Story Time: Ezra x f!reader
A/N: This is for @the-blind-assassin-12 's A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words challenge. I overshot 1k by like 500 words but i was never good at keeping things short. Also I am the world's slowest writer.
Warnings: Reader has a shitty ex. Ezra has a morbid sense of humor. A bit of angst, but mostly soft. It's short so it's all going under the cut.
Your bed-frame and mattress arrived today, hauled up three flights by a pair of delivery men who eyed you with something like pity, top floor in a victorian converted to apartments, old attic space with sloping ceilings, could maybe slide a credit card between the toilet bowl and tub, stove and fridge in beat to shit landlord white, state of the art circa 1980.
You lay in your newly assembled bed and stare up into the rafters, muted green glow of several hundred tiny plastic stars that some previous tenant applied. Across just across state lines from your old life, but it might as well me on the far side of the moon. Still have to work, still have to pay off your credit cards and child support. He used your insane work schedule against you in the custody fight, never mind that you did all that for them, used a DUI from a decade ago as a reason you were a shit parent. You have to pay your partner support which is fine, you only have Bug every other weekend which hurts like being cut every time you have to give her back.
He can’t even be bothered to pick her up most times, sends his shiny new girlfriend who always grabs Bug a little too hard by the elbow to pull her towards the car.
Music thumps up from below and the highway screams a few blocks over, and this is not where you ever imagined yourself, but it’s yours, new place, new you. Thirty minutes separating you from what you thought was going to be the rest of your life, but looking up at some college kid’s glow in the dark stars, you feel something that might become peace over time.
The day is for exploring, for seeing what’s in walking distance. The library seems like a good place to start, shares a building with the rec center, tennis and pickle ball courts tucked against the parking lot.
It’s hot for spring and the air conditioning hits you all at once, prickling your arms in gooseflesh, relatively dim cave of the lobby offering relief from the sun’s light sizzling up from the sidewalks, baking up from the asphalt.
The lobby is lined with signs thumbtacked to cork boards, fringed in tear off tabs with phone numbers, a missing cat, a lawn and landscaping service, gentle tai chi lessons for seniors, dotted with QR codes, summer sci fi book club, seed exchange. Flyers and tacked up menus. Schedule of classes offered at the rec center next door. They look like a pair of riotous quilts, shouts of competing text and color. You take a picture on your phone, one side and then the other.
“Well, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in-" Soft, southern drawl rising to a growling crescendo and squeals of little kid laughter. Bug would eat this right up, you think as you head towards the sci-fi section. Bug loves when you do voices.
you shouldn’t call her bug. what if it sticks? she’s four. still.
“Well that is an impressive armload of stories.” The man with the drawl grins at you from behind the help desk.You plop a good stack of science fiction bricks on the counter. Your eyes find his, deep and warm and bracketed in crows feet, all scruffy cheeks and dimpled smile, errant streak of brilliant white among his dark curls, like a splash of cream in black coffee. “I’m guessing you need a card before we get down to business.” “Yeah. How’d you know?” “Haven’t seen you around before,” he says, “Library patrons tend to be creatures of habit. And folks who are new to the library system or are returning after a long absence tend to grab as much as they can carry.” “Guilty. I’ve got more time to read these days,” and you feel your eyes drop from his, catch on his badge hanging from a lanyard around his neck, thundercloud eyes, and bright red scar across one cheek. Ezra Broussard.
“-a photo ID and proof of-Miss? Ma’am?” You shake your head. The time you don’t have with Bug opens up in your mind like a gaping maw, a black hole that can drink you down if you think about it too much. “You went somewhere just now,” says Ezra, “Are you okay?” “Yeah. Sorry. It’s been a week. Here.” You hand him your driver’s license. He reaches across his body to take it, and you see the sleeve of his rust-colored henley tied in a knot where his right arm ends, just below his shoulder. “Hmmm. Out of state. You really are new to these parts, huh?” “Is…” you raise your eyes to his, “Is that a problem?” “Do you happen to have a utility bill with your name on it? Some proof of residence?” “No, not on me,” You shake your head, slide your stack of books towards him, “I’ll come back some other-“ “Write your info down for me, darlin. Mailing address and good phone number if you don’t mind.” He slides a sheet of printer paper across the counter, “It makes my hunting and pecking less tiresome.” “I don’t want to get you in trouble--“ “You won’t. I’ve been known to pull this trick a time or two, and the most blowback I get is a gentle ‘Now, Ezra, you know you’re not supposed to do that.’ Accompanied by some rolling of eyes.“
You write your address down, have to open your phone and look at your maps, it’s all too new, street number, apartment number, none of it has had time to stick-- “Sorry I’m so discombobulated,” you say, sliding the sheet of paper back to him, “This isn’t where I thought I’d be, you know?” “No need for sorrow,” says Ezra, “Especially not when you’ve got all these science fiction yarns to keep you company. Sorry if this takes some time. Before my mishap I had more hunters to peck with.” You snort laughter despite yourself, an apology spooling up in your throat but when you meet Ezra’s eyes they glitter with mirth, lopsided grin sinking a dimple in his stubbled cheek. “That’s terrible,” you say and feel yourself smile. Ezra’s grin widens. “When the littles inevitably ask why i’m down a limb I tell them something different each time, depending on what I’m reading that day.” “What did you tell them today?” “That I too was fool enough to build a house of straw and the Big Bad Wolf blew my house in and bit my arm clean off. It gets them real invested in the story. With the older kids I just make stuff up because they’re smart enough to know that i most certainly did not attempt to wrestle an alligator because i lost a bet or get struck by a falling bit of space junk on my way to work. Here’s your card. This is good for our entire library system.” He hands you a bit of perforated plastic, one for your wallet, one for your keychain.
“You scan the card and then the barcodes on the back of your stories. Easy as pie. You can use the self-checkout or I can take care of you right here.” “I’d like that,” you say and feel your face warm, “I mean— when is story time again? I’d like to bring Bug sometime. She loves when I do voices-“ “I’m here Wednesday through Sunday,” says Ezra, “How old is Bug? If you don’t mind me askin-“ “She’ll be five in October, but she can already read some.” “Then I’d suggest the 3:45 Saturday time slot,” says Ezra, “The noon and two are generally board books, more herding and less reading if you get my meaning.” “Are they chapter books?” “Sometimes. Why?” “She-I-,”your eyes drop to the nest of your hands, tracing the edges of your newly issued library card with the pads of your thumbs, “I’ve only got her every other weekend.” “You bring her around anyway,” says Ezra, “About 3:15. If it’s a chapter book I’ll catch her up.” “You’d do that?” “Why wouldn’t I?” says Ezra, “I’m here anyway, and telling stories is less tiresome than re-ordering the YA stacks. You’d be doing me a kindness.” “I guess we’ll see you Saturday then.” “I’m looking forward to it.”
