A Cosplayfacials.com original by Velma
The Tuesday and Thursday routine had become the highlight of my week at the library. He always arrived with that specific mix of Han Solo confidence and a goofy, Seth Rogen-esque charm. I’d watched him toss witty remarks at the other checkout girls for a month, but lately, he’d been lingering at my desk. Usually, he was into David Foster Wallace, but recently he’d pivoted to Jane Austen’s Persuasion.
I kept my hair in its signature tight bun and tried to stay modest in my usual cardigans, though they did little to hide my curves. I was playing the role of the cautious librarian until I saw a term paper peeking out of his vegan-leather satchel: “A Feminist Critique of Gender Norms in Persuasion and Rocky Horror Picture Show.” My brain—and other parts of me—instantly reacted to the sheer, sublime absurdity of that topic. I desperately wanted to investigate his citations.
I looked into his bespectacled eyes and saw a knowing smirk. A wave of heat flooded my body, tingling all the way to my fingertips. My lip quivered, but I made sure to keep my “professional” mask on.
“I found the undersexualization of Anne Elliot to be a vestige of the era—but also a lost opportunity for Austen,” he said, sipping a very specific non-Earl Grey tea.
“Bold claim,” I laughed, letting my hand graze his arm. The only thing undersexualized in this building was me, and I was currently melting. As he smoothed a robust eyebrow with his finger, I found myself imagining that finger exploring my “library” in ways not found in the Dewey Decimal System.
Thursday arrived. Despite my better judgment, I chose a sweater that left very little to the imagination. At 11:59, time seemed to slow as I locked eyes with my stubbly paramour.
“This book is way in the back on the third floor. I’ll be right back,” I said, adjusting my pencil skirt over my wool stockings.
“Can I come with?” he asked.
I hoped you’d ask, I thought. “Sure,” I said, keeping my voice level.
I led the way, fully aware he was watching the sway of my hips as we climbed the stairs. Deep in the stacks, I turned into a book detective, navigating the Library of Congress Classification System until I found the spine I was looking for. But as I turned to hand it to him, he saw me biting my lip. He didn’t hesitate. He ran his hands through my hair and kissed me with a passion that made my knees tremble. His hardness pressed perfectly against me, and I let out a moan of pure ecstasy.
The next day, I was back on the late shift. I’d spent the morning in bed with my vibrator and the phantom memory of his hands. I was wearing a side braid and a mustard-colored cardigan that was struggling to contain me. I knew I looked hot. I was just waiting for my salt-and-pepper mountain man to return.
I saw him at the entrance, looking forlorn after a phone call. He walked up to my desk. “Just here to read more critical theory about Jane Austen.”
“Sure you are,” I said with a wink.
“I’ll be up in the biography section.”
“You should check out the archive in the basement,” I countered. “It’s quieter. No one other than me ever goes down there.”
“Is that right?” He gave me a dimpled grin.
I headed down a few minutes later, my brass bracelets jangling. When I reached him, he was already seated.
“Hey… guy,” I said.
He looked up, clearly affected by my low-cut sweater. “I’m Llewelyn, with seven L’s.” I laughed. He looked at my chest, then at my face. “It’s nice to meet you, Velma.”
I tapped my name tag, the motion causing a ripple across my cleavage. I sat next to him. “Rough night?”
“Not too bad,” I sighed. “But there was this guy who kept asking me what 69 was in the Dewey Decimal System. I explained we were Library of Congress.”
“And that didn’t stop him?” he smirked.
“Me telling him to fuck off got him to stop.”
His eyes widened; he clearly liked the “badass librarian” persona. “Who were you talking to on the phone earlier?” I asked. “You looked like you were talking to your meth dealer.”
“That ‘meth dealer’ is my ex-girlfriend,” he admitted, looking down. “She wants the dog, but she can’t take care of him.”
“Well, not with all the meth, at least,” I joked. He chuckled, meeting my eyes. “You didn’t seem like the girlfriend type the other night.”
“I broke it off weeks ago… and then I remembered this beautiful librarian I saw twice a week.”
