys end up sitting at one of the small tables in the food court, bags sprawled on the floor. amidst the noise of the busy mall, you look around and see everyone eating, which makes your stomach grumble. "i'm starving," you pat your belly and squint to look around the area, scoping out a place to eat. "i could go for a hot dog." you stand up from your chair "do you want anything?" mike shakes his head. "no—i'm not hungry."

shrugging your shoulders, you turn around. "be back in a jiffy." and you walk over to your restaurant of choice, leaving mike by himself. he watches as you inch further away from him, eyes attentive to each step.

while waiting in line, you feel two fingers tap your shoulder. turning around, you recognize it's someone from your art class. "hi, uh—nathan!" you smile. he returns one and starts asking you about the project due tomorrow in class. it's not like the conversation is even that engaging.

what you don't know is that mike is glaring at you and nathan talk. 'talk' is a loose word to describe it, because from what he could see, preppy boy nathan was flirting with you.

your conversation with him comes to a pause as it's your turn to order. "let me pay for your food." the guy suggests, pulling out the crumpled up money from his jean pocket. "really? you don't have to." your face forms a sympathizing look, mouth in an upside down smile. "no i want to." he orders his food alongside you, and after he hands the cash to the worker he says "and in return, you can give me your number—only if you want."

a shade of sherbert pink appears on your cheeks and you smile with all your teeth. "yeah, i want to. do you have a pen?" he nods and hands you one from his coat. in fast writing, you scrawl down your house phone.

"mike, you won't believe what happened." you set your tray on the plastic table and take a sip of your milkshake. "y'know nathan from class? he paid for my food!" you replay that moment in your head, cheeks still flushed. "yeah i saw. he was also throwing himself at you." your bestfriend replies sharply.

"um, okay." you push the hotdog in your mouth. "and free food?" mike rolls his eyes "so if someone buys you food, you're automatically in love with him?" he grabs one of his bags from the floor, trying to act busy as you talk. "i'm not in love with nathan from art class. i just thought it was nice." you speak in between each masticate of food "and so what? he's cute."

"yeah and failing geometry." mike scoffs, upper lip scrunching up in cringe. like, how could that asswipe even enter the list of possible boyfriends? how could you fall for that cheesy gesture when mike has basically went to hell and back to do quite literally everything for you? from helping you learn how to ride a bike to being your shoulder to cry on after you failed your biology test, he was always there. on every birthday, every thanksgiving, mike was the best friend that never failed to show up.

cut back to now and mike is clearly still angry. you've forgotten about it, you've forgotten about nathan.

the quiet of the hawkins night never failed to scare you. so eerily quiet that even the crickets dared not to disturb its tranquility. the only bellowing noises came from mike wheeler's ran down convertible as he drove the party home after the arcade.

"bye lucas!" you waved to him in the front seat, watching as he jammed the key into the lock and disappeared into his house.

now it was just you and mike, who by the way was still choosing to be mad at you—for whatever reason. you two hadn't talked the entire day, not even when you offered to pay for his pizza or when you tried to duel him in a racing match. so the car ride was silent, and every soundless second felt like another needle pricked into your back. what could your best friend possibly so irritated at?

your eyes trailed along the dazzling night stars that sprinkled over the town, choosing to just let him have his fit. if he wasn't going to mention it, neither will you.

while the minuscule suns distracted your thoughts, mike was hoping that every traffic light was red so he could muster up the courage to tell you the aching thoughts that consumed his every waking breath.

he gripped the peeling steering wheel with anxiety; the knuckles in his hands popped out and turned white. mike needed to stop being so scared. he needed to tell you how he felt. with every street light passed so did the painted pictures of you being with someone else. it settled in his stomach like the dust on his windows. something that could be so easily removed, yet it was a chore. it held on like memories he wanted to just erase from each crevice of his brain.

"can't believe you beat dustin in pac-man." were the first words mike muttered to you amidst the haunting silence. your head turned to him, eyes blinking from the nail-biting irritation that coursed your spine. was he being serious?

your teeth dug into the soft, blooming flesh of your lips. "yeah but he needed to be defeated. dustin has held the title of 'pac-man king' for too long." a closed smile tore into his face because for a split second, it felt like everything was just slightly okay between the two of you. no conflicting emotions, just two best friends.

