babe, this killed me. thank you for giving me that good shit. smut under the cut my dudes!Â
Ok, so youâre 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 Joeâs hands on you. You shift wildly on the couch, trying to get comfortable and alleviate the pressure in your belly.Â
Youâre 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 youâd 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 thatâs individually him. It has no name, itâs unidentifiable, but itâs Joe and you love it.Â
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 itâs 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 Joeâs keys unlocking the front door.
You jump a little and scramble into a more âinnocentâ 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.Â
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.Â
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.
âTook you long enough.â 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.Â
âSorry, they kept us late.â 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 itâs different than the usual âwelcome homeâ kisses you share, itâs needier.Â
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.Â
âSo thatâs where my shirt went?â 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.
âNot yours anymore, my dear.â You quip, giving him a satisfied grin. His eyes widen slightly and by the looks of it, he takes your words as a challenge.Â
âOh, really? Thatâs what you think.â 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.Â
âWell, this is certainly a pleasant surprise.â 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. Heâs 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.Â
âWhatâs wrong, baby?â 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.
âFuck, feels so good.â You gasp, hands gripping his shoulders tighter, pulling at the material of his shirt desperately.Â
âYeah, feels good? Rubbing that pretty pussy against my cock?â 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.Â
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.
âJoe, please.â 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.
âWell, since you asked so nicely. Hands and knees, baby doll.â 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.Â
âSo pretty.â 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.Â
âSo wet, fuck. This all for me?â 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.
âSo good.â 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.Â
âPatience, sweet girl.â 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.Â
âFuck, babygirl. So tight.â 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 donât care, if anything youâd be proud to wear his marks.Â
âMove, please.â You beg, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle your hips. He doesnât 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, heâs so deep, this position allowing him to explore you at an entirely new angle.Â
âF-fuck, Joe. Youâre so fucking deep.â You moan, gripping anything and everything to try and ground yourself. Joe growls from behind you, quickening his pace at your words.
âYeah, how deep am I? How deep is my cock in this pretty pussy?â 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.
âYouâre such a good girl. Taking me so well.â He moans, his pace stuttering when you begin to clench and flutter around him, indicating to him that youâre nearing your high.
âJoe, âm so fucking close.â 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.Â
âCum for me, Y/N. Cum around my cock.â 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.Â
âCâmon, Joey. Cum for me. Let me feel you.â 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 youâre entrance.Â
âFuck, thereâs nothing prettier than this.â He mumbles, smiling as he sees you all smiley and fucked out, gazing at him through hooded eyes.
âLet me clean you up.â He stands, pulling on his boxers and retreating into the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth.Â
âMight be cold.â 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.Â
âI love you.â 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.Â
hope y'all enjoy! keep sending in request and Iâll get to them throughout this week when I have time! -macy:)
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im back to sending you a million requests because those last two were SO FUCKING GOOD (from @deakyfordays) ok so can i get a gwil fic where hes like 'oh u can draw, let me see ur stuff' and basically u draw some like ~nude~ things that are classy but also gets him horny af and hes like oh shit let's fuck???
sorry this took me like a week, but ok Iâm 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 wasnât 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.Â
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 didnât notice Gwil get up and settle himself behind you until he spoke.Â
âThatâs really good.â He mumbled, his voice thick and raspy with sleep.Â
âShit!â 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.
âCan I see?â He said, reaching his long arm over you to grab at it but was stopped when you snatched it out of his grasp.Â
âUm, no.â You mumbled, his face fell and guilt wretched in your gut. âSorry, I donât really show people my stuff.â He seemed dumbfounded and his light laugh surprised you.Â
âCâmon, Y/N. I wanna see. I promise Iâll be nice.â 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.Â
âFine, but I get to flip the pages.â 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.Â
âThis is an anatomy study I did a few months ago.â 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.Â
You turned the page, the drawing a portrait of your good friend. His eyes widened, âWow, this one is incredible.â 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.Â
âThank you.â You smiled, absentmindedly flipping the page to an image you werenât intending to show him, the nude portrait of yourself that you had been working on just minutes before.Â
âOh, shit.â You mumbled, flipping over a few pages and hoping he hadnât noticed. But, he did.
âWoah, woah, wait. What was that one?â He asked, trying to flip back to the drawing. He looked at you with raised brows and your face somehow grew exponentially warmer.Â
âIt was nothing. It was the one I was working on earlier. â 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.Â
âCan I see?â 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 youâd be showing this nude to your best friend. You concluded there would be no harm in it, as long as you didnât 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.Â
âWho is this?â 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.
âUm, no one in particular.â You mumbled, not meeting his eyes.Â
âOh, please. The detail is incredible. Youâre telling me this is all from memory?â 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.
âUm, yeah.â
âY/N..âÂ
âFine, fine. If you must know. Itâs a self portrait.âÂ
âAâŠself portrait? This is you?â He seemed stunned, and his tone made it hard to determine if he surprised or disgusted.
âYeah, it is. Is there a problem?â 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.Â
âNo, no. Thereâs no problem. Itâs justâŠâ
âWhat?â You were growing impossibly nervous, your gut clenching uncomfortably.Â
âItâs really beautiful. Iâm⊠almost speechless.â He laughed, his speech airy and hushed. Your eyes widened slightly and for a fleeting moment, you saw him shift slightly in his seat.Â
âR-really?â 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.Â
âYeah, I mean. Wow, itâs incredible. Beautiful and talented.â 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?Â
âWell, thank you. It means a lot.â 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.Â
âBet itâs even more beautiful in person.â 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.Â
âSorry, that was..â
âDo you mean that?âÂ
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.
âEvery word.â He whispered, bringing a hand up to cup your heated face. Your breath hitched and despite yourself, you leaned into his touch.Â
âYou are art.â 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.Â
âIâve wanted you for so long. Iâve wanted to kiss you for so long. Wanted to see that beautiful body.â He breathed, pulling your body closer, nearly into his open lap.Â
âNothingâs stopping you.â 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 youâd imagined he would. Sweet, minty from that gum he always chews, and a flavor thatâs unidentifiable but him nevertheless.Â
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. Gwilâs blue eyes darken and his hand immediately begin working the clasp of your bra, eyes never leaving yours.Â
You let him take it off, youâd 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.
âEven better than the drawing.â 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.Â
âFuck, do that again.â 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 heâs providing satisfying the ache youâve suffered with since the day youâd 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.Â
âCan I take these off, love?â 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. Heâs 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.Â
âFuck, Gwil.â 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.Â
âYou look so pretty like this.â 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 itâs almost overwhelming.Â
âDo you have a condom?â 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.Â
âEager, arenât we?â 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.Â
âFuck, youâre tight.â 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.Â
âCan I move, love?â 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.
âFeels so good, Gwil.â You gasp, clinging onto him, his own hands gripping your hips and ass tightly.Â
âYou feel so amazing, sweetheart. So tight for me.â He groans, his thrusts picking up speed. You cry out, burying your head into his neck, the stubble scratching your cheek.Â
âIm close, Gwil.â You whimper, walls clenching around him almost involuntarily. His grip on your hips tightens.
âYeah, gonna cum? Cum for me, angel.â 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 heâs right behind.
Fuck, sweetheart. Gonna make me cum.â 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.Â
âDid so well for me, sweetheart.â 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.Â
âThereâs my girl.â 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.Â
âMy girl.â 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 heâs got the most beautiful work of art in the known world.Â
this isn't great and it didn't really proofread it, but Im happy I finished it. now back to homework -macy:)Â
hiya it's me deakyfordays i would like to put it a request again ! i would like reader to try to embarrass joe about how deaky supposedly had the biggest you-know-what ( he totally did and you can't change my mind ) !! smut ensues !
ok this straight up made me blush likeâŠ..you are a genius @deakyfordaysÂ
smut in under the cut, my dudes!
