#bookstore owner!Y/N | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

teaspacebar · 4 months ago

Text

spiced chai

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

summary: you've been living in chicago for about a year, and you're suddenly managing the coffee shop in the well beloved bookstore, nan's. you meet carmen berzatto on a not-so-good day. you're thrust into the everchanging societal landscape that is making friends in your 20s..

word count: ~9.7k

warnings: language, depictions of mental illness, barista!reader, afab!reader (but tried to be as neutral as possible), neurodivergent!reader, they don't kiss, could be read as platonic tbh but there's crumbs in there if you look, takes place over the course of a few months, probably doesn't follow canon fully (i'm not caught up yet forgive me)

a/n: *dumps this here and runs* but actually this piece of writing appeared in my brain and i've been picking away at it for a couple of months. i feel like i've put more of myself into this fic than with anything else i've written, so this is definitely more of a self insert (pls be kind or don't read if that's not your vibe). i'm queer, non-binary, and autistic and i just wanted to insert that into this space. i feel like there's more to explore here, so i might write more for this if i feel so inclined.

Meeting Carmen Berzatto was not on your to-do list for Tuesday morning.

Not that having to run down to the nearest corner store to grab milk - since the milk fridge was on the fritz…again - at 4am was in your plans either. It always seemed like one step forward, three giant leaps back with the little shop on the corner you basically called home. It was weird, to be thrust into leadership as your manager made an abrupt exit.

The small bookstore, with an even tinier coffee shop, had been your place of work for the last year or so. You loved it. The people were great, and Nan, the shop owner, was absolutely lovely. She was getting up in her years, but the genuine care she had for the employees made all the difference. She put her trust in you to run the cafe, saying “You have the experience, and the care you have for people shows. I know this. Everyone knows this. Now you just have to see it - have confidence.”

“Confidence my ass,” you mutter, carrying five gallons of milk around the corner.

What happens next might have been considered the beginning of a rom-com, but you’re a realist, and the world is shitty.

There’s a crash, and the distinct sound of three of the five gallons of milk dropping onto the sidewalk. You stare, watching in slow motion as the milk forms into a river, dripping off the sidewalk into the gutter.

The person who ran into you curses, “Shit — fuck, sorry, I—I wasn’t looking where I was…dammit.”

You grip the other two jugs in your arms, blinking out of the haze to let out a hysterical laugh. “Great…cool cool.” Cold plastic bites into your fingers, and you take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, what else was gonna happen?” You finally look up to see the one you collided with. The man looks extremely uncomfortable, foot tapping like he wants to bolt. Plastering on a smile you shake your head, “It’s fine. I’m the one who thought carrying five gallons of milk would be fine.” You ramble on, trying to ease his nerves, “I mean — why would I drive, like, thirty seconds. Park, get the milk, come all the way back. Seemed stupid…but now there’s milk in my socks.” You grimace, fighting the urge to chuck the remaining jugs of milk in the street so you could also hurl your milk-soaked shoes and socks after them. It makes the ache in your chest sharpen.

“Here, where are you —“

You cut him off, “No, no, it’s okay. I got it, thank you.” You gesture to the door that’s just a few feet away from you. “This is me, anyway.” You adjust your hold on the milk, brushing past the man to pull open the door. You catch it with your hip, not daring to look back as you head behind the counter. You release a sigh, setting the bane of your existence on the black speckled marble.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. You shake out your arms, biting your lip. “Okay, asshole, let’s get your shit together.” You quickly put the milk into the small fridge below the bar and walk to the back. The squish of your socks curdles your stomach, and you breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell. You take off your shoes, throwing them into a plastic bag to take home. Tossing your socks into the garbage, you grab your replacement sneakers and socks from your cubby. It wasn’t the first time you’ve dropped something on your shoes, it wouldn’t be the last.

You take your time in the back. You had gotten to the shop around 4am, unable to sleep. You were messing around with recipes, seeing if there was a possibility of baking some of the food in the cafe fresh, instead of outsourcing. It was something you put on your own plate, and you didn’t want to disappoint Nan. You had shown up early, looking to try out some muffins, and noticed the fridge had been hovering at sixty degrees all night. You’ll have to grab some more milk before the day starts, but that could be a problem for 8am you.

Walking through the swinging doors, you jump as you see someone at the bar counter. Pressing a hand to your fluttering heart, you finally take in the man that had run into you earlier. A mop of curly hair on his head, white tee, very blue eyes…and standing behind eight gallons of milk.

“Um…” you look between the milk and him a few times.

“The…uh – the door was unlocked. Figured I owed you one.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“How’d you even get it all here?”

“Made two trips.” His gaze snaps back to you as you laugh, this time more genuine. “Fridge go out, or somethin’?” You’re still staring at him like he has two heads, and he rambles on, “Sorry for just…barging in. I used to go to this place…when I was kid. My sister and I would grab whatever pastries they had left for the day. And, yeah, we’d just sit, read random shit. I work at the restaurant just down the street…’s why I ran into you. Wasn’t paying attention – sorry, again.”

Suddenly, it all clicks. “You own The Bear.”

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I do.”

You feel nervous, out of the blue. Nan hadn’t stopped talking about the Berzatto’s, and Natalie had become a regular while the restaurant was being remodeled. You’re sure you’d seen other employees come in as well, for reading material. You vaguely remember talking to a very sweet man about baking, as he carried a ton of cookbooks in his arms.

You knew Carmen Berzatto, but only through the words of others – and the research you did late one night because you were nosey. To have him standing in the bookstore you worked at, for him to have gotten you milk, is sending you for a loop. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you begin to put the milk in their new home. You really need to call the refrigerator guy again.

“That’s so cool,” the words fall from your mouth, others staying in your head.

It's insane that someone like him is even speaking to you. He’s around the same age as you; He owns a restaurant and you’re barely able to run a tiny coffee bar in a bookstore. You’re an idiot who dropped milk onto the sidewalk. Why didn’t you just take the car? You should’ve just taken the car. Now Carmen fucking Berzatto has bought you milk at 5am because he feels bad for you. How pathetic. Call the fucking refrigerator guy.

“Thanks…for the milk.” You back away from the counter, gesturing behind you, “Lemme grab some money from the cash box real quick.”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s really fine, you didn’t have to go out of your way. I’ll be right back.” The itch creeps its way up your spine, and you push through the door as a shudder passes through you. You shake out the twitch, going and grabbing the cash box. You do mental math, trying to see how much you should give him. Did he even need the money? “Idiot,” you chide yourself. Today was not the day for your brain.

Snagging a twenty and a ten, you rush back out to the bar, only to find the store empty. A groan escapes through your teeth, and you clench the cash in your hands, crumpling it. You walk to the front door, peering out to see if you can spot the chef. He must’ve made a quick getaway. As you turn to get prepped for the day, you spot a brochure on the counter, far away from its home of the stand at the front of the bookstore. Eat Your Way Through Chicago!

Scribbled on the front is a phone number, and the words:

Fridge Ask for Fak Say Carm sent you

“Fucking fuck.” You whisper, a smile creeping on your face against your will, “Asshole.”

It’s later in the week when you hear the bell attached to the front door – ding! You poke your head up from where you're arranging some alternative milks under the counter, seeing a familiar blonde.

“Hey, Natalie!” You pop up, an easy grin appearing on your face. “Half-caff?”

She nods, “Please.”

“How are you?”

“Oh, you know.”

You ring her up quickly, then grab a pitcher to steam some milk for her latte. Natalie walks away from the counter to browse some books. The steam wand whirs, and you watch the vortex inside the pitcher. You touch the sides every so often, waiting for it to get to the right temperature. Making drinks is all muscle memory now, and you tamp the espresso grounds into the portafilter with precision. Wiping the excess from the lip, you lock it into the machine and press the shot button. As the shot pulls, you wipe down the steam wand with a wet cloth.

“Is this any good?” Natalie has come back over, holding up a book with a half-naked man on the front.

You laugh, “It’s a Nan recommendation, so…” The shots are poured into the paper cup, and you swirl the milk into it, doing a quick tulip design. You sprinkle a little cinnamon over the top, before placing it in front of the woman.

