#i mean i’m not a librarian but i have a Thing for semi-public sex

[inkykeiji]

re: recent rb, as a degenerate: that’s hot as fuck. As a librarian: im calling the police lmao

BAHAHAHAHAHAHA omg (〃ﾉωﾉ) pls don’t kick us out librarian >.<

[twinksrepository]

Who knew Librarians could be so mean? Or hot?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Satan X F!Reader

CW: NSFW, angst and smut, Penis in Vagina sex, making out, embarrassment, being yelled at, safe sex, condom use, semi public sex, listen you bang in a library, modern AU

Word count: Roughly 6K

A/N: It's your first year of University. So far your lifeline has been the library on campus. You might also have a thing for a certain blond haired librarian.

Well. I did say I was having thoughts because of the new Satan and Asmodeus cards. So here's the first fic. The Asmo one is also done but I need to edit it so it might be up soon.

Images belong to Solmare.

You knew university would be hard, difficult even. You just hadn’t expected it to be this hard. From the hours upon hours sitting in lecture halls and taking notes, to the lack of sleep as you never seemed to have enough time in the day to get everything you needed to done. 

In fact, at this point, you’re certain the only reason you’re still alive is because of the library on campus. 

Or. 

More specifically the blond haired librarian with verdant eyes who wore sweater vests. 

Your first interaction with the man had been late at night sometime during your first month of classes with minutes before the library was due to close. You were moments from tearing your hair out as you looked at the note you had as you hurried along the stacks looking for the reference books you needed. Out of your list of five that you needed for your first paper you had found zero. 

Sure you were from a small town. Sure this library was the largest collection of books you had ever seen. But you weren’t an idiot. You knew the dewey decimal system and understood it! Plus the catalogue showed there were several copies and not all of them were checked out. 

So why in the universe couldn’t you find a single one?

“Miss, we’re closing in less than five minutes.” Turning towards the voice you must have looked like such a mess with the way his stern expression softened. It might have been pity, it would have made sense for it to be pity since he did work at the library and was probably used to the first month of each semester to see new students looking like lambs being led to the slaughter. 

Either way, he approached you and looked at the wrinkled note in your hand. “Do you need some assistance finding these books?” 

“Yes.” You sounded pathetic even to your own ears. You had been ready to cry in that moment of defeat. There might have been water on your lashes as you looked at him.

“Ah.” With the paper in his hand he let out a chuckle as his eyes roamed over the page. “You must be taking one of Professor Willow’s classes.” At your nod, the smallest of smiles broke out across his face. “You’re in luck, follow me.” Feeling every bit like a lost little duckling you followed behind him towards one of the tables that another of the workers was cleaning up. “Your Professor gives the same first assignment every year, I noticed a group of what I assume are other students in his classes studying earlier. Ah, here we are.” 

It was like a gift from the academic gods as he handed you three of the books on your list with a smile that made you want to cry again but this time in relief. “Thank you!” You didn’t even need to head to the checkout counter, as he pulled you towards one of the terminals and checked out the books once he had your ID in hand. 

“I’ve made a note on your file to pull the other two you were looking for, is this the right number? We can send you a text when they’re ready for pick up.” This one man was a godsend as you nodded telling him it was the right number and you didn’t realize they offered that service.

“Maybe if you had a little more sleep you might have noticed.” Chuckling with a shake of his head. “I’m certain you feel overwhelmed, just know the staff are here to help. It’s important to find a rhythm that doesn’t burn you out and you look like you’re ready to fall over in a light breeze.” 

Nodding again and starting to feel like a bit of bobblehead. “Thank you Sir! Um I mean…” Trailing off and letting your eyes fall to his nameplate and the few still aware brain cells in your head were still enough to tell you not to blurt out what you wanted to ask. 

“Yes. My name’s Satan. Don’t ask.” And you didn’t. Not when he just saved your proverbial bacon. 

Suffice to say however that interaction had been enough to make you smarten up a little bit. He made a good point, if you kept burning the midnight oil you might not have the energy to finish your degree and that would have been a waste of the scholarship you were there on. Or being burnt out and letting the grades you needed to maintain slip could cost you the scholarship as well. 

You took his advice to heart and started asking the staff for help instead of wandering the stacks and assuming they’d think it a waste of their time. You couldn’t do it alone, at least not this part and the staff were always friendly. 

Yet after that first interaction, you noticed that whenever you ran into Satan he always seemed to have that little smirk on his face as he helped you find what you were looking for. Several weeks later he even shook his head a little as he handed you a tome that looked like it could double as a murder weapon. “At least you don’t have the bags under your eyes anymore, just remember you need to eat too.” 

“Thanks, Mom.” Throwing back at him as you walked away with a playful wink. Trying to ignore the tingling along your fingers that had brushed his green painted nails. 

The more you interacted with him the more you learned about him and he in turn you. It was easier for him to start the conversations based on the books you were looking for he had been able to piece together what you were studying for your degree. 

It wasn’t long before you found you both had a shared interest in reading and not just for school. “Knowledge is power. People respect someone who’s well informed.” He’d stated during one of your conversations with his hand on his chin. It made sense, and also made sense why he was a librarian. You also learned he was only a few years older than you, having finished his degrees in a time span that made your eyes widen in surprise. Knowledge is power indeed. 

The downside you saw as you got to know him better was a simple one. 

You had a crush on him. 

Something you very much kept to yourself and didn’t tell and of the few friends you had made, certain you’d be made fun of for finding the blond attractive. It might have been more being worried it was because he was a librarian because you believed with the way some of the female students fawned over him he was attractive to more than just you. It wasn’t just his looks though, he seemed so earnest in his statements, and in the brief time you’d known him it seemed like he always knew the outcome of events before they happened. He explained it away as being the logical outcome after shrugging his shoulders and going back to work. Add in his tall lean frame, blond hair that fell just over the rim on his glasses with the way he parted it. Those soft little smiles and that slightly arrogant chuckle when he was right. 

Well. 

You were smitten. At least you were also smart enough to know nothing could ever come of it. Besides you didn’t want to risk your friendship with one of the few people that loved books as much as you did. They had been your escape as a child in your small rural town and you’d never stop being grateful for the worlds they allowed you to see in those printed pages. 

At least. That was before the incident. 

You’d been walking along in a corner of the library under an overhang when you felt it. 

A single drop of water hitting the back of your neck as you perused the shelve. Lifting your fingers to the hair along the nap of your neck and feeling the wet spot. Tilting your head a little confused you looked up and felt your stomach drop. The tiles along the ceiling clearly had water stains and they looked new. 

Fearful your eyes fell to the wooden shelves that held so many of the precious printed works you swallowed. Tentatively reaching out to press a finger to one of the spines, wincing at the spongy resistance that should have been solid. “Shit.” Grabbing one of the smaller books that was drenched you hurried back towards the main area of the library to find one of the staff to let them know what you found. 

Grinning at a familiar sweater vest clad figure that had their back to you. 

“Satan!” Calling out to him and glad you’d run into him, he’d understand the problem right away. “There’s a problem under the non-fic-” The smile on his face fading at your appearance.

“Why.” Cutting you off as his eyes landed on the sodden mess in your hand, his voice frigid and his eyes seemed almost dark compared to the usual mirth they shone with. “Is that book wet?” 

You stopped for a moment looking at him in surprise. “Because there’s an entire stack that’s soake-” 

“You ruined an entire stack of books!” You flinch at the way his normally even voice seemed to boom out across the space. There’s a fury on his face that has your stomach dropping down to the floor. 

“What. No. I think there’s been a-” In a span of moments he’s right in front of you and you could have sworn it was the devil who’s name he shared instead of the sweet librarian you had a crush on.

“A mistake? There is. Letting someone like you into these hallowed halls.” His eyes seething as he stares at you while your heart hammers inside your chest and sweat starts to drip down your neck. 

“I didn’t.” You whimper the words before he cuts you off again. 

“Didn’t what?” You can’t take this sudden change in his demeanor, your vision blurry with the fluid forming along your lashes. Your stomach is nothing but knots as you shake your head, feeling your cheeks warm as you're mentally torn between being embarrassed and terrified. As well as something you refuse to name in that moment. 

“Hey, Satan!” Another worker comes to your rescue. “It looks like we’ve got a water pipe burst down in the non-fiction five hundred to six hundred. We need someone to call maintenance and shut it off before more of the books get wet.” 

It’s like watching the wraith that overtook his face wash away as he turned to you with a whisper of your name. His outburst has a crowd watching the two of you and the entire altercation. You can’t take that look on his face, not with the way you feel and the fact there’s been an audience to see and hear him treating you like dirt. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.” Slapping the ruined book against his chest as the tears finally start to fall. “Asshole.” Hissing the last word just loud enough for him to hear before you take off running out of the library. 

You’ve had enough drama today. And the worst part? When he was yelling at you your body had responded, feeling your muscles tighten and your core throb. You did not have it in you to face that you might have a kink for being yelled at. Or degraded like that. 

Back in your dorm, you curl in a ball and pass out. You just don’t have the energy to deal with what the hell just happened and the way your heart beats in your chest like it’s been broken. 

When you come to the next morning you find an email from the student board, apparently, someone, or a few someones based on the detailed account, reported the incident. 

Great. 

You just wanted to put yesterday behind you and avoid the library for the rest of the year. So much for that. With the wording of the email you have no choice but to answer as they want to know how you want to deal with the incident and wondering if you wanted to have the employee face any potential job repercussions. That leaves a weight in your gut that makes you want to throw up at the way it’s worded.

Are you upset because of it? Yes. 

Do you want Satan to lose his job because of it? No. 

Dragging a hand down your face as you draft a response of how while you are upset at the situation and thankful that other students and faculty members reported the issue, you don’t want to take any more action than an apology. 

In truth, you want more than that because his reaction made you wonder if Satan had some anger issues he needed to sort out. Something like that in the email could still end up with him facing job loss. 

Finally checking your phone you see a message from an unknown contact. Clicking it you want to bang your head against the table. 

I had no right to say that to you. 

I understand if you never wish to speak to me again but I owe you an apology. 

I won’t make excuses for my behavior. 

However I made you feel in that moment I am deeply apologetic it wasn’t right to treat you that way. 

The date timestamp show the messages were sent a few hours after the incident, and you have one more from this morning. 

I’ve been placed on suspension. You don’t have to worry about running into me at the library for a few weeks. 

 Sighing you roll your shoulders as you start to type out a response. 

Satan

Did you seriously take my number from the student system to text me after what happened yesterday? 

That’s a bit unprofessional 

Sighing again you look at the device in your hand. You’re still upset but you don’t want to leave things hanging with neither of you knowing where you stand and possibly losing what might be a friend. 

I’m not going to say I accept your apology

You didn’t even let me answer yesterday and made me feel so small like I didn’t matter. It felt so different compared to the person that helped me out so often and reminded me when I needed to take breaks. You did a lot for me without even realizing it. 

So this time let me say it. 

I think you need a break.

Maybe once you’re back I’ll have my thoughts more in order on how I want to proceed with our friendship. 

Rubbing your face as you dropped your phone beside you before flopping back in bed, glad you had a few hours before you needed to be in class anywhere. 

As the weeks went by you found a difference in the library when you were there. It wasn’t that anyone treated you differently compared to any other student. It was more that you realized Satan did a lot of things for you that the staff didn’t do for students. 

When you couldn’t find a book or a certain reference the staff just pointed you in the right direction or check in the system to see the status of it. Compared to Satan who wouldn’t just tell you, he’d lead you to the right stack and help you find it. All the while asking you about the reason you wanted the resource. Or more that he was making comments in that eerie way of his that he knew exactly what you were up to. It made you realize just how much Satan seemed to know about you and how much you missed his presence. 

Stupid crush. 

You really did miss him though, and the way your heart hurt inside your chest at his absence was a sign you were in a lot deeper than you should have been. 

It was almost like a repeat of the first time you met him, minus the mad scramble on your part to try and find books. Well. 

The time was anyway. 

You’d stayed late to finish a paper, listening to your headphones while you typed away tucked in a cubical along a wall that wasn’t used very often with several books spread out across the space. Working on your closing statement to recap your thoughts when you jumped feeling a hand land on your shoulder. 

Flailing and making the worker flinch just as much, pulling one of your earbuds out to hear what the person had to say. “Sorry! It’s almost clos-ing” A hitch in a familiar voice as you turn. 

“Satan.” It tumbles from your lips and before you know it your arms are around his middle. Burying your face in one of his sweater vests. “I missed you.” 

“I um.” Feeling his hand pat your shoulder awkwardly. “I think you might be the one being unprofessional at the moment.” Realizing what you did you jumped back, missing the slightest flush on his face. 

“Sorry!” The tips of your ears feel like they’re on fire as you start to grab your things. At least until you pause remembering the series of texts after the incident. “Satan?” 

“Yes?” He’d been standing there like he was still in shock at the sudden contact. 

“I’m still not ready to forgive you for what happened.” Watching him you see him swallow and his face pale a little. Holding up your hand as his lips spread as if to interrupt you. “That doesn’t mean I’m mad, and well. I guess it’s my turn to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you an asshole.” Sending him a sheepish smile as you go back to gathering your things. 

“You should have done worse, I was an asshole.” There’s a hint of dejection in his voice, but instead of still standing there he helps you grab your things since the library is closing. 

“I guess as long as we’re clear on that.” Laughing as you slip your laptop into your bag. Except when you straighten and find the two of you essentially sharing the space, this close you see the flecks of yellow in his eyes. “I um.” Stammering as you notice the slight split in his bottom lip. 

There’s a waiver in those pretty emerald eyes before he seems to make up his mind. “In for a penny.” Feeling confused by his words and your confusion only grows as his lips connect with yours for a brief kiss that has you feeling weak in the knees. It doesn’t last long before he steps back, creating distance between the two of you. “I guess I’m being unprofessional again.” Slowly blinking you notice the pink hue across his cheeks as he tries to look down at the floor.

“Maybe a little bit.” It’s hushed like you don’t want the words to carry any farther. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t like it though.” There’s a strange little flutter in your chest when his head snaps upwards. The way his eyes widen in what you can only hope is surprise is adorable. Squeezing the strap of your bag a little tighter in your hand as you swallow, hoping the material can wick away the sweat forming on your palms.  “You are a pretty nice guy, well, when you aren’t yelling at me.” Giving a small chuckle as you step closer, certain he has to be able to hear your heart pounding inside your chest like a drum. Lifting your hand and placing it in the center of his chest with a soft caress, parting your lips about to say something more when a voice calls out. 

“Satan!” Whatever courage you had mustered up after he kissed you shrivels up and fades in an instant. 

“Yea?” With reflexes you hadn’t expected he tugs you towards the edge of the wall and places a finger to his lips before turning and taking a few steps before dissappering from your sight into the short hallway that leads to the area you’re in.

“Almost done over here? We’ve got all the tables cleaned up and the books back on their shelves.” What? Glancing at your watch you realize the two of you must have spent a lot longer than you thought just staring at one another. It’s almost half an hour after the library was supposed to close. 

“Yea, just a few more books left to put away.” Satan’s voice is back to that steady tone you’re more used to hearing from him. 

“Oh need a hand then?” 

“No.” You can just picture him shaking his head at the offer of assistance. “I can finish up here myself.” 

“Alright. Why do I get the feeling you plan on sticking around to read after we’re all gone again?” The new voice laughs as if it’s something the blond does on a regular basis.

“Books are more interesting than people.” You can just picture him shrugging in that nonchalant way of his that has his shoulders rising just enough to show that he’s a little bit broader than his figure would let you to believe. 

“Well, have a good night then, and see ya in the morning.” Listening as the other person’s footsteps start to fade away until all you can hear is your breathing and the steady thump of your heart. Only to feel it miss a beat when Satan’s head pops back around. 

“Good. I thought you might have darted down the hallway to make sure you weren’t seen.” Leaning against the wall you’re still tucked against he raises a hand to reach out towards you, only to stop with his fingertips no more than a hairs breath away from the skin of your arm. “Um… I guess maybe the moments over?” That adorable hint of blush is back on his cheeks again. 

Feeling your face warm you shake your head. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be. Just… maybe this isn’t the best place?” Rubbing your thighs together nervously, while looking away from his face and biting your lip as your nerves come back. The idea of being caught making out with Satan in his place work where a few weeks ago he’d yelled at you for something that wasn’t your fault has you thinking this isn’t the right place. Another part of you, finds the thought of it tantalizing. 

“There’s only a few other workers left.” He says it so bluntly you jolt a little as you turn back towards him, finding his face inches from yours. The longer you gaze into his eyes the faster your heart starts to pound inside your chest, banging against your ribs as if wanting to escape from the confines of your bones. Your palms grow damp again as your stomach starts to clench. 

This close you can see the pulse in his neck, the shifting of his pale skin as he swallows and his adams apple moves. As steady as his voice might be, his body is reacting as if he’s as nervous as you are. The glasses on the bridge of his nose sliding down just enough that you make out the slight perspiration on his skin. 

You snap at the same time he does, your mouths connecting in a clash of teeth. Leaning into him with your hand tangling into his hair along the side of his head while he turns. His arms frame your sides as his chest presses you more against the wall, wedged between the bland painted surface and his body. The kiss is hurried and messy, but you don’t care, all you do care about is the way your heart pounds in your eardrums as you move your lips against his. Letting your bag slip from your fingers so you can run your hand along his chest, dragging the thick material of his sweater upwards as your fingers seek out the skin of his neck. 

Panting as you part your lips, wanting to deepen the kiss. It’s almost funny that he makes a similar move as your tongues slide across each other and you can taste what you think is coffee with milk. A bitter blend that's tempered by the tiniest hint of sweetness. Moaning as his body moves impossibly closer, as if trying to occupy the same space as you forcing you more against the wall. 

This close, your core throbs with need. He’s a bit taller than you, and there’s more than just his belt buckle pressing against your stomach. The thought of it has your head swimming with the idea of him being inside your body. 

Eventually, the two of you need to break for air. He’s flushed and his pupils are blown wide, almost hiding those striking irises of his as his shoulders shake in time to his deep breathing. You doubt you look much better. Neither of you moves too far away, sweeping your nose along the underside of his chin as you try to get your heart to slow down. 

“You have��� His voice is strained as he speaks, laced with desperation you don’t understand. “No idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Surprised at his admission you let out the smallest laugh that sounds more like a wheeze from your still screaming lungs. 

“Maybe. But I doubt it was before the start of the semester.” Teasing him has him letting out a chuckle as he ghosts his lips along the ridge of your cheekbone, following it to your ear before whispering lowly. 

“I’ll give you that, but it doesn’t change just how much I want you. Or how much I’ve had to control myself when talking to you instead of shoving you against the stacks and leaving you breathless.” Well, shit. If that low rasp in your ear doesn’t have your underwear starting to stick to your folds from the amount of fluid dripping from you his next words do. “Kissing you until your lungs burn while I pound my cock into you so when you cum my name is nothing but a mumbled moan that no one but me can hear. Then.” Dragging out the word with a strained breath. “I’d take you again. And Again. Until you’re a boneless incoherent mess.” 

“Damn. And here I just thought you were cute.” Trying to take away the building tension between the two of you out before your body screams to let him just do that. “Do you think that about a lot of new students?” A bad joke that doesn’t do anything to stop the thundering in your ears and the clenching of your core.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I just think those thoughts about you.” Watching his cheeks take on that cute little shade of pink that you’re starting to suspect is also partly his embarrassment makes your stomach do a strange little flip flop. 

“This is not a conversation I thought I’d be having right now.” Tilting your neck so your lips can brush along the point of his chin. “But I like it.” If how wet you feel is an indication it’s a lot more than just liking it. 

“Shit.” Hissing through his teeth you find yourself blinking in confusion. “I didn’t think you’d want me, that it was just fantasies in my head. I want you right now but I don’t have anything on me.” Letting his hands fall to his slide as he steps back, looking like he’s annoyed with himself. 

“Oh, Satan.” Chuckling you reach down to grab your bag and fish around inside one of the inner pockets. “You mean something like this?” Holding up the foil packet with a shit eating grin. 

“Do you always carry one of those around?” He has a look on his face like he isn't sure what you’re doing with a condom in your bag. 

“They say luck favors the prepared.” Teasing him a little as you lean back against the wall. “Plus, I’d rather have a condom on me and not need it, than need it and not have it. Seems like a good idea right now.” Watching that smile return to his face as he steps back into your space, kissing you again with a moan of his own as his fingers pluck the packet from your grasp. 

“Does that mean you feel like getting lucky?” Amusement in his tone as he skims his hand along your side, nipping at your lips while he waits for your answer. 

“You mean right here?” You definitely want this man, but the idea of it being against a wall doesn’t exactly keep you in the mood. 

“No. At one of those little desks, you were at earlier. No one would be able to see the middle one.” Nodding you place your weight against his body and away from the wall, trailing your hand down to the bulge in his pants and rubbing him through the material. Groaning he lets you keep palming at his cock as his hands land on your shoulders to guide you to the space, sitting down on one of the chairs and patting his lap for you to crawl on top of him. “Next time I’ll do you in the stacks, but for now I’d rather we both enjoy it sitting.” If it’s possible he seems nervous, not that you aren’t as you lick your lips before letting your weight settle. 

An experimental roll of your hips has both of you making some choked noises. The fire in your core is starting to make you sweat, and you just wanna feel him inside of you. “Satan?” Whispering against the shell of his ear with your hands resting on his shoulders, liking the feel of his lean form under your palms. 

“Yes?” A catch in his voice as he says your name with a longing you hadn’t expected. 

“I don’t want a build up, I just wanna feel you inside me. Please.” Whining low in your throat as you admit exactly what you want. 

“Asking like that just makes me wanna give into you.” Agreeing as he uses his hands to lift your hips upwards. “We’ll save that for next time.” Next time. It makes your core clench tighter as you step back and work the button on your jeans open and slide the zipper down before shimming the material of your bottoms and underwear down to your ankles. 

Glancing back to Satan and swallowing. His belt is undone along with his pants, pushed down to his knees with his cock in his hand as he strokes himself slowly from base to tip. It’s not the first dick you’ve seen, you’re not a virgin but you’ve only been with two other people as you tried things. Curious about how sex felt. But looking at him and the curve of his shaft already wrapped in the condom and how long he is you feel your walls clench and a dribble of liquid along the skin of your pussy. 

“We can stop if you want.” He must have taken you not moving as hesitation. Shaking your head before you shuffle closer and sit on his lap with your legs straddling his. 

“No. I want this.” Licking your lips as you place your hand over his chest and above his heart. “I want you.” Leaning in with a gentle kiss that’s more feeling than movement. Sliding your hands upwards to his shoulders you lift your hips up just enough so he can guide the head of his cock to your slick core. “Do you wanna stop?” 

“No.” That edge of certainly is back and once you feel the tip breach your sex you start to lower your body down, letting more of his length disappear inside your walls. 

“Sa-tan” Gasping as you tilt your head back, the burn from the slight stretch adding to your pleasure as his shaft reaches into the deepest part of you. Your butt cheeks clenching as you try to tighten even more around him, like your pussy wants to drag out that sensation of your walls being pushed to the point of pain as long as possible. 

“Fuck you feel good.” Hissing through his teeth as his hands settle on your hips to help you ease more of your weight down on him. A single drop of sweat trails down the side of his face as he watches you, savoring your expressions and storing them away in his memory for when he needs release and he only has his hand to work with. “Such a tight cunt.” Clenching around him like a vice while lightning races along your spine. Making a small noise of discomfort when his tip hits what you think is your cervix. “Easy, don’t hurt yourself.” His voice is soft through his clenched teeth as one of his hands sweeps across the skin of your hip before climbing a little higher under your shirt.

Nodding as you try to breathe through your nose, shit, you’re almost ready to cum just from having his cock in your pussy. Throbbing inside of you to the time of his heartbeat, the stretch making you pant as sweat has your shirt clinging to your back. “Kiss me.” It’s more like a command than a request, but Satan complies none the less. Lifting the hand that had been tracing patterns into the skin of your stomach to the back of your head to pull you closer. Letting him have control of your mouth and distracting you so your body relaxes, because you want to ride him instead of just coming undone from him being in your cunt. 

It’s like he can sense it, sliding his tongue around the inside of your mouth as is mapping it for memory. Keeping his fingers tangled in your hair and doing his best not to cum himself. As much as Satan might have fantasized about this moment, he never thought it would happen, having you here right now stuff to the brim with him was making him want to throw you on top of the desk and buck into you like a wild animal trying to breed. No. He needs you to feel safe around him again before snapping his hips into you like he wants to break you, so make it so your body craves his the way he craves you. Humming when he feels that tight channel wrapped around his shaft loosen. 

As the burning in your core starts to subside you lean back to break the kiss, placing your hands more firmly on his shoulders to steady yourself. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to cuming just from being penetrated.” Whispering the words as if sharing a secret before you start to gently ride him, focusing on the way his cock slides in and out of your walls. The way some of the veins along the underside brush against bundles of nerves that has you breathing deeper and freezing from the sensation. 

“If it helps” his voice is strained and the blush on his cheeks has spread to his neck and ears. “The last time I was this close so quickly was my first time.” Its so earnest you can’t help but slide your fingers along the nap of his neck as you close the distance for another kiss, starting to ride him a little faster now. 

Sliding your tongues together and breathing through your nose as you keep increasing the pace, moaning as his both of his hands are back on your hips. Helping guide you and keep you in place as you slide up and down his shaft from tip to base, feeling that coil in your belly growing tighter and tighter. All you can hear is the sound of wet slapping, moaning more into his mouth as he starts to buck up into you from the chair. 

Mewling against his face when you break the kiss, barely any space between your lips as you pant and whine hovering at that edge. “Satan.” It’s a breathless call of his name as you let out another whine, you’re so close. 

“I’ve got you.” Whispered against your face you feel his rapid exhales wash against your sweat slicked skin before you let out a strangled cry as you cum. All thanks to his fingers pinching your clit when his cock was balls deep inside you, moments later a grunt that might have been your name before Satan slams his mouth against yours. 

Slumping into his body as your core keeps spasms around him, his balls pumping more and more of his seed into the thin barrier of the condom that serves as a divider between your sexes. 

When you come down from your high you let out a soft little laugh as you lean your forehead against his. “That was fun.” 

“It was. I’d like to do it again.” Licking his lips as he gives one of your asscheeks a squeeze, liking the way it feels in his hand. “But I’d rather us both fully naked and on a bed.” 

“I live in the dorms.” Lifting your head with a smirk. “And didn’t you say next time would be in the stacks?” 

“I don’t consider this time over yet.” Catching your mouth in another quick kiss. “My place it is then.” Helping you off him before his cock softens too much as you swallow at the amount of cum inside the condom. Shit. You can already feel your body warming at the thought of another round. “Oh, and I’ve got condoms at my apartment.” 

“Then lead the way, Mr. Librarian.” Pulling your pants on and discreetly licking your lips. You like the idea of sucking him off and swallowing a massive load like that down your throat. “Does that mean I’m better than your books?” 

The answer is a laugh that makes you grin from ear to ear. It’s the start of an interesting relationship with the man that’s for sure. 

Obey me Masterlist

[huramuna]

new valyria - one shot.

aemond x shera stark, modern. 18+, minors do not interact or you will be smited. a banshee's lament au.

new valyria, the hottest club in town, is owned by the Targaryen family. it is themed in the style of Valyria of old with towering pillars of ivory and gold. the dress code is strictly red and black and their signature drink, a fruity and spicy blended brandy, is called 'the Balerion'.

i might do more one shots in this au heehee.

word count: 5.5k

content: smut (specifics below cut), angst, shera being a mess, aemond = whore?, aegon has rabies, helaena x shera agenda

ain't it fun - paramore • hard times - paramore

warnings: thigh riding, oral (f receiving), shera has a praise kink, aemond targaryen has a tongue piercing, semi public sex (they're in an alley)

“Sher, please don’t be a buzzkill, it's one night— just one!” Cregan exasperated, hands held out in a pleading fashion. He was pacing back and forth in front of his sister, perplexed. 

“It’s seriously not my scene, Cregan. I mean… loud music, flashing lights and intoxicated individuals everywhere? You really think that’s a good place for me to be?” Shera retorted, lazed back in her fluffy couch, glancing at her phone every once in a while.

“It’s really classy, trust me. There are tables to the side where you can sit away from the action.” 

“Why am I even going if I’m going to be ‘away from the action’?” she punctuated air quotes in his face. 

“When was the last time you left the house except to go to the post office? When was the last time you socialized with anyone who wasn’t me, Moongeist or Helaena?” 

Shera went silent, brow knitting together. She folded her arms over her chest defensively. “Low blow, make fun of the girl with an anxiety disorder and agoraphobia.” 

“I’m… I just want you to experience life! You’re young and spry— you should be out in the world trying everything while you still can! But instead, you insist on staying at home, wearing glasses that make you look like a librarian, and making soap. You already act the part of a grandma.” 

“It’s… I just don’t want anyone to see me, I don’t want to be perceived, Cregan. I don’t want people to look at me, to… to,” she gestured fervently to her eye, hands shaking slightly. She had a scar that ran the length of half of her face, bisecting her one eye into a milky-blue blindness. It was from a childhood accident, which was more or less a hazy nightmare to her now. “Y’know.”

“No one will see you, Shera. It’s… dark and low lit, that’s part of the experience.”

“Thirty minutes. I will stay approximately thirty minutes before I call an uber and go home. And… you have to do my laundry for… a month. No, two months!” Shera exclaimed, pointing out two fingers at him. Moongeist whined on the couch, giving a low warbling noise. 

–

Two hours later, she was dressed. She opted for a lacy baby-blue lolita style dress at first, but Cregan had protested immediately. 

“You look like a scary Victorian doll. Pick something from this era, please. Plus, there is a dress code of black and red.” 

Shoving a rude gesture in his face, she begrudgingly changed. She opted for a red satin dress. It had a scoop halter neckline which was certainly not her usual style. Glancing in the mirror, she wholly considered bailing out of the situation entirely. The snug fabric hugged her curves, her thighs rubbing together as she walked. She felt… exposed, all of the little dips and divots of her body on display— she wasn’t sure if it was even flattering. 

A small frown tugged at her lips as she fiddled with the plunging front of the dress, trying to get it to stay at a point where her breasts didn’t look like they were about to burst out and start kicking ass and taking names. Isn’t there tape made for this sort of thing? As self conscious as she was about the whole situation, there was something… liberating about getting dressed up with (almost) the sole purpose of being ogled at. While her face was something of a sore point, she would hope that at least one person in the club could find her body desirable. She was a ‘short-stack’ as Helaena called her, who worshiped her curves and soft spots like they were the second coming of a messiah. Shera squeezed her thighs together at the thought– if she didn’t get a hookup tonight, she would need to call Helaena. Some itches could only be scratched on your own for so long.

Pressing double-sided adhesive tape, that she used for her soap orders, to her chest, she somewhat successfully kept the satin in place. Giving another look and not quite on board with what she saw, she hid herself in an oversized puffy faux furred jacket. 

Just thirty minutes. It’s just thirty minutes, Shera. You can do this… just… chill out. 

Despite her lackluster words of affirmation and the subsequent panic bubbling in her stomach, she grabbed her purse. Her breathing was uneven and she took a hit from her emergency inhaler, hoping to the Gods at play that she wouldn’t have an asthma attack in the middle of the club. 

Shera imagined, somehow, dancing with some attractive number and getting hot and heavy (as if!) and then having to pull out her inhaler. Lung health is not cute. Oh, yeah, my airways get blocked sometimes by mucus and I can’t breathe. What do you mean you don’t want to stick your tongue down my throat? 

Myriad of issues aside, she pushed out of her room, head held not quite high, but just enough so she could see. 

Cregan nodded in approval (as if he was some sort of fashion expert) and they were off. The drive was quiet and Shera realized he never told her the club name. He always referred to it as ‘the club’. She somewhat understood the need for a dress code at an establishment like a lounge, but color coded? How pretentious. Shera and Cregan didn’t even really look good in red— they were more akin to monochromatic and cool toned blues rather than red. 

Red and black reminded her of… something. She couldn’t quite place it.

They pulled up to the building, which didn’t have a sign or anything. It was wedged in between two other buildings, but its architecture was vastly different. While the adjoining facilities were modern, the club looked like it was from ancient Greece. It had towering ivory pillars, etched in the simplistic but still somewhat complex design of corinthian filigree, the individual chips of the sculptor’s chisel still apparent— they were handmade, hand carved. The inside of the building emanated a foreboding and very deep red. 