Ok so itâs 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.
âTry and tell me Iâm wrong!â 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.
âYou are wrong.â 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.
âHow am I wrong?â 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.
âYou have no evidence.â He says simply, shrugging as he grabs a cookie for himself and slumps back into the cushions.
âIs the fact that the man has six children not enough?â You argue, watching with a satisfactory smile as Joe grimaces, his face growing an impossibly bright shade of red.
âUgh, can we stop talking about this? I have to play the man in a movie and youâre ruining it.â 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 youâre favorite game.Â
âExactly, you have to play him in a movie and this discussion will help you develop his character.â You explain, obviously bullshitting but all in good fun. Joe furrows his brows and shifts uncomfortably in his seat before sighing.
âHow exactly could talking about John DeaconâsâŠ.you-know-what help me prepare for the role?â He asks obviously exasperated, throwing himself back into the cushions and ridiculous amount of throw pillows behind him.
âI dunno. Youâre the actor, figure it out.â He almost screams, flailing dramatically on the couch like a child and you hide a giggle behind your hand.Â
âThere is no harm in research.âÂ
âYou call this research.â He deadpans, gesturing to the small amount of space between you.Â
âHey, whatever helps.â 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.
âJoe, itâs okay. Thereâs nothing wrong with feeling insecure about your dick size. A lot of guys goâŠâ He abruptly sits up from his position on the couch, giving you a crazed almost dumfounded look.
âWoah, wait. Who said anything about me being insecure?â He gapes, seemingly shocked you would say anything resembling your previous statement.
âI feel like it was implied.â You shrug, hiding your smirk behind your glass. He stutters, his cheeks returning to their formally red hue.
âI am not insecure about myâŠdick size.â He whispers the last part, twiddling his fingers and avoiding your eyes. You smile, patting his cheek gently.
âThatâs great, Joe. Iâm proud of you for accepting the fact that John Deacon has a bigger dick than you.â You can already see the storm brewing behind Joeâs eyes and youâre loving it.
âI never said that! When was that ever implied?â He shouts, his hand gesturing wildly and your laughs are almost drowned out by his animated screaming.Â
âJoe, relax. Iâll take your word for it.â You say mockingly but Joe seems to take it as a challenge.Â
âJohn Deaconâs dick is not bigger than mine.â He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.
âProve it.â You laugh, giving him a challenging look, both brows raised.Â
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.Â
âWhy do you like to tease me, Y/N?â He growls lowly in your ear, grip on your wrist tightening. You whimper, already feeling a heat growing in your belly at his words.Â
âI-I donât-â 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 wasnât kidding.
âYou do it on purpose, huh? Trying to rile me up. Well, I might as well return the favor.â He breathes into your ear, pressing a kiss right below it before smashing his lips against yours. Itâs heated and messy but itâs everything you need at the moment. He tastes sweet and exactly how youâd 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 youâd ever been able to conjure up in your mind, itâs miles more beautiful.
âYou look so pretty like this.â 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 doesnât give in, only dips his finger below the material of your shirt. He pushes it up and over your breast, which heâs delighted to find are completely bare.
âNo bra? Itâs almost like you planned this.â He teases, the smug smirk heâs 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.
âKnock it off.â He mumbles before trailing his lips south, stopping just below the elastic of your shorts.
âCan I take these off, baby doll?â 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.
âSo wet for me, angel. Wonder whatâs got you so riled up?â He teases and you groan loudly in frustration, gripping his strong shoulders tightly.Â
âJust shut up and fuck me, Joe Mazzello.â You huff, grabbing at the material of his T-shirt. He raises both brows before smirking and pulling off his top.
âDonât have to ask me twice.â He laughs, undoing his jeans, throwing them to the side along with his boxers. Your eyes go impossibly wide, heâs big and dear god you shouldnât have underestimated him but your glad you did.Â
âLike what you see?â 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.Â
âProve that youâre not all talk.â 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.Â
âJesus, fuck.â 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 youâd ever experienced. You grip his shoulders tight and he stalls for a moment, giving you a confused look.
âYou alright?âÂ
Yeah, just give me a sec.â 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.
âFuck, youâre tight.â He hisses, his grip on your hips almost bruising.Â
âMove, please.â 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.
âFuck, fuck. Joe, Iâm close.â You whimper, pulling him closer. He presses a wet kiss to your lips and nods, his eyes hooded and lazy.
âMe too, love.â He whispers, almost breathless as he continues his brutal pace. When his cock brushes a particularly spot, itâs over. Youâre 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 heâs so close, you can tell by how sloppy his movements are growing. Heâs panting and then suddenly pulls out, spilling his cum over your stomach, groaning, your name leaving his lips like a prayer. Now, youâre 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. Youâre still breathing heavy and Joe seems close to sleep, you look over to him and give him a smile which he returns.Â
âYou proved me wrong, Mazzello.â You breath out and he laughs, tightening his grip on your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple.Â
âGlad we could come to an agreement.â He laughs before yawning, settling into your warmth and subsequently falling asleep. In all the years youâve known Joe, he has never been one to shy away from a challenge and youâre glad nothing has changed.
Last one for tonight, my dudes! Send some in and Iâll get to them eventually! -macy:)
yes, hi, i would like to put in a request for deaky trying to help you with homework cause im big dumb and he's big smart !! but reader keeps getting distracted by how BEAUTIFUL HIS HANDS ARE and wouldn't it be lovely to FEEL THEM !!!!! (from deakyfordays ! ily !!!)
Ok hell yes I love you @deakyfordays , smut below the cut my guys!
Ok, so itâs 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.Â
And heâs like âVery typical of you to leave it to the very last minute.âÂ
And he laughs and you groan in frustration and say âAre you gonna come help me or not.âÂ
And heâs like âIâm almost out the door.â And hangs up. And youâre 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 heâs all smiley, one because he loves math, two because he likes helping people, and three because he loves seeing your pretty face. Youâre so overcome with gratitude that you nearly knock him over with a hug the minute he walks through the door. Heâs 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.Â
After about a minute of composing himself after that hug, John looks over to you and asks what youâre struggling with and you laugh humorlessly and say âEverything.â
He knows youâre over-exaggerating because youâre 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.Â
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. Youâre 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 doesnât go unnoticed by John and he looks over to you with furrowed brows. His lower lip in in between his teeth and it doesnât help the current situation your in.
âYou doing okay?â He asks, cocking an arched brow in question, lips quirking into an almost mocking grin.
âYeah, yeah. Iâm fine.â 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.
Youâre immediately distracted again. Youâre 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 Johnâs hand in less than innocent situations. Laced through your hair, gripping your jaw, brushing against your throat, cupping your breasts, and maybe evenâŠ
âYou are definitely not paying attention.â 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. Johnâs grinning, knowing heâs caught you red-handed.Â
âSorry, just distracted.â You mumble, still not looking up.
âBy what?â 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.Â
âUm, I was thinking about some other assignments I have to do.â You lie, right through those pearly whites of yours.
âYeah, right.â You knew heâd never fall for it; youâve 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.
