#doubledeakywrites

babe, this killed me. thank you for giving me that good shit. smut under the cut my dudes! 

Ok, so you’re just laying on the living room couch, relaxing after a long day at work and waiting for Joe to come home. The book in your hand is not really interesting you considering all you can think about is Joe’s hands on you. You shift wildly on the couch, trying to get comfortable and alleviate the pressure in your belly. 

You’re only wearing an old T-shirt that used to belong to Joe and a thin pair of panties. You bring the collar of the worn shirt to your nose and inhale deeply, it still smells like him despite the fact you’d stolen it from him months ago. You let out a deep breath, closing your eyes and just embracing the scent which is so characteristically Joe. His cologne, espresso, and something that’s individually him. It has no name, it’s unidentifiable, but it’s Joe and you love it. 

Just the thought of him has you squirming in your position on the couch and your hand absentmindedly trails lightly over your lower stomach, back and forth. You imagine it’s his fingers, the calloused pads of his fingers running over the soft skin of your belly teasingly. You let out a soft whimper which is promptly cut off by the sound of Joe’s keys unlocking the front door.

You jump a little and scramble into a more “innocent” position, which for you apparently meant laying on your stomach with the forgotten book in hand and your legs crossed behind you, swaying softly back in forth. 

Joe was greeted by your relaxed form the moment he stepped through the door and he had to restrain a desperate groan. The sight of you in only underwear and his shirt was certainly something he could get used to. 

You pretended to not notice his present, which was hard considering you could feel his energy from across the room and the sensation sent shivers down your spine. When you heard his heavy footsteps near the couch, you turned and sent him a saccharine sweet smile, giving him a show as your body shifted to face him, his shirt riding up right above your belly button. His eyes focused on the exposed are of skin before flitting up to your face, which was still stretched in an easy smile.

“Took you long enough.” You tease propping your head up with your arm as you scan his appearance. He looked slightly disheveled, tense even, the muscles and veins in his arms shifting under his skin. He huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes playfully as he sat down next to you, placing your legs over his lap immediately. 

“Sorry, they kept us late.” He says softly, running one hand up a down your thigh, the other cupping your face. He leans over and places a kiss to your lips, but it’s different than the usual “welcome home” kisses you share, it’s needier. 

You smile widens as he pulls away and suppress a sweet giggle when he thumbs the hem of his shirt. He narrows his eyes at you, giving you a playfully grumpy look before softening. 

“So that’s where my shirt went?” He questions playfully, raising both brows and pursing his lips as he relaxes into the couch, his hand still placed firmly on your upper thigh.

“Not yours anymore, my dear.” You quip, giving him a satisfied grin. His eyes widen slightly and by the looks of it, he takes your words as a challenge. 

“Oh, really? That’s what you think.” He says before grabbing the hem and attempting to pull it over your head. You let out a surprised squeal, laughing wildly as he successfully gets it over your head, leaving you completely bare excluding the barely there panties your wearing. Joe smirks, balling up the shirt before throwing it to the floor. 

“Well, this is certainly a pleasant surprise.” You give him a shy smile, sitting up to rest on your knees and shuffling to place yourself over his lap. His hands immediately come to rest upon your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there. He’s already hard underneath you, the material of his jeans rough against your clothed clit and your head falls into the crook of his neck, soft whimpers leaving your lips as his rough hands guide your hips over his lap. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asks teasingly, lifting his hips to apply more pressure to your clothed pussy. You let out a breathy moan, the sound of your heartbeat quickening deafening in your ears. The pressure in your lower stomach tightens, tensing and flexing which each movement of his hips against yours.

“Fuck, feels so good.” You gasp, hands gripping his shoulders tighter, pulling at the material of his shirt desperately. 

“Yeah, feels good? Rubbing that pretty pussy against my cock?” He mumbles, his own breathing becoming labored. You can feel his fingers bury themselves under the elastic of your underwear, the touch searing. He presses you against him harder, your pussy completely flush with his clothed lap but so close you can feel his entire length through the material. You shudder violently as you feel your high close in, choked gasps and soft moans leaving your mouth as the edges of your vision grow blurry. Then he stops, and your orgasms retreats. You almost cry in frustration, a harsh exhale the only thing you can manage. 

You give him a grumpy look, pouting as he sends you a smug look. In an attempt to soothe you, he presses wet, open-mouthed kisses to your chest and breasts, intentionally avoided your nipples to tease you. Your fingers lace tightly into his red hair, tugging lightly at the roots and he hums against your heated skin.

“Joe, please.” You whine desperately, trying to move your hips against his, the tight grip he has on your hips stopping your movements. He lifts his head, lips glistening, and presses a heated kiss to your swollen lips.

“Well, since you asked so nicely. Hands and knees, baby doll.” He says simply, giving your ass a light smack before you lift yourself from his lap and get comfortable at the end of the couch, resting your arms and head on the end of it, back arched and ass in the air. 

“So pretty.” Joe hums appreciatively, gripping the flesh of your ass, soothing the skin irritated by the light smack. You can hear him remove his shirt, then unbuckle his belt. You hear his pants and hopefully his boxers hit the floor. You feel him settle behind you, not hesitating to pull your panties over your ass and down your legs. You help him pull the garment off the rest of the way, lifting each knee individually under the material joins the growing pile on the floor. Joe can see how wet you are from his position above you, your pussy glistening in the dim living room light. 