Shera suddenly wondered if she was about to enter Mount Olympus— or maybe the underworld, as the sickly maroon color reminded her of the River Styx. 

The bouncer, a burly man who could easily bench press Cregan (an impressive feat, considering her brother was a hockey player built like a brick shit house) stood at the door. 

“Name.” the makeshift Charon grunted. Shera half expected him to start brandishing a wooden paddle. 

“Stark.” Cregan replied, hands in his pockets. 

Not-Charon looked at his list, then at the pair of Stark siblings, back and forth for at least thirty seconds. 

“S-T-A…” Cregan began to spell out their last name in irritation before the ferryman held up his hand in pause. 

“You’re on, go in.” 

Entering the club, to which Shera still didn’t know the name of, was certainly like entering the gates of Hell. She felt like Dante, entering the first circle, guided by Virgil. It was dark, the low boom of bass ringing in her ears. They were guided by a path of red floor lights. What is this? An amusement park? It was a weird mix of trepidation of entering the unknown— which to Shera, could either be the actual entrance to Hell, or the entrance to the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney world. All she was sure of is that she wanted a turkey leg and to go home. 

And yet, some part of her brain, as small and withered as it may be, pressed on for adventure and excitement. They approached the end of the path and it gave way to a large room, still painted in that deep saccharine hue. The roof was high-vaulted and curved inward– it was like stepping into the Pantheon, the coffered, domed ceiling seeming to go on forever. The club was set up in a circular manner, as the room curved around. The bar itself was in the middle, hugging a large stage platform. On the stage was a singular grand piano and a DJ station. All surfaces were decorated in ivory, accented by red velvet. 

The music playing was a mix of the piano and the DJ, working together to create a surprisingly exuberant melody that made Shera’s skin rise in goosebumps. 

“Let’s get drinks, Sher,” Cregan steered her to the wrapping bar quickly, his sights set on something or someone in particular.

Shera didn’t feel much like drinking– she had no taste for alcohol, only trying it a few times in her life and never enough to even get a buzz. She didn’t find the point in choking down liquid that tasted like poison only to feel like living death the next morning. She slipped into one of the velvet bar stools, her feet dangling under her.

“Just cranberry juice, please,” she murmured to the barkeep, who returned her request with an eyebrow raise. 

Cregan began whooping and hollering behind her and she turned to see someone she hadn’t seen in a long time: Jacaerys Velaryon. 

Once upon a time, Shera and Cregan had been extremely close to the Velaryon and Targaryen kids, growing up in the same social circles, they were all an unstoppable and very tight knit little group of hellions. 

But that was years ago– she didn’t talk to any of them anymore, except for Helaena, who she had stayed best friends with throughout the years, and may or may not be in a casual on and off situationship with.

She tried not to remember the fact that, at some point, she had been attached at the hip to Helaena’s brother, Aemond. They were like peanut butter and jelly, like cookies and cream, like macaroni and cheese, and any other iconic food (or maybe not, she was just hungry) related duo. Thick as thieves, they were. Until… the ever creeping monster of puberty and hormones and all the things related to growing up split them apart. Shera developed her terrible anxiety disorder, while Aemond flourished in academics and moved through the social ranks at school. They hadn’t spoken since they were sixteen, when Shera inevitably withdrew from physical school in favor of at-home, online school.

Shera approached him warily, seeing him laughing and joking with his friends that were just… so out of her atmosphere, she couldn’t even imagine having a conversation with.

They hadn’t been close in a few years but… it wouldn’t feel right just up and disappearing from school without telling him, right? 

Some stupid, childish part of her thought he might ask her to stay, ask her what’s wrong, ask her anything, really. 

But as she got closer, she felt all of their eyes on her, their lips pulled into sneers. It's irrational, it's irrational, it's irrational, she tried to reason with herself and her bubbling anxiety in her stomach. They aren’t laughing at you, they aren’t, they aren’t. 

But it… it feels like they were. Aemond’s blue eyes zeroed in on her, one slightly off-color than the other. They had both been involved in a childhood accident, leaving them both blinded. But, looking at the two of them, one would only be able to notice Shera’s glaring scar. 

Aemond’s eye and subsequent scar had been mostly covered up with extensive cosmetic surgery and other procedures, at his mother’s behest, and on his father’s dime, which was seemingly an endless well. His eye, which he lost, was replaced by a near perfect replica. No one who didn’t know him closely would ever notice.

At the time of the incident, Shera’s family was going through a transitional period– namely, her and Cregan’s father passing away while they were both underage, the following legal battle over inheritance with their uncle and just things that no kids should go through. It was the catalyst of Shera’s subsequent anxiety and myriad of following issues.

She didn’t even approach him further that day in the hall. She said nothing to him, merely turning on a heel and leaving.

That was eight years ago.

“Jace, my god,” Shera gaped, eyes wide. He certainly wasn’t a kid anymore and had put on some muscle mass– she assumed from playing hockey with Cregan (even if he was still dwarfed by the absolute unit of her brother). He had those unruly chocolate colored curls, oh-so reminiscent of his rumored father, Harwin Strong. But that was a touchy issue within itself and best left unsaid. 

“Shera!” Jace went in for the hug right away, squeezing the poor girl tight. “You look fantastic.” It felt like an obligated lie. 

“Thank you… um, what are you doing here?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Oh, I’m always around this place most times or another. I DJ on the side when I’m not on the ice. Mom made a spot for me.”

Mom? What did Rhaenyra have to do with this?

She must have looked visibly confused. “You know this… is my family’s place, right? New Valyria?” 

It hit her like a train– a freight train that smacked into her and kept on going until there was nothing left of her but Shera-shaped dust. “Oh.”

“Cregan didn’t tell you?”

Her brother scratched a hand behind his head, looking somewhat sheepish. It was a weird look on him. “I… may have not. I wasn’t lying per say–” 

Shera opened her mouth to say something more, but was interrupted by a cup being slid her way by the bartender. Without looking, she lifted it to her lips and took a deep gulp. It was, in fact, her cranberry juice– but it had been mixed with vodka. Heavily. She suppressed the urge to spit it out and looked back up. “I asked for just juice.”

“It was sent from the gentleman over there,” the bartender pointed to a small alcove adjacent to them where none other than Aegon fucking Targaryen was sitting, legs splayed out like he owned the place (well, he did in some capacity, she supposed) and a lady on each arm. He had the biggest shit-eating grin she’d ever seen, staring right at her. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she put a hand on her forehead. “I’m leaving, Cregan. I don’t give a shit about the deal anymore.” 

“Shera, we’ve been here for five minutes–”

“Five minutes. It took five minutes for someone to somehow recognize me in this stupid red lighting– and not just someone, no, one of my childhood friends who hasn’t spoken to me in eons and is looking at me like I’m his next meal. Not to mention, my shithead brother didn’t mention that the club he is forcing me to go to is owned by said childhood friend’s family. I should’ve fucking guessed it with the red and black dress code, fucking pretentious. No offense, Jace,” she murmured, taking a breath. “I’m done.” she gathered her purse, slipping off of the seat. That vodka must’ve gone straight to her head, as she’d never been so adamant about something. Fuck it. She threw back the remainder of the glass of vodka cranberry (regretting it immediately) and flipped her brother another rude gesture.

She was so blinded by red– not just the color scheme, but the rage she felt bubbling as she rushed to the exit. The rage and anxiety was a more powerful cocktail than anything they served at the bar as she pulled out her phone with trembling hands, trying to call an uber. She didn’t look up the whole time, somehow managing to almost reach the gate to salvation– before she ran head first into a very hard body. A very hard body with a pointy fucking necklace on that stabbed her in the forehead. The force of her stumble was catastrophic, for her, as she fell to the ground on her ass. The hard body stayed upright, only shaken a little.

A heavily tattooed and, ahem, large calloused hand reached in front of her. She took it, half expecting to pull her own weight up, but was easily lifted to her feet. The hand was warm. Unnaturally warm. The smell of cigarette smoke and… sandalwood blew out her senses. She could feel his breath on her face as she swayed slightly into him– he was looking down at her directly, pupils boring holes into her. The heat of the situation rose into a fever pitch as they were practically pressed together, his hand straying to the small of her back so she wouldn’t fall over again. It felt terribly intimate.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry— I… the… I’m sorry,” she stammered, trying to get out some sort of explanation to why she’d accidentally used this person as a springboard, but it just came out in a string of unintelligible ramblings. Her heels clicked on the floor, stumbling back and forth.

“It’s fine,” he replied. The voice sounded familiar, but still somewhat faraway in her mind. “Are you alright? You seem… unsteady.”

 She wouldn’t be surprised if she had given herself a concussion from face planting into… she glanced up, eyes trailing the body before her. He was tall with expensive Italian leather shoes and impeccably pressed slacks. His shirt was red and only half buttoned, leaving a small patch of sheer white-blondish chest hair. His hands, which dwarfed hers, were inked in tattoos that seemingly stretched his body, peeking out on his exposed torso. 

The offending pointy necklace revealed itself; a golden pendant of a Seven-Pointed star. Her stomach dropped into her feet as she realized exactly who it was. 

Fuckfuckfuck. Meeting his gaze, it was none other than Aemond Targaryen. Her former best friend, companion, partner in crime. She expected his face to twist into a sneer like it had before at school and she wanted to vomit. I have to get out of here. 

“You’re bleeding,” he pointed to her forehead where she had consecrated herself with his pendant. A bit of blood was trickling from her skin. 

That is what he has to say? You’re bleeding? No hello Shera, hi Shera, I recognize you Shera? A frown made home on her face as she realized he might not even remember her. 

“Um, it’s… it’s fine,” she wiped the blood away with the back of her hand, feeling it being replaced with new droplets. “Sorry for running into you, sir.” Sir? What the fuck is wrong with you, Shera? 

“At least let me help you get cleaned up, yeah?” Aemond pressed, tilting up her head to most likely observe her wound– but it also felt like he was sizing her up, checking her out. “Only if you call me sir again.”

She made a garbled noise of surprise at his last comment, her mouth opening to try and spew out some half-assed cheeky reply. “I… I guess,” she murmured. She really just wanted to go home and cry and never leave the house again— but that stupid and childish part of her brain that hadn’t resurfaced itself since leaving school was nagging her. It felt sickly euphoric to her to see him again. She hated to be objectifying, but he had grown up to be, quite frankly, gorgeous. “S-... sir,” she squeaked out lastly, finally thankful for the gaudy lighting– without it, Aemond would’ve seen her face lit up like a tomato. 

He nodded with a ‘hm’ noise, leading her down a hallway to the far side of the Pantheon. It was lit up normally with sconces on the wall giving clear white light. It was obviously a staff-only path. 

Okay, Shera. Breathe. You can get through this. Let him put a bandaid on your head and hopefully not recognize or remember you and you can be on your way. You always wondered what he grew up to look like and now you know! Here is your little Aemond fix to mend the Aemond sized hole in your heart. Then you can move on and totally not wallow over this for weeks.

The office was nice– it was his, she knew instantly. It had tall bookshelves filled with different philosophers and big named authors, no doubt some of them first or second editions worth thousands. Shera felt like she was intruding, like she didn’t belong. She didn’t, really. Swaying side to side, she awaited further instruction.

“Come,” he said, not so much asking. He seemed to lack some manners these days– Alicent must be aghast.

She shuffled and took a seat in one of the chaise velvet seats in front of the desk. She fluffed into her coat, wanting to just hide, her muddled mind replaying the way he spoke. Come, come, come. Christ, I need to get laid– maybe I should call Helaena. The lights, still a bit low, weren’t a scathing fluorescent color like on the club floor. He could most certainly see the scar running down her face– and the fear she held in her eyes. 

Even though it was plain as day, he didn’t say anything. He opened a first aid kit, dabbing her forehead with peroxide soaked gauze, his expression watching her every movement. His gaze was almost snake-like, unblinking as he observed.

She hissed at the sting of it, gritting her teeth slightly. He only gave an answer of a slightly knit brow. 

It was silent— save for Shera’s quiet and slightly wheezy, squeaky breathing. Her hands were clenched on her knees, her dress riding up her skin, which she was constantly tugging downward. As he shuffled closer, one knee knocked between her two shaking ones. Was that an accident? The creeping heat only seemed to grow.

The soft beat of the music from the club coupled with the blood rushing in Shera’s ears made her want to scream. Everything seemed in slow motion as Aemond, still apparently a painstakingly asinine perfectionist, took his sweet time to patch her up. This gave her time to watch him in turn, focusing mostly on the way his lips were upturned, cupid’s bow taut. Flicking back up to his eyes, they were looking back and forth from her lips to her own gaze. The air around them seemed to go stagnant. Holy fuck, does he want to kiss me or do I have something on my face? 

Her eyes must’ve read confusion, panic, elation and all the things in between that go with wanting to kiss an almost stranger in a club– but he wasn’t exactly a stranger to her. But, she supposed she was to him. His fingers tilted her chin upward and his lips curled into a smug grin, auto completing her thoughts. 

He pressed a bandage to her forehead, mouth open to say something, like he was going to do something, but he was caught off guard by the door to his office slamming open. Shera didn’t even look to see who it was— she was more focused on the fact that Aemond goddamn Targaryen had a tongue piercing. She felt like she was going to melt.

“Hey Aem, that fuckin’ slag bit me— do you think I should go get a rabies shot or something?” a slightly slurred voice drawed. “Ohhh, shit.” Aegon stumbled into the room, leaning on the doorframe. He was, in fact, bleeding from his neck, some very prominent bite marks marring his skin, coupled with vicious looking hickies. 

“Busy,” Aemond grunted, focusing his gaze back on tending to Shera. 

“Like busy or… busy? I don’t see your hand up her skirt or anything, so you can’t be that busy.” 

“Fuck off, Aeg,” he continued, gritting his teeth in annoyance. “Seriously.” 

“Well, Criston wants to talk to you ‘bout throwing that girl out— since it is your management night, eh?”

The smallest breath of annoyance slipped from the younger brother’s lips. “I’ll be right back.” 

Aegon still loomed in the doorway after he left, staring at Shera. “You didn’t like my drink?” 

“I don’t really drink.” 

“And yet… you’re at a bar where they serve alcohol.” 

“I’m trying to leave,” she sniffed.

“Not hard enough apparently,” Aegon flicked open a lighter, taking a drag from a suddenly lit cigarette. “You look like a lost pup, Shera.” 

“You remembered me.” 

“I may have the IQ of a golden retriever but I’m not that stupid. I couldn’t exactly forget your bird’s nest of red hair or himbo of a brother. Seriously, all those body slams from hockey must’ve damaged his brain.” 

Shera snorted a little laugh. “Aemond doesn’t even seem to recognize me— or, he hasn’t said anything.” 

“He’s got his head too far up his own ass to recognize anything other than cunt. He’s more of a whore than I am these days,” he took a deep drag, puffing smoke out into the hall. “Don’t be surprised if he fingers you before he even asks for your name.” 

An unfamiliar feeling churned in Shera’s stomach. “I… I gotta go.” she huffed, grabbing her purse and walking past Aegon. She was biting down so hard on her lip that it started to bleed, the metallic taste savoring like lead on her tongue. 

She makes her way through the throngs of people, everything around her a blur. It seemed that Aemond didn’t remember or recognize her– fine, that was fine. She didn’t expect him to– who would, really? Her eye unwillingly caught a glance of his figure again on the outskirts of the club. He was talking to a woman dressed in a sparkling red dress, looking like Jessica fucking Rabbit. His hands eclipsed the woman’s hips as they were leaned close together, clearly in some sort of heated conversation. 

 Her throat felt slightly constricted as she pushed out of the exit door into the alley. Has she misread his signals? They were totally about to kiss before Aegon came in, right? 

He’s a bigger whore than me these days.

Fat tears rolled down her face unwillingly as she leaned on the brick wall of the alley, fumbling for her phone again. Why did it hurt? It was stupid, she was stupid– they hadn’t seen each other in eight years and he didn’t even recognize her– so why did it sting to see… that? 

She texts for an uber rather than calling as her emotions are in no place to talk to someone. She drops her phone on the concrete several times by how much she’s shaking– she doesn’t even hear the door of the club close with a creak behind her.

“You left. I wasn’t done patching you up,” Aemond slunk around into her line of sight, head bowed low to try to look at her face.

She swiveled to the side to hide her expression and distress in her phone. “... had to go, sorry,” she whispers, trying her best to sound like she wasn’t crying.

“I didn’t mean for him to interrupt us– my brother’s an idiot,” he was chasing her face. “Let me see.” he put his hand on her cheek and turned her face to him again. She let him, forever putty in his hands. If only he knew. If only he really cared.

His thumb wiped away some of the tears. “It doesn’t hurt that bad, does it?” he whispered, getting close to her once more like they were in the office. “I can always kiss it better, hm?” 

It felt like an invitation, the opening of a letter of acceptance to some grandiose college she could never afford, never fit into– but for one moment, she decided to bask in it. Let the hurt come later; it always comes later. He had been interested in some capacity. Not in her, not really her, but for some anonymous club fling. 

Fine.

“Why don’t you, then?” she returned, eyes half lidded under his heavy gaze.

It was all the consent he needed– their lips melded together, all tongues and teeth. It was borderline obscene, like they were attacking each other. His hand threaded through her hair, tongue tracing the outline of her cupid’s bow before tangling into her mouth. She felt the ball of his tongue piercing meld against her. He tasted like coffee and cigarettes– on anyone else, Shera would find it unpleasant, but she was so intoxicated on the idea that Aemond’s tongue was in her mouth, she didn’t care. She even would say she liked it.

Heat kindled between the two of them, coming to a roaring flame as he slotted his leg between her legs again– before must have just been a prelude, as he didn’t give any indication that his knee pressed against her clothed core was an accident. No, it was pure intention. He lofted some of her weight onto his leg, encouraging her to chase her pleasure, hand riding up her dress to grip her bottom firmly. 

She gave an experimental roll of her hips, finding her arousal and ever growing wetness to only increase, whimpering a small moan into his mouth. He, apparently liking that, pulled her back from his face by her hair, staring down at her like he wanted to commit her expression to memory.

“Come on,” he growled, voice husky against the shell of her ear. “Ride my fucking leg.” Aemond’s lips connected with her skin again on her neck. 

It felt like a lightning bolt struck her right in her core, making her toes curl and tingle. Her mouth was open as she pleasured herself on him, using him– she was approaching her end almost embarrassingly fast as he angled his leg a bit more upward, pinpointing all the pressure onto her clit, which at this point, was barely even guarded behind her panties. Aemond’s hand on her bottom slinked the elastic of her underwear until he reached the front, two fingers swiping down her soaked folds. 

“Soaked for me, are you?” he asked, parting her underwear to the side to rest against her thigh, her bare cunt now in direct contact with his clothed leg. She was surely making a mess on his expensive slacks, she didn’t even have to look. He quirked a brow and laved his tongue over one of the fingers that had just slid through her wetness, testing the taste. 

Her brow furrowed and the building heat, the harp’s string right in her core, came undone with that. She wanted to moan his name– she almost said it. “A–,” she cried, burying her face in his shoulder as she rode out her orgasm on his leg. 

“That’s a good girl,” Aemond praised, his words of affirmation going straight to her core. She did, unfortunately, have a praise kink. “Can you stand?” 

“Mmh– y-... yes,” she replied as he took away his leg– but not before sending her into slight overstimulation with a cheeky bump to her clit. 

“Good, stay there, love,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead (which felt strangely familiar out of this supposed random club hookup). “Wanna taste you now. You can give me one more, can’t you?” 

Her legs wobbled as he got down on his knees in the back alley on his no doubt designer pants (now painted with a souvenir from her) to eat her out. She could barely speak, just nodding.

“That’s right,” he hummed, squeezing into her thigh as he spread her legs. She was dripping right into his mouth as his warm lips made contact with her– he teased her slightly by blowing on her bare skin, chuckling as she squirmed and whimpered. “You’re too cute.” his tongue flattened and laved over her cunt, not letting a drop of her arousal go to waste as he went to town. He continued his teasing by edging just around her clit, making her chase his mouth slightly as he moved to suckle just outside of that spot.

It was torture. Sweet, sweet torture as he edged her for a good two minutes while she was already on the edge again. The coolness of his tongue piercing sent chills up her spine as he finally, finally began to zero in on her pearl, the ball of the piercing dancing around it, stimulating her to a delicious peak. 

“P-Please, please, please,” she whined, fisting his hair. 

He had the audacity to look up at her, face first in her thighs, and wink at her. All remnants of teasing were gone as he began to feast, focusing solely on pulling out her second orgasm. It didn’t even register to her, as she was clenching around nothing, tears welling in her eyes from the sheer intensity of her peak, that he hadn’t gotten off yet– she had hardly touched him. He was focusing all on her.

She went boneless for a moment as she came down from her high, almost moaning his name again. He held her until she came back down to earth. 

Her hands fiddled to his belt, she desperately wanted to return the favor– 

“Your uber’s here, love,” he murmured, helping her out of the alley to the car awaiting. She looked down, realizing her phone had been unlocked on the uber ETA screen. 

She was spinning still, reeling from the entire interaction. Next thing she knew, she was sitting in the back of her uber as Aemond stood, door in hand. 

“Bye, Shera.” he grinned, closing the door.

He knew the whole time.

[sonofarathorn]

(Good Girl) Gone Bad

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Smut (18+ only please). Semi-Public Sex (Eddie’s Van). Oral Sex (male receiving). Fingering. PinV. Drug Use (Marijuana). Some References to Christianity (gotta get the trauma out somehow).

Summary: Eddie gets frustrated while studying. You, in good faith, help him release some nerves. 

A/N: Y’know I had to write a little something something for my white boy of the month (please don’t die tomorrow). Dedicating this one to my dear friend @ayybtch​ who let me bounce ideas off of her and helped me when I got stuck towards the end. 

The county library is quiet. Now, normally, you’d expect that, right? It’s a library, they’re supposed to be quiet. But the building is not just quiet, it’s dead. 

Where there would normally be the studious scratching of pencils on notebook paper, the quiet chatter of moms waiting for their children to select books, the drone of the head librarian’s voice as she made her way through whatever cheesy book they were reading today– there was only quiet. 

Truthfully, you’re almost glad for the lack of people on this cool April afternoon. Fewer things for your goofy boyfriend to get distracted by. But most importantly, no witnesses. If people saw you and Eddie together it’d be the talk of the town. The preacher’s kid with the so-called spawn of Satan himself? Your dad would never let you leave the house again. 

Nestled in the back of the building between old encyclopedias and newspapers, you’re far from the prying eyes and gossiping mouths of the town. 

But despite the lack of material, Eddie is determined to create his own. He leans back in the uncomfortable wooden chair, playing with his pencil, wadded up pieces of papers, his rings, his watch, even his hair. 

“C’mon, Eddie, please.” You snap your fingers under his nose. “You’ve gotta concentrate.” 

He groans dramatically, slumping forward in his seat and dropping his forehead into his hands. “I’m dying, baby.” He peeks at you from between your fingers. “Heartbeat…growing…fainter. Brain…melting…” 

“Your final is Tuesday, and you still can’t tell me what the quadratic formula is, let alone solve for it.” You tap the equation scribbled on the notebook sitting between you. 

Eddie drags his fingers down his cheeks. “How many times have you used the quadratic formula in the real world?”

You bite your bottom lip. “None, but we’re not talking about me. You need it to graduate.”

“This is bullshit.” He scoffs, and then covers his mouth with wide eyes. “Forgive me, angel. Didn’t mean to offend your pure ears.” 

“You’ve said much worse around me.” You roll your eyes. “And you’d better take this seriously, unless you wanna walk the stage with Mike and Dustin.” 

The idea of that possible future makes Eddie pale. 

He drums his fingers on the wooden table. “I dunno, it’s like I know the stuff, but the second you give me a problem, it all flies out of my head.”

You nod sympathetically. 

“It’s like practicing a sweet solo for months, right, like I can play it in my sleep. Then you hand me a guitar, shove me onto a stage and BAM!” Eddie slams both hands on the table, earning himself a nasty SHHH! from the librarian. “Nada, zilch, nothing,” he whispers, with an apologetic smile. 

“We could try the flashcards again.” 

He rubs his temples. “I don’t think the flashcards are helping much, baby. I can’t do this.” 

“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself.” You cup his cheek with your hand. 

“If I don’t pass this class, I don’t graduate. And if I don’t graduate then I’ll be stuck at Hawkins High for another year and you’ll be a junior in college with a shit-for-brains-super-super-super senior for a boyfriend.” Eddie keeps his eyes trained on the table. “Or I’ll age out, and be a dropout like my dad.” 

You frown. “I don’t care about any of that, Eddie.” 

“You should. It’s embarrassing. You’re out seeing the world, and I can’t even pass 9th grade math.” He hangs his head, shoulders drooped low. 

You’ve never seen him so dejected. He was always so full of life, so confident in himself and his abilities. It was one of the things that drew you to him in the first place. Your heart aches to see him like this. You get up out of your seat and take the empty one next to him.  

“We should take a break,” you mumble, bumping your shoulder into his. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Eddie tilts his head back to look at you. “But my test–” 

“--Is not for another four days. We’ll have time to study later.” You drop your voice even lower, just in case someone was lurking nearby. “Why don’t we go to Lover’s Lake and see if I can take your mind off of all this for a bit.” You bite your bottom lip and run a hand up his inner thigh, the table concealing your movements. 

“Oh,” Eddie says when your hand reaches the crotch of his tight black jeans. His jaw drops slightly, and his hand curls into a fist. “Yeah, okay.” He fights to keep his composure as you slowly rub your palm against him, but his voice still shakes.

You smile and stand, leaving Eddie’s jeans more than a little uncomfortable and begin gathering the study materials. Pencils, notebooks, an algebra textbook that had been dog-eared to death, and flashcards all disappear into your Jansport.  

Eddie makes no move to help. He watches you with hooded lids and a small smile on his face. 

You shrug the backpack onto your shoulders. “You coming?”  

“Yeah.” He stands, brushing pencil shavings off of his clothing. “Lead the way.” 

* * * * * 

Fifteen minutes later, Eddie’s parked his van off some backroad in the dense forest that surrounds Lover’s Lake. You’ll never understand how he seems to know the area so well, but you’ve chalked it up to a whole lotta practice finding hiding spots from Hawkins PD. 

You sit in the back of his van. He’s converted the space into a lounge, filling it with old blankets and pillows he snagged from various garage sales. You lean against the side of the van, a cushion wedged behind your back to keep you comfortable as Eddie rolls a joint. 

He holds his lighter to the tip of the rolled paper and lights it. “Shit,” he mumbles, after taking a deep breath. He crawls across the van and offers you the joint. 

“Thanks.” You take a hit, and exhale the thick smoke into the air. 

If only your father could see you now. Holed up in the back of Eddie Munson’s van, smoking marijuana. He’d have a stroke.

Eddie sits across from you, now much more visibly relaxed. His eyes are closed, his head tilted back towards the ceiling. He hums along to the song playing from the radio– Detroit Rock City– you’re only just starting to recognize the music he listens to. Before it was all just one big tangle of guitar, bass, and drums. 

You suck down another lungful and pass the joint back to Eddie. “Feeling better?” 

“Only slightly doomed.” He lies back onto the floor, rubbing the soft down of the blanket underneath him. 

“I’ll take that as a good sign.” You lie on top of him, propping your chin up on his chest. 

One corner of Eddie’s lips quirks up. 

“What?” You ask, a smile of your own ghosts your lips. 

“Just lookin’ at you.” He brushes his thumb against your cheek. “Why do you even waste your time with a fuck-up like me?”

“You’re not a fuck-up, Eddie.”

“Your dear old man would beg to differ.” He holds the joint to your lips. “Hell, mine probably would too if he bothered to speak to me.” Eddie turns his head to the side and releases another puff of smoke.

“So?”

“You could have any guy you want. Shit, you could probably get the quarterback and have a good old-fashioned movie romance.”  

You shake your head. “You think I want some meathead jock? Wow, you really don’t know me, Eddie Munson.” 

“I’m serious, baby. You shouldn’t be hiding out in some stoner’s van near Lover’s Lake. You should be–” 

“You sound like my dad,” you snap and he swallows guiltily. “Don’t tell me what I should be doing. And don’t try to tell me what I want.” You press your lips together in a thin line. “I don’t want a movie romance, I want my goofy, loner boyfriend who plays with dice and makes up weird stories about warlocks and monsters.” 

“I don’t ‘make up stories,’” Eddie grumbles and drops the roach into his ashtray. “I create an immersive fantasy experience. I build entire worlds from scratch…” He trails off upon seeing your face. “Which is not the point of this conversation.” 

“I’m not wasting my time with you. I’m choosing to be with you. Because you’re the kind of guy to take three scrawny freshmen under your wing and to risk your life for strangers, even though you’re scared. Not many other guys can say that.” 

Eddie wraps his arms around you. His cheeks turn red and his brown eyes avoid your gaze.

“Listen to me.” You squeeze his jaw. “I don’t give a shit what my dad or anyone thinks. I like you. I want to be with you. Understand?”

He nods. 

“So stop trying to scare me away, and give me a kiss.” 

A large grin breaks out over his face. “I can do that.”

Eddie cups your cheeks, and pulls your face close to his. He kisses you tenderly. You smile, melting against the rigid planes of his body. You moan softly when his tongue parts your lips, slowly exploring your mouth. 

Eddie’s hands trail down your body, one tugging at your loose sweater, the other holding you tight against him. The buckle of his belt digs into your hips uncomfortably, but you don’t care. You shift above him, legs parting to straddle him. 

You feel it then, the press of his hard dick against your inner thigh. You rock your hips slowly, swallowing his low groan. Eddie pulls your sweater free from your waistband, and presses his palm against your lower back. He guides your lilted movements, small moans bubbling up from the back of his throat. His hips rock upwards, desperate for more of that sweet friction.

You pull his hands free from your body and place them above his head. You rock back onto your heels, pull your sweater off, and do the same with your skirt. 

“Shit,” Eddie whispers, eyes roaming over your bra and underwear. He swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing. “You look amazing.” 

“You’re not so bad yourself.” You run a hand down from his chest to the waistband of his jeans. “But you’re way too overdressed.” 

“Y-yeah.” He nods, shrugging off his leather jacket and vest. His t-shirt quickly joins the small pile of clothing by the door. 

You settle above him again. 

“Should I?” Eddie asks, reaching for his belt. 

You shake your head. “I’ll take care of it. Just. Sit. Back.” You walk your fingers up his chest, and push him down onto the carpeted floor of the van. 

Eddie lands on his back with a quiet Oof!

You lean over him and kiss his neck, tongue darting out to taste the sweat on his skin. He moans, throat taut from his gritted teeth. His hips continue to buck up into the air. You bite down, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to squeeze another breathless whimper from his lips. 

Eddie cranes his neck to watch your slow descent. Your lips sweep over his skin. Across his collarbone, down his chest and stomach, to the trail of dark hair that disappears into his jeans. When you glance up at him, he’s watching your every move with hungry eyes. 

You rub at the imprint of his cock in his jeans and Eddie groans, head tilting back and eyelids fluttering shut. You undo his belt and pop the buttons of his jeans. Your lips sweep from hip bone to hip bone, and you relish each and every hitch of his breath. 

“C’mon,” he huffs impatiently. “You’re killing me.” 

“I’m just trying to take it all in.” You hook a finger in the front of his underwear and pull them down just enough to free him. His cock springs up, hard and swollen, and weeping with need. 

“Take a picture,” Eddie grumbles. “Then you can stare all you want.” 

“Bossy,” you comment, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Not a good look on you.” You spit into your palm and wrap your hand around the base of him.

“Shit, baby,” he sighs, dropping onto his back. 

You stroke him slowly, still mouthing at his hip bone. You kiss up the shaft, tracing the ridges and veins of him with your tongue. You moan at the taste of him, wanting more. You were as addicted to him as he was to you. 

Eddie puts a hand on the back of your head gently but doesn’t try to push you, no matter how impatient he grows. His hips lift in shallow thrusts towards your mouth, face screwing up tightly. There’s a plea forming on those pretty pink kiss-swollen lips of his. 

Not content with teasing anymore, and really just as needy for the feel of his dick in your mouth, you decide to show him mercy, and wrap your lips around him. 

“Fuck, yeah.” Eddie stares at the ceiling, breathing harshly through his nose. “Oh shit. Keep going.” 