“Smutty then, for sure.” Natalie laughs, then does a little excited gasp when she sees the latte art. “It looks so good every time!”

“Thanks,” you reply, “Gets covered by the lid, but it’s fun to practice.”

“Too bad you don’t have for-here mugs,” she says thoughtfully.

“Ever the idea-haver! There'd be more spills to clean up – Nan would lose her mind if any books got ruined.” You point to the book still in her hand, “You want me to ring you up for that?” It was early enough in the afternoon that the only other person here was a part-timer, Jack, somewhere between the shelves stocking books. You had convinced Nan to upgrade to a different register system (which ended up saving money in the long run), so you’re able to ring up both books and café products at your register.

She shakes her head, sighing. “I barely have any time to read, these days. I was thinking about trying out audiobooks? I used to listen to them at my old job, but it’s way too loud in the kitchen for that to work out.” The latte goes to her mouth, a pleasant hum leaving her as she takes a sip. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, Natalie.”

She squints at you, “It’s Nat, c’mon.” A big conspiratorial grin makes its way onto her face, “So, I heard that you got some help with your fridge.”

A sharp pain twists in your chest. “Oh, um…yeah.” You let out a soft chuckle, “It’s working, which is great. Neil was a big help.”

“He said you made him the best hot chocolate he’s ever had,” Natalie taps the counter with her pointer finger twice. “Said he didn’t know how you got his number, though.”

You shrug, wiping down the counter, “Nan had it. And the usual guy wasn’t calling me back.” Neil had told you the exact same thing, both about the drink and the number. Something had held you back from saying where you got the number from. Embarrassment, maybe? It felt weird, feeling like you owed anyone favors, or that things would be unbalanced. People usually never give without looking to receive.

“Frankie, right? He’s an asshole. Overcharges for everything.” Natalie doesn’t push you for answers, something you’re grateful for.

“Right! He disappeared one time and said he’d ‘be right back’ and then was gone for like, two hours! And he added that to his hourly!” The two of you giggle at the shittiness of people for a minute, when a ping causes Natalie to pull her phone from her pocket.

“I should run.” She reaches into her purse, and puts a five into your tip jar. “Thanks again!”

As she turns to go, you call out her name. “Would you - maybe - I have some extra muffins. The place we get them from gave us some of the wrong ones…or they’re a tad over baked, or something. I can’t sell them. Would you wanna take them with you?”

“That’s so sweet of you! Yeah, I’m sure they’ll get eaten up.”

You grab the box of muffins, handing them over to her, “Thanks.”

“Thank you, babe.” She leaves with a smile, and you look down to brush the flour off your apron.

“Hey, guys, I got some goodies!” Natalie sets the box of muffins on the table, where everyone is seated for family meal.

Neil immediately grabs the box, pointing to the sticker on the top, “You went to Nan’s? Man, I could use a hot chocolate right now.”

“I’m sure you can walk over there and order one, my love.” Natalie replies, waving for him to put the box back on the table.

Marcus snags two muffins, handing one to Sydney who is sitting on his right. Taking a bite, he stops chewing, eyebrows raised. “Dude,” he nudges the girl next to him.

“Dude,” Syd parrots, popping some muffin into her mouth. “Wait, woah.”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“Nat, where did you get these?” Sydney calls to the woman now sitting at the end of the table. The muffins are passed down the rest of the table.

Marcus has started dissecting the muffin, “Macadamia nuts, sick.”

“Oh they’re from Nan’s just down the corner!” She tells them how you offered them to her since they were the wrong ones from a vendor and possibly over-baked.

Syd snorts, “Over-baked? These are perfect!”

“What’s perfect?” Carmy walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Bear, come eat!” Natalie waves him over, pulling him into the seat next to hers. “You’ve been at it all morning, take a minute, okay?” She gives him a look that tells him not to argue, and he huffs in response, but does as she says.

“What’s perfect?” He asks again, taking the muffin box from Sweeps as it’s passed to him. As the cinnamon crumble topping hits his taste buds, he leans back in his chair. “Shit.”

“That’s what we’re saying!”

Syd and Marcus begin talking over one another, the dull roar of family making its home in Carmy’s ears. He has another bite of muffin, thumb swiping over the sticker atop the box.

Nan’s Books & Brews

Simple lettering, surrounding a doodle of a coffee cup sitting on an open book.

“When did they,” he clears his throat as he leans closer to Nat, “when did they start doin’ stuff like this?”

Natalie purses her lips, “Not sure, honestly. They only had that small coffee machine and that plastic pastry case when we were growing up, remember? I think they added the actual coffee bar right before Covid?” Carmy nods, looking out the windows, a curdle in his stomach.

“A lot’s changed,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Nat sighs, a hand over her stomach, “a lot has.”

A few weeks go by, as uneventful as they can be. You try out more recipes, and the staff of Nan’s is always sent home with one treat or another. Muffins, cinnamon rolls, croissants (which were a bust), and the like. Natalie is still a regular, and Neil has shown up to save your ass more than once. The brochure with his number on it taunts you from where it’s stuck up on the corkboard in the back.

Which is what has led you to standing in front of The Bear, a joe-to-go in one hand, paper bag in the other. An envelope burns in the inner pocket of your flannel jacket. Steeling your nerves, you knock on the door. Some yells are heard from inside, nicknames getting passed around like it’s a holiday dinner. You see a man walk towards you, in a nice suit, and he opens the door.

“Can I help you?” It’s not said unkindly, but there’s a look in his eyes that’s making you nervous.

“Coffee delivery?” You say sheepishly, holding up the coffee traveler by its cardboard handle.

“Richie, who’s at the - hey!” Natalie immediately smiles when she sees you, and you sigh a breath of relief. Things were easy with her; she had this amazing way of comforting you without even trying.

“Hi,” you wiggle your fingers, still keeping hold of the objects in your hands. “Wanted to say thanks for all the help Neil’s been giving me, and when Nan found out, she insisted I bring over some coffee for the team, so…”

“You workin’ at Nan’s?” The guy - Richie - asks.

“For the past year or so, yeah.” You reply, thanking Natalie as she grabs the paper bag from you.

“Let them in, Richie, c’mon.” She presses on his chest, causing him to back up with his hands in the air. “Come in! I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to come by for a tour.” You follow behind her, taking in the layout of the place. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a sense of awe falls over you. She has you set the coffee traveler on the bar, letting you take the paper bag from her hands. You pull out a cup holder with two cups in it.

“One half-caff french vanilla latte for you and…a hot chocolate for Neil.” As if by magic, Neil pops through the door to the kitchen.

“For me?!”

You chuckle as he pulls you into a hug. When he pulls away, he grabs his cup with a happy sound, rushing back into the kitchen when “Fak!” is yelled.

“The fuck Fak get a coffee for?” Richie frowns, causing you to bristle. Natalie swats at him, beginning to explain as you continue to walk around the restaurant. As you pass by a wood table, your fingers tap on it, the sound echoing in your ears. It sends a shiver through you, and a small smile appears on your lips.

Natalie calls out to you, tearing your gaze back to her. People have begun to swarm around the bar, placing food on it, and your coffee is suddenly surrounded by things that smell amazing. “Did you want to eat with us, babe?” Attention turns to you, and the itchiness in your limbs reappears with a vengeance.

A tall man, wearing a beanie, grins, “Hey, those muffins were amazing, by the way.”

You sputter, “Oh. Um—“

“Tell the chef, or baker — whoever,” he laughs at himself. “They were fire.”

Warmth rises in you, “Yeah, I’ll pass it on.”

“Babe, lunch?” Natalie says again, louder this time. More of the staff have begun digging into their meals.

“No, it’s okay!” The corner of your mouth curves up in a small smile, this one less genuine than before. You begin to back up towards the door, a gnaw of guilt in your gut as Natalie frowns.

“Cousin! Food!” Richie yells out, followed by laughter from everyone else.

“I’m coming!” A familiar figure bursts through the kitchen door, “You don’t gotta yell like an asshole.”