“So wet, fuck. This all for me?” He groans, dipping two fingers into your wet folds. Your eyes flutter and you can only moan in response, nodding your head softly, your hips involuntarily arching into his touch. Joe removes his fingers and places them over his tongue, groaning at the taste.

“So good.” He mumbles before gripping the base of his cock and running it through your swollen folds. You let out a heavy sigh, pushing back desperately to receive some form of relief. 

“Patience, sweet girl.” He teases, before sinking his entire length into you. You groan loudly, head falling forward into the arm of the couch. He hisses, gripping your hips harshly in order to ground himself. 

“Fuck, babygirl. So tight.” He growls, struggling to allow enough time for you to adjust. Your breathing is growing heavy and you can barely keep your eyes from squeezing shut. You know his fingertips will be bruised into the skin of your hips tomorrow but you don’t care, if anything you’d be proud to wear his marks. 

“Move, please.” You beg, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle your hips. He doesn’t hesitate to pull almost all the way out before thrusting back in, the force sending you forward against the arm of the couch. Your mouth gapes in a silent scream, he’s so deep, this position allowing him to explore you at an entirely new angle. 

“F-fuck, Joe. You’re so fucking deep.” You moan, gripping anything and everything to try and ground yourself. Joe growls from behind you, quickening his pace at your words.

“Yeah, how deep am I? How deep is my cock in this pretty pussy?” He groans, leaning down to speak the words right into your ear. Words cannot describe the sensation, so you grab one of his hands and guide it to your lower tummy, just above your pubic bone. Joe nearly loses it when he feels the head of his cock moving within you but he restrains himself, presses heated kisses to your shoulder blades as he continues his steady pace.

“You’re such a good girl. Taking me so well.” He moans, his pace stuttering when you begin to clench and flutter around him, indicating to him that you’re nearing your high.

“Joe, ‘m so fucking close.” You whine, and he immediately brings a hand under you to rub at your clit frantically. You gasp, releasing a drawn out, high pitched moan as the sizzling coil within you is seconds away from snapping. 

“Cum for me, Y/N. Cum around my cock.” He growls lowly into your ear, a particularly hard thrust sending you over the edge. You nearly sob, your eyes fluttering closed, vision blown white. Pleasure racks your body and you clench involuntarily around his cock, your body falling limp onto the cushions. You grab one of his hands, lacing your fingers with his. 

“C’mon, Joey. Cum for me. Let me feel you.” You whine, already growing sensitive after your earth shattering orgasm. He curses loudly above you, his hips suddenly stilling as he spills into you with a low groan and a cry of your name. He breathes out a heavy sigh, shuddering as he pulls out, watching his cum seep out of you’re entrance. 

“Fuck, there’s nothing prettier than this.” He mumbles, smiling as he sees you all smiley and fucked out, gazing at him through hooded eyes.

“Let me clean you up.” He stands, pulling on his boxers and retreating into the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth. 

“Might be cold.” He mumbles before delicately running the towel over your heated skin and tossing it into the pile of clothes once he was satisfied with his work. You hum as you relax into the couch, laying on your back and inviting him into your open arms. He obliges, pressing a kiss to your grinning lips before cuddling into your side, resting his head on your naked chest. His hand rest right above your lower tummy, where he had felt himself and just the thought stokes a heat in his lower stomach. 

“I love you.” He mumbles into your damp skin, pulling you closer. You hum, much too tired to form words, returning the sentiment with a soft kiss to his head before falling asleep with Joe wrapped in your embrace. 

sorry this took me like a week, but ok I’m an artist and this made me super happy, thank you for supplying me with that good stuff @deakyfordays

okay so you and Gwil are supposed to be hanging out at your apartment, a Friday night tradition between you two, but Gwil knocked out half way through the movie you were both watching and instead of waking him up from a nap you knew he needed you decided to retire to the comfy chair by the window and work on a few of your incomplete sketches

Gwil was aware of your knack for art but wasn’t exactly informed to the extent at which you drew. Most of your pieces were anatomy studies and the occasional full blown piece, a nude model/figure at its center. The human body happened to be your muse and there was no shame in that. Gwil had never seen your art, and you had no intentions of showing him said art. 

You were idly working on a self portrait, a very nude self portrait, when Gwil began to stir and grumble from your couch. You grinned, but continued to drag your red drafting pencil across the sketchbook in your hands. You were so entranced in the motion of your hand that you didn’t notice Gwil get up and settle himself behind you until he spoke. 

“That’s really good.” He mumbled, his voice thick and raspy with sleep. 

“Shit!” You squealed, your entire body jumping a few inches from the comfy day chair. You instinctively shut your sketchbook and tossed it to the side, your cheeks burning in embarrassment. Gwil raised a questioning brow and reached for your sketchbook.

“Can I see?” He said, reaching his long arm over you to grab at it but was stopped when you snatched it out of his grasp. 

“Um, no.” You mumbled, his face fell and guilt wretched in your gut. “Sorry, I don’t really show people my stuff.” He seemed dumbfounded and his light laugh surprised you. 

“C’mon, Y/N. I wanna see. I promise I’ll be nice.” He pleaded, widening his bright blue eyes to seal the deal. You playfully rolled your eyes, the grip on your sketchbook tightening before you relaxed your muscles. 

“Fine, but I get to flip the pages.” You warned, pointing a stern finger in his direction. He held his hands up in defeat before joining you on the couch, planting himself just centimeters away from your side. Your breath hitched momentarily before you cleared your throat and hesitantly opened the leather-bound book. 