You don’t stop the slow flicks of your wrist, even as you swallow down more and more of him. His grip on your head tightens, fingers twisting into your hair in search of an anchor as you blow his world to pieces. 

“That’s it,” Eddie bites his knuckle, eyes rolling into the back of his head. “Your mouth feels so fucking good.” 

Your clit throbs at his praise. Head spinning with desire so strong it makes your blood sing in your veins. Each choked moan of your name has you pressing your thighs together in search of relief from the heat that grows within you. 

You suck him down as far as you can, tongue licking at the underside of him. Tears run down your cheeks, mixing with spit that gathers at the corner of your lips. The van fills with sinful noises and strangled groans from the two of you. 

If the stutter of Eddie’s hips is any indication, you know he’ll be coming soon. You’re content to let him drip down the back of your throat, but you know he’ll want to be inside you first. 

Sure enough, one minute later he’s wriggling underneath you. 

“Ah. Shit!” Eddie grunts. “Stop, stop, stop. Shit. Wanna fuck you.” He sits up and pushes at your shoulder. 

You pull off of him with a small pop. There’s a string of spit dangling from your lips. Eddie wipes it away with his thumb. 

“Christ,” he says with a smile. “You’re so good at that.” 

You bite your bottom lip a little bashfully, your face growing warm. 

Eddie tugs on your lip, wearing a timid look of his own. “Let me taste,” he whispers, almost breathless with his lust. 

You can only nod, barely having any time to steel yourself before he’s surging forward. His lips devour yours, tongue pushing into your mouth. It’s not the sweet kiss he gave you before. This one is red hot with passion. 

You’re staring up at the van’s ceiling before you know it, bra straps hanging off your shoulders and underwear pulled to the side. 

Eddie’s mouth does not stay on yours for long. He presses open-mouthed kisses down your body– licking and sucking and savoring. You taste like soap and perfume, and the tiniest hint of sweat and debauchery. It drives him absolutely insane. 

His lips wrap around your hard nipple as his fingers play with the wetness that pools in your panties. You cry out when his thumb presses to your clit, rubbing quick circles. His free hand keeps your legs spread apart as his skilled fingers set your body ablaze. The thick metal of his rings dig shapes into the meat of your thigh. 

You recognize his desperation. Eddie wants– no needs– to fuck you, but he wants to make sure you’re ready for him first. And he wants to make sure you feel good. It’s working; between his hands between your legs and his lips on your skin you’re hanging on by a thread. 

Eddie easily works a finger into you, curling it a couple times only to pull out again and rub your clit. He does it again with a mischievous little grin on his face. In and out, in and out, in teasing strokes. 

It’s amazing, mind-blowing even, but it’s not enough to get you anywhere. 

“More,” you gasp, grinding your hips down onto his palm. “Please.” 

He chuckles against your chest, and his teeth skates your nipple, earning him a breathless whimper of his name. “More?” He asks, riding on the power high of having you limp beneath him. 

“I need it.” You tug sharply on his hair. 

“Bossy,” he parrots your words from earlier. “What do you need?” A second finger joins the first. 

You arch your back. “Fuck me.” 

“Here? In the back of my shitty van?” Eddie looks up at you. “Oh, angel, how far you’ve fallen.”

“Eddie,” you whine. “I want you so bad.” 

He kisses you quickly in placation. “I will, sweetheart, I promise. Just want you to come for me first. Can you do that?” 

“Yes.” 

He curls his fingers within you. “Just relax. I’ve got you.” Eddie mouths at your breast, teeth digging into your skin every once in a while. 

“You’re gonna leave a mark,” you warn. 

“Good.” Eddie bites harder, his tongue coming out to soothe the smarting skin. 

The idea of a mark left behind in a spot only you and Eddie would see excites you. Warmth gushes between your legs at the thought of hiding it until he stripped you down again. Like a dirty secret only you and him shared. 

You tilt your head back, squeezing your eyes shut. His fingers have you seeing entire galaxies. Your clit throbs deliciously, and you know it won’t take long until you’re coming all over his hand. 

“Close,” you mumble, words slurred by your nearing orgasm. 

“C’mon, baby.” Eddie coaxes. He kisses his way up your body until his lips are beside your ear. “Want to see you let go.” 

 His thumb circles your clit with more pressure. His fingers scissor in and out of you, determined to pull you apart at the seams. That warm sensation builds inside of you, spilling out through the cracks of your being. It rises and swells within you, until all of a sudden the world splinters around you. 

You come with a hoarse shout of Eddie’s name. Legs trembling and hips bucking up towards his fingers. He continues his steady rhythm, working you through the waves of your orgasm. Don’t stop until you push him away with a quiet whine. You sink back onto the floor, fingers and toes tingling as your heartbeat fades to a dull thud.

“Shit, baby. You’re so beautiful.” Eddie kisses you sweetly and rocks back onto his heels. “Ready for me?” He asks, eyeing the stick mess between your thighs.

He wraps his hand, still slick with your cum, around his stiff cock and jerks himself off slowly. A small huff leaves his lips and he looks over your body with hooded eyes. An electric current traces the path of his gaze, and you jolt with it. 

You need him right now. Badly.  

“Yes.” You prop yourself up on your elbows. “Do you have a condom?” 

“Glove compartment. Gimme a sec.” He leaves you for a moment to retrieve one. 

You bite your lips to keep from laughing. His pants are still down around his ankles, so he shuffles as he hightails it to the front of the van and back. 

Eddie kicks off his shoes and jeans, and kneels in front of you. “What’s so funny?” He asks, pulling the wrapper open. 

“Nothing.” You help him roll the condom down onto his length and stroke him a couple times. “You make me very happy, Eddie.” 

He smiles a little bashfully. “You make me happy too.” 

He guides you back down onto your back and holds himself over you. Eddie cups your cheek and gently forces eye contact with you. 

“Are you sure?” He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. 

You nod. “I want you, Eddie.” You pull his hips closer to yours.

He groans, rocking his hips against your swollen clit. “Say it again.” 

“I want you, Eddie,” you repeat, every ounce of desperation evident in your tone. 

Eddie groans, spreading your legs further apart. “Fuck. I love it when you say my name.” His jaw falls slack as he fills you with a single thrust. 

Your mouth drops open in a silent gasp. Eddie rasps your name against your jaw. That little noise of reverence was one you didn’t think you’d ever get tired of hearing. It didn’t matter how many times you’d had sex, it didn’t matter if it was in your bed or the back of a messy van, Eddie still sounded completely in awe when he thrust into you for the first time. 

He curls his fist into the rug beside your head for purchase as he slowly starts to roll his hips into yours.  He falls into a slow rhythm, content to just be with you in this moment. You pull his lips back to yours, swallowing the moans that drip from his tongue like honey, and trading them for some of your own. 

Eddie’s face drops into your shoulder. “Ah shit. You feel so fucking good.” He kisses your throat. 

The best you can muster is a small whimper. Eddie fills you so well, hips meeting yours in deep thrusts that make your toes curl. You wrap a leg around his hip trying to pull him even closer. He grips the back of your thigh, nails digging crescents into your skin. 

“Oh god,” you say through gritted teeth. “Just like that.” Your hands scrabble for purchase on his bare back.

Eddie breathes harshly, tucking soft groans into the sensitive skin of your neck. His thrusts pick up in speed, hips snapping into yours. Each slide of his cock within you pushing you closer to that blissful edge. 

Soft moans and the slap of skin meeting is the only sound that fills the room. Weed and the smell of sex and sweat hangs in the atmosphere. It’s just you and him here, bodies pulling and pushing in a sinful dance. Sounds of pleasure competing with the guitar solo that wails from the radio. 

His body, warm and heavy above yours, brings you comfort. The slick of his bare skin ignites a fire within you. It singes at the edges of your vein, and pools hot and heavy in the depths of your stomach. Threatens to engulf you both in its flames until you’re nothing but a pile of ash. 

“Not gonna last much longer, baby,” Eddie moans. Even as he speaks his hips lose their steady rhythm. “Please tell me you’re almost there.” 

“Uh huh.” You slide a hand between your writhing bodies and rub at your sensitive clit. 

Eddie bucks his hips into yours sharply when your walls clench around him. “Jesus. Okayokayokayokayokay.” He bites your shoulder. “Oh fuck.” 

“Don’t stop. You’re gonna make me come,” you whisper, body tensing. 

He wraps an arm around your waist and holds you as close as he can. “Shit. Come on.” 

You feel like a rubber band being stretched. Tightening. Wearing thin. Until it all comes apart with a snap. You can’t help the drawn out cry that leaves your lips; do nothing to stop the hoarse cries of Eddie’s name that fill the van. 

Eddie comes with a low Goddammit, hips grinding sloppily into yours. He falls on top of you, all of his strength sapped away. 

“Holy fucking shit.” He laughs breathlessly, pulling out of you with a quiet groan. 

You run your fingers through his messy hair. It looks a bit lifelike, frizzy strands sticking up at all angles.  

“You’ve got a real swearing problem, y’know that?” you tease. 

Eddie snorts. “Sounds a little like the pot callin’ the kettle black.” 

“Never used to swear before I met you.” 

“There were a lot of things you didn’t do before you met me.” He wags his eyebrows. 

You tilt your head back and laugh. “That’s true. You’re a corrupting influence.” 

“I like to think I just amplify what’s already there.” He props his chin up in the palm of his hand. “Maybe you weren’t as innocent as you thought.” 

You bite your bottom lip. “Maybe not.” Your eyes drift to the orange-ish sunlight that filters through the windshield. “Oh no. What time is it?” 

Eddie glances at his watch. “5:15. Got somewhere to be?” He sits up and tosses the condom into a plastic shopping bag. 

“Dinner and then Wednesday service after that.” You pull your underwear back on and search through your backpack for the other outfit you carried around for times like this. 

“Ah well, say a little prayer for me.” He pulls his jeans up and buckles his belt. 

“I’ll say two. One for your soul and one for your algebra test.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Eddie drops his head into his hands. “Guess tomorrow’s study session will be serious then?” 

You fix your hair in the rearview mirror. “No more of your shenanigans.” 

“My shenanigans?” Eddie scoffs. “You’re the one who wanted to come out here.” 

You ignore that detail. “When we’re done you’ll be able to say the quadratic formula in your sleep. You’ll ace your test and say goodbye to Hawkins High forever.” 

“You really believe that?” He asks, doubt seeping back into his voice. 

“Of course I do.” You squeeze his hand. “You’ve got the best tutor in all of Indiana.” 

Eddie smiles, leans across the divider, and kisses you softly.  

“Alright enough of the sappy shit.” He turns the key in the ignition. “Let’s get you home before your dad sends out a search party.”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best.” You lean your head back against the headrest. 

Eddie cranks the volume up on the radio as he swerves onto the main road. He drums the steering wheel, singing the lyrics at the top of his lungs and humming the guitar riff. The wind blows through his hair, lifting the strands. The sun shines on his face, illuminating his deep brown eyes. 

You watch him with a smile. This was the side of Eddie nobody saw. Goofy and caring. A stark contrast to the spawn-of-Satan image people have conjured up. 

“What?” He looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Just lookin’ at you,” you say. 

He huffs a breath through his nose and just shakes his head. “Make sure you blink every once in a while.” 

You ride in relative silence for a while, save for Paul Stanley croning in the background. He thumbs the music down as he parks at the end of your street. 

“Thank you for flying with Hellfire Airlines. This is your captain, Eddie the Banished, speaking. Don’t forget to collect all your trash and belongings before exiting the vehicle.” He slows to a stop and looks at you. 

“Thanks for the ride.” You kiss his cheek and grab your backpack.

“Anytime.” Eddie squeezes your hand. “Same time tomorrow?” 

“I’ll be waiting.” You hop out of the van and slam the door shut. 

“Hey, angel.” He calls, leaning out of his window. 

You look at him over your shoulder. “Yeah?” 

“Put in a good word for me with the big man. I really need to pass this test.” 

“Thought you didn’t believe in all that.”  

Eddie shrugs. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.” 

“I’ll make it extra special just for you. Bye, Eddie.” 

“See you tomorrow.”

You blow him a kiss. 

He snags it out of the air and holds it close to his chest. 

Eddie’s still clutching it tight while he drives away. 

[teasty]

hold on tight || b.c (m)

"hi! can you write something about streetracer!chan x f reader where things got heated up 🥺🥺 i really like your works by the way, kiss yourself really is one of my jisung’s fav fic !!" - anon

a/n: holyashjdljzhldsa just the thought of streetracer!chan makes me... omg i don’t even KNOW, i'd actually go crazy... and omg tysm! that means so much to me :,( and you're gonna have to excuse me since there's so many things heated could mean i'm just gonna make it angsty and smutty,, also kinda went off for a fluffy ending because it's bang chan, the christiano bangnaldo, how can i not???

● pairing: bang chan x (fem) reader

● genre: a lil bit of fluff at the beginning | angst | smut (mdi!)

● warnings: chan acts like a dick but he really isn't | illegal gambling/street racing | established relationship | angry sex | (of course) car sex | hair pulling | degradation + praise | dom!chan, sub!reader | fighting :( | semi - public sex | profanity | suggestive dialogue | reader slaps chan once :( | unprotected sex (please be safe!) | choking | kind of a quickie???? | super happy ending because i'm sappy like that

● requested? yes!

● words: 8.7k

→ summary:

You’ve never known about your boyfriend’s secret and very illegal job, if you could even call it that.

"Shut up, buckle up and hold on tight 'cause it's gonna be one hell of a night for us, darling."

It’s a cold, rainy night. You’re waiting comfortably on the couch, sitting there wrapped up in one of Chan’s blankets, waiting ever so patiently for his return. He’s not usually out this late, neither did his job usually end this late. Your mind was getting the worst kinds of ideas as you held your phone in your hand, more worry than anger coming over you. You couldn’t be mad at him, really, you were just worried something happened to him, since he wasn’t picking up your calls or even looking at your texts.

It’s around midnight, and you swore you wouldn’t sleep until you watched Chan, in all his glory, walk through the front door of your guys’s shared apartment. You’ve been dating Chan for years, ever since high school. And, now, even after graduating college and finding a stable job and apartment, Chan still tended to keep things from you. It was a bad habit of his, yes, but you couldn’t really be too mad at him for it. Besides, you’ll be able to help him out of that habit. Once he comes back, at least.

To wait, you decided to watch a bit of television to let your mind wander from the thought of something bad happening to Chan. Of course, the subtle thought of him cheating crossed your mind a few times, but Chan’s only ever been the most loyal and dedicated boyfriend, even past his pretty hard shell. He acts pretty tough sometimes, but you know that he’s just a little bit insecure about himself on the inside. Which, to you, is completely normal. Everyone’s at least a little bit insecure. You couldn’t blame him for that.

Getting with Chan was actually very difficult at first. You both had a rocky start before you started dating, since Chan was kind of like the cliche popular bad boy, and you were the snarky book nerd. You both started off arguing and bickering about everything. But, when you both got closer and closer, you began to see a softer, kinder side to him. And, like magic, you two started dating. You don’t really remember how it happened. It might’ve been just Chan saying, “Wanna date me?” or something like that just ‘cause it’s simple. However, getting it past your parents about your relationship with Chan was the most difficult in the world. They did not approve of him whatsoever. Even today, they’re still cautious of him even though Chan’s already proven his loyalty to you and swore to your parents that he’d never lay an aggressive finger on you.

You’re parents didn’t really like him because of his choice of outfits and friends, which was a stupid way to judge somebody in your opinion. So, no matter how many times they tried to break things off or distance you from Chan, you two always found your way back to each other. Though it was fun, all the sneaking out at three in the morning, saying you’re going over to a friends house when you’re really going to go see Chan and all the late night calls in a hushed tone, you’re glad you can finally relax about it and live peacefully with Chan without the need to sneak around.

But, your mind hasn’t been so peaceful these last few hours. There’s still no sign of Chan and no opened messages. You gave up on calling him after the fifth call had gone unanswered, and just decided to wait. Clutching your phone to your chest in case he were to call or text. Your eyes switch between the screen and the front door (which led into the living room).

You nearly jumped out of your blanket when your phone started ringing obnoxiously loud. Your heart beat loudly as you scrambled to look at the caller’s I.D. And, thankfully, it’s Chan. You’ve never answered so quickly.

“Chan?” Your excited voice squeaked out when you brought the phone close to your ear, a bright smile etching over your lips. Just happy that he’s in contact with you.

“Hey, darling,” Chan’s voice was husky and tired, and a little deeper than you remember. He must be exhausted, and you wondered if he had to stay late at work, “I’m so sorry for being out late. I’ll be home soon.”

“Alright… Is everything okay? What were you doing out so late?” You ask carefully, wrapping the blanket tightly around you.

“Work. My boss had me work over time. I would have texted you, but I was pretty busy,” in the distance, you can hear the sound of his car’s engine. He must be driving pretty fast. Chan also has a really nice car he saved up for and worked really hard for. It’s a smaller, good looking and really, really fast car. You could recognize that engine anywhere.

“Oh… I’m sorry about that,” You respond after a moment.

“It’s alright. Nothing to worry too much over,” you can hear Chan’s smile even through the phone, “And, by the way, could you do something for me before I get home?”

“Sure.”

“Could you make me something small to eat? I didn’t have the chance to eat dinner at work. If you could do that, that’d be so great, baby.” Chan says, and you get up off of the couch. Already heading for the kitchen.

“I could make you some jjajangmyeon? We have all the ingredients,” you say, surfing through your pantry.

“That’d be great, (Y/N). Thank you,” Chan sighs through the phone, and you pull out the ingredients.

“Of course. When will you be home?” You ask before he could hang up.

“I’ll be home in the next ten to fifteen minutes, at the least.” He says, and you can hear the engine get a little bit louder behind him, “I have to focus on the road. I’ll be home soon. I love you, baby.”

“Love you, too, Chan.” You respond, and hang up. Now with the satisfaction and the relief of knowing Chan’s coming home, you separate the ingredients out and start cooking (thank god you took that home economics class back in high school. You couldn’t cook for shit before that). Since Jjajangmyeon is a pretty slow cooked dish, you try your best with temperature control to fit it into the timeframe for when Chan gets home, wanting it to be ready for him.

You had your hair tied back as you cooked, occasionally looking up to watch the television, which was still on the random news channel from before. It talked about things you weren’t too interested in, so you only kept it on for background noise.

You were so immersed in cooking, you didn’t even notice the door slamming open and closed and a pair of heavy footsteps walking up to the kitchen. You jumped when Chan’s arms wrapped around your waist, his chin planting itself on your shoulder. He laughs tiredly at your reaction, and you turn to give him a subtle glare, but your smile deceived you.

“Hey, baby. I’m sorry for coming home so late. I promise it wasn’t my intention,” Chan grumbles out, his words low and slightly slurred, mostly because he’s tired.

“It’s alright, don’t apologize,” you chuckle softly as you arrange two portions of the jjajangmyeon into two different bowls. Chan watches silently over your shoulder, “I’m just glad you’re home. You worried me. Please text me next time, before you stay overtime and don’t bother texting me. I worry a lot, you know?”

“I know, (Y/N). I know you worry too much for your own good,” Chan smiles softly, chuckling tiredly, “It’s one of the reasons I love you so much.”

You smile, flustered, and raise a warm hand to press against Chan’s cheek, turning your head to press a loving kiss to his temple, which is cold, even in the warm kitchen. “Dinner’s ready. Do you want to eat in bed?”

“Not if you’ll make me do the dishes directly afterwards,” Chan lets go of you to take his dish, and you take yours.

You cock a brow at him, “I was going to make you do them anyways. You’re not getting out of it that easily.” You giggle and tap his nose with the tip of your finger. “Come on. Take mine, too. I’ll shut everything down.” You hand your bowl to Chan, who takes it quickly as you scurry around, turning off the television. Turning off lights and putting the dishes in the sink.

Once Chan’s changed into more comfortable wear and you’re both comfortable in bed, watching some show on the TV while eating. Time at home was usually like this; relaxing. You’re cuddled up to Chan while he ate slowly. Once you both finished, you placed them on the nightstands for the time being.

Chan was asleep instantly. You were up a bit longer, still a bit run on adrenaline from worrying so much earlier, despite knowing you have to be up early for work. Chan didn’t have to work till the afternoon, but you had to be up early since you’re a librarian at the local public high school. Chan’s an assistant producer and works under a decently big entertainment company. It’s quite the drastic difference, but you being a pretty big book worm yourself, you decided it would be fun to be a librarian (mostly using your literature degree), even if it’s stressful at times. Chan’s work, however, is much more tedious than your own. Where you can usually go at your own pace, he has more strict deadlines and sometimes more difficult work.

So, you let Chan sleep on your stomach. His arms wrapped around you securely as his face nuzzled into the soft fabric of the oversized shirt you were wearing. You were up a bit longer, watching the TV while running your hands through Chan’s soft hair. Enjoying the moment for the time being before you, yourself, drifted off into a deep sleep.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

You were the first one to wake up the next morning, per usual. You woke up to your alarm that Chan thankfully slept through. You got ready as quickly and quietly as you could. Since you work in a pretty professional environment, you wear something modest, but fits well with the fall weather and your fashion style. You wore a white long sleeved shirt and a pair of black slacks under a jacket with your university’s logo on it and a pair of sneakers. They weren’t too big on dress code for the teachers at the school, but the students still had to wear uniforms.

Before you left, you made Chan lunch for the day and yourself a lunch. You even bothered to wake him up briefly to give him a kiss goodbye and that you’ll be back early afternoon, although he’ll probably be at work, then. Chan, although three fourths asleep, gave you a tight hug and a kiss with a slurred ‘Love you’ before plopping back onto the bed and instantly falling back asleep.

Although Chan had quite the expensive car, he wasn’t quite fond of you driving it. You have your own car, and it’s fine. Mostly used to drive to and from work and nothing more, since most other things you were with Chan, so you both usually took his car. It’s not so much a matter of richer and poorer, his car just had more little trinkets and things that are just more convenient. You’re not completely sure what model his car is, all you know is that it’s expensive.

The school isn’t too far. It’s actually a ten minute drive from your apartment. You have to make it there pretty early, so the roads aren’t jam packed like they would be when Chan has to drive to work. So, you have a bit of an advantage there. When you get there, you’re met with the people in the front office, who bow respectfully to you, and you make your way to the library.

You set up at the large, round desk. You especially like being a librarian, because it’s quiet. You don’t think you’d do too well as a teacher, so you settled for a librarian since it was a good and easy way to use your literature degree and put it to good use, other than the fact you’re writing a novel, but that’s a whole other story (hehet).

It’s about half an hour before some students pile in, bidding you good morning and sitting down at the tables to study for whatever assignment or test they have, or to finish homework. Some of them go around to look at books, but most just sit by their lonesome and work on whatever while blasting profane music into their poor ears.

You were busying yourself going through overdue books, and emailing parents about student’s overdue books. You were immersed in your work, so you were somewhat shocked when someone tapped your shoulder. When you turned, you were met with the smiling face of your coworker. A middle aged, pretty woman named Jung Migyeong, who gave you the permission to call her ‘unnie’. She’s considerably your work - best friend. She’s the only person who really delved into conversation with you, unlike most of the other teachers who only talked to you about whatever book they’re class reading or for book suggestions (and you just choose the first book in the library that comes to mind).

“Oh, you scared me!” You giggle in a hushed tone, and Eunmi smiled brightly, her motherly aura giving you a sense of calmness.

“Sorry, sorry!” Eunmi sits on your desk, more leaning against it. Eunmi is really a pretty lady. Her hair is cut short to her shoulders, and she never wears makeup. Her natural tone is without blemishes or acne. She always wears pretty dresses to work, and she always carries around her purse for some odd reason. “I wanted to catch up with you. I didn’t realize you were so immersed in your work. I should’ve known, you’re more responsible than half the teachers here.”

“I try, I really do,” You respond, leaning back in the chair and smiling up at her, “Do you have a free period for the first hour?”

Eunmi nods, “Yes, I do. They switched it up just ‘cause of something wrong in the student's schedules. But, that’s past the point. How have things been going? In the home life?”

You shrug a shoulder, your smile dropping, “It’s… going. My boyfriend didn’t come home until, like, twelve - thirty last night. He said he had to stay late for work, but I don’t get it, Eunmi. He wouldn’t answer my calls or texts, and I don’t think his job prevents him from at least opening a text until he gets off, you know?”

“You said he’s a producer, right?” Eunmi asks, her head tilting down to look at you more clearly. You nod, “Well, he might’ve been busy with the idol. It’s pretty difficult work, I’m surprised he’s been able to keep up with it well.”

“Well, he came home hungry and tired,” you sigh again, “Which is weird because if he stays late he usually grabs something from the kitchen at the company building or fast food and eats it before he comes home. But, he was hungry… not super hungry, but I made him jjajangmyeon.”

"Jajangmyeon?" Eunmi’s head tilts, and one brow lifts and she scoffs, “That’s like a fifty minute dinner.”

“Not if you toy around with the temperatures, no,” you smile, and Eunmi shrugs a shoulder, “Eh, I was the one who suggested it to him. It’s one of his favorites, and he sounded exhausted and overworked so I though, you know, might as well. But, after eating, he was out like a light. You wouldn’t think that producing would make someone so tired.”

“You never know,” Eunmi reassures, “You seem to be really worried about this. You don’t think he’s cheating, do you?”

You quickly shake your head, “No, no! I know him, and I know that he would never do that to me. I think he’s just trying to hide something from me. I’m not mad at him, I just don’t want him to keep anything from me.”

“You’re not mad… yet!” Eunmi corrects, and your lips purse, “If he’s really hiding something from you, it must be pretty big. I would personally be surprised if you were able to keep your temper if you found out whatever it is he’s hiding. Cheating or not.”

You’ve never really been one to get extremely mad or even start arguments. As said before, you and Chan did have petty arguments back in high school, but since then, you’ve both matured. Chan always shut down a fight if you were getting too agitated, and you were usually never the first one to start up an argument, since your patience isn’t as thin as before. You will admit, though, you’d be decently upset if you found out Chan really was hiding something from you. You trust him so much, you thought there should’ve been nothing to hide.

“I suppose you’re right,” you lean your head against your hand, resting your elbow on the desk, “If there’s a good chance, I’ll talk to him about it tonight. If I want things to really work out with him, then there has to be complete trust and honesty with each other.”

“That’s the spirit,” Eunmi proudly says, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with him, unnie,” you admit shamelessly, and Eunmi smiles wistfully, “I want to grow old with him. But I don’t want to live waking up every day at four in the morning and coming home to no one for hours on end. And, sometimes he won't come till midnight or morning.”

“Well, my husband and I used to have a lot of secrets, too. That we kept from each other,” Eunmi admits, reassuring you that you’re not the only one going through something like this, “The only way we were able to sort things through was by sitting down and talking to each other. Just telling all of our secrets to each other, even if they’re embarrassing or stupid. Just knowing the fact that we can trust each other with everything gives us that reassurance that we’re meant to be. Honesty is everything.”

You look down, thinking about the advice Eunmi had just given you, and you swallow down the growing lump of frustration in your throat, “Thank you for the advice, unnie. It means a lot to me.”

“Of course. I’m always free to talk, and you have my number if anything happens,” Eunmi smiles fondly, “And my doors are always open to you. I’ve spoken to my husband about you and he said that he’s always willing to keep our doors open. Just in case anything happens. You can’t be too careful, right?”

“Right,” you smile, flustered by Eunmi’s kindness, “Thank you so much. I’m… you’re right. If the worst of the worst happens and I’m booted out of my own apartment, then I’m at least glad to know that there’s some place I can go to that’s not three cities over.”

Eunmi laughs softly, and you laugh along with her, “I’m glad. Anyways, it’s about that time. I’m going to start heading back to my classroom. Let Chan know that I said hello, and that I wish you both well. Good luck, (Y/N).”

“Thanks, unnie. I’ll call you later,” you wave briefly as Eunmi makes her way out of the library, students bowing briefly to her as she passes.

You’re glad to have a friend like Eunmi. You’re lucky to have someone open their doors to you. Sometimes, you wonder if Eunmi views you as a younger sister, since she constantly rambles on and on about how she loves being called unnie or noona by her younger coworkers, even if she’s among the younger teachers. She’s like the sister you’ve never had. Sure, things had to be professional, but you’d like to spend more time with her out of the workplace. That would be fun.

The rest of the day is pretty slow. You had a few classes come in to pick up literature books, math books and to check out some books, but that was really it. You didn’t see Eunmi again, and left a few hours after the school closed. There was a bit of traffic on the way home, but it was mostly cleared up.

When you got home, you weren’t surprised to be met with an empty house. No sign of Chan, except the lunch you made him was gone, meaning he took it with him, thankfully, and he left a cute little note on a sticky note saying his thanks to you for making it for him. Which he usually did for you (you never bothered to throw them away. You actually kept them all in a little cigar box for safekeeping. Why? You didn’t know. You just felt like it.)

Like every day when you come home, you change into a pair of more comfortable clothing, which was just one of Chan’s hoodies you took out of his side of the closet, and a pair of ripped jeans. Since Chan didn’t do the dishes before he left, like you thought he would, you decided to do them to pass the time. In doing so, you turned on the TV for some background noise as you rolled up your sleeves to start scrubbing the dishes.

However, your attention was soon caught by the TV when the regular news anchor started talking about crime. At first, it was just about a robbery that took place in uptown, and that didn’t really suit your interest. What did catch your attention, enough to turn off the faucet and ignore the dishes to watch the TV, was when an all - too familiar black car with tinted windows and no license plate appeared on the screen, and there was a red car, too, but you didn’t recognize that one.

You turned up the volume, “Today, police are trying to look for these cars with no license plates caught on camera last night. They were suspected to be illegally street racing and gambling last night at around eleven o’ clock at night before being caught on security footage of a hotel nearby. If you can identify these cars, please contact the police immediately. One has been identified as a black Ferrari SF90 Stradale. The other has yet to be identified. If you see anything suspicious on the streets, please contact authorities. Here’s a clearer picture of both cars.”

And, that’s when it sparked you. One of the pictures of the black Ferrari was of the front. Despite the tinted window, you could clearly see a black ice Little Tree air freshener hanging from the mirror and a familiar hand gripping the wheel tightly. How could you recognize it? Despite the low quality, you can see a familiar ring on the middle finger. A celtic design Chan loved so much.

“Oh… my fucking god,” your mouth drops open as realization hits, and you immediately dash to the bedroom to yank open Chan’s dresser drawer, one left vacant for paperwork to “keep things safe”, and you pull out his insurance for his car. And, there it is, in plain sight. Ferrari SF90 Stradale. Color; black. Windows; tinted. At first, shock pools through you. Doubt climbing up. There’s no way Chan’s a criminal. There’s no way that he’s the one in the Ferrari. It has to be someone else.

But, there was only one way to find out. You had to be sure it was him.

So, you grabbed your purse and your keys and threw on a pair of slip - on vans. The sun was already setting, and you nearly forgot to lock up before running to your car. Barely unlocking it before you throw yourself into it, not even bothering to buckle your seatbelt before driving off to god knows where. Your gut leading you, immediately driving towards the area shown on the news. You pull out your phone, trusting the wheel in one hand as you pull up Chan’s profile and call him, pressing the phone to your ear.

The ringing carries on and on until the familiar voice of Chan speaks up, telling you that he’s not available and to leave a message after the beep.

“Oh, fuck off!” You scream at your phone before trying to call him again. Again and again it led to voicemail. Voicemail after voicemail. You couldn’t text him, not with you driving.

After the tenth call, you let out a frustrated yell, hitting your wheel with your palm and trying your best not to cry. You might be overreacting, since there’s a large chance that it isn’t Chan. But, for some reason, you believed it. You believed, at least somewhat, that it was Chan’s car. That it was Chan in the car. You didn’t want to believe it, but you did.

And your questions coursing through your mind were soon answered when you pulled up to the spot from the news, it now twilight, the sun just being set over the city’s horizon. You pulled onto an empty freeway, and parked in an alley between two buildings. There’s a group of people and a ton of expensive cars around the freeway. There were people crowded around a table. Some girls sat on top of cars, talking and laughing to each other while wearing vulgar and revealing clothes. Your brows furrow, deciding to stay low for a while. You turn off the engine to your car and watch carefully, gripping your phone in your hand. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, popping beer bottles, laughing and talking amongst themselves.