"how's it uh, going with nathan?" mike's eyes maintained contact with the road, like he was trying to act casual about the whole ordeal that secretly lapped his head. your eyes twitched in confusion before you realized what was going on. "he's—is this why you've been acting so weird?"

fuck. this was not how he wanted things to go.

"what? i'm not being weird." and suddenly the lights could not turn green quick enough. it's like they wanted him to confront his feelings. "yes you are mike. ever since that stupid mall trip you've been being a total douche." you turned your entire self to face mike, who was still staring at the twilight ahead of him. "are you jealous of nathan fucking adams?" that statement came out with a laugh of pure bewilderment that haunted mike's ears.

"no—no! i'm not jealous. what would i even be jealous of?" he raised his lip in feign disgust that made it so painfully obvious that what you were accusing him of was true. "i don't fucking know! but you clearly feel some way about it." your arms crossed over your chest. this was all so stupid.

uncomfortable silence once again loomed over the two of you. it's tearing mike apart just trying to tell you how he feels—how he wants to be with you. the simple words are caught in his throat like an itch he can't scratch. it would feel so cathartic, yet he couldn't reach that heaven.

you suck your teeth. "can you just tell me what i did wrong?" that's when mike finally looks at you, twinkling eyes that make him want to study the stars. "you could never do anything wrong," and that's true. even if you stabbed a litter of puppies mike would still be ten toes behind you. "then what's the big deal?"

there wasn't one.

"nothing! i just think you deserve someone better than nathan from art class who only talks about going to the golf club with his dad every sunday—what i mean is that you deserve someone who's just as cool as you." with that last sentence mike wants to slap himself out of embarrassment. he's definitely being way too obvious right now.

"mike stop the car."

the crackling engine comes to a halt, a yellow street lamp hung over the car on some random street as you and your best friend sat there awkwardly. a nervous foot tapped on the carpeted floor of the driver's side. mike hoped he didn't fuck it up. he hoped you didn't see his real intentions; the intentions of wanting to sit next to you during lunch and linger hands, or laying his head on lap as he reads a comic book, or carrying your backpack on his other shoulder as you walk home from school.

but apparently he didn't have to say anything at all.

your lips barely parted, "mike," his hand felt the electrifying touch of yours as you connected them. it feels like you're both nine again and holding hands as his mom drove you to the ice-skating rink. he still has the same feelings for you as when he was nine. except now, you're both older and you've only gotten prettier.

in that moment, mike leans across and puts his face mere inches from yours. he can see each individual lash that fluttered before him, each speck of glitter on your eyelids, the pair of lips he's only ever dreamed of planting his on.

your eyes flicker to the mistletoe ornament that hung from his vanity mirror, and you can't help but laugh. "what? shit did i read this wrong—" he starts to panic. did he misread the situation? "no, look." mike turns his head and a shy grin fashioned his face. "i guess that means we have to kiss now." you half-joke, his face meeting yours again.

"i guess so."

[wildpalmtrees]

𝜗ৎ 𝓐𝓲𝔃𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓮'𝓼 𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓮𝓭, 𝓿𝓮𝓵𝓿𝓮𝓽-𝓼𝓸𝓯𝓽 𝓰𝓲𝓯𝓽𝓼 .𖥔🪽 ݁ ˖

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

╰┈> ┆ ι ʝυѕт яєα∂ αℓℓ σƒ уσυя ƒι¢ѕ ιη ℓιкє αη нσυя σя тωσ, αη∂ тнєу'яє αℓℓ ѕσ вєαυтιƒυℓℓу ωяιттєη 𓏲ּ𝄢 ᯓ.ᐟ уσυ'яє ѕσ, ѕσ, ѕσ тαℓєηтє∂ нυη! уσυ ∂єѕєяνє αℓℓ тнє яє¢σgηιтιση уσυ'яє gєттιηg, нєнє. ι ℓσνє, ℓσνє, ℓσνє, уσυя ωσякѕ!! χσχσ, уσυя яєα∂єяѕ ℓσνє уσυ ѕωєєтιє! `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

𝓢𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓵𝔂, 𝓐𝓲𝔃𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓮.