âWell, whatâs got you so worked up?â He asks, taking sip from the glass of water in the other end of the coffee table. You really want to say âYour fucking hands, you idiot,â but you restrain yourself and just give him a shrug. He seems unconvinced and scoots closer to you and you canât help but feel vulnerable under his questioning gaze.Â
âYou know you canât lie to me so, you might as well tell the truth.â He says, smug grin included. You huff, and rub your red hot face to alleviate the growing intensity and cool off.Â
âFine, itâs⊠your hands.â You mumble, barely audible and John looks confused.Â
âWhat was that?â He laughs, bringing a hand up to cup his ear. You groan, huffing a breath and then inhaling slowing.
âYour hands.â 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.Â
âMyâŠmy hands.â He stutters, eyes wide as he takes you in, his throat going dry.Â
âYes, youâre fucking hands.â 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.Â
âW-why?â He asks, still obviously dumfounded. You shy and sit up, adjusting your sweater as you do, trying to mask your hardening nipples.
âTheyâreâŠnice.â You say simply, reaching over Johnâs lap to sip out of the same glass of water and he nearly faints when your chest brushes over his upper thighs.
âTheyâre..nice?â 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.
âYeah, any girl with sense can appreciate a nice pair of hands.â You say, internally groaning as you realized the words that just came out of your mouth.Â
âOh, really? Why is that?â He asks smugly, already knowing the answer.
âDonât make me say it.â 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 youâve hand involving his hands.
âWell, you know. Theyâre nice to hold and kiss andâŠother stuff.â
 âLike?â 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 heâs about ten seconds away from grabbing a pillow and placing it over his lap.
âGod, youâre the worst. You know what Iâm talking about.â You nearly scream, the knowing smirk on his face only making you angrier.Â
âI donât think I do.â 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 heâd never see you like this again. So, he was collecting as much as he could.Â
âYou know, like, other stuff. Running through your hair, over your lips, your jaw. Maybe even your neck.â You were losing yourself in the moment, but John didnât mind. If anything, he was silently begging you to continue.Â
âI like when they run over my chest and my tummy and..â You stopped yourself, suddenly realizing you were revealing deep rooted fantasy about your best friend, to your best friend. He didnât seem to mind though, eyes dark as he drank in your flustered appearance. He scooted closer, but you didnât notice, too entranced by the look he was giving you.Â
âSorry, thatâs gross.â You say, beyond embarrassed now and just ready to give up on homework and call it a day.
âNo, no, itâs not. We all have likes and dislikes.â 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.
âWhat do you like?â You breathe, chest rising and falling faster now, heart beating against your ribcage.Â
âWell, if weâre telling the truth here. I like you.â You freeze, unable to form words, your body nearly trembling when you feel his hand come to rest upon your thigh.Â
âAnd I know you like me too.â He whispers and you can only nod, all air stolen from your lungs as his hand inches higher up your thigh.
âLet me make you feel good.â He mumbles, lips mere centimeters from your neck.Â
âPlease.â You whimper, barely audible but itâs 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.Â
âYou know, you distract me too. Walking around always so damn beautiful. You make me crazy, ya know.â 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.
âWhat do you want, baby doll?â He asks, thumbing the material of your underwear as he does. Youâre 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.
âYour fingers, John. Please.â You whimper, your hips wriggling involuntarily.
âI couldâve guessed that.â 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.Â
âThis all for me?â He asks, popping his finger into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you.Â
âYes, John. All for you.â 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 Johnâs ears. He then brings two fingers lower to tease your entrance and heâs tempted to completely ruin you but hesitates.Â
âJohn, please.â 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.Â
âI wanna watch you fall apart.â He mumbles, then thrusts both fingers into your entrance, almost pulling a scream from you.Â
âFuck.â 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.Â
âFuck, youâre so tight. And that just around my fingers.â 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.
âFuck, right there.â You moan, back arching off of the couch. He returns his lips to your neck, his other arm under you for support.Â
âYou gonna cum for me, angel?â 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.Â
âFuck, John.â You whimper, breaths coming out heavy as you near your high.
âCum for me.â 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. Youâre close to sleep, his heartbeat helping to soothe your frazzled nerves. Before your eyes can close, John speaks.
âYou should ask me to come help you with homework more often.â 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, youâll find another distraction to occupy the both of you.Â
A/N: Hi, everyone! This is something very different than anything Iâve ever written, in the sense that it involves a same sex pairing. But, Iâve wanted to write something that truly illustrates some specific experiences Iâve 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 didnât get to go to my senior prom with Lucy Boynton, but Iâm sure you all catch my drift. I hope you all enjoy this, itâs 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, thereâs an exception. With her, it's devastatingly beautiful.
Word Count: 6.5k wordsÂ
Warnings: cursing, angst, discussion of homophobia and homophobic beliefs/attitudes, my cheesy writingÂ
If there was a period in time in which youâd recognized that you were different, it would probably be around 8th grade. It was then, at the tender age of thirteen, thatyouâd discovered this seemingly foreign attraction to girls. It scared you, no one had ever really explained to you the concept of same sex attraction, youâd 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 didnât care about was the ultimate goal. So, for almost five years, you ignored the feeling. You built a wall, an impenetrable one at that.
No one knew. Well, at least that was what you had assumed. You were good at concealing your less than traditional attraction towards the same sex, youâd essentially mastered the craft at this point. You mimicked the behavior you thought was acceptable and kept your head down. Playing the part of the typical straight girl had become muscle memory at this point; it sucked but it was a routine you habitually followed every day.
You wished you didnât have to. It was torture living a lie, but you had your reasons. The Deep South was an unforgiving landscape for anyone outside of the realm of heterosexuality. You feared you would damage your reputation; as silly as it sounds, it was a completely valid fear. And of course, you feared the shift of perception from your friends and family. Would they see you differently? Would your most important relationships be tarnished? Would they accept you?
The thoughts clouded your mind almost every day. It wasnât a constant dwelling, but every time youâd spare a longing glance at the pretty girl across the street, you were reminded of the repercussions you may suffer as a result of coming out. It was painful; but it was your reality and sometimes, reality bites.
***
The halls of your private high school were almost suffocating as you weaved your way through thick crowds of laughing girls, intimidating football players, and kissing couples. The air felt heavy, no doubt due to the growing humidity characteristic of the south. The scratchy white button down required of the uniform wasnât helping you cool down either. You ignored the sharp stares burning into your frame as you neared your locker. You lengthened your strides, hurrying to escape their gazes. Themoment after you punched in your locker combination, you buried your head into it and groaned. You drew in a deep breath and began filing away the numerous papers and textbooks you held in your arms. This was routine. Youwent to school for seven agonizing hours a day, played the part required you, and returned to an empty home, usually ending the night with a few stray tears. You accepted that today would be no different, just a few inches from misery, until your eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar head of fluffy blond hair. Lucy.
Lucy Boynton, thegirl youâd grown up with, the girl who happened to be your good friend, the girl you were unfortunately in love with. Youâd identified your feelings towards her around the tail end of ninth grade.
She had come over to sleep the night, the summer air was unusually crisp, and the moon was looming over you both laid out on the cool grass of your backyard. Lucy was pulling laughs from you effortlessly, her bright smile could be seen despite the growing darkness, almost as blinding as the light the moon was providing. Her eyes were narrowed by her wide grin, her blonde hair was chopped just below her chin, curling towards her cheeks. And for a short, life changing moment, you felt the rotation of your small world slow. You watched her talk and giggle in slow motion, you were in complete awe at the girl before you. You knew immediately that you were definitely different, this wasnât just a case of envy, this was attraction. That night, your heart belonged to the blonde. Youwere okay going the rest of your life without her knowing, as long as youâd never have to live life without her presence.