Carmen Berzatto stops in his tracks when he sees you; the envelope in your pocket burns hotter. You look down at your shoes, but they just remind you of the milk dripping down the sidewalk.

“Carm,” Natalie introduces you, “they work at—“

“Nan’s.” Everyone chimes in, and you have to stop yourself from flinching. You look over at Carmy, eyes meeting.

There’s a moment where you feel like you’re going to get swallowed whole. The pipes are going to burst and water will fill up the room and you’re going to drown.

You walked straight into a den of hungry beasts, and you’re just a measly rabbit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Natalie’s words are muffled in your ears, but you manage to shake your head.

“I have someone from books covering me, and they barely know how to work the espresso machine.” You force a laugh. It grates against your vocal chords. “It was nice meeting you guys, though.” With a meek wave, you turn on your feet and speed out the door. Rounding the corner, you keep walking until you’re sure they can’t see you. Veering into the alleyway behind the restaurant, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the brick.

You press your thumb into the palm of your hand. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. It’s over before it starts, but your chest remains tight. A reminder, which will eventually dissipate once you're back in the shop.

The coffee bar, your shield; apron, your armor.

A door opening causes you to jump, startled. Your eyes meet blue, widening like you’ve been caught. “Sorry! I was just–” You push off the brick.

Carmen seems just as surprised as you, “No, s’fine.” He clears his throat, as the two of you settle into silence.

A fwip of a lighter. Four seconds. An exhale of smoke.

You’re unsure if you should leave, but it’s like the bottoms of your shoes are stuck to the ground. “Did you-” He starts, lifting up his hand that holds a lit cigarette.

You shake your head, “No, but - um, thanks.” Your fingers twitch, and you reach to pull the envelope from inside your jacket. Something that appears so insignificant, held out in the space between you. When he just stares, you wave it a bit, until he takes the envelope with his free hand.

“What’s this?”

“Cash, for the milk you bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“I did.” You bounce on your heels, “I should actually get going this time. Just wanted to give you that but…” He doesn’t respond, something you’re getting used to. You wonder where the man who rambled about reading with his sister at Nan’s went, but decide now is the best time to make your escape. As you start to walk toward the street, you turn, “The restaurant looks great, by the way. Good luck with the opening.”

“Good luck with the opening.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

"Let it rip, Bear."

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“-a complete waste of fucking time.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, Carm.”

Natalie invites you to Friends & Family.

You don’t go.

The next month flies by. Marcus, Richie, and Syd have joined your little group of regulars. Richie even brings his daughter, Eva, whenever he’s able. She’s a joy and absolutely hilarious to have around. Richie has grown on you, the rough edges of him softening after a few cortados.

One night, he had rushed into the shop, Eva in tow, all but begging you to watch her for a few hours. He was supposed to be off for the day, to spend time with his daughter, but they’re understaffed at The Bear. A few weeks in, which confused you, but questions weren’t asked. You said yes - obviously - and had Eva help you with little things around the shop, until you close. The two of you bonded over a shared love of Taylor Swift while making muffins. By the time Richie came to pick her up, Eva was tuckered out in a loveseat, patchwork blanket tucked up to her chin.

“I owe you one,” Richie had whispered, holding his daughter in his arms.

You shook your head, “You deserve to have time with her.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, bring it up with the Bear himself.”

You weren’t planning on it. The man is barely on your mind. Except for every time someone from The Bear walks in. They look drained, more and more each day. It’s a certain type of pain, to watch people – that once had so much life in them – lose the light that you felt so harshly the first time you walked into the restaurant. You hear inklings; mentions of a changing menu every night, nonnegotiables, and the like.

It worries you. It’s not your place - you’re more than aware of that. But you’ve come to care for these people. And by extension, some part of you wants to see how he’s doing. It’s an odd - biting -feeling. How strange it is, to know someone through everyone else’s eyes but your own. You have to fight back the urge to force yourself into the places you do not fit. You’re resigned to watching from afar, providing comfort behind your coffee bar. It’s what you’re good at. It might be all you're good at.

Some sick twist of fate decides to upturn it all one Friday night.

Carmy had stayed late, to nobody’s surprise. He’d been adjusting the menu, preparing it for tomorrow, when the flashes hit him. He decides to walk it off, popping another thing of nicotine gum into his mouth. He walks aimlessly, trying to push the overwhelming thoughts out of his head. The street is dark - most places being closed - but light pours onto the sidewalk, just a few feet ahead of him. Almost a reflex, he peers into the windows.

A laugh of disbelief - more a huff of air through his nose - leaves him.

You’re dancing, headphones over your ears, as you mix something in a large bowl. It’s unlike anything he’s seen - from you or otherwise. There’s a sense of freedom in your movements, so different from the few times he’d seen you before. The tightness in his chest lightens, some, at the sight of you so obviously in your element.

And you're looking right at him.

“Shit,” he mumbles. You tilt your head at him, doing a little wave. He lifts a hand in reply, and you point haphazardly at the door. Before he can respond, or walk away – anything, you’re heading around the counter. A click of the door unlocking, and you pull it open part way.

“Hey,” you say, a little loud. With a wince, you pull the headphones off to rest around your neck. Music can be heard – a muffled, upbeat song that he doesn’t recognize. “Hey,” you say again, quieter this time. Silence passes between you, and he watches your nose twitch. “…did you wanna?” You jut your thumb behind you. You’re almost unrecognizable from the first time you met, calmer, somehow.

“Yeah, sure.” The words come out, easier than he thinks, and slips through the door you hold open. You lock it behind him, turning back around to slide behind the counter.

You grab a muffin tin, beginning to fill each one with a scoop of the batter you had been mixing. You make quick work of it, pushing them into the small commercial oven, wiping your fingers on the towel that’s pulled through a loop in your jeans.

Leaning against the counter, you finally look at him, “Okay, Pick your poison.”

“What?”

“Coffee? Americano, latte, cappuccino?” It’s like you’re trying to read him, wanting to crack the spine of a book and see what’s inside.

“I don’t really do the…caffeine.”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your fingers on the counter in some type of rhythm. “Can I make you something? Low-caffeinated, of course.” He nods. “Anything you hate?” A shake of his head.

You grab a cup and get to work. You’re singing under your breath - the song that’s playing from the headphones around your neck. With your eyes off of him, he takes a moment to actually observe the shop. Warm lighting, with dark wood bookshelves making it feel cozy without being too claustrophobic. There’s smaller tables, with different recommendations for certain genres. A sprinkling of string lights and hanging plants just adds to the homey feeling, one so different from the pristine, white kitchens he’s used to being in. So different from his own restaurant. The coffee shop portion is close to the front, dark marble countertops and a chalkboard menu - swirling letters describing monthly drink specials.

“Alright, order up,” you call out softly.

Carmy walks back up to the bar, eyeing the cup. Warmth presses into his skin as his fingers curl around it. You mention that it’s hot, to let it cool for a bit. Silence falls between the two of you - in a way he finds comforting. Your eyes flick between him and the counter you’re wiping down.

“Do you normally do this?” He asks.

“The making drinks thing, or the staying at the shop way too late thing?” You give a wry smile. “Could ask you the same.”

He scratches at his nose, “Noted.”

The minutes pass; you go about cleaning the shop, rinsing dishes and setting things up for the next day. It’s an art he’s well versed in. The muscle memory takes over for you, and Carmen becomes invisible. It feels nice, to just be in a place where nobody has anything to ask of him. He finally tries the drink. It’s good, milky, if a little sweet, but it eases the last of the sourness in his stomach away. A timer on your phone goes off, and you tug on a flowery oven mitt to pull the muffins out of the oven. Chocolate and spice invades his nostrils, soothing him even more. You grab one, hissing a bit since it’s hot, and put it on a plate, bringing it back over to him. Leaning over the bar, you reach for forks that are in a metal cup, right near Carmy. You’re close, with no care about being in his personal space. It’s only for a second, and then you’re back in your previous position.

“You can have some, as long as you promise not to be an ass about it.” You hold out a fork for him. The words cause him to cringe, but he takes the utensil from you.

