i've been thinking long and hard about what i wanted to request from you!! i'd love to see you write something for a seemingly innocent reader who starts dating one of the guys (your pick!) and he thinks he'll have to show her how to do things in bed but then she just ends up being incredible and literally blows his mind with the things she does with her body!! thanks in advance <33
Where Did You Learn That?
a/n: i love this request!! i made him quite reserved and gentle. also with an age gap, he thinks she’s the sweetest, soo inexperienced and don’t wanna rush her, oh honey.
summary: shy, doe-eyed, you pick up an older man in a library. after weeks of innocent coffee dates you spend the night at his place, shattering the facade by blowing his mind in bed, leaving him wondering where the fuck you learned that.
tags: sex, age gap, gentle current gee, deceiving innocence, reader is a shy freak<3
word count: 2,056
You’d met Gerard in the library, vanilla oat latte in hand, lips rosy from the strawberry chapstick you loved. He sat across from you, mousy hair spilling over his eyes, gaze flicking to yours every time he turned a page. The room was silent, so silent the pulse in your ear thumped like a bass, hours stretched. Sunlight slanted through tall windows, dust drifting lazily in the beams. Every rustle of paper felt loud, every shift of his foot against the carpet doubled the butterflies in your stomach.
Then, his chair creaked. He shoved his book into a messenger bag and walked away in long strides. The tension that had coiled all day snapped, leaving a sudden, aching void when you couldn’t look over at him anymore. Your legs moved before your mind could keep up, hurriedly grabbing your bag and lightly running after him. No plan. Your heart hammered so loudly you were sure everyone heard it in the hush of the library.
“Sorry–hi,” you stuttered, looking like a deer caught in headlights.
He turned, you swore you could see a sparkle in the hazel when his eyes locked with yours.
“Hi,” he said flatly, with a bob of his throat.
He was much older than you, pushing fifty while you were mid-twenties. You could see the grey coming through from his roots, eating away at the mousy brown, the faint lines by the crooks of his eyes. But still, age hadn’t been cruel on him, he looked beautiful, warm, inviting.
“I noticed you,” you began, struggling to find the words. “Wanted to say hi.”
Heat crawled up your neck, you felt pathetic. He probably thought of you as a kid, he didn’t notice you.
“Yeah,” he spoke softly, hand rubbing at the base of his neck. “I… kind of noticed you too.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to conceal the smile daring to tug at your lips, have a little self-restraint would you.
“Um... you wanna go somewhere we can talk?” You proposed, feeling the librarian already burn holes in your neck with their stare.
He nodded, hand hovering in the air behind your lower back as he followed you outside.
That was the first of many coffee-dates. You didn’t talk about your age or what you did for work, and he never asked. He knew you were an adult, but something about your soft voice and your doe-eyed gazes clearly read as inexperienced to him. For this reason he never asked you out anywhere sexier than coffeehouses.
Weeks blurred together, rain tapping against windows, the familiar ding of the bell over the door, his quiet, shy smile that made you fuzzy on the inside. He memorized your order, vanilla oat latte already steaming on your favorite corner table, always letting you have the booth with the window view. You’d watch the way his fingers brushed yours when he slid the coffee over, the careful distance he kept—like he was afraid of scaring you off, and you’d just hide your smile behind the rim of your cup.
You never disclosed your attraction, but his eyes always lingered on your lips whenever your tongue darted out to lick the foam after a sip, and his arm snaked around your waist like it belonged there whenever the queue got crowded and he noticed your breathing hitching, feeling inclined to protect you.
You felt so silly, forgetting your bag with the keys to your apartment in the library one day, you didn’t notice until hours later, long after the library had closed.
“Hey, calm down,” he murmured, palms steadying both your shoulders, “We’ll get them tomorrow, you can stay with me...”
Heat flooded your chest, the knot in your stomach from losing your keys only tightening at the thought of spending the night with Gerard. You’d been silently crushing on that man since day one, the way he tried so hard to be respectful, the way he had no idea you’d been imagining this exact scenario for weeks.
He noticed the faint blush across your cheeks when he unlocked his door, guiding you in before him. His house was just as warm and inviting as him, it looked lived in, pictures, art, plants, everything a tell-tale of his personality. It smelled like him, only more of it, woody, smoky, a little sweet. Maybe vanilla, maybe something warmer, like cedar and old books and him. Instantly calming and exhilarating at the same time.
He showed you to his guestroom. The bed looked comfortable, wide enough for one, but inviting enough that the thought of sharing it flickered through your mind. He put down one of his t-shirts, neatly folded on top of the quilt. The cotton was soft, worn from too many washes, carrying that same faint scent that clung to his skin.
“If you wanna sleep in something else…” he mumbled, like the words weren’t actually important anyway.
Silence stretched. Your gaze flicked over Gerard, the flex of his jaw, hands fisting, and his jeans… Tighter than you remembered. His eyes were fixed on the nothing beside you. Just the thought of you sleeping in his shirt in his house was enough, he couldn’t trust himself to look at you. You were so sweet, he couldn’t ruin that. Not yet.
Your fingers hooked in the waistband of your jeans, slowly dragging down and stepping out of them. Gerard stayed. Frozen in place. You could hear his breathing, shallow, careful, like he was trying to be invisible. Your shirt came next, revealing a baby-pink cotton bralette matching your panties. You stared at him, pulse racing, he didn’t meet your eyes.
You sauntered toward him, palms sliding up his chest, feeling his heart hammering against his ribs, fingers gripping his jaw gently, nudging him to look at you.