âY/N!â Her voice was sweeter than any calorie dense candy, naturally smooth and kind. Your heart immediately fluttered at the sound and you slowly turned to greet her, the hug she wrapped you in the only touch youâd ever want to experience if possible. She pulled away, her hands still planted firmly on your tense shoulders. Her smile characteristically bright as she scanned you up and down, face falling as she registered how on edge you seemed to be, but didnât acknowledge it, which you were thankful for.
âSo, senior prom is right around the corner. You plan on gracing the graduating class with your presence?â She teased, nudging your side with her elbow.
You couldnât prevent the flustered grin that graced your features, it wasnât uncommon for you to grow sheepish at her words. You gave her a mocking laugh, slamming your locker shutand shuffling hesitantly towards your first period. Shefollowed you, despite her class being on the other end of campus.
âI donât know yet.â You sighed, and Lucy seemed disappointed for a moment, but you excused it as a trick of the eye.
âWhat? Itâs senior prom. You canât miss it.â She whined, giving you a pout, which was accompanied by her wide, baby blue eyes.
âIâll think about it, Luce.â You sighed, giving her a soft grin. She seemed satisfied, skipping slightly in the direction of her first class, sending you a wave as her bright form retreated. You watched her leave, a drunken smile playing at your lips. The rest of your day went on as expected, thoughts of a particular blonde girl plaguing your mind.
***
You didnât really have to think about it; If Lucy asked, you complied. The weekend after she had asked you to consider going to senior prom you were at the local mall, buried deep in a pile of potential dresses. The variety of colors, fabrics, and cuts were quickly overwhelming and the desire to call Lucy for help grew with every garment you tried on. Nothing felt right; most had too much beading, some were too tight in awkward places, others were too big in awkward places.
You were down to the last dress youâd brought into the changing room, its silky fabric and glittering faux jewels taunting from the hook it was hung on. You frowned, uncrossing your tense arms and plucking it from the wall with slight hesitation. You tried fruitlessly to pull the dress over your head before realizing it had a torso length zipper down the back. Groaning, you pulled the dress off, unzipped the back, and stepped into the fabric pooled onto the floor. You closed your eyes as you pulled it over your frame, afraid of what would be staring back at you from the full-length mirror before you. To your surprise, the dress slipped on easily, wrapping comfortably around the curves and slopes of your figure. With your eyes still closed, you fumbled with the zipper until it clicked in place at the back of your neck. A relieved sigh left your lips, the dress fit and as you shifted, it moved in tandem with you without restraint. You finally allowed your eyes to open and they almost watered when they focused on the figure in the mirror. The dress was a beautiful baby blue, beaded conservatively at the bust, and flared elegantly from your waist. It was the last dress you had picked, and youâd imagined it wouldnât look nice on you, but it did. You couldnât contain the excited squeal that left your lips, the small spin you gave the mirror was indicative of your happiness. Your hands couldnât stop from carding gently through the folds of the skirt, your fingers taking in every hem and thread of the material. The sparkling beading at your chest was nothing compared to the shine in your eyes.
Your eyes instinctively grabbed your phone, ready to break the news to Lucy that you had found your dress. Before your fingers typed out any words you furrowed your brows in thought for a moment, then you began to type.
âWhat color is your dress?â You typed, hesitating before pressing send. Lucy replied within seconds.
âItâs a light blue. Like a baby blue. Why?â
You smiled, and quickly typed a response. âNo reason. Just wondering. See you Monday.â You hit send and switched off your phone, throwing it to the distressed dressing room chair in the corner.
You were definitely getting this dress. If you couldnât explicitly go to prom as Lucyâs date, you could at least match with her. You took off the gown, placing it back on its hanger, and redressed. You gathered the rejected dresses in your arms and hung them back up on the rusty wall hooks. Before you opened the dressing room door, you admired your chosen dress, imagining how Lucy would react, and wishing you could be the one to walk hand and hand with her into the prom venue. Your eyes saddened, your vision going blurry as tears draped your corneas. You slowly grabbed the dress, silently payed for it, and left the shopping mall.
The dress was perfect, almost perfect. The standardof most store-bought prom dresses wastheir obnoxiously long skirts, meant to be hem to the desired length. Of course, your dress was about three inches too long and was in desperate need of an alteration. After delicately laying the plastic protected gown in the backseat of your car, you headed in the direction of where the sewing machine wizard lived, more formally known as your grandmother.
Soon, the white picket fence characteristic of her classically southern home came into view and you turned into her concrete paved driveway, taking a deep breath before exiting your car with the dress tucked protectively under your arm. You hesitated before giving the old oak door a firm knock, you could hear the rattling of a walker and you immediately felt guilty for bothering your poor, arthritic grandmother. When the door cracked open, you were met with your grandmotherâs sweet smile and open arms, which you entered gratefully.
âWhat brings you here?â She asked into your hair, her hand on your upper back a soothing force.
âProm dress.â You said simply, lifting the garment up, the protective plastic crinkling. She nodded knowingly, flicking down the reading glasses perched atop her head to rest on the bridge of her nose.
âNeeds a hem?â She asked, sitting in the chair before her sewing machine with an exhausted huff. You hummed in acknowledgement, giving her a small nod. Without looking up from the needle she was threading, she nodded towards the bathroom.
âWell, go put it on and weâll see.â You nodded and quickly padded into the bathroom, changing into the dress and emerging from the bathroom, the excess fabric catching under your feet.
âYeah, definitely needs a hem.â She mumbled, thumbing the end of the skirt and examining it with an experienced gaze. Silently, she began to work, folding and pinning the excess fabric to the appropriate length.
You watched her, envious of her seemingly natural knack for all things fabric and thread.
Halfway through the pinning process, she finally broke the hanging silence, âI heard one of your classmates is taking another boy to prom. Didnât think they allowed that at your school.â
You drew your lips into a tight line, this was definitely not a conversation you wished to continue. Â âNo, they do.â You mumbled, keeping your eyes trained at the wall and hoping sheâd change the subject.
âThatâs a real shame. The school is Christian. And theyâre allowing that? I canât believe it.â
You felt a lump form in your throat and anger climb your spine. You didnât speak, only nodded, afraid your voice would betray you. The conversation was cut off when she sat up, satisfied with her consistent pin placement. You felt relief flood your chest and quickly moved to change out of the dress and leave.
âIâll call you when itâs done.â She said, taking the dress from you and reaching up to press a goodbye kiss to your cheek.
You gave her a tight-lipped smile and nodded, turning on your heel and slamming the door behind you. Your carâs interior burned your skin as you flopped into the driverâs seat, but you didnât care. The anger in your chest was hotter than any sun-bleached leather seats. You couldnât steady your breathing; your knuckles were stark white from the forceful grip you had on your steering wheel. You wanted to scream, you wanted to yell, prove her wrong, chastise her, but you couldnât. You couldnât because she would know. It wouldnât take much defense from you for her to develop suspicions. You couldnât, you wanted to, but you couldnât.
Instead, you rested your forehead against your red-hot steering wheel and cried. You cried bitter tears, ones that fell with almost an audible drip, ones that made a splash when they hit your legs, ones that grieved something that has been long dead within you, ones that grieved your broken dream of a life in which you lived your truth. The dream seems so close at times, the items within it almost tangible, the freedom surrounding it almost felt, but itâs only a dream. Itâs within your palm and then reality slaps it out of your hand, grabs you by the face, and reminds you of the truth. Reality spits at your feet and calls you a fool for believing in a world where youâre accepted. And you canât fight it, you canât get close enough to get a punch in. Itâs quicker than you, sharper than you, and will always be waiting around the next corner to swipe your legs from under you. If life was high school, reality was your bully, and at this rate, graduation seemed so far away.