He stares at the muffin, running his thumb on the underside of the fork. “How much trouble am I in?”

You shrink back a little, “W-what?”

He’s met you what - twice? Both times felt clunky, an awkwardness to the both of you. Here, it’s simpler. Under the cover of night, huh? A voice that sounds awfully like Mikey’s says in the back of his mind. His family won’t stop talking about you. Or drinking your coffee.

“The Bear,” he mutters. “They talk to you, right?”

You laugh, surprised. “Do you actually want to know?” You hold up a hand before he can reply, “Actually, no. They don’t talk to me. I see things, sure. But I’m not getting anyone in trouble with the boss.” You’re on the defensive, not even for yourself, but for his kitchen.

“They-They’re not in trouble.” One look from you and he deflates, sighing. “Okay, yeah. Just…just say something.”

“I haven’t even been to eat there.”

“You should come,” he says.

Another laugh - a scoff, more-like, “You think I could afford your place?” You bite your lip, pinching the bridge of your nose. After a moment, you continue, gently, “Do you have any fun?”

“Fun.” The word is like poison in his mouth.

“Yes, fun. I know that food service isn't the best, but it’s good to have fun, or to at least enjoy it.” You wave your hands around, “That family meal stuff you guys do? That’s so sweet, and you have a whole family unit going on in that kitchen, or whatever. If this restaurant is supposed to be the rest of your life, you should like it, at least a little bit, right?” Your torso melts into the counter, and you rest your head on your arm. “And like, maybe? Don’t change the menu every night, or something. It’s new, right? You gotta work out the kinks first before jumping in all-” you blow air out through your cheeks.

A beat of quiet, then, “The menu, huh?”

“Eleven thousand for butter?” You parrot back. At his frown, you hold up your hands, “I’m just a barista, what would I know?” You say it without heat, and yet he feels guilt crawl up his throat.

“That’s not-”

“I know, Carmen.” A sigh leaves your lips, “You asked, so I talked. Again, take everything with a grain of salt.” The words get softer, as if you’re talking more to yourself than to him, “Just remember who’s going down with you if it ends up crashing and burning.”

You stab your fork into the muffin, tearing it in half. He follows suit, lifting a bite of it to his lips. Spice floods his taste buds, and he grunts. You blink up at him, fork hanging from your mouth. He’s suddenly starving, and he eagerly gets himself another forkful. “S’good.” He mumbles through the food. Carmen watches as you process his words, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. You two finish the muffin, and there’s an ominous sense of peace that covers him like a blanket. “Thanks.”

“For yelling at you?”

Carmy lets the chuckle spill out, “If that’s what you call yelling…” He trails off, sobering, “Do you have fun?”

You hum, contemplating. “Yeah. I mean, it’s coffee, at the end of the day. It’s just nice to see people, to make their day a little better than it was. I like to try out new things, to create, to get recommendations.” You stop, seeing him staring at you, “What?”

“You’re different…from the other day, s’all.”

You’re perplexed, scrunching your nose, “Well I had a bad day, the first time. And I don’t do…well, with new people.”

“Unless you’re behind the counter.”

Your eyes widen, something flickering behind them, like he’s seen something you didn’t want him to. “Touche.” Checking your phone, you clear your throat, “Alright, we should probably get out of here if we want any semblance of sleep.” He follows your lead, as you flick off the lights, throwing you backpack over your shoulder. He waits while you lock the front door, small key dangling on a keychain. You turn, looking at him, before holding out a paper bag, “Muffin for the road?”

He grabs it, an odd feeling bubbling in his chest, “Oh - uh, thanks.”

You suddenly look sheepish, fiddling with the strap of your bag, “And if you’re out late again, feel free to stop by. If you need a break, or something.” A beat. “Oh, again, take what I said with a grain of salt, yeah? Just - maybe - try to take care of yourself a little.” You laugh nervously, and Carmy sees the truth of his earlier observation. You’re still more relaxed, but the nerves have crept in as you step outside your comfort zone. Something he knows all too well. “Anyways, have a good night - morning.” You shake your head, blowing a raspberry through your lips.

“Night. Get home safe.” He murmurs. You turn on your heel, walking down the street. He tightens his grip on the paper bag.

Take care of yourself.

At least enjoy it.

You should like it, at least a little bit, right?

Carmy doesn’t know if he truly remembers what liking cooking is like. He’s found little bits of it, in moving back home. In Marcus’ eyes as he creates something new. In Syd’s determination to make amazing food. There’s a passion there that he’s lost somewhere along the way.

He sees it in you, and it calls out to him - the tide being pushed and pulled by the moon. A curious feeling, gnawing at his stomach. A hunger for something he can’t make sense of, but he pulls the muffin out of the bag to eat on his walk home.

Carmy keeps showing up at Nan’s, usually late at night. You didn’t expect him to take you up on your offer, yet a smile graces your lips every time he does.

He was right, when he said you feel most comfortable behind the counter. You knew it, but having someone else acknowledge it felt…weird. Like you weren’t playing your part right. Yet it also felt good, to be seen.

Conversation between the two of you still feels stilted, occasionally, but you find comfort in the quiet moments. And the not-so quiet ones; with music playing at just above a reasonable level, you mouthing the words as you dance around behind the bar. The mask slowly slides off when he comes around, and it’s easier to be goofy.

You think it surprises him. He’s not quite sure what to do, when you’re cruising on the linoleum tile you call a dance floor. But he never tells you that you’re weird, or too much. You’ve maybe even seen him bite back a smile. You swear there’s dimples hiding somewhere — a fleeting thought that you let fly away before you linger on it too long.

“What do you think?” You’ve turned the music down, notepad on the counter, your favorite pen in hand. You click it a few times, sound satisfying the little itch in the back of your brain.

“Not sure if I’m a matcha fan,” Carmy murmurs. You nod, writing down his response onto the paper. It’s almost filled — you’ll have to turn to the next page soon — with different drinks you’ve had Carmy try, determined to find the right one. He’s harder to pin than others, something you’re not necessarily surprised by.

That's partially on you. You're unsure of how much to ask. How much could you poke the both metaphorical and literal Bear until it breaks? You've been enjoying your time, but you've yet to ask him how work is going. He doesn't ask you about your personal life, so why would you ask about his?

There's a curiosity there, though. To see what makes Carmen Berzatto tick. You fear the two of you might be a little too similar.

You turn to go back to cleaning your mess — the reason being a fresh tray of cookies cooling on the counter, when he says your name. “Did you get a new tattoo?”

Gaze flashing to the wrap you have on your arm, peeking out from the sleeve of your shirt, you turn bashful. “Oh,” you hum, “I did. It’s been on my list for awhile. I’m keeping it wrapped at work while it heals - god knows I spill everything all over myself.”

“Can I — What did you get?” He’s just as sheepish as you, a boyish glow about him. You’d never talked about tattoos before. His evidence is on his arms; yours are mostly concealed — easy to hide with the oversized button downs and jeans you wear.

You pull your phone from your back pocket, “Here, I’ll pull up a photo of it.” Placing your phone on the counter, Carmy grabs it, zooming in on the two-headed calf that’s found its home on your bicep. The tattoo is fresher in the photo, line work popping out against your skin. “The longest living two-headed calf lived 17 months. Her name was Gemini — a little on the nose, I think. There’s also this poem by Laura Gilpin, that just kinda struck me.” Your ramble tumbles off, a half smile pulling at your lips. “It’s sad, but the kind that makes you hurt in a nice way? If that even makes sense.” You wave a hand around, then reach to take a sip from his cup.

The matcha settles the nerves hiding under your skin, the earthy flavor dancing on your tongue. As you set the cup back on the counter, you point at his hand, “What’s that stand for?” Your own fingers twitch, fighting the urge to brush them across his own. “S.O.U?”

“Ah, sense of urgency.” He says, fiddling with your phone.

You laugh, quickly covering it with a hand, “Sorry, I — sorry, that just makes so much sense.” Before he can speak, you shake your head, “Not in a bad way, necessarily. It’s just so obvious how little work-life balance you have.”