“Look at me,” you whispered, tracing the corner of his mouth with your fingertip.
He did. Gaze roaming over your face, lips, the slope of your neck and the swell of your breasts.
One shaky breath. Then his mouth crashed into yours.
Kissing you deep and passionately, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you impossibly close. You didn’t stop until you had to come back for air, a strip of saliva snapping between you, foreheads pressed together, panting and feeling feverish.
Your hand grazed over the soft curve of his stomach, unbuckling his belt, zipper rasped. A sharp inhale as his cock slapped against his abdomen.
“Fuck, are you sure? Have you done this before?”
Your eyes pierced him, holding back a laugh, mid-twenties and he still thought you were some blushing virgin just because you bit your lip and spoke softly. You wrapped your fingers around his already rock-hard cock, which twitched instantly at the contact.
“Oh—god,” he groaned, voice cracked.
You pumped him in slow strokes, hand curling for every upward motion, your chipped silver nail-polish reflecting in the night-stand lamp.
His hips jerked forward involuntarily, chasing your fist. His breath turned to ragged gasps, eyes blown wide, flickering between your hand and your face. You could feel the tremor in his thighs, the way he fought not to thrust too hard into your grip.
“Sweetheart,” he rasped, voice in disbelief, “slow—fuck—slow down, I’m gonna—“
You tilted your head, all wide-eyed and innocent, thumb swiping over the slick head of him just to watch his jaw fall open and his eyes squeeze shut. Then you sank to your knees without warning, carpet soft under your knees.
Gerard let out a broken moan, hands hovering like touching you would ruin everything. “You don’t have to—“
You looked up through your lashes, with shy curiosity, and let your tongue peek out to lick a slow, deliberate stripe up the underside of him. His knees nearly buckled.
“Oh Christ—“
You took him in, just the head first, cheeks hollowing as you sucked gently, tongue swirling. A low, filthy groan was punched out of him. You hummed around him, pleased, then pulled off with a wet pop.
“I want to,” you whispered, voice small and sweet, like you were talking about something far more innocent than letting him fuck your mouth.
His restraint snapped.
One big hand slid into your hair as you took him deeper, slow and steady, relaxing your throat until your nose touched the coarse hair at his base. His hips rolled helplessly into your mouth. You moaned around him, the vibration stealing another curse from his lips.
“Jesus, baby—how are you—fuck—“
You pulled back just enough to speak, lips brushing the sensitive tip. “Like this?” you asked, breathless and curious, then sank down again, faster this time, setting a rhythm that had his thighs shaking.
He was muttering nonsense, your name, swear words, praises. When you felt him swell and getting close, you eased off entirely, letting him slip from your mouth with a slick sound. He stared down at you, wrecked, mesmerized.
You rose, peeling the bra over your head, letting your breasts spill free. He hurriedly undressed himself as well, shirt and jeans carelessly tossed aside. His gaze dropped to your bare chest, hungry. You took his wrist, guiding his palm over one hardening nipple.
“Touch me,” you murmured, drawing two fingers from his other hand to your lips. You sucked them in without breaking eye contact, tongue curling just like it had around his cock moments ago. His breath stuttered as he kneaded your breast reverently.
You pulled his slick fingers free and led them between your legs, beneath the soaked cotton of your panties. He groaned.
“So wet,” he whispered, voice full with wonder. “For me?”
You nodded, biting your lip like a shy little thing, and tugged your panties down your thighs. He watched them fall.
The back of your knees hit the bed. You crawled up it backward, never breaking eye contact, until you were spread out on his quilt, knees falling open. He followed like he was connected by a string, settling over you, cock heavy against your inner thigh.
He kissed you again, slower, tasting the salt of himself on your tongue and groaning into your mouth. You reached between you, guiding him to your entrance, rubbing the head through your folds.
“Please,” you whispered sweetly against his lips, voice trembling like you’d never done this before. “I want you inside me.”
You didn’t need to beg. He pushed in with one long, careful thrust, eyes locked on yours, watching for any sign of pain. There was none. You were slick and ready, taking him to the hilt, your walls fluttering around him.
His head dropped to your shoulder. “Fuck—fuck—you’re so tight—“
You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, rolling your hips up to meet him. Slow at first, then harder, urging him deeper. His rhythm instantly faltered.
You reached for his hand again, bringing his fingers to your lips. You sucked them in time with his thrusts, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing, eyes half-lidded and sultry. Every time you moaned around his fingers he pounded you harder, like he couldn’t hold himself back.
“Look at me,” you breathed, pulling his fingers back to speak, then back in.
He did. Watched you suck him dry while he fucked you deep and hard, your body arching off the bed to take him, tits bouncing with every thrust. The innocent little whimpers you let out around his fingers were filthy, and it was undoing him.
“Baby,” he choked, pace turning frantic, “I’m close—where—“
You clenched around him on purpose, sucked harder, and let your eyes go wide and pleading.
“Inside,” you mumbled around his knuckles, voice muffled and syrupy. “Please, Gerard—want to feel it.”
That was it.
He buried himself deep with a broken groan, hips stuttering as he came, pulsing hot inside you. You kept sucking his fingers through it, gentle and soothing, until every last shudder.
When he finally collapsed on top of you, heavy, panting, you let his fingers slip from your mouth softly.
He stared at you, dazed, tracing your swollen lips with the same fingers you’d just worshipped.
“Where the fuck,” he whispered hoarsely, “did you learn that?”
You smiled, slow, secretly, nothing innocent about it, and nipped his thumb.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