SO CUTE LOVE UUUUU

[wildpalmtrees]

marty surpreme christmas day, stranger things vol 2, & the eras tour docuseries???? we're blessed

[wildpalmtrees]

im trying not to kill myself right now cuz why am i in my flop era hahahahahaah do you all hate me ahahahahah should i just delete my account

[wildpalmtrees]

i keep your picture up on the wall ⋮ mike wheeler drabble

content: fluff, first kiss, no established relationship, so cutesyyyyy, based on a request via @finjascherry, (not proofread!)

your fifth date with mike wheeler was supposed to be nothing special. a day at starcourt with peppermint treats and scarves.

your hands interlaced like woven yarn, his fingers fit perfectly in yours like they were meant to be there. in the other hand mike held the bag of small candles and trinkets you had picked up along the day with you having a soda in yours. aside from a few hugs, this is all you've guys have done. keeping it comfortable, keeping it safe.

the mall was busy with parents window-shopping and unsupervised kids running ahead to the playground. you and mike padded along the cheap tiles, with him talking about a new comic book he had just read. that was until you saw a photo booth with a flashy sign that said 'now in color, you ought'a try!' now that looked too fun to pass up.

eyes wide like a doe, you shake the hand that held yours with animation and point to it. "oh my god we should go take pictures!" and without an answer, you drag a hesitant mike to the confined box that was decorated with fun stickers and retro curtains.

if you've ever seen mike wheeler in a photograph, boy you'd laugh. he's the awkward adolescent that stands tall and arms straight, giving a strained smile with dark curls on his face that he doesn't bother to fix. he doesn't like his photo being taken, he doesn't like looking at himself through grainy images, but how could he resist you?

after much struggle of trying to figure the machine out, you slid in the money and the countdown starts. five, four... "okay, quick, what do we do? make it count!" you jump up and down from your seat, tapping your hand in your lap. "uuuuhh..."

the first flash clicks.

"oh shoot! uhm—" the countdown beeps again. make it count. make it count.

and without thinking you grab mike's face and plant your lips on his, nails digging into his cheeks. he sits there for a second, not knowing how to respond. his cheeks turn to a shade of pretty plum, forehead wrinkled from surprise.

mike pictured his first kiss with you differently—way differently. the image he painted in his head was one where you guys were walking in a park around sunset and right when the honey orange gleams of light hit your face perfectly, he would kiss you. this was not that. instead he's sitting there like a rock with googgly eyes.

the second flash clicks.

this time, neither of you are prepared for the next picture. you pull back, a smile miles wide on your face like a pure angel. mike stared at you in utter shock from the collision of your lips. but he smiles back, full rows of teeth embarrassingly showcased.

all the two of you could do was giggle and avoid eye-contact, ears becoming red and the small booth became even smaller.

the third flash clicks.

for the last one, mike puts his arm over your shoulder and pulls you close to him, displaying his usual awkward smile as you give a beaming one to the camera. you reach to the hand that was over you and hold it. "say cheese,"

"cheeeeeese!" the final flash is engraved into your vision, but you're engraved into mike's.

a few days later he comes over to your house for a casual hangout afterschool. mike's nervous, he always is. but he's extra nervous because the kiss is still echoing his thoughts like a romance film on repeat.

your sweet scent lingers from the stairs as he treads up, almost like a fresh cherry pie hanging by a window sill. the first door he sees is ornamented with dangling strings of pink hearts and stars. a muffled yell calls for him, "mike? i'm in here!"

he twists the gold knob cautiously as if he isn't supposed to be here, and when he steps through it feels like he's entered a whole new universe. your room was decorated with pink and cream striped wallpaper that fit perfectly in the feminine setting. posters hung from them, those of the beatles, david bowie, and billy joel. the windows fogged with condensation as the setting hawkins sun illuminated your dim room.

you sat at your desk, scribbling on the last of your homework before turning your chair to mike's direction. "hey, you." a grin shapes your glossed lips as you nudge your head for him to sit on your bed.

he sits down on your sheets rigidly like he doesn't want to crush the delicateness of the satin. it's uncomfortable at first, but when the vanilla candle streams into his nostrils, mike feels himself calm down—just a little. his eyes trace every intricate detail of your bedroom, observing the hardly-used guitar that was displayed in a corner, the record player that softly hummed a jazz song, and the peacoats that hung on your door.

his sights landed on the bulletin board that crowned above your desk. there were polaroids of you and your friends, of your pets, and of him. the picture you two took a few days prior pinned with a red-heart drawn by his face. "i can't believe you put that up." your eyes follow to where mike was looking and your smile stretches. "yeah, why wouldn't i?"