But, it’s when the sound of a loud engine came into earshot, and everyone, including you, turned to see the source of the sound. The moment the crowd of people see who it is, they start to cheer loudly. Throwing up their hands. However, your mouth falls open once more as the black Ferrari SF90 Stradale with tinted windows and a black ice Little Tree air freshener hanging from the rear - view mirror. It pulls up to the crowd, and they all part to make way for it.

Instead of shock or sadness, anger and rage begins to boil inside of you, and you grip your steering wheel tightly as you watch Chan, Christopher Bang, step out of the car. People pat his shoulder, and he smiles widely at them. Giving a few people hugs and even smiling to some of the women, who tried to steal a hug from him, too. He’s wearing clothes you don’t ever remember seeing. He wears a black leather jacket over a white button up and black skinny jeans. You’d be impressed by how good he looks if you weren’t so upset.

You didn’t even have to look at your phone as you pulled up Chan’s profile and called him, pressing the phone roughly to your ear.

“Pick up… Pick the fuck up,” you grumble under your breath as you watch Chan. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, and looks at it briefly.

Not even hesitating to hang up.

As you heard the familiar sound of Chan’s sweet voice telling you he’s not available at the moment and to leave a message after the beep, you finally have enough courage to get out of your car. Slamming the door shut and making your way out of the alley. They’re not too far, but it's a long enough walk for you to catch the eye of some people. You don’t even pause to rethink your decisions when a girl taps the chest of one of the guys, who glares at you with a raised brow.

The man that glared at you stepped away from the crowd, and you could barely see Chan over the people. He walks over to you, and you stop when the man is right in front of you, peering down you. The smell of cheap beer oozing off of him.

“And who the fuck are you?”

“Chan’s girlfriend, now get the fuck out of my way,” you try to push past him, but he grabs you by the arm. Tightly, too. Probably tight enough to leave a bruise after a while. “Hey! Let go of me.”

“No can do, princess,” the man says, smirking mercilessly down at you, his grip not loosening one bit, “Whether or not you’re Chan’s bitch doesn’t matter to me. It’s either you leave or I take you home and we have a good time. Well, I will, at least.” So, you tried to yank your arm from his, trying your best not to use your free hand to punch him in the face.

“Where’s Chan? Bring him to me.” You demand, and the man scoffs, chuckling.

“Fine, have it your way,” the man turns his head towards the crowd, a few people watch, and he says, “Grab Chan. This chick says she’s his girlfriend.” A few of them laugh at him, thinking it’s a joke. But, you stand your ground, glaring through the crowd. One of the people that laughed pushed through a few people. It takes a minute, and there’s a tense silence between you and the man as you try to pry his hand off.

But, as you suspected, a smiling Chan pushes through, but his smile instantly drops when he sees you.

“Hey, Chan. This chick’s babbling on about being your girl. Should I kick-”

“Get your hands off her right now before I shoot you in the face.” Chan interrupts, anger lacing his dark, deep voice. The man holding your arm instantly lets go and steps away, his hands rising in defense. Mumbling something about just ‘trying to keep things safe’. Once the man is away, Chan walks up to you, now being the one tightly gripping your arms. Leaning down so his face is close to yours.

“Why are you here, (Y/N)? Why the hell are you here?” He asks harshly, his voice full of surprise and desperation. He even shakes you slightly.

“You seriously thought I wouldn’t find out?” You snap, ignoring his question all together, “You thought I was dumb enough to let this go under? Well, I’ve been dumb for too long, Christopher. I’m not going to be like that anymore.” You know he’s not too big a fan of being called by his real name, but you do it anyway.

“Go home (Y/N). I’ll explain everything to you afterwards.” Chan says, placing a hand on your shoulder, trying to turn you away.

“No!” You yell, pushing his arms off you, “I am not going home, Chan! I am staying with you. I need to know what the hell all of this is. Right. Now.” You demand, and Chan shakes his head.

“No. You’re going home, (Y/N),” Chan tries to push you away again, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly and trying to turn you from the curious crowd. However, you weren’t going to be let off so easily. You swiftly turned around, letting your flying hand come in contact with Chan’s cheek. Smacking him. You made sure not to backhand him, knowing how much that could hurt. Besides, you don’t want to hurt him too much, you just want to get your point across, and he wasn’t listening to your words. He lets go of you again, his head flinging to the side because of the impact.

“I said no. I’m staying here,” You repeat yourself, and Chan’s eyes no longer lace with aggression, but worry. He doesn’t seem upset that you hit him. In fact, he seems to gloss over it. “I need to know what’s going on-”

You weren’t able to finish your sentence until Chan grabs you by the wrist and pulls you into the crowd. They part to make way for him, and you aren’t able to muster out a sentence before Chan unlocked his car and shoves you forcefully into the passenger seat.

“Chan, what -”

“Shut up, buckle up and hold on tight ‘cause it’s gonna be one hell of a night for us, darling,” Chan snaps, and your lips clamp close at his harsh words. You didn’t expect that out of him. You could nearly cry right there. Chan backs away and slams the door shut, and you quickly scramble to put the seatbelt on as Chan yells something at the crowd, and they erupt in cheers. A few people scramble to get into different cars, and the rest stay back, keeping their distance. However, Chan didn’t seem too pleased as he walked around the car and into the passenger’s seat, locking the doors.

“Chan…”

“Quiet,” Chan snaps, revving the engine of the car. You can faintly hear the cheer of the onlookers behind as Chan pulls alongside the other three cars. A young woman wearing small shorts and an exposed shirt too small for fall walks ahead, and pulls a red cloth out of her back pocket. Her red lips smile bright as she lifts her red cloth. She holds up one finger, and Chan’s engine growls from behind, the car shaking along with it. Your hands go to grip the first thing, which is the cup holder in the center console and the door. Bracing yourself for what’s about to happen.

“Chan!”

“I said quiet!” Chan yells, sparing you a glance and your brows creased with worry as the woman holds up a second finger, and Chan’s hand grips the wheel as the other rests over the buttons.

She doesn’t hold up a third finger. Instead, she throws down the red cloth, and the moment she does so, Chan is off on the road. His foot slammed against the gas as he pushed his back against the seat and used one hand to effortlessly steer. You feel so impossibly scared in the car. A small part of you was debating whether or not you should have gone home, but you knew that it was the right decision to stay. To truly understand what’s been going on and what this is all about.

You try your best not to scream as the loud engine nearly bursts your eardrums.

“Chan… Chan, stop the car!” You scream, the need to vomit creeping up, even though you try to gulp it down.

“I can’t, (Y/N). I really can’t right now.” He says loudly over the engine.

“Please, Chan, just stop the car…!” You yell out again, and Chan finally glances at you, seeing your distressed look before his head snaps ahead again.

His hand swiftly reaches over to grip your thigh, as if trying to prove that you’re secure, “Calm down, (Y/N). You’ll be fine. We’re fine. I’m not stopping the car. Sorry, but I just can’t.”

“I should hate you for this, Chan!” You say, and you can see the way his knuckles turn white from gripping the wheel. “But I can’t… I just… Goddamn it, why!?”

“I can’t tell you that right now!” He yells back, looking over briefly before making a sharp turn, making you clutch onto the seat belt for protection, his hand now back over the buttons, “You just need to sit there until this is over, got it? I don’t care how scared you are, you’re gonna get through it like the strong woman you are, (Y/N), and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

You look over to Chan, and his lips are downturned, his brows furrowed and his eyes glossed over, as if he could cry right there.

“But why didn’t you just tell me?! We wouldn’t be like this right now if you just told me, Chan, and that’s the truth.” You yell over the engine, and Chan bitterly and breathily chuckles, shaking his head as an angry smile casts over his lips.

“You wouldn’t have stayed with me if I told you, (Y/N), you know that.” His voice is a little softer. If any softer, you wouldn’t have heard him. “You would’ve left me.”

Your mouth falls open, and you shake your head, “Never… Never! Never, ever, accuse me of that. I would never leave you even if you killed a man, Chan, and that’s the truth!” He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even look at you as he turns another sharp corner, and you can see the other cars following behind, closing in. He sees it, too, and he presses some buttons you didn’t bother reading and slams his foot on the gas again. You let out a deep breath, still clutching the seat belt, “I just want to know why, Chan. Why are you resulting to this even though you have a stable job at the entertainment company, I-... I just want you to be honest with me.”

“I’ll tell you later, (Y/N). Just sit tight and keep your mouth shut. I need to focus or we’ll fucking crash, you got it!” He yells, and you flinch at his harsh tone. Finally keeping quiet.

The race seems like it lasts forever, when it was probably only five minutes. With sharp twists and turns and screeching of the engine in wheels, it feels like torture. You hate this, but there’s no backing out yet.

Chan doesn’t utter a word. Only cursing at the other cars when they do something that they weren’t supposed to do, or somehow start catching up to him. You let a few tears slip as you watch his hands and Chan as he focuses solely on the road. The lump in your throat is growing bigger and bigger, and swallowing it down seems to get more and more difficult.

But, it’s over at some point. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and Chan finally slowed down after reaching a pathetic excuse of a finish line. Your trembling hands grip the hem of the hoodie you were wearing as Chan comes to a steady stop. People come cheering as the other three cars pull up behind, being careful not to bump into anyone from the crowd. You breath heavily, and look over to Chan, who rolls down his window, plastering a triumphant smile on his lips.

“I don’t even get why I race against you, mate. You always win. Just take the money and get outta here,” says one of the racers playfully, tossing Chan a briefcase through the window.

“Thanks man. Good race,” Chan says, “Now, I have business to attend to. If you’ll excuse me.”

He rolls up the window, and the man who handed Chan the briefcase smacks the window playfully as Chan rushes off, his smile instantly vanishing as he goes through backgrounds to try and get to a main road without drawing too much attention. Chan’s smile drops, and he hands you the briefcase.

“You want to know so badly? Open it and be careful. It’ll be hell to clean up if you drop it,” Chan grumbles, looking over as you look to him for reassurance. He only gives you a cocked brow as you look back to the case in your lap before unlocking it and opening it. Your jaw falls as you look at the thousands of bills stacked on top of each other, rubber bands holding equal stacks together, and you gawk at just how much money Chan won from one race.

After a minute of you staring at the money, Chan slams the case closed in your lap, locking it with one hand and tossing it in the backseat making you jump at how hasty he is.

You both sit there, Chan driving to god knows where in tense silence. You're holding your head in your hands as Chan shifted his gaze between you and the road.

It’s about fifteen minutes until you look up, surprised that he’s still driving and nowhere near home. It’s an emptier city, but Chan seems to know the area well.

“Chan, where are we?” You ask, but Chan gives no answer. Only driving a bit further before pulling into an alley between two old buildings. “Chan, I said -”

You were quickly by Chan yanking off his seatbelt and leaning over the center console to firmly grab your face and pull you into a rough kiss. It isn’t too rushed, but it’s not at all gentle. You’re caught by surprise at first, but couldn’t help melting into it. It’s almost instinct at this point to kiss him back, but you push him away after a moment. “What… What the fuck are you doing?”

“Kissing you,” Chan answers briefly before grabbing locks of your hair at the back of your head and pulling you into another kiss, his other hand creeping down to unbuckle your seatbelt, and you let it slam against the car as it flies off you.

“No, Chan… We need to talk,” You grumble out as you try to pull away, and he presses wet, sloppy kisses to the side of your mouth. His eyes are fluttered shut, and your’s are half lidded. You will admit, you love this. The kisses and how unnaturally aggressive Chan is being. But, you knew that you have to talk things out, or you’d never get to figure out how the hell things turned out like this, “Chan, I’m serious right now.”

“Then relax, baby,” Chan breathily whispers out, and your thighs squeeze together, “Let me make things up to you, okay? I’ll fuck you so good, baby.” He pulls away for a moment, and he stares at you with a teasing smirk, “Think of it as my apology, alright?”

“Chan, I’m… I’m - ah! Chan!” You gasp when Chan’s lips come in contact with the side of your neck. Your neck is already tilting to give him more room, despite trying pathetically to push him away. There’s no getting through to him anymore. You’ve passed the point of no return, and there’s not much you could get past him without slapping him again. And that didn’t seem like a very good idea to you. Your hand flies up to grip the back of his neck, the other loosely clutching the hem of his button up.

“You know that… ah… that we are going to talk about this at some point…” you groan out, and Chan only groans against your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin. “You can’t get out of it like this…”

“Shut it, (Y/N),” Chan snaps, and your head falls back. Chan leans his seat back, aggressively grabbing you by the thighs to pull you over and sit on top of him. Straddling his waist despite it being such a tight environment. He pulls you down by the hoodie, into another kiss. You could feel how frustrated Chan is by the way he grips you tightly, as if you’re going to magically vanish, and by how he talks to you.

It’s rushed, too. Chan is impossibly quick to pull up your hoodie, his hot, sweaty hands creeping up your warm back, caressing it with a different, quick sense of gentleness. His lips connect with yours once again. His tongue already pressing against your lips. The quick, sloppy kiss all too lust filled. The erotic sounds coming from the both of you almost making you gloss over the fact that you should still be very mad at Chan. But, you just can’t find the need to pull away from him. You need to let off the steam, too.

You flush your body firm against him, one hand on his chest and the other by his head, holding onto the head of the seat for support. Breathing as slowly as you can through your nose to savor the air Chan so selfishly takes from you from the heated kiss. Your thoughts begin to vanish and your worry and concern for Chan’s life choices begin to falter for the time being. So immersed in the heated kiss to forget about it entirely. All your focus is now on Chan. You can tell how stressed he is, and the loving part of you wants to help him let off that steam. But, now, you’re in the same boat. So, he’s going to have to do so much for you as you’ve been doing for him.

Chan’s hands don’t bother to hesitate before they loop underneath your jeans, not caring to unbutton them as he tries his best to pull them off by himself. Because of how restricted you both are because of the size of the car, you had to do it yourself. You parted from the kiss and pressed your head against his shoulder to unbutton your jeans and pull them down as quickly as you could before throwing them in the back (along with your shoes and socks. You can already see how hard Chan’s gotten as his rough hands massage and knead your ass, only covered by the thin, black cloth keeping you at least somewhat covered. But, if this was like any other time, they’d be gone quicker than you’d imagine.

Your hands fly up again once your pants are thrown to the back, resting on either side of Chan’s head as he grips your hips, grinding your womanhood against his clothed hardon (you’re also clothed, but it’s so wet from your juices that it basically attaches itself to your skin). His head throws itself back, his eyes closing and a pleasure filled smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. You press yourself against him, now propped up to be looming over him, sitting on him.

When you do press against him, his head snaps forward again, and his dark eyes glare up at you, “Don’t start getting proud, (Y/N). I’m gonna fucking break you.” His hand crawls up to grip your face in his hand. One of your hands weakly comes up to grip his wrist. His hand moving down to grip your throat, and your lips part blissfully as his fingers press into the sides of your neck, still allowing airflow through you. “Oh, fuck. You like being choked, huh? You like being choked like a slut don’t you?” You don’t answer, too nervous to and too caught up in the pleasure to actually let something other than a moan escape your lips.

“Talk to me, (Y/N). Use your fucking words,” Chan growls, and you swallow. The lump in your throat pressing painfully, yet blissfully against Chan’s hand.

“Fuck me, Chris. Fuck me…” You utter out his name, and Chan’s brow raises. But, he smirks nonetheless and lets go of your neck, and you let out a breath as he undoes his jeans and pulls them down to his feet. His hand palming his clothed cock briefly before pulling it out. His hard dick already leaking with precum.

“Condom…” You mutter, and Chan shakes his head. You look up to him with worry.

“Trust me, baby,” he mutters, and you sigh, leaning against him, pressing your body against his as Chan moves your panties out of the way before he aligns your throbbing cunt with his dick, and slowly pushing himself into you, raw. As his raw cock slowly becomes engulfed by your heat, Chan lets out low groans. Your face nuzzles into the side of his neck as Chan slowly guides you down until you’re sitting on his cock.

At first, he stays there like that. Not moving. You suspect it’s because the sane part of him wants you to get used to the feeling of his cock so deep in you without a condom, but Chan seems to keep you there for a few moments just for the sake of how good it feels without a condom. The way his head is leaned back, his lips slightly ajar and his eyes fluttered shut.

But, it doesn’t last long before Chan’s strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you up and starts ramming into you. His hips move so quickly, yet so efficiently as he burns your wet walls. You erupt in a series of loud moans, mixtures of Chan’s name and curses spilling out, too. Chan groans sometimes, right next to your ear. The sound of skin slapping against the fabric of Chan’s boxers echoing through the air tight car.

Your pussy burns from how fast Chan thrusts into you, keeping you at a steady position so he could have an easier time ramming himself into you without the difficulty of it being such a confined and restrictive place in the car (especially in the driver’s seat). The burn is so good for you, though. It’s such a numbing, euphoric feeling that you’ll crave later. A type of burn you could never provide yourself, only Chan.

Chan’s hands go from gripping your body to sliding up your side to gripping your hair and yanking your head back so he could look at you. A judgemental, sexy smirk adorning his lips as he sees how fucked out you are. Your mouth open as you moan, and your half lidded eyes occasionally closing from the bliss.

“Fucking hell… you’re so good for me, (Y/N). You take my cock so fucking well, don’t you?” You let out a choked moan as Chan’s hand grips harder on your hair, craning your neck. “Mmm… Baby girl can’t even talk to me… I know I said to shut it…” he laughs darkly through his moans, and your moans get louder when Chan lets go of your hair, letting your face fall back onto his shoulder as his hands grip your ass. Kneading them as he fucks himself into you. You clench helplessly around his cock.

“Oh… fuck, you’re gonna cum, aren’t you? You wanna cum around my cock, baby girl?” You nod frantically, your climax climbing up as you push your body back to meet with Chan’s aggressive thrusts. Your overstimulated cunt only being destroyed by Chan’s cock as he thrusts harder into you, his hips staggering slightly as you clench around him. “Mmm! - Cum for me, baby. Cum for me.” Chan growls out as his hand grips your face again, forcing your head up as your eyes roll into the back of your head, a loud string of moans escaping your lips as you cum all over Chan’s cock, and he pulls out just quick enough to spurt out a string of cum along your ass.

He lets go of your face, and you breath heavily as you rest your head on Chan’s chest, closing your eyes to catch your breath. A burning sensation still resting in your core as you relax, your womanhood’s muscles contracting every now and then from the orgasm.

Chan cleans you both up with a napkin he had in the center console and helped you put your jeans back on (deciding to toss your soiled panties) and he slipped his jeans back on silently. It’s not until you’re sitting on his lap, resting your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat when he speaks.

“You know I love you so much, right?” Chan mumbles out, and you look up to him. “I was so mean to you today… when you must’ve been so confused.” His head falls back, and he looks out the window with a longing look in his eyes, “I’m the worst boyfriend in the world, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re not. Don’t even think things like that. Yes, I am still a bit upset, but you know what? We’re going to get past this because I love you, too, Channie.” You stare at him with an adoring expression adorning your sparkling eyes (trying to ignore the burning in your core).

“You… You want to know the real reason I’m a street racer, (Y/N)? Why the fuck I'm doing this?” Chan asks softly, his hand stroking your hair.

“If you could… I’ve been asking all day,” you chuckle softly, and Chan smiles bitterly.

“Well… I… I’m doing this all for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“No job will pay for the things I want to give you, (Y/N).” He turns over, reaching into the center console to pull out a black box, and your eyes widen as he opens it. You can’t see it, but you can barely see the sparkle of a something reflective. “I… I couldn’t pay for this myself. I knew I couldn’t. I hate how this is how I’m asking you… but, (Y/N), will you-”

“Oh my god, yes!”

[smol-and-grumpy]

What I Want Most - Five

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean’s life has been all work and no play lately. When Gabe, his friend, coerced him into tagging along to a club, he couldn’t say no as Gabe has been pestering him for a while now. What Dean didn’t expect was that he’d meet his match in that club in the form of a stunning woman with underlying daddy issues.

Warnings: Daddy kink (by now, this is a given), rivalry in the office, office sex, semi-public sex, blow job

Word Count: 1924

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons​​​​​ <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

In the morning, Dean’s in their office, touching up his own presentation for tomorrow. He steals a glance at the clock, it’s almost 8.40 AM. It’s almost time for her presentation and Y/N’s still not here. 

He wonders if he went too far.

Well, she still has about ten minutes before she has to be in the meeting room to set everything up. And if she’s not going to be here, he’ll make sure to waltz in there and bring up a sorry excuse to steal some time. He’s not a monster after all, it was just supposed to be a little prank. 

Last night, after she fell asleep, Dean manipulated her alarm, setting the alarm later than she wanted to get up. Like, not too late that she’d miss the meeting, but late enough so that she won’t have a lot of time to get herself ready. 

He set his own alarm and placed his phone under the pillow so he would wake up as soon as it started to vibrate. He did get up. Sneaked his way out of her apartment and left her there, still sound asleep.

Dean’s typing away at the email, it’s 8.47 AM now. 

Three minutes until he has to save her ass. 

That cute little sweet ass, though. 

A minute later, the door opens and she’s looking at him. Her hair’s put together but there’s no trace of makeup. She also wears glasses, god and he didn’t even know this about her but fuck, she looks super cute with her glasses. These, paired with her being angry, is really what his librarian dreams are made of.

Maybe he could ask her to role play it once. 

But yeah, maybe he could ask when she’s not mad at him anymore. 

He ignores her, stares meticulously into his screen.

Walking in, she drops her laptop bag and pulls out her laptop wordlessly.

Dean risks a glance up, sees her staring at him. Her eyes are narrow.

He smirks, “You look worse for wear. Had a rough night, sweetheart?”

“Fuck you,” She mumbles and proceeds to walk to the door.

“Well,” Dean starts, but stops because she turns around and sends him a glare.

“I hate you so much right now,”

The door closes with a bang. 

Oh well, this went super great. He doesn’t know if he should be scared that she’s so fucking mad at him or prank her some more because she’s so cute when she’s mad.

  Oh my god, Y/N absolutely hates Dean fucking Winchester.

He made her late but he at least set the alarm early enough for her to be able to make it. But still... that doesn’t mean that he deserves a fucking medal, though.

The presentation went well, so at least she has that, but she’s still mad at him so if he wants to get his dick wet, he can find someone else. She’s so fucking done.

Back in the office, she is glad that Dean was out at another meeting, so at least she has a breather. 

Dean showed up thirty minutes later with a cup of coffee for her and she doesn’t know but she has a very hard time trusting it. So she looks at the coffee and up at him. 

“What?” He asks because she still hasn’t said a word, “You think I want to poison you or something?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” She shrugs and returns to her screen and types something on her keyboard.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!” He growls and squats down next to her, “I’m sorry, okay? I thought a little competition is healthy. A little prank here and there. I wouldn’t do anything that would jeopardize your career in any way,”

“I almost missed my meeting,” She said drily, trying not to look at him.

“Yeah! There you have it. Almost!”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but it doesn’t make it sound any better,”

“My god,” Dean threads his hand through his hair, “You know what? I’m done apologizing,” He walks over to his own desk and sits down, “They are singing your praises. I was in the elevator with one of the execs who was at your presentation. So, even though I made you late, I didn’t make you miss it,”

“It still doesn’t make it right, Dean,”

“Whatever,” He snorts and she can tell that he’s moping. He probably feels guilty.

Maybe she’s being too harsh. He played a prank, she played a prank, and he was right, it didn’t do a lot of damage but still…

 *

 It was about two hours of silent treatment later that she got up to walk over to the folder cabinet in search of a folder she needed, but she couldn’t find it. The space where it should be is empty. 

Turning around, she sees that Dean’s using it. He’s probably working on the same thing as she is, which is due in the afternoon. 

Y/N sighs and goes back to her desk, deciding to work on something else until he’s finished, but after thirty minutes have passed, he’s still hogging it. 

“Jesus, are you done with the folder? It can’t be so hard to find the two numbers in there that you need, can it?”

He rolls his chair to the side to be able to look past his screen at her, “You need something, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, that damn folder! You’ve been hogging it for way too long,”

Dean cocks an eyebrow, “You want it?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I want your pussy but that’s not something I get tonight, do I?” He chuckles, “Sometimes we don’t get what we want, baby,” Getting up from behind his desk, Dean picks up the folder and walks over to her, “You can be glad I have a conference call with England now,” He sets the folder on her desk and walks back, nodding at her as he places his headphones over his head.

He’s probably trying to make peace and ugh, it’s almost impossible for her to stay mad. Damn him and his look and the way he talks and walks. 

While Dean dials himself into the conference call, she quickly picks out the numbers she needs and returns the file back to his desk. He’s still listening in to the call but tilts his head up to smile at her. His teeth are showing white, the crinkles around his eyes are deep and god, he looks so cute with all the freckles on his face. 

Returning to her seat, she listens in as Dean speaks. He’s really good at what he’s doing, and to be honest, she doesn’t even know if she’d have a chance against him. It’s a little disheartening thinking about it. 

Y/N has to remind herself that it’s not really his fault. It wasn’t him who decided that he has to fight for a position that’s rightfully his. And he’s been helping a lot. At least, he did with the presentation she was having today. So, when it comes to him as a person, and when she puts the office rivalry aside, he is a good guy and she should definitely cut him some slack.

After finishing her report, she sees that the conference call should last another ten minutes. With a grin, she lowers herself under her desk and crawls over to where Dean’s sitting. Dean’s legs are spread and he drums on the floor with his shoe. He doesn’t know that she’s down here, but he will soon. 

Placing her hands on his thighs, she can hear him mutter something and can feel his body go stiff. 

“Yeah, I’m listening,” Dean mumbles.

With a chuckle, she skids her nails along his thighs, until she reaches his belt buckle and quickly undoes it, trying not to let it clink too loudly. Her fingers work on his button next, pulling the zipper down after. 

Her hand goes inside his pants, takes out his dick that’s still soft but it twitches in her fist and it slowly starts to grow at her touch. Dean shudders when she breathes warm air against it. 

“Jesus,” He whispers, “No, I’m sorry, just stubbed my toes,” He says above.

She has to chuckle at that and then she sticks her tongue out, licks a broad stripe from the base to his tip. Dean doesn’t make a sound, but his legs are slightly trembling. He’s probably trying to keep himself together. 

Sucking in the tip of his cock, she lets it out with an audible popping sound. The taste of him is strong in her mouth. She absolutely loves how he tastes, it makes her mouth water some more. 

The more precum is leaking out of him, the stronger his scent is and it fills her nose, clouds her mind. It’s fucking intoxicating. 

Y/N takes him in her mouth again, bobs her head up and down and tries her best not to make too much of a sound. Dean’s saying something, but she doesn’t listen. She’s so into it that her mind tunes out all the other sounds and senses. All she feels and tastes is Dean. 

With one hand she jerks him off where her mouth can’t reach in this position. With her other hand, she cradles his balls in her palms, giving them some attention and there might have been another moan. 

Humming around his girth, she gobbles him down, sucks a bit harsher at the tip before she swirls her tongue around the underside of it before she takes him in again. It seems like Dean is close because his balls are jumping in her palm and he tries to fuck up into her mouth. 

“Alright, thank you for your time, bye,” He finishes the call and she can hear how strained it sounds. 

“Fuck,” Is the next thing she hears before she feels a hand on the back of her head, holding her down on his cock while he pushes his hips up to meet her mouth. He thrusts a couple of times and then she hears the familiar growl, feels the warmth of the cum flooding her throat and mouth. 

She swallows it all down, licks at his tip and sucks at it again, making sure she catches every last drop. She cleans his shaft too, swirls her tongue around. When she finishes, she smacks her lips and Dean rolls his chair back, looks down at her.

He reaches out, his thumb caressing her cheek, before they brush over her lips, and she bites at it, making him chuckle, “Baby,” Dean’s still trying to catch his breath, “Fuck, was that to tell me you’re not mad at me anymore?”

Y/N nods.

Pulling her up by her arm, he places her into his lap and kisses her soft and gentle, “I’m glad. I could also fucking eat you up right now, but we know that’s not possible,”

“Well, you don’t know if you don’t try, right?” She grins.

“Don’t fucking tempt me. Otherwise, neither one of us will have a job by the end of the week,” He kisses her cheek before he nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck. She feels him breathing in the scent of her skin, “I’m sorry about this morning, okay? It was just a silly prank,”

“I know,” 

“Does that mean daddy can take you home tonight? Reward you for the good girl you are?”

She grins with a nod of her head.

Six

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

[twstoric]

joker’s game

200+ Followers Special!

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: deuce spade x m!reader

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: deuce, in all his adorableness, can be quite an air head at times—especially with the mentions of academic studies. so! being the reliable upperclassman and doting boyfriend you are, of course you'll help him study! or… at least that was the original plan...

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘(𝕤): senpai!reader, cum play, top!reader, minor overstimulation, semi-public sex, slight corruption kink..? studying 

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 3.1k

𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: *laughing hysterically* we’ve hit 200+ followers in less than two weeks since this blog started iーthank you so much!!! i hope you’re all making great life decisions here i’ll keep doing my best!! thank you for all the kind messages and for enjoying whatever this blog can offer (৹ᵒ̴̶̷᷄́ฅᵒ̴̶̷᷅৹)♡︎

side not: or alternative title ‘reverse uno card’ ৲(  ᵒ ૩ᵕ )৴

You weren’t exactly the best student out there nor were you that much of a good role model—but! it didn’t mean you were a troublemaker..!

Or most times, at least..

You’ve had your moments when you were younger.

Being a sophomore and falling into the category of a certain blue-headed junior’s senpai is so endearing to you let alone becoming his certain “other half” (as you’d like to declare) fills you with so much joy and interest! You can’t even remember what your junior days were like before meeting this reckless child!

So, when exams season rolled by and panic flares in the air as students and delinquents alike try their best to not fail as many classes as there are, you’ve taken it upon yourself to study as much as possible because success is a virtue (and you don’t want to get your head chopped off by your dorm leader, of course..)

Success comes to those who are willing to try—or so the saying goes and your hard work seems to pay off when you’ve received your tests scores and find that you’ve passed your classes with passing grades; bordering on either decent or a thin stretch—no in between. 

At least you’ve passed! 

Though the same can’t be said for your adorable junior—Deuce seems distracted as you eat lunch with him. Small sighs leaving his lips frequent enough that you’ve counted the number of sighs reaching at least eight times since he sat down fifteen minutes ago. 

“Are you okay, Deuce-chan?” You poke his cheek lightly, pressing your own against his shoulder and looking up at him like a puppy. He doesn’t react like you expected him to and it makes you frown; concern seeping in your being as you pull away. “Did something bad happen..?”

Another sigh leaves his lips but much louder than the little ones he did. You pull away, giving him a small smile and taking his gloved hands in yours as Deuce closes his eyes. “I failed my math exam and Magic History…” He shakes his head, sagging towards you and burying his face in your neck. 

You pat his back comfortingly, wrapping him in your arms and caressing the back of his head like a guardian comforting a child. “There, there. I’m sure you did your best,” you reassure, blinking when Deuce seems to stiffen in your hold. Your brows furrow, frowning for a different reason now. 

Pushing him away from you gently, you take note of the way Deuce avoids your eyes when you look at him. Your hands tighten on his shoulders. “You did try your best, right?” 

The younger male flinches at your tone of voice; imaginary sweat building in his hairline. “O- of course I did! I just… um.. I stayed up late studying and ended up falling asleep during the test so I…” he trails, voice growing quiet at the end of his sentence and falling into a mumble you can’t quite make out. That’s… kind of adorable. 

This time, it was your turn to sigh. Deuce blinks, looking at you curiously when you pat his cheeks like a doting old person while nodding your head. “I see, I see, so it’s like that… Of course my Deuce would try his best during studies, wouldn’t he..?” You muse to yourself and Deuce stares at you strangely. Suddenly your expression changes, face brightening as if a sudden thought came to mind. “The good news is..! They allow make-up quizzes to add points to the original score. So as long as you do fine on those then you won’t fail your class!”

The information seems to make Deuce perk in interest. Though a look of worry washes over his face when your previously bright expression turns a tad nervous. You slide your hands back into his, squeezing them as if keeping hold of something. “The bad news is… well, make-up quizzes are normally much harder than the tests so most students do their best at the actual thing and not…” 

Understanding his chance being a near impossible feat, Deuce’s face becomes pale; eyes wide and mouth gaping slightly and you panic to reassure him. “I mean, don’t worry! If it makes you feel better, I don’t mind teaching you a couple of things!” Your mind screams at you that you’ve forgotten most first year materials. “So I think you’ll be fine if you try your best.”

Deuce gives you a small smile, nodding his head. “If it’s not too much trouble then please teach me.” 

You perk, alarms in your head shut down forcefully as you pat Deuce’s cheeks again. “Sure thing, kiddo. Just tell me when you want to get started, yeah?”

Much to your surprise, a look of determination settles on his face and the blue-headed male grabs you by the wrists still near his face. “Please teach me this afternoon! I know we’re not allowed to stay out too late but studying should be a good excuse!”

You shrink under his burst of determination. A multitude of logic rushing in your mind to counter Deuce’s argument—there’s just no way to go around the rules no matter the reason but.. maybe..? Since your dorm leader has been lenient with minor rules and.. good grades are important, right? And you can’t say no to this junior of yours so…

“Sure..” Deuce smiles and you tug your hand away from his to tap his jaw. “But. We’re not staying up late to study and since first years share rooms, we’re studying in the library, kay?”

Deuce blinks, nodding his head slightly but he’s looking at you in confusion. “Um.. are we not allowed to use your room..?” The look of utter skepticism on his face is charming—and it compels you to pat his head. 

“It’s not that we’re not allowed- more like..” An easy grin spreads on your face, leaning closer to Deuce’s face until your noses brush. He flushes at the close proximity but you’re pleased that he doesn’t pull away. “Alone in my room with my cute junior.. I don’t think I’ll be able to focus, you know?” You whisper teasingly, brushing your lips against his as if to taunt him and Deuce pulls away as though you’re hot flame.

“R- right, library it is! I’ll see you later then,” He excuses himself in one breath, gathering his things and hightailing away with red ears. 

A satisfied smile spreads on your face. Looks like you’ll have to look for your old notes first.

ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ

The plan was to help Deuce study for his make-up quiz. Get things done as much as possible and as quickly as possible so as to not over exhaust the mind and body. 

You just… never expected Deuce to struggle so much answering a few questions. All you’re able to offer is a comforting rub on his back as Deuce face-plants the table.

“To think it would be this difficult…” he sighs. You pat his back. “And after you’ve explained it to me a lot..” He groans, shoulders slumped dejectedly. 

It was already rather late—you don’t think the library should even still be opened at this hour but perhaps the librarian overlooked your presence when Deuce looked as miserable as he did. 

Or it was just because you’re located in the far corners where not much students go by.

“Do you want me to explain again..?” You offer tentatively, tangling your fingers in his hair and rubbing his head gently to ease a potential headache. You receive a shake of the head. It’s not that the material is heavy (at least you think it’s not), maybe it’s because Deuce has a short attention span..? You’re not sure.

As if a light bulb flickers atop your head, you raise your head in realisation. The idea is so.. indecent but you think you’ve seen this move work in a cheap movie.. a cheap R-rated movie but like..! It won’t hurt to try (you hope).

Leaning close to his ear, Deuce flinches when you blow soft air against his skin but he doesn’t lift his head. “I have a veery special method that might help you, Deuce-chan,” the tone you use is breathy, your hands under the table taking hold of Deuce’s and pulling it to your thigh. “For every question you get right, I’ll reward you~”

Ah.. shit. You’re seriously getting hard because of this. But to your defence, it’s because Deuce’s hand is impossibly close to your crotch so..! Although you were the one who put his hand there…

Shaking away the alarms (again), you press a wet kiss to the exposed skin of Deuce’s neck and he flinches in surprise; his skin burning against your lips. “Um.. Senpai..” He murmurs, turning his head slightly and you feel your cock twitch at the way Deuce is looking at you.

Burning cheeks coloured in red spreads over his face, eyes half-lidded and staring up at you expectantly. His bottom lip trembles; pulled into his mouth when he bites down on the soft flesh. You think you’ll combust right there and then.

“What do you say, Deuce-chan? Let’s both do our best, hm?”

You see the way Deuce’s breath visibly hitches. The latter lifts himself up slowly, grabbing his pen and staring down at the practice questions. “I’ll do my best.”

Despite the arousal burning in your being and the growing strain against your pants, you feel the warm feeling of pride and adoration blossoming in your stomach as Deuce tries again. But watching can’t be enough… “Twenty minutes, Deuce~” You sing-song and Deuce looks at you in alarm. “Real quizzes have time limits, don’t they?” You elaborate and Deuce nods, going back to his questions. 

Distracting yourself from the strain in your pants, you get up to keep your body moving. It’s difficult to walk but you’re not fully hard yet so it’s not as painful as you thought. Now that you’re not tutoring Deuce anymore, it gives you time to really take in how empty the library is. Some lights are already turned off in the opposite wing and it makes you worried if you’re possibly locked in…

You hear Deuce call out your name, lifting his paperwork with a proud smile. “You’re already done?” You question, bewildered. You think it hasn’t even been ten minutes. Deuce nods handing you the paper. He doesn’t look as nervous as previous attempts either… 

You skim over the page, feeling both awe and confusion when you find there’s less mistakes than before. How even… “So you function better when offered a reward…”

Hearing your self-musings, Deuce splutters, chair scraping against the floor in his haste to get up. “Th- that’s not it! I.. since you offered so I.. wanted to do my best..” he sighs, sagging slightly like a dejected puppy. 

You hum, placing the paper away and opening your arms. “I know, I was just kidding~ Now, it’s time for me to keep my end of the deal..” Once his hand makes contact with yours, you yank him closer. 

Deuce stumbles slightly, falling into your chest and his shoulders jump when you crash your lips against his. A small whimper leaves his lips and you snake your arms around his waist to pull him closer. 

The kiss is all things messy; your mouth slanted perfectly against his and tongue licking into his mouth. The growing lack of oxygen is the reason you pull away, Deuce gasping weakly and leaning against you as if he’s lost all his strength.

“You did so good, baby,” you groan, cock growing harder in your pants and you buck your hips against Deuce’s thigh. “Trying your best like this… You deserve the best reward~” 

Your lips find the skin of his neck, sucking cherry blossoms against clean canvas. You maneuver yourselves so that the back of Deuce’s thighs hits the edge of the table. Kicking the chairs away to make room, you hoist the younger male until he’s seated on the hardwood.

“Can you feel how hard I am?” You purr, fingers unbuttoning Deuce’s blazer and moving to his shirt once that was out of the way. Your lips trail kisses down every inch of exposed skin; following an invisible line from Deuce’s neck and down to his stomach. As expected of a Track and Field member, his body is well toned.

“Senpai..” He moans weakly, spreading his legs for you and you kiss the skin above his navel, mouthing the dip to his v-line and trailing just above his pants. Breathy whimpers leaves your boyfriend’s lips, muffled by his hands. His skin prickles with want from every smooth glide of your fingers on his body. Deuce thinks he’ll pass out if you don’t do anything soon.

You unbuckle his pants swiftly, pulling down the hindrance along with his boxers. He’s so painfully hard… Cock flushed and leaking small amounts of precum. You brush your lips against his tip, trailing to his base and sucking the side of his cock. 

As if spurred by his adorable whimpers, you engulf Deuce’s cock in your mouth; licking and sucking every part you can reach. “A- ah! Senpai..!” He wheezes, breath hitching in his throat and hips pulling away on instinct but you wrap your arms around his thighs to keep him close; almost pulling the younger male off the table.

You swallow around his cock excitedly, trailing your hand up his chest and pinching his cute nipple. Deuce bucks into your mouth on instinct, holding your hand pinching his nipple by the wrist but he doesn’t push you away. 

You feel the way Deuce’s things tense, taking the sign of his approaching climax and fucking your mouth on his dick. The tent in your pants is borderline painful and you grunt, pulling away from Deuce’s cock to suck on his tip, using your hand to squeeze his base and frantically tugging your pants down. Multitasking can be so difficult when you’re distracted like this.

Deuce breathes heavily, whispering senpai, senpai, senpai under his breath like a prayer and when your hand grabs hold of his balls, Deuce is coming in your mouth with a violent shudder. You moan, satisfied at the feeling of warm cum filling your mouth and you squeeze your dick to make sure you won’t cum yet. No.. you have to make sure every drop of your cum is fucked inside your pretty junior.

Lifting yourself up, you discard the blue-haired’s pants the rest of the way down, Deuce kicking it away somewhere and spreading his legs for you to press your dick against him. You smirk grabbing hold of the back of Deuce’s head and it’s a bit belated for the latter to realise that your mouth is still full.

The kiss is so fucking dirtyーeven more than beforeーyour mouth prodding his open and sharing cum. Your eyes stay half-lidded to watch his expression; dark eyes glazed with hazy lust.

He moans into your mouth when your dick, impossibly hard, rubs against his hole teasingly. His arms wrap around your neck, tongue licking into your mouth to taste more of himself on you as your dick finally pushes into him.

Deuce pulls away from the kiss, gasping for breath and looking so obscene with saliva connecting your lips and his cum his tongue. Shitーnow you have to fuck him to oblivion. 

And you do.

“Khg-! S- senpai.. So big..” The words leaving Deuce’s lips are incoherent. Mixtures of moans and babbles as he hugs your closer. His cock bounces against his stomach, weak spurts of cum dribbling down his length as you fuck into him like a crazed man. 

He feels so right wrapped around you. Body and soul made just for you and you only.

“So fucking perfect. My perfect junior- perfect boyfriend, just-! A- ah.. shit…” Your lungs are failing you. It feels too fucking good and Deuce’s hold on you is so fucking tight that you don’t mind dying like this. You think you might die like thisーkilled by your boyfriend and you wouldn’t have it any other way-!

A hard thrust and your vision explodes behind your eyelids as you flood Deuce’s insides with cum. Heavy globs filling him up to the brim and Deuce gasps with each heavy spurt inside him. He feels so fucking full.. filled with only you and a lopsided smile stretches his lips. 

You’re definitely not dead yet, fortunately or unfortunately. Deuce’s arms losen enough to allow you to pull away but you don’t; wanting to be in him just a little longer. The flush on Deuce’s skin is still heavy, eyes still glazed over and breath still a little heavy. 

You cup his face, smiling at him with all the adoration you feel for him and pulling his face to yours. You kiss him like he’s made of porcelain; something to be taken with great care and such a contrast to everything leading up to this. 

When you pull away, Deuce leans his forehead against yours, having calmed down a little. “Senpai,” he starts, voice a little hoarse. “Can you.. stay inside me longer..” he’s voice is so quiet that if you weren’t so close, you think you might not have heard him. 

A small gasp leaves Deuce’s lips, flinching in surprise and he looks up at you with wide eyes when feeling your cock twitch inside him. You blush, closing your eyes to avoid his shock and trying to compose yourself. “Sure thing..” You agree, clearing your throat and Deuce hugs you to him.

The two of you stay like that for a while and it’s only when your legs decided they’ve met their daily quota of standing do you lift Deuce off the table. He squawks, clinging to you in panic as you nudge a chair closer to the tabe. A small yelp leaves his lips when you sit down and Deuce is forced to take your cock deeper when gravity plays in. 

He moans softly, blinking and looking down at his stomach as if he can see the way your cock sits snugly inside him. A small grin settles on your lips, moving forward to place your hands on the table and trapping Deuce in between. “Let’s start with method number two now~”

ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ

“It’s all thanks to your method!” Deuce’s eyes sparkle as he clutches your hands. A small reddish hue dusts his cheeks in faint colour. You freeze. 

You don’t think it’s a correct reaction to be looking so mortified from such great newsーDeuce passed his make-up quiz which in turn saves his final grades so..!

Panic flares up in your system; blood rushing to your head and all over the place. You think your heart might explode with its erratic beating. “Um, Deuce... I- I really don’t think it’s because of that..” you start but fail to get your message across when the younger male tugs at your blazer, face burning and a small smile on his lips. 

Th- there’s no way you can do this for every exam, right..!?

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2020 Day 13: First Kiss

AWOL | @madcatm

Rating: General Word Count: 1017 Main Tags/Warnings: First Kiss, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant Summary: The first time Dean kisses Cas, he runs away

Cinnamon and Sugar | @ialwayscomewhenyoucall

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1273 Main Tags/Warnings: mutual pining Summary: Dean has feelings for Cas, but he is afraid to show them. Cas has feelings for Dean, but can't find the right words. So he decides to say it with pie.

A New Year's Kiss | @gii-heylittleangel

Rating: General Word Count: 1274 Main Tags/Warnings: holiday fic; first kiss Summary: Celebrating New Year has never been so good if Dean's being completely honest.

The First and the Fondest | @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1594 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe: Modern Setting, Fake/pretend relationship, First Kiss, Castiel and Dean Winchester need to use their words Summary: "Tonight's fireworks night." Dean shrugs, trying to go for nonchalant and hoping he lands in not-shy, at the very least. "Out by the riverfront, sitting on blankets on the grass, and staring up at the night sky - the whole shebang." "So?" "People will probably expect us to kiss." Dean clears his throat, studying Cas's face for reactions. There's nothing for him there, but he doesn't stop staring. "And since we can't do that, we might -" "I -" Cas interrupts, and maybe he's blushing a little. Jesus, Dean hopes he is. "I can." Dean raises his eyebrows. "Kiss, I mean." And fuck that fucking fucker for not specifying that he can kiss Dean, because those words, strung together in a sentence and delivered in Cas's glorious fucking baritone would've automatically sent Dean to paradise. ~ OR ~ The One in which they pretend to be dating, but the kisses are real.

Wax Poetic | @cr-noble-writes

Rating: General Word Count: 2134 Main Tags/Warnings: love spell, fluff, confessions, first kiss Summary: James and Portia are tired of watching Dean and Cas pine for each other, so James takes matters into his own hands. Or, the one where Cas and Dean can only speak to each other in rhyming couplets and Dean professes his love in a sonnet

Fireworks | @banshee1013

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2784 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff and Angst, Mild Smut, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Reunions, New Year's Kiss, Separations, Flashbacks Summary: Castiel finds himself in Hong Kong on New Year's Eve - alone again, naturally. He never expected in a million years that the man who broke his heart fifteen years ago would turn up here, of all places, on this night.

Consider This: Peanuts | @cr-noble-writes

Rating: No Rating Word Count: 2899 Main Tags/Warnings: fake dating, wedding, biphobia Summary: Dean isn’t sure why he RSVP’d to his dad’s wedding with a plus one, but only a week before the big day, he still doesn’t have a date. So he decides to do the next best thing. He asks his best friend to go with him and pretend to be his boyfriend. Author’s Note:This is unbeta’d. I wanted to get this posted before submissions closed, so I didn’t have time for a beta. But I did manage to get my word prompt from this week and last week in here. Hope you guys like it!!

As Many Kisses As You Want | @gii-heylittleangel

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4432 Main Tags/Warnings: near death experience; hurt/comfort; angst; hurt!Dean Summary: Dean gets really hurt in a hunt and Castiel has no idea what he's supposed to do. He really doesn't.

Hold onto me, breathe, breathe, you're not drowning | @pray4jensen

Rating: Mature Word Count: 4538 Main Tags/Warnings: First Kiss, Hurt Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: Dean grins. “You don’t wanna try it?” Cas rolls his eyes. “These usually work on first sight, Dean, so unless you want me to fall in love with you, I suggest you put it away.” Dean licks his lips. He watches Cas’ mouth. Then he tucks the love potion into the Gross Stuff drawer and turns away.

Anything | @amyoatmeal

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4578 Main Tags/Warnings: fake relationship, first kiss, fluff, alternate canon Summary: A newly human Cas has never had cake before. Dean's fixing to change that.

Swayze Always Gets A Pass | @amyoatmeal

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4766 Main Tags/Warnings: first kiss, drunk dean, drunk cas, movie night Summary: After Dean and Cas get into an argument over a case, Dean tries to apologize by asking Cas to Netflix and chill. Featuring: Cas the movie critic, his drunk friend, Dean, and Dean's tired brother, Sam. Told from Cas' awkward POV.

Disappear in the Trees | @specsofwings

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4817 Main Tags/Warnings: AU, Hunter Dean, Librarian Castiel, Fairy Tale Elements, Psychological Horror, Dean and Cas Have a Profound Bond, Falling in Love Summary: In a library that once entered, can't be exited, Castiel, against his will, works as the lone librarian, doing his best to make the people who wander inside comfortable in their final moments. Forced to weave human lives into storybooks for the library to devour, he hasn't seen the outside world in decades. Enter Dean Winchester. Can the chains of the library hold Castiel with another, more profound, bond forming between he and Dean?

The Beat of Hearts and Wings | @pomegranatedaffodil

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4857 Main Tags/Warnings: Fantasy AU, Dragons, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss Summary: Dean and Castiel have spent years dreaming of the day they will be assigned their roles at the Draconium, where dragons and humans work, live, and train together to ensure the peace and prosperity of the realm. But when Dean is granted the coveted role of dragon rider and Castiel is assigned to the care of the smallest dragons, their lifelong friendship is suddenly put to the test. With the help of dragons both large and small, surely Dean and Castiel will find their way back to their former closeness-- or maybe even to something more.

Distance | @baby-in-a-trenchcoat7

Rating: General Word Count: 5105 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Mutual Pining, Kissing, Idiots In Love Summary: Canon!verse Destiel. A series of Destiel drabbles inspired by scenes from the show and the lyrics to Distance by Christina Perri, highlighting two adorable idiots falling in love. Spoiler warning: Final section is taken from a scene from season 15.

Not Your Average B Slasher Movie | @deansrightfulangerissue & @unforth

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 5127 Main Tags/Warnings: Referenced Homophobia, Referenced Torture, Alternate Universe Summary: A one-on-one first date at an isolated cabin with love-of-his-life Cas? Sign Dean right the fuck up. Everything is going peachy-keen, until Cas, damn him to hell, just has to go and tell Dean all about notorious local murderer Alastair...

Divine Intervention | @rogueangelshunter

Rating: Mature Word Count: 7548 Main Tags/Warnings: References to Torture, H-e-double-hockey-sticks, Pit!Dean, What Dreams May come inspiration, if everybody gets their own Heaven then I figured everybody would also get their own Hell, and Dean's Hell is a very special place, special hell, Hell is a place, Gore, mcd is Dean way back in season 3, first kiss Summary: God will never get over Dean Winchester.

It's In His Kiss | @a-mandala-rose

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7877 Main Tags/Warnings: Closeted Dean/Cas, Hockey AU, First Kiss, Secret Relationship, Homophobic Language, Coming Out, Bottom Cas/Top Dean Summary: “Dean,” Cas says, straightening from his position against the wall. “I’m sorry if that kiss made you uncomfortable earlier. That wasn’t my intention.” Direct and to the point, that’s Cas. It’s a trait Dean usually appreciates, he likes knowing where he stands with the man, but right now it’s making him decidedly uneasy. Cas is right of course, the kiss did make Dean uncomfortable, just not for the reasons the other hockey player thinks. As per usual, Dean covers his discomfort with bravado and sass. “Nah, I wasn’t uncomfortable,” he lies. “Besides, you call that little peck a kiss? I hate to break it to you buddy, but Edith the octogenarian kissed better than that.” Cas looks momentarily annoyed with Dean’s obvious deflection, but then his expression clears and he steps into Dean’s space before cocking his head and narrowing his eyes, “Are you criticizing my kissing abilities, Dean?”

Head Over Feet | @jemariel

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 9439 Main Tags/Warnings: Fake dating, first kiss, past Inais/Castiel, semi-public sex, frottage Summary: Castiel's brother is getting married, and Cas's ex boyfriend is in the wedding party. Putting an ad on Craigslist for a wedding date seems like a terrible idea at the time, but one of the responses is... very intriguing... Sparks fly, boys dance, and everybody lives happily ever after.

Love is Scary | @verobatto-angelxhunter

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 9888 Main Tags/Warnings: Destiel, first kiss, love confession, season 13 canon divergent, mutual pining, post AUMichael!Dean, PTSD, angst with a happy ending. Summary: This is a little FF very fluffy with POVs. I wanted to write about Mildred meeting Cas and giving Dean advices. So... Enjoy!

Luminescent | @saltnhalo

Rating: Mature Word Count: 17222 Main Tags/Warnings: Marine Biologist Dean Winchester, Creature Castiel (Supernatural), Deep Sea Adventures, First Meetings, Strangers to Lovers, Romance Summary: Embarking on an expedition to the deepest, most unexplored parts of the ocean is all Dean has wanted to do since he was a kid. Now, his dream is finally coming to fruition, and he can feel in his bones that there is still so much to be discovered. But nothing could have prepared him for what he finds in those uncharted, impossibly deep waters…

[rhinklibrary]

College Rhink Top Fics

Hi Readers! We’re so excited for our first official list! This week is one of the most popular genres in our fandom - College Rhink. 

Please note these are all based on the dates of completion and/or the last update. While most are completed or are WIPs, you might come across an uncompleted fic. This list also does not include writings exclusively on Tumblr, or other sites, so please send us those recs!

Below the cut, you will find the top five kudos’d fics from the years 2015-2020. At the end you will also find our librarians’ recommendations. 

Happy reading! 

2015

#1 I’m Not Scared, Man, You’re Scared - thenthekneehits - [Teen and Up] - Chapters: 1 - Words: 3122

College, Cohabitation, Fluff without Plot, Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Awkward Boners, Sharing a Bed

In which two stupid boys turn weak, there is a spider, and no cuddling.

#2 Pierced - Isra/ @mythical-rhink -Rhink - [Explicit] - Chapters: 1 - Words: 5301

College, First time, Piercing, play piercing, Blood, D/s, Kink, BSM, Alcohol, Profanity

Rhett’s in college and wants to try something new, and of course he’s going to bring Link along for the ride.

#3 Rewritten - Chellan_Nicollares - [Explicit] - Chapters: 8 - Words: 16,040

Alternate Universe - College/University, Pining, Angst, Jealousy, Metafiction

If you have the power to rewrite reality, how far would you go for love? Rhett has already answered the question, but his actions might lead to his undoing within the very same day. 

#4 Encounter - Chellan_Nicollares - [Teen and Up] - Chapters: 10 - Words: 9280

Alternate Universe - Past lives, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Strangers, Transmigration, Supernatural Elements

This is a prologue to their life-long love and companionship. A mysterious encounter on a hiking trip gave Rhett some new perspectives. What's meant to be is meant to be.

#5 Grown Up Giggles - thenthekneehits - [General Audiences] - Chapters: 1 - Words: 269

College, Slice of Life, Growing Up, Self Confidence Issues, Cohabitation

Prompt: “I like your laugh.”

2016

#1 Whale, whale, whale - rhincoln/ @bloodbros (orphaned) - [Explicit] - Chapters: 4 - Words: 25,602 

Friends With Benefits, Epic Friendship, Hand Jobs, Alternate Universe - College/University, Mutual Pining, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, First Time, Semi-Public Sex

During the day, it’s all sunny beaches and warm touches and the ocean. At night, strange noises can be heard from Rhett’s bunk. And why did Rhett bring a stuffed Shamu to the beach resort anyway?

#2 What Do You Want Me To Say? - @remembertherandler - [Mature] - Chapters: 1 - Words: 1311

First Kiss, Kissing, I’m dead move, rhink, young rhink, college!rhink, Light Angst, Cute, Touching

So you’re horsing around with your roommate in your dorm room...big deal? Someone saw you? Oh…

#3 Slight Altercations - notasponsor - [Teen and Up] - Chapters: 1 - Words: 4790

College AU, Sorta Enemies to Lovers, Look they just bicker a lot, and they don’t know each other rly before the fic, Studying then cuddling, Fluff

Link glares, “You’re insufferable.” “No, I’m Rhett.” “Asshole.”

#4 Enough - chaoticliv - [Teen and Up] - Chapters: 1 - Words: 2296

Angst, Teenagers, Pining, Pining Rhett, College, Childhood, First Kiss, Kissing, Rhett POV

They were best friends. That was always enough for Rhett.

#5 The Laws of Thermodynamics - MythicallySnappy/ @RatchetRhink - [Mature] - Chapters: 1 - Words: 2819

Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Fluff, First Kiss, College, Artistic interpretation of math and what an industrial engineering degree actually entails

Link finally lets loose in the midst of exam season, and Rhett’s smiling and no matter how hard Link tries, he can’t calculate the meaning behind it.

2017

#1 A Perfect Arrangement - rhincoln/ @bloodbros (orphaned) - [Explicit] - Chapters: 15 - Words: 93,859

Fake/Pretend Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Best Friends, Alternate Universe - College/University, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Public Display of Affection, Pining, rhink, Masturbation, Jealousy, Drunken Shenanigans, Angst, Mutual Pining, Mutual Masturbation, Porn, Idiots in Love, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Sickfic, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Grinding, Sex Tapes

In order to win the body and soul of Miss Perfect, a girl they think they’re obsessed with, Rhett and Link figure they first have to win the keys to the coolest place on campus - something that is offered to them out of the blue, with only a single catch: only couples could get to move into the lush apartment. Rhett and Link would do anything for the space, for the girls - even pretend that they’re romantically involved. As true best friends, together they start off on the ambitious quest for love. What happens is its own story.

#2 No Touching! - rhincoln/ @bloodbros (orphaned) - [Explicit] - Chapters: 1 - Words: 5701

Friends to Lovers, Alcohol, Jealousy, No Homo, College, Semi-Public Sex, Rhink

Gregg decides to to take the duo out to a gay clup for a lark. It’s all fun and games, until Rhett thinks it isn’t. (In other words, until Link gets hit on.)

#3 Writing Love On Your Skin - @magicbubblepipe - [Teen and Up] - Chapters: 1 - Words: 3723

Pining Rhett McLaughlin, Injured Link, College, Rhink, Fluff, caretaker Rhett

When Rhett and Link share a bed, there’s a certain game they play.

#4 Lincoln In Distress - meirenyu/ @mei-ren-yu - [Explicit] - Chapters: 1 - Words: 3577

College!rhink, Butt Plugs, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Internalized Homophobia, Fluff, First Time

Rhett’s awoken from a great dream to find Link in dire straits in the top bunk of their dorm.

#5 Over the Phone - tvmoviemaniac/. @galacticnocturne - [Teen and Up] - Chapters: 14 - Words: 28,044

Rhink, Alternate Universe - College/University, College AU, Alternate Universe, Teen Romance, Depression, Awkwardness, Loneliness, Anxiety, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Mention of abuse, Homophobia, First Time, Sexual Encounter

Link Neal, a sophomore in college, finds a remedy to his existential problems and depression in an unlikely relationship he forms over the phone with a stranger - Rhett McLaughlin

2018

#1 Lovers in the Backseat - Matrimus - [Explicit] - Chapters: 1 - Words: 4883

Alternate Universe - College/University, Public Hand Jobs, Link is a little shit, Exhibitionism

Rhett offering his lap as a seat had sounded like a good idea at the time. It doesn’t take long for Link to exploit it.

#2 Forget Me Not - Matrimus - [Teen and Up] - Chapters: 1 - Words: 3404

First Kiss, Temporary Amnesia, Internalized Homophobia, College

After breaking his pelvis in a snowboarding accident, Link suffers from temporary amnesia. He knows he’s in hospital, knows he’s hurt his hip - and knows Rhett is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

#3 The Naked Truth - @missingparentheses - [Explicit] - Chapters: 8 - Words: 22,786

College, Fraternities & Sororities, Light Angst, Dorm Room Sexytimes

After a night of drinking at a frat party, Rhett and Link wake up naked in bed together with no memory of what happened the night before. They set out to piece together the details of the night and see if they can find out what happened, how they feel about it, and if they want it to happen again.

#4 Hungry Ghosts - MythicallySnappy/RatchetRhink - [Explicit] - Chapters: 7 (Incomplete) - Words: 20,241

College, Underage Drinking, Alcohol, Boys Being Idiots, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Angst, Smut, the holy trinity of fanfic

It’s the summer after freshman year and Rhett and Link are back at home in Buies Creek. An uncomfortable experience at a party flips Rhett’s world upside down and Link is there to help him build a new one

#5 Sofa Symphony - @santamonicayachtclub - [Explicit] - Chapters: 1 - Words: 2321

College, Couch Sex

“C’mon, bo,” Link urges, husky-voiced. “Do me like you’re paying for it.”

2019

#1 Live Connection - @linkslipssinkships - [Explicit] - Chapters: 115 (Incomplete) - Words: 87,022

Porn Watching, Camboy!Link, Risky Behavior, Alternate Universe - College/University, Modern AU, Short Chapters, Stream of Consciousness, First Person, Loss of Virginity, Mutual Pining, Angst, Long Distance Relationship, Sex Work, Consenusl sex work, Sex work related slurs, Anal Sex, handjobs, Jealousy, Mentions of Infidelity, First Relationship

Rhett’s just a college kid looking for some good porn. Link is a camboy looking for loyal fans and good money. When Link goes live, the pair feels an interesting connection.

#2 Untethered - Its_mike_kapufty/ @its-mike-kapufty - [Explicit] - Chapters: 32 - Words: 109,097

Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Demons, demon!Rhett and human!Link, Vomiting, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Master/Servant, Praise, Biting, Oh No He’s Hot, Marijuana, Drinking, Mutual Masturbation, Supernatural Illnesses, Churches & Cathedral, Abuse of Authority, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Vigilantism, Blow Jobs, Police, Guns, Anal Sex, Hearteyes Rhett, Obsessive Behavior, Matter of Life and Death, Blood and Gore, Near Death, Happy Ending

Link would’ve never guessed that the price of fucking up his entire life is approximately 5¢.

#3 Lucidity - Its_mike_kapufty/ @its-mike-kapufty - [Explicit] - Chapters: 31 - Words: 103, 027

Porn With Plot, College, Sensory Deprivation, Ice Play, Frottage, Mutual Masturbation, Stuffed Toys, Scent Kink, Phone Sex, Blow Jobs, Reading Aloud, Intercrural Sex, Sex Toys, Double Penetration, Glory Hole, Protectiveness, Clothed Sex, Anal Sex, Babbling, Feeding Kink, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Under-Table Blow Jobs, Fight Sex, Orgams Delay/Denial, Lingerie, Multiple Orgasms, Humiliation, Free Use, Rimming, Animal Traits, Marijuana, Public Sex, Pool Sex, Bladder Control, Milking Machine, Smoking, Angst, Exhibitionism, Clone Sex, Love Confessions 

Rhett doesn’t know why this is happening. Thank Goodness Link doesn’t know it’s happening at all.

#4  Everyone but Me - Its_mike_kapufty/ @its-mike-kapufty - [Explicit] - Chapters: 11 - Words: 46,790

Alternate Universe - College/Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Jock!Rhett, Internalized Homophobia, House Party, Drinking, Cigarettes, Sthenolagnia, Kissing, Blow Jobs, Bars and Pubs, Social Media, Pining, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Denial of Feelings, Piercings, Bets & Wagers, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Heart-to-Heart, Nude Photos, Masturbation, Basketball, Post-Game(s), Marijuana, Vomiting, Concerts, Slow Dancing, Slurs, Protectiveness, First Time, Anal Sex, Self-Doubt, Pride Celebration

Rhett can fit in anywhere, make small talk with anyone. He’s one of NC State's best players, after all. If he can’t dazzle strangers with his records and status--if he’s not the perfect example of the masculine standard--then who is he?

#5 The Elephant in the Dorm - @goodmythicalghoulboy - [Explicit] - Chapters: 1 - Words: 4940

College, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Mutual Masturbation, Porn Watching, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Spanking, (just the teeniest bit of it though), Boundaries? What are boundaries?, Daddy Kink

Rhett thinks he’s finally got an hour to himself to really take his time and indulge in a little self love. He’s sorely mistaken, but it all works out for the best.

2020 so far

#1 Big Man on Campus - @fanbabble & @mythicaliz - [Explicit] - Chapters: 16 - Words: 41, 973

1990s, Dorms, Roommates, Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Sharing a Bed, Strangers, Basketball, Arguing, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Angst but it’s gonna get better, Alcohol, Underage Drinking, Body Shots, Masturbation, Frottage, bed sharing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Forbidden Love, I’m dead move, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, Voyeurism, Public Blow Jobs, Gay Bar, Jealousy, Coming Out, Anal Sex, First Time, Shower Sex, Semi-Public Sex

1996. NC State University. Syme Dorm, Room 24. Two roommates with very different dreams. One wants to play basketball and make his family proud. The other wants to make movies and explore his new found freedom. But there’s a problem… there is only one bed!

#2 The Roles We Play - sassandpanache/ @sass-and-panache - [Mature] - Chapters: 16 - Words: 31,238

Alternate Universe - College/Universe, Theatre, Basketball!Rhett, TheaterKid!Link, Enemies to Friends, to Lovers

Rhett’s failing his theater class so in order to save his grade, he joins the crew of NC State’s fall production of ‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof’. What he doesn’t realize is that the next month will change his life.

#3 Tell Me About It - Its_mike_kapufty/ @its-mike-kapufty - [Explicit] - Chapters: 1, Words: 7261

Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Sex Toys, Masturbation, Phone Sex, mentions of internalized shame

One of the biggest drawbacks of being incomplete without your best friend is the (very intense) fear of missing out.

#4 Taking Turns - @apparentlynotreallyfinnish - [Explicit] - Chapters: 1, Words, 2465

Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends With Benefits, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Pining

It didn’t take them long after starting college to get to this. One night of too many drinks and too few enthusiastic sexual partners available had lead to an awkward, fumbling experimentation in Rhett’s bunk. Rhett’s not sure anymore which one of them brought it up first, but somehow, in their inebriated and horny state, they’d realized that they could easily help each other out.

#5 Learning to Crawl - DarlingLo/ @darling-lo [Explicit] - Chapters: 5/6 (WIP) - Words: 33,081

College, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe - College/University, First Time, First Meetings, Angst, Enemies to Friends, Sexual Tension, Internalized Homophobia

It took Link four hours to learn his roommate’s name. And those four hours are all that was needed for him to absolutely hate him. 

[wherevermyway]

roller rinks and raspberry berets (1/2) // jeongbin // 18+

chapter one: heaven and back navigation: next chapter [in progress]

pairing: seo changbin x yang jeongin | past bang chan x seo changbin rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: explicit sexual content, recreational drug use (LSD, weed), 1980s AU, strangers-to-lovers, the roller skates stay on during sex, past infidelity, phone sex, masturbation, semi-public sex word count: 11,606 also on AO3

originally posted: 16 november 2021

It’s 1987, and the party scene is as vibrant and lively as the neon rainbow everyone is painted in.

Several months after a nasty breakup, Seo Changbin’s friends set him up with a mutual friend, Yang Jeongin. They speak on the phone a couple of times, then decide to go through with the blind date set up for them at a local roller rink. Changbin realizes he never really learned how to skate, but with Jeongin's hands guiding him, anything's possible.

They take some questionable substances and sparks start to fly when the lights drop and the music gets louder.

It's neon night at The Roxanne, and things are about to liven up, in more ways than one.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are  interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do  not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of  the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable,  please stop reading now.

A murky haze surrounded two men lying on a shag carpet in a rundown apartment. The stench of scorched marijuana and incense clung to the walls like the dingy wallpaper that was slowly starting to yellow and peel. If it wasn’t for the Madonna calendar hanging up right next to the fridge that had “MAY 1987” emblazoned in big, blocky orange letters, it would seem like the place was stuck in 1973.

“You’re gonna want this,” a young man with spiky, neon orange hair passes off a dime bag with a couple of tiny blotters in it to the other young man with shaggy black hair. “Neon night at The Roxanne always gets fuckin’ dope, but if you’re not trippin’ on something, it ain’t as good.”

“Word,” the man with black hair rubs his eyes and tosses the bag onto his chest. He brings a joint up to his lips, taking a deep inhale, before passing it back to the other man. The smoke hangs in his lungs for a few moments, before he carefully exhales the vapour into the air, letting the smoke feed into the cloud hovering above them. “You really think this Jeongin is as rad as Seungmin keeps hyping him up to be?”

The orange haired man coughs while he laughs. “Dunno, dude.” He takes another hit from the joint, and a wide grin spreads across his face. “I’ve met him a couple times. He plays the electric bass some band and thinks he’s good at surfing. Seung keeps telling me ‘Oh, Changbin’s gonna love him, Jeongin’s got a collection of weird records and refuses to use cassette tapes’ like it means something.”

Changbin fumbles himself upright and points at Minho, dime bag sliding off of his chest and down to the floor. “He’s got a point, dude,” the younger man, despite looking higher than a kite, attempts to look totally serious. “I told you, records just sound better. Don’t give me that shit about cassette tapes. The only shit tapes have for them is that they’re convenient for road trips. Sound-wise, it ain’t the same.”

The two of them stare at each other before bursting into a fit of the giggles. They laugh until their stomachs hurt and the cherry burns out of their joint.

“Anyway,” Minho wipes the corners of his eyes and pulls a slip of paper out of his back pocket, “you should give him a call before your date. Might make things a little less awkward.”

Changbin takes the slip of torn notebook paper and stares at it. He was doing fine until he saw the ten digits and ‘Jeongin’ on the paper, then his palms started to sweat a bit. “You really think he’s gonna like me?”

Minho relights the joint between his teeth and smirks, giving Changbin a coy glance. “Everyone likes you, dude. Chill out.”

Changbin didn’t get the courage to call Jeongin until Wednesday night, two days before their blind date. Minho was out for the night, going to some lame house party with Seungmin again. The two were practically attached at the hip, unsure if they were going to ever officially become an item or not; they had been on-again, off-again for nearly a year now. Minho was seriously considering asking Seungmin if they should settle down, take things seriously, but then Chan had broken up with Changbin, and it made everyone question if relationships were really worth it.

“Man,” Changbin sighed as he flopped down onto his bed. He reached over to his nightstand and cracked his knuckles before he scraped together enough weed to roll a quick joint. Minho was always better at it than him, but he tried his damnedest. As long as he could smoke up enough to forget about frantic college students contemplating the true meaning of Shakespeare’s work while he helped them search for reference materials, he didn’t really care what exactly the joint looked like.

It turned out a little crooked, but it didn’t matter. As long as it got the job done, right? He took a stray match from the tray and struck it against a matchbox, spinning it around the end of his joint as he took a deep inhale, then shook the match until the flame went out. As he watched the smoke leave his lips, he chewed on his lip a bit.

Tonight was the night. It had to be. There were only two nights to go.

His eyes fluttered down to the same scrap of paper that Minho had handed him a couple of days ago, sitting right next to the phone on his desk. When they first moved into this apartment, Minho teased him for having a rotary phone, instead of something with real push buttons. “Dude, you’re, like, twenty-five and you’ve got an old ass rotary phone. You’re fitting that old, crusty librarian stereotype, now you just need twenty cats and argyle-patterned wool sweaters covered in your cats’ fur.”

Minho earned the elbow in the ribs that Changbin gave him for that.

Changbin wasn’t sure how long he sat and stared at that scrap of paper, but it was long enough for him to get through his entire joint. Would Jeongin really like him? Could he handle the weird, nerdy rants Changbin could go on about the Dewey Decimal Classification when he got really baked? Did Jeongin even do, much less like, drugs?

Okay, if he was friends with Seungmin, he absolutely had to be fine with the last concern. That was one fear off of the list, alleviating his concerns a minute amount.

After Chan got sick of Changbin’s oddities, he was nervous that his next partner would be overly critical of everything he did. Afraid that he would spark an argument over something stupid, like the way that their albums were organized, or whether or not plates should be on the bottom shelf of a cupboard, or the second shelf.

Domestic life with a partner was stupid, and being stuck in the middle of one’s twenties, when someone supposed to be in the prime of their youth, was not the time to argue over fucking dinner plates. Changbin figured that now was the perfect time to drop acid on a date with some dude he never met, even if he wasn’t sure if the stranger was even cute or not. It didn’t matter.

Fuck it.

He placed the remnants of his burnt out joint on the metal tray, pushing it out of the way as he stood up, grabbing his phone and the paper off of his desk, dropping them onto his nightstand. Hopefully, this conversation would be long enough for him to be able to relax up against the wall, to get comfortable and bond. Even if it wasn’t a guarantee towards forever, Changbin would let his guard down just a little, let someone in again. It had been several months, nearly a year at this point, and it was time.

His fingers were slightly clammy, holding the flimsy paper in between his thumb and index finger. He took in a sharp breath, then brought the receiver up under his ear, propping it up with his shoulder. Subconsciously, Changbin furrowed his brows and stuck the tip of his tongue out through the corner of his lips as he punched in each digit into the rotary, letting the dial spin and click between each number.

After the tenth number was in, he sat back a bit, listening to the dial tone trill in his ear.

Once.

Was this the right number?

Twice.

Would Jeongin pick up?

Three rings.

Was he even home?

Four.

Was this a good idea?

Five. Five was making Changbin nervous, more nervous than he expected.

“Hello?” The voice on the other line was breathy and he heard a couple of small pants. It was easy to get distracted, Changbin getting lost in the possible reasons as to why the other voice was so… occupied.

“H-hi,” he stumbled over his words, forgetting how to form a coherent sentence. Shit, this was awkward. “I’m looking for Jeongin. Yang Jeongin. Do I have the right number?”

“Heh,” the other voice chuckles. “Depends on who’s asking.”

Arrogant. Changbin liked that. “Seo Changbin. Apparently, we’re going on a date on Friday, thanks to our friend Seungmin.”

“Damn,” the other young man sighed, “took you forever to call. Seungmin said he wasn’t gonna give me your number, that I should wait for you to call.” There’s a sound of something metallic clattering against a hard surface. “I don’t like waiting, but I figured I’d give it a chance. I’m tired of dating guys that have dated guys I’ve dated already.”

Changbin swallowed hard, not sure of what exactly he should say.

“That was a joke, dude.” Jeongin sighs, and there’s a bit of shuffling on the other line. “Please tell me you know how to laugh. If you don’t know how to laugh, I don’t know how this is gonna work out.”

“Yeah,” Changbin squeaks, “I just, I dunno, I’m not really good at talking over the phone unless it’s for, like, work or something.”

“Oh yeah!” The other man exclaims, and a slap against a hard surface comes through the tinny receiver. “Seungmin told me you’re a librarian. You don’t hear of many 25-year-old librarians, much less ones that are dudes, and even fewer that don’t have cats. Weird.” He laughs a little bit, a cute, light, floaty laugh. “Why did you become a librarian, of all things? Sounds kinda nerdy.”

Without thinking, Changbin grits his teeth in nervousness, reminded of all of the shitty jocks in high school giving him shit for spending all of his free time in the library, nose in some nonfiction books about music theory. None of those bastards got anywhere in life, anyways, so who was really laughing now? “It’s because I am a nerd,” he says, a bit colder than he should have, “but I like organization, helping people find things, and, honestly, just being able to feel a little smarter than most people sometimes.”

The weed was starting to really have an effect on him, allowing him to physically relax, but also be a bit more open. Perhaps he was a bit too open.

The two men share a brief pause over the phone and then Jeongin laughs. “So, you think you’re pretty smart, huh?”

“I mean,” Changbin leans up against the wall, tangling the phone cord aimlessly between his fingers, “I don’t have two degrees in this for nothing.”

“Ha,” Jeongin’s laugh bubbles up again, “dweeb.”

They chat aimlessly for a while, and Changbin finds out that Jeongin is, indeed, a musician. Dropped out of university to be a bassist with a couple of his friends, but he works in a pawn shop half-time.

“Pays the bills and it lets me get first pick of all of the good, barely-played records,” Jeongin quips. “Even if sometimes people wanna try to steal shit and we get threats of armed robbery every couple weeks. Stressful, but I got a copy of The Wall last week, brand new and unopened, for way cheaper than my boss would’ve sold it for, so that makes up for it.”

Changbin found Jeongin startlingly fascinating. They seemed like total opposites on some things, since Jeongin was an extrovert and Changbin was an introvert, but they agreed on important things, like music. “That reminds me,” he slid down to lay up against his bed and stare at the ceiling, “my roommate, Minho? He tried to tell me there’s no auditory difference between records and cassette tapes.”

“Dude!” Jeongin scoffs with offence. “You need a new roommate. What a shitty opinion.”

“I know, I know,” Changbin curls into himself a bit, a wide smile on his face as he laughs. “Minho doesn’t get it, man. I tried playing a couple different things, but he still didn’t get it.”

The two of them share a laugh over the line. It had been so long since someone other than Minho made Changbin genuinely smile and laugh like that, and he was starting to have a bit less reservation about Jeongin. Maybe this would work out, after all.

“So,” the other man clears his throat, trying to calm himself from laughing so hard, “I gotta ask. What’s your favourite year in music so far, since ’80? Don’t get me started on the 60s and 70s, because I have a lot of opinions.”

“That’s tough.” Changbin bites his tongue and squints, rolling his eyes back and forth, scanning the ceiling as if it would give him some sort of answer. “’84, if I have to pick. I mean, dude, look at Queen; they’re fucking killing it. ‘Radio Ga Ga’ is still playing everywhere. Don’t even get me started on ‘Take On Me’, either.”

Jeongin politely chuckles. “Alright, man, I gotta disagree. ’85. ‘Raspberry Beret’ is so good, like, it’s my favourite by Prince. ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’? Come on, man, The Breakfast Club. You can’t tell me that’s not iconic.”

“That’s one of my favourite movies, man.” Changbin’s face starts to hurt from smiling so much as he quotes the film: “‘We’re all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that’s all.’”

There’s a soft laugh on the other line, something different about it, like the mood has shifted into something a little more serious. “Ah, Changbin. I knew I’d like you, not just for your opinions on records and cassette tapes. You seem pretty neat, and I wanna get to know you more.”

The blush that creeps up on Changbin’s face is uncomfortably hot. They had to have been on the phone for about an hour, but everything was starting to unravel naturally, comfortably, and it was exciting. His gaze falls as he turns his head to the side, eyeing the metal alarm clock on his nightstand.

“I’d like that, Jeongin,” he says, nearly whispering it. “I’ve gotta head to bed here in a bit, since I’ve got an early day of being your local resident nerd at the campus library tomorrow.”

“I haven’t seen you yet,” the other man lowers his voice, practically growling into the phone, “but you might just convince me that librarians and nerds can be hot and sexy, after all.”

Changbin practically chokes on his saliva at that comment. His eyes widen and he shakes his head a few times, almost comically. “I wouldn’t say that I’m either of those things, but I’m curious to hear what you think of me. Maybe we could pick up this conversation tomorrow?”

“I’m free all night, baby. Call me up whenever.”

The two of them offer impolite farewells, then Changbin softly hangs up the phone. He checks his alarm clock to make sure his alarm is set, then pulls the drawstring on his desk lamp, turning it off.

“Nerds can be hot and sexy, after all.” Jeongin’s voice echoed in his head, and just the thought of the way he said that caused his nerves to come to life, for his breath to quicken. What did this mysterious pawn shop clerk by day, musician by night look like? Was he any good in the sheets? Was he aggressive, was he soft?

If he wasn’t so tired, Changbin would’ve let his mind run a little more wild, maybe let his hands wander south. Instead, he quickly fell asleep, losing himself in the memory of Jeongin’s voice and the possibilities they had ahead of them.

The next day went by slower than it should have, and it was completely unfair. It was two in the afternoon when things came to a complete standstill. It was Thursday, and a lot of students would likely be in the middle of exams, so there wasn’t much to do, other than daydream about Jeongin while aimlessly thumbing through a catalogue of items for archiving.

Changbin stood at the archiving desk, the area completely emptied out and quiet. The lack of people meant there was a lack of work, allowing for his mind to travel to some interesting places: imagining bony fingers scanning his body, running down his torso, grabbing his hips. He subconsciously gripped the red pen in his hand a little tighter, leaning against the desk as he bit his lip, trying hard not to rut against the oaken wood beneath him.

He should be focusing on the lengthy parchment in front of him, waiting to be indexed. Waiting, like he was, to be aimlessly fucked into. It had been over a year since he last slept with someone, and it was starting to become tiresome. It usually didn’t bother him, but Jeongin’s voice and his words had been dancing around in his head all day, making his entire body tingle and tense.

Their blind date was tomorrow night, but Changbin wasn’t sure if he could hold out on getting off for one more day. He had to know more intimate details about Jeongin, and, nerves be damned, he was going to work up the courage to find out tonight.

Changbin nervously paced around his empty apartment, soles of his feet dragging across the shag carpet in the living room. He told himself he wouldn’t call Jeongin until 19:30 at the earliest, and calling him at exactly 19:30 would just be overkill and stupid. He couldn’t come off as needy or desperate, so he waited. Every couple of minutes, he would anxiously look up at the clock that hung up on the wall above his prized record player.

19:24.

“Dammit all to hell,” Changbin grumbled, nibbling on his thumbnail as he continued to pace. Kate Bush’s ‘Cloudbusting’ was nearly finished playing, which meant he was going to have to flip the record over to side B, but he decided against it. No, he’d suffer in silence until 19:33; an arbitrary time, but random enough to seem unsuspicious. That meant a little under eight minutes to wait impatiently. He’d get through it, he figured, even though it would be painful.

As the song ended and Changbin went to shut off the record player and slip the vinyl back into its papery packaging, the phone rang. A gasp silently escaped his lips as he looked up at the clock. 19:26.

No, it couldn’t be Jeongin. Changbin didn’t give him his phone number. Still, he ran off to his bedroom. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, but it was better to be prepared just in case. He slammed his door behind him and rushed to grab the receiver, anxiously bringing it up to his ear.

“Hello?” He tried so hard to stay calm as he answered the phone.

“Hey!” Changbin frowned as he realized the voice on the other line was Minho. “It’s just me. I’m gonna be at Seungmin’s tonight. We’ve got, uh,” he lowers his voice, “I’m probably not gonna be home until, like, Sunday at this rate. Seungmin’s got plans.”

He tried really hard not to, but Changbin still rolled his eyes in envy at his roommate. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, “have fun getting the life pounded out of you. Hopefully you can still walk by the time you come home on Monday.”

“Oh come on,” Minho scoffed. “According to Seungmin, don’t be surprised if Jeongin’s got similar plans for the both of you if you two hit it off.”

Changbin shook his head and instantly flushed at the thought, his brain malfunctioning. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s nothing.” There’s some shuffling on the other end of the line, and then Minho gasps and laughs. “I gotta go, dude. Good luck this weekend, bye!”

Before he can say anything in response, Minho hangs up, leaving Changbin staring blankly at the receiver. He slams it down on the phone and groans loudly. A few moments pass before he decides to turn his overhead light off, and turn his desk lamp on. 19:30. There was only a little bit longer before he wouldn’t be worried about calling Jeongin, so he stared down at the drawer of his nightstand.

“Just in case, right?” A nervous scoff left his lips as he whispered into the air.

He pulled out a small bottle of lube, and set it down next to the phone. Even if his conversation with Jeongin didn’t go the way he was hoping it would, he wouldn’t let himself fall asleep unsatisfied tonight. There was no way.

19:31.

Two minutes to go until—

The phone rang again, causing Changbin to jump in place, nearly out of his own skin. “What the fuck?” He shouted to himself as he picked up the receiver. “Dude, Minho, I get it, you don’t have to rub it in my face.”

“Changbin?” The other voice was decidedly not Minho. No, it was too familiar, yet unfamiliar all at once. Painfully new.

“Jeongin? How did you…?”

The younger man chuckled. “I was with Seungmin today. Told him about our conversation yesterday, and he thought it’d be fine if he gave me your number. Maybe call you a little earlier, throw you off your guard.”

Changbin scoffed and flopped down onto his bed unceremoniously. “Well, it worked.”

“Clearly.”

There was a bit of an awkward silence, and Changbin bit his lip, trying to think of what to say next. He had all of these great topics for conversation run through his head while he was at work, but now they were all gone, like they never existed. The only obvious option that came to him was about their date tomorrow. “About our date tomorrow,” he starts, aimlessly watching the second hand tick away on his alarm clock, “how are we gonna know how to find each other?”

Jeongin hummed a mindless tune for a moment, likely contemplating his plans. “Wait for me at the bar. I’ll be there, wearing a neon pink shirt. I’ve got freshly-dyed teal blue hair, so you might need to get your eyes checked if you miss me.”

A soft smile crawled its way up Changbin’s face. “That sounds eclectic.”

“Comes with who I am; the whole package deal is a little unconventional. Hopefully you can handle that.”

“Hmm,” Changbin hums, then tsks, “might be a little difficult. A neon-clad, blue-haired musician and a boring, black-haired librarian that only owns dark clothes. We’re gonna be quite the duo.”

“Come on,” Jeongin whines, “you’ve gotta have a little neon in that closet of yours.”

“Nope. You can be the neon, and I’ll be the night, since it’s neon night, after all. Yin and yang. Light and dark.”

There’s a soft chuckle on the other line. “Can’t have the day without the night, huh?”

“When you put it that way,” Changbin starts, but lets his voice trail off. Musicians sure seemed to be good with words. He couldn’t help but wonder, with a silver tongue like that, if Jeongin wrote the lyrics for the small punk group he was a part of. Come to think of it, a punk bassist in neon was an interesting mental image, almost some sort of visual dissonance.

“What are you wearing?” Jeongin pulls Changbin from his thoughts, voice a bit lower than it was prior.

The question perplexed Changbin as he mentally thumbed through the clothes in his closet. “I dunno, probably my Bad Religion t-shirt so I’m noticeable and some ripped skinny jeans. Think it roughly fits the non-neon aesthetic. Is that fine?”

“Perhaps I should’ve phrased that better.” A laugh. “That’s not what I meant.”

Changbin knots his eyebrows together and cards a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what you mean, then. I figured it would fit for the location, and—“

“I meant right now.” The bluntness in Jeongin’s statement is jarring.

“Oh.” Changbin can’t manage much else, his brain slowly grinding its gears around as he tried to get back into the right mental space for… this.

This was really fucking happening. Not just a delusional fantasy he had hoped for.

He must have taken too long thinking about it, because Jeongin frantically starts stuttering on the other line. “Wait, no, sorry,” he starts, “that was abrupt. I’m sorry, like, shit, we’ve barely spoken for more than an hour to each other and I’m already trying to pull something like this and I probably just came off as—“

“What do you want me to wear right now?” It comes out a bit too naturally, too smoothly off of Changbin’s tongue, like it was obvious he wanted to see where this would go.

A beat passes. “Ideally?” Jeongin quietly whispers, shuffling a bit on his end. “I’d want you naked. But I don’t think I want you there yet.”

Changbin’s heart was about to beat out of his chest and his dick responded in kind, slowly pressing up against his briefs more and more as his blood coursed through his veins. “Not yet, you say? How come?”

“I don’t like instant gratification. If you can’t work for it, what’s the point?”

“Interesting. Am I working for it, or are you?” Changbin’s free hand slips down to the hem of his shirt, playing with a loose string, rolling it nervously between his thumb and index finger.

Jeongin hums. “Tonight? I don’t usually do this, since I like to be the one in control, but it’s been so long, I’ll make an exception.”

In the seven years that Changbin had been an adult, he had only tried phone sex once, and it was awkward. Chan was in northern California for work, and they were both drunk and lonely. They tried to make it work, but the pacing was off, the phrasing was awkward, especially since Chan didn’t try to experiment with dirty talk, and they ended up falling asleep on each other.

This, though, simply felt different and exciting.

“What if I don’t want you to be naked?” Changbin tugged harder at the string, starting to rip it from the hem, slowly unravelling it and ruining the stitching of his shirt. It didn’t matter, he hardly noticed. He could tear his shirt apart completely and he still wouldn’t have cared.

“Seems like you like to make people work for it, too.” Jeongin shuffled on the other line again, his voice a bit clearer, like he was closer to the phone. “Maybe you like to do questionable things in questionable places. I don’t know you well — at all, actually — but I just get this feeling about you. The quiet ones are always the fun, adventurous ones.”

“It must be true, then.” Changbin pauses to take in a breath, to calm his nerves over what he was about to say to a stranger over the phone. “I thought about you today while I was working on a catalogue for our archives. It’s a boring, thoughtless job sometimes, allows me to have a lot of time to let my mind wander. I was leaning up against the desk, pen in hand, and all I could think about was how pretty your voice would sound as I slowly fucked into you, made you beg to me to go faster, but I’d just slow down.” The string detached from Changbin’s shirt, yet he continued to roll it between his fingers.

Jeongin’s breathing started to pick up on the other end. “What else?”

Changbin discarded the string haphazardly and nestled the receiver in the crook of his neck, shuffling his shorts and briefs down just enough for his dick to spring out. “I’d bite the back of your neck all the way up your ear. Tell you to stay quiet, since you were being too loud and whiny, that you’d be the reason we’d get caught.”

“Yeah,” a pant, “can’t have us getting caught. It’d be quite a rush, getting fucked by the hot, nerdy librarian when he’s supposed to be working.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. Changbin grabbed the bottle of lube from the nightstand, haphazardly squirting some of it all over his crotch, somewhat missing his dick in his rush. “The only thing I’d be working would be your cock in my hand. Make you whine, make you fucking miserable as I bring you so close to coming but keep you hanging, begging for me to let you come.” He tossed the bottle on to the floor, then mopped up some of the stray lube off of his stomach, then moved to stroke himself a bit hastily. It had been so long, and to actually have an intimate connection with another human being, albeit over the phone, was enough excitement to have him close to the edge already.

Jeongin must have had a similar idea, because his laboured breathing comes over the line in a constant rhythm. “Maybe I don’t wanna take it slow.”

“Maybe I don’t care.”

“Oh,” the other man sounded a bit shocked, gasping quietly. “You’re interesting, mister sexy librarian. What if I decided to push back? Literally? Bring my hips back up against yours, grind my ass up on you and make you whine and make you fucking miserable?”

“Shit,” Changbin growled, not expecting that kind of reaction. “I might have to grab you by the hair, push you down into the desk and give a needy little brat like you exactly what you want.” The thought was almost too much. He knew he was getting close; he should’ve slowed the pacing down with his hand, but he couldn’t stop. Instead, he was increasing his pace and tightening the grip at the top of his hand a bit more. “How would you like that?”

“Fuck,” Jeongin sounds like he’s completely lost in the moment, breathing erratic and letting full gasps and moans escape now. It sounded like some sort of wildly inappropriate choral music. “Changbin, that’s so fucking hot. I wish this was your hand around me instead. It feels so good, but it’s not enough.” Changbin lets out a choked whine, lost in the thought of what Jeongin looked like as he jerked himself off. “Ah, Changbin, I need you so badly. To feel you around me, inside me, and I—“

Suddenly, the light on the edge of Changbin’s desk went out and Jeongin’s voice went silent. The ambient humming that usually filled his apartment was dead. It appeared as if his part of LA got wrapped up in a sudden blackout, since everything everywhere was dark and quiet.

This couldn’t have come at a more horrible time.

Changbin let out an exasperated, desperate yell in frustration. As he angrily tossed the receiver to the side, causing the entire phone to go flying, he stared up at the ceiling in the darkness and swore that he was never going to try phone sex again.

Zero for two. Phone sex was cursed.

Even though today was the day that Changbin was finally going to meet Jeongin for their date, he was in an absolutely dreadful mood. Sure, after the power went out for the entire night, he had managed to get himself off, but it was lacklustre and nowhere near as good as he was anticipating it to be with his conversation with Jeongin. The pathetic way that the younger man mewled his name followed him like a shadow all day, echoing in the space between his ears all day.

“Changbin,” the voice taunted him, “I need you so badly.”

He groaned and leaned up against his archive desk, not even bothering to try to pay attention to his work. There was no way he was going to get anything done while he was too distracted thinking about fucking this stranger up against it, pushing his face into the mass of open books and large parchment. They would knock off all of the paraphernalia, pens clattering like raindrops against the ground, sound being absorbed by the walls of books surrounding them. God, how good it would be to hear his name coming from those lips one more time.

“I wish this was your hand around me instead.”

His eyes lulled to the corner of the table, pushing up his glasses to better focus on a cheap digital clock showing 15:40 in bright red lights. “Goddammit,” Changbin grumbled to himself and let his head collide against the open book in front of him. The tension in his slacks was causing time to inch by impossibly slow, like he was stuck in molasses. He had less than five and a half hours to go until he would finally meet the man the engrossed his entire mind for the past 48 hours and he couldn’t wait to give Jeongin a taste of the thoughts that consumed him.

Only a bit over five hours, now. He could do this.

Changbin had to have mentally pored over his entire appearance several times as he showered. Glasses? No, those would just be a nuisance; it’d be best to just suffer with a little bit of blurry vision for distant things. Besides, he was going to be seeing crazy shit halfway through their date, if they hit it off well enough to trip together.

So, no glasses. One thing off the list.

After his shower, Changbin thumbed through his closet, lost in a sea of black and indigo clothing, with a couple of odd white button up shirts that were frequently ignored. His graphic shirts were towards the left-hand side, reserved for his days off and the nights he’d go out with Minho and Seungmin, where he tried to look as normal as possible, and not like the dweeby librarian everyone knew him to be. It took several flicks of the thumb, but he eventually found the Bad Religion shirt he promised he was going to wear. That, and the torn up black skinny jeans he already had on his bed, were the only things Jeongin had to go off of.

Changbin was desperately hoping that Jeongin would find him in the sea of people that would be there. If this date flopped, he was going to hide for weeks in embarrassment, showing up to something so high energy looking like a black cloud of doom and gloom and dateless. The first half of that was tolerable, but to be dateless after all of that would be devastating to his ego.

Thankfully, Jeongin was going to be the visual antithesis to Changbin’s all-black attire. He was going to be like a dark cloud, a shadow to be passed over, and Jeongin would be that bright ray of vivid neon pink and teal blue. They’d be eyesores in their own rights, but it wouldn’t matter. Nobody would really be paying close attention to them tonight; neon nights were always the nights where people would get drugged out, smoke weed openly and fuck in the washrooms, and everyone would let go of their faux daily life personas and be carefree for one night.

It didn’t take long for Changbin to change into his outfit. He turned his head to look at his nightstand, squinting to make out the time on the clock. 19:52. All he needed to do was fuss over his appearance in the mirror while he would throw on some eyeliner. He would then fix his hair, gelling it into some sort of puffed out “just woke up” look that would just deflate after an hour of hanging around a humid, cramped environment packed with people. Maybe he’d wear those knee-high platform combat boots he only wore once to a concert a couple years ago.

First impressions were important, even if he knew he’d look like a mess at the end of the night. He wanted to prove to Jeongin that librarians could, in fact, be hot and sexy, even if it wasn’t in the conventional ways society would prefer.

The platform combat boots were a bad idea.

It wasn’t a far walk, but as Changbin waited in line outside of The Roxanne, he was constantly adjusting his feet and kicking the toes of his boots against the firm concrete of the sidewalk. He knew he’d be off of his feet soon enough, but getting to that point was proving to be brutal. The line slowly moved, people gradually being allowed in after paying the cover fee. Changbin flicked his arm, looking at the silver Royal Oak decorating his wrist, eyeing the time. 21:05.

He huffed, furrowing his brows and staring at the gunpowder grey backdrop of his watch. This was his lucky watch that his parents gifted him for graduating with his master’s degree last year. It was what he wore for his interview at UCLA, almost positive he wouldn’t get the entry-level librarian position he applied for, since it was heavily competitive, but he somehow managed to get it. It was the watch he wore when he and Minho signed for their shoddy apartment. It was what he wore when he gained the courage to call Jeongin.

Maybe superstition was stupid, but Changbin really wanted to put all of his cards on the table and risk believing in it tonight.

The line continued to shuffle forward, and Changbin’s nerves started to really consume him. On the outside, he tried to look cool and composed, his thumbs gently tucked into the belt loops of his pants, shoulders tucked back, head propped upright. Internally, however, he was very much the opposite of the cool-guy persona he was putting on. If he could scream and still be seen as sane, he absolutely would.

Another couple of steps. Changbin pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, sliding out his driver’s licence and a fiver as he approached the sturdily built man that stood outside of the front door. The man didn’t bother looking at his licence and just took the bill from him. They exchanged no words, the man just tilting his head towards the door, and Changbin simply walked in.

His fingers trembled a bit as he anxiously jammed his licence back into his wallet, exchanging it for a ten-dollar-bill, and returned the billfold to his back pocket. A long sigh escaped his lips as scanned the room, seeing no one with teal hair and a bright pink shirt as he approached the bar, finding a spot where he could keep an eye on the front door. He waved down one of the bartenders, who glided over towards him on her skates as she smiled at him.

“Hey there, what can I get ya?” She smiled at him, excitedly tapping her hands on the wooden countertop.

Changbin passed her the cash and shrugged. “A gin and tonic is fine. I don’t care what kind of gin you use.”

“You got it,” she skated away, off to make his drink.

Again, Changbin looked down to his watch. 21:21. The lights flickered off nine minutes early, UV lighting illuminating the entire rink, save the halogen lights by the washrooms, entrance, and most of the bar. The bartender returned with Changbin’s drink and his change.

“Quinine sure is fascinating, ain’t it? I love anything with tonic water on neon nights. Lemme know if you need anything else, buttercup.” She smiled, then skated away to her next customer before Changbin could make any sort of commentary. He stared wildly at his drink, literally glowing in a nuclear shade of blue, wondering if it had been adulterated. Quinine. He recognized the word from one of his organic chemistry texts from university, but the details of it escaped him.

Fuck it. Might as well just drink it.

He fumbled the cash into his right pocket, not bothering to stuff it back into his wallet. There was no way he was going to stand up in these fucking shoes unless he absolutely had to. Another glance to his watch. 21:24. Changbin grumbled under his breath, bringing the glass cup to his lips, biting the plastic straw between his teeth as he sucked up some of the toxic-looking liquid and he looked to the door. The drink nearly went everywhere as his eyes went wide and he saw a human glow stick walk in.

Neon pink shirt. Hair as violently blue as his own drink, topped with a purple beret. This was his human glow stick. It was fucking Yang Jeongin, actually here, in the flesh. Changbin didn’t even try to doubt it.

The black-haired man dipped his head down in nervousness, his heartbeat thrumming so loudly, it overtook the music being played over the loud speakers behind him. He had gotten this far, but Changbin had no idea what to do now. These men had essentially fucked over the phone just the night prior — well, they had attempted to, for all intents and purposes.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

How do people do blind dates? In the six years he spent studying research and analysis, he never came across something like this in his texts and papers. The countless nights he spent researching the human connection and other psychological and sociological theories had meant jack shit when it actually came to experiencing them in person. If his hair wasn’t well-coiffed, Changbin would be nervously running his fingers through his hair and biting off every single fingernail he could. It had been years since he dated, and this could go very poorly.

Something inside of him compelled him to look again. Perhaps the human glow stick was a figment of his imagination, the wrong person. Something. Anything. Anyone other than Yang Jeongin. Changbin sucked down another large swig of his drink, and turned his head slightly, and saw that the glow stick was scanning the bar. Changbin was about to turn away out of nervousness when they made eye contact.

He hadn’t consumed any questionable substances other than a couple sips of his drink, but it was like a fire had been set alight within him, burning away some of his anxiety and replacing it with a sense of confidence. That was definitely Jeongin, the gaze they exchanged with each other left no room for question.

The younger man smiled, biting his lip as he excitedly trekked up to Changbin. He stopped in front of him, gazing down at the older man’s shirt, then wiggling a bit in joy as he opened his mouth.

“Please tell me you’re Seo Changbin, otherwise you’re going to be very disappointed tonight.”

“Well,” Changbin couldn’t help but half-smirk with a bit of a cocky arrogance he didn’t know he had. He set his drink down on the bar and leaned on his elbow, slowly looking up at the neon-clad man. “That depends on who’s asking, don’t you think?” He used the first words Jeongin spoke at him against him, and the younger man giggled.

“Yang Jeongin, at your service. Raspberry beret included. Still the best year in music this decade.” The blue-haired man winks and leans in close, very close to the older man, as he then rests his arms on the countertop, flagging down the same bartender as before. She nods and starts working on a drink without even talking to him. The young man sits back on his heels and boldly slaps a hand on Changbin’s thigh. He moves in, right up next to the black-haired man’s ear, lips practically touching it as he lowers his voice to a whisper. “You know, Changbin, librarians aren’t supposed to be hot and sexy, but man, am I glad I’ve been proven wrong.”

Changbin may have been nervous as all hell just a few minutes ago, but now he had a sneaking feeling that maybe, just maybe, this date was going to work out after all.

The two of them share a couple of drinks at the bar, really hitting it off. Jeongin doesn’t lift his hand from Changbin’s thigh, which the elder doesn’t mind, slowly getting the courage to place his hand on top of it after their second drink. At some point, Jeongin sticks his tongue out in defiance, showing off a neon green tongue ring on bright display, and Changbin is impressed.

“I’m full of a lot of secrets, you know.” The younger man teases, aimlessly biting on his straw.

“I guess I’m gonna have to slowly unwrap you in order to find out all of those secrets, huh?” Thanks to the alcohol, Changbin’s a lot smoother than he thinks he is, realizing that the words sounded a lot less innocuous than he intended. He blinks rapidly and stumbles over his words. “Sorry,” he apologizes, then rubs his forehead with his free hand. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

“That was a good pickup line,” the blue-haired man giggles into his drink, emptying the contents of the glass, then slamming it down on the counter. He takes his newly-freed hand and rests his head in his palm, happily smiling at the man in front of him. “Now what?”

Changbin gently sets his drink on the counter, then reaches into his left pocket, scooping up the dime bag from the other day, tucking it into the palm of his hand. “I got these from Seungmin the other day. Kind of a strange question, but,” he looks up to the younger man and licks his bottom lip, “you trust me enough to get a little tripped out?”

Jeongin excitedly shimmies his shoulders back and forth a couple of times. “You’re friends with Seungmin, so that’s good enough for me. Whatcha got on the menu for tonight, hmm?”

“Something pretty to go right up next to that tongue ring of yours.” Changbin takes his hand off of Jeongin’s, inconspicuously fiddling with the bag. He pulls out a small baby pink square of paper, briefly flashing it at the younger man. “I can take it first if you don’t trust me.”

Jeongin doesn’t say anything, only moving in a bit closer, and he sticks his tongue out, mouth wide open, everything shiny with saliva and on full display. He looks up to Changbin with pleading eyes and makes a little cooing noise.

Changbin let his eyes flutter shut for a brief second as he sharply inhaled through his nose and then shifted in his seat in mild discomfort. “You’re dangerous,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded as he grabbed Jeongin’s chin, lightly tugging him closer for a moment, as he pressed the paper onto the moist, warm tongue in front of him. “I’m ready to get burned with fire, though.” He wastes no time to pluck the second piece of paper from the plastic bag, pressing it against his own tongue. “Let everything chill out on your tongue for a while, alright?”

“You say that like you think I’ve never dropped acid before, dude.” The younger man smiled widely, then tugged at Changbin’s hand, pulling him up to his feet. “Let’s go get some skates and roll around while we wait.”

Changbin’s eyes went wide and his feet screamed at him as he was jostled upright. It was going to hurt, but it didn’t matter. A bit of discomfort would be worth it to see the joyful look on Jeongin’s face as they glided around on the polished floor, waiting for the colours to slowly meld together and wrap around them in a hazy, yet incandescent rainbow.

“Wait a second,” Jeongin cackles and drops the laces of his skates. “You mean to tell me you’re twenty-five and you’ve never been good at skating? Dude. Your childhood must’ve been boring as shit.”

“Come on,” Changbin drawls, sighing as he pouts at the younger man. “The only physical activity I really like is weightlifting, and that’s not even a frequent hobby of mine. I’d rather get baked after work and listen to records while laying on the floor.” The two men stare at each other for a minute, then burst into laughter.

“Alright, I can see you getting baked, but weightlifting? As if, man.” Jeongin shakes his head and bends back down to finish tying his laces. “Librarians aren’t supposed to be buff and shit, that’s not how that works at all.”

A sarcastic huff escapes Changbin’s lips. He drops to the floor, grabbing Jeongin’s hands and looking up to the younger man, his face getting dangerously close, close enough to almost brush their lips together. They stare at each other for a moment, the air stilling around them, before the older man moves to touch their cheeks together, lips against Jeongin’s ear. “You also said librarians aren’t supposed to be hot, but I proved you wrong with that, too.” Changbin lets go of Jeongin’s hands, moving them to dance his fingertips against the top of the neon man’s thighs. “Let me see how many times I can prove you wrong tonight.”

Jeongin lets out a shaky gasp, pressing his cheek up against the older man’s, moving in close as if he was about to kiss him, but Changbin pulls away too quickly, winking at him before he moves down to help tie his laces. “God,” the younger man sighs, throwing his head back and subtly rolling his hips in his chair to readjust, “you’re a tease, man. That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair sometimes. Gotta have the dark to appreciate the light.” Changbin smirks to himself as he finishes knotting the laces in his hands. He makes his way to his feet, awkwardly stumbling a bit before he reaches his hands down in front of Jeongin. “Shall we?”

Jeongin takes one of Changbin’s hands and helps himself upright. “Awfully confident for someone who can’t skate.” He smiles, then gently tugs the older man towards the open air of the entrance of the rink.

Changbin sucks air in through his teeth as he starts to move, flailing his free hand a bit as he awkwardly shuffles his feet to help him move with a bit more purpose. They step on to the glossy hardwood floor, and Jeongin spins around, skating backwards as he pulls Changbin along. He reaches out for the older man’s other hand, which Changbin carefully reaches down and grabs. They interlace their fingers together, staring longingly at each other.

“I trusted you with the acid,” Jeongin says at a volume just loud enough to carry over the song roaring through the speakers, “now trust me with the skating, yeah?”

Changbin nods, his face slightly wrinkled up in nervousness. He bites his lip, starting to get the hang of the way they slid around the floor, only having some issues with the rounded corners. People were flying past them, but it didn’t matter. The only thing Changbin wanted to focus on was Jeongin.

“You’re getting it,” the younger man smiled, standing totally upright and pulling the older man closer to him, maybe just a few centimetres away from each other. They smile softly at one another, slowing down a bit as Changbin started to get lost in the way the brilliant lighting warmed against Jeongin’s face, highlighting his high cheekbones and his soft lips.

There was nothing more that Changbin wanted than to kiss those lips.

As he was leaning in, Jeongin let go of his hands. “You teased me earlier,” he scoffed, “now you’ve gotta earn that kiss.” He looks over his shoulder, then turns back and smiles. “You’ve gotta make one full loop around: from the entrance and back. Then you’ll have earned that kiss from me.”

Changbin opens his mouth to protest, flailing around a bit, and Jeongin winks and practically flies away on his skates. He grits his teeth and huffs. “I’m gonna show you, goddammit.” The black-haired man frowns in determination, getting bolder with each stride he takes. Jeongin loops around again when he’s about halfway through, sticking his tongue out and blowing him a kiss as he spins around and jumps up into the air, landing perfectly back onto his feet. The younger man is off in a flash again, a trail of pink following him as he rolls away.

Oh. Changbin shakes his head as he comes around a corner. The acid had started to kick in and things got a little brighter, colours blurring together in the distance, lazily trailing around in a stutter as he moved around. He stared at the entrance of the rink, maybe fifty metres away, smiling to himself as he got closer and closer. At about twenty metres, Jeongin flew past him and veered off towards the wall, waiting with a smile.

As he approached Jeongin, Changbin intentionally didn’t slow down as much as he should have. He slowed a bit, and the younger man winced a bit and recoiled, preparing for a rough impact. However, the crash never came. Changbin pressed his hands into Jeongin’s chest as he got close, gently colliding against him, both of them landing against the wall.

They didn’t say anything. Changbin snaked a hand to Jeongin’s hip, and another up under his jaw, pulling it up into his. Their lips danced up against each others’, and there’s an electrical feeling that runs through Changbin’s veins, a spark between them. Their noses brush, nuzzling into the other as their lips open.

Jeongin tastes like lemon-lime soda and vodka, his tongue feeling almost like it was still covered in carbon dioxide as it rolled around Changbin’s. The older man digs his thumb into the younger man’s hip, causing a muffled squeak to roll up into his throat. An explosion of yellows and greens cloud Changbin’s vision as sounds start to translate into colours and haptic sensations.

It almost feels like they’re meant to be. Jeongin is the treble to Changbin’s bass. The light to his darkness. He is the neon glow stick to his dark, unlit candle. It may have been the drugs and the alcohol heightening everything, but from the way their humour complemented each other, to their oddities being so different yet similar, to the way that how sweet Jeongin’s kiss was against Changbin’s sour lips, everything was perfect.

“You’re perfect,” Changbin breathes into Jeongin’s mouth. “I don’t know why,” he pulls the younger man’s bottom lip gently between his teeth as he pulls away, staring up into half-open eyes, “but I just feel it.” The synth music beating along in the background practically pushes them closer, inviting them to stay wrapped up into one another.

Jeongin pushes back up against Changbin’s lips for a quick, hasty kiss that feels like electric pink and sparkling green. “It’s the drugs, but I’ll take the compliment.”

“I’m serious,” Changbin smiles at the sweetness of Jeongin’s lips against his again. “Like, your cheekbones. They’re so prominent, sharp, perfect. Your whole face just radiates brilliance. It’s like all of the colours dance off of your face and wrap it in this warm energy that demands attention.”

“Your lips are perfect,” Jeongin retorts with a laugh. “The way that your face wrinkles up when you smile. I wanna take that in, make you laugh for hours just to watch you scrunch your face together. Listen to the way your laugh staccatos discordantly against the music playing in the background.”

A warmth spreads in Changbin’s stomach, deep purples and pinks blending around the edges of his vision. It was time. He decides to finally bite the bullet, swallowing hard as he tries to keep his volume low enough for only Jeongin to hear him, “I wanna hear you say it again.”

There’s a short pause as Jeongin stills. “What’re you talking about?”

Changbin pushes Jeongin into the wall, rubbing his waist against the younger man’s. “Last night,” he trails his lips up Jeongin’s cheek, all the way up to his ear, “you told me you wanted me. Needed me.”

There’s a burst of orange as Jeongin laughs. “That’s right, isn’t it? Whatcha gonna do if I tell you that again, now that I have you here in my hands?” His hands quickly slap up against Changbin’s ass, grabbing it tightly. “We’re still in public, baby.”

A strangled moan accidentally comes from Changbin, feeling every nerve in his spine erupt in baby blues and jarring yellows at the younger man’s touch. “I don't care where we are. I’m gonna give you what you want,” he whispers, nibbling on the earlobe in front of him. “I’m going to steal you away, pull you away into the washroom, and I’m gonna fuck you up against the tiling or the wallpaper or whatever dingy shit they’ve got in there.”

It was like nobody was around, not that anyone was paying attention, anyways. The two of them ground up against each other, practically fucking as everyone went along with their lives around them. They were far from the only ones becoming so acquainted on the hardwood floor, but it didn’t matter. As far as Changbin was concerned, they were the only two people in the room, in the entire building, in the entire world.

“It’s tiling,” Jeongin whispers and bites Changbin’s ear, causing a neon rainbow, rippling in time to the music around them, to cloud his vision. “I let you take control over the phone last night, so I’m gonna do the fucking tonight. Come on.”

Changbin doesn’t have the wherewithal to protest as he’s dragged away by Jeongin, pulling them off towards the flickering, nauseatingly yellow-tinted halogen that illuminated the washroom door. Somehow, they had gotten lucky and nobody was in the entire washroom. They roll into the large stall towards the back. Jeongin locks the door behind them and pushes Changbin against the back wall, crashing their lips together.

The weird mixture of normal lighting with blacklight paints a strange picture against the back of Changbin’s eyelids. Each grazing of Jeongin’s teeth on his lips causes purple lines to streak down a backdrop of orange and crimson.

Warm. Jeongin was warm. Everything about him radiated warm colours and energy, even if his hair was the opposite of that.

Jeongin trails his lips down Changbin’s neck, and he grazes his teeth against the soft skin. “Wait,” the older man quietly protests, “don’t do anything that’ll leave a mark there.”

“Why not?” Jeongin looks up to the older man and smirks. “Afraid your coworkers and students are gonna find out you’re actually a bit of a freak who wants to get fucked in public?”

“Actually,” Changbin huffs, “kinda, yeah. Anything below the neck is fair game, though.

“I respect that.” Jeongin huffs, tugging the loose neckline of Changbin’s shirt down, exposing his collarbone. “Oh,” he pauses, cocking his head to the side. “781?”

Changbin hums, flushing in slight embarrassment, as he feels Jeongin’s eyes on his tattoo. “Dewey Decimal Classification. Music theory call number. That’s why there’s a treble clef next to it.”

“God, you’re such a fucking nerd. That’s hot as hell.” The younger man groans, then starts desperately sucking and biting up against the sensitive flesh.

Changbin doesn’t try to hide a needy whine at the sensation of Jeongin’s teeth against his skin. His hips roll up subconsciously, craving for some sort of stimulation against his growing erection. “Jeongin,” he whimpers, “I don’t wanna wait anymore.”

The younger man relinquishes the skin from his teeth. “Funny,” he says, standing up and looking down at the older man, pressing their hips together. “Neither do I.”

They wantonly kiss each other as they fumble with their pants. Jeongin tosses his beret to the floor, pulling out a condom and a small, travel-sized bottle of lube out from his back pocket. “As much as I love kissing those lips of yours and looking at your face,” he pulls away, quickly pressing a kiss to Changbin’s forehead, “this is gonna be a lot easier if you turn around.”

A nervous laugh bubbles up from Changbin as he somehow manages to roll around, pressing his hands up against the clammy tiling. He bends over slightly, pressing his hips against Jeongin’s crotch, eliciting a small groan from the younger man. Within a moment, thumbs are haphazardly tugging his waistband down, exposing his skin to the warm, open air.

“Your ass is really nice,” Jeongin takes in a quick breath and ghosts his fingers over the smooth skin.

“You say that now,” Changbin whispers as streams of green drift up from the corners of his vision, “but wait until you’re actually inside me.”

A desperate huff comes from Jeongin. “Fuck,” he groans, squeezing some lube on to his fingers and bringing his hand up to the older man’s perineum, dragging them up slowly to rub against his entrance. “I’ve been thinking about this nonstop since you told me you’d fuck me against your stupid work desk.” He coaxes a finger inside, and Changbin whines, rubbing his cheek against the dingy washroom tile. “I was ready to come right then and there. I didn’t know you’d be that much of a freak when Seungmin told me you were a librarian.”

Jeongin’s finger curls around a bit as he explores around, causing Changbin to let out soft little pants as his skin stretched against the finger. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he manages to grumble in between pants, “or how freaky I am. Maybe one day I’ll show you my collection of glass sex toys I keep hidden under my bed.”

Another finger slips in, and another moan loudly comes from the panting librarian. “Keep it down. Don’t wanna get kicked out with a hard-on, do you?” Changbin weakly nods, his eyes rolling back as he bites his lips and moves against Jeongin’s fingers. The younger man continues to stretch the sensitive skin as he gently rolls both of his fingers around, occasionally separating them in a scissoring-like motion.

Changbin bites back a loud, throaty moan, bringing his hand up to his mouth so he can bite on his knuckle. Colours rippled around in discordant patterns, roughly clashing up against each other, sparks of white popping up at random. “Jeongin,” he whines out, voice slightly muffled.

The younger man shudders at the sound of his name being uttered, and he slips his ring finger inside. As soon as the finger is completely inside of Changbin, the older man throws his head back and slips a bit on his skates. Jeongin grabs his hip tightly with his free hand. “Don’t worry, baby,” he whispers, in a soft, loving voice, “I’m not gonna let you fall. I’ll keep you safe right here, so let yourself go.”

Changbin’s hand leaves his mouth and slams up against the wall, curling his fingernails into the grout between the tiles. He closes his eyes tightly and loses himself in the sensation of being filled by three fingers, slowly working his way up to being prepared for whatever Jeongin’s dick was going to feel like inside of him. What he wasn’t prepared for, however, was when Jeongin’s middle finger curled up against his prostate and he arched his back in surprise.

“Jeongin,” he panted, rubbing his cheekbone into the tile, “fuck, there, right there.”

“Don’t worry,” the younger man reassures him, “all in due time. Trust me, a bassist knows what he’s doing when it comes to his fingers.”

“That’s,” Changbin pants again, “a terrible fucking pun.”

Jeongin rubs all three of his fingers in a circle, causing the older man to writhe under him. “Yeah, yeah,” he coos, “you don’t seem to actually be complaining, though.”

“I’m only gonna complain if you don’t shut up and fuck me here soon,” Changbin whines through gritted teeth. “I don’t wanna come unless it’s from your dick, alright?”

“Fine,” Jeongin grins, removing his fingers slowly, making sure to drag them down the walls of the sensitive skin around them. He pulls them out one by one, causing Changbin to twitch under him. Once his hand is free, he wrangles his cock from his pants, then rips the condom from the foil packet, sliding it onto him. He pulls the bottle of lube from his pocket, squirting a bit more onto his hand, stroking it on his cock. “You ready for me?”

“Yes,” Changbin turns his head, staring down Jeongin with half-lidded eyes. “I need you, Jeongin, please.”

The younger man smiles, then lines himself up against the elder’s entrance. “Whatever you want, babe.” Jeongin slides in, and the composure held in his face falters, lips parting and eyes rolling back a bit. His slick hand grabs Changbin’s other hip, digging his pinky and thumb tightly into his skin as he slowly makes his way completely inside. “Yeah, you were right. Your ass is much nicer now that I’m inside of you.”

“I know, I know. Jeongin, please, shut up and fuck me,” Changbin whines, rapidly panting as he’s filled. “I just wanna feel you fuck me senseless.”

“Needy,” Jeongin hisses through his teeth as he pulls back, then slams back into Changbin, the sound of skin against skin echoing throughout the tiling and linoleum, overtaking the muffled sounds of the electronica from the other room.

Everything felt and looked so much more vibrant thanks to the acid. Every thrust was another colour splattered up recklessly in Changbin’s vision. Sparks of light went flying every time Jeongin hit his prostate. Sex usually felt wonderful to Changbin; he wasn’t sure if it was because of the drugs specifically, or if it was Jeongin, or if it was both, but he was sure of one thing: this was an out-of-body experience. His mind was floating up in the sky, up along the stars, as if he was the main character in some bad science fiction space film.

“Jeongin,” he panted, continuing to cry out the younger man’s name like a mantra.

The blue-haired man panted heavily, taking the hand previously inside Changbin and wrapping it around his cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. “You feel so good, baby, I’m gonna make a mess out of you.”

The colours in Changbin’s vision slowly started to turn white, ribbons of pink and blue in the shades of Jeongin wrapping around the edges of his sight. “Shit,” a throaty moan escaped his throat, “I’m gonna come, Jeongin, don’t fucking stop. Fuck, please don’t stop. Don’t stop. Ah, god, fuck, I—“

His back arched, fingernails dragging down the walls as Changbin tried, and failed, to keep himself from shouting Jeongin’s name at a loud volume. The younger man pumped him one last time, and cum splattered up against the wall, dripping down onto the floor, as the older man collapsed into the tiling.

“Fuck, that’s so good, you’re so good, Changbin,” he pulled back and then slammed into the older man one more time, curling into his back a bit, stabilizing his stance by gripping Changbin’s hip. He spilled his cum into the condom, and the two of them stood there and panted for what seemed like forever.

After several minutes, Jeongin pulled out, shakily standing back upright. “What the fuck was that, dude?” He laughed, and Changbin managed to stumble himself back up to a vertical position.

The older man rapidly blinked as he came back down from space, and he let out a long sigh. “Amazing, that's what that was,” he pulled his pants up from off of the floor, haphazardly fastening the button of his jeans together just enough. Changbin awkwardly rolls a bit, then pulls Jeongin into him by the neck, the two of them exchanging a warm, soft kiss with each other.

They kiss for only a moment or so. “We should probably clean up a little bit and then get out of here.” Jeongin chuckles once. “You kind of made a mess and I’m sure we probably scared off some people.

“You’re the reason I made that mess,” Changbin quips. “Besides, we’re not the only ones that have fucked in here tonight, I bet. We won’t be the last, either.”

After a bit of awkwardly shuffling around in skates, some commentary about never fucking in roller skates again, and a bit of cleanup, they emerge from the stall. Jeongin rolls over to the sink to wash his hands, smiling at Changbin through the mirror. “I think I’m gonna like you,” he says, and the older man makes eye contact with him through the mirror, then rolls up next to him.

“Yeah?” He presses a kiss up to the younger man’s cheek and adjusts the beret on his head. “You say that now, but wait until I go on a rant about the Library of Congress’ organizational system versus the Dewey Decimal Classification, or about how dumb university students can be.”

Jeongin turns his head and gently kisses Changbin’s lips as water drips down from his hands. “It’ll be cute, I bet. You had me hooked at listening to records and smoking weed while laying on the floor, but nerdy ranting? Icing on the cake, man.”

Changbin scoffs and grabs a couple of towels from the dispenser behind the younger man. “Stop dripping all that water over my skates, dude. Maybe you should come home with me and we can find out just how fun that all actually turns out to be.”

“I think that’s—“ Jeongin starts to speak, taking the towels from Changbin, until they’re distracted by the loud squeaking of the washroom door. They both turn to look at the noise, and Changbin’s not really sure if he’s imagining what he’s seeing due to drugs.

“Changbin?” The voice of the intruder sounds as shocked as Changbin feels.

“Chan?” Jeongin squints as his face as he looks at the man that walks in.

The three of them awkwardly stare at each other, and Changbin frowns. “You know him?” He asks Jeongin, who stares back at him with wide eyes.

Jeongin shrugs his shoulders. “It was, like, a year or so ago, but yeah. You slept with him, too?”

[shittyelfwriter]

Scandalous

Pairing: Cas x fem!reader

Word count: 5400-ish (oof)

Summary: set during 14x15 “Peace of Mind”. When reader accompanies Castiel and Sam to the town of Charming Acres, both she and Sam succumb to its influence—and since Cas can’t seem to convince “Justin” to snap out of his daze, he’s forced to take some unorthodox methods with you, the “town librarian”.

Warnings: This is definitely a smut add on to an episode. Got some mild grace!kink, semi-public sex, stranger!kink (if that’s a thing? I don’t know lmao.) 18+ only please! Some language on reader’s part is dated to fit the theme.

A/N: I couldn’t help but laugh at the old fashioned values and the thought of how that would affect a cas x reader dynamic. Also as a side note, reader’s behavior and outfit is definitely inspired by Evie from The Mummy (even though the time frame is a bit off for the fashion, it’s what I had in mind while writing, hence the gif!)

More of my writing (masterlist)

It was an ordinary morning in Charming Acres for you, and began like any other that you remembered. You’d gotten dressed, gotten a coffee from Harrington’s and then headed to open the library, like you did every morning at 7 am, other than Sundays—goodness knows you couldn’t work on the Lord’s day.

It had been quiet most of the hour you’d been there, reshelving books that had been returned after closing the day before, when a man rushed into the library looking windswept and bedraggled. So this was the agent that everyone was talking about around town! You’d admit you had been curious, since any man that was a new face was something to wonder at. Most of the single men in town frequented the library to flirt, or bring flowers, or ask you on dates. But they bored you, honestly. You wanted something more adventurous, like you read about so often. And something about the way this man swept into your library gave you that theatrical rush of excitement like in the films. He was very handsome, after all; the sight of him making your pulse flutter. You turned away from him for a moment, hands over your chest.

“Goodness,” you exclaimed quietly, wondering why he set your heart going so. It was like something out of a novella! But you didn’t have much time to think about it, hearing his footsteps heading your way, and you quickly smoothed out your skirt, putting on your prettiest smile for him.

“Why hello there,” you said kindly, taking your glasses off, and moving aside some stacks of books on your desk. “Can I help you?”

“Y/N,” the man said, sounding relieved, but you could barely hear him over the thought of how blue his eyes were. Why, they put Sinatra to shame, didn’t they? You felt your cheeks flush, and you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Excuse me?” you said, tilting your head in confusion. He tilted his head as well, mirroring your confusion, but there was worry in his gaze.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten too,” he said, the low timbre of his voice sending a shiver through you.

“Forgotten what, exactly?” You asked, shifting on your feet and fidgeting with your glasses. “My name is Ellie, Ellie Carter. I’m the librarian for Charming Acres.”

“I see.” He smiled, and there was a sweetness in his face that put you at ease.

“Is there anything in particular I can help you find?” You asked eagerly, being careful not to knock over the books beside you. “I ah, I’m in the middle of shelving but if you’d like some assistance browsing I’d be more than happy to lend a hand.”

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Actually, yes. I’d like to take a look at anything you have on the history of Charming Acres. More specifically, any strange and unexplainable occurrences.”

“Oh! Of course. We have newspapers, local documentaries, autobiographies, high school yearbooks, you name it! The Mayor likes to keep track of things like that.” You came out from behind the desk and out of the swinging partition, nearly tripping on the edge of the step before you caught yourself. His hand landed on your arm too, a strange feeling like being held all over by something soft coming over you briefly before vanishing, leaving you upright and unharmed. But you were too flustered to think of that, blushing and stammering an apology.

“I’m so sorry, I’m a little bit”—your skirt nearly caught between the partition and the barrier—“just a tiny smidge”—you straightened a nearby cart of books before they tipped and fell to the floor—“accident prone,” you finished, smoothing your skirt and straightening your kerchief. The man just seemed amused, and oh, there went your poor little heart again, all a pitter patter. Leave it to you to be absolutely clobbered over a stranger, and one from out of town, no less.

“It’s not a problem,” he reassured you, gesturing out towards the shelves.

“Ah, let’s see. Yes!” You scurried out towards the rows you knew held what he was looking for, scanning the shelves and rambling most of the way. “Now, we did lose a few of the records in a fire a few years back, but I do believe most of what you might be interested in was saved,” you said, moving down a row to pull a tall ladder towards you. You stepped up three rungs to reach the fourth shelf, skimming along titles for what you were looking for. “You said you were interested in local oddities?”

“Yes. Anything that stands out of the ordinary…at least by this town’s standards,” he said, and you gave an airy laugh.

“Yes, well. Not sure how much luck you’ll have with that. I’m sure you’ve noticed how quiet things are around here.” You looked down at the book in your hand, a volume on the town’s infrastructure, and sighed softly.

“You don’t sound as if you like that very much.”

The man was observant, you’d give him that. You looked down at him to find him looking up at you curiously. How embarrassing.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” you said quietly, waving a hand. “I’m just a restless soul, I guess. Sometimes Charming Acres feels a little…”

“Tame for your liking?” He suggested, and you smiled.

“Something like that.” You locked eyes, the gleam in his gaze sending a thrill through you. You flushed again, looking back at the shelves and pulling two more books before climbing down the ladder. “Of course, I suppose that isn’t a very seemly thing for a young woman of marriable age to say. It’s not proper for me to want something like excitement, or adventure, or—” Your foot slipped on the last rung, and you nearly fell. But again, the stranger caught you, sending you tumbling into his arms, books pressed close to your chest. “Danger,” you finished softly, your eyes landing on his lips.

It seemed like a small eternity you were there, his hands on your arms and his eyes fixed on only you. An odd feeling passed over you, like you’d done this before. Like you’d had his hands on you, like you knew his hands—him—well. Like maybe…it all went fuzzy, just out of reach. He tilted his head at you again, as if he were trying to read your thoughts.

“Have you ever thought of leaving?” He asked, and you felt your pulse in your ears.

“Leaving?” Your head went dizzy, his eyes moving to your lips and then back to yours.

“Leaving Charming Acres. Seeing what’s out there, finding adventure, danger…” He paused, gave a little smile, and his eyes went just a tiny bit dark. “Maybe something more,” his finished, as if testing for your response.

“Oh,” you said, breathless. The men in town certainly didn’t speak like this. They were plain, straightforward, with no vibrancy. Everything felt forced, and this man…you got the strange sensation that something about him was glowing, that he was…very different, and it excited you in more ways than was proper for a lady to admit. “Oh!” you repeated, a little more surprised as you realized how inappropriate it was how you were standing with him—practically swooning up at him, really. You straightened yourself, twisting your shoulders slightly to lose his hands on your arms and raising your chin slightly, even though you could tell your cheeks were flaming.  “That’s rather forward of you,” you said, stepping around him to the small table located in the middle of the aisle. Your whole body was electric, on edge but not out of fear and you knew it. This strange man from out of town was doing things to you that no one had before. The indecency of it! You paused, realizing that you liked it. Perhaps that was the most indecent thing of all.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of hands on your hips, trailing the circle of your waist. They were large hands, rough, but his touch was gentle. “You’d told me you liked vintage things, Y/N,” his voice said, deep and gruff in your right ear. “I should have asked you to wear some sooner, it’s…very becoming on you.”

“I…I d-don’t know what you mean,” you stammered, looking down at his hands. “This is still very much in style. And I thought I told you, my name isn’t Y/N, it’s Ellie. Come to think of it I—” You were cut off by a soft kiss just behind your ear, the press of his body behind you causing an ache between your thighs. You gasped, steadying yourself on the stack of books you’d just set down. “T-this is highly inappropriate, Mr…well, I don’t even know your name, do I?”

“No, I’m sure you don’t,” he said, sounding amused but there was something else in his tone too. Amusement, and something darker. Arousal. Oh. “But I don’t think you care, do you?”

“E-excuse me?” You squeaked out, for the second time since you’d met. Your ears were met with a dark chuckle, and you felt him shift behind you.

“Sam once told me that the bookish ones always have the…what was it he said? Kinkiest fantasies.” He spun you to face him, and his eyes were squinted slightly, focused on your face. His tongue darted out to lave at his bottom lip, and you swallowed, hard. “I don’t think you care that you don’t know me. I think, that maybe, just maybe, I’m something new, and exciting, and you don’t care that you don’t even know my name because you want me to take you, and ruin you for any man in this tiny little town.”

Heavens, he was so handsome; all authority and smolder and surety. He was right, that was the worst part. You weren’t the good girl everyone thought you were, that you seemed to be. You wanted danger, and passion, and sex, which you knew as everyone in this town did was supposed to be for after marriage, but you just didn’t care. You were so pent up and wound up and stuck in your head and you just wanted something real—and here was this very handsome agent, standing in front of you wanting and offering to be your downfall and you wanted it, desperately. Which is why you knew you had to protest.

“I…I can’t do that.” You tried to take a step back but found the edge of the table at the back of your thighs. “I can’t let you do that, I…I have a reputation, I can’t just have an affair, with a stranger,” you protested, but his brilliant blue eyes looked you up and down and you could have sworn he knew how damp your panties were. “What if word got out? They’ll be calling me a hussy, and I’m n-not that kind of girl.”

“Oh I know. You’re a good girl—you always have been.” A fond little smile snuck its way into his sentence, quickly replaced with a dark grin. In the distance, you heard two or three of the library’s lightbulbs burst, throwing the aisle the two of you were in into deeper shadow. He loomed in front of you, his hands on your waist once more as he took a step closer, your bodies nearly flush. One hand moved to cup your chin, a thumb smoothing over your cheek. “Nobody has to know,” he whispered, and you felt your breath stolen away as his lips came down on yours, warm and slightly chapped but delicious—and somehow, familiar.

You told yourself that you didn’t want to pull him down closer by the tie, but you did. You told yourself you had no choice but to weave your fingers into his hair, whimpering into his kiss, but of course you had. And by the time he had you sitting on the table, skirt hiked up around your hips with his hands on your bare thighs, his tongue taking expert control of your mouth, you didn’t care anymore. He felt so good, nothing else seemed to matter, and in the dim half lighting it almost didn’t seem real—like any moment the lights would flicker back on and you’d find yourself alone, with nothing but your books and thoughts to keep you company. You didn’t want that to happen, you were so desperate for him to stay…

You felt him chuckle against your neck, where you were sure he was leaving hickeys. “You said we were supposed to ‘keep it PG on this case’. I’d assumed since Sam was with us, but…” he breathed out a laugh against the crook of your neck, and you sighed in pleasure. “We never seem to follow your rules, do we? Not when I know better.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” you admitted, letting out a squeal of surprise when he nipped at your pulse point. He was so close to where you really wanted him, his fingers ghosting along your inner thighs… “Please,” you breathed, shifting your legs a little wider. He paused, looking amused and arching an eyebrow at your antics.

“So forward. Maybe I was wrong about you being a good girl, after all,” he mused, fingers brushing closer to the apex of your thighs. You felt like you could barely breathe, your necktie strangling you. “I don’t need to touch you to know how wet you are, sweetheart,” he said, and you melted, pulling him back down to your lips. You were surprised he obliged you, but barely had time to think about it as your mind went white-numb with pleasure. You didn’t have much kissing experience, but he was incredible, so much so that you barely registered him sliding your panties to the side until his fingers were teasing your pussy. You whimpered, biting your lip, and he looked at you, a strange amount of admiration on his face. You’d almost say love, but you hardly knew him. Right?

“It’s like the first time all over again for you, isn’t it?” He said, eyes twinkling.

“It…it is? My first time?” You said, a bit shyly. His smile grew, and he shook his head.

“It really isn’t.” As soon as he said it, that strange déjà vu hit you again: the feeling that you had done this before, somewhere else, in a different place and way—but that he was familiar, that it had been him touching you, undoing you. You blinked in confusion.

“Wait…” you paused, then sighed in frustration. “It’s gone again,” you muttered, and he hummed understandingly, sympathetically —then thrust a finger inside you. You cried out in surprise and he shushed you, tucking your face against his shoulder.

“I’ll make it come back,” he said, and it almost sounded like a promise—or maybe a threat, but a welcome one. You heard the front door jingle, or actually bump—clearly, someone couldn’t get into the library. You tensed, as if ready to run, but he didn’t seem to want to let you move. “They can’t get in,” he assured you, and you sighed in relief. “But you should be quiet if you don’t want people to suspect. I can’t guarantee they won’t be able to hear us,” he said, and you nodded.

“The cases probably will muffle the sound. One time I got stuck on the high ladder and couldn’t get down for almost an hour because no one could hear—” Your anecdote got cut off by another heated kiss as he slipped another finger inside you, curling them against your g-spot. “Oh, mercy,” you breathed, your knees clenching on either side of his legs, and he chuckled.

“So careful with your words in this town. I wonder what it will take you to remember how to curse properly. One orgasm? Two?” He added a finger, and when you shuddered and moaned, lolling your head back he pulled your head forward with your necktie—much as you had done to him earlier. “Three, perhaps?” He asked, kissing under your ear in that way that made you clench around his fingers. In the still of the library, with nothing but a clock ticking in the far distance, you could hear the lewd wet noises his fingers were making as they thrust in and out of you. Oh, how sinful. If the ladies at bridge club knew what you were doing, you’d be the subject of conversation for weeks.

“Would you like them to talk about you?” He asked, your mind growing fuzzy again—whether from how close you were, or from that strange fogginess was unclear. Your eyes were closed already, but your brows furrowed in confusion.

“I d-didn’t say that out loud,” you realized, and he hummed in agreement.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t hear you.”

Your eyes opened slowly, and you nuzzled his cheek to make him look at you. You were nose to nose, his fingers working miracles inside you and from the way the room had begun to spin you knew you wouldn’t last long. But you had begun to realize that the feeling of something glowing about him was him, as if you were seeing it with another set of eyes. “What are you?” You asked, more of a breath than a whisper because of how wound up you were. He tilted his head again, and his eyes sparked to life, bright blue, full of light, energy.

“Someone who loves you.” Before you could even think of a reply, it was like your body was snapped into total bliss, euphoria coursing through your veins as your release hit you hard, much harder than you’d been expecting. Almost as if he’d willed it to do so, but you couldn’t think about that as you whimpered through it, his hand over your mouth as you bucked your hips down to meet his hand. You heard him growling praise in your ear, which only served to prolong your orgasm, pussy fluttering around his fingers for longer than you should have.  By the time he let you down, you were disheveled and shaking, your hair falling out of its arrangement and your shirt nearly off one shoulder, hickeys exposed on your neck. He pulled back to observe you, clear satisfaction on his face.

“Aren’t you quite the sight, Y/N,” he said, and you realized his eyes had stopped glowing. You almost wondered if it had even happens at all, if it had simply been a trick your bliss had played on you. But there was still a faint ringing in your ears, one that reminded you that you didn’t understand most of what was going on.

“Is that all?” You asked, sounding bereft and desperate, but he seemed to take it as an insult.

“Is that all?” He repeated, his voice raising indignantly as his jaw practically dropped. He let out a short laugh of disbelief. “‘Worried about your reputation’ one moment, a needy little slut the next. Unbelievable.” You swallowed a whimper at his tone, pressing your knees together. “No, Ellie, that’s not nearly all. I think you know that already—and did I give you permission to hide yourself from me?” His air was so absolute that you felt as if you were under his command, taking orders.

“N-no, sir,” you said, hesitantly opening your legs again. A moment later he was between them again, lifting your legs around his hips. You saw his lip twitch when you said sir, clearly having struck a nerve that he liked.

“Sir, hmm? Seems like you do remember some things.” You felt your cheeks burning, and you buried your face in his shoulder again, as if seeking comfort. It gave him pause, and you felt him hesitate. “Would you like to stop?” He asked gently, and you shook your head.

“No, I—I mean, I think I’m j-just a little overwhelmed,” you admitted, and you felt him set a hand to the back of your head, cradling you close. “I suppose I should have listened to mother when she said don’t chase after older men,” you mused, laughing softly. “You must think me childish.”

“That’s not quite the word I’d use,” he said, the rumble of his voice soothing you more than you understood. “But then, you’re not exactly yourself right now, so I don’t think you should put too much thought into it.” You looked up at him, getting lost in the sound of his words and the look in his eyes and oh dear, this was happening far too fast for you, wasn’t it?

“Should we slow down?” You asked, making a halfhearted attempt to pull your shirt back over your shoulder. You looked up at him with wide eyes, the eyes that usually got you what you wanted, and he squinted again.

“I know that look. You don’t want to stop, so why are you asking me?”

You couldn’t help but smile, genuinely smile, some of your reserved nature falling away. “Because,” you explained quietly, with a smoothness you hadn’t used yet, “I want you to do indecent things to me, and I don’t want you to stop until we’re both satisfied.” You reached out, playing with his tie. “But,” you said softly, looking up at him through your lashes. “I wanted to be sure that’s what you want too, agent.”

It almost seemed like you’d pushed him over the edge with that, because he took a deep breath and when he put his hands back on you, there was an urgency, a need that hadn’t been there before. “Even without knowing who I am, you still know exactly what to say to undo me,” he muttered. “To think I didn’t even know what those things were when we first met.”

“What, twenty minutes ago?” You asked with a giggle that turned into a sigh as he undid your bra and cast it aside, your tie joining it shortly afterward. His coat and suit jacket were tossed aside; you opened his shirt between kisses and frantic touches, him pulling you closer and you cloying for more of him exposed. Your head was spinning, you were still wondering about his eyes glowing when he growled, frustrated by the clasps of your bra.

“Taking too long,” he grumbled, and with a snap, it was on the floor, along with his pants and underwear and oh dear lord, he was handsome there, too.

“How did you—?” You began, but was quickly cut off with a kiss.

“Does it matter?” He asked, and as he brought his hips flush with yours you realized that the snap had gotten rid of your panties, too. You felt the head of his cock, hot and hard at your entrance and you couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear the waiting.

“Please,” you begged, and before you could say more his mouth was on yours again, strong arms bracing himself on either side of you as yours wound around his neck. You felt him slip inside, the stretch of his cock just enough to burn gloriously as he came to rest inside you. The groan he let out made you shudder, whining at the feeling of him where you’d needed someone for so long. Goodness gracious, you didn’t even know this man and all you could think was how he fit so perfectly to you, how he felt right. Safe, even, which went against everything about the situation.

“Come on, handsome,” you whispered in his ear, lifting your hips to grind into his. “Give me something to remember you by.” The both of you moaned, your clit grinding against his pelvic bone before he thrust back down, making you yelp and submit to his leadership. He lifted your legs over his hips, and you leaned back while he found a rhythm, the sound of the table creaking and both of your panting trapped between the walls of books. He looked wrecked, shirt rumpled, tie wildly askew with his hair sticking up in all directions. You figured you looked just as untidy, what with your skirt up over your hips and shirt wide open, bra thrown onto the floor. One of your shoes had fallen off somewhere along the way, one foot bouncing with each thrust that was making your head spin and your stomach swirl with pleasure. He wasn’t shy, the lamp on the other end of the table close to falling off from the intensity of his thrusts, each of which hit so deep it had you whimpering out tiny exclamations of surprise. He shushed you, but there was a surprising look of adoration in his eyes.

“I need you to remember,” he said, gruffly, but you could tell that he was getting as close as you were. “I need your help, Sam doesn’t…doesn’t remember either, and I can’t as easily make him remember, so…”

“I hope you don’t expect me to fuck this ‘Sam’ too,” you panted, eyes rolling back in your head as he slowed down, hitting your a-spot with precision you didn’t know was possible—precision that spoke of past experience, with you.

You may not have fully understood what was going on, but you weren’t stupid.

He laughed, and shook his head. “No, but I could use your help wrapping up this case.” He leaned down and looked you right in the eyes, a hand moving to your clit. “And was that a swear I just heard? In this Christian town?”

You gasped, both from his slow circles and from the realization he was right. “Jeepers,” you whispered, and again, you felt that intense, unexpected orgasm wash across you, making you cry out. You heard yourself say something, maybe a name, as you lost yourself for the second time, your thighs shaking and your hands finding purchase in his hair.

‘Y/N.’ You heard him say your name in your mind, and for a moment, just a moment you remembered it was your name. Your eyes flew open, tears biting at their edges, and you could only whimper in response. For the second time—and this time you were absolutely sure of it— his eyes flashed blue, that high pitched ringing filling your ears. “Once more,” he demanded, and you tried to stutter out that you didn’t think you could, but you felt an invisible force press on your throat, and you couldn’t help but fall silent from the additional pleasure it gave you. “You can,” he insisted, hips becoming uneven in their thrusts, “and you will.” His voice was breaking, and some part of you felt incredibly proud that you were able to affect him just a sliver of the way he was doing to you.

“And you?” you asked, your voice eager and needy. You tugged on his hair, felt his hips stutter and a groan escape him, his hands tightening on your hips.

“Yes,” He replied, and you felt your stomach flutter with perverted glee. “I’m going to cum with you, sweetheart.” You couldn’t help but whimper, feeling your third orgasm nearing, a fresh coat of slick dampening his cock as you began to spasm around him.

“Oh my stars,” you breathed, and it was a little on the nose as you were seeing pinpricks of dancing light by that point. “Where?” You asked, and his eyes opened to fix you with a curious gaze—almost too innocently curious for what you were doing. “Where are you going to…to…” you stammered, too high on delight to find the politically correct term but not sure enough to use the one he had.

“Where am I going to cum?” He asked, near matter-of-factly, but it was the look on his face that made it so hot. He looked so possessive, so thoroughly engrossed in what you two were doing that you felt like you were at the center of the universe with him. But then he grinned wickedly, eyes going near black, and you knew what he was going to say before he did.

“Right where I always do.” He leaned forward, lips hovering over yours. “Say that you want it,” he almost sing-songed. “Tell me right where you want this stranger to put his seed, Y/N.”

“I-I-inside me!” You cried out as your orgasm hit you again, and this time, that other wave of pleasure hit immediately after, near drowning you entirely and making you black out. You felt him tense, cry out something rough in another language, and then spill himself inside you, cock pressing up deep inside against your cervix as you milked him for all he was worth. Oh, you’d have ever so much to confess on Sunday, you realized, shame washing over you with your afterglow, but then you wondered why the fuck you cared. And then, when you cracked open one eye to take a peek at your surroundings, you wondered why you were in a library.

You looked down at the the head resting above your chest, running your fingers shakily through soft dark locks. “Cas?” You asked weakly, and he looked up at you with a look of adoration. He let out a soft laugh, smiling.

“There she is.”

You tugged him up to kiss him but he was already moving, hands coming to rest on either side of you on the table as you lost yourself in him. He was still deep inside you, his groan at the way you were kissing him sending vibrations through you and making you shiver. You pulled back just enough to speak between kisses.

“Why are we in a library?”

He sighed. “This case is very confusing, but I think you were assimilated into the town. I found you playing the town librarian,” he explained, and you rolled your eyes behind closed lids.

“Of course I was.” You gave him one last kiss, holding his face in both your hands. “Where’s Sam?”

“Same as you, the town seemed to have found a role and put him into it. He thinks he’s ‘Justin Smith’ now,” Cas said, sounding irritated, and you could tell that interaction hadn’t gone well.

“My bet is still on a psychic, by the way,” you pointed out, pushing his hair back out of his eyes.

“I’m starting to think you’re right.” You were beginning to wonder if you could steal enough time for a second round when a banging came on the front door. Apparently, the patrons were getting annoyed with one of the town’s only forms of entertainment not being open for business.

“We should go,” Cas said, and you could see a little regret lingering on him. So you hadn’t been the only one hoping, interesting. You nodded in agreement, expecting to need to get dressed, but there was a swoosh and there you both were, fully clothed. The loss of him inside you was what hit you the hardest though, and you let out a small sigh.

“Come on then, agent,” you said, hopping up off the table and bouncing on your toes to regain full function of your legs before tugging him in the direction of the back door. You gave him a smile, and a wink. “Let’s get Sam, crack this case and ditch this town, shall we?”

He gazed at you thoughtfully, a funny little look in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re back, Y/N,” he told you, serious all of a sudden. “While Ellie Carter was accommodating,” he looked you up and down, still in your librarian get up, “I much prefer you.”

You smiled, reaching out to straighten his tie while standing on tiptoe. “I understand completely,” you reassured him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “As much fun as this was, I’d rather have my angel over a stranger any day.”

Tags are going down here from now on to keep headers tidy. Tag list is currently open, feel free to request to be added!

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[lostinfic]

Kink flashfiction: semi-public sex with Mercier/Betty? Please!

aneclipsedhabitue said to lostinfic:Just general Dom!Mercier x Betty¿

Anonymous said to lostinfic:Mercier x Betty + Dom/sub? ;)

Bonus kinks: teacher/student, roleplay, spanking (for the Hardy x Hannah anon)

➜ Kink flashfiction

Ao3

Mademoiselle

Betty never got to attend university. For her thirtieth birthday, she decided it was high time to remedy that situation. She thought it better to start slow, as she lacked confidence in her academic abilities, and enrolled as an auditor: no homework or exams, only classes.

She chose a French history course.

On her first day, she arrived twenty minutes early, wearing a pencil skirt and blouse. She sat primly in the second row, crisp notebook and a brand new pen laid out in front of her.

No one else walked in, and she double-checked the classroom number. Then triple-checked five minutes later. At last other students walked in, in jeans or sweatpants, most of them equipped with shiny laptops.

She avoided eye-contact with them and doodled in her notebook instead. She was here to learn, she didn’t have to fit in, this wasn’t secondary school (and thank God for that).

The teacher came in. He looked just like she expected with suede elbow patches and a battered leather bag. But he was younger than she’d pictured and certainly more clean-cut: straight tie and tailored trousers.

All eyes were on him as he walked through the rows of tables and handed out syllabuses. Students assessed him and tried to guess what kind of teacher he was. But Betty could only think that he was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. Her heart beat faster as he neared her seat. When he reached her, her mind went blank, and she didn’t take the document he was holding out for her. He smirked, and put the syllabus down on her desk.

Oh, bugger, I can never show me face here again.

The teacher checked his watch and cleared his throat to get their attention. Chatter dwindled down, and he introduced himself.

“Bonjour, I’m Jean-François Mercier, and it will be my pleasure to tell you all about the history of my country. I’m not a professor. I work for the French Army and I’ve worked as a diplomat in various countries.”

She had to hold back a dreamy sigh upon hearing his light accent. She chastised herself for romanticizing the situation. Clearly she had read one too many Mills & Boons novel involving French men or teacher-student romances.

She liked that he wasn’t a professor. Some may turn up their noses at his lack of tenure, but to Betty his work experience gave him more credibility than someone high up in his ivory tower.

“I recently took a sabbatical to study and teach and share my passion.”

He locked eyes with her as he said that last word. Passion. Okay, maybe she would show her face here again after all.

He spoke for two hours. Whereas other students showed signs of impatience— perhaps they didn’t expect a full lecture on their first day— Betty drank his every word.

He gave some homework for the following week which was met with some groans.

Betty couldn’t wait for the next class, and the following Wednesday, she arrived early again. This time, Mr. Mercier was already in the classroom. She sat in the same spot, and he walked up to her. Up close, she noticed the light freckles dusted across his sharp cheeks.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle. Do you want to hand over your assignment right away?”

“Oh, I didn’t do it.”

“Why not?” His voice was stern which was not entirely unpleasant.

“Oh, I’m only an auditor, I don’t have to do any work, I’m just here to learn.”

His frown turned into a smile. “There is no such thing as just learning. That’s quite admirable.”

She shrugged off the compliment and fiddled with her pen.

“What is your name?”

“Betty.”

“Betty. My office door is always opened to those with a desire to learn.”

Betty’s mouth went dry. Was the flirty undertone real or wish fulfillment? She didn’t have a chance to find out because a group of students walked in.

For the next two hours, he talked about Paleolithic France, and she was fascinated by everything mere cavemen had accomplished. During the break, she even checked the university’s website for courses on prehistory. It had simply never occurred to her that Neanderthal men did more than pick berries, hunt mammoths and carry women over their shoulders— not that she was opposed to being carried over someone’s shoulder. Would Mr. Mercier be strong enough to do that?

The following week, she decided to take him up on his offer. He had office hours on Tuesdays, she traded shifts with Maria, and took the bus to central London. She wore a white dress with blue flowers, and told herself that it was to enjoy the last beautiful days of September. And the opened buttons? Better to feel the last sunrays on her chest… or his wandering eyes?

She took a deep, steadying breath before knocking on his office door.

“Mademoiselle Betty, hello.”

“Hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Not at all. You’re the first student to visit me.”

She wondered if he was nervous, she would be.

The room had none of the leather and oak she’d imagined, it was a rather bland space meant for temporary employees. But he’d brought in many books to fill the shelves and art prints to brighten up the beige walls. 

Betty sat on the edge of a chair, twisting her skirt nervously.

“What can I help you with?”

“You mentioned an author last week, and I didn’t catch the name, he wrote prehistoric novels.”

“Aurel?”

“Could be.”

He gave her a few other names, indicating she should find them in the university’s library. Betty admitted she had yet to set foot there and had no idea how to find a book.

“I’ll show you.” He sprung from his seat.

Betty was taken aback by his enthusiasm but certainly couldn’t refuse his offer.

They crossed the campus together, commenting on the nice weather. A light breeze whispered through her dress, and Mr. Mercier’s eyes lingered on her.

He guided her through the high bookcases of the library to the French literature section. He stacked books in her arms, enthusiastically talking about his favourite authors. A librarian warned him to lower his voice. He looked exaggeratedly shamefaced, making Betty giggle.

“Tell me more about Molière,” she asked.

He answered her questions in a low voice, standing closer to her, almost whispering into her ear. They stood by a high window overlooking the campus and their hands brushed together.

She was back the next week, and the one after, asking for more book recommendations. Classics and contemporaries alike. Victor Hugo and Proust. Beaudelaire and St-Exupéry. Each visit lasted longer than the last, and they talked less about French history and more about their personal lives. Childhoods and past loves. Heartaches and dreams. Stendhal and de Beauvoir. Flaubert and Musso.

He talked to her as he would a friend, not a student. And the following day, in class, she watched him pace the room and listened, enthralled. Some may call his voice monotonous, but she loved its hypnotizing steadiness, calming, like the ebb and flow of waves. She sat there and let it transport her through history from Jeanne D’Arc to the Enlightenment. And sometimes she felt like she was alone with him in the room, that the class was all and only for her. That he chose moments in history that would resonate with the souvenirs and thoughts she’d shared with him in his office.

As eager as she was for the next class, each week also brought her closer to the end of the semester.

“I wish your class would never end,” she said.

“Fifteen weeks isn’t enough to cover all of France’s history, perhaps I can convince the university to offer a follow up course. Or perhaps I should offer some… private lessons.”

Betty blushed at the suggestion. Surely there were many things she could learn from him. And with him.

And just when she thought he was attempting to seduce her— not a difficult task by any means— he switched the subject and stepped away from her.

She knew there must be some restrictions against student-teacher relationships, but she was very much an adult and not a proper student. Is that what stopped him or was he simply not attracted to her?

And then one day, her doubts were lifted when he lent her a book from his own collection: Justine by Marquis de Sade.

He handed it to her with all appearance of nonchalance, but she knew the name, of course. And the subject matter.

She read it every night, for hours on end, savouring the lecherous words and his notes in the margins.

“When she’s abandoned her moral center and teachings…when she’s cast aside her facade of propriety and lady-like demeanor…when I have so corrupted this fragile thing and brought out a writhing, mewling, bucking, wanton whore for my enjoyment and pleasure…..enticing from within this feral lioness…growling and scratching and biting…taking everything I dish out to her…at that moment she is never more beautiful to me.”

Again and again she brought herself to orgasm as she imagined Mr. Mercier and herself as the protagonists.

The next week, Betty sat on the bus, holding the book close to her chest, her heart pounded under it. Halfway to the uni, it started to rain and by the time she got out, it was pouring. Rain soaked her clothes and hair, as she ran towards the faculty building. In her haste, she tripped. Justine landed in a puddle.

“Oh, no, no.”

The pages were already engorged with water.

Betty’s hands were shaking when she knocked on Mr. Mercier’s door. She got a few odd looks from two students entering the next door office.

Mr. Mercier opened the door. “Betty, my god, you’re soaked.”

He attempted to dry her with tissues which was completely ineffectual. His hands slowed, and he stared at her dress, cheap yellow fabric clinging to her body.

“Did you enjoy the novel?”

“I ruined it.”

“Pardon?”

She showed him the sodden book. “I’m so sorry, I’ve ruined your book. I was running and the rain and it fell. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Yes you should have, mademoiselle.”

“I’ll buy you another one.”

He scoffed at that. “It was a rare edition, it cannot be replaced. I thought I could trust you. I’m very disappointed in you.”

“Please, don’t be. I’m such a klutz, what can I do?”

He linked his hands behind his back and paced the small office. “How should carelessness be dealt with?”

“Dealt with?” she stammered.

“I cannot let you go unpunished.”

The scenario felt very familiar. Betty swallowed thickly as she realized what was happening, heat curled in her belly. “No, sir, you certainly can’t. I should be punished.”

He schooled his features so as not to smile. “Bend over, mademoiselle,” he said. “And do be quiet, the walls are thin.”

Betty released a shuddering breath and leaned forward on her elbows. Every hair on her body stood on end, anticipating the next touch. She’d never felt so alert to sensations: the crinkle of his crisp cotton shirt, the shift of air as he moved behind her, his woodsy cologne. When he didn’t touch her, she grew antsy and glanced at him over her shoulder. He stroked her back gently, soothing her. She closed her eyes, enjoying the calmness coming over her. She’d waited so long to feel his touch.

His warm hand, splayed wide, resting on her lower back. “Okay?” he asked.

“Yes.”

His hand slipped over the curve of her bum, he squeezed the flesh in a rather mechanical way. Betty pressed into his touch and heard a low chuckle. Red bloomed over her cheeks. Mercier squeezed the other side, hand lingering this time.

“Now, mademoiselle, how many spanks should you get for destroying my precious book?”

“I- I don’t know, sir.”

“Let’s see. How many chapters are there in the book?”

“Ten, sir.”

“Ten it is.”

Then came the first slap, mostly absorbed by her clothes. And another, before he flipped over her skirt, and his hand collided a third time with her arse. The shock was stronger, Betty gasped loudly.

“Shh. Professor Morton is right next door,” he said, so close she felt his breath on her neck.

He spanked her again and Betty squeezed her eyes shut. The heat on her arse cheeks spread wide, and she felt the first tingles between her legs. Mr. Mercier caressed the back of her thighs and it sent a quiver straight to her core.

“How many spanks left, mademoiselle?”

“… six?”

“Six.”

He spanked her three times in a row, then tugged down her panties. If anyone walked through that door, the first thing they would see was her bare arse and cunt. And somehow that turned her on even more.

Betty realized it wasn’t just her own ragged breathing she was hearing. Mr. Mercier ran a featherlight finger up the inside of her thigh, leaving goosebumps after its passage. Betty clutched the side of the desk.

“Please, sir.”

He stroked the other thigh. “Please what?”

“May I have another?”

Footsteps and loud chatter came from the hall.

“Do you think they heard you beg?” he whispered into her ear. “You do it so well.”

His palm smacked her flesh twice more. Harder this time. It resounded between the walls of his office. The sting ebbed into a pleasant tingling. She squeezed her thighs and felt the moisture between her folds. She was dying to dip her fingers in that wetness or better for him to do it. She dropped her forehead to the desk and stilled, her whole body tensed to stop herself.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Betty? Look at me,” he insisted.

Gone was the stern voice. She raised her head and met his beautiful, concerned eyes. It made her heart melt, and a less carnal sort of desire grew in her.

“One more, sir.”

She felt the warmth of his palm, but he didn’t touch her. He swished his hand, built the anticipation. A hairbreadth away. Another swish and the last blow landed between her cheek and thigh.

Betty squealed. She hoped his hand print would show.

“Ten. Have you learned your lesson?”

“I have. Promise. I’ll be more careful with your books.”

“Good girl.”

He pressed between her shoulder blades to keep her bent over the desk. He stood behind her. Staring? She felt exposed and vulnerable. And empty. Her inner muscles clenched around nothing. He sat on his haunches and bit into the reddened flesh of her bum. A drop of moisture tickled her sensitive nether lips.

“I see the Marquis de Sade was right: ‘it is only by way of pain one arrives at pleasure’.”

She glanced over her shoulder and caught him pressing his palm over the bulge in his trousers. She smiled, proud that he was affected too.

“Eyes ahead,” he chastised her.

He moved around for awhile then laid something on her back, then another thing, heavier, and a third. “Some of my favourite books,” he explained. “Diderot, Beaumarchais, Voltaire… on your lovely behind. Make sure you do not drop one of them.”

“Wha— Oh!”

Two fingers brushed down her slit. He caressed her slowly, lightly. Sometimes wiping his damp fingers on her thigh. Every time she squirmed for more contact, the books swayed and Mr. Mercier would cluck his tongue and stop touching her.

“Careful, mademoiselle.”

He pushed his middle finger in her, and she automatically bucked back. The books fell off her. He muttered in French, and spanked her with a leather-bound novel, twice on each cheek. She clenched her teeth and breathed deeply. Mr. Mercier put the books back on her, adding a fourth, and admired his work. She missed his touch already.

Someone knocked at his door.

“Should I open,” he whispered.

Betty shook her head vehemently, but perhaps, when he fingered her again, he felt her clench at the thought of getting caught.

Another knock and Mr. Mercier moved his fingers faster. Betty bit her fist to smother her moans. How she wanted to buck and thrust, deeper and faster, her legs quivered from the strain of holding back. She thought she might lose her mind. Sweat beaded along her spine.

“Good girl, you are doing so well.”

When no other knock came, Mr. Mercier stood up. She heard the rustle of fabric and a zipper. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, desire coiled low in her stomach.

“Stay still,” he said, holding her hips, before rubbing his length along her slit.

“Please, sir, I don’t think I can— the books. Please,” she stammered incoherently.

“Shhh, just a while longer.” He moaned, still teasing her, and teasing himself too.

The head of his cock rubbed her clit, and she choked on a sob. She wanted him to take her, any way he desired, she didn’t care.

“Please, sir.”

“Use your words.”

“Please fuck me.”

He removed the books, tossed them on a chair carelessly. “Stand up.”

She did as he asked, confused, knickers still around her ankles. Her eyes dropped to his opened trousers, and she licked her lips.

He cupped her cheeks and claimed her mouth. An all-encompassing, hungry kiss. Their lips moved eagerly together, with nips and licks. Betty melted into the kiss, clutching his shirt, arching into his body.

He hiked her up on the desk, she kicked off her heels and knickers. He tugged her legs around his waist, and entered her in one deep thrust. They groaned in unison, and Professor Morton slammed an unhappy fist into the wall between their offices. They laughed hiding their faces into each other’s neck.

“Don’t stop,” Betty demanded, voluntarily tightening around him.

Mercier moaned. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He snapped his hips as fast as he could, both too on edge for anything with more finesse. Teeth and nails dug through the fabric of their clothes. The musky smell of sex rose in the room as did their moans.

“So close.”

“Presque. Attends-moi.”

“Can’t— Ah!”

Betty’s toes curled, her thighs quivered and one last, deep push, triggered her orgasm. Bliss spilled through her blood. And Jean-François followed with a loud grunt.

He fell into his desk chair, bringing Betty with him. They kissed slowly, tenderly.

Betty giggled. “I can’t believe we did that.”

“Who says married couple have boring sex.”

“Not us… Can we do it again?”

“There are eight weeks left to the semester,” Jean-Francois said. “Will you still come to my class anyway?”

“Of course! I really do like it. I’m learning so much.”

He held her closer and kissed the top of her head.

“Me bum’s kinda sore,” Betty said shyly.

“Let’s go home, I’ll rub some lotion on your behind and make you cum again.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, ma belle.”