i wish i had a pencil i would fix the length but

What If?

Title: What If?
Summary: You indulge yourself in a harmless passion, following a train of thought, but when Mikey catches a glimpse it may not be so harmless after all.
Author: Velcr0Kitty
Characters: Mikey (2016) x Reader
Word Count: 1846
Warnings: Angst, fluff, body image… issues? I guess?
Author’s Notes: Welcome to my first fic, I’m so sorry. I seriously didn’t expect it to become so sad my original idea was so happy ;-;

You drift to the bottom of the sketchbook and scrawl a title of sorts.

What If - Mikey

Under it, you put your signature. It’s hard to deny your feelings for the charismatic turtle, but with that whole “different species” issue complicating things you doubted the feelings would ever be mutual. That hasn’t stopped your daydreams yet.

You never imagined you’d be in a situation where you even could think that. Once upon a time you could only imagine yourself with your beloved art degree in a pleasant flat somewhere other than NYC. You would be a master of your passion and your passion, a career. Before you got your chance, however, your best friend fell very ill. You spent your time with her, being supportive. This was the snowball that became the avalanche.

Your friend was released after a few weeks. Then in succession, like a machine gun of shit, your mother died in a car accident, you were hostage in a bank robbery, your new apartment building out of town exploded (You didn’t honestly believe the landlord at first). Three foot clan attacks and a load more bull-shit later, you were broke, homeless, family-less and living, quite literally, under a rock (a storm a few months prior had upturned it in central park.) That’s where the turtles found you. Dirty, starving, and huddled up under a blanket some random do-gooder’s gave you. Though you suspect it was mostly Donnie’s doing, for whatever reason, they took you in and welcomed you into their home.

That was three years ago. Over those three wonderful years, they nursed you back to health, welcomed you, and loved you as one of their own. It didn’t take long for feelings to develop for the youngest. You spent day in and day out with all of the brothers, of course, but most of your time was with Mikey. Donnie always patched you up and made sure you were okay, but Mikey sat with you and made sure you were okay. He quickly became your best friend.

He comforted you, stayed up with you when you couldn’t sleep, you two have more inside jokes than you’d care to count. The only thing you don’t know about him is how much the guys have been hounding him for months, just small remarks during training or while on patrol, to get him to “just turtle up!” and ask you out or something.

For some reason, you kept your art from them. As close as y'all were, having even one thing to yourself can do wonders for your sanity. Sometimes, while the boys trained or for the hours Splinter had them in the Ha'Shi, you snuck out to buy supplies. Nothing too big, just sketchbooks and pencils that you stashed under your bed when not in use.

You often drew the brothers, for good reason. They had both ridiculously interesting lines and unique shapes, as well as always being around. Plus you had found a few well-hidden hidey holes to draw from if you wanted a live reference.

It’s only natural when crushing on a giant talking turtle to, even just once, imagine what he’d look like as a human, right?

Today, you ran with that thought. So, as you finish the drawing, you scan the page for any last minute fixes. You run your fingers over the sketch, being careful to not smudge. You feel the bumps and ridges of your pencil marks travel underneath you like a road map. As you move over his face, your hand reveals his brilliant and goofy grin, but you can almost see the way his blue eyes light up and glint with mischief when he laughs, the way the green of his cheeks shimmer in the light with his constant smiles and grins. You soften and fall into a lazy smile.

Your hand continues over his torso, your mind wandering to the endless amazing hugs, his muscular arms, his surprisingly comfortable plastron. Hesitantly, you move left, over a man. Lean, but built, muscle hidden under a wildly patterned t-shirt. His mid-length blond messy hair falls into his eyes, but the mischief and brilliant smile remain. He stands with his arms crossed. His pose screams youth, confidence and energy. Your eyes flick back and forth between the drawings. You are nowhere near as familiar with this man, but your curiosity is sated.

The sounds of training float from the dojo as you come back to reality. Heavy grunts and dull thuds tell you how far into training they are and, not realizing how late it really is, decide it will be some time until they’re done. You abandon your art supplies on your bed for the makeshift shower down the hall that Don whipped up last year.