The sun was dipping below the horizon when you finally looked up from your lap. You started your car and back out of the driveway, starting silently on the route to your house. The entire ride was silent, except for your quiet sniffles and the taunting voice at the back of your mind.
***
You could not believe the sight before you. There stood in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by smiling students and teachers, was Lucy. But not just Lucy, her figure was almost blocked out by the schoolâs star quarterback with a prom proposal poster in his comically large hands. His expression was arrogant, as if he thought any woman would be a fool to turn him down. He eyed Lucy with a sick hunger and it made your blood sizzle and evaporate in your veins. Anger bubbled in your chest and you made a move to step towards Lucy and remove her from this less than ideal situation until you saw her nod and smile. She said yes.
Your movements ceased, and the beating of your heart stalled completely, the lump in your throat hardened, like acid it burned. The air felt thicker than usual and it seared your skin, burning and blistering wherever it made contact. It felt almost as if the air had been tainted with a poisonous gas, one that entered your lungs and made a home there, prickly and sharp like fiberglass to the skin, inflaming the tender flesh and making a simple breath difficult. Your stomach lurched, begging to be emptied of all its contents, and you could taste the bitterness of bile at the back of your tongue. You swallowed hard, your hands frantically searching for purchase in order to steady your shaky frame. The students around you cheered and whooped and the flashes of phone cameras nearly blinded you as your feet stumbled backwards, your weight barely caught by the brick wall behind the crowd.
You couldnât breathe, you couldnât think. The valves or your heart seemed to shutter and pulse unnaturally and you clenched a hand at your chest. This was heartbreak and for a moment, you thought it would prove fatal. You grasped at your throat, trying desperately to encourage air into your lungs. You choked and gasped, nervously searching the room for her but she was preoccupied with the congratulations of your peers. The world around you seemed alien and nothing made sense, the walls surrounding you seemed to crumble and fall to dust. Everything was pitch black and here, you were completely alone. You were pulled from your internal crisis when a fellow student bumped into your shoulder, mumbling an apology as they passed. Your mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts but only one truly stood out, run.
Youâd accepted long ago that sheâd never be yours, but seeing it happen before your very eyes was a pain greater than anything youâd ever experienced. Like a slap to the face, a punch to the gut, a knife to the heart, all at once. You felt your wide eyes sting with tears and your feet almost instinctively carried you away and out of the big glass doors behind the crowd. No one noticed you leave, all but the one person you hoped hadnât noticed, Lucy.
Your breathing still hadnât slowed, and the beginnings of a panic attack flooded your chest, but you pushed the feeling down. Your feet were moving fast with no real destination in mind, you just had to get away, from the reality that no matter how bad you wanted to be with Lucy, no matter how bad you wanted to live your truth, you couldnât. The tears streaming your face were not only grieving the loss of Lucy, but the loss of yourself, the loss of an idealistic future, and the loss of the foolish thoughts that created the illusion you could achieve such a destiny. Trapped couldnât begin to describe how you felt. The turmoil that had been churning within you for so long was finally boiling over and you knew it wouldnât be pretty. Your eyes finally focused on the hidden area behind the main high school building and you darted towards, unaware of the blonde girl right on your heels. You immediately flopped down onto the worn-out wooden bench and screamed into your hands, biting at the fleshy heel to muffle your cries. Your sobs were uninhibited and anyone within a five-foot radius would no doubt be witness to your breakdown.
âFuck, fuck. Iâm such a fucking idiot.â You cried into your palms, your eyes burned, and you were seconds away from violently gripping at the roots of your hair, just to ground yourself, to feel anything other than the ache of your heart, the numbness of your limbs.
âY/N?â A small voice called from behind the wallâs rounded corner. If it were possible, your heart sunk further into your chest. You craned your neck in the general direction of the sound but said nothing. Lucyâs familiar red converse rounded the corner before her entire body cautiously approached you. She immediately sat down next to you, wrapping an arm around your trembling shoulders. The gesture would usually comfort your worried state but now the touch burned, you could almost feel your skin welt and blister under the weight of her nimble arm.
âYou alright?â She asked, eyebrow drawn in concern, the blue of her irises glossy and fogged. She never asked why, and that was something you could appreciate. She never pried or pressed further than you were willing to admit, she only wanted to assure you were alright. It was her nature, sweet and genuine, impossible to not fall in love with. You dragged the heel of your palm against your wet cheek and cleared your scratchy throat.
âYeah, Iâm good.â You lied, giving her your best fake grin.
She seemed unconvinced but characteristically dropped the subject,as she had no other reason to doubt your claims.
âCongrats on the promposal.â You said through gritted teeth, trying to prevent any bitterness from soaking the words.
She nodded and smiled that sweet smile and you shivered at the idea of that quarterback tainting her kind soul, or breaking her pure heart, even using her for the night.
âThank you.â She seemed disappointed, but you imagined your eyes were creating images less hurtful than what was real.
âIâve gotta go to class.â You suddenly said, standing up and turning to her.
She nodded, giving you one last grin before she watched you walk off, knowing full well next period was about thirty minutes from now.
***
The next few days were tough. You avoided Lucy like the plague, just the sight of her was too painful. This didnât go unnoticed by Lucy and every time she sent you her usual smile or timid wave, you ignored it and her heart clenched a bit harder every time.
Now that she was going to prom with the star quarterback, they were considered a semi item among the student body. He kept her on his arm whenever possible and the annoyance in your chest grew with each passing minute. Every time he touched her or glared down at her, nausea rose in your throat and you had to look away to avoid vomiting. He was going to hurt her, you had no doubt in your mind, but you felt helpless. People would start to grow suspicious if you intruded on their ârelationship,â and that was the last thing you needed.
Lucy texted you at least a few times a day, all of them going unanswered. Even when she sent you a picture of her prom dress, asking what you thought, you ignored it. Going to prom seemed impossible now, just the idea of having to watch her move on from you from the sidelines brought bitter tears to your eyes.
You wanted so bad to tell her that her dress was beautiful, that the color would look so good with her complexion, that she should wear her hair up, but you couldnât bring yourself to type the words. You would be doing a disservice to yourself, allowing yourself to feed into the idea of you and her in any way would be detrimental. Torturing yourself with images of her, living a life with her, being with her, was pointless. There was no more you and her, there never would be, there never was.
The sound of your phoneâstext tonesounded for the third time today. Lucy, you werenât surprised.
âProm is tomorrow! Are you coming?â
Guilt was heavy in your stomach and despite yourself you typed out a response, âProbably not.â
The three small dots at the left corner of the screen bounced, and you grew nervous of her response.
âIâm real bummed you wonât be there. At least come over and hang out tonight. We can have our own prom!â Your heart lurched, she was so sickly sweet, and it hurt your stomach, but you didnât mind, if anything you could get used to it. Your thumbs tapped at the screen carefully.
âIâll be there.â You switched off your phone and cursed yourself for not being able to say no to her. You couldnât if you tried.
***
You arrived at Lucyâs home around five in the afternoon, a pretty reasonable hour. You and Lucy had been friends so long that you didnât trouble yourself with knocking at the front door, instead let yourself in through the gate, knowing sheâd be sat on the backyard swing, waiting for you. And she was.
Still dressed in her school uniform, staring idly at the birds flying overhead, her hair a deep gold by the setting sun, ethereal. Your stomach flipped but you took a deep breath and walked toward her. She noticed you almost immediately and met you halfway, wrapping in a tight hug. Your hands trembled as they gripped her, and you buried your face into her hair, youâd missed this, youâd missed her, and it made the entire situation all the more painful. She pulled away, smiling despite how shitty youâd been treating her the past week.