“We’re literally at your shop in the middle of the night.” Carmen huffs exasperatedly, corner of his mouth curling up.

You hold your hands up, conceding, “Okay, I get it. Misery loves company - or whatever. God, we’re both crazy, aren’t we? We should get out more.”

He hums in response, tapping his phone twice to check the time. Anxiety swells up in your throat, and there’s something biting at your heels. The silence doesn’t feel comfortable anymore.

You said something wrong, the little voice in your head whispers. You lost the script and got too close and now he’s pulling back. How can you fix it? You have to fix it.

“What’s your favorite one?” His blue eyes glance up at you. Invisible hand squeezing your lungs, you stammer, “Tattoo. What’s the one you like most?”

His words come out softly, “A house boat. I, uh, got it before leaving Copenhagen. I stayed in one while I was over there, and put out water for an invisible cat.” Relief floods you as he talks. It’s the most he’s spoken about anything, and you see a glimmer behind his eyes.

It feels a little too close to home.

“You really loved it over there, huh?”

As if caught, he clears his throat, “It was cool…different.”

Different from Chicago, you don’t say. “I get that,” you murmur instead.

You knew what it was like, to run away. The need for escape pushing you into flight as the metaphorical dog chases the rabbit.

You wonder what Carmen’s dog was. Or is. If it’s even a dog at all.

“What about you? What’s your favorite?”

You’re pulled from your thoughts. “Oh! Um, it’s silly.” You worry at your bottom lip.

“You don’t—”

“No, hold on, it’s just,” you push yourself onto the counter with the palms of your hands. Carmen leans back as you swing your legs over the bar, letting your feet rest on the barstool next to him. You lean over, pulling up your pants leg to show the tattoo on the right side of your calf. He stares at it for a moment, confusion clear in his gaze. “See, I told you.”

“Is it a moth, or something?”

“Moth-man, Carmen. Mothman.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“He’s a cryptid. There’s literally stories of a Chicago Mothman.” He peers up at you in amusement, causing you to scrunch your face at him. “I swear on my life Carmen Berzatto, don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not.” He laughs, and your chest loosens. You got Carmen Berzatto to laugh. “It looks good, the style is nice,” he gestures to your leg.

You smile, “Thanks.”

Nodding, he goes to sip from his cup. He makes a face, pulling it away from him, “Yeah, I don’t like this.”

He holds it out to you as you reach for it, laughter spilling from your lips, “More grass for me.” You drink, and let the cup rest on your thigh, fingers tapping on the plastic lid.

“I’m not…” Your head turns to look at him, watching as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not really good at this.”

“...at what?” You whisper, scared if you talk any louder you’ll scare him away.

“Talking? Not working? Who the fuck knows,” his hand leaves his hair and passes over his face.

“I’m not either, really.” You pick at your jeans, “But we’re trying, right? You come by more than I thought you would.”

“Really?”

You snort, “Dude, the first time I was surprised you even came in.” Gently, you add, “And you don’t have to be perfect at conversation to be friends with someone.” His eyes meet yours as you nudge his shoulder with your knee. “I’m weird, you’re weird, that’s okay.”

Carmen rolls his eyes good naturedly. His legs are bouncing, and you can almost see him chewing the word around before it finally leaves, “Friends?”

“Friends.” You affirm. Silence passes between you, until a growl comes from your stomach.

The man laughs, looking all the prettier for it, “You hungry?”

“Starving,” you groan.

He gets up from his seat, grabbing his denim jacket that’s hung over the chair on his left, “C’mon.”

It takes a moment, but it clicks. “Oh my god,” you gasp out, hopping off the counter. With a speed you only have during a lunch rush, you run to the back. You untie your apron, hang it up on a hook, and grab your tote bag. “Wallet, keys, phone…phone!”

“Out here!” Carmen yells. You grin, rushing back out to the front, bouncing on your heels. “You good?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You shake your keys with enthusiasm. He laughs as you both leave, and you turn to lock up. There’s excitement buzzing through you, like caffeine would if your brain weren’t wired a bit funky. A thought cuts through the haze, “Oh shit, I forgot to–”

“I got the trash.” The street lights reflect off his blue eyes.

Your heart twinges a little, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He gestures with his head, “Now let’s go before your stomach eats itself.”

“Hey Carm?!”

The man pokes his head into the office, one hand wrapped around the door, “Yeah, what?”

Natalie raises an eyebrow, “You busy?”

Carmy scoffs, “Yeah, Sugar, I’m busy.”

It’s lunch time. Marcus has pastries, Tina’s running prep. Syd is around…avoiding him. He tries not to think about it for too long. Richie is who knows where.

Fuck, don’t be an asshole, asshole.

Deflating, he asks, “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“I’m spending my hour of alone time figuring shit out here, while Pete watches the baby.” His sister sighs, glancing down at the paperwork on the desk, “I’m managing. Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

He wants to ask about the baby. His niece. But Natalie barrels over the topic to say, “Were you here late the other night?” He must have made a face because Natalie sighs, exasperated. “I know you stay later than everyone else, doing god knows what, but I got a notification on my phone the other night-“

“What notification?”

She rolls her eyes, “The alarm system, dummy. I get alerts.”

“No, yeah, I get that. But I turned it off.”

It could only be from the other night, when he brought you back to the restaurant. He’s not sure why he did — he almost had a panic attack in front of you while debating what to make. It's strange, how much an environment can affect someone. Nan's feels so comfortable to him now, like nothing can happen to him when he's in those four walls. Where was the last place he felt like that?

You don’t need to impress anyone, Carmen. It’s just me, you had said.

Simple words that cut through him like a knife. You asked for comfort food, so he made you grilled cheese with tomato soup. The little dance you did every time you took a bite relit a fire inside of him that had been burnt out by years of working in kitchens.

“I know. I’m asking because the alarm was set, and then you turned it off again a few hours later.” Natalie unlocks her phone, showing him her screen that has some app pulled up with timestamps on it. “Are you sleeping? Look, I know things aren’t great right now—" Natalie cuts herself off with another sigh.

“It’s fine. Things are fine.” At her pointed look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m working on it, okay? Just…are you good? Do you need anything?”

“About 48 hours of interrupted sleep would be great.” Her gripe falls off into a laugh, which he returns.

Stepping into the room further, he pulls the door closer, just a slim crack of clean white light coming through. “I’ve been a shitty brother lately.”

“No…” Natalie snorts, “Okay yeah, a bit. I love you, though.”

He mumbles the words back, tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, “Maybe I could come by, sometime. See the baby.” It’s a blessing and curse how his chest aches when he sees the way her eyes light up.

“I’d love that, Bear.”

“Yo, delivery!” Marcus yells out, pulling the attention of the Berzatto siblings.

“The fuck?” There isn't supposed to be a delivery today.

Natalie gets out of her seat, “Oh thank god.” She ushers Carmy out of the office, pushing past him into the dining room. He follows after her, confused, only to stop in his tracks.

You’re here.

You stand next to Richie, talking animatedly, albeit shy. You’re wearing clothes he doesn’t regularly see you in, the worn denim jacket catching his eye in particular. It’s clear that you aren't working, yet you hold two cups from Nan’s in your hands, a few drink carriers littering a table.

“You’re literally my savior, thank you.” Natalie pulls you into a hug, and you look at Richie with wide eyes. Carmy has to hold back a snort at your expression.

“You should expect this reaction by now, kid.” Richie takes a sip from his drink when you gape at him in exaggerated outrage.

“Shut up, Richie,” Natalie is barely paying attention, saying the words more out of habit. Grabbing a cup from a drink holder, she says, “You’re coming home with me.”

Giggles bubble from your lips, and you go to cover them with the back of your arm. There’s a pull Carmy feels, instinctual, to urge your arm away from your face and hear your genuine laughter fill the room.

Your eyes meet his, finally noticing that he’s there. The smile you give him is earnest, a gentle hello without words. He forces his feet to move, closing the distance. Carmy blatantly ignores the looks both Richie and Natalie are making. You hold out the cup in your hand - the one you weren’t drinking from - and he takes it from you.