When you emerge toasty and clean in your favorite PJ’s, you waddle towards your room and revel in the silence. You’re nearly winded when just how silent it was hit you like a freight train and you took off for your room. Mere footsteps away from the right corner and a soft hiccup of a sob makes you freeze, your heart dropping. You stop, inches from the door. You know what’s coming. Something in you tells you to run. What’s around this corner? You know it will break you. You can leave. You don’t have to see those baby blues hating you. Thinking you’ve betrayed him.

You run a hand through your hair. Ruined.

You wring your hands. He hates you.

You take a step into the room, almost trembling. Looking everywhere but where you need to. His eyes are burning into you. Your room is dull. Face this. You could have run, but you didn’t. So, FACE. THIS.

When you make eye contact, you couldn’t and will never be able to accurately describe the sheer betrayal in his eyes. He’s gripping your sketchbook, the drawing. His eyes are red, his mouth agape. He opens and closes it a few times, searching for words.


“You know, we were almost human once?” You drop your controller and shift on the couch to look at him better. Disbelief paints your face.

“No kidding?”


“… What,” his voice breaks, as does his eye contact, which drops to the paper in his hand. “Y/N, what is this?”


“Seriously, Angelcakes. It’s crazy, Donnie had this ooze that we got from…” As he tells you his story you can see how important it was to him to find some normalcy. He wasn’t cracking jokes, he was barely moving. Just talking. This became the most personal and serious night you two had ever shared. He spoke of growing up with ninja turtles. You, of school, of bullies, of humans. You shared worlds.


You couldn’t find the words. You knew you had hurt him. Badly. It was just a drawing and a thought to you, but to him… to him it meant you didn’t like him for him. Maybe even not at all.


You swapped so much about each other that night, not just talking but learning. He finally opened up wholly when he wouldn’t look at you.

“I wish…” His hands suddenly become very interesting. “I wish I was human, you know? It would just be…” he searches for the word. The word he finds will break him. As he says it, he will cry through his half-hearted smile. You will hold him until you both fall asleep, cradling him to your chest, TV still on.

He looks up with pain and resolve.

“… Easier.”


Y/N!” Mikey slams your sketchbook against the wall searching your eyes for an explanation. For the first time you’d ever heard, your best friend raised his voice. He was pissed.


The next morning he woke up embarrassed. He remembered your sweet coo’s and soft-spoken words of comfort from the night before as he took down a wall he never knew he had, for you. He never realized how much he wanted to give you the life you deserve, and just how much he couldn’t actually give you. A certain melancholy took him. He felt so bad as you talked about your life. As far as he knew no one in his family knew anything about you from before they found you, just that you had suffered a great deal and had no one left, but last night? He hadn’t thought about how much had to have happened for you to end up that way. For a moment, you had both bared yourselves, completely.

As these thoughts ran through him, the grogginess of waking up left him. He watched your eyes move behind your eyelids, your mouth open slightly as you breathed through your dreams. He pushes himself up so his full weight isn’t on you and with the loss of heat, you stir. Your sleepy eyes captivate him and he feels like he’s really seeing you. You have no idea. “Morning,” you quietly utter, not wanting to break the peace. Running a hand down your face, you sit upwards slightly. Noticing the vibe rolling off your normally talkative terrapin you sober up and give him a questioning look.

He hovers over you effortlessly, arms holding him up on either side of your hips. He has yet to move his gaze away from you, drinking in your features like a dying man. The only thing he can think of is kissing you until you melt, of running his hands down your waist. Steamy images fog his vision as he disappears in the thought of you. All you see is his expression softening until he closes his eyes with a small sigh.

“Um… Mikey, you good?” This snaps him out of his trance. He’s blushing and burning up but, lucky for him, you don’t notice a thing. He coughs.

“Uh, yeah babe,” the nickname that had been used countless times felt heavy on his tongue, “I’m fine, just uh… tired. Do you mind if I…?” He slowly lowers himself back onto your midsection, eyes asking permission.