"i look like an idiot," mike cringes at the reaction when you kissed him. face flustered and cheeks shining the brightest of reds. "like seriously—a deer in headlights!" his body turns warm despite the cool temperature in your house and forces his eyes off of the photo strip. you rise from your chair and plop down beside him on the bed. "a cute idiot."

his eyes roll back slightly and he grabs your hand. there's only a split second before he reenacts the kiss days prior, but this time under his own terms. no cameras, no blinding lights, just a boy kissing a girl.

much better.

[wildpalmtrees]

i'ma let you do it how you wanna ⋮ mike wheeler

content: smut, sub!mike if ya squint, insecure!mike, hand job (m!receiving), kissing/making-out, boob groping, talking him through it kinda, not explicity mentioned virginitiy loss, loosely based off of @leaneverleaves2's request, this is so short sorrrryyy, (not proofread!)

mike stared at his reflection in the mirror. warm lighting illuminated over him as he gripped onto the sink handle tightly, turning it on. mike needed noise—a distraction.

his eyes darted to each intricate detail of your bathroom: the frilly pink shower curtains, the make-up you left open on the counter, your bath towel that was still damp. but he couldn't shake the thought of what was on the other side of the door.

you were outside—waiting for him.

"get it together mike." anxious thoughts plagued his mind the second he stepped foot onto the carpeted floors of your bedroom, and he didn't know why. it was what, the fifth time he's been over to your house? he should be at least somewhat comfortable by now, but he wasn't.

he couldn't be.

all the posters pinned onto your wall, ones that showed bands he had never even heard of—the wool-knitted cardigans that hung from your gold coat rack—the lights that dangled on the ceiling, giving your room an angelic ambiance—everything in here was just so not mike.

his thoughts always circle back to the guys before him. the guys that used the same bathroom he was in, laid in the same bed he has, and held the same sweet girl he's held. mike's not your first, but you're his.

it was all too much for him to take in at first glance.

he started to question why he even came here, why he was in this girly bathroom sweating profusely. mike could just crawl out the tiny window above your toilet and make a run for it if he really wanted to. and he really wants to. but he couldn't when he imagined you patiently awaiting his arrival like a princess waiting for her valiant knight. even though he's the furthest thing from brave.

mike turned the knob slowly and emerged from the bathroom. and immediately, his eyes met you—laying on your stomach, legs in the air swinging back and fourth, and eyelashes batting right at him. he feels something caught in his throat. puke, probably, but he swallows that lump harshly and proceeds.

"you changed?" he asked, ogling over you in the washed out cotton blue shorts that fit snuggly, the hair that kissed your back, the dangly jewelry that ornamented your neck; you look like a literal angel. "yeah i didn't want to be in dirty clothes." you smiled at an awkward mike standing by the door and patted your hand on your bed. "sit."

he treaded over carefully, feet almost reluctantly moving closer like you're a magnet, and sat himself down criss-cross. mike thinks he's playing it cool, but you saw the tension in his shoulders, and the stiffness in his back. you tugged on the sleeve of his crewneck, nudging him to come closer. "you're so far away," there was honey laced in your voice, one that always made him gravitate toward you, yet he only scooted an inch, barely if that.

mike still couldn't cure the uneasiness he felt in his chest. he feels so little compared to you right now—like a worker bee next to the queen.

you moved from your position and laid your head between mike's legs, back now flat on the bed. he looks down at your sunken body resting on his, ethereal eyes scrutinizing his face, chest daring to peak out from the skintight tank-top you were wearing, and he suddenly warms up.

a delicate hand reaches for his, clasping them together like a heart-shaped locket. mike feels his heart rate increase, but in the best way possible. it's not the usual beating of the chest that he got after biking up a hill, or when he stands in front of the class to present, but that of delirium.

he doesn't know what to do—he never knows what to do when he's with you. it feels like the seconds have stopped, and the only thing that exists is you, with him.