Condensation clings to the sides, his name hastily written on the side.

⋆⁺Carmy!⁺˚⋆

There’s a heart in place of the dot at the bottom of the exclamation point, little stars doodled around his name. His stomach flips.

“Iced?” He swirls the drink in hand, mixing it up.

You shrug, “Thought I’d try something different. It’s hot outside.”

“You off?” Bringing the straw to his lips, he hums at the taste. You’re watching him eagerly, head tilted to the side as you wait for his review. “This is nice.”

Squinting at him, you huff, “Not perfect, though.” You type something into your phone — most likely to add to your notebook later. “Had to run some more syrup by the shop. Saw Natalie’s car on the street so I texted her to see if she wanted something to drink. I have errands to run after this.”

“You a regular too now, Cousin?” Richie barks, and Carmy watches as you remember where you are. Who you’re with.

A protectiveness rises up in Carmen, hating the way you recoil into yourself. “Fuck off, Richie.” He looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Dude, we got shit to do.”

“Richie!” Natalie hisses at the older man, shoving him back toward the kitchen. She calls back to you, “Thanks for the coffee! I promise I’ll come by when I feel more like a human again.”

The customer service clicks into place behind your eyes, “Take care of yourself! Hope the baby is doing well!” Once it's just the two of you, you sigh, knocking the heels of your boots together. “I should get going.”

Carmen nods, “Can I grab you a sandwich, first?”

“Grilled cheese?” You tease, stifling a smile.

He huffs, shaking his head, “Nah, but Ebra’s got window right now. I could throw something together real quick.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He glances down; you’re pressing your thumb into the middle of your hand. It's uncanny, the semblance of himself that is mirrored in you.

“I know.” He wants to, though. “Give me five minutes?”

A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“Cool.” And he’s off.

Chaos erupts the minute he’s back in the kitchen.

“Since when did the two of you become buddy-buddy?”

“Can we please get back to work? Richie, respectfully, what are you doing back here?” Syd is working on pasta, flour covering her work service.

“I got shoved outta my space, so here I am,” Richie waves his hands around.

The overlapping voices turn into white noise, and Carmy inhales sharply, “Fak!”

“Yes, chef!” Neil appears out of nowhere. Sometimes Carmen thinks there’s a series of underground passages that makes it so easy to get ahold of him. It’s not that crazy of a notion.

“Go and say hello to them, okay? I’m gonna throw together something, give it to them, and then I’ll be right back.” The last part is meant for everyone to hear, but is pointed more toward Richie. “Seriously, just leave it, alright?”

“I’m leaving it,” Richie snarks, but nudges Fak with his elbow. “Think there’s a drink out there with your name on it anyway. Snag me another one of those apple-donut-things too, eh?”

“Fritters!” Marcus calls out from his station.

Carmy sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s queasy; he’ll have to take some pepto later.

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

Let it rip, Bear.

Neil barrels into you, wrapping you in a hug. He talks your ear off for the next couple minutes; you smile when you need to, laugh when you remember.

The yells from the kitchen are playing on repeat in your ears.

They’re talking about you.

The urge to flee tickles the back of your throat. You thought it would be nice to stop by and bring Natalie a coffee, but then you had felt bad about not bringing anything for everyone else, which turned into you jumping behind the bar to make ten drinks. It’s not like you were going to make Morgan, the barista on shift, make them all.

You always had a hard time not working on your days off.

“You should absolutely come!”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You reply, still not fully checked back into your conversation with Neil.

He smiles, “Great! I’ll send you the info!”

Before you can ask what you actually agreed to, Carmy pushes back into the room, to-go container in hand. “Hey, uh, Fak, can you go take a look at the toilet for me?” You barely notice Neil leave, focusing more on how your chest releases as Carmen walks closer to you.

He hands you the container, and you murmur a soft, “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

The thought is nice. Glancing behind him, you see Natalie and Richie watching through the window. “It’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You take a step back just as Carmy reaches out to you. You can’t run, they’d see you. Ask questions. They probably see a caged animal.

“Hey,” he whispers your name, “it’s just me.” He’s repeating the words you said to him the night you were here. You tear your eyes away from the kitchen, looking at him. “Lemme walk you out?”

With a nod, you let him guide you out the front door. The warm summer air washes over your skin, and you take in a deep breath. You count the lines in the sidewalk as you pass them, sipping at your iced latte. “It was cool of you to come by,” Carmy says. “And your jacket’s dope.”

He’s trying to make you feel better.

“Did you just say dope?” You peek over in his direction, catching his shrug. “You’re so old.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, and your smile widens.

You make it to your car, a little thing that has a new problem every other week. It’s been with you for years, moved with you to five different states. More of a sentimental object, than a real mode of transportation. You mostly used CTA these days if you were able, but it was nice to have a car for when you’re running errands all around the city.

“Sorry if they bothered you,” he apologizes, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No, no, no,” you push out the words, throat tightening, arms hugging your middle. “I thought I was going to try to be a human today. May have jumped the gun on that one.” Fiddling with your keys, you continue, “It was nice to see you. Thought you might be a vampire or something, since I only ever see you at night.”

The joke causes Carmy to roll his eyes, “Is that considered a cryptid?”

You perk up at the word, “Oh, don’t get me started.”

He smiles big enough for his dimple to appear, “Oh, yeah?”

“Unless you want me to talk for hours on end. I’ll make a power-point presentation and everything.” You might already have one in the works, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You could - I mean, it wouldn’t bother me. If you did, you know?”

You blink a few times, frozen in shock. He looks shy, almost. Like the first time you met him, but there’s something between you now. A plant that will keep growing - might even bloom - if the two of you keep watering it. He keeps pecking away at your carefully crafted walls that let people see exactly how much you want them to.

Carmen Berzatto keeps seeing you. Whoever that is.

He coughs, scratching the side of his head. “I’ll see you later?”

“You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.”

You walk around to the driver’s side of your car, opening the door. You slide in, turning the key to let your car sputter to life. You roll the windows down, and music starts to blare from your speakers. “Kick ass tonight!” You yell the words as you pull away from the curb. You spare a glance in your rearview, watching Carmy wave before he starts walking back to his restaurant.

When you're parked outside your apartment, it hits you. You dig into your tote bag, pushing aside old receipts, chapstick tubes, and fidget toys. You cheer to yourself as you pull your notebook out, favorite pen hooked over the cover. Flipping to the back, you stare at the list of drinks you've had Carmy try.

You think you want to keep seeing him, too. Whoever that is.

You scribble at the bottom of the page, circling it twice.

Spiced Chai ~ HOT, xtra cinn

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear fanfic #neurodivergent!reader #— moth writes

715 notes · View notes

dyns33 · 2 months ago

Text

Family protection

I missed Alfie during Flufftober, I'm not going to lie, even if it was fun

Thomas Shelby was preoccupied.

No, if he was honest, Thomas was just as terrified and furious at that moment, hurt inside, ready to devastate everything in his path, like every time he was told that a member of his family had been targeted.

It had perhaps been a mistake on his part to believe that it was not necessary to monitor Y/N after her marriage. Solomons' men took care of that.

So, when John had called him in a panic, saying that there were rumors about the kidnapping, or even the murder of their sister, he had at first remained frozen at his desk.

Since Polly had brought her back, this little girl from another mother, also abandoned by their fucking so called father, he had loved her. Maybe even more than the others.

The child was adorable. Shy at first, then smiling, with a crystal-clear laugh, asking for cuddles from her brothers, playing with dolls with her sister, and always wanting to be with them.

Normally, boys didn't accept the presence of girls. Poor Ada knew something about that. But strangely, with Y/N, it was different. Neither he, nor John, nor Arthur, could refuse her anything.

She came with them in the streets, in the countryside, in the trees. There were some limits of course, but he had shown her how to climb, jump, run. How to defend herself, if one strange day they weren't there.