“Oh yeah sure,” you stammer, concerned. “Go for it.” He snuggles into you further, wrapping himself around your stomach and breathing in your smell, suddenly feeling like a brand new person.


When you don’t say anything for a few seconds he storms off, taking your sketchbook with him. You yell a helpless ‘No!’ after him. The room swarms around you and you feel like the floor left without you. The air leaves your lungs and you land on your knees. Soft, wary footsteps pad into your room and pair with your light sobs. Leo reaches down and wraps you up in his arms rubbing your back, speaking calming words, soothing you.

You can faintly hear Raph yelling after Mikey but as your own sobs wrack your body you lose all concentration on them and instead melt into Leo. He picks you up, carries you to your bed and lays you down. He hesitates, wanting to ask about what just happened but not wanting to push your already fragile state.


Tags: @another-tmnt-writer @darkumbreon9

The Sum of Our Parts [FitzSimmons]

AN ~ for @florchis, who prompted “Daisy trying to help FitzSimmons mend their relationship after the Framework,” and also tagging @buckysbears who recently wrote about how we need more fics about characters recovering by learning to stand on their own two feet, which is a concept I’ve also threaded strongly through this.

FitzSimmons, Bus Kids.
Rated T for general angst & Framework references (no A*da refs though).

Read on AO3 (~2600wd)

The Sum of Our Parts

It was a miserable time on the SS Space Prison. Not the routine itself – that was not too bad, not too different from being on base, but for the grating knowledge that they were here against their wills. No, what was really getting down on everyone was the shadow of the Framework, still hanging over their lives.

Coulson replayed Captain America’s speech to the Hub at the Fall of Shield; a call to action that the meek, obedient teacher in the Framework world had never heard, had never felt. He’d sent children to be brainwashed and killed. They were computer-coded children, and he a computer-coded version of himself, but still. It was a harrowing thought.

Mack was haunted by memories of his daughter, in a grief that was different from his first grief in all the most painful ways. Having her back had always been a dream and though that should have helped him move on, instead it led him to question the nature of reality. It plunged his faith into doubt, and he felt more alone than he had in years. If Hope could exist in a godless world like that, and not here, what was the point of it all?

Elena did not have the answers, and she knew it was more than just language and culture that kept her from understanding Mack now. But she stood by him, and did her best. Even so, she puzzled over her final decision in the Framework. To stay with Mack. To die with him. She had passed it off as a gamble she had been willing to take, but really, in hindsight, she had not been confident. She had been ready to die. It was true: everyone who loved her most had been in that room. Her family was dead and gone. Her closest friend had disowned her. She had nothing but Shield, and even they were distrustful – except Daisy, perhaps, but still Elena wondered. Would she ever find a place?

Daisy herself, ever resilient, was the backbone of the team in this time of crisis. Having lost Trip, lost Lincoln again – having been hunted and beaten by her friends, by May and Fitz – she felt all her old wounds ripped open again. The only way to heal them, she found, was to try and patch up the people around her. She had never loved God like Mack did. She had never been a drone, or feared being one, like Coulson had. She couldn’t even understand how May had managed to come out of this so lost: though her decision not to save the girl had been reinforced, by seeing the horrors of the aftermath of the alternative, May could feel how lost and broken her team was, and could do nothing.

But Daisy could.

And that’s why, one night, Jemma came knocking on her door. Frantically, heavily, incessantly, until Daisy hauled the flat of the door out of the way of her desperately rapping knuckles.