âSo, you wanna tell me why youâre not going to senior prom?â She teased, guiding you by the hand to the white porch swing. You couldnât help but smile, her energy impossible to brush off, it was infectious.
âI just donât want to and itâs kinda too late. I donât have a ticket.â Her smile grew, and her blue eyes took on a glint of mischief, you narrowed your eyes suspiciously.
âWhat did you do?â You sighed, plopping down next to her. She yanked a bright purple prom ticket from her back pocket and waved it in front of your face. You threw your head back and laughed.
âNow you have to come.â She squealed, almost bouncing in her seat.
âLook, I appreciate it, but I donât even have a hair or makeup appointment booked.â
âI can do your hair and makeup.â
âI donât have a date. I donât wanna go alone.â
âYou could come with me.â She said, almost matter of factly, you furrowed your brows in confusion.
âWhat do you mean? Thought you were going with- â
âI called it off.â She was serious, the hand gripping yours further confirmed how serious she was.
âWhy?â You asked, the shock in your voice obvious.
âHeâs not the one I want to go with.â She eyed you, almost longingly and the ache in your heart grew. Then it raced, did she know? How could she know? And if she did know, was she teasing you? Did she intend to make a fool of you? Out you to everyone?
âPlease donât joke around like that.â You said lowly, removing your hand from her grip. Her face fell but her determination was unwavering.
âWhy canât we go together?â She seemed hurt, but not in the way you were. She no doubt wanted to go as friends and that wasnât what you wanted, you didnât want to damage any image sheâd created for herself because of your silly crush.
âWe just canât.â
âWhy not?â
âJust, because. Look, Lucy, Iâve gotta go.â She suddenly stood to stop you, grabbing your arm softly, but desperately, almost pleading with you to stay.
âWhy have you been pushing me away? Iâve missed you so much. Have I done something?â She rambled, gripping the sleeves of your sweater desperately. Her blue eyes were brimmed with glistening tears and the knot in your gut wrenched and twisted painfully.
âNo, God no, Lucy. Itâs me, Iâm the one with this issue.â
âWhat do you mean âissueâ? If itâs an issue, we can work it out together.â
âI canât tell anyone. Not even you.â She looked hurt, her eyes were glossy and irritated by the sharp sting of tears.
âWhy canât you tell anyone?â Her voice was uneven and small, the tears pricking the corners of your eyes trembled and fell.
âBecause Iâm fucking scared, Lucy! Iâm scared of what people will say, Iâm scared of what theyâll think. Iâm scared of losing everything. And Iâm scared Iâve lost you. Iâm scared that Iâve pushed you away past the point of repair. And Iâm scared that Iâll go the rest of my life knowing I never told the most incredible girl in the world, that I love her. And Iâm most afraid that if I did, she wouldnât love me back.â
Your eyes were blurred completely by tears, but you could see the look on Lucyâs and it held an emotion you couldnât name but it resembled heartbreak the most. Her brows were drawn together, her eyes an eerily dark blue under the film of hot tears. It didnât matter what stupid emotions were troubling you know, the sight of Lucy so hurt was more painful. She released a quiet sob, clenching her teeth to cage them. She walked closer to you and grabbed the sleeves of your sweater tightly, drawing you almost flush against her. Your head snapped up, the tears brimming your eyes spilling over your lower lids. She was trembling, gripping onto you as if letting go would mean youâd disappear.
And then, she kissed you. Briefly, just a small peck, fleeting but soft and demure. And not a second after her lips retreated, they were on yours again. Moving now, frantic almost desperate. Through a silent line of communication, she spoke to you through the movements of her lips, a language foreign to anyone else but native to your tongue. You were stunned, almost unable to reciprocate the kiss as she gripped your face in her soft, shaky hands.
âIâm scared too.â She whispered, still gripping onto you tightly, shaking like a caged animal. You reached up a hand from between your bodies and swiped a strand of hair from her worried face, tucking it behind her ear.
âYou donât have to be.â You mumbled, studying her features for any indication of an emotion besides sadness.
You hated this, hated that she had been fighting the same internal war, that she hadnât told you, that you hadnât told her. You hated that she was in pain, pain so similar to yours, pain so great you wouldnât wish it on your worst enemy. You hated how afraid you had been, how afraid you were now, that even when you were finally getting what you so longed for, things outside of you and Lucy wouldnât change. You hated them, hated those who detested your identity, those who belittled and mocked you, those who damned your very existence. You hated how humanity had created a violent narrative against you. You cursed the very ground you were both stood on. The ground where hate was sowed into the plowed dirt and nurtured into a creature of intolerance, misunderstanding, and malice. A creature so powerful it dictated the many and condemned the few. A creature made to destroy beyond repair. But while the Earth rejected you, the sky cradled you, wrapping you and Lucy in a veil of luminous silk, its astronomical energy warding off the forces set out to harm the delicate form within its core. When the world seemed wrong, the stars seemed right. For you and Lucy, itâs always been this way. Those countless hours spent gazing at the speckled black of the night sky, finding an escape through the sparkling orbs that were so far away but seemingly close enough to touch. Those nights filled with tears and anger, the galaxy as witness, ready to comfort you both with a spectacular show of light. The night sky was relatable to you and Lucy, itâs misunderstood and sometimes disregarded, only loved by those who accept its mystery, its divergence from the known or approved. And like the stars hung so high up in the infinite span of outer space, you and Lucy are beautiful constellations of light, explosive spheres of energy, luminous fragments of all the known heavenly bodies. The sky understood, and the sky accepted, it is devoid of hate and judgement, only knowing how to follow its design. And so, like the night sky, you decided to accept and follow your design, for going against it would be going against your very nature. The hate within you extinguished and you gripped Lucy tighter, hoping the great expanse above you knew grateful you were for its mere existence.
âIâm here.â You murmured into her shoulder, your feet feeling unstable beneath you as your mind swirled and hammered. You could feel her tears through your shirt, her nails digging into the skin of your upper back, her teeth as they clenched. You couldnât recall how many times you had cried like this, for this reason and the thought of Lucy doing the same was a heavy blow to the gut. She suddenly looked up, sniffling before taking a deep breath.
âIâm afraid, but Iâm not enough of a coward to deny the way I feel about you.â Your breath was caught in your throat, hearing her say what you so longed to hear was an experience beyond anything this earth could provide.
âI am in love with you. And I know sometimes the words seem hollow or dull but trust me when I say that I love you. Not the kind of love that you throw away or that can be forgotten at the back of your mind. No, itâs the kind of love that scares the shit out of you. The kind that makes you so vulnerable youâre afraid itâll mess you up. The kind that I only have for you. The kind I want to feel for the rest of my life. I donât need to see it because I feel it. Everywhere, even when youâre not around I feel it. Itâs been weaved into the fabric of my mind. Youâre a part of me forever. And I donât need a reason to doubt it, I trust it. I trust you, and I think that has made all the difference.â Her voice was small, but so beautifully sweet and reassuring that youâd completely forgotten the reasons youâd felt so afraid. Sheâs just told you everything youâd ever wished to hear fall from her lips and in this moment, nothing else mattered but her. Nothing else ever mattered but her.
You couldnât speak, the smile on your face hurt, words would do justice to the feeling in your chest. So, you just kissed her, hoping she would know. Hoping she could feel the love, maybe even see it in the abstract shapes behind her eyelids, maybe even in the brighter stars in the sky. She placed a gentle hand on your face as you pulled away, her blue eyes still legible in the dark.
âWill you come to prom with me?â
âIâd be stupid not to.â
***
Itâs raining. Itâs raining on prom night.
