Redemption - Darling (Smut/18+) - Part 2/?
Smut-Specific Warnings:Â Dom/Sub dynamic; Teasing; Praising; Y/N!Dom; Y/N!Bottom (penetrated); Riding; Oral and handjob on penis (Y/N on giving end)
Other content warnings: Food/Encouragement to eat (slight); Cussing (moderate); Exes/Unlikely relationship dynamic; Angst (slight)
A/N: I made a version for readers who prefer smut where Y/N has a penis, another where Y/N has a vagina; both pretty similar and contain gender-neutral terminology.
Word Count: See bottom of post!
Summary:Â Life was draining but you woke up restored. Despite how you would expect such an abrupt meet up with John, there was a strange casualty to it where, even in doubt, you felt dependent on his company. You feared the potential of slipping up before a man so dear to you, one you experienced puberty alongside for God's sake, but in time adopted a safe feeling; talking to him, though would appear to any passerby as mere catch-up between old friends, was revitalizing. Closure has always been something you've lacked, and though not blatantly stated, it was obvious that he and you hadn't lost your spark, or, in the least, there was no hostility between the two of you and still potential for growth or continuation of some manner of association. That becomes proven more so the following morning where he makes you breakfast and you make him a little something yourself.
As your eyes slowly drift open, you feel a strike of unfamiliarity through your abdomen. Your fatigue evaporates swiftly. Looking over to the other side of the bed, you see it is not occupied though looks slept in with dents in the mattress, sheets tousled, and the comforter torn away from the edge. Your memory floods back to you—John! The events, or perhaps circumstance and many floods of dopamine production that partook within you, come flooding back. You wonder where he's gone. You think to yourself that you've oughta take a shower before returning home to your roommates.
You rush yourself in to do your business before he returns. Vaguely, your mind torments you with last night; what an enchanting torment. Soon, you're humming songs from Queen's performance last night. The name is very becoming now that you think about it, the band as well; you're interested to know them and wonder if John will formally introduce you. Mentally, you slap yourself for pondering such as though expecting something to come out of the opportune accident of last night.
After 20 transient minutes of cleansing, self-torment, and trying to remember the ending of the song John had hummed on the way home, you exit the shower. You felt nice coming out of the shower and inhaled your own scent; you hated body wash marketed for men, a horrid stench. You've never understood the idea that men cannot wash with sweet scents like strawberry. You summon into mind that it smells like John—a given—but that turned a putrid stench into a savored perfume.
Your clothes weren't fit for anywhere but the club, in your head, so you searched his dresser for any trousers that you thought he wouldn't miss. You peak out of the restroom and see he's not returned. You pondered the possibility of him being home but you've heard not one noise come out of the flat beside the own making of yourself. You exit the bathroom and return his shirt to your body, where it felt so comfortable then continue on with a pair of his pants.
The door creaks and you jump to turn towards the sound but fall as you got your final pant leg (John's pants) up. "Shit!" John shouts, always one to exaggerate but whose to say when you've fallen with pants around your ankles because the owner of the flat you're in, as they would, walks into their own room?
He scrambles over to you after placing a tray with 2 matching plates of breakfast food onto his nightstand. "You okay?" You're flushed and wish you could crawl out of your skin but let out a meek, "Y-yeah." Taking your hand, John attempts to help you up and you comply but remain rosy while you work on the pant leg.
He has a curious face on when he asks, "What are you doing, Y/N?"
"Putting my pants on. What do you mean?" As 'my,' falls from your lips, his eyebrow quirks and your flush is unwavering, and your head becomes light.
"Don't be embarrassed." Oh God, he can tell. "I'm...erm...why do you want my pants?"
You foolishly blurt, "Don't really want to head home in club get-up... These looked comfy."
"And I'm presuming as did my The Beatles top, no?" You're beyond dumbfounded; no embarrassment has surpassed this.
"Y/N, relax." He's smiling and reaches an arm out to you, and you rush his pants up to your hips. John is chuckling as you are turned to face away with him as he hugs you from behind. It goes silent for near to a minute but you it feels comfortably long and painstakingly long as you lack full satisfaction. "Missed this." His nose graces your neck, breathing steadily with a heavy exhale followed by a groan of joy. "Y'smell like me," He mutters.
You giggle. "What? You do!" He tells you. "No...no! I-it tickles!" You manage out through more giggles.
He spins you around simply to see your face, and share your joy but once your eyes lock they linger and John's face starts microscopically inching towards you. Before tension could even build, you break it down, forcing your mouth to his, unable to wait. You've waited so long already. Minutes feeling like days... so it's been nearly 4 lifespans.
His hands wander to under your shirt—well, his shirt—and grace your tummy. As he's backing towards the bed, you find yourself on John's lap. "Where were you all this time?" You groan between hungry kisses.
"Downstairs making breakfast..." He pulls away, looking at you and over to the table where the food sits.
"I meant these past years, you dork."
"Oh, uh...—Oh shit!" He cuts himself off, "Speaking of breakfast... want some? It might get cold." You think he's joking at first but you see the sincerity in his eyes.
"John, I appreciate the gesture and I hate to waste such lovely food but I'd much rather be doing something else right now, wouldn't you?"
CONTINUE W/ ONE OF THE LINKS BELOW:
*More info in AO3 Author’s notes