Keep reading

I wanted to know what was going on in his mind every second of every day. The crease in his brow, the way his eyes were a tad bit glazed over at times, yet bright, the slight curve to the left side of his mouth every so often. My brain stopped fully functioning every time I noticed him. It’s like he didn’t know my eyes were burning holes in his skull, but his features made him look like he knew.
I was sure he didn’t know how absolutely stunning he was. When I saw him take a picture of himself, his hand was placed expertly over his hair and a shy smile was spread across his face. He tried several different poses but seemed frustrated with all of the outcomes.
If only he knew he didn’t have to try to be so perfect.
His skin, to some, wouldn’t seem so entirely flawless, but it was beautiful. It had a glow to it, not because he was pale, just because his skin was the perfect tone for his body. He had a minuscule spot of blemish here and there every so often, but no human ever didn’t.
His eyes were something of a mystery to me. They were not particularly unique in color, but they were a stunning baby blue. I’m positive other people had the same shade of eye color somewhere but no one had his eyes. They had a little sparkle to them, pools of deep black shining in the sea of lighter color.
I found him perfect. I wouldn’t have changed a thing about him. Not in that sense, anyway.
The thing I would change is his view on me.
The boy never payed me attention, I’m quite certain he did not know much about my existence; perhaps even my name eluded him. I wasn’t a perfect sight to see, like him. I wish he noticed me.
I wish he wanted me.
I wanted to know what he was thinking when he stared down at the floor, when he glanced at his phone, when he looked at nothing I could pinpoint. I wanted to know who his friends were that I didn’t know, who he talked to, who he was interested in.
I scribbled in my journal, hurriedly writing down word after word that I had just thought. I should have been taking notes, but he was such a desirable distraction. Each time I saw him I had something new to think, new to write. My thoughts swirled in my head, fading away.
I snuck another glance at him.
His eyes bore into mine.
Perhaps he did notice me.
Probably because I was always staring.
I stared at everybody, but I had never wanted to look at anyone as much as him in my entire life. I forcefully tore my eyes away from his, deciding my feet were a much more interesting sight. A light blush tainted my cheeks a rosy pink. My pencil formed a hard line against the paper as my hand slipped, creasing the page and ruining my extensive calligraphy about Luke.
I frowned, turning my pencil upside down to erase the mark, but there was no eraser. The corners of my lips quivered and my facial expression was clear with frustration. I could have simply started over, but my OCD wouldn’t nag at the back of my mind if I didn’t fix it.
“Would you like an eraser?”
I turned my head to the side sharply. My cheeks turned from a gentle pink to a crimson red.
“Oh, yes please.” I mumbled softly, taking the soft white eraser from between his fingers.
I hoped he hadn’t noticed my page about him; although the handwriting was small it was still technically legible. The eraser worked its magic on the hard pencil line and I handed it back to him.
“Thanks.” I said, a hint of a smile tugging at my lips.
“You’re very welcome, Y/n.” He grinned, his voice coming out as a gentle, mellow, harmony with bits of gravel. It was so perfect, he was so perfect.
I looked down at my journal, flipping the page to start a random doodle.
I was typically a writer, but on my very happiest and most vulnerable moments, I doodled.
“Aren’t you in my graphic art class?” He asked, clearing his throat slightly.
“Yes, I believe I am.” I answered.
“You believe, or you are?” He smirked. He had to know my feelings for him, they were so plainly obvious I was sure anyone who paid attention to me for five minutes could figure it out. Fortunately, no one ever did so I didn’t have much to worry about.
“I am.” I stated more confidently, returning the smirk (sort of) before losing my brief moment of confidence and looking down.
“I’d like to talk to you more.” He said.

That’s how it began.
We talked everyday in graphic art and literature. I never once took out my journal, saving away my thoughts so I could frantically scribble them down once he was out of reach. My journal became less of a work of art and more into a middle school kid’s handwritten notes after two sentences of writing. I made a mental note to rewrite some of my recent encounters with Luke.

“What do you keep in that journal?” Luke asked from behind me.
I quickly shut it and stuffed it in my book bag, carefully closing the bag so it didn’t crush the pages.

“Just random thoughts and doodles.” I replied casually, gripping my forearms with each opposite hand.

“Can I see?”

“I don’t know, can you?”

“You sound like a teacher when you ask to go to the bathroom.”

“Well the answer is no, in that case.” I laughed.

“I like you.” His tone became more serious.

I stopped laughing.


“I like you, Y/n.”


“Yes?” He asked, his brow furrowing.

“You’re in my journal.” I blurted out, my cheeks blazing red.

I turned on my heel and darted out of the hallway and into my car.

I didn’t speak to Luke until Friday night.

