mean!mike wheeler x fem!reader
warnings: 2k words, smut, mean mike, swearing, masturbation, oral, p in v, english is not my first language
"Miss you, baby. What are you doing tonight?" his voice crackled through the phone. You smiled, sinking back against the pillows, the coiled phone cord twisting around your fingers. "I have to study, Mike. A lot. My physics grade are a disaster, and if I fail the test again, Mrs. Clark’s goinna kill me” Mike let out a frustrated sigh on the other end. "It's Friday night. We always hang out on Fridays” his voice dropped, a deliberate, low whisper that seemed to travel straight down your spine. "I wish I could fuck you senseless. Help you really relax, forget all about that exam or whatever” you bit your lip, feeling the heat flood your cheeks. "You're gonna have to wait, Mike Wheeler. I'm busy tonight." “You'll regret this” he teased, his voice a playful threat, before you said goodnight, promising to talk tomorrow.
You hung up and sighed, trying, and failing, to push the thought of him from your mind. Mission impossible.
Later that night, your room was a small island of light in the darkness. The Cure blared from your tape deck, drowning out the quiet of the house. A half-empty mug of black coffee was your only companion amidst the chaos on your desk: textbooks fanned out, crumpled pages of notebook paper covered in equations, a pencil with a chewed-up end.
You finished another math problem, the tenth of the night, and dropped your head back, your neck muscles screaming in protest. Exhausted, you reached for the mug and took a long, bitter gulp, wincing. Your eyes drifted, searching for any distraction. They landed on it: Mike's blue sweatshirt, slung carelessly over the back of your chair. He'd left it last week, after a movie marathon that had turned into something more. Without thinking, you reached out and grabbed the soft fabric, bringing it to your face. You inhaled deeply. It smelled like him. That familiar mix of cheap soap, Mrs. Wheeler's floral laundry detergent, and the faint, unmistakable hint of the cologne he wore just to impress you. A stupid, giddy smile spread across your face. You hugged the sweatshirt to your chest, burying your nose in it.
And then, his image flooded your mind. His voice on the phone, the dirty promise in his whisper. You remembered the way he looked at you, his hands on your waist, his lips on your skin. You remembered the last time he'd been right here, in this very bed, the things he'd done to you, the way he'd touched you.
Your body responded before your mind could catch up. A sharp, sweet heat bloomed between your legs, and you pressed your thighs together instinctively. Still clutching his sweatshirt in one hand, you brought it back to your nose, breathing him in, while your other hand, trembling slightly, slid down your own leg. You were wearing only an oversized t-shirt and panties, your study uniform.
Your hand crept higher, under the hem of your shirt, finding the warmth of your own skin. Your eyes fluttered shut, and the picture in your head was him. Mike. His hands. His lips. His longe nose. You imagined what he wanted to do, how he said he'd fuck you. Your fingers found the right spot, sensitive even through the cotton of your panties, and you bit your lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. The smell of his sweatshirt, the loud music, the memory of him. Too much. You slipped your hand past the waistband of your panties, your fingers finding you slick and ready. A low moan slipped out, muffled by the fabric of his sweatshirt pressed to your face.
A sudden, sharp click of the doorknob turning made your heart lurch into your throat.
Mike Wheeler stood in the doorway, a denim jacket over his striped shirt. His dark eyes took in the scene in a heartbeat: the blaring music, the messy desk, the coffee mug. And you. Sitting in his chair, wearing only a shirt, your hair a mess, your face flushed, and most incriminating of all, your bare legs, which you were frantically trying to cover with his sweatshirt, the one you'd been holding. “What are you doing here?" you managed, shame burning your cheeks. Your other hand, the one that had been, seconds ago, exactly where it shouldn't have been, was frozen in place, hidden beneath the fabric. Mike stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. "Your mom let me in. Told her I was gonna help you study” he walked towards you slowly, a dangerous smile starting to curl at the corner of his lips. "Shouldn't you be... studying, darling?" he stopped right in front of you.