"mike wheeler are you blushing?" you ask as if it's something new. he shakes his head "no—you're blushing." is the only thing he can conjure up, and you are; well, there's always that raspberry tint on your cheeks so he's not wrong anyway. air comes out of your nose in a playful scoff "nice save."

mike's hand twitched as the pillowy pads of your fingers moved up and down on his bulging knuckles in an attempt to soothe his nerves, which you didn't even venture to mention. he's unfailingly like this—always jittery when he's around you, always rigid, and frankly it's adorable.

your nostrils inhale his scent. it's not 'manly' or strong, instead he smells sort of like the ocean, it makes you want to throw your body in and let the waves drown you in mike.

you bit your cheek. "be honest, are you scared of me?" without vacillation he shakes his head "no i could never be afraid of you. you're—" he almost stops himself from saying something stupid, "you're not scary. but you kinda are." mike wrinkles his lips together from cringe trying to just tell you how he feels. "it's like in an exciting way where i can't draw my eyes from you."

okay, now you're actually blushing.

"you're just so..." he's trying to find the word, a word that will most explicitly describe his admiration. "soooo?" you drag out.

"cool."

mike continues, "like i just can't believe i'm here right now—in your bed." his other hand grips the diaphanous fabric of your sheets. it's almost as soft as you. a laugh escapes your throat and you give him a look of dubiety, a slight frown appearing on your face. "you've been here before."

"i know—i know i have." he smiles "and i still get so freakin' nervous because i feel like it's all a dream—a recurring dream i have where i'm yours." the hand that once held onto his unlatched and you sat up straight. facing him, you say "but i am yours."

that's not really what he meant.

you've been something to plenty of other people, but mike, mike's yours. he liked the feeling of belonging to you. he could be a teddybear that sat on your shelf and collected dust and he would still be happy, because he's your possession.

there's not much more mike can say without piling word vomit onto you, so instead of speaking, he grabs your wrist and kisses you blindly. it's a familiar one—one you've felt oh so many times.

you return one of your own and grab his shoulders, pushing his back against the headboard of your bed and you inch closer to him, placing yourself on top of mike's lap. your hands pull down to his and place them on either sides of your hips. his touch is delicate, like you're a precious figurine he doesn't want to ravage.

mike feels your tongue trying to push through, and he parts his lips like a gate, allowing you in with much welcome. the liquids of your mouth become a concoction as he surveys your mouth with his tongue, yearning to memorize each corner and ridge of your ivories.

you taste sweet, like bubblegum that could rot his teeth. he's minty and tingly like a splintering winter.

it's not long before you're out of breath, but you can't stop. it was almost compulsory that you had him on your lips, and you spoiling mike with candy-like sapor. you sleeve your tongue under his, feeling the soft of his flesh, and you dig so deep that it almost reaches the back of his throat. mike chokes up, but he doesn't want to let go either. not when he has you right here.

right in between his legs—knowing that you want more.

he mewls against your mouth, muffling out the most desperate sounds that had ever graced your ears. mike doesn't know how to stop it—he doesn't know how to resist your pleasure.

it pains him to detach his mouth from yours, almost as painful as saying goodbye. it's only for a split second to catch oxygen before you're pressing onto him once more. this time, you tilt your head for an even deeper kiss and you feel his nose prod your cheek. mike inhales and exhales heavily through his nostrils, not challenging to break free from you again.

he lets you have control, only timidly reciprocating as you devour him in his entirety.

mike's eyes lowly open to meet a preoccupied you, too distracted by the kiss. he gazes on the figure that is hugged in tight clothes, and he starts to feel restricted in his jeans. you then clutch onto the soft material of his chest to thumb you two together even closer, not wanting to leave any room in between.

you notice mike's bulge pressing into your clothed cunt. he's as hard as marble, and you feel his jaw lax as he opens his mouth wide open, grunts escaping when he starts to guide your hips on him.

your hands trace past his abdominals and to the button of his pants, which you un-do without hassle. agile fingers move at an excruciatingly pace when you un-zip his jeans, all the meanwhile still making out.

when you finally release mike from his boxers, he chokes out a whimper. his hips buck up into your hands the moment you touch his rosy-pink tip, smearing pre-cum all over his cock. mike holds his breath, awaiting your palms to stroke him. he's eager, impatient, but god he can't say anything right now. all he can do is what for you to do something, anything.