I was a different person in my knee length blue dress. My hair was resting gently over my shoulders; the scent of watermelon radiating off of me. Thank you Neutrogena. I carefully sipped my lemonade, peeking over the top of the red plastic cup to notice the blue eyed boy in front of me.



“Hi.” I blurted sheepishly.

“Hi.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Hi.” I said again.

“So, what’s your costume?” He asked.

“A not very creative visual representation of Weezer’s ‘The Blue Album’”. I admitted. “You?”

“I’m a not very well planned Tom Delonge from Blink 182.”

“I love blink.”

“Y/n I-” he began. I cringed. I was sure he was going to say he didn’t mean what he said and he would try to forget what I had said about him being in my journal. I squeezed the cup. He scratched the back of his neck.

“Y/n I like you, and I want to be with you.”



I think my face clearly represented my answer, so he grabbed my hand and lead me upstairs. Excitement coursed through my body, but nervousness was in overdrive. I think my brain kicked in when we walked into an empty bedroom.


I was thoroughly confused when he shut the door. Panic alarms went off in my head. We were alone. Completely alone. Me and a really hot boy were completely alone and my feelings were inevitable and I would probably do something really stupid and he would forget about me in the morning.

“Y/n, relax, we don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

Oh, but we do. I can see the outline of your bulge through your tight ass skinny jeans.

He laughed at my face.

“Sometimes intense situations give me a boner, and quite frankly, you’re appearance isn’t helping.” He said, pointing at his crotch.

“Oh. Sorry.” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. Apparently that only enhanced his problem.

“Shit.” He swore. “Why are you so fucking beautiful?”

“It’s probably genetics.”

He gave me a no dip look before laughing.

He walked closer to me to where his face was six inches from mine.

My cheeks were flushed and his were tainted pink. We were both erratically breathing and if it wasn’t for the sheer fact I was afraid to look down, I would not have been able to meet his gaze.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I don’t see why you’d want to, but you can. I’ve never kissed anyone before so don’t expect anything great out of it.”

“Do you want me to be your first kiss?” He asked tentatively, touching my hair tenderly before retracting his hand as if he was overstepping my nonexistent boundary.

“Yes.” I breathed.

So he kissed me. His lips barely brushed my own, fitting perfectly together for a split second before slowly pulling away.

I smiled when I saw his smiling face.

Then he kissed me again.

This one lasted longer. It was soft and tender, slow and promising. He didn’t rush anything and he didn’t intend to. That would happen on it’s own time.

We pulled away briefly to catch our breaths before our lips collided again, and again, and again.

His eyelashes tickled my cheek when he tilted his head. With my newfound courage, I lifted my hand and tangled my fingers into his soft, blonde hair. Things began to heat up, and not just the room. This was what I had wanted for so long, since I had looked at him differently in sophomore year, since I had had my heart broken by him so many times without him even knowing. This was my forever in one night. My little infinity. John Green was still weaving his way into my head even when I was kissing Luke. For so long I had been sitting on the sidelines, waiting for my own happy ending, even if that happy ending would eventually wither away. I didn’t want to think about this moment withering away. I didn’t want it to end.

Luke pulled away from my lips, brushing his thumbs over my cheekbones lovingly.

“Don’t overthink this.” He said quietly.

“It’s really hard not to.”

“Y/n, if you’re uncomfortable, we can wait. I’m a virgin, too.” He mumbled shyly.

“You are?”

“Don’t sound so..” He trailed off.

“No, Luke, you’re perfect. I just thought-” I cleared my throat “that other people shared my infatuation with you so you would have been with one of them.” My cheeks were on fire.

“There have been people who have wanted me, but I refused. I only want you.”

“I want you so bad.” I moaned, fidgeting because of the heat in between my legs.

“I’m yours.”


I hungrily attached my lips to his, cupping my hand under his chin with my other tangled in his hair. He was quick to react, kissing me back with as much passion as I had. His hand wrapped around my hair, holding my head in place while his other pressed against the small of my back. My entire body was touching his and I loved every single second of it.