In one swift move, he pushed aside the sweatshirt you were holding like a shield. Your legs were completely exposed. And with them, the unmistakable sight of your panties, pulled to the side, revealing everything. Mike's eyebrow arched. A wide, mocking grin spread across his face. "Look at you” he knelt in front of you, his long, cool fingers wrapping around your knees, gently pushing them apart. "Got so worked up you had to take care of it yourself, huh? Thinking about me?" his big, dark eyes were fixed on you, on the evidence of your desire. You tried to close your legs, shame and arousal warring inside you. "Mike... I'm sorry... I was studying, I just..." your voice trailed off into nothing. Mike laughed, a low and wicked sound. "Sorry? No, no. You don't deserve it. You lied to me. And worse, you were touching yourself when you could have been with me” “I..." you tried again, but he was faster. “Shut up. Keep studying” “What?" “You heard me. Pick up your pencil, do your fucking physics stuff” he moved closer, his face now inches from your core. His warm breath ghosted over you, making you shudder. "I'll stay right here. Helping you... relax” you obeyed, more out of shock than anything. With shaking hands, you grabbed the pencil and tried to focus on the paper in front of you. It was a long equation, a mess of parentheses. You could barely make out the numbers. Then you felt his mouth. Mike tilted his head and his tongue slid through your slick folds, a slow, deliberate stroke. You gasped, the pencil nearly falling from your fingers. He started to suck, his lips and tongue working in a torturous, unhurried rhythm. At the same time, one finger slid inside you, then two, moving at the same maddening pace. "Keep studying” he whispered against you, increasing the pressure of his fingers the moment your gaze strayed from the page. You tried. God, you tried. You tried to form the numbers, but they were just a blur. The hand holding the pencil trembled so badly your lines came out jagged and wild. All you could feel was Mike's hot mouth on you, teasing, his fingers opening you, filling you. "Mike..." you whimpered, your eyes stinging. Frustration and pleasure tangled inside you. You tried to write a number, but the pencil slipped from your sweaty fingers, clattering to the floor. Your head fell back, your mouth falling open in a long, keening moan as the orgasm finally, finally crashed over you, pulled from you by his relentless mouth and fingers. You shuddered, gasping, clinging to the arms of the chair. Mike pulled back, a satisfied smirk on his face. His fingers were glistening. He brought them to your face, smearing the wetness across your cheek, your nose, like you were nothing but a napkin. You were dizzy, weak, your breath slowly returning.
Mike pulled you from the chair, lowering you onto the soft rug on the floor. The floorboards creaked beneath you. He hovered over you for a moment, just looking. His dark eyes traveled the length of your body. "Now” he murmured, his voice low and serious. "You're gonna learn not to lie to me” you lay on the floor as he positioned himself between your legs, his eyes roaming your naked body, from your heaving chest to your open thighs, still trembling from the orgasm he'd just pulled from you with his mouth.
He knelt, calmly unzipping his jeans and freeing his hard length. But he didn't move forward. He just held the base, sliding the tip through your slick folds, from your entrance up to your clit, coating himself in your heat without pushing inside. You gasped, your hips lifting involuntarily, chasing the contact. “Mike... please..." you breathed. He tilted his head, a slow, wicked smile playing on his lips. "Please what?" “Fuck me” he pressed the tip against your entrance, just enough to make you hold your breath. Then he pulled back, sliding his cock through your wet slit in another slow, teasing stroke. "The one who was so busy, who couldn't see me... now she's begging me to stick my cock in her? You really are such a slut” he continued the torture, the head of his cock sliding, pressing lightly against your clit, slipping through your folds, but never, ever pushing inside. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming for what he refused to give. "Mike... please... I need-“ your voice broke into a sob. “What do you need? Need me to fuck this pretty little pussy? Fuck you until you forget all about that physics test?" “Yes, yes, please... I need you inside me” you begged, tears pricking your eyes. He laughed, a low, malevolent sound. "So desperate for my dick” and then, finally, he thrust inside you, tearing a loud cry from your throat. It was a sound of pure relief and pleasure, echoing in the room. “Shut the fuck up” he growled, his hand tangling in your hair, yanking your head back. He thrust again, harder. You bit your lip hard, tears spilling over, but your body responded in a way you couldn't control. His hand in your hair, the cruel words, his cock buried deep, it only made you wetter, more aroused.
Mike started fucking you hard. Each thrust was deep, brutal, his body slamming into yours at a relentless pace that shook the floor. The hand in your hair didn't loosen, keeping your head still, forcing your eyes to meet his as he took you. "Look at me. I want you to see who's fucking you” you tried to hold back your moans, but they slipped out between your teeth, small, desperate sounds he heard perfectly. "My little slut. So hot, so wet, begging for it. Look at you, spread out on the floor like a whore, letting me do whatever I want” you were lost, reduced to nothing but the feeling of him filling you, his voice degrading you. "Mikeee..." you whimpered. He pulled your hair harder, arching your back. "I told you to shut up. Don't you learn? Or do you just like it, huh? You like being treated like this?" you managed a weak nod, pinned as you were. "Of course you do, you sick little whore”the moans you tried to stifle turned into high, desperate cries, the pleasure building, coiling tight inside you. Mike felt it. He felt you clench around him, felt your body tremble. "That's it. Take my cock, that's what you're made for”
And you came, a scream tearing from your throat, your whole body convulsing as he kept fucking you, hard and deep, riding you through it. Mike drove into you a few more times, his body tensing, and then he came with a muffled groan, buried deep inside you, his weight pressing you into the floor.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing, his body heavy on yours. Then he moved. He pulled out, leaving you with a wet, aching emptiness. He stood up, straightening his clothes with a calmness that was a violent contrast to what they'd just done.
You lay on the floor, dizzy, weak, legs splayed, body aching, breath hitching in small sobs. You looked up at him, and he was watching you from above, his dark eyes scanning you one last time.
Mike adjusted his belt, ran a hand through his hair, and for a moment, just smiled. "I don't think you'll be forgetting this lesson anytime soon” he said, and leaned down to place a soft kiss on your forehead.
He knows you like to be used by him.