"jesus, i—" he's embarrassed. embarrassed at the fact he's so fucking hard and hopeless under you. but you shut him up by pushing a slick-covered finger on his lips. "mmm, it's okay mikey." he feels his stomach turn as the name leaves your mouth. you're not helping.

you're both making sheep eyes at the sight of mike's length when you finally start to pump him. your movements are languid and meticulous, barely doing enough just to keep him on the edge.

his lips curl into a frustrated pout, face contorting into wrinkles of despair. mike needs you to hurry the hell up. with each lazy stroke of your hand, his hips twitch into you involuntarily. a prurient grin is painted on your face when he bucks up, because you know he's fighting it; battling the urge to guide himself through ecstasy, but he's aware that your touch will forever exceed his.

"you want me to go quicker?" you look up at him once more, eyes full of faux innocence. your voice laced with virginity even though what you were doing was the precise opposite. he nods his head without wasting a second "mmm—mhm. yes please. fucking christ—go faster. pleasepleasepleaseeee," he begs like a starved dog waiting for food; it's pathetic almost.

you give him a few fastened pumps before stopping, leaving mike to whine. "y'know what will help? if you talk to me." your thumb soothes over his cursedly pink tip, giving it just a little arousal, enough to keep mike wanting. "t—talk to you? about what?" mike hiccups. "why you're always so nervous."

is this really the time to talk about it, while you're literally jerking him off? mike thinks to himself. but he does it anyway. anything to get you to move your goddamn hands.

"i—fuck." he feels you brush your fingers over his sensitive tip again. another finger of yours traces the faint vein of his cock. you're waiting. "i'm nervous because i know you've done this before." your hands start to move again, and mike throws his head against the backboard, his adams apple more prominent than ever. you hum, wanting him to continue. "done what?"

"this. fuckin' this." he strains out. even with crucifyingly relaxed motions, mike knows he won't last much longer. "you're my first everything." everything is coming out when he doesn't want it to. he feels like he's in the confessional booth of church, professing to his dirtiest of sins, and you're the priest. "and i—" you wrap your other hand around his cock. "mmmmgh yes,"

"jus' keep going f'me mike," fuck, when you say it like that. "god, how are so good—i know how you're so good. because you've jacked off other guys before. i know it." he's trying to swallow in air, but it feels like all oxygen has run out. "i know you've made other guys feel good—like how i feel so good right now." his chest heaved up and down. "so you're insecure?"

mike ruts his hips again. "fuck—maybe? yeah, probably. why wouldn't i be? you're so pretty right now. you're always pretty—like an angel—to everyone." he doesn't even know what he's saying at this point, far too distracted by the pumps of your hands. his hands press too deep into you that he can feel the bones that structure your flesh. you give him anatomy, but right now you're ruining him with each drive of your palm.

"and—" he stops to woefully groan when you give him an extra rough stroke. you look at mike. his hair adorned his face, stuck by sweat that formed on his forehead, his eyes shut tight like he was scared to look, his thick brows twisted into a look of pure rapture. he's too sweet for you to ruin.

"i'll stop if you don't talk." he can barely make out what you just said, but when you start to steady your pace again he speaks. "fuck don't stop. please. i don't know what to say—you make me feel so good. fuckfuckfuck'mclose." mike moves his hand to your chest, groping a breast harshly. he kneads the soft tissue like it'll calm him down, but he's far from calm right now.

even though his eyes are closed, mike paints the picture of you stroking his cock, ever so delicate fingers pushing him to a pathetic mess, and he moans—loudly.

it doesn't take mike much more to come. and when he does, hot and thick cum oozes into the crevices of your fingers as they continued to push up and down on his cock. the noises that labored pasts his dark pink lips are rasp, and he bites down on his tongue, canines forcing into the gummy flesh almost to the point of breaking and bleeding.

he's left with an etched expression of pacification. mike flutters his eyes to barely open, and he looks at you, who's focused on sight of his cock resting in your hands, still hard and twitching, and release sticking on you like glue.

"still nervous?"

"mhm, but better."