Luke tilted his head to the side, moving his lips from mine to my jaw down to my neck. I hissed when his teeth bit into my collarbone. He sucked my sensitive skin, leaving a red mark in its place. My fingertips gingerly touched the area. He walked behind me, leaning down to my ear. His breath tickled my neck before he nibbled my earlobe. I felt his hands gently move my hair behind my ear. He pressed a soft kiss to the newly revealed spot behind my ear, causing me to moan softly.

“Found it.”

“Mhmm.” I bit my lip, instinctively rocking my hips into his. My back side pressed against his groin, and I was astounded by the sensation of feeling him hard.

“Fuck. Do that again.” He moaned. He was so hot. So so hot.

I repeated my previous motion, grinding myself on him. His arms tightened around me, and I reveled in the sensation of his wandering hands, which were now up my dress and on my inner thigh. My head tilted back onto his shoulder as I felt his fingertips touch my heat through my underwear.

“Does that feel good?” He asked genuinely, only proving his innocence.

“Yes.” I breathed.

His lips found my neck, nibbling gently on my tender skin. I bit my lip to keep myself from moaning at the feeling of his mouth and fingers. On cue, his hand slipped into my panties. A moan escaped my mouth due to the skin on skin contact. He rubbed circles into a sensitive area of my crotch, and I marveled at the pleasurable feeling of the pad of his index finger.

“You don’t have to hold them in.” He whispered against my neck as I struggled to keep quiet. I inhaled sharply as my pleasure heightened, releasing my lip from in between my teeth.

“Please don’t stop, Luke.” I softly cried, my hips bucking into his hand.

“I’m going to try something.” He decided, licking his lips. Before I could ask what, I could feel a finger push inside of me. The feeling was odd at first, but as I felt his finger curl, it became sensational.

“You like that?” He moaned, grinding his crotch onto my arse. He was so hard for me. The feeling of his fingers and his groin was pushing me to my climax. I had gotten myself off before to my own hand, but it didn’t compare to him. He sped up his motions, swirling his middle finger around inside of me and curling it repeatedly as his index rubbed lazy circles against my button. I was dangerously close to the edge.

“Come on Y/n, I want you to come on my fingers.” He licked a stripe up my neck, his free hand digging into my hips. He rolled his hard on roughly into my backside, and I came undone. I clenched around his finger, releasing myself onto him. I moaned his name quietly, grinding down on his crotch as I came.

“Holy fuck. You are so hot when you come, just like I pictured.” I was clutching onto his thigh.

“You pictured this?” I asked breathlessly.

“Yes.” His cheeks were tainted pink as he brought his finger to his mouth, wrapping his lips around it and sucking it clean.

“Shit.” I swore. I wrapped my arms around his neck and brought his lips down to mine. There was a considerable height difference between us—close to an entire foot—so I stood on my tiptoes to meet his lips. I could taste myself on him, causing me to blush. His hands reached under my thighs to cup my butt, lifting me up so I could wrap my legs around his waist. He carried me over to the bed, laying me on the edge.

I pulled his body down on top of mine with my legs, reaching for the hem of his shirt and tugging. He caught my drift and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it on the ground behind him. My hands slid up his torso and over his pecs. His skin was smooth and hot, and his muscles felt good beneath my palms. I fiddled with the button of his black skinny jeans. He reached down to help me unbutton them before sliding them down his legs, pooling on the ground.

“Holy shit.” I groaned as Luke stood clad in only his boxers. He reached under my back and undid the zipper on my dress with ease, slipping the straps from my shoulders and sliding it down my body until it was on the floor. We were both only in our undergarments.

That was when I realized how bare I was. My cheeks flamed red as I awkwardly covered my breasts.

“Don’t be modest, now, when I was just touching you.” He teased, moving my arms away from my chest. I was surprised with how experienced Luke seemed in comparison to me, especially when we were both virgins. My confusion was written on my face.

“I’ve fooled around some, I’ve just never gone all the way.” He admitted, rubbing circles on my hipbone. I nodded my head, tracing his v-lines. I tentatively brushed the hemline of his boxers, looking up at his eyes. He gripped my hand in his, guiding mine inside of his boxers and onto his cock.