Thomas confided things to her and her only when they were alone. The times he slept in the fields, she came to join him. That was often what pushed him to come home, because he didn't want her to catch her death. She stayed there, glued to him without saying anything, respecting his silence like no other member of his family, and for that, he ended up talking to her.

It was a false secret, that Y/N was his favorite. A secret that didn't bother anyone, since she was everyone's favorite.

So Thomas Shelby was preoccupied, because it was said that something had happened to his little sister, without anyone being able to clearly say what.

"She was in a bookstore." Arthur mumbled. "She goes there several times a month, to get books and read to the kids. They like it, she has a beautiful voice. After the session, she often has tea upstairs with the old owner. Men came in, beat up the employees and customers, before going upstairs. Then there was a fire. We don't know anything else."

"And Mr. Solomons ?"

"Haven't managed to reach him. His little assistant says he's… busy."

You'd think the same guys had come to Camden Town to destroy the King's Bakery. Because everything was in a pathetic state, and it was the doing of one man, who shouted orders from his office when he wasn't breaking anything that came his way.

If Thomas was preoccupied, Alfie had lost his mind.

During an important meeting with the Irish, he had let Ollie handle the business, and since the men had to be watched, it was a new kid who answered the phone.

He learned only two hours after his return that a woman had called. Not just any woman, his wife. Who was worried, because there were men in front of the bookstore, whom she didn't know.

She was smart, his wife. His tender Y/N, well raised by the Shelbys. Even if she was normally safe, she remained wary, thinking of looking behind or through the window, knowing all of her husband's employees.

The incompetents who followed her that day had been found with their throats slit in an alley.

Even though his patient was at his limit, Thomas let Alfie finish his tantrum, noting that he had left only the phone and the record player intact, which was playing opera to try to calm him down.

Y/N had disappeared for four hours now. He wouldn't calm down.

"They would have called, huh ? To give their fucking instructions. Or maybe they're scared, they know that my men, the most competent this time, and yours, are all over town, and that as soon as we know who did this, they'll be dead. But… If they don't have her… Tommy, if they don't have her, if she's in that still smoking pile of ashes… I'll burn everything."

"Arthur and John are going to find her."

"Yeah, huh ? You can sense it with your gypsy powers ? Your witch aunt read the cards and saw that my Y/N was healthy ?"

"Not now, Alfie."

Solomons growled, turning his office chair in anger and slamming it against the floor until it was all crumbs. It was only because it was his wife's family that he was acceptinf Thomas' presence.

And for his part, even though he wanted to blow his head off for not protecting his sister properly, Tommy sat there smoking his cigarette, remembering how it had felt to hold Grace in his arms.

When the phone rang, he stared at it for a moment, before looking at Alfie, frozen in the middle of the room, staring at the wall. He wondered if he hadn't heard, before realizing that the wandering Jew was afraid to answer.

It might have been the famous ransom demand, which would teach them that a lot of harm had been done to Y/N, and much more would come if they didn't do what the kidnappers wanted.

It might also have been the coroner, who had finished putting names on the bodies following the fire.

Slowly, Thomas put down his cigarette, before answering.

"… Tommy ?"

"… Y/N ?"

"Give me that !" ordered Alfie who immediately came back to life, snatching the phone from him before finding a softer voice. "Treacle ? Love ? Are you okay ? Where are you ?"

It turned out that despite the lack of practice, taking young Y/N into the woods to teach her how to climb, jump, play tightrope walkers and hide, had been a good thing.

Realizing that something was happening and since her husband was not reachable, she had climbed through the upstairs window on the courtyard side, hoisting herself up onto the roof, until she found a secluded spot to climb down.

Then, not knowing who to trust, she had stayed hidden until nightfall, to go to the closest and safest place from her position, which was her sister's house.

"Faster, Ismael !"

Thomas could have muttered that it would be better to get to Ada's alive, but he only clung to the door handle while the driver obeyed Mr. Solomons without worrying about pedestrians or other cars.

It was also useless to stop Alfie from jumping onto the sidewalk, forgetting his cane in the car to go and bang on the door like a madman until someone opened it.

Calm only returned when he laid eyes on Y/N, settled in the living room and already surrounded by all the other Shelbys who had been called after them.

"Treacle. Forgive me." he sobbed as he threw himself at her knees, his arms around her and his head against her stomach. "I was so worried, love, I thought I was going to die."

"Oh, Alfie. I'm sorry, I wanted to call you before but I didn't have access to a phone."

"I'm the worst husband. I didn't protect you. If my men weren't dead, I'd slit their throats myself."

"Let's try to talk about something happier." Thomas coughed as he approached, placing a hand on his sister's shoulder who smiled at him. "Did you hurt yourself jumping off the roof ?"

"No, I'm fine. Just a little tired."

"Strange clothes."

"Yes, love. You weren't wearing that this morning."

"Oh, I…" Y/N said, visibly embarrassed. "I may have "borrowed" a disguise. And money. And a car."

"She's our lil sis !" Arthur declared proudly, oblivious to the dark looks from his aunt, sister, brothers, and brother-in-law.

Maybe they had also shown young Y/N how to steal, but only once or twice, for fun, telling her that it was wrong, and that she would never need to do that because they would take care of her.

Alfie mumbled in Hebrew, which made her laugh. Probably insults without malice. He only let go of her to allow the others to kiss her before he took her back to their home, returning worse than a leech at the first opportunity.

When he proposed to add some of his men to Solomons' for her next outings, the king of Candem was at first outraged. He didn't bark only because his wife had already experienced a lot of emotions, but he would not let Thomas humiliate him.

However, in the middle of the night, certainly when Y/N was sleeping, Solomons contacted him.

"How many men, and what price ?"

"I'm the one who feels insulted now, Alfie. She's my sister, that will be the necessary number and for nothing at all."

"Hmm… You know, they all have something to say about you, your siblings. All of them, while you take care of them. I know it, I see it, but they are never happy. But not Y/N. No, my treacle has nothing but compliments for her big brothers, and you the first. Tommy this, Tommy that. She adores you."

"I adore her too."

"Hmm. Not as much as me, and so there will be fewer men than mine, but… I accept the offer."

"Glad we almost agree on something, Mr. Solomons."

He did not sleep that night, because Thomas Shelby was a preoccupied man by nature. By business, by his family, by the future and the past.

But as for his favorite little sister, he could have slept peacefully, knowing that her husband was there to ensure her happiness and protection as he had sworn during their marriage.

And if something were to happen, they would join forces, then Thomas would probably kill Alfie to punish him, if the madman didn't kill himself first to join Y/N whom he loved at least as much as her brother loved her.

#peaky blinders #alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons fanfiction #thomas shelby pov

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holylulusworld · 8 months ago

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Every breath you take (Prologue)

Summary: There is a shadow following you. He doesn’t know what he got himself into.

Pairing: Stalker!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: stalking, being stalked, loneliness, a man out of time

A/N: We start slow to get to know them and their backstory. In this part it's Bucky.

A/N2: You all made me do it! Here’s the series to this random idea: Stalker Bucky & Crazy Reader

Every Breath You Take Masterlist

James Buchanan Barnes lost so much in his life that he doesn’t even know how he keeps on going.

He lost his family.

He lost his life.

He lost his arm.

He lost his freedom.

He lost himself.

He lost his best friend. Steve Rogers - the only person connecting his past with his present. The one promising him till the end of the line. Well, the line wasn’t very long he thinks ever so often.

He walks the streets in a place he doesn’t recognize anymore. In a world that is so different from the one he used to know.

Before Hydra everything was simple.

Now, strangers stare at him, whispering behind his back while others ignore him.

Bucky is not the most social person. He mostly stays to himself. Who wants to befriend the former winter soldier anyway?

In his opinion, it’s for the best to not even try. This doesn’t mean that he never feels lonely. He often strolls through town and watches people with their families.

Bucky wishes he could’ve someone by his side too. A woman who doesn’t judge him for his past, or for the issues he still has.

How does a super-soldier and former brainwashed killer find such a woman?

No woman will ever let him protect and spoil her. That’s all he wants. Find a pretty doll to take care of.