[wildpalmtrees]

so i read all of your mike wheeler fics... and can i just say that your word choice is just so AESTHETICALLY PLEASING AND ELEGANT!! the way how you carefully chose what to write for the story, the sense of imagery, the usage of metaphors and similes, finn wolfhard's character being such a heartthrob is just *chef's kiss* and ik ppl are prolly gonna cringe at this msg cuz im glazing u too hard but honestly... u deserve to be glazed this good rn. plz never stop making these <3333

xoxo, riot

YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTE ANGEL!!! ILOVEYOUSOMUCH!!!!

[wildpalmtrees]

passed my finals, got a triple shot latte in one hand & my nic in the other ... are u guys ready!?!?!?! eeeee

[wildpalmtrees]

ok if anyone cares... i'm gonna be inactive this week due to finals b/c i think tumblr takes up like four hours of my day and i really need to lock in

but trust mama will come back and feed her little babies RIGHT AFTER kissies kissies kissies

[wildpalmtrees]

slow, slow hands ⋮ mike wheeler

content: smut!!! finally!!!, oral fixation, finger sucking, fingering, making-out/kissing, gagging, cum-eating, (not proofread!)

mike's head pushed deep into the fluff of your pillow as your lips enveloped his. the radio's music was flushed out by your sheets shuffling and soft whimpers coming from your mouth, those of which he immediately swallowed.

your hands were entangled in his hair, knotting it up as he continued to kiss you, hungrier and hungrier. mike's body laid flat on the bed while yours moved up and down, his leg acting as a seat for the inner of your thighs. you pressed yourself on his leg, the friction igniting your flame.

his hands moved harshly against the sides of your body, itching to feel its curves and flesh. your shirt rode up higher as he proceeded until it was scrunched up just before your chest. trickles appeared on your skin from the sharp air and mike's finger tracing up your spine, feeling the skeletal ridges.

his mouth stayed on yours as you kissed his upper lip, hot breaths mingling. he knew what was about to come, but before that he wanted to try something. something he had been dying to share in a moment just like this.

"mm—" he struggled to let out, which caused you to pull back. mike grabbed your chin, making you look at him eye to eye—yours were stripped of innocence, his were aching in need from the thought of what he was about to do. his thumb dragged down your saliva-glazed lip, revealing the bottom row of your teeth. his jaw hung, eyes focused completely on your pretty mouth.

mike pushed his thumb past your pearly whites, resting on your flaccid tongue as spit coated it in its entirety. "can you—" he felt his breath catch in his throat for a second when he saw you look at him with your sunken eyes and his finger in your mouth.

"suck." it wasn't a question at this point, it was an instruction.

you followed without question, wrapping your lips around his bony finger. your mouth pulled back and forth and your cheeks hollowed. the noises were lewd and wet as mike played with your tongue on the inside, swirling it around and under to feel every inch.

his thumb glided along your teeth, the bones pressing into his skin. before long he had pushed his index in also, and mike felt himself grow harder in his pants at the sight of you devouring his fingers with such vulgar noises and bobs of the head.

when he dragged his hand back, spit inched down his knuckles and your chin. mike smeared it across your jawline and down your neck, the wetness turning cold in an instant against the warmth of your skin.

he kissed you again, tongue exploring in the same places his finger did. your body pinned against mike's, wanting to absorb him further. but this time, the satisfaction of the kiss did not match the pleasure he felt when he was in your mouth.

so mike pulled back once more, and this time was even more invasive.

he shoved his middle and index back inside with such force that made you choke as his fingertips reached the back of your throat. his chest heaved, seeing ducts threaten to fall from your rolling eyes. they then dragged to your cheek, pulling the malleable flesh and stretching your lips out to the point they hurt.

slobber overwhelmed his fingers as you sucked them without him even asking. mike tried to stifle his whines, but you just looked so fucking hot in this moment.

you're still grating yourself against his thigh at this point, the cloth of your panties rubbing on his denims. you can only let out moans against his fingers as they reached so deep it didn't allow you to speak.

your teeth sunk into his skin, and mike unwillingly lets out a groan from the pleasureful pain. he dragged his long fingers out halfway, pads resting on your lazy tongue. he lowly stared at his red knuckles and the faint indentations you left, "fuck."

mike then pushes them back in as his other hand travels down to your waist then to your underwear. your hips raise themselves—you're impatient for his touch. he delicately takes the cotton on your heat and moves it to the side. mike feels how wet you are already and he lets your tongue spin around his digits once more before moving that hand down too.