You donât mind, though, and you donât think Lucy will either. Youâre waiting for her, cross-legged under the venueâs covered patio, you have to resist the urge to pick at your freshly painted nails. Theyâre blue, just like your dress, and just like hers. The rain isnât heavy, just a gentledrizzle, but itâs enough to have the boys covering their freshly gelled hair with their suit jackets and the girls running awkwardly for cover in their high heels, trying desperately to shield their styled hair with their clutches. You crack a smile every time someone arrives, each of them putting on a little show unique to them. Itâs still early and you donât have the nerve to go in alone, but youâre okay waiting for her. Sheâs been worth the wait, she always will be.
The faint clicking of heels catches your attention and your head snaps up, thinking itâs another one of your classmates trying to escape the rain, but itâs not. Itâs that blonde girl, that sweet smile, those blue eyes and button nose. Itâs her, itâs Lucy.
Itâs almost in slow motion, like a scene from a movie. The rain seemingly makes a path for her, the droplets somehow hitting and bouncing off an invisible force field that surrounds her. The blue dress sheâs wearing was made for her, like birds were made for the sky and fish for the ocean. The silken fabric billows lightly in the wind, almost dissolving into shining particles at its end. Like Aphrodite arising from the milky foam of the Mediterranean Sea, she emerges from the sheet of rain and under the canopy, greeting you like she always does, smiling. You almost donât feel her take your hand, or lead you through the large double doors, or onto the dance floor. You immediately feel anxiety bubble in your gut as she wraps her arms around you, the urge to push away from her is strong.
âLucy, theyâll know.â You whisper into her ear, your eyes wide and nervous. You were more nervous for her reputation rather than yours. This was the moment where you were to face your greatest fear, and you werenât doing very well. Â She gives you a sweet grin and leans in close to your ear.
âI want them to know. I want the whole fucking world to see how much I love you.â You didnât respond, only wrapping your arms around her, resting your head on her shoulder and swaying in tandem with her to the beat of a song you didnât really care about.
The chandeliers above you donât really look like chandeliers anymore. No, they look like a great sea of stars and you are both dancing among them. There are maybe one hundred other kids in the room, but you donât notice them, you donât hear them, you donât even feel them squeeze past you. You can only feel how tightly Lucy is holding you to her, you can only feel her lips against your forehead, the ends of her blonde hair tickling your cheek. Her breathing is steady and calm, her heartbeat strong, and itâs almost music to your ears, a sound that could lull you to sleep. She smells like lemongrass and rain, like late nights and early mornings, like the trip and the destination, like the past and the future. Sheâs like a warm day in July, a field of tall grass, a flock of migrating birds, a clear sky, home. She is the sun that provides for the earth, the rain that soothes dry deserts, the comfort that eases worried minds, the rhythm that guides the dance of life and despite any previous fear, youâre unafraid in her arms, swaying under the stars of a night sky she painted with a practiced grace. If anything in life matters, itâs her, and youâre completely fine with that.
The night ends as it began, with her. The fear retreats and the sadness flees. Anger is replaced with peace and hate, with love. The sun emerges and for once, the earth feels welcoming. You finally feel a sense of belonging in this world you call home. There is peace like no other with her. Awash in the tide of her vast seas you drift, but not without direction. There is peace in knowing that she is by your side. There is good. She is the good.
Maybe youâre too young and naive to know what it is, but if you had to take a wild guess, this is it. This is love. And God, what a beautiful thing it is.
- I really hope this was worth the three week wait! Thank you all for your patience and endless love! Feedback is very much appreciated!Â
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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.Â
Word Count: 2,608 wordsÂ
Warnings: cursing and general angst, the big sad :â(
saudade
/souËdĂ€dÉ/ 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; âthe love that remainsâ
There was no logical way around it, youâd 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, itâs 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?
It took much consideration on your part, John still casually wallowed in the fragments of your relationship. After two weeks, you'd decided. After a month, you acted. Sadly, your idea of repair was to move back home for an extended period, focus on yourself away from John, and try to pinpoint where'd you gone wrong and how to avoid this mistake in the future. It would be painful, and John would most likely consider it a breakup, but your mind was screaming, and this was the only thought that shut it up. Youâd been seeing the world through the thick lenses of rose-colored glasses, it brightened the grays and muted the reasons for you to go. It was time.
John was making it hard to actually begin the process. He still did the things that made him John. He continued to display the reasons youâd fallen so deeply in love with him before he reminded you of why you'd be leaving. It was a constant game of hot or cold and you were losing. You decided on a Thursday evening to tell him, and the weather could not have clashed with the occasion more. It was sunny, the sweet smell of flowering dogwood trees permeated throughout the spring air. It was Johnâs favorite time of year, yours too, though it may not be after today.
The walk home seemed hours long, your feet dragging sluggishly against the pavement a clear indication of your hesitance. You dreaded having to eventually climb the brick stairs of your flat, turn the rusty brass knob, and break Johnâs heart. You knew it would crush him, it would take him time to understand and that was time you didn't have. You had already wasted so much fighting this seemingly never-ending battle. The familiar red door of your flat appeared in your line of sight, and you took a deep breath before climbing the stairs and entering your home, the home you hoped to always share with him.Â
John was quietly napping on the couch, indicative of a rather long day at the studio. You grinned, all previous intentions disappearing for a beautiful yet fleeting moment as you took in his sleepy state. He looked so peaceful, he looked like himself and it saddened you to know you hadn't seen him this way in a good while. You sat on the cushion next to his head, brushing a silky strand of hair away from his face. He stirred before waking up slowly, surprising for a notorious heavy sleeper such as John. He grinned when he noticed you were sat next to him and sat up to place a soft kiss to your lips. Before, you would have relished in the simple gesture. Now, it made you shiver. The touch felt empty and cold, high in contrast compared to the warm Spring day. You both sat silently for a moment, both pretending the great expanse between you didn't bother either one of you in the slightest. Your mind began to scream again, and you visibly grimaced, rubbing your temples in an attempt to alleviate the pressure. John placed a hand on your thigh, an action that used to hold so much purpose but was now dead weight atop your leg. You faced him, the beginnings of tears pricking your tired eyes. You gripped his hand, trying to revive the warmth, but felt nothing. You sighed, looking into his noticeably worried face, dreading the words that would soon fall from your lips.
âI have to tell you something. Even though I have a feeling you already know.â The statement was convoluted and vague, Johnâs confused expression was indicative of that. He furrowed his arched brows and shook his head âno.â
âIâm not sure I do.â He laughed, a heavy tinge of anxiety in his voice though he was attempting to border on nonchalance.Â
You exhaled, your heart twitching and wrenching with each breath, as if someone was trying to squeeze every drop of blood from the organ. Your mind continued to scream, begging you to tell John the unfortunate truth.
âIâm leaving.â
The words were heavy and pained. Judging by Johnâs reaction, they had hit him like a ton of bricks. He visibly flinched, taking his hand from your thigh almost instinctively. Your heart began to fall in your tight chest and you momentarily considered backpedaling, but your mind begged you to persist.
âWhatâd ya mean?â He sputtered, the darting motions of his grey eyes indicating he was trying hard to form coherent sentences.
âIâm leaving for a while. Iâm moving back home.â You stated simply, trying to make this conversation as pain-free and casual as possible.
âWhy?â He gaped, eyes glossy under the living room light. He was making this hard, ideally you hoped he wouldn't ask questions, but this situation was less than ideal, and you should have better prepped for the repercussions your words carried.
âIf I donât, I might go crazy.â You mumbled, afraid to meet his gaze.