“This is an anatomy study I did a few months ago.” You explained, tracing your finger over the sloped lines of the drawn figure. His eyes were concentrated, scanning precisely over each line and area of shading. They also held another emotion, seemingly one of admiration and it made your heart flutter. 

You turned the page, the drawing a portrait of your good friend. His eyes widened, “Wow, this one is incredible.” He mumbled, thumbing the end of the page to draw it closer, careful not to bend or tear the image. Your grin widened and the pace of your already frantic heart quickened. 

“Thank you.” You smiled, absentmindedly flipping the page to an image you weren’t intending to show him, the nude portrait of yourself that you had been working on just minutes before. 

“Oh, shit.” You mumbled, flipping over a few pages and hoping he hadn’t noticed. But, he did.

“Woah, woah, wait. What was that one?” He asked, trying to flip back to the drawing. He looked at you with raised brows and your face somehow grew exponentially warmer. 

“It was nothing. It was the one I was working on earlier. “ You explained, trying to keep your voice calm and level. He smirked, gripping the end of the sketchbook in his hand. Your throat grew dry and you struggled to swallow the growing lump there. 

“Can I see?” He crooned, obnoxiously batting his long lashes as he did. You pursed your lips and considered the idea for a moment. The drawing was essentially one of your nudes and you’d be showing this nude to your best friend. You concluded there would be no harm in it, as long as you didn’t tell him who the figure was. You reluctantly flipped back to the designated page and held it out to him. He took the book in his hands and studied the figure with squinted eyes. Your stomach churned and the pressure in your chest tightened as he continued to scan the drawing. 

“Who is this?” He suddenly said and you tensed, your heart stopping in your chest. The figure was unfinished and had no face yet, so only you truly knew who it was. You twiddled your thumbs and tried to not fumble over your next sentence.

“Um, no one in particular.” You mumbled, not meeting his eyes. 

“Oh, please. The detail is incredible. You’re telling me this is all from memory?” He questioned, arching his brow and sending a sly smirk your way. You shifted uncomfortably, picking at the sleeves of your sweater and still not meeting his gaze.

“Um, yeah.”

“Y/N..” 

“Fine, fine. If you must know. It’s a self portrait.” 

“A…self portrait? This is you?” He seemed stunned, and his tone made it hard to determine if he surprised or disgusted.

“Yeah, it is. Is there a problem?” You asked, tone growing defensive and hands just seconds from snatching the sketchbook from his hands and vowing to never draw around the man again. 

“No, no. There’s no problem. It’s just…”

“What?” You were growing impossibly nervous, your gut clenching uncomfortably. 

“It’s really beautiful. I’m… almost speechless.” He laughed, his speech airy and hushed. Your eyes widened slightly and for a fleeting moment, you saw him shift slightly in his seat. 

“R-really?” You mentally chastised yourself for making a complete fool of yourself if front of the man you had a huge crush on. The man who was essentially studying a nude photo of yourself in front of you. 

“Yeah, I mean. Wow, it’s incredible. Beautiful and talented.” He mumbled, handing you the book and immediately placing a throw pillow in his lap when you grabbed it from him. You were stunned, did he just compliment you or the drawing? 

“Well, thank you. It means a lot.” You stuttered, giving him an appreciative grin. He nodded, watching your form intently as you put away your sketchbook and rejoined him on the couch. 

“Bet it’s even more beautiful in person.” He mumbled, probably intending for the words to go unheard but you caught them, every word. He noticed this, the way your body froze as you reached for the remote indicative of that. His heart dropped and he had to restrain himself from running through your window. 

“Sorry, that was..”

“Do you mean that?” 

His blue eyes widened, your reaction completely unexpected. You looked up at him expectantly and the way you eyed him sent he to his lower stomach. A sudden confidence bloomed in his chest and he shifted to face you fully.

“Every word.” He whispered, bringing a hand up to cup your heated face. Your breath hitched and despite yourself, you leaned into his touch. 

“You are art.” He was so close, you felt the words fan over your lips and your eyes fluttered shut in anticipation. He softly pressed his lips to your and a relived sigh escaped your nostrils. You immediately melted into his touch, bringing your hands up to card through his soft brown hair. He whimpered against your lips, his own hands now gripping your hips tightly. He pulled away, his breaths coming out in heavy pants. 

“I’ve wanted you for so long. I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long. Wanted to see that beautiful body.” He breathed, pulling your body closer, nearly into his open lap. 

“Nothing’s stopping you.” You breathed out, taking it upon yourself to climb into his lap and lace your arms behind his head. He gives you a somewhat shy but appreciative grin, and reattaches his lips to yours. He tastes exactly how you’d imagined he would. Sweet, minty from that gum he always chews, and a flavor that’s unidentifiable but him nevertheless. 

His hands are leaving a fire in their wake. Everywhere he touches set ablaze and you whimper into the heated kiss. His fingers dip below the hem of your sweater and you wordlessly pull it over your head. Gwil’s blue eyes darken and his hand immediately begin working the clasp of your bra, eyes never leaving yours. 

You let him take it off, you’d let him do anything at this point. He eyes you hungrily, bringing his lips to mouth at your chest softly, the touch pulling soft whimpers and moans from your lips.

“Even better than the drawing.” He says, words muffled against your skin and you laugh lightly. His lips then surround your left nipple, nipping at it gently and you have to bite down on your lip to cage desperate moans. The pressure in your lower tummy is unbearable now and your body involuntarily brushes against his clothes lap. His actions falters and he lets out a heavy, pained sigh. 