you gnaw at the inside of your mouth when mike presses against your slick, saliva mixing with it and covering your cunts lips. his movements are agonizingly slow as if he wants this to drag on forever. "mike. p—please." you muffle.

mike obliges, pushing into you all the way to his rough knuckles. you were so warm around him, and mike couldn't help but stay still inside of you. neither of you moved, faces inches apart and there was nothing but uneven breathing.

your eyes were sealed tight, and a singular tear dropped onto his cheek. it dripped to his temple by tiny degrees, his hair soaking it in.

with painfully labored motions, mike started to drive in and out of you. he felt you pulsing around his fingers, and the erection he thought he could suppress now ached for sweet release.

but he wanted to let you go first—he wanted to make you feel enraptured.

mike's lips settled on yours once more, and you let him enter your mouth with ease as you went limp around him, body merely being able to lift up on its own. but somehow, you have enough control to roll your hips, surging more pleasure from mike's two fingers.

them on their own were enough for you, but as mike started to hasten, he pushed another lengthy digit inside, stretching your tight cunt. you moaned against his mouth, to which he did the same.

he felt so addictively suffocated by you that he didn't even have time to catch his breath.

mike pulled his free hand up to hold the side of your face, his thumb tugging at the corner of your lip. you moved your tongue over to lick the pad of it, which made him roll his eyes back.

but you were too busy to notice. your focus was on the fact mike wheeler had three fingers inside of you, and he wasn't planning on stopping until you came all over them.

your slick dripped down to his wrist and your thighs were coated in wetness as mike continued his pace—which was anxiously steady. your eyelids were fluttering from the immense stimulation with each shove of his fingers and each smack of your lips against mikes'.

your thighs twitched when he stuttered his hand in an uneven rhythm, flexing his arm in order to push his thumb against your clit. "ah—" was all you could manage to squeak out, legs growing weaker.

mike curled the fingers that were inside you and he desired to go even deeper around your fleshy walls. and at the same time, his thumb moved in nimble circular gestures, making you now unable to control your moans as they flowed euphoniously out of your mouth. your brows knit into an expression of pure lecherous and your cheeks grew the brightest shade of pink.

the touch of his fingers were magical, and you had never before felt this pleasure from anyone else. these same hands were the ones that rolled the twenty-sided dice every saturday, the ones that gripped too harshly on his bike handles as he rode up a hill, the same ones that traced your knuckles as he played with your hand in bed.

mike playfully bit your top lip, "shh," he whispered, his thumb reaching deeper inside your mouth as a means to get you to be quiet. you caught your next wanton cry from escaping in your throat, but at the same time mike pulled his fingers out.

you hiccup and abruptly open your eyes. mike continues to kiss your lips without acknowledging the deprivation he caused you, and all over again he jams back inside. you let out a gasp of surprise and excitement, forearms now bending to steady you up and your neck is craned down.

your lips are still connected, but mike perks his head to look down at the marvelous sight. you—clenching around his long fingers, legs weak and toes curled.

satisfaction is coiling up inside of you, and you feel yourself getting closer to blissful release. as if it weren't possible, you tighten on his digits even further, and mike knows you're getting there. he flicks his wrists faster, harder.

"mmmgh—mike—" you buck your hips and within mere seconds, you come undone on mike. panting brims the room from the both of you as he slows down, but continues to thrust inside of you until your cum leaks out, dripping onto his pants.

he doesn't want to pull out. mike wants to keep his fingers warm. but when he does, he raises them to your face. "stick your tongue out," he murmurs, slowly separating his index and middle, beholding the sight of your icky slick. he lowers them onto your dark pink tongue and swirls them around. without a second thought you retract and close your mouth, sucking lewdly on his cum-coated fingers.

mike smiles, he should do this more often.

[sukunamour-deactivated20260112]

writers watching their 2 AM drabble get 1k likes and their 10000 word fic get 30

[wildpalmtrees]

this is why i stick to my drabbles in case ur wondering

[wildpalmtrees]

you’re really a wonderful writer! the mike hcs you have are the most personable and realistic that i’ve seen. i can’t wait to read what you write next!! :)

you are genuinely so sweet thank u so much ‎‎♡♡♡