“Coffee. Black,” Bucky gruffly tells the barista his order. All the different drinks on their menu confuse the super-soldier. Why drink an iced coffee with some crazy flavor if you can have the best drink in the world? Black coffee.

The barista smiles at him. Her cheeks dimple and she batts her long fake lashes when Bucky holds her gaze for a moment.

“Thanks,” he pays and tips her well. Bucky may be a lot of things, but he isn’t the kind of person who does not appreciate other people’s work.

“Have a good day,” the woman chirps when he turns around to leave the cafe. Bucky doesn’t react. He stops in his tracks as someone else catches his attention.

“Doll,” Bucky gasps loudly. The woman passing the coffee shop by is the one he almost ran into last month. This must be fate. Right?

He walks out of the coffee shop, to follow the woman. She’s greeting the elderly owner of the bookstore Bucky discovered a few weeks ago.

The man immediately smiles and straightens his back. He makes a joke and calls her by her name. “Hello Y/N!” The man says and waves back.

“Y/N,” Bucky murmurs your name. “Wow…doll…” He’s taken aback. His heart sped up for a second seeing you again. Now that he has heard your voice, he wants it to be the only sound he’ll hear for the rest of his life.

He strolls past the bookstore and follows you along the street. Whenever you stop to look at the window display at the different stores you must pass by to reach your home, he stops too and pretends to be interested in the products he’ll never buy.

At the end of the street, Bucky tilts his head to watch you walk away. He’ll wait a little longer to follow you. The experienced super-soldier doesn’t want to draw attention toward him. He doesn't want to scare you off. All he wants is to get to know you better…

Right across the street. You live right across the street.

Bucky’s heart did somersaults when he followed you to your home only to realize that you were living in the building across the street.

He didn’t try to make friends or to get to know his neighbors. This way he missed that he could look inside your windows.

It’s five hours later that he’s sitting on a chair, in a dark room to watch you talk on the phone. You wrinkle your forehead and close your eyes.

“Hmm…I think she’s having a bad day, Alpine,” Bucky tells his cat while following your every move with his brand-new binoculars. “Maybe we should do something nice for her. Like finding out who made her sad…”

And just like that, Bucky has a new mission...

Every Breath You Take (1)

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #tw: stalking #stalker!bucky barnes x reader #female reader #bucky barnes x you #Every breath you take (Prologue)#bucky barnes x y/n

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missarchive · 1 day ago

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hardcover hearts - spencer reid

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

who? bookstore owner spencer reid x fem!reader

category: fluff, smut, awkward hopeless romantic!spencer

content warnings: NSFW MDNI!! loss of virginity, unprotected p in v, sub!spencer, dom!reader, fade to black smut

word count: 4.5k

a/n: finally clearing out my drafts! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated.

You’re not sure when it started. Maybe it was the first time you walked into the little bookstore tucked into a quiet corner of the city. Or perhaps it was the second time, where you lingered just long enough to notice the awkwardly endearing owner behind the counter, his messy hair and kind smile hard to miss. Whatever it was, you found yourself coming back every Friday, drawn to both the books and the man who sold them.

The owner, Spencer Reid, seemed as much a part of the bookstore as the shelves themselves. It was his dream come to life–a cozy haven filled with the stories he loved. And, while he wasn't exactly outgoing, there was something charming about the way he awkwardly pushed his glasses up on the days he wore them, or rambled when you asked for a recommendation.

Today was no different. Or, at least, it didn't start out that way.

You stepped into the shop, the bell above the door chiming softly. Spencer was behind the counter, organising a stack of novels. When he looked up and saw you, his eyes widened slightly, and he nearly dropped the books in his hands.

“Hi, Spencer,” you greeted, offering him a warm smile.

“H-Hi,” he stammered, fumbling to adjust his glasses. “Good to see you. Uh, new arrivals are on the table by the window, if you’re interested.”

“Perfect,” you replied, heading toward the display.

As you browsed, you felt his gaze on you now and then, though he quickly looked away whenever you glanced in his direction. It was cute, how shy he was. You spent some time scanning the shelves, fingers grazing the spines of books, before finally making your selection and heading back to the counter.

When you placed the book in front of him, you couldn’t help but notice his reaction. Spencer’s face turned bright red as he glanced down at the title—a spicy romance novel with a sultry cover that left little to the imagination.

“This one caught my eye,” you said, trying to sound casual but secretly amused by his flustered expression.

“O-Oh,” he stammered, fumbling with the scanner. “That’s, uh, a good choice. I mean, it’s very… popular.”

“You’ve read it?” you teased, watching as his blush deepened.

“What? No!” he blurted, then immediately winced at his own outburst. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with reading it. It’s just not, uh, my usual genre.”

You laughed softly, enjoying how endearing he was. “It’s okay, Spencer. I’m sure it’ll be a… fun read.”

He nodded wordlessly, scanning the book and placing it carefully in a bag as if it were fragile. When he handed it to you, his fingers brushed yours, and you felt a small spark that made your stomach flutter.

“Thanks,” you said, lingering just a moment longer. “See you next week?”

“Y-Yeah. See you next week,” he replied, his voice barely audible.

As you walked out the door, you glanced back to see him sitting down behind the counter, his face buried in his hands. You couldn’t help but smile, wondering if he’d ever work up the courage to say more. Until then, you’d keep coming back, hoping that one day he might make the first move. After all, you had plenty of time—and plenty of books to read.

Friday had rolled around again, and as usual, you found yourself eagerly stepping into Spencer’s bookstore. The familiar chime of the bell felt like a call to a place that was quickly becoming your favorite corner of the world.

Spencer was at the counter, as always, fiddling with a stack of receipts. His cardigan today was navy blue, and his hair had that perpetually tousled look that you were starting to associate with him. When he noticed you, his eyes widened slightly, and his hands froze mid-motion.

“H-Hi,” he greeted, his voice a bit higher-pitched than usual.

“Hi, Spencer,” you replied, giving him a warm smile. “How’s it going?”

“It’s, um, good. Quiet morning,” he said, quickly adjusting his glasses, though they didn’t look even remotely out of place. “And you? Finding anything interesting?”

“Not yet,” you said, heading to the shelves. “But I’m sure I will.”

You browsed for a bit, your fingers tracing over the spines of books. You could feel Spencer’s gaze flitting toward you every so often, though he tried to look busy whenever you turned around. Finally, you selected a new title—a romantic suspense novel with a rather provocative cover.

When you placed it on the counter, Spencer’s reaction was immediate. His face turned an unmistakable shade of red, and his mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came out. He stared at the book for a moment too long before fumbling with the scanner.

“This one looks fun,” you said casually, watching his expression closely.

“F-Fun,” he repeated, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s… popular. A lot of people seem to, um, enjoy it.”

You bit back a grin as he carefully bagged the book, avoiding your gaze entirely. But instead of handing it over right away, Spencer hesitated. His fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the bag, and his brow furrowed as if he were wrestling with something internally.

“Is everything okay?” you asked gently.

He glanced up at you, his eyes wide and nervous. “I—I need to ask you something. Or, um, say something. If that’s okay.”

“Of course,” you said, curiosity piqued.

Spencer set the bag down and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a telltale sign of his nervousness. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before finally speaking.

“I—uh, I can’t stop thinking about the books you’ve been buying,” he blurted, his words rushing out in a tumble. “Not in a bad way! It’s just—they’re very… romantic. And… intimate. And I guess I just started wondering if—if you read them because you like the stories, or because…”

His voice trailed off, and he looked absolutely mortified. You tilted your head, letting him flounder for a moment before gently prompting, “Because…?”

“Because I don’t know anything about that stuff!” he admitted, his cheeks blazing. “I mean, I’ve read about it, obviously—academically. But I’ve never… I’m not exactly… experienced. And it made me realize how, um, unprepared I’d be if—if someone ever expected me to…”

He cut himself off, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my God. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. Please forget I said that.”

Your heart softened at his vulnerable confession. Slowly, you reached out and touched his hand, coaxing him to look up.

“Spencer,” you said gently, your tone free of judgment. “It’s okay. Really.”

He peeