congrats on 24k! can i request bestfriend!jonathon to lovers?
thank you! for you, best friends realising they might be a little bit more than that <3
Being best friends since you were kids erodes any need for personal space, especially during sleepy fall evenings when it’s been dark for hours and Jonathan can’t stay awake. He dozes against you with his face hidden in the juncture of your neck, not something he’s ever done before. It hardly phases you. In fact, you really, really like it.
You really like him. Everything about him. The way he sees the world and the dark eyes he sees it with, the way he speaks, even the way he moves. He’s a weight on you that you wouldn’t trade for anything, steadying you — grounding you. He’s your anchor.
You push your arm under his neck and he rouses. “M’sorry,” he mumbles, lifting his head.
“Don’t be,” you say, your hand pushing up into his hair, fingers spread and rubbing against his scalp lightly. You hadn’t meant to wake him. “Hey… Jonathan?”
“What?” His voice is thick with sleep.
You turn onto your side, feeling the boxsprings of his mattress dig into your hip before lifting your head off of his pillow. Suddenly you’re closer than you have any reason to be, closer than you’ve ever been before. The fatigue on his face slowly clears.
“I wanted to…” You pause as he inches closer, as the tips of your noses press together.
His hand comes to life where it rests at your midriff, his fingers spreading wide, hot to the stripe of exposed skin underneath. You close your eyes to try and collect your thoughts, to try and find a way to tell him what you need to tell him, but he’s so close you can’t think at all, and every nerve melts as he presses his lips to yours. You kiss just once, a chaste and fleeting thing, an outpouring of every unsaid thing.
Anxiety spikes into your chest like a needle as he pulls away.
“I’m sorry. I- you’re tired,” you apologise, a lump in your throat, face creased with worry.
“I’m not,” he says clearly. He brings his hand up to your neck, thumb pushing into your throat with a small pressure. He laughs quietly as he moves back in, as he says into your lips, “Not tired at all.”
His nose presses against yours as he kisses you for the second time. Over the racket of your pounding heart you can hear the sharp inhale he takes as your lips connect, as they part. You card your hand through his hair and melt under the heat of it.
You start to explain as he pulls away, “I’ve been trying to tell you-“
“Me too,” he interrupts, smiling so hard his cheeks must ache with it.
“Your mom’s gonna be so happy,” you whisper.
Jonathan gives you another kiss, sweet and lingering, reluctant as he pulls away to say, “God, we can’t ever tell her.”
You beam at each other. He wraps his arms around you and squeezes you until your back clicks, the two of you limp and giggling like idiots.
“We can’t ever tell her,” he repeats, a murmur against the side of your face.
You don’t have to tell her; Joyce finds you forty five minutes later with Jonathan’s lips against your cheek, the two of you asleep and your hands intertwined over the sheets. She’s no good with a camera, not like Jon, but she damn well tries.
“Shit- yes…” Jonathan whispers into the cold air of your bedroom, his thighs tensing as your eager hand palms at tent in his boxers. A wet patch has formed on the clothing where his tip is flush against. “You want somethin’ more, Jonathan?” You smirk, your lips finding their place on his adams apple.
“Yeah… can you take ‘em off… please?” He whispers breathlessly, this adams apple bobbing under your lips. You move your head back to look at him against the pillow, his eyes dazed with lust, hair falling softly on your pillow — how could you say no? You may have been teasing but not cruel.
“I can do that… since you asked so nicely.” You smirk, your fingers hooking under the tight waistband of his boxers before slowly rolling the fabric down his thighs. He helps you get them down before they land on the floor with a soft thud. He hisses as his cock is exposed to the cool air of your room. The tip red from rubbing against the material of his boxers, small dribbles of pre cum leaking from the discolored skin.
You put your hand up my his mouth. “Spit.” You say, your hand open and waiting for him to provide lubricant. He lifts his head slightly and spits into your hand, the warm saliva dribbling from his lips onto your awaiting hand. “Good…” you say quietly, voice barely above a whisper. His cock twitches at the words, the praise going to his head immediately. You catch the reaction but don’t push further — though you do store his response away in your head.
You wrap your hand around the base of his heavy cock, the length throbbing in your hand in time with his heartbeat. You keep your hand there, not moving, his thighs tense as he waits for you to start. “I wanna hear you ask, Jonathan.” You say, your hand tightening ever so slightly at the base, pulling a choked noise from Jonathan. “Can you please…” he pauses, debating his words before settling “can you please make me feel good..?” he whispers softly, his eyes locked on you and your hand around him.
You pretend to debate for a second before responding. “I mean… you have been so good to me today. Bought me lunch, drove me around hawkins, didn’t complain while I dragged you shopping with me.” Your voice was contemplative as you recall his actions of the day. His eyes are locked onto yours as he gauges your reaction. “I think you deserve it.” You say finally before moving your hand up his length to start stroking.
A relieved breath leaves his lips as his head falls back against the pillow, his hands freezing in the air, elbows on the mattress before falling down. With each stroke upwards, your thumb brushes the tip, running over the top and collecting his pre cum to be used as more lubricant. An audible schlick is heard with each stroke followed by the sounds of his soft moans. His lips parter slightly as he just lets himself feel.
You speed up your actions, pulling a louder moan from his throat. “Fuck, yes! Faster, baby, please…” his voice cracks as your hand works him. You tighten your grip a little as your other hand finds his thigh, rubbing up and down. “Yeah… you look so handsome like this…” you say softly, the praise causing his cock to jump in your hand.
“What, you like when I praise you? You wanna hear how good you are — especially to me?” you repeat with a smirk, his head nods, eyes cracking open to meet yours. “Yes, please… can I feel-“ he pauses, groaning at a particularly tight squeeze of your hand. “Can I feel your mouth? Please, baby, please, I’ll be still, let you do what you want, just..” he pleads, his voice broken and hoarse.
You lean down, your hot breath fanning against his length for a moment while you jerk him off. His hips buck at the warmth coming from your mouth. “I thought you said I’d be doing what I wanted.” You say in a mock stern voice. He nods, “sorry..” he apologizes so prettily.. you can’t stay mad at him for long.
“It’s okay.. just relax..” your voice is barely above a whisper as you lick the tip of his cock, pulling a shudder from him. You drag your tongue down the base slightly then back up — a soft moan leaves his lips at the action. Finally, you wrap your lips around his tip, taking him in inch by inch until he’s halfway in your mouth. You can feel his thighs tensing under you as he holds back, the feeling of your warm mouth is pure ecstasy. His toes curl when you start bobbing your head.
“Jesus- yes… oh god…” his voice is broken with pleasure, his hand finding your hair — not to push, just to anchor himself. You waste no time with speed, your cheeks hallowing with each bob of your head, tongue hot against the underside of his cock. His eyes roll back as he moans — his cheeks reddening with each passing second.
Spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth and dripping down to where your hand continued to jerk off what you couldn’t fit. You moan around his length, your mouth full. The vibration hits him like lightning, his back coming off the bed for a split second. “Shit! Do that again- god, please do that again, ‘m so close!” he rambles out, panting.
You smirk around him before humming around him again in approval. His eyes roll back and his grip in your hair gets tight. The coil in his belly tightens impossibly with each bob of your head and stroke of your hand. His cock twitches in your mouth and throbs heavily; you know he’s close.
“I’m gonna come.. oh god, oh god…” his moans are broken and desperate now. You hum, encouraging him to come in your mouth. You gag around him at a particular deep stroke into your mouth but you recover quickly, resuming your actions.
His cock swells in your mouth as his halls draw tighter. “Gonna come so hard, fuck- keep going- yes!” His voice is hoarse as the coil breaks, ropes of thick white come fill your mouth as you swallow down as much as you can, some of it dribbling out of the corners of your mouth and running back down his cock.
You pull your head off with an audible pop — taking a deep breath of air, catch your breath. You rub his thighs softly, your eyes looking up at him. His hair was a mess, eyes relaxed. “That what you wanted?” You ask, smirking as you crawl up next to him and press into his side. His chest rises and falls with each pant. He cracks a smile and turns, pulling your body closer to his as he kisses your cheek. “Mhm.. and now it’s your turn.” He mumbles against your cheeks as shifts on top of you.
Can you like, oh god this is embarrasing, can you write a Johnathan x reader smut where he like cums in his pants while making out 😭😭 but like the reader finds it really hot, idk I'm desperate for a smut like this and I can't find one anywhere!
That's How Much I Missed You
Summary: You haven't seen Jonathan since he moved to California but now that you've come to visit him he can barely resist you.
Pairing: Jonathan Byers x gn!reader
Warnings: sub!Jonathan, dom!reader, kinda fluff at the start I guess, smut, just read the request.
Word Count: 1.5k
A/N: Bruh, I really need to write more. I hate this but oh well. The request was amazing so sorry for the shitty writing.
Excitement pulsed through you as the large wheels of the plane finally touched down in California. You gave Mike a nudge and his eyes fluttered open. You barely knew the kid but his mom had asked you to keep a close eye on him while you were both visiting the Byers.
After going through baggage claim and all that boring airport stuff you couldn’t keep still. Mike walked beside you as you made your way through droves of people. But you were only looking for one person. One face.
Suddenly, Mike took off running, waving the bunch of flowers he’d so inconveniently carried all the way from Hawkins.
‘Mike, come back,’ you called. The last thing you needed was to lose Mike Wheeler in an airport.
But then you realised what Mike was running towards. Your face lit up as you followed his trail all the way to a row of chairs. Eleven and Will jumped up first when they saw Mike coming and Jonathan wasn’t far behind when he spotted you.
You ran into his arms and he enveloped you in a hug. You hadn’t seen each other in so long but being in his arms once more you instantly felt comfortable.
‘Oh my God, your hair,’ you laughed, pulling your hands through Jonathan’s now rather long hair.
‘Yeah, it’s a bit different,’ he smiled shyly, placing a kiss in your hair. ‘What do you think?’
You raised your brow. ‘I think I need to attack it with scissors.’
‘Dude, they really are as hot as you said they were.’ You turned at the sound of the voice. A guy with the longest hair you’d ever seen and a pretty interesting outfit stood before you.
Jonathan clocked your confused expression.
‘Uh, Y/N, this is my friend, Argyle,’ he introduced
‘Nice to meet you,’ you said, holding your hand out. But he didn’t take it. Instead, he pulled you into a suffocating hug.
‘Amazing to finally meet you too, Brochacho.’
Then he walked away, towards the rest of the kids.
Jonathan chuckled at your reaction to his unusual friend.
‘Sorry, he’s a bit eccentric,’ he whispered.
‘I like him,’ you giggled.
The ride to the Byers’ new house was slow and painful. You didn’t mind listening to Will, Mike and El catch up while you sat in the back of the bright yellow pizza truck with them. But you kept catching Jonathan’s eye in the mirror and praying the journey was almost over so you could finally be alone with him. The only trouble was, that might take a while.
You knew the plan; Jonathan had told you over the phone. You’d go to his house and say hi to Joyce. Then, you’d have to leave the kids to the skating rink. And it seemed as though Jonathan’s new friend Argyle might be tagging along too. Your leg bounced in impatience as you realised you may not get to be alone with Jonathan until later that evening.
Eventually, you arrived at the Byers’ new home. It was nice seeing Joyce again. You spent a brief amount of time at the house. Mike and you left your bags where you’d be sleeping and Joyce made you all a snack before you left.
The kids were piled into the pizza van again so the only people at the entrance to the house were you, Jonathan and Argyle. Joyce had gone to the kitchen to make some work calls.
You were about to head towards the van when Argyle stopped you.
‘Listen, bros, I know how much Jonathan’s been missing you and I feel that. That sucks. So, how about you let your good pal Argyle leave the kids to Rink-O-Mania and you two lovebirds can stay here and get your grind on.’
Both you and Jonathan went wide eyed.
‘I’ll take that as a yes, my dudes,’ Argyle said before turning on his heel. ‘See you later.’
As the delivery truck drove away you began to laugh.
‘Yeah, I really like that guy.’
Jonathan led you back into the house. Joyce looked up from the table but she was on a call so she mouthed something that looked like, ‘Aren’t you supposed to be with the kids?’
‘Argyle took them,’ Jonathan whispered back.
Joyce nodded, too engrossed in her business call to question it.
Jonathan tugged your shirt, impatiently pulling you towards the stairs. You took his hand and you both ran up to his room.
As soon as the door slammed shut Jonathan’s lips were on yours. All those late-night phone calls couldn’t make up for the feeling you got when his body was against yours. All those letters you sent could make up for the pretty noises he made when you pushed him against the wall.
You pulled him as close to you as you could, grinding your body against his. Jonathan clawed at your back in desperation. One of your hands made its way up Jonathan’s shirt and stroked his toned chest. The other found its way to his hair. You tugged it lightly, and you had to admit, the extra length added some more grip. The pulling caused Jonathan to whine breathily into your mouth.
‘Okay, maybe I can get used to the hair if it makes you do that,’ you said, finally parting your lips from his. Jonathan’s face reddened with embarrassment.
You pulled away from him, observing his room for the first time.
‘Well, it’s an improvement from your old one,’ you remarked, setting yourself on his bed and leaning back on your arms. Jonathan followed you, still craving more of you. He slowly climbed onto your knee and buried his face in your neck.
‘Wow, okay, I guess we’re not talking about what we got up to in the eight months we spent apart,’ you said sarcastically.
‘Later,’ Jonathan whispered. ‘I need you.’
A smirk crept onto your face. Pulling Jonathan’s hair again you brought his eyes up to meet yours.
‘What was that?’ you teased. He loved it when you played games with him.
‘I need you, please,’ he whined, tugging at your shirt.
You grabbed Jonathan’s arms and flipped him around so he was no longer on your lap. Now, he lay sprawled on his sheets with you straddling him. You were surprised to feel a bulge already present in his pants.
Jonathan stared up at you, his eyes filled with lust. You leaned down and connected your lips once more. This time both your hands travelled to his hair, tugging it just enough to pull more whimpers from Jonathan. He whispered swears when you parted for breath. You moved your body against his, making him twitch beneath you. The bulge in his pants only grew more restless the longer you spent on top of him.
Eventually, your lips made their way down to Jonathan’s jaw, sucking lightly on the skin. Now Jonathan’s mouth was no longer occupied his whispered moans morphed into loud whines. The sound excited you, causing you to move one of your hands from his hair to his pants. You rubbed his dick through the tight cloth.
‘F-fuck,’ Jonathan whimpered at the contact. His breathing became ragged. You brought your head back up to meet his eyes and smirked down at him. You’d missed the way he squirmed under you at the lightest touch. It reminded you that he was yours. And you wanted more. You wanted him practically writhing below you.
Then, you saw Jonathan’s eyes shift down quickly, taking a quick glance at the oversized shirt you wore before they flicked back up to meet your eyes. You knew what he wanted and you were going to give it to him.
You pulled your shirt over your head, exposing your chest. Jonathan swallowed deeply, taking a shaky breath. He clawed at his own shirt and you helped him take it off.
You leaned back down and kissed him again. The heat of his exposed skin powered the lust you felt for him. The moans that Jonathan let out in your mouth made you grind harder on his covered cock as your pants began to feel wet.
Suddenly, Jonathan went stiff. He stopped kissing you and you pulled away, your brows furrowed.
‘You okay?’ you asked.
Jonathan threw his head back and placed his hands over his face.
‘Shit,’ he groaned.
And then you felt it. A warmth beneath you, right where you sat on him. It coated his jeans, soaking them. You looked at Jonathan, your eyes wide. Moving his hands away from his face you began to giggle.
‘Holy shit, you really did miss me, huh?’ you laughed.
Jonathan shook his head, his face still red, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.
‘You couldn’t even wait till you got your pants off.’
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.
‘Oh, don’t be,’ you hesitated. ‘It was, uh, it was actually really hot.’
Then all the embarrassment washed out of Jonathan’s face and he began to laugh too. You collapsed on top of him and both of you erupted with laughter.
Adrian Chase x fem!reader
Summary: After a night of fun with your favourite friend with benefits, you weren't expecting him to stay and you weren't expecting all that blood.
Warnings: blood, cramps, oral (f receiving), shower sex
Minors DNI!!!
Having a friends with benefits situation wasn't the worst. It gave companionship, sex and no commitment. Well, at least that's how it should be.
Last night had been a lot of fun. Adrian clambered through the window late in the evening, panting and sweaty. The sight had you sat upright in bed instantly. And when he pulled that mask off there was no question about it.
It was safe to say the night was a lot of fun, for both of you. And not even Adrian's incessant ramblings could take away from that.
Early hours of the morning brought that all too familiar feeling. Cramps. You huffed at the realization and your lack of planning. Without waking Adrian, who was laying on his stomach and his arm thrown across your waist, you slipped out of bed and into the bathroom. The walk caused a small ache between your legs, either from last night or the crime scene you were surely creating. As you sat on the toilet, you thought about how the timing could've been worse. You could've started yesterday and would have been forced to turn a desperate, attractive Adrian away. That would've been awful.
The amount of blood wasn't appalling, just the beginnings of a week of hell. The mixture of the blood and last night made showering the next choice. As you stepped under the warm stream of water you sighed contently, letting it just wash over you. You began to clean yourself, humming gently as you shampooed your hair.
"Did you know that a cockroach can live for weeks after having its head cut off?" Adrians sudden voice made you jump, almost slipping in the tub. You quickly grabbed the shower curtain, poking your head out. Sure enough he sat there, on the counter while swinging his legs. He leant back against the mirror, his glasses nowhere in sight and in just his underwear. Good lord. "How long have you been there?" You asked, your voice going higher than it should. He gave you a wicked grin. "Not too long." You snapped your head back, making sure the curtain was shut. Neither of you spoke for a few minutes, the only noise coming from the falling water.
A small scream escaped you as the curtain was pulled back and you were met with Adrian just staring at you. Your first instinct was to cover yourself up as if he hadn't seen all of you last night. "W..What are you doing?" You stammered, cheeks beginning to flush red. A few hours ago you had been so confident but now, now you were ashamed to be caught like this. "I wanna talk to you." He said like it was the most obvious thing ever. In a moment of silliness, you defended your dignity the only way you could think of. You splashed him with water as if that would make him vanish. Of course, it didn't and he just stared up at you with a shocked expression, water running down his face. You just stared back, unsure where to go from here.
"You missed a spot." His random sentence threw you off. And the staring continued. "Missed a spot?" You quirked an eyebrow. A few seconds later you watched in horror as Adrian shimmied out of his underwear and stepped into the shower. You had no words as his hand ran over a spot on your shoulder, rinsing off some soap. This didn't feel like friends with benefits.
Somehow, he looked even better than last night, hair sticking to his forehead as the water ran over him. And any other day you wouldn't have hesitated to take things further. But the cramping and achy feeling reminded you of what was happening in your body. Adrian didn't know that though. He tilted his head to the side, his face close to yours and his breath against your face. Warm hands sat on your waist, pulling you closer. His lips brushed past yours messily. And that resistance snapped. You kissed him hurriedly, not wanting to waste a single second. It was messy and frantic, but it was exactly what you both needed. Adrian didn't hold back, tugging you closer, kissing you harder. The need for oxygen had disappeared and the only thing you could focus on was him, his body against yours. Then his hands started to slide down your body, heading in only one direction. He had just past your stomach when you suddenly grabbed his wrist, halting his movement. Your lips broke apart as he looked down at you like a puppy. "Don't be so shy." He grinned, nipping at the skin of your neck. You sighed gently, continuing to hold onto his wrist. "I'm on my period." You whispered softly, embarrassment flushing your face. A confused sound escaped Adrian as he tried to catch your eye. "And?" Your head shot up so quickly you almost headbutted him. His face showed no hint of humour, of disgust. He looked genuinely confused.
"Its gross." You exclaimed, shocked he didn't immediately pull away from you. Every other man had avoided such things, too grossed out. Horror covered your face as Adrian slowly lowered himself to kneel on the bottom of the tub, his eyes locked on yours. It was like he was waiting for you to say no, and then he would stop. But you couldn't say no, because you didn't want to say no. Adrian moved slowly, giving ample time for you to change your mind, to pull away from him. You didn't. "Adrian....thats so gross." You mumbled, his fingertips ghosting over your thighs. His hot breath fanned against your damp skin, right where you needed. You bit back a small moan as you shut you eyes, not baring to watch what he was doing. "Tell me to stop." He spoke between pressing light kisses up and down your thighs, getting so close to your core. You had no control over your body, hips jolting slightly as you seeked out more friction. A little chuckle sounded from between your legs. Right as you were about to say something to him, looking down at him, Adrian pressed his mouth over you. His tongue pressed flat against your clit, sending a jolt through you. A part of you was disgusted, you were on your period, but he didn't seem bothered as he lapped at you like a starved man. The cramping in your stomach seemed so distance as the pleasure began to build up. Your hands weakly tried to grip as the slick tiles, knees going weak as he dove his tongue into you.
Soft moans escaped your lips, bouncing off the bathroom walls. One hand dropped down and tangled itself into his now damp curls. That familiar feelings started to blossom in the bottom on your stomach, your climax approaching as his tongue continued its rhythm. Then it stopped. His head pulled away, mouth no longer between your legs. You whined softly at the loss. One look at him reminded me why i was so against this. There was a light layer of blood on his chin that was being washed away by the stream of the shower. Before you could say anything, his hand took the place of his mouth, thumb circling your clit. "Did you know a horned lizard can shoot blood from its eyes up to 3 feet away?" The way he spoke was so strange. Adrian acted like you were having a casual conversation while causing your legs to tremble underneath you. "Adrian." You moaned breathlessly, trying to keep your composure. That task was proving more difficult than you first thought. He looked up at you all innocently. "Yeah?" But he knew what he was doing, thumb quickening as he judged your body language. You were so close, head thrown back as you tried to not be too loud. That feeling creeped up on you, then crashed over you like a wave. The moaning tumbled out as the pleasure reached every part of your body, twitching and shaking. Those cramps were certainly dealt with, for the time being at least.
After you came down from you high, you looked back down at Adrian. He had his arm wrapped around the back of your thighs, supporting your trembling legs. You reached a hand down, running across his chin. "You have blood on your face..." You mumbled, feeling embarrassed that he had done that. But Adrian just grinned more. "Its like war paint, like the Vikings used to scare off their enemies." You rolled your eyes at him, ruffling his hair, expecting him to stand up. He didn't. Adrian stayed on the floor of the shower, that look on his face meaning only one thing. He wasn't done with you yet.
Warning: Fluff, alcohol but not drunk, talk of drugs, John Walker, SMUT (piv, first time, switch-ish!bob, multiple orgasms), no y/n
Word Count: 3,700+
Summary: You and Bob have been dating for a few months now. It’s been slow and sweet, but you’re both ready for more. Except you’re only now finding out Bob is a virgin.
A/N: I know! I’m back from the dead! The AO3 curse hit me hard, work has been a bitch and my laptop died on me several months ago. Until I can afford a new one, everything will be done on my phone, so I apologize in advance. For this kinktober, I’ll be taking requests as well so if you have anything you’d like to see, lmk!
Since you started dating Bob, Friday nights were almost always spent at the bar. It was a fun way to unwind after long weeks of training and missions. You and Bob rarely got drunk, just drank enough to convince each other you were comedians, and still be able to walk back to the Watchtower at the end of the night. It was one of the few ways that loosened him up. That and meth. But after you experienced what he was like, first hand in The Void via a chicken slamming a sign into your face—drugs were off the table.
It was now 1:30am, you and Bob couldn’t stop laughing at the memory of John getting jump scared by Bucky’s arm in the dishwasher yesterday. Breathless from the laughing, you collapse onto your boyfriend’s chest, laying together on the couch of the common room. Bob’s chest rumbled as he remembered the shriek that left John’s lips. His sweater still smelled like the Margarita he spilled earlier.
His hand slipped under your top, rubbing your lower back. “You think we could put Bucky’s arm in his bed?”
You grinned at the idea and pressed soft kisses above the sweater’s neckline. “I have no doubt I could get it in there, but there’s no fucking way we can convince Bucky to lend us his arm.”
He tilts his head back against one of the throw pillows, giving you more room to kiss his neck. “You’re sneaky. Take it while he’s sleeping.”
That pulled a snort out of you. You push up enough to meet those hypnotic blue eyes of his. “With those super soldier reflexes?! You’re gonna get me killed.”
His lips curved just slightly. “I’d save you.” He says in that deep voice of his, instantly making your heart race.
You shake your head and lean in, molding your lips together. He’s quick to lick at your lips, begging for entrance. There’s no way you could resist, so you part your lips. The fruity alcohol taste was still prominent, making him hum. The hand up your shirt pulls you closer to his chest. He had a habit of holding you as close as possible while you kissed. Like he wanted to be consumed by it, and forget the world even exists beyond your lips.
“Oh god!” John’s disgust ruins the moment.
Sighing in defeat against Bob’s lips, you slowly part, a string of saliva still connected before snapping. You look up at the older blonde man standing in his flannel pajamas with an empty Avengerz water bottle in hand. (Alexei had them made for everyone). He looked at you two in disgust as if he actually caught you fucking. Granted, he always gave you two that face, but it was still an overreaction. From the moment he first caught Bob subtly checking you out, he’s kept that same level of disgust.
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” You look at the clock on the wall.
”I ran out of water.” He holds up the bottle, shaking it to prove there’s nothing inside.
You and Bob roll your eyes and move to sit up. Bob adjusting his pants as discreetly as possible. While you didn’t notice, John sure did.
“I don’t care what you do, just don’t do it where I watch football.” He shivers at the thought, heading to the fridge to fill up his bottle.
“Oh no- we- no we weren’t- no-“ Bob stutters.
“Jesus.” You groan at his insinuation.
“Hey, if you wanna lose your virginity, just don’t do it where we all hang out. That’s all I'm saying!”
You quirk your head in confusion. You’ve talked about the hilariously unfortunate college hook ups you’ve had. “I’m not a virgin.”
John looks up at you two, pausing refilling his water. “Yeah I know. I’m talking about freak-o.”
You let out a humored scoff. “Bob’s not-” You immediately notice the red on his face and lack of eye contact. All the confidence the margaritas gave him were gone. “Bob?”
He opens his mouth to speak but is immediately cut off by John’s snickering.
“You didn’t actually think he wasn’t a virgin. I mean… Come on!” He gestures to Bob.
“Are you?” You ask softly, not wanting him to think you're judging him or upset.
“Y-yeah.” He mutters, focusing on his fingers playing with a loose thread of his sweater.
Your mind was truly blown. He’s sweet and kind plus… look at him. You’ve seen him shirtless a handful of times, how is it possible that no one’s taken THAT for a ride.
“What about college?”
He scratches his head, barely making eye contact with you. “I was a little too busy… mething around.” He gave you the sweetest guilty face.
“Oh my god.” You stare at him in awe. When his face starts to fall you quickly do damage control. “That’s not a bad thing! I’m just… surprised.”
“I’m not.”
You shoot John a glare. “Why are you still here? Go! Shoo!”
John threw his hands up in defense, silently exiting. Once he was finally gone and you could hear the distant click of his door down the hall, you returned your attention to Bob.
“You never told me.”
“Well, it’s not exactly something I’m all too proud of. I’ve heard you talking about how good or bad those guys you used to date were. Meanwhile, I’m like a thirty year old virgin.” He sighs, slumps into the couch.
It’s silent for a moment, giving him some time to wallow and for you to process.
“You’ve been through a lot of shit. It’s not that crazy, all things considered.” You reach up to play with his hair as he massages his temples.
“I don’t know how to live up to your expectations.” He seemed truly troubled by it. By the idea of not being good enough for you. Not being able to give you what you deserve.
It was ridiculous, though. Memories of the thousand make out sessions you two have had, play in your head. How he takes his time on your neck and collarbone, wanting you to feel good. How he ruts against you when things get heated, but ultimately ends with him panicking and running to his room to take a cold shower. It made sense though— all those times your steamy moments were cut short.
“I’ll show you.”
His body seems to stiffen up in shock. “Show me?” His head slowly turns to face you.
“Yeah.“ A smirk curls onto your lips. “Do you want to?”
“Wa-want to what?” His adam's apple bobs as he starts to fidget again. The alcohol seemed to be long gone now, his shy and nervous ticks made that apparent.
“Let me take your virginity. If you want to, I’ll show you, teach you.”
“Like… now?” You shrug giving him the option. His hand snakes back around your waist, resting on ur hips, his thumbs brushing the skin between the hem of your shirt and jeans. “I wouldn’t mind now.” He looks into your eyes gauging if you felt the same or if he was being a fool once again.
You stand from the couch, taking his hands into your smaller ones and lead him out of the common area and into the halls. “Your room or mine?”
“Yours. Your room.” He sounded almost breathless at the thought of being surrounded by your smell in that big soft bed of yours, listening to your moans.
Your room was dark, only lit by that glowing New York skyline. You maneuver Bob to your bed, urging him to lay down in the middle.
“But- what about you? I want to make sure you feel good first.” His hands greedily reach out and grab your hips, looking desperate to peel those jeans off.
“I know.” Your voice had dropped into a seductive tone, making his pants immediately tight again. “I’ll teach you how to eat me out another day. I wanna show you what a real pussy feels like first.”
A desperate groan escapes his lips at your words and the way you nipped his jaw. Your warm fingertips slide down his chest, enjoying the grooves of his muscles underneath. Once they reach the hem, they slide under the fabric. His abs instinctively flex at your touch.
“Shit.” He sighs, his hips bucking upward for any sort of relief. “Fuck, I need you.” He tugs your hips down, moaning at the way your ass presses against his hard-on.
“Clothes.” Is all you’re able to mumble while you hastily work to take his sweater off.
Bob followed, sitting up to make it easier for you before yanking your top off. “Can I?” His fingers toy with the claps of your bra.
“Please do.” You watch his eyes, eager for his reaction. This was the farthest you two have ever gone.
He fumbled with undoing the claps, getting obviously frustrated. You couldn't help but giggle. “Need help?”
“No. I’ll just-“ The clasps snap as he tears it apart. “buy you a new one.”
In the blink of an eye, your bra was dangling off of the lamp by your desk. He looked mesmerized by your breasts. You’ve had sex a handful of times, but no one has ever looked at your body they way he is now. Like an artist admiring a sculpture or a religious man worshiping a goddess. His touch was so delicate, hands roaming across your torso, and landing on your chest. He carefully squeezes them and rolls his thumb over your nipple making your breath hitch and walls clench. The reaction surprised him. How something so simple could make you react in such a way.
“Fuck.” He whispers breathless. He needs more.
His lips latch onto your nipple, tongue caressing and flicking at the hardening bud. Your fingers thread into his hair making him groan. As he continues to worship your breasts, you reach down, undoing his belt and tossing it aside. His hands leave your torso and quickly undo your jeans.
The movements were careful yet desperate. Once all the buttons and zippers were undone, Bob lifts his hips, shoving his pants and boxers down in one go. You did the same, taking off your jeans and soaked panties, unable to wait much longer. After, you settled back onto his lap and pressed your hands to his pecks, urging him to lay back.
His eyes focused on how the tip of his cock brushed against your pussy. The precum mixes with your wetness with each twitch of his cock. Every ounce of his body craved you. He craved your taste, your moans, your warm cunt to throb around his cock.
“Fuck- please. I need it.”
“Yeah?” You coo, loving how desperately he longs for your pussy.
“Yeah. Yeah.” His hands kneed your thighs and hips as he tried to hold back from pulling you down on him.
How could you possibly resist? You start to sink down, his thick tip splitting you into two.
Bob’s head falls back and a long moan rolls out. “NGH, you're squeezing me so tight.” You had to stop a third of the way down to adjust to his size.He looks back to you, wondering why you stopped. “You alright?”
“Just need a sec.” You take a few deep breaths letting the aching of your stretched walls subside. The thickness of his cock was unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. In hindsight, you probably should have let him finger you first, but you couldn’t possibly stop now.
His eyes flicker back down to your pussy and how your slick drips down his shaft. His thumb moves to your pussy, finding your clit, and rubbing tight circles. He groans when you tighten around him again.
“This alright?”
You nod in response, letting your eyes flutter shut. It felt incredible being stretched by his cock while he played with your clit, sending sparks of pleasure throughout you.
He grins at your reaction. “You like it when I touch you like this?”
Your cheeks heat at how he sounded. It reminded you of The Void. “Oh, god, yes. Keep going.” You begin to sink down again, slowly taking each inch until you’ve bottomed out. Gasps and groans escape both your lips once you're fully settled. You felt so full.
You move to slide up the shaft when he grabs your hips, halting your movements. “Don’t. Don’t.” He growls through gritted teeth. “Can’t- can’t come yet.” The way he panted as he held back an orgasm made you smirk with pride.
“Just tell me when.” You lean down to kiss and nip at his neck, basking in his labored breaths.
“I can’t believe I’m having sex. You feel so good. God, your pussy’s so warm and tight.” Bob’s voice shook, overwhelmed by it all.
Feeling like he can handle it, he starts to lift you off his cock, leaving only the tip in. You let him decide how to go from here. Feeling more confident, now, he yanks you down, knocking the air out of both your lungs.
That’s all it took to become addicted. “More.” He growls, pushing your hips up again.
You take over now, repeating the moves, sliding up to the tip and back down. It was a sweet steady pace. Not too slow, but fuck did it sure did hit deep. Your hands press firm to his chest, helping you grind down between bouncing intervals. Your clit dragged perfectly against his pelvis.
“Oh my god, oh my god!” The groans and whimpers that came out of him only gave you more confidence. With one hand on your hip and the other on your ass, Bob helped you move. “That’s it. Look at you.” His tone was deep and sweet as honey. He watched how your jaw dropped allowing high pitched moans to escape. “So beautiful.”
You felt him shift under you. His feet planted on the blankets and he gave you a sharp thrust. Your whole body jolted when he hit that spot inside of you.
His heavy lidded eyes flared at your reaction. “Did I find it?” He paused.
“Mhm.” Is all you’re able to whimper out, still shocked by the surge of pleasure.
A smile grows on his lips. Getting a better grip on your hips, he starts thrusting up into you at a brutal pace, balls slapping your ass. He bounces you on his cock, causing you to babble his name and various syllables that didn’t even form a word.
“Agh! Bob- ngh!” You moan and start meeting his thrusts as best you can.
His cock felt as if it were up in your chest with how deep and hard each thrust was. He couldn’t stop pounding into you, it was like he was possessed.
“Sounds so pretty. Keep moaning for me.” He begged. “Yeah, like that. That’s it. Keep going, keep going.”
You didn’t hold back, letting out cries as he wildly bucked up into you. That knot of bliss started to tighten in his core. He didn’t want it to be over. It was all too good to end.
You felt it too. “Bob,” you mewled. “Right there Bob! Ohhh, you’re fucking me so good! I wanna cum.” One of your hands on his chests lurches forward, grabbing onto the top of the headboard, using it for leverage. You fucked back, wet plaping sounds filling the room. The bed squeaked and creaked more with each move, only adding to the noise you two were making.
“N-not gonna last.” He chokes out, trying to hold his breath to keep from cumming.
You swear if you gripped even slightly harder on the headboard, it would splinter into a million pieces. “I’m gonna cum!” Unabolished moans spilled from your lips as you balanced on the edge of bliss.
Bob’s fingers dig into your skin. “Can I- NGH! Inside?”
“I’m on the pill.” Somehow he fucked you even harder with your confirmation.
The way your pussy clenched around him and the sloppy sounds of your riding was too much to handle. Luckily, he was able to hold off just long enough for you to come first. When you do, it’s perfect. The sounds you made were pornographic.
The throbbing of your pussy was impossible to withstand. Bob came just a second later. His face contorted in ecstasy, lips parting for deep moans to escape. You lean down, lazily kissing the corner of his lips and his cheeks while you ride out our highs as long as possible.
“How was tha-“
“I need more.” He’d yet to catch his breath before he lunched forward and pushed you onto your back, his cock never leaving your still spasming pussy. “One more? You can give me one more right? Please.”
You couldn’t believe his reaction. Before you could even finish nodding, he was fucking you like his life depended on it. His thrusts were sloppy, uneven, desperate. Your nails dig into his back, trying to brace yourself.
“Bob!” You moaned his name like it was the only word you knew, and at this second, that was true.
“You sound so perfect.”
He grabs the back of your knees, pushing them to your chest, making you yelp at the new, incredible angle. Your pussy squelched louder like this.
“Perfect, so perfect-NGH- so- so fucking good- UGNH!”
“Bob!”
You weren’t going to last another minute. With this position, you could watch his fat cock pistoning in and out of you recklessly. Both your cum painted across your pussy and his cock, no doubtably ruining the blankets under you.
He notices you look away and his eyes follow yours. “Fuck.” His tone shivers. “Look at that. You look so pretty with me inside you. Take so much of me. Watch your pussy squeeze my cock.”
His abs flexed more as he got to the edge again. He rolled his hopes with more precision to make sure he was hitting your g-spot.
“‘M gonna cum. You ready? Please tell me you’re ready.” He looks back to your half-lidded eyes.
You were so grateful he was ready, you weren’t sure if you could keep holding out anymore. “Yes! Yes! Bob! Oh!” One hand tangled in his hair, tugging while the other clawed at his back.
Your vision blurs as you cum together. Your body convulsed as your orgasm ripped through you, more violently than it did the first time. It was unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.
Bob collapses on top of you, still grinding into you, riding out the climax. He didn’t want the moment to end. You looked and sounded perfect, whimpering into his ear. If he had the strength to keep going, he would, but his body protested.
“That was better than Meth.” His voice was raw and exhausted. “You okay?”
“Mhm.” You wince as he lets go of your thighs, allowing them to fall back to the bed.
“Sorry.” His hands rub your thighs to soothe them.
“Don’t ever apologize.” You smiled a giddy smile and kissed his hair, before he reluctantly pulled out. “How was your first time?”
Bob wrapped his arms around you, readjusting you to lay on the pillow. “If I had you during college instead of meth, I think I would have been in a much better place.” He chuckled.
You laughed and closed your eyes, leaning back into his arms.
“Wanna take a nap and try again after?” His fingers drew shapes into your skin.
“Absolutely.”
Next morning… or afternoon.
You and Bob had a late start to your Saturday. Around 3 or 4am you went for another round then passed out. When you two finally woke up at 10:45, there was no resisting each other. After that, you laid in bed together, chatting and laughing about dumb shit. Unable to part from you, Bob eventually followed you into your en-suite bathroom to shower and well… we can all guess how that went. So by the end, it was already 1:30pm.
Starved, you and Bob finally emerged from your room. You could smell lunch cooking from the kitchen. It was loud like always. Food sizzling in a pan, knives chopping against wooden cutting boards, and laughter amidst banter. When you walked into the kitchen, however, it was silent.
John looked horrified, the knives suddenly looked fascinating to Bucky, Ava forced her lips seemingly holding back a laugh, and Yelena held her a smirk while Alexei didn’t even bother to.
“Why’s it so uncomfortable in here?” Bob broke the silence.
You grimaced, having already caught on, and awkwardly walked to the counter to help yourself to the buffet of food John made.
“This isn’t awkward at all.” Ava smirks and goes back to cutting the vegetables.
Both of Alexei’s hands came down to smack his thighs and he jumped up from the couch. “It is never awkward or uncomfortable for a boy to become a man!” He strides over and pats him on the back.
“Oh, god, Alexei, please.” You cringe and shake your head, begging him to shut the fuck up.
Bob quickly went red with humiliation as it settled in.
“Look, I’m sex positive or whatever they call it, but I don’t want to hear it.” John claps the metal tongs at you two.
“It’s natural!” Alexei’s voice boomed as he argued.
“No. It’s disgusting.”
“Hold on!” You groan. “Our rooms are soundproof, okay. You’re all being dramatic.”
They break out into a symphony of laughter, making you all the more irritated.
“Yes, yes, that’s true.” Yelena said as she caught her breath from laughing. “If me and Ava were having a conversation. No one would hear-“
“But if you two are screaming and banging the bed against the wall- MY WALL, then it doesn’t really work, does it?!” John snapped.
“Good for you, though.” Ava gives you a thumbs up, very excited to hear all the details later.
“Do not listen, John does not know what he is talking about. The sex is good for the health and the soul. It should be celebrated!” Alexei buds in again, only making things all the more awkward.
This was horrifying to say the least. With your face now on fire, you quickly load your plate with food and rush back to Bob who’s short circuiting from embarrassment in the doorway.
“Duly noted.” You grab Bob’s arm with your free hand to drag him away.
“S-sorry won’t happen again!” He yelled out before you yanked him back down the hall to hide in your room.
It did, in fact, happen again… and again… and any time John was even the slightest bit annoying.
A/N: I lost my kinktober virginity with this fic. Ain’t that poetic?
hangman, who always thought bob was so innocent, hearing reader moan bobs name so loud through the walls.
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Okay so Jake knows, somewhere deep down, that Bob has sex. It’s honestly a bit of wishful thinking cause ever since you two started dating he can’t imagine Bobs not jumping at the opportunity every chance he gets to have sex with you—a girl like you only comes once in a life time and what a waste it would be if he wasn’t. But definitely he’s not thinking Bob, baby on board, is laying that shit down at all. When he imagines your sex life, which is more embarrassing to admit that it’s pretty often, he imagines it as very vanilla. If not, it’s definitely you taking the reins. Which he also tries not to think about too much, Hangman has very liminal boundaries, but even he knows he shouldn’t think about his friends girl like that.
The whole crew is at Bobs apartment, his turn to host the weekly hang out of games and drinking, letting all of his friends crash in his living room so no one has to worry about sobering up for the drive home. You’re perched on his lap the whole night, giggling into his neck when someone cracks a joke, fingers splayed across his arm messing with the watch on his wrist like you usually do. It’s innocent, like your entire relationship, very liminal PDA, very sweet and lovey dovey shit that reinforces Hangman’s thinking.
He doesn’t even mean to hear anything, you two had retreated to bed in Bobs room almost an hour ago while everyone else had drunkenly passed out across the couch and the small blow up mattress Bob had put out. Jakes just going to the bathroom to piss when he hears a high pitched squeal from the other side of Bobs door. And Jake, the curious little shit, walks closer, practically pressing his ear up against the door.
“Bob—mm—come on,” you whine indignantly, hands curling into the bed sheets, sticky skin cooling as your boyfriends body comes up off of yours, his cock still nestled deep inside you while you keep trying to maneuver your hips to relieve the ache from his halted movements.
“You gotta keep it down if you don’t want me to stop sweet girl, don’t want to wake everyone up, do you?” Bob hums, hand curling up to pull your hips up onto his thighs, knees pressed into the mattress. “Just gotta keep this pretty little mouth shut, can you do that?”
“Yes—yes, please just don’t stop, please,” you murmur, whine impatiently as he nudges his hips forward.
“Such a bad liar,” he hums, fingers trailing up your jaw, “Open your mouth.”
Your lips part for him to press his fingers into your mouth, sliding across your tongue. Closing your eyes your close your lips around them, tongue prodding the pads of his fingers, a satisfied hum leaving his lips, “That’s it baby, suck on my fingers, that’s all you needed to be quiet, huh? Just need to keep this mouth full—”
Jake shuts himself into the bathroom, face bright red. He hardly gets any sleep that night and when everyone’s eating breakfast the next mornings he’s uncharacteristically quiet.
“Jesus, man, what’s up with you?” Rooster laughs, everyone staring at him waiting for an answer. He has to physically keep himself from glancing at you and Bob who are watching Jake with the same confused stare as everyone else. He shakes his head and sips some orange juice.
warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, creampie, fingering, lots of praise
synopsis: above!
pairings: park gyeong-seok x fem!reader
your back met the mattress with a soft thud, and gyeong-seok followed, hovering above you with that look — the one that always made your breath catch.
not hunger. not greed. devotion.
“you’re so pretty like this,” he murmured, eyes dragging down your flushed skin, fingers ghosting over the curve of your waist. “i could look at you all night.”
you tried to hide your face in your arm, but he caught your wrist gently and pressed a kiss there — then another, higher this time, just below the bend of your elbow.
“none of that,” he whispered. “let me see you.”
you swallowed, heart thudding. his touch was slow, reverent — fingertips tracing over every inch like he wanted to memorize you all over again.
he didn’t rush. he never did.
every second stretched out like he had all the time in the world to love you.
“you always get so shy when I tell you how perfect you are,” he said with a soft laugh, brushing your hair back.
“but it’s true. every part of you.. made for me.”
you whimpered when he pressed a kiss to your collarbone — not from roughness, but from the weight of his words.
“doing so well for me,” he breathed, lips trailing lower, hand splayed protectively over your stomach. “letting me take care of you like this. that’s it… just relax.”
you did. you always did with him.
his hand settled low on your waist, thumb brushing beneath the hem of your shirt. not demanding—just there. present. waiting for your breath to hitch like it always did when he touched you like this.
“you’re trembling,” he murmured, voice laced with quiet pride. “you like when i talk to you like this?”
you nodded, heat blooming beneath your skin. his gaze softened.
“of course you do,” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek before slowly trailing over your jaw. “so responsive. so sweet. you always listen so well for me, don’t you?”
you felt yourself melt under the weight of his gaze, the way he never rushed you— just let his hands and words wrap around you until there was nothing left but him.
“let me take care of you,” he said, lifting your shirt slowly, fingertips grazing bare skin like you were something fragile.
he kissed down the center of your chest, slow, like every inch of you deserved a moment of worship.
you gasped softly, and his hands stilled for a breath. your hands curled into the fabric of his shirt.
he leaned in, close enough his breath kissed the shell of your ear. “there she is,” he murmured, voice low. “so sensitive for me.”
his fingers resumed their slow journey up your ribs—reverent, not rushed. the drag of his knuckles made your skin tingle, but it wasn’t enough. not yet.
he must’ve felt the way your hips shifted, restless beneath him.
he smirked, chuckling softly. “be patient, baby. don’t worry, i’ll give you everything.”
you whimpered— a small aching sound, and he kissed it from your lips, soft and deep. like it was something scared. like you were.
“you’re already doing so well for me,” he whispered, brushing his nose against yours.
his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, and your breath caught.
“breathe, baby. let me feel you.” he soothed, fingers stroking slow, featherlight.
you did and he groaned softly against your throat— not from lust, but from awe. like he couldn’t believe you were letting him have this. have you.
“look at you,” he whispered. “so wet. so beautiful. and all mine.”
you couldn’t speak. not when his fingers moved with such aching care. not when each stroke had more praise than pressure. he wasn’t trying to push you over the edge.
he was guiding you there, sweet and unhurried.
and when your hips lifted, chasing more, he only smiled—low and proud.
“greedy little thing,” he murmured, voice low and teasing against your neck. “didn’t i tell you i would take care of you?”
his fingers didn’t speed up. he kept the same torturously slow rhythm, every stroke and curl a whisper against where you needed him most.
it wasn’t meant to overwhelm you— not yet. just to remind you who was in control, and he knew you.
“you don’t have to move, baby,” he said, tone thick with affection. “just feel me.”
your lips parted, a soft moan spilling out before you could stop it. he kissed you, slow and deep, tasting every sound you gave him.
“that’s it,” he whispered, fingers sliding deeper, finding that spot that made your legs tremble. “right there. you feel that?”
you nodded, breath stuttering. “y-yes,” you gasped, “there—right there..”
he groaned softly, clearly affected by the way you said his name. his thumb applying more pressure that makes your back arch.
eveything felt like too much and not enough— his voice, his hands, the way he watched every reaction like it mattered. like you mattered.
“i’ve got you,” he whispered, fingers curling inside you. “let go for me.”
you clung to him, trembling, chasing the high he was offering so patiently. and when you came with a soft cry of his name, he held you through it, grounded you.
he brushed his nose along your cheek, lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth.
“you did so well for me,” he murmured. “so good. you always are.”
you turned your face into the curve of his neck, trying to hide the heat blooming across your skin. but gyeong-seok only held you tighter, thumb stroking gently along your spine.
“no hiding,” he said softly. “not after that. let me see all of you. every part.”
you exhaled slowly, melting into the calm he wrapped around you so effortlessly. there was no rush in his voice, no expectation — just steady affection. warmth. safety.
he shifted slightly, brushing his knuckles along your jaw. “still with me?”
you nodded, eyes hazy and lips parted. “more,” you breathed. “please.”
something in his expression shifted at that, “you’re incredible.” he said, voice low as he slotted himself in between your thighs. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”
you felt him, hard and heavy, pressing against your entrance, but not pushing in—not yet. his hand found yours, fingers lacing together, grounding you as he slowly nudged forward.
the stretch was steady, patient. he watched your face the entire time.
“you take me so well, every single time.” he murmured, forehead resting against yours as he bottomed out inside you.
you whimpered softly, adjusting to the fullness and he paused— gave you a moment. his free hand slid up and down your side soothingly.
“you okay?” he asked again, voice ragged.
“perfect.” you whispered.
and then he moved.
not rough, not fast, just deep. purposeful. every thrust dragged him along your walls in a way that had you gasping, overwhelmed by the rhythm of his hips, the sound of your name in his mouth.
“so tight, baby.. you feel that?”
you nodded, too far gone for words now, clinging to him like he was the only thing holding you together.
“god,” he breathed, groaning low against your shoulder. “you feel unreal.”
he picked up the pace just slightly, hips snapping forward harder, deeper. but his words never lost their warmth, whispering breathless praises against your neck.
your nails scraped down his back, desperate to hold on and he groaned— not from pain, but from the sheer feeling of your wrapped around him, so tight, so warm, so his.
“i can feel you—“ he panted, almost in awe. “clenching around me like that.. you’re close aren’t you?”
you could only nod, trembling under him, everything blurred. his praise, his pace, the way his mouth covered every inch of your body.
“i’ve got you,” he said again, hips grinding deep and slow once more, “let go for me, baby. be good for me one last time.”
and you did. a soft, broken moan slipping past your lips as the wave crashed through you, your whole body curling into him.
he followed seconds later with a quiet curse and a low groan of your name. burying his face into your neck as he spilled inside you.
his hips slowed, breath uneven. but he never stopped holding you.
you stayed tangled together for a while, bodies slick and warm, skin flushed and glowing under the dim lighting.
gyeong-seok’s arms were tight around you, lips pressed to your shoulder. he shifted carefully, pulling out slowly, and wrapping you fully into his arms, chest to chest.
he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips— soft, slow and deep.
“was it too much?” he asks gently, brushing your damp hair back from your face.
you shook your head, barely able to keep your eyes open. “no,” you murmured, voice sleepy and soft. “you were perfect.”
his lips curved into the smallest smile. he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple — slow, lingering.
“so were you,” he whispered.
you let out a small, content sigh, curling closer, and he pulled the blanket over both of you, one arm wrapped securely around your waist.
then he pulls you in, blanket and all, and lets you drift off against his chest, wrapped in warmth and quiet.
Summary: Transcribing your thesis has taken over your life so much so that you have barely had time to see your boyfriend Calvin during the week. So one day, you decide to take a break from your typewriter to surprise him at work with some lunch.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Reader and Calvin are in and established relationship, Reader is doing her PhD (hence the thesis)
Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (y’all…just protect yourselves lol), Semi-Public Sex (*ahem* in the lab), Fingering, Oral Sex (female receiving), Dirty Talk, Would I say Choking? No…But Throat Holding with a bit of pressure? Yeah.
Author’s Note: Well, it’s the long awaited Calvin Evan’s Fic that took me so long to post. I was a really big fan of writing this actually! Hopefully y’all enjoy :)
Word Count: 8,709
Your bedroom was a chaotic mess of scents–a tangled, heady fog that clung to the air like it had rooted into your walls. Stale coffee, Wite-out, and the soft curling sweetness of burning cigarillos–none of it should have worked together, and yet somehow, it did.
You didn’t smoke, but you had lit the cigarillos in the way someone might burn incense. You enjoyed the way the smoke drifted, lazy and languid, rising from the shallow silver ashtray on your desk–a gift from Calvin, repurposed from the Chemistry lounge, its edges etched with faint scratches from too many nights like this one. Even throughout all the stress the filter of the cigarillo never found your mouth, you just let it burn with a quiet, papery crackle, wafting the warm and woody scent with a hint of charred sugar into the air of your bedroom.
It mingled seamlessly with the coffee–a scent you barely registered anymore, except when it faded completely. Half-full mugs littered your desk, the windowsill, and the nightstand by your bed, each one cold and crusted with a bitter residue that smelled like dark roast and stress. You were due to clean all the mugs for a nice reset, but you didn’t have the time to fully focus on that yet–you planned to do it that night when you were done with your writing session. Grounds were embedded into the grain of your desk like dirt under your fingernails. The French press hadn’t been cleaned today, and the air was thick with burnt, rich coffee beans.
Woven through all that though was the sharp sting of Wite-Out. Chemical, artificial and sterile. It coated your fingertips, smudged the hem of your sleeve, and lingered in the back of your throat after hours of fixing things that didn’t need fixing until you had convinced yourself they did. You had a few bottles lined up, and you had stopped fully recapping them hours ago because of how many times you reached for the little brush to swipe over the freshly typed out words.
Yet somehow–underneath the war zone of scents–you could still smell Calvin. His scent clung to the fabric draped around your shoulders: a heathered grey sweatshirt that he had left behind after your last weekend together. Something warm and distinctly him–sea salt, the dry powder of chalk dust, leather, and citrus. It was fading off, but you tugged it tighter around yourself anyways, hoping to milk the scent a little bit longer.
Your ears were ringing from the typewriter–the constant clacking was like hail against a tin roof. You were on page sixty-three of transcribing your field data into something that at least resembled a steady thesis. Your fingers were cramping, your back felt like it had a permanent question mark in it, and the indentation in your desk chair from where you had barely moved over the past couple of days was starting to feel permanent.
The only thing keeping your brain from sliding sideways and melting out of your ears was the Raytheon RF Transistor humming on your desk. Tonight’s radio drama featured a doomed heiress and a private investigator with a drinking problem. You weren’t really in tune with what was happening, but the cadence of it was relaxing. The familiar shape of conflict, static, and resolution. It filled the silence like Calvin did when you would work with him in the lab–it wasn’t perfect, but close enough.
You glanced over at the clock on your wall.
10:21 P.M.
He would be calling soon. He always did–right before bed. Just long enough to hear your voice, to remind you to sleep, to stop you from working through the night the way you always promised you wouldn’t, and to also remind you how much he loved you and how proud he was of the fact that you were working so hard. He never stayed on too long, because he knew if he did, you’d keep him talking for hours, just like you always did on weekends–talking until sunrise, tangled in each other’s arms, sharing the warmth under your blankets. But it wasn’t the weekend just yet.
You stretched your fingers, giving the typewriter a few more clacks, writing the last sentence you could muster up.
Then the phone rang.
And instantly you took the phone off the receiver, bringing it to your ear, already smiling brightly.
”Cal?” There was a soft shift on the other end–a rustle of blankets, the faint creak of mattress springs–and then his voice, warm and scratchy like he’d been waiting all evening just to speak to you.
”How’s my scholar doing?” You leaned back in your chair until the wooden legs gave a soft groan beneath you. Your spine protested the stretch with a ripple of tension, and your muscles burned slightly.
”Doing okay, sweetheart. Though my back feels like it’s permanently folding in on itself.” He let out a quiet laugh–low and just tired enough that you knew he was lying on his side, probably curling around his pillow like he curled around you on weekends.
“Should work on your posture then. I might have to help you with that.” You twirled the phone cord between your fingers, eyes slipping shut as you let his voice settle into your bones.
”Oh yeah? And how’re you going to help me with that?” He hummed like he was deep in thought or weighing the options in his head.
”I have my ideas…” You shifted in your chair, warmth creeping up the back of your neck. He always did this with you–toed the line of flirtation with a scientist’s precision, just suggestive enough to make your pulse jump.
”Calvin Evans,” You started slowly, teasing, “It seems like I’ve been on your mind.” There was a breath of silence, and then his voice echoed through the line again.
”You’re always on my mind. Every second of every minute of every day. Isn’t it obvious?” Calvin rarely spoke in flourishes or metaphors unless he meant every word. And when he said something like that, it carried the weight of a chemical equation–true and exact, incapable of being anything but real.
”Always the romantic.” He sighed.
”What can I say? It seems like you bring it out of me. Who knew I’d actually have such grand capabilities of making you flustered over the phone.” You rolled your eyes even as your smile deepened.
”Please. I’m sure if I didn’t bring it out of you, someone else would’ve.” There was a pause, followed by his mattress creaking again, followed by the faint rustle of his blankets as he settled into it further.
”Definitely not,” He murmured, “You’re the one key part to the formula that broke through to me. If there was anyone else in that variable it wouldn’t have happened.”You could feel your breath hitch slightly. Because it wasn’t fair, the way he said things like that. Like love was science and you were his long-sought solution. Like you weren’t just the person he was calling at the end of a long day, but the anomaly that proved every hypothesis wrong in the best possible way. You pulled your knees up to your chest, feeling your heart beating against the top of your thigh, cradling the phone between your cheek and shoulder.
”If you’re not careful,” You started softly, “I’m going to be expecting you to talk to me like that all the time.”
“Good,” He replied, without hesitation, “You should. I’m not planning on stopping.” The radio crackled faintly in the background, a gunshot interrupting a voice mid-confession, then fading into static. You both sat in silence for a moment, the quiet not empty but full–of unspoken things, of comfort, of the kind of intimacy that didn’t require more than breath on the line.
“How’s the thesis coming along?” He asked gently, voice barely above a murmur now. You glanced at the stack of papers on your desk, your notes scattered like fallen leaves around the base of the typewriter, pages bleeding with margin scribbles and red ink. You reached out and dragged your finger along the top edge of the pile.
“Got about twenty pages done,” You sighed. “Which isn’t my personal best, but… At least it’s something.”
“That’s more than something,” He said, soft and certain. “That’s twenty more than you had yesterday.” You smiled at the comment.
”Did you get to eat today?” He asked after a moment. Your gaze drifted toward the kitchen through your open bedroom door–the lights were still on, the counter pristine, untouched. The only thing that had passed your lips since waking up was–
“And coffee doesn’t count as food,” He added knowingly. You groaned.
”Guilty as charged. I had…A few cups, but I also had a few slices of fruitcake…Would you count that?” He let out a long, theatrical sigh–the kind you knew was more affection laced with concern than frustration.
“I understand you’re sharp-focused on getting your thesis done, but you have to make sure you’re eating and taking care of yourself. You won’t be able to finish the thing if you’re emaciated and ill.”
“I know, I know,” You muttered, “It was just today. I won’t let it happen again.” There was a pause, then the unmistakable lilt of amusement curling through his next words.
”Good girl…” The air in your lungs stuttered. It wasn’t just the words–it was the tone. Casual. Offhand. But laced with that something that made your stomach tighten instinctively, and made additional heat flicker up the back of your neck. He probably hadn’t meant it that way. But the way it settled inside you didn’t care what he meant. You swallowed, shifting the phone slightly.
“We still on for the weekend?” You asked, your voice just a touch more breathy than before.
“Of course we are. It’s the only time you’ll actually take a proper break…So we have to be on for the weekend.” You laughed quietly and absently began picking at the dried Wite-Out stuck to your fingertips.
“You’re right about that,” You replied, flicking off a small flake, “But I’ll probably be working on it here and there anyways.”
“Hey, at least you’ll have me there to remind you to eat and take breaks.”
“And to review what I’ve done recently too, can’t forget that.” You could tell he was smiling–you could hear it in the pause before he replied.
”Who else would fill in the A’s your beat-up typewriter keeps skipping?” That made you laugh. Real and light. It echoed through the receiver and came back to you softened by his answering chuckle. The quiet returned, but this time it didn’t feel heavy–just full. Shared and understood.
You turned your head and looked over your shoulder at your bed, the corner of your blanket already pulled down like it was waiting for you.
“Might as well get some rest for now though,” You said softly, letting your body start to unwind. “Goodnight, Calvin.”
There was a moment where you thought that might be it–that maybe you were both too tired to stretch it further–but something pulled the words from your chest anyway, aching and certain.
“I love you.”
You heard a little huff of laughter, breathy and warm, and then his voice again, so familiar, so him.
“I love you too.”
You smiled to yourself as you hung up the phone, your fingers trailing along the cord before setting it gently back into its cradle. The radio hummed in the background, the final notes of some melancholy tune playing you off as you finally rose from your chair and padded to bed.
——————————
You woke up early the next morning with a quiet determination humming in your bones. The bedroom still carried remnants of last night’s chaos, but the air had thinned just enough for you to breathe a little easier. You pulled yourself out of bed and padded into the bathroom, groggy but resolute. The shower was quick, hot, and efficient–enough to wash the fatigue from your limbs and trick your brain into thinking today could be different. Productive. Balanced.
When you emerged, steam trailing behind you, wrapping yourself in one of your many robes–the plush navy one Calvin liked to tug at the collar of when he kissed your neck in passing. You tied it loosely around your waist and moved through your bedroom like you were winding up a machine, collecting the mugs one by one from every flat surface they’d claimed: the desk, the nightstand, the floor beside the armchair. The French press was last, its glass belly lined with the ghost of yesterday’s coffee, forgotten and bitter.
You brought everything into the kitchen and let yourself take your time. The faucet hissed as you filled the sink, the water warming your hands as you scrubbed each mug with slow, meditative circles. The Wite-Out flakes clinging to your knuckles softened and disappeared under the stream. You took satisfaction in the rhythm–rinse, stack, repeat–and by the time the French press was clean and gleaming again, you felt a little more human.
Once the dishes were stacked neatly on the drying rack, you grabbed your skillet from the hook above the stove and warmed it on the burner with a square of butter melting into it. You cracked two eggs into the warm metal, letting them sizzle. You dropped two slices of bread into the toaster, the dial already set to that perfect middle-ground where they’d come out perfectly golden. You weren’t usually this structured, but something about actually listening to Calvin–even in the small ways–made your body feel steadier. Like following his advice anchored you to yourself.
By the time you plated your eggs and toast, steam curling softly off the plate, the phone rang. You sighed, instinctively tensing. You were already praying it wasn’t your school calling to switch the deadline for your thesis, as you wiped your hands on the edge of your robe and padded barefoot back into the bedroom, the phone ringing a second time just when you reached for it and took it off the hook, putting it to your ear.
”Hello?” You answered, voice a little breathy from the way you rushed from the kitchen. There was a brief pause–then a familiar strain of jazz filtered through the line. Something brass-forward, a bit sleepy and unpolished, the kind of tune Calvin played when he needed a little background chaos while he worked.
Then his voice.
“Y/N,” He said, soft and amused, “I forgot to tell you yesterday–save me some of that fruitcake.” You blinked once in surprise before a laugh bubbled out of your throat.
“I made you your own,” You replied, smiling as you leaned against the doorframe. “You can have the whole thing all to yourself.”
He laughed, low and fond, “You know me too well…Thank you. And sorry for calling so early.”
You shook your head even though he couldn’t see you. “No need to apologize. I was already up and making myself some toast and eggs.”
“Toast and eggs?” He repeated with exaggerated disbelief. “Is this the same woman I spoke to last night?”
You rolled your eyes. “Don’t push it, Calvin.” There was a pause, and then he sighed.
“Are you at the lab already?” You asked.
“As we speak,” He replied. You could hear the faint clatter of glass or metal, the murmuring echo of an empty space. “Barely had time to grab coffee, but I wanted to call before things got hectic.” You glanced over at your desk, at the cleaned surface and the tidy stack of notes you’d lined up beside the typewriter last night. You’d get back to it soon. But right now…It could wait.
“Well, I’m glad I got to hear your voice before starting my day,” You said, shifting your weight against the doorframe and tugging the robe tighter around your waist.
Calvin huffed a small laugh on the other end of the line. “Me too. It helps…Hearing you. But I better get going–got three burners going and a glass column calling my name.” You smiled softly.
”I’m looking forward to your call tonight. Have a great day at work, Cal. I love you.” You could feel it–that quiet grin in his voice, the one that always made your chest ache a little from how badly you wanted to see it in person.
“Don’t work too hard…I love you too.”
And then he hung up.
You stayed there a second longer, letting the silence stretch out before you slowly lowered the receiver into the cradle. The absence of his voice hit you harder than it should have, and for a moment, you considered calling him right back–just to hear it again.
But instead, you turned and made your way back to the kitchen. Your breakfast waited on the counter, still warm. You sat down and began to eat, slow and steady, chewing on both food and thought. Your eyes kept drifting toward the fruitcake wrapped neatly in wax paper beside the sink. You’d packed it in its own little box the morning before, half-asleep, already knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep it in your house for long without thinking of him.
And now?
Now it felt like an invitation. Or maybe a very thin excuse.
You glanced toward the front window, where the morning light cut across the hardwood in long, patient stripes. The sky was bright, cloudless. Crisp air pressed against the glass, just begging you to leave the house and breathe it in.
You could afford the time.
Maybe it would cost you a few pages of progress. Maybe you’d have to stay up an extra hour tonight. But that didn’t matter right now. You could pack him lunch–something easy. A thermos of coffee. Two sandwiches. Roasted chicken, some cheese, maybe some lettuce and mayo. Something you could carry in a brown paper bag with the fruitcake tucked safely under your arm.
It was a good excuse, because more than anything, you just wanted to see him. To stand across from him, even for five minutes, and feel his eyes move over you like they always did–careful, and observant, like you were something fragile and miraculous at the same time. You needed to feel his hands settle on your waist. Needed the weight of his presence after so many days of hollow space.
So you decided to take the idea and roll with it. You were going to surprise him and hopefully spend a little bit of extra time lingering around the labs just to chat.
But not before you got just a little more work done. Just enough to keep your guilt at bay. Just enough to say I earned this.
You finished your breakfast quickly, the last of the toast now cold but still satisfying, and rinsed your plate in the sink with the same care you’d used for the mugs earlier. Then you moved back through your house, fingers already brushing over the tidy stack of notes you’d left the night before. You brought them to the desk and settled in again, the typewriter welcoming you back with its familiar clack, a rhythm you were almost starting to find comfort in.
You transcribed three more pages from your field notes, correcting phrasing on the fly, reorganizing sections with a fluidity that surprised even you. You paused occasionally to flip through old entries or cross-reference citations, and each time you did, your focus sharpened like the edge of a blade.
The air smelled cleaner now–fewer distractions. The French press was washed, your robe tied neatly, your mind less cluttered with to-do lists. It gave you the space to want something again. To look forward to something.
Still, you checked the clock more times than you’d care to admit.
11:07. 11:41. 12:05.
By the time 12:30 rolled around, you were ready. Your fingers ached again, but your heart felt light–an odd sensation after days of fog and fatigue.
You stood up from your desk with the kind of finality that told you there’d be no more writing until later. No more edits, no more corrections. You stretched your arms over your head, bones cracking audibly as you rolled your shoulders, then padded toward your bedroom to change.
You wanted to look presentable–not overdone, but thoughtful. Polished in that effortless kind of way that said I’ve missed you without having to say it at all.
You reached for your favorite navy swing skirt, the one that hit just below your knee and swayed prettily when you walked. You paired it with a white blouse–crisp, slightly sheer, the buttons pearlescent. You tucked it in gently, smoothing your hands over your hips before sitting down to pull on a pair of simple, low heels. Nothing too loud. Just enough to feel like you had your footing again after days of wearing nothing but your undergarments around your house. You fixed your hair exactly the way you liked it, keeping it out of your face so you didn’t get it in front of your eyes, and then you reached for your perfume. The tiny glass bottle sat beside the mirror on your dresser, catching the sunlight in the pale amber liquid.
You uncapped it and dabbed a few drops along your pulse points–behind your ears, the hollow of your throat, just beneath your wrists. You let the scent bloom there, soft and floral with just a hint of spice. Something warm and feminine, and sweet. Something Calvin always seemed to notice, even hours after hugging you.
Then you went to the kitchen and pulled the sandwiches from the fridge, tucking them neatly into a wax-paper-lined paper bag. The fruitcake went in next, still wrapped in wax and tied with a bit of twine. You added the thermos of coffee–still hot, though not scalding–and folded the top of the bag closed with practiced care.
As you stood at the door with your coat draped over your body and the bag tucked into your elbow, you felt the smallest flicker of nerves.
You always got the jitters before seeing him. You told yourself it was normal–natural, even. Love and nerves weren’t mutually exclusive. Especially not when it came to him.
The moment your fingers brushed the doorframe, something fluttered in your chest–like your heartbeat had slipped off rhythm for just a second. You swallowed it down and let out a quiet breath, smoothing your hand over your skirt, then your hair, then the edge of the paper bag as you stepped outside and locked the door behind you.
The chill hit you first.
Your skin tightened beneath your coat, but the sunlight counterbalanced it–bright and soft against your cheeks, warming the crown of your head. It was the kind of day where the wind didn’t cut, just nudged. Your heels clicked gently on the pavement, the paper bag rustling against your hip with every measured stride. You held it carefully, like it was something delicate, something that had to arrive intact–because maybe it wasn’t just lunch. Maybe it was a promise. A comfort. A reminder.
You passed the little corner café where you and Calvin sometimes stopped for lemon cake and coffee. The front table, the one he always angled toward the window for you, was already taken. Still, you smiled at it and sighed.
By the time the Hastings Research Institute came into view, your heart had already started to race–not from exertion, but anticipation.
The building’s tall glass windows reflected the sky in fractured blues, and as you stepped through the heavy front doors, the echo of your heels on the marble floor sounded far too loud. You moved quickly toward the elevator, knowing every step by heart–second floor for Administration, third for Chemistry and Applied Sciences. Calvin’s world. His sanctuary.
You smoothed your hands down your skirt again and shifted the bag in your grip as the elevator doors opened. The ride up was brief, but it gave you just enough time to gather yourself. You stared at your reflection in the polished steel–eyes bright, mouth soft, hair falling into place just the way he liked it.
When the doors opened with a soft ding, you stepped out, heart already thudding somewhere in your throat.
Chemistry Lab 320 sat at the end of the long hallway–its door dark oak, worn around the handle from years of eager hands and late-night sessions. The Do Not Disturb sign hung at its usual slant on the frosted window. It had been there the first day you met him, back when you’d mistaken his focus for standoffishness, back before he’d looked up from his Bunsen burner and caught your gaze like it physically startled him. The same day you’d asked if he wanted to get dinner sometime–just dinner–and turned his life inside out.
You hovered a moment outside the door, hand poised to knock.
You could already imagine the way he looked on the other side–his sleeves rolled past his elbows, collar undone, lab coat dusted with chalk or powdered reagent. Brow furrowed, mouth parted slightly, that furiously beautiful focus etched into every angle of his face.
You didn’t want to break his concentration. You never did.
But you did want to see him.
So, you knocked. Twice. Gentle, but firm.
There was no immediate response. You waited. Heard something shift inside–a stool scraping, the faint pop of a burner being turned off, the shuffle of boots on linoleum tile. Then the latch clicked, and the door opened just enough for his head to peek through.
Calvin looked like he’d been conjured straight from the pages of a research journal and dusted with something soft and unspoken. His goggles sat crooked atop his forehead, leaving faint indentations on his brow, and a graphite-streaked pencil was tucked behind one ear, just barely clinging to the loose wave of light brown hair curling near his temple. His lab coat was open over a button-down that had clearly been ironed this morning but had since been creased into something comfortably worn, sleeves pushed past his elbows in that absent-minded way he always did when he got deep into his work.
And when his bright blue eyes landed on you–when they flicked from your face to the paper bag in your hand and back again–his entire expression shifted, like the floor of the lab had tilted under his feet. His brows lifted, just slightly, the corners of his mouth tugging up before he even spoke.
“Y/N…” He said, voice surprised and low like your name alone could undo him.
You smiled, raising the brown paper bag between the two of you. “Brought you fruitcake and lunch.” He blinked at you, a breath of laughter leaving his chest like he hadn’t even realized he was holding it.
“Oh really?” He asked, stepping aside so you could enter. “Are you just using that as a cover because you needed to distract yourself from your thesis?” You shrugged, brushing past him as he gently closed the door behind you. You heard the soft click of the lock sliding into place, a habit more than anything else, the way he always did when he didn’t want to be interrupted.
“Well,” You started, shrugging off your coat and draping it over the nearest stool, “I technically haven’t been outside for the past couple of days, so you should be proud of me. I got dressed. I saw sunlight. I even walked all the way here.” Calvin huffed a soft laugh, the sound warm and unguarded.
“Okay…” He murmured, slipping his goggles off his forehead and setting them gently on a nearby counter. “Can’t really be mad at that.” His voice dropped a little lower as he leaned forward, brushing a kiss across your lips–slow and gentle, like he’d been craving it just as much as you had. You hummed into it, your hand settling briefly on his chest before he pulled back, eyes shining with quiet affection.
He reached for the bag, his fingers brushing over yours as he took it from your grasp, and made his way over to his workbench, unrolling the top of the bag with a kind of reverence that made your chest warm. You followed close behind, settling beside him as he peeked inside. The moment he saw the fruitcake, his eyes widened slightly.
“Oh good lord…” He said, half-laughing. “I might just eat this entire thing for lunch.”
You bit back a grin, leaning a little closer as you quipped, “And you said yesterday it didn’t count as a meal.”
He shot you a dry look, already reaching for a small clean lab knife to slice into it.
“Touché,” He replied, tone deadpan but playful. “I will never judge you again for that.” You leaned your hip against the bench, watching him cut into the dense cake, his long fingers steady even with the slightly dulled blade. He carved off a thick slice and lifted it to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he turned to look at you again.
”Delicious as usual.” He commented, swallowing the bite of fruitcake, his throat working visibly, and then–without even looking up he added, “But…It’s not as delicious as you.” Your eyebrows shot up, eyes widening as a hot flush crept up your throat.
“Cal…” You warned, voice barely more than a whisper. He gave you a small, shameless smile, the kind he reserved only for you–crooked and quietly dangerous.
“C’mon,” He started softly, “You know I was going to make a comment like that.” You bit the inside of your cheek, heart already thudding harder than before.
“Especially after last weekend…” He added, casually but deliberately. And just like that, the air shifted. A rush of heat bloomed in your chest, spreading out through your limbs, your thighs pressing ever so slightly together as memories unspooled behind your eyes–Calvin’s mouth between your legs, his voice thick with praise as he murmured how sweet you tasted, how good you smelled, how much he needed you. The way his five o’clock shadow rasped against the inside of your thighs when he paused only to kiss you there–again and again–like he was mapping out your skin. You remembered the way his hands had gripped your hips, the way he had groaned when you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled, how you had soaked the sheets and couldn’t stop trembling even hours later.
“Calvin,” You said through clenched teeth, heat flooding every inch of your skin. “Don’t remind me.”
“Why?” He asked, smirking now, “Does it make you flustered?” You inhaled sharply, trying to slow your breath, but the ache that had settled between your thighs was already starting to pulse.
“You can’t say stuff like that,” You hissed, glancing at the locked door like it might magically disappear, “We’re in your lab, for god’s sake.”
“It’s got a lock on the door,” He murmured, voice low and coaxing, “And I don’t think anyone’s going to interrupt…” His hand came to rest on your hip, just at the waistband of your skirt, his thumb brushing slow circles over the fabric. You swayed slightly under the touch, shifting your weight as his palm spread wider, grounding you with the kind of pressure that made your breath catch.
“And what if your coworkers hear us?” You countered, though your voice had already dropped an octave–gone soft and airy, threaded with want. He gave a quiet shrug, tilting his head as if the idea didn’t bother him in the slightest.
“We’ll be quiet,” He retorted, eyes dipping to your mouth, “I’m sure we can find a way to manage that.” You didn’t have time to respond before he leaned in and kissed you again–slow, deep, coaxing. His lips pressed against yours like he wanted to memorize the shape of your breath. And with gentle insistence, he shifted your body until your back bumped lightly against the edge of the workbench, his hand sliding from your hip to the small of your back, drawing you closer until your pelvis met his. You could feel how hard he already was through the front of his slacks.
”Cal,” You whispered, breathless, “We could still get…” He silenced you with another kiss–this one hungrier, his teeth dragging ever so slightly across your lower lip before he sucked it between his own, then let it go with a quiet pop. His forehead pressed to yours.
“We won’t get caught,” He murmured, voice dark and certain. “I’m very sure everyone’s having lunch. And if they’re not, they know better than to bother me for anything.” His hand slid down your side, fingers brushing lightly over the outside of your thigh before curling just above your knee. “I just want to show you how much I’ve missed you.”
Your eyes fluttered shut at the sound of his voice. The way he said it–so calm, so convicted–like the most natural thing in the world was kissing you breathless in the middle of his lab.
You felt his fingers brush the tops of your knees, a soft nudge that sent a ripple of heat curling up your spine. You let out a shaky laugh, breath catching as you tilted your head just enough to glance down at him.
“Never did I expect you to have such a filthy idea, Calvin Evans,” You teased, voice light and breathless. He smirked–god, that little half-smile that never quite met his eyes unless you were the one drawing it out of him.
“What can I say?” He replied, fingertips trailing higher along the backs of your thighs. “You just have that kind of spell on me.”
Before you could say anything else, he bent slightly, arms tightening as he slid his hands beneath your skirt slightly and lifted you effortlessly onto the workbench. The paper bag crinkled slightly as he gently moved it aside, then reached behind you to rewrap the fruitcake with careful, practiced fingers. He set it out of the way on the opposite counter, every motion deliberate, like he was buying time–but the heat in his gaze said otherwise. You parted your thighs for him instinctively, the swing skirt fluttering open just enough for the cool air of the lab to lick at your inner legs. His hands returned to your waist, then slid down to your hips as he stepped between them. The heat of him was immediate, the solid pressure of his body grounding you.
His hand lifted to your neck–broad fingers cradling the underside of your jaw, thumb brushing just behind your ear. You leaned into it like a flower chasing sunlight, your breath catching again as his lips met yours once more.
This kiss was softer than the last. Slow and deep. His thumb traced lazy circles along your throat as his mouth moved with yours, coaxing, savoring, like he wanted to memorize the way you tasted after being apart for too long.
When he pulled back, just slightly, he didn’t let go. His fingers stayed curled around your neck, holding you in place, and his eyes lingered on your mouth before flicking up to meet yours.
“I can feel your pulse racing against my fingertips,” He commented, quiet and sure, voice thick with heat.
Then his lips brushed your jaw–one kiss, then another–soft and coaxing, moving slowly toward the sensitive skin beneath your ear. His teeth grazed there, just enough to make you gasp, your thighs twitching slightly against his hips.
“You’re already worked up,” He added with a small smile–he knew the effect he had on you. And he was indulging in it. Your hands slid up the ridges of his back, fingers dragging slowly along the seams of his lab coat. The fabric scratched lightly against your fingertips, starched and worn in the way only his coats were–like a second skin he lived in and worked through and kissed you in.
“I’ve barely touched you,” He whispered against your throat, “And you’re already trembling for me.” You let out a soft whimper–half frustration, half plea–and tugged at his coat until it came loose around his shoulders. His hands stayed at your hips as you pushed it down his arms, letting it fall in a heap behind him.
“Well?” You asked, breathless, eyes flicking to his mouth. “Are you going to keep teasing me or are you going to show me how much you’ve missed me?” He leaned in, brushing his lips just barely over yours again.
”Oh, Y/N…I plan to do both.” You let out a breathy giggle–soft, delighted–half in disbelief that this was really happening here, now, in the sanctity of his lab. Calvin smiled against your neck, and the warmth of his breath clung to your skin, damp and dizzying as he trailed his mouth down slowly–kiss by kiss–toward your clothed collarbone.
His hands were already sliding lower until they found the hem of your skirt. He pushed the fabric upward with a deliberateness that made your chest tighten, his knuckles grazing the bare skin of your thighs as he peeled the layers back like he was unwrapping something sacred. You shivered beneath the touch.
Then, without a word, he slowly sank to his knees before you.
In the filtered sunlight streaming through the high windows, Calvin looked…Undone. Worshipful. Drunk on you. His lashes cast long shadows over his cheeks as his gaze dropped–his lips parting with a quiet, audible sigh the moment he caught sight of the way your arousal had already bloomed visibly through the front of your high-waisted white underwear.
“Jesus,” He murmured, eyes darkening, “Already worked up and ready for me.” His fingers slipped under the delicate waistband, the pads of his thumbs brushing the tender crease of your hips as he slowly pulled them down. Inch by aching inch. The elastic dragged against your skin with a teasing kind of friction, until the damp fabric was discarded somewhere off to the side. You gasped softly at the chill of the air kissing you bare–followed quickly by the heat of his stare settling between your thighs.
Calvin leaned in and pressed a kiss just above your knee, then another just higher, lips ghosting along the inside of your thigh with a slow, aching cadence. He bunched your skirt further up around your waist as he went, and you instinctively lifted your legs, hooking your ankles loosely behind his neck.
He looked up at you from where he knelt–blue eyes gleaming, breath hitching as you scooted closer to the edge of the workbench. Your fingers curled around the rim behind you for support, your back arched just slightly, spine drawn tight with want.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” He whispered, hands stroking up your thighs as he settled fully between them. “Do you have any idea what it does to me? Watching you ache?” You whimpered softly, and his gaze softened.
”I missed you,” He added, voice low and sweet, laced with something tender and guttural all at once, “Can’t even manage to be away from you anymore for more than a few days. I miss everything about you–your skin, your taste…That sound you make when I kiss you right–“ He leaned in, brushing his lips just beside your core, teasing where you ached for him the most. Your hands threaded into his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp as your grip tightened reflexively.
His breath ghosted over your slick skin, and his eyes flicked up again–dark and hungry, locked onto yours as he dipped lower, and finally–
He buried his mouth between your thighs.
The first press of his tongue made your whole body jerk, your moan catching in your throat like a live wire. He groaned against you, the vibration rippling through your core as he licked a slow, deliberate stripe up your center, tasting you with a kind of reverence that bordered on obsession. His hands gripped your hips, fingers flexing against your skin tightly.
“God,” He breathed against you, lips brushing your folds, “I forgot how sweet you are… how soft…”
You gasped, hips twitching against his mouth, and his arms immediately tightened, locking you in place as his tongue circled your clit–slow at first, teasing, like he wanted to draw out every tremble.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” He murmured, pulling back just enough to speak, lips glistening, his voice wrecked with affection. “Does that feel good?” Your head tipped back, the cool air of the lab brushing your throat as your lips parted with a sharp, helpless sound.
“God, Calvin,” You gasped, your voice nearly breaking. “It feels amazing.”
The smile he gave you was devastating–slow and soft and utterly wrecked. Then he was back on you, tongue firm and steady, lapping up everything you gave him with practiced hunger. He kissed your folds first, mouth pressing open-mouthed against your sex like it was something holy, something he needed, something he would die for. And then he moved up to your clit, the tip of his tongue circling delicately before his lips closed around it.
The suction was gentle at first–measured, savoring. He took his time with you, coaxing every twitch, every stuttering breath, his jaw working with slow, sensual rhythm. You tried not to make too much noise–you really did–but a soft moan slipped out, one you barely caught behind the back of your hand.
He pulled back for just a moment, breath hot and heavy against your soaked folds, his voice thick and reverent.
“You’re like water,” He groaned, kissing your inner thigh. “I could drink you up all day long.”
And then–his fingers.
You felt the shift of his hand beneath your skirt, the subtle repositioning as two fingers slid gently to your entrance. The first press was slow, the stretch familiar and maddening, his fingertips easing inside like he’d been waiting all morning to be here. He curled them upward immediately, dragging them along the most sensitive spot inside of you with careful, intentional pressure.
You squirmed against him, hips twitching as his saliva dripped lower, mixing with your slick. His tongue followed the trail, licking up everything he could reach, his mouth sealing around you once more as he pumped his fingers in time with every shiver.
“Oh…Calvin–” You whimpered, the lab fading around you, replaced by heat and breath and sound. The obscene wet noise of his fingers moving inside you echoed softly, drowned only by the way he groaned when your thighs squeezed tighter around him. His pace never faltered–steady and deep, mouth and fingers moving in tandem, building your pleasure in slow, aching waves.
And then–you broke.
Your entire body snapped tight, your hips bucking against his mouth as your orgasm took hold with a full-body shudder. You bit down on your lip hard enough to sting, head dropping forward, eyes squeezed shut. Your fingers tugged hard at his hair as you rode the high, hips rolling against his mouth, against his jaw, against his hand–until the rhythm broke and your body slumped, spent and trembling.
You loosened around his fingers, the tension fading like smoke from your limbs, and he eased them out gently. He kissed your inner thighs again, tender and slow, mouth still wet with you. You let out a long, shaky breath, barely able to keep upright as you blinked down at him, vision blurred and heart racing.
“You really know how to make a girl feel wanted,” You whispered, voice raw with affection and disbelief.
He laughed softly at that, the sound warm and full of pride. Then he rose, standing between your legs again, and leaned in to kiss you–mouth slick with your arousal, tasting like heat and want and everything you’d just given him. You didn’t hesitate. You kissed him back, moaning softly into the shared breath, the taste of yourself on his lips only making your heart pound harder.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he smiled–utterly gone for you.
“I only want you,” He admitted, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “And you’ve given me plenty of opportunity to constantly show that to you.” You smiled against his lips, heart pounding, hand slipping down to the belt of his slacks. The leather was already warm from his body, and you undid the buckle with a practiced ease, the quiet clink of metal making him exhale against your mouth.
Calvin hummed lowly, brushing his lips along your jaw, voice warm and just a little breathless.
“Mm…You want me, hmm?” He murmured, trailing the words down your neck like a string of honey. “Want me to take some of that stress away?”
You nodded, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers popped the button on his trousers and slid the zipper down slowly, teeth catching on your lower lip when you whispered back, “Yes…Please, Cal.”
His mouth found the side of your throat again, pressing kisses there–featherlight and worshipful–while your hands pushed his slacks down his hips. He rocked them off, shimmying them to the floor until they pooled at his ankles. He stepped out of them lazily, leaving him in nothing but his slightly sheer white boxer shorts and his unbuttoned shirt, the sleeves still rolled high, the fabric soft with use.
You palmed him through the thin cotton, the heat of him searing against your hand, already thick and twitching beneath your touch. He groaned softly into your collarbone, the sound strained and rich with tension, his breath fogging against the buttons of your blouse.
“Did I mention…” He began, lips ghosting over the fabric near your sternum, “how wonderful you look in this skirt?” You grinned, fingers squeezing gently around him.
“No,” You replied, “but I assumed that’s what you were thinking.”
That made him laugh–a quiet, breathy sound that slipped into a low hum of pleasure when you rubbed him a little harder. He nipped at your collar with restrained affection, then straightened, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and sliding them down with a slow drag.
His cock sprung free, flushed and glistening at the tip, and you watched him stroke it once, twice–his thumb brushing delicately over the head before he brought himself closer to you, letting the tip of him press against your entrance, catching in the slick heat of your folds. He sighed, shoulders relaxing, eyes fluttering half-shut as he leaned forward, bracing one hand beside your hip on the workbench while the other slipped beneath your skirt again–thumb brushing the spot just above your clit as he lined himself up with care.
“You’re so warm,” He breathed. “And always so ready for me…Like your body’s been waiting for mine.” His voice was thick with wonder, like every time he touched you was still a discovery. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hands curling into the back of his shirt, your fingers slipping into his hair. He kissed you again as he began to push inside–slow, reverent, the kind of pace that made your thighs twitch and your breath stutter.
“Oh God, Calvin.”
“That’s it,” he whispered, his forehead pressing to yours as he bottomed out. “There you are, sweetheart. Just like that. Taking me so perfectly…”
Your body clenched instinctively around him, the stretch delicious, the weight of him filling you so completely it made your toes curl. His hand slid up your side, fingers grazing your ribs through the fabric of your blouse before curling gently around your neck. He didn’t squeeze hard—just enough to make your breath catch and your eyes lock onto his.
“I missed this,” He whispered, hips rolling slow and deep, every thrust brushing perfectly against that aching spot inside you. “Missed the way you feel…Wrapped around me like this…Soft and wet and perfect.”
You whimpered, clinging tighter, letting him move against you, into you, around you.
“You always let me in,” He said, his mouth brushing along your ear now. “Even when you’re tired. Even when you’re stressed. You always open for me like you were made for it.”
He was saying the filthiest things in the sweetest voice–like he didn’t even realize the way he wrecked you with every breath. His hips rolled deeper now, rhythm steady and hypnotic, his breath catching every time you squeezed around him.
“I love when you cling to me like this,” He moaned, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Like you need me…Like you can’t get close enough.”
You gasped as his hips snapped a little harder, your body jolting slightly on the bench.
“Cal–” you whimpered, “You feel so good…Please don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” He panted, his rhythm growing faster, rougher. “I promise–I’ll give you everything. Everything you need. Just hold on for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you.” The pace turned ragged, your breath catching with each thrust, the slap of skin-on-skin barely dampened by the sound of your soft gasps and his stuttering moans.
“Gonna fill you up,” He whispered, lips dragging along your neck, “Gonna make you feel so good. You want that, don’t you? Want me to finish inside you like I always do?” You nodded desperately, unable to speak, your thighs trembling, your core fluttering around him with every push.
“I’m so close…” Then he gasped against your blouse, face buried in your chest as he jerked forward with one final thrust, hips stuttering as he came deep inside you. His moan was low and choked, muffled by the cotton of your shirt as his fingers dug into your hips, grounding himself in you. You held him close, stroking his hair, kissing the crown of his head as he trembled through the aftershocks, still buried deep inside you, filling you with every drop.
He let out a few ragged breaths, his forehead still resting against your shoulder, and then, voice thick and low, he murmured, “…You know…I hope you do this more often cause it’s such…Such a nice pick-me-up for the rest of the afternoon.”
You laughed softly, breath still uneven as your fingers trailed through the damp waves at the nape of his neck. You scraped your nails gently across his scalp, and he shuddered in response.
“I mean…” You started, teasing, “I could give you an even better suggestion.”He kissed the side of your neck–slow, open-mouthed, warm with the afterglow.
“And what would that suggestion be?” He asked, voice worn thin with satisfaction and curiosity both. You shifted slightly, coaxing him to lean back just enough that you could meet his eyes. His pupils were still blown wide, the blue of his irises reduced to a storm-tossed halo around each dilated center. You smirked at him, running your thumb along his cheekbone.
“I could bring my typewriter. And work on my thesis here…” His brows lifted, expression caught somewhere between awe and incredulous delight.
“You’ll barely get anything done.” You tilted your head, feigning innocence.
“I’m sure I’ll be able to manage the close proximity…Especially if we’re going to be doing this during every lunch break.” He let out a sound that was halfway between a groan and a laugh–head falling briefly to your shoulder, arms wrapping tighter around your waist like he couldn’t bear the idea of letting go.
“…Now you know I can’t resist an offer like that,” He whispered against your skin. And you just smiled, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, breathing him in–chalk dust and citrus and you.
I just knowwwww bob would be so confused with the Filipino nicknames please like imagine him being called (ba)dong and hearing everyone being called (I)neng, chie, Tita baby, and other nicknames that are so far from their actual names 😭😭
P.S. I’m the anon that sent the please don’t go bald so sorry for the confusion. Sorry for spamming I am so happy and love, love your fic 💗 Can I be the 🌻 sunflower anon if you are okay with it? Love ya lotsss
OMGGGGG YES. YES. YES. (Also you can totally be 🌻 anon- I don't have many reoccurring anons!) Here's a little drabble <3 Love u 2.
Nicknames (Bob Floyd x Filipina!Reader)
DESCRIPTION: Your Filipino family decides that your boyfriend Bob needs a nickname <3
WORD COUNT: 762 (itty bitty)
WARNINGS: Filipina!Reader, Established relationship, domestic fluff, embarrassing/teasing Bob a little of course
MY MASTERLIST
Bob sat at the dining table next to Y/n. He was absolutely taken by the boisterous atmosphere. The table was overcrowded with some of her family members sitting in foldable chairs in the surrounding area. The giggling of the titas. The quiet but joking tito’s giving hilarious reactions. Lola’s and lolo’s, who technically were great aunts or great uncles but who cared about specificity.
Bob wasn’t used to all of this. He grew up in a very small family and very rarely saw his extended family. Yet here he was meeting what felt like way too many relatives. She couldn’t possibly be related to all these people, right?
“Oh! Oh! Bobby! Can we call you Bobby?” Y/n’s Tita Baby cut in.
Bob swallowed and nodded, “You can call me whatever you’d like.”
Tita Baby looked around with a knowing smirk. Y/n groaned a little. She gave Bob a pitying look and reached over and squeezed his hand.
“You shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why?”
Her Tito Boy cut in. “Filipino’s… we’re all about nicknames. Tita Baby. I’m Boy. Tita Neng.” He gestured to her Tita Neng, who was putting more puto on her plate.
Bob smiled, interested. “Well, Bob is technically my nickname already. It’s my call sign for work from Robert.”
“You know how I knew a Bob in high school?” Tita Baby said, “Badong.” She sang with a smile.
“No! We’re not calling Bob Badong!” Y/n laughed.
“What about Bobo?” Her lolo cut in
“Lolo!” Y/n scolded. She turned to Bob. “Don’t listen to him.”
“Baby, I can’t understand what they’re saying anyway.” He chuckled, feeling relaxed despite being out of place in the atmosphere.
Y/n’s mom came from the kitchen and pushed the plate of lumpia towards Bob.
“Oh no- I can’t. I really can’t.” He looked up at her and waved at the plate. He had already eaten so much. But there was no such thing in this household.
“For later then.” Her mom smiled.
“We’ll see.” He chuckled, “Hey, uh- what does bobo mean?”
Her mother looked down at him and burst out laughing. “It means ‘dummy’.”
“Yeah, well-“ Bob chuckled, nodding to her Lolo. “That’s a fitting nickname, too.”
“Ay- no.” Y/n slapped his shoulder. “You’re so smart.”
He blushed at her insistence, then looked around at the table. “Well, how do you get your nicknames?”
“They sort of just happen.” Tita Baby started “Like I’m Tita Baby to Y/n but my real name is…” She drummed the table, “Reyna!”
Bob grinned amused but with confused eyes, “How did- where-?”
Y/n laughed and squeezed his hand. He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it quickly. Turning to give her some attention, he smiled gently. “Do you have any nicknames you’d like to mention?”
“I didn’t have many.” Y/n admitted, “‘Anak’ I guess, but that’s just a general one for kids… So don’t call me that.” She laughed
“I’ve got it.” Lolo put his fist on the table, “We’ll call him Betlog.”
The table erupted in screams and laughter. Bob looked around, confused, before leaning into Y/n, who was blushing bright red.
She sighed and put her hands to her face. “Balls. It means balls.” She looked around the table, “Guys, can we stick with Bobby for now? That’s already a nickname on a nickname.”
Her family laughed, and Bob was flushed bright red but was also laughing along as he took a sip of beer. “I do like Bobby.”
“Bobong.” Tita Baby pointed at him, and the whole table made agreement noises.
“I thought that meant stupid?” Bob asked, confused.
“No, that was Bobo.” Y/n explained, “I think Bobong is just something they came up with themselves. Though- it sounds kinda like Roof?”
“Roof?” He asked.
Her Tita Baby raised her eyebrows with a little smirk, “Because he’s strong like a house.”
Y/n nodded with pursed lips. “I can get behind that.”
Bob laughed, a little surprised. “I don’t know about that.”
“Bobong, eat. Kain na.” Her mother pushed the plate of chicken to him, “So you can stay strong.”
Bob shook his head with a nervous chuckle, reluctantly putting some on his plate. “Like a house.”
Even though he was still bumbling his way through his girlfriend’s culture, he felt right at home with her and her very supportive family right next to him. They had accepted him so quickly. Hell, within a few days, he already had a nickname.
He felt Y/n put her head on his shoulder, and he sighed contentedly.
Mabuhay! I would like to request for our lovely Bob Floyd. Reader is pointing at something with their lips but Bob mistakenly thinks she wants a kiss. I hope you’re having a wonderful day/night.
This is the most niche thing ever, but for all my Filipina girlies <3
KISS POINT (Bob Floyd x Filipina!Reader)
DESCRIPTION: Dating you meant Bob Floyd was getting a crash course in Filipino culture. Words in Tagalog. Karaoke 24/7. Rice for breakfast. When staying at your family home, you realize that he might be new, but he’s more than willing to learn
WORD COUNT: 1.2k (More of a little drabble)
WARNINGS: Established relationship. Reader is Filipina! Bob's a little clueless but he's trying very hard. Domestic fluff.
NOTES: God, I'm just like my Filipina grandmother (falling in love with a Navy man)
MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!
Bob Floyd had no idea what dating a Filipina woman would entail. But he soon learned that it meant rice, eggs, and sausages for breakfast, learning traditions like Mano Po so he wouldn’t embarrass himself, and that karaoke night was… every second of the day. He felt incredibly out of his element, especially around her family, but he was determined to try to learn.
It was day 2 of staying with her family, and he came downstairs to find his girlfriend’s grandmother cooking breakfast. It had taken him a while to figure out that Lola wasn’t her name, but that ‘lola’ meant grandma. The woman looked like Y/n, just stouter and with more wrinkles. Her dark hair flared up in a perm.
“Good morning.” He said, looking around for Y/n.
Her lola turned and smiled. She didn’t speak the strongest English, but she was still kind to Bob. Making teasing jokes at him in Tagalog that he didn’t understand.
“Good morning.” She repeated back in a heavy accent and a nod.
“Do you need any help with that?” He asked, walking over, noticing the Vienna sausages were popping in oil on the stove.
Her lola looked up at him with big eyes before shaking her head and waving him off. She pointed to the rice pot, and Bob nodded, realizing that’s what she wanted him to do. He walked over and grabbed the pot out of the cooker before going to the ten-pound bag of rice that sat slumped in the corner.
Opening it, he found a mug inside as a measuring cup… Which meant he had no idea how much to put in the pot. He started scooping and filled it up most of the way. Then he wasn’t exactly sure what to do.
But thankfully, Y/n came out just in time. She leaned on the door frame of the kitchen, watching Bob and her lola work in the kitchen.
“Morning.” She smiled, alerting her grandma and her boyfriend.
Bob turned around and smiled, relieved. “Morning.” He walked over, still holding the small pot of rice, and kissed her cheek, “How’d you sleep?”
“Good. You snoring woke me up, so I thought I’d go for a walk.” She teased, then looked down at the rice pot, “You making rice, baby?”
His face turned a little red, “Uh, yeah- your uh- your lola needed help. But I’m unsure what to do…”
“Well, for one, your rice pot’s too full.” She pointed out stifling a giggle. She knew he still needed to learn, so she didn’t want to embarrass him. Taking it from him, she nodded over for him to follow her.
Once she opened the bag again, she let some of the rice fall back inside. Her lola turned around and started to laugh at them.
“Kano. Kano.” Her lola teased, giggling to herself
“Lola.” Y/n shook her head as she closed up the rice bag.
“What does that mean?” Bob asked, worriedly looking between them
“Kano is like ‘foreigner’.”
“Okay, so far I’ve been called… p-puti, guapo, pogi, and kano… I think I prefer guapo or pogi.” He said, stammering, trying to get the pronunciation right.
Y/n smiled as she stood back up. She patted his cheek reassuringly. “Yes, you are very pogi.”
She made her way over to the sink. “Then you wash the rice.” She explained, running her hands through the rice under running water. “Just until the water’s clear.” She poured out the old water and let it fill up again. Bob watched intently.
“Then… can you grab me the lid?” She asked.
Bob looked around, unsure where it had gone. Then she raised her eyebrows and pointed at it on the counter behind him using her lips. The typical quick duck pout that most Filipino’s knew was just a way to point at things.
He smiled a little, and instead of turning around, he leaned in and gave her a peck on the lips. She looked at him, a little wide-eyed and confused, but with a smile. Then she realized what had happened.
“Oh, Bob. I meant-” She started to laugh, her hands still in the rice pot.
“What?” He asked, confused.
“When I-” She pointed with her lips again, “It’s just a way of pointing. The rice pot’s right behind you.”
His face completely flushed red, and he breathed out a small laugh. The morning sun through the windows lit up his crooked smile.
“Got it. I should start doing that too.” He turned and grabbed the lid and handed it to her right as she pulled out the pot. “Like this?” He pouted his lips and stared at the rice pot, making her laugh.
“It’s quick. It’s like… when someone you don’t like walks in the room, and you need a way to point them out while being discreet.” She showed him again by raising her brows and pointing her lips quickly.
Bob tried to imitate, and she smiled at his attempts. When he got close enough with a quick brow raise and lip point, she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss.
“Yes, like that.” She said as he smiled and blushed, caught off guard. “Let me show you the way to measure the water.”
He came close to her, and she immediately flipped him off.
“The perfect tool.” She said, making Bob laugh in confusion. She put her middle finger in the rice and water, and the water line went right up to her first knuckle. “Perfect. You just put the water to the first knuckle on your middle finger.”
“But your middle finger is smaller than mine.”
“Don’t question it. We just do it. And it works.” Nina said with a testing brow raise.
He jutted his bottom lip out and shook his head in surrender. She put the rice pot in the cooker and flipped the switch. Simple as that. She wiped her hands on the kitchen towel.
“There. Now you’re making rice.” She said happily, putting her hands on his shoulders.
Draping his arms around his waist, he looked down at her, then did a little lip point. She laughed out loud at how his glasses fell to his nose.
“Are you pointing at something or asking for a kiss?” She asked
“Asking for a kiss.” He said in a small voice.
She leaned up and kissed him, pulling him in by his shoulders. He pulled her into a hug so that even when he pulled away, he rested his chin on her head. He sighed a little anxiously.
“You’re doing fine,” She reassured.
Then suddenly from the dining table, “Y/n. Bobby. Kain na.” Her lola called them to eat.
“Wala rice!” She called back, “Still cooking!”
Her lola nodded and waved them over. “Mainit pa ang pagkain.”
Y/n sighed and shook her head, and Bob watched their verbal tennis slightly in awe.
“I’ll learn,” Bob suddenly said, nodding determined.
She turned back up to him, realizing he had been left in the dark. With a small smile, she squeezed his shoulders. “She called us to eat. ‘Kain na’. You’ll hear that one a lot. I said there’s no rice. ‘Wala rice’. Then she said the food’s still hot. ‘Mainit pa ang pagkain.”
“Mainit is hot?” He tried to figure out. His brows were scrunched all cutely.
“You got it.” She smiled, “Now let’s go eat a little until the rice is ready, or I think lola’s gonna deck us.”
He smiled and took her hand as she led him into the dining area. Sure, he was pretty lost when it came to his girlfriend’s culture. But he knew he was in good hands.
Mabuhay! I would like to request for our lovely Bob Floyd. Reader is pointing at something with their lips but Bob mistakenly thinks she wants a kiss. I hope you’re having a wonderful day/night.
This is the most niche thing ever, but for all my Filipina girlies <3
KISS POINT (Bob Floyd x Filipina!Reader)
DESCRIPTION: Dating you meant Bob Floyd was getting a crash course in Filipino culture. Words in Tagalog. Karaoke 24/7. Rice for breakfast. When staying at your family home, you realize that he might be new, but he’s more than willing to learn
WORD COUNT: 1.2k (More of a little drabble)
WARNINGS: Established relationship. Reader is Filipina! Bob's a little clueless but he's trying very hard. Domestic fluff.
NOTES: God, I'm just like my Filipina grandmother (falling in love with a Navy man)
MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!
Bob Floyd had no idea what dating a Filipina woman would entail. But he soon learned that it meant rice, eggs, and sausages for breakfast, learning traditions like Mano Po so he wouldn’t embarrass himself, and that karaoke night was… every second of the day. He felt incredibly out of his element, especially around her family, but he was determined to try to learn.
It was day 2 of staying with her family, and he came downstairs to find his girlfriend’s grandmother cooking breakfast. It had taken him a while to figure out that Lola wasn’t her name, but that ‘lola’ meant grandma. The woman looked like Y/n, just stouter and with more wrinkles. Her dark hair flared up in a perm.
“Good morning.” He said, looking around for Y/n.
Her lola turned and smiled. She didn’t speak the strongest English, but she was still kind to Bob. Making teasing jokes at him in Tagalog that he didn’t understand.
“Good morning.” She repeated back in a heavy accent and a nod.
“Do you need any help with that?” He asked, walking over, noticing the Vienna sausages were popping in oil on the stove.
Her lola looked up at him with big eyes before shaking her head and waving him off. She pointed to the rice pot, and Bob nodded, realizing that’s what she wanted him to do. He walked over and grabbed the pot out of the cooker before going to the ten-pound bag of rice that sat slumped in the corner.
Opening it, he found a mug inside as a measuring cup… Which meant he had no idea how much to put in the pot. He started scooping and filled it up most of the way. Then he wasn’t exactly sure what to do.
But thankfully, Y/n came out just in time. She leaned on the door frame of the kitchen, watching Bob and her lola work in the kitchen.
“Morning.” She smiled, alerting her grandma and her boyfriend.
Bob turned around and smiled, relieved. “Morning.” He walked over, still holding the small pot of rice, and kissed her cheek, “How’d you sleep?”
“Good. You snoring woke me up, so I thought I’d go for a walk.” She teased, then looked down at the rice pot, “You making rice, baby?”
His face turned a little red, “Uh, yeah- your uh- your lola needed help. But I’m unsure what to do…”
“Well, for one, your rice pot’s too full.” She pointed out stifling a giggle. She knew he still needed to learn, so she didn’t want to embarrass him. Taking it from him, she nodded over for him to follow her.
Once she opened the bag again, she let some of the rice fall back inside. Her lola turned around and started to laugh at them.
“Kano. Kano.” Her lola teased, giggling to herself
“Lola.” Y/n shook her head as she closed up the rice bag.
“What does that mean?” Bob asked, worriedly looking between them
“Kano is like ‘foreigner’.”
“Okay, so far I’ve been called… p-puti, guapo, pogi, and kano… I think I prefer guapo or pogi.” He said, stammering, trying to get the pronunciation right.
Y/n smiled as she stood back up. She patted his cheek reassuringly. “Yes, you are very pogi.”
She made her way over to the sink. “Then you wash the rice.” She explained, running her hands through the rice under running water. “Just until the water’s clear.” She poured out the old water and let it fill up again. Bob watched intently.
“Then… can you grab me the lid?” She asked.
Bob looked around, unsure where it had gone. Then she raised her eyebrows and pointed at it on the counter behind him using her lips. The typical quick duck pout that most Filipino’s knew was just a way to point at things.
He smiled a little, and instead of turning around, he leaned in and gave her a peck on the lips. She looked at him, a little wide-eyed and confused, but with a smile. Then she realized what had happened.
“Oh, Bob. I meant-” She started to laugh, her hands still in the rice pot.
“What?” He asked, confused.
“When I-” She pointed with her lips again, “It’s just a way of pointing. The rice pot’s right behind you.”
His face completely flushed red, and he breathed out a small laugh. The morning sun through the windows lit up his crooked smile.
“Got it. I should start doing that too.” He turned and grabbed the lid and handed it to her right as she pulled out the pot. “Like this?” He pouted his lips and stared at the rice pot, making her laugh.
“It’s quick. It’s like… when someone you don’t like walks in the room, and you need a way to point them out while being discreet.” She showed him again by raising her brows and pointing her lips quickly.
Bob tried to imitate, and she smiled at his attempts. When he got close enough with a quick brow raise and lip point, she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss.
“Yes, like that.” She said as he smiled and blushed, caught off guard. “Let me show you the way to measure the water.”
He came close to her, and she immediately flipped him off.
“The perfect tool.” She said, making Bob laugh in confusion. She put her middle finger in the rice and water, and the water line went right up to her first knuckle. “Perfect. You just put the water to the first knuckle on your middle finger.”
“But your middle finger is smaller than mine.”
“Don’t question it. We just do it. And it works.” Nina said with a testing brow raise.
He jutted his bottom lip out and shook his head in surrender. She put the rice pot in the cooker and flipped the switch. Simple as that. She wiped her hands on the kitchen towel.
“There. Now you’re making rice.” She said happily, putting her hands on his shoulders.
Draping his arms around his waist, he looked down at her, then did a little lip point. She laughed out loud at how his glasses fell to his nose.
“Are you pointing at something or asking for a kiss?” She asked
“Asking for a kiss.” He said in a small voice.
She leaned up and kissed him, pulling him in by his shoulders. He pulled her into a hug so that even when he pulled away, he rested his chin on her head. He sighed a little anxiously.
“You’re doing fine,” She reassured.
Then suddenly from the dining table, “Y/n. Bobby. Kain na.” Her lola called them to eat.
“Wala rice!” She called back, “Still cooking!”
Her lola nodded and waved them over. “Mainit pa ang pagkain.”
Y/n sighed and shook her head, and Bob watched their verbal tennis slightly in awe.
“I’ll learn,” Bob suddenly said, nodding determined.
She turned back up to him, realizing he had been left in the dark. With a small smile, she squeezed his shoulders. “She called us to eat. ‘Kain na’. You’ll hear that one a lot. I said there’s no rice. ‘Wala rice’. Then she said the food’s still hot. ‘Mainit pa ang pagkain.”
“Mainit is hot?” He tried to figure out. His brows were scrunched all cutely.
“You got it.” She smiled, “Now let’s go eat a little until the rice is ready, or I think lola’s gonna deck us.”
He smiled and took her hand as she led him into the dining area. Sure, he was pretty lost when it came to his girlfriend’s culture. But he knew he was in good hands.
Summary: Bob was your best friend, and you were his, and for now, that was enough.
Warning: mdni, slight angst, mostly smut, pinning, masturbation (p and v), wet dreams, fantasizing about someone without their knowledge, porn with some plot?, reader is smaller than Bob (I think that's it)
Word count: 570
Masterlist
Bob, who knew you like an open book. Bob, who sent you songs during the day, because they reminded him of you. Bob, who remembers everything you say, even the most mundane things, like how you only like avocados if they're in the form of guacamole or sushi, and will absolutely gag if you have to eat it raw.
Bob, who doesn’t mind if sometimes you just want to sit together in the quiet. He knows that sometimes just being in each other’s presence is enough, especially when you’re mentally burned out.
Bob, who invades your dreams. You’ll dream of his hands in your hair, his lips on your neck, his fingers tracing your thigh, your body. His hands cupping, massaging your breasts. You dream of him whispering in your ear, his hands wrapped around your throat until you wake up in a sweat, gasping for air. It felt real, so real, you'd think with a smile.
And then the guilt would creep in. Guilty for thinking of Bob like this, guilty for yourself, for not working up the courage to tell him how you felt.
You like to think you could have Bob if you wanted to. You'd seen the way he looked at you. How he’d go red when your shoulders brushed. When you meet up with him and the dagger squad in that dress that showed off your boobs just right. How his eyes seemed to follow your every move, taking in every curve.
You were worried about what'd happen if you finally took the plunge. What would people say? What if you didn't work out? What if you did it, and you were just imagining all the interaction in your head, and he rejected you? You couldn't imagine a life where Bob wasn't there by your side.
So, you were okay with this, the dreams and thoughts in your head. That's what you told yourself as you lay in bed at night. As you touched yourself, you imagined it was Bob's hands on you. His fingers pumping in and out of you, his mouth on your core as he sucked you in and savored it. Eating like a man starved. You imagine him looking up at you as he did, and your body convulsed as your orgasm came in waves, gripping your sheets as they were set ablaze.
And across town, Bob would be lying in bed, thinking of your hands on cock, how small they’d be in comparison. Then, as he pumped himself harder, he imagined he was fucking your throat. Gently first. Then harder as he picked up the pace. He imagined you gagging around him as he fucked your face for his pleasure, and you'd take it, reeling in him using you like fleshlight. Then, as he came, he imagined your face, eyes closed, mouth open as you welcome his seed in you.
You’d both be breathless, lying in your respective beds at the aftermath. And then the guilt would creep in, you for screaming his name. And him for never having the courage to tell you how he felt
But you were both too scared, too shy to make that jump.
So for now, you'd go to the Hard Deck and give Bob that smile worth a thousand words. He'd pull out the chair for you, ever the gentleman, and you'd sit there, legs brushing against each other, both of your hearts skipping a beat at the touch.
Those fantasies in your head had to be enough for now.
A/N: I had no idea what to put for the summary tbh. I wrote this instead of sleeping last night, hope y'all like it!
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