“Fuck, do that again.” He commands before continuing his assault on the delicate skin of your chest and breasts. You anchor your hands on his shoulders for leverage and begin to softly grind your hips against his lap, his cock hardening underneath you. Your head falls into his shoulder, the friction he’s providing satisfying the ache you’ve suffered with since the day you’d met him. He can hear your soft whimpers and moans right next to his ear and he shifts his hips uncomfortably with each sound, his jeans now unbearably tight. He sits back for a second and removes his shirt, and you gaze at him appreciatively for a moment before he brings his lips to yours. 

“Can I take these off, love?” He breathes, his prying fingers referring to your shorts. You nod wordlessly, and lift your hips to make the job easier for him. He removes both your shorts and underwear in one motion and you nearly faint when your pussy makes direct contact with his Jean clad lap. His hand settles on your hips and he gestured for you to continue your motions, his grip guiding you against him. You breathing is heavy, coming out in pants, whimpers, and the occasional moan of his name. He’s loving every moment, watching your shaking form behind hooded eyes. The way you draw your lip between your teeth occasionally, how your eyes close every time he presses your body harder against him. 

“Fuck, Gwil.” You whine, feeling the tightness in your belly grow. You stop suddenly and bring your hand to his zipper, desperately fumbling with it. He laughs and removes his jeans without issue, giving you a soft peck before drawing you closer, breasts flush against his strong chest. 

“You look so pretty like this.” He whispers, brushing fallen hair from your face. You smile, bringing your lips to his in a searing kiss. You toy with the waistband of his boxers, silently begging him to remove them. He complies, sliding them off of his long lower half slowly. Now, nothing seperates you and him and it’s almost overwhelming. 

“Do you have a condom?” You whimper, his lips working at the skin on your neck. He nods, leaning over to fish one out of his wallet and immediately returning to you. You grab it from him, quickly removing it and sliding it over his length. 

“Eager, aren’t we?” He teases and you narrow your eyes, playfully sticking your tongue out as you settle above him. He grips the base of his cock and run the head through your folds, both of you breathing out heavy moans at the sensation. He catches your gaze and you smile lazily, pressing your lips to his as he slips in. You moan against his mouth as he buries himself to the hilt within you, groaning loudly as he bottoms out. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He groans, his head lolling back onto the arm of the couch. You're too overwhelmed to speak, only lucid enough to grip his strong shoulders and moan. 

“Can I move, love?” He asks after a moment and you nod, eyes still shut tight.

He thrusts up into you and you fall limp into his chest as he settles on a steady pace, the head of his cock brushing against that certain spot and bringing you close to your edge faster than you had anticipated.

“Feels so good, Gwil.” You gasp, clinging onto him, his own hands gripping your hips and ass tightly. 

“You feel so amazing, sweetheart. So tight for me.” He groans, his thrusts picking up speed. You cry out, burying your head into his neck, the stubble scratching your cheek. 

“Im close, Gwil.” You whimper, walls clenching around him almost involuntarily. His grip on your hips tightens.

“Yeah, gonna cum? Cum for me, angel.” He growls, thrusting up into you with an almost brutal strength. Your orgasm suddenly rips through you, the sensation sending shockwaves throughout your entire body. Your walls clench around him violently and the way his thrusts falter indicate he’s right behind.

Fuck, sweetheart. Gonna make me cum.” He groans before stilling inside of your and releasing into the condom with a broken moan. Your mouth falls open but no sound escapes, and your body falls limply into his strong chest, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rocking you. Gwil holds you, his hands running softly up and down your back, his lips pressing soft kisses onto your temple. 

“Did so well for me, sweetheart.” He praises, smoothing down your hair, pressing kisses to your sweaty forehead. Your eyes are hooded and lazy but you manage to give him a sweet smile. 

“There’s my girl.” He coos, giving you a smilier smile. He then gingerly lifts your hips and pulls out, quickly tying off and discarding the condom after. He returns to you, pulling you against his chest, his hands resting comfortably against the small of your back. 

“My girl.” He whispers into your hair. You hear him, but it's distant, sleep washing over you quickly. He watches as you drift off peacefully, smiling widely because he knows he’s got the most beautiful work of art in the known world. 

ok this straight up made me blush like…..you are a genius @deakyfordays 

smut in under the cut, my dudes!

Ok so it’s your typical Friday night. You and Joe are sat on his big comfy couch, talking and definitely not paying attention to the movie playing in front of you both.

“Try and tell me I’m wrong!” You practically shout, flailing your arms wildly in emphasis. Joe only rolls his eyes, huffing before he buries his head in his hands. His pale skin definitely not helping to conceal the prominent blush on his cheeks.

“You are wrong.” He mumbles into his hands, not looking up for fear that his cheeks may burn a shade brighter. You scoff, plucking a cookie from the plate on the table before sitting back into the couch.

“How am I wrong?” You asks incredulously, a mouth full of sugar cookie. He sits up finally, eyes wide in disbelief, annoyed that you were still fueling this already awkward conversation.

“You have no evidence.” He says simply, shrugging as he grabs a cookie for himself and slumps back into the cushions.

“Is the fact that the man has six children not enough?” You argue, watching with a satisfactory smile as Joe grimaces, his face growing an impossibly bright shade of red.

“Ugh, can we stop talking about this? I have to play the man in a movie and you’re ruining it.” He whines, finishing his cookie and debating on whether or not he should have another. You smirk, he was too easy to embarrass and it was you’re favorite game. 

“Exactly, you have to play him in a movie and this discussion will help you develop his character.” You explain, obviously bullshitting but all in good fun. Joe furrows his brows and shifts uncomfortably in his seat before sighing.

“How exactly could talking about John Deacon’s….you-know-what help me prepare for the role?” He asks obviously exasperated, throwing himself back into the cushions and ridiculous amount of throw pillows behind him.

“I dunno. You’re the actor, figure it out.” He almost screams, flailing dramatically on the couch like a child and you hide a giggle behind your hand. 

“There is no harm in research.” 

“You call this research.” He deadpans, gesturing to the small amount of space between you. 

“Hey, whatever helps.” You say, trying to hold back a laugh as you sip at your class of water. He groans, laying down on the couch, his head finding a place in your lap. You coo down at him, running your free hand through his hair, feeling guilty for teasing him but then adopting a sly smirk as an idea pops into your head.

“Joe, it’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with feeling insecure about your dick size. A lot of guys go…” He abruptly sits up from his position on the couch, giving you a crazed almost dumfounded look.

“Woah, wait. Who said anything about me being insecure?” He gapes, seemingly shocked you would say anything resembling your previous statement.

“I feel like it was implied.” You shrug, hiding your smirk behind your glass. He stutters, his cheeks returning to their formally red hue.

“I am not insecure about my…dick size.” He whispers the last part, twiddling his fingers and avoiding your eyes. You smile, patting his cheek gently.

“That’s great, Joe. I’m proud of you for accepting the fact that John Deacon has a bigger dick than you.” You can already see the storm brewing behind Joe’s eyes and you’re loving it.

“I never said that! When was that ever implied?” He shouts, his hand gesturing wildly and your laughs are almost drowned out by his animated screaming. 

“Joe, relax. I’ll take your word for it.” You say mockingly but Joe seems to take it as a challenge. 

“John Deacon’s dick is not bigger than mine.” He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Prove it.” You laugh, giving him a challenging look, both brows raised. 

Then his hands are pinning your wrist down onto the couch, his chest is pressed against yours, his lips are pressed to your ear, breathing sending shivers throughout your entire body. Your eyes are blown wide in surprise and you can barely register anything other than Joe and how close his hips are to yours. 

“Why do you like to tease me, Y/N?” He growls lowly in your ear, grip on your wrist tightening. You whimper, already feeling a heat growing in your belly at his words. 

“I-I don’t-” You stutter but he cuts you off which a harsh roll of his hips against yours. You can feel him through the material and you freeze, he wasn’t kidding.

“You do it on purpose, huh? Trying to rile me up. Well, I might as well return the favor.” He breathes into your ear, pressing a kiss right below it before smashing his lips against yours. It’s heated and messy but it’s everything you need at the moment. He tastes sweet and exactly how you’d imagined. He removes his lips from yours, panting, and sits up, releasing your wrists from his hold. You inhale sharply as your eyes focus on the man before you. The sight of him now is beyond anything you’d ever been able to conjure up in your mind, it’s miles more beautiful.

“You look so pretty like this.” He coos softly, bringing a hand to caress your cheek before lowering to your throat, then your left breast, the your lower tummy before stopping right above the hem of your shorts. You wiggle your hips a little to tempt him but he doesn’t give in, only dips his finger below the material of your shirt. He pushes it up and over your breast, which he’s delighted to find are completely bare.

“No bra? It’s almost like you planned this.” He teases, the smug smirk he’s wearing making it hard to not roll your eyes. He lowers himself gently, resting his arms on either side of you before taking one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and nipping on it. Small gasps and moans are leaving your parted lips, the sensation of his tongue on your skin sending shockwaves to the tight knot in your stomach. You involuntarily buck your hip against his and he hisses, you feel his clothed cock again and your body nearly hums in excitement.

“Knock it off.” He mumbles before trailing his lips south, stopping just below the elastic of your shorts.

“Can I take these off, baby doll?” He asks, his fingers  already dancing over the hem. You nod frantically, lifting your hips to help him slide the shorts off with ease. He groans at the sight of the wet spot already present on your underwear and leans down to press a heated kiss to your swollen lips, his hand traveling dangerously low as he does. You whine as he pulls his lips from yours, silently begging him to touch the place you need him most. He obliges, dipping his fingers below the elastic of your underwear and groaning as he collects your wetness with two long fingers.

“So wet for me, angel. Wonder what’s got you so riled up?” He teases and you groan loudly in frustration, gripping his strong shoulders tightly. 

“Just shut up and fuck me, Joe Mazzello.” You huff, grabbing at the material of his T-shirt. He raises both brows before smirking and pulling off his top.

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” He laughs, undoing his jeans, throwing them to the side along with his boxers. Your eyes go impossibly wide, he’s big and dear god you shouldn’t have underestimated him but your glad you did. 

“Like what you see?” He teases, wriggling his eyebrows in your direction. You roll your eyes and bring him closer with the leg you have wrapped around his waist. 

“Prove that you’re not all talk.” You huff, reaching your arms above your head to try and displace the intense pressure in your gut. He laughs, pulling down your panties in one swift motion and immediately running the head of his cock through your wet folds. You lurch forward, the stimulus surprising you. 

“Jesus, fuck.” You breath, trying and failing to compose yourself. He catches your gaze, silently asking for permission which you give without hesitation. He begins to push in slowly and your breathing catches violently in your throat, the stretch in unfamiliar and nothing like you’d ever experienced. You grip his shoulders tight and he stalls for a moment, giving you a confused look.

“You alright?” 

Yeah, just give me a sec.” You breath, then nod for him to continue. He then enters you fully and you let out a choked moan, covering your mouth with your hand as to not alert the neighbors. Joe groans loudly, his eyes squeezed tight and you clench and pulse around him.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He hisses, his grip on your hips almost bruising. 

“Move, please.” You beg, shifting your hips in an attempt to get some much needed friction. He experimentally pulls out all the way then thrusts back in. You gasp loudly, all air chocked from your lungs. You can almost feel him in your lower stomach and the sensation is like no other. You feel all of him.

“Fuck, fuck. Joe, I’m close.” You whimper, pulling him closer. He presses a wet kiss to your lips and nods, his eyes hooded and lazy.

“Me too, love.” He whispers, almost breathless as he continues his brutal pace. When his cock brushes a particularly spot, it’s over. You’re vision goes white, spotted with black stars and you cry out his name loudly. Your back arches off of the couch, your breasts pressed flush against his chest. You clench violently around him and he’s so close, you can tell by how sloppy his movements are growing. He’s panting and then suddenly pulls out, spilling his cum over your stomach, groaning, your name leaving his lips like a prayer. Now, you’re both trying to level your breathing. Joe collapses onto the couch next to you, wrapping an arm around your middle and snuggling his face into the crook of your neck. You’re still breathing heavy and Joe seems close to sleep, you look over to him and give him a smile which he returns. 

“You proved me wrong, Mazzello.” You breath out and he laughs, tightening his grip on your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“Glad we could come to an agreement.” He laughs before yawning, settling into your warmth and subsequently falling asleep. In all the years you’ve known Joe, he has never been one to shy away from a challenge and you’re glad nothing has changed.

Ok hell yes I love you @deakyfordays , smut below the cut my guys!

Ok, so it’s Sunday and you called John in tears begging him to help you with your calculus homework which happened to be due the very next day. 

And he’s like “Very typical of you to leave it to the very last minute.” 

And he laughs and you groan in frustration and say “Are you gonna come help me or not.” 

And he’s like “I’m almost out the door.” And hangs up. And you’re like thank fuck for John Deacon.

So, he gets to your little old apartment with an armful of notebooks, pencils, and the ugly calculus book the teacher insisted the class buy. And he’s all smiley, one because he loves math, two because he likes helping people, and three because he loves seeing your pretty face. You’re so overcome with gratitude that you nearly knock him over with a hug the minute he walks through the door. He’s like so surprised but still tries to hug back without dropping all of his stuff because hugs from you are so precious to him and he cherishes them so much.

So, you sit him down at the couch and his eyes widen at the huge pile of notes, several empty coffee mugs, and worn textbook sat at the table. You feel a bit embarrassed by the mess but brush it off because a passing grade in this class is all that matters to you, that and how close John is sitting next to you on your ugly green couch. 

After about a minute of composing himself after that hug, John looks over to you and asks what you’re struggling with and you laugh humorlessly and say “Everything.”

He knows you’re over-exaggerating because you’re a lot smarter than you think but he grins sympathetically nevertheless. So you both agree to review the entire chapter and the minute he starts writing down example problems your mind is anywhere but calculus. 

Your eyes cannot look away from his hands. You can see the tendons beneath the skin shifting with each movement of the pencil in his hands. You can see the prominent blue veins come in and out of sight as he grips and releases the pencil. You’re damn near drooling, but cannot stop yourself from imagining how his hands would feel on your skin. The calloused pads of his fingers, the cool metal of his rings. Despite yourself, you feel a heat grow in your lower belly and you shift uncomfortably in your seat. This doesn’t go unnoticed by John and he looks over to you with furrowed brows. His lower lip in in between his teeth and it doesn’t help the current situation your in.

“You doing okay?” He asks, cocking an arched brow in question, lips quirking into an almost mocking grin.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” You huff, trying to circulate air back into your lungs. He just nods, still a bit confused at your change in demeanor but continues writing nevertheless.

You’re immediately distracted again. You’re mind easily wanders as your eyes flit over his frame. He looks so unbelievably soft, his hair falling in brown waves over his shoulders, his jumper a size too big, his foot is tapping rhythmically against the hardwood, his face drawn in concentration but still characteristically John. But then his hands, those damned hands.

Your mind is your own worst enemy at the moment, creating images of John’s hand in less than innocent situations. Laced through your hair, gripping your jaw, brushing against your throat, cupping your breasts, and maybe even…

“You are definitely not paying attention.” John suddenly says, tossing his pencil down as he does. Your eyes snap open and your breath hitches in your throat. You cough, ready to defend yourself despite knowing John would see right through it. Your face falls and you feel your cheeks heat up, you look down and bite the skin of your lower lip. John’s grinning, knowing he’s caught you red-handed. 

“Sorry, just distracted.” You mumble, still not looking up.

“By what?” He asks, laughing before crossing his arms over his chest and you swear you can see the muscles in his upper arms tense. You gulp, trying to find any other thing in the room besides his hands to excuse your lack of attention. 

“Um, I was thinking about some other assignments I have to do.” You lie, right through those pearly whites of yours.

“Yeah, right.” You knew he’d never fall for it; you’ve never been a good liar, especially when it comes to John. You shift again in your seat, crossing your legs over one another to try and relieve the pressure between your thighs. John raises his brows and shifts in his own seat, his eyes momentarily flit over your exposed thighs before he chastises himself for thinking about you in such an inappropriate manner.

“Well, what’s got you so worked up?” He asks, taking sip from the glass of water in the other end of the coffee table. You really want to say “Your fucking hands, you idiot,” but you restrain yourself and just give him a shrug. He seems unconvinced and scoots closer to you and you can’t help but feel vulnerable under his questioning gaze. 

“You know you can’t lie to me so, you might as well tell the truth.” He says, smug grin included. You huff, and rub your red hot face to alleviate the growing intensity and cool off. 

“Fine, it’s… your hands.” You mumble, barely audible and John looks confused. 

“What was that?” He laughs, bringing a hand up to cup his ear. You groan, huffing a breath and then inhaling slowing.

“Your hands.” You say clearing and very blunt with almost no emotion in your voice. John is stunned and he feels a very similar heat to yours grow in his belly. 

“My…my hands.” He stutters, eyes wide as he takes you in, his throat going dry. 

“Yes, you’re fucking hands.” You huff, burying your face in a nearby throw pillow. Your skirt rides up ever so slightly and all air leaves John lungs when he catches a fleeting glimpse of your underwear. 

“W-why?” He asks, still obviously dumfounded. You shy and sit up, adjusting your sweater as you do, trying to mask your hardening nipples.

“They’re…nice.” You say simply, reaching over John’s lap to sip out of the same glass of water and he nearly faints when your chest brushes over his upper thighs.

“They’re..nice?” He asks, smile growing along with his ego. No girl had ever said that about his hand but he was glad the words were falling from your lips.

“Yeah, any girl with sense can appreciate a nice pair of hands.” You say, internally groaning as you realized the words that just came out of your mouth. 

“Oh, really? Why is that?” He asks smugly, already knowing the answer.

“Don’t make me say it.” You huff, cheeks growing impossibly hot. His smirk only grows wider and he gestures for you to continue. You frown but some evil force seems to be coercing you to indulge John in every fantasy you’ve hand involving his hands.

“Well, you know. They’re nice to hold and kiss and…other stuff.”

 “Like?” John questions, waving his hand, gesturing for you to elaborate. You swallow hard, the heat in your stomach growing unbearable. John is loving the way your writhing in your seat but he’s about ten seconds away from grabbing a pillow and placing it over his lap.

“God, you’re the worst. You know what I’m talking about.” You nearly scream, the knowing smirk on his face only making you angrier. 

“I don’t think I do.” He says, in a mocking tone, smile definitely making his cheeks sore at how wide it was. He always loved to tease you, but he was being cruel now especially since he figured he’d never see you like this again. So, he was collecting as much as he could. 

“You know, like, other stuff. Running through your hair, over your lips, your jaw. Maybe even your neck.” You were losing yourself in the moment, but John didn’t mind. If anything, he was silently begging you to continue. 

“I like when they run over my chest and my tummy and..” You stopped yourself, suddenly realizing you were revealing deep rooted fantasy about your best friend, to your best friend. He didn’t seem to mind though, eyes dark as he drank in your flustered appearance. He scooted closer, but you didn’t notice, too entranced by the look he was giving you. 

“Sorry, that’s gross.” You say, beyond embarrassed now and just ready to give up on homework and call it a day.

“No, no, it’s not. We all have likes and dislikes.” He says softly, scooting even closer to you. Now you notice, his thigh flush against yours hard to not overlook. You just nod, eyes hooded as he leans even closer.

“What do you like?” You breathe, chest rising and falling faster now, heart beating against your ribcage. 

“Well, if we’re telling the truth here. I like you.” You freeze, unable to form words, your body nearly trembling when you feel his hand come to rest upon your thigh. 

“And I know you like me too.” He whispers and you can only nod, all air stolen from your lungs as his hand inches higher up your thigh.

“Let me make you feel good.” He mumbles, lips mere centimeters from your neck. 

“Please.” You whimper, barely audible but it’s all John needs to dip his finger below the hem of your skirt and attach his lips to your neck. You immediately relax into his touch, all tension melting away as his calloused thumb rubs circles over your hip. 

“You know, you distract me too. Walking around always so damn beautiful. You make me crazy, ya know.” He mumbles into the skin of your throat. You can only communicate through moans and whimpers, hands coming up to grip his jumper. His hand is now completely under your skirt, the other gripping your jaw and the sensation has your eyes nearly rolling back in your head. He removes his hand from your thigh and hooks a finger in the hem of your skirt, pulling it down and leaving you in only underwear and a thin sweater. He nearly groans at the sight of you and finally leans in to give you a heated kiss to your parted lips, knocking the wind out of you. He settles himself between your legs, looking up at you through a thick veil of long lashes.

“What do you want, baby doll?” He asks, thumbing the material of your underwear as he does. You’re slumped on the edge of the couch, your legs trembling as you realize your fantasy is finally coming true and you intend to fulfill it to its entirety.

“Your fingers, John. Please.” You whimper, your hips wriggling involuntarily.

“I could’ve guessed that.” He laughs, and your entire body grows hot, unbearably so and you make a desperate noise of frustration. He slowly hooks his fingers into the material of your panties, pulling them down at a teasingly slow pace, his grey eyes never leaving yours. You whimper as he throws the garment to the side, you can feel your wetness pool onto the couch. John groans and pulls you closer to his face by your hips, not hesitating to bring a finger into your folds to collect your wetness. 

“This all for me?” He asks, popping his finger into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you. 

“Yes, John. All for you.” You breathe, silently begging him to continue. And oh, he does. He thumbs your clit and you nearly lurch forward at the shocks it sends up your body, the desperate moan that leaves your mouth music to John’s ears. He then brings two fingers lower to tease your entrance and he’s tempted to completely ruin you but hesitates. 

“John, please.” You beg, lifting your hips desperately. He sits up, his face next to yours, so close you can feel his breath fan over your face. His fingers are still so close to where you need him and you open your eyes to look at him, his eyes are almost unrecognizable clouded with lust. 

“I wanna watch you fall apart.” He mumbles, then thrusts both fingers into your entrance, almost pulling a scream from you. 

“Fuck.” You whine as he picks up a steady pace, you can feel the cool metal of his rings against your skin and it only adds to the pleasure building in your lower stomach. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight. And that just around my fingers.” He groans, almost smug as he continues working your pussy. He suddenly brushes a particular spot within you and you almost see stars, releasing a high pitched moan as he does it again.

“Fuck, right there.” You moan, back arching off of the couch. He returns his lips to your neck, his other arm under you for support. 

“You gonna cum for me, angel?” He asks roughly, his thumb coming up to press against your clit. You spasm around his fingers, the coil within you so close to snapping. You can feel the pressure of your coming orgasm in your chest, almost choking you. 

“Fuck, John.” You whimper, breaths coming out heavy as you near your high.

“Cum for me.” He growls, curling his fingers as he does and your vision goes white. Your back arches off of the couch and you grab onto John as the aftershocks rock you, your entire body is pulsing and its almost overwhelming. John fingers are slowing within you and when you finally relax onto the cushions, he pulls them out and immediately brings them to his lips, moaning as he swirls his tongue around the digits, looking at you the entire time. You breathing finally steadies and John gets up to retrieve your underwear, slipping the pair back over your legs and hips. He sits back down, pulling you into his side and placing a kiss atop your head, his hand running over your exposed thigh. You’re close to sleep, his heartbeat helping to soothe your frazzled nerves. Before your eyes can close, John speaks.

“You should ask me to come help you with homework more often.” He laughs, and you lightly smack his chest before snuggling into the sweet-smelling fabric. John allows you to nap, hoping that once you both get back to calculus, you’ll find another distraction to occupy the both of you. 

Lucy Boynton x Female!Reader

A/N: Hi, everyone! This is something very different than anything I’ve ever written, in the sense that it involves a same sex pairing. But, I’ve wanted to write something that truly illustrates some specific experiences I’ve had over the past five years. A lot of the details in this story are very similar to those in my life, a lot of the feelings the reader experiences are my own. I hope this resonates with those of you who have struggled with coming to terms with your sexuality, this is my story essentially. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to go to my senior prom with Lucy Boynton, but I’m sure you all catch my drift. I hope you all enjoy this, it’s a story directly from my heart. Thank you all for the support. I am forever in your debt. -macy:)

Summary: Teenaged love is never pretty but with Lucy, there’s an exception. With her, it's devastatingly beautiful.

Word Count: 6.5k words 

Warnings: cursing, angst, discussion of homophobia and homophobic beliefs/attitudes, my cheesy writing 

If there was a period in time in which you’d recognized that you were different, it would probably be around 8th grade. It was then, at the tender age of thirteen, thatyou’d discovered this seemingly foreign attraction to girls. It scared you, no one had ever really explained to you the concept of same sex attraction, you’d assumed no one saw the need. Growing up in a conservative family, where the idea of homosexuality was the work of the devil, was terrifying when you were harboring these clandestinefeelings. Sunday mornings were always dreaded, two hours sat uncomfortably in a wooden pew while the preacher screamed of fire and brimstone was never fun. Heated classroom discussions revolving around same sex marriage and the disgusted looks of your peers was enough to drive you into the darkness. You wanted so badly to be considered normal. Tobe accepted by a group of people you really didn’t care about was the ultimate goal. So, for almost five years, you ignored the feeling. You built a wall, an impenetrable one at that.

John Deacon x Female!Reader

A/N: Ok, so this really wasn't planned; I am actually supposed to be working on a Brian fic. But I had a really rough night and this just kinda, came out. I guess you could call it a vent, but it embodies everything I felt in the moment. It is very precious to me so, please be kind. I hope you all enjoy, and if you're feeling down, message me. Much love to you all. -macy:)

Summary: Reality is always much harder to face as opposed to the fantasies you create in your mind. Unfortunately, the time has come for you and John to feel the pain of loss and the beauty that always grows from it. 

Word Count: 2,608 words 

Warnings: cursing and general angst, the big sad :’(

saudade

/souˈdädə/ noun: a Portuguese word that describes a nostalgic feeling to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost; “the love that remains”

There was no logical way around it, you’d both been trying to keep it together. For the last three months, the two of you had been desperately attempting to glue the remnants of what was once a loving, two-year relationship back together. Unfortunately, the effort was proving fruitless, but you both refused to admit that. The pain the truth would bring was something neither of you could accept. Two years is a long time, it’s the lifetime you share with John, but something had driven a stake right down its middle, severing you from him. He was so distant, so hard to reach and the same could be said for you. The only difference being that John could grin and bear it, as long as you were physically here. You, unfortunately, felt as if you were being eaten. The permeating silence, the hollow touches, the cold stares; it wasn't the love you had known, it wasn't the love you cared to know. The problem was, how could you fix this?