“I want you so bad.” He moaned, rocking into my hand. His eyes closed as I softly stroked him, focusing on my skin touching his. With a spur of confidence, I wrapped my hand entirely around him and pumped slowly, still unsure of myself. “Fuck, if you keep doing that I won’t last.” Luke groaned, taking my hand away from his length and dropping his boxers to the floor. His cock stood upright, long, thick, and rock hard. I bit my lip, looking up at him shyly through my lashes as I unclasped my bra, throwing it to the side.

He tentatively rubbed my boobs, leaning down and taking my nipple into his mouth. I propped up on my elbow to watch him, sighing contently as my nipples hardened. His thumbs hooked into my lace underwear, dragging them down my legs. And then I was completely bare for him. Screw modesty, I was with the boy of my dreams and he wanted my body.

He dropped to his knees in front of me, spreading my legs wide in front of him.

“Let me try this?” He asked, brushing my inner thighs with his fingers. His eyes sparkled in the dim light.

“Okay.” I stayed propped up on my elbows so I could watch what was to come. He shyly glanced up at me, a rosy blush on his cheeks as he licked my core. I moaned loudly as I watched his tongue pleasure me in ways I could only have dreamed of. His lips wrapped around my pink clit, sucking delicately on my sensitivity. I threw my head back.

“Y/n, look at me.” He said into my folds. I forced my head up to look at him, moaning when his tongue entered me the way his finger had minutes before.

“Fuck, Luke!” I cried. I was getting quite loud, but it only seemed to encourage Luke. My thighs tried to close, but he pushed them down firmly on the mattress as he buried his face into me. I couldn’t handle the sensation of his mouth and his nose pressed against my heat. “I’m gonna come.”

He moaned against me as I hit my second climax of the night, releasing onto his warm tongue. Tugging on his hair, I pulled him up to lay on me, pressing my lips to his. He pulled away first, short of breath.

I reached down to touch his cock, but he stopped me.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer.” He said. I nodded, crawling further up the bed and lying down against the soft pillows. I patiently waited for him as he rolled on a condom, smiling when he climbed onto the bed and settled above me, supporting his weight with his forearms. He kissed my collarbone, resting his head in the crook of my neck.

“Are you ready, darling?” He asked tentatively into my skin, before raising his head to look me in the eyes.

“Yes, Luke.” I slid my hand down his chest, reaching up to kiss him softly.

He delved into me slowly, pushing his length all the way into my folds.
He moaned quietly, his eyes fluttering shut. I felt a sharp pain when he was all the way inside me, but I pushed it away and focused on Luke’s beautiful, pleasure-filled face. His lips were parted and his baby blue eyes were screwed shut. I made a small gasp when he moved slightly, feeling a soreness rack my body. His eyes shot open.

“Are you okay, Y/n?” He asked, ignoring his own pleasure.

“Yes, just give me a minute to adjust.” I forced a smile on my face.
He gave me some time.

“I have to move now.” He said, rocking his hips slowly. The pain was replaced by an odd feeling, which was soon replaced by a very good one. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he thrusted inside of me, moans escaping his lips ever so softly. He joined our lips, kissing me hard to contain his swears. I pulled away, wanting to hear every noise his perfect lips would make. He moaned my name loudly, and his left my mouth soon after when he hit a sweet spot.

“Holy fuck, Y/n!” He groaned as I clenched around him. His thrusts were getting sloppier and I could tell he was close to a release. I clenched tightly around him again.

“Y/n!” He called out as he released into the condom, his head buried in my neck. We were breathing heavily. He rolled off of me as he came down, rolling off the condom and throwing it in the waste basket. We turned to face each other.

“Thank you.” I murmured, tracing circles on his chest.

“I think I might love you.” He flushed, averting his eyes from my gaze.

“You think, or you do?” I teased him, tracing his nipple.

“I do. I love you, Y/n.”

“Well you’re in luck, because I love you.” I replied. He wrapped an arm around my waist, pressing his hand to the small of my back and pushing me against him.

“You’re brilliant.” He mumbled into my hair.

When I woke up in the morning with him by my side, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

(this was submitted by an anon)