âI don't understand, Y/N.â He said, his head nodding from the aftershocks of disbelief.
âI wasnât expecting you to, John. But I know you feel it too. Things between us have changed so much and itâs driving me mad. I have to get away.â You said, sobs threatening to overtake your speech. John was still dumbfounded, but fury clouded his eyes.
âSo, essentially, you're leaving me?â He hissed, venom laced within each word and every syllable. You were afraid he'd assume that.
âWhy exactly did you âlose yourselfâ?â He huffed, seemingly annoyed, the air quotes he used stinging unexpectedly.
âWell, when things shifted between us. It threw me off and I felt...alone, even when you were right beside me. To me, it was like you were a ghost and I have a feeling you feel the same.â John shook his head, willing himself to listen instead of flying off the handle.
âI know you feel it too. Thereâs no way in hell you don't.â You said, almost pleading him to admit the truth to himself. John looked to you, seeming defeated and teary eyed.
âMaybe, but I still don't understand why you have to leave.â He huffed, running a hand through his long hair. You remained silent, there were certainly reasons why, they were just hard to describe vocally.
âWhy canât you do it with me?â He whispered, his head bowed, no doubt to hide bitter tears.
âI donât really know. It feels like itâs something I have to do alone.â You sighed, heavy and drawn, already exhausted from ten minutes of conversation. John seemed unconvinced, his eyes still sad and brows still drawn.
âIf itâs meant to be, John, weâll find our way back to one another. If not, then know I will always love you. I just have to figure myself out.â You tried to reason, wanting this pain to dissipate faster.
âI canât fucking believe this.â He mumbled, sitting down in order to avoid fainting.
âWe canât keep on doing this, John. It fucking sucks to admit it, but we canât.â You whispered, placing a hand on his back, to which he flinched away.
âWhy?â He chokes, his hand covering his reddened face.
âYou know why, John. Itâs killing us.â He seemed to find that funny, laughing incredulously, his eyes visibly blood shot as he turned to you.
âBut itâll kill me if you leave.â He mumbled, hands finding yours, still unbearably frigid. You remain still and when John wraps his shaking arms around your shoulders, you break, crying into the material of his jumper.
âI wish we could stay this way forever.â John smiled sadly, his words muffled into the crook of your neck, noticeably strained with tears. You wanted to remain this way, so bad, but you couldnât. You knew that, John knew that, but it was still hard to say it aloud.
âWe canât. You have to realize that now, it'll make things easier.â You whispered, eyes stinging with hot tears, hands still clutching the material of his woolen jumper.
âI donât want to, I canât.â He stuttered, face still buried in your neck, desperate to feel you, desperate for the warmth you provided.
âSometimes, the things we donât want are the things we need most.â You grinned solemnly, nearly chuckling as you repeated a statement he used so often, tears now trailing over the slopes of your cheeks. He didnât find it funny, scoffing as he stood up, his lower lip quivering violently.
âThis isnât the end, John.â You tried to reason, but it seemed fruitless now. Youâd broken his heart and you felt the dull ache radiate from him in waves.
âThen why does it feel like it is?â Your breath caught in your throat and you had to force a choked sob back down your throat.
âI donât know. I donât have all the answers yet. Hopefully, I can find them.â Your voice didn't sound like it belonged to you as you spoke, it was cracked and distorted.
âI canât lose you.â He whispered, words fractured with sobs and gasps.
âYou havenât.â You cried, standing up to hold him close, to assure him that you're here.
âI have. We both know that. You wonât come back.â He spit, still angry and hurt, untrusting even.
âI will.â You affirmed, gripping his waist tighter, feeling an immense sadness flow within your veins.
âI would have believed you before. Seems like I donât know anything anymore.â He breathed, harsh and with abandon, wanting you to hurt as much as he was.
âYou donât have to believe me. Just know I donât break promises.â
âWe were gonna end up together, Y/N. I was gonna marry you, have kids with you. Does that mean nothing?â He nearly yelled, voice still choked but angry, red hot and fiery.
âDonât end it like this, John.â You whimpered, wrapping a protective arm around yourself.
âThought this wasnât the end.â He said, condescending but only slightly so.
âItâs not. I just donât want you to be upset or angry when Iâm gone or when I come back.â You explained, biting your lip with an anxious fervor.
âYouâre only worried youâll feel guilty. If I give you my blessing to walk out of my life then youâll sleep better at night, is that right?â Now he was trying to hurt you, his words were deliberate and crafted to kill.
âNo, John. This is the hardest thing Iâve ever had to do, and I just donât want to hurt you. Thatâs the last thing I want.â You sobbed, your teeth clenching hard, your legs shaking like leaves in the wind.
âItâs too late. Just go, I canât look at you.â He murmured, still angry but pathetically so, motioning towards the door as he turned away from you. You remained stagnant, trying to find the words that would save this interaction. Words that would remind him you weren't gone forever.
âI love you.â It was quiet, almost silent, but in Johnâs mind, it was the small glimmer of hope that maybe the tie binding you to him is resilient, refusing to give up without a fight.
âPlease, donât leave me alone.â John whispered, his usually soft voice hoarse and scratchy with tears. He thought he might collapse where he stood, the love of his life walking out the door would be one wound too many that day.
You walked up to him and took his hand like you'd done a million times before, and placed a soft, tender kiss to his lips. It was your goodbye without words. You were always a firm believer in actions speaking louder than what you could describe with the known vocabulary, the kiss certainly fulfilled that. John chased your lips, the contact too fleeting for him to remember every minute detail of your touch.
You caressed his face with the sore knuckles of your right hand, his skin damp and cold under your touch. He closed his eyes tight, the lump in his throat choking him. John could only hear his heartbeat and your uneven breathing. He could only feel your gentle touch and the hollow pit in his stomach. Only now was he fully realizing the gravity of the situation, he was losing you, all of you.
 Tears were falling freely and readily down your face and under your chin, eyelashes clumped, and teeth clenched to cage broken sobs. You gripped his hand and decided this was the last touch you would both would share, anything further might convince you to stay. You sniffled and looked into his cloudy, red-rimmed eyes, giving him the semblance of your usually jovial smile.
âI promise I will see you again, and you know I donât break my promises.â You laughed, a pained expression still plastered on your delicate face.
Your giggle replayed in his mind and he desperately wished he could record the noise. He desperately wished you'd stay so he wouldnât have to. Your hand released his, and it fell limply to his side. You gripped the handles of your two baby blue suitcases and shuffled slowly towards the door, opening it with a slight sign of hesitance. The afternoon sun poured in through the door, surrounding you in a halo of light, almost like an angel returning to a heavenly paradise.
You turned your head, giving him one last grin and a soft nod, then retreated into the light. John watched with teary eyes and sunk to the floor once the pearly gates had closed, surrounding him in darkness once more.
And like the last blood-orange streaks of the setting sun, you were gone. In a flash of light, you had dissipated, all at once, almost blinding him. So fast, if he had blinked, he would have missed your retreating silhouette. The moon loomed over him now, but it brought no peace or comfort, only a dimly lit reminder of what heâd lost. Now, you were climbing over another horizon, ready to return to him in the dawn and bath him once more in the warmth of your sweet embrace.
When dawn would come, John didnât know, and maybe that was the most painful part. What he did know, was that cold nights donât last forever, and eventually, the sun would rise over him again someday. No matter how long, heâd be watching for you, patiently awaiting the day your ethereal light would break the dark horizon and illuminate his world once again in an orange glow.
A/N: I was straight up crying while finishing this. So, giver her some love as compensation for my pain and suffering. -macy:)
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