“So you came to see me, not just Jane Austen?” I twisted a lock of hair around my finger. He put a hand on my thigh.
“I came by to make you come—and research Jane Austen.”
After our encounter in the archives, I stopped by my current “long-term” boyfriend Daryl’s apartment. He was in his gaming chair, dusted in Cheeto orange, eating KFC Taco Bell.
“Daryl… you go outside today?”
“Picked up some food. Got you a Crunchwrap.”
“You get any fire sauce?” I asked.
“Got mild.”
That was the final straw. “Fuck, man. Fire sauce. I tell you every time.” I ate in silence, realizing I was passing time with a loser. I stood up, grabbed my things from his bathroom, and looked at him. “I’m leaving.”
“Call me tomorrow,” he commanded, eyes glued to the screen.
“No, I’m done. I’m not coming back.” I walked out feeling lighter. I didn’t do it for Llewelyn; I did it because I realized I deserved more than “mild.”
The next night, we met for a drink. I wore a scarlet dress that was tight in all the right places.
“What are you drinking?” I asked, sliding onto the barstool.
“Vodka and… actually, just seltzer. I don’t drink.”
“Me neither.” We shared a look. “You smoke?”
“I have three joints and two gummies in my satchel.”
“I have a lighter,” I said without hesitation. “And I live two blocks away.”
Back at my place, Cyndi Lauper was playing on my laptop. We shared a joint, and then I pounced. We made out on the loveseat, my hands lost in his salt-and-pepper hair. I could feel his heart racing against mine.
“Now,” I whispered, biting my lip as I looked at him. “Fuck me from behind.”
It was everything I’d imagined. I felt completely full, connected to him in a way I hadn’t felt with anyone else. “Slap my ass and fuck me hard,” I urged. He complied with vigor, and I bit down on a pillow to stifle my screams of “Holy fuck!”
I eventually turned around to ride him, looking down at him with a devious smile. I wanted every bit of him. When I finally reached my peak, my knees shook and I collapsed against his chest, breathless.
The next morning, I woke up to find Llewelyn sitting up in bed, wearing a loose T-shirt and reading Jane Austen. It was the most irresistible thing I’d ever seen.
He went out to get coffee and blueberry muffins. When he came back, I was dancing around my kitchen like a Disney princess. He just smiled. “Adorable.”
When he left, we shared a passionate kiss and a mutual ass-grab. I sat on my bed afterward, debating the “rules” of texting. Screw it, I thought.
“Muffins are just breakfast cake, right?” I sent.
He replied almost instantly: “Hahaha. Yes and clothes are just complicated blankets. Glad you didn’t wait 67 more hours.”
I was back at the library for another eight-hour shift, adjusting my bun and trying to focus on Persuasion. I went to the top floor to shelve some books and found Llewelyn there, buried under five different open volumes. He looked frazzled.
I tapped him on the shoulder. “I know it’s fucked up I didn’t say hi,” he stammered. “I needed to study, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist you if we talked. You look cute, by the way.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, popping my hip. “Say hi next time, you dashing son of a bitch.”
“Can I see you later?”
“I thought you were immersed in study.”
“I want to immerse myself in something else tonight.”
I laughed and walked away, knowing his eyes were on me. I sent him a quick 🍑👀 text just to keep him distracted.
When my shift finally ended, Llewelyn was waiting at the desk. I slid my bookmark into my book—and I could tell even that simple motion was driving him crazy.
“10 minutes,” I said. “What do you want to do?”
“It’s a full moon. We could walk to my place.”
“So I finally get to see the mystery apartment?”
“Yes. You’ll learn everything. I have dancing Grateful Dead bear tapestries.”
“I am not impressed,” I teased.
“I’m kidding. The walls are covered with pictures of you.”
“Smooth. You really know how to make a lady want to come… over.”
“I can make it up to you with a world-ending orgasm.”
“Deal,” I said, ignoring the stares of my coworkers. I didn’t care about anyone else. I was falling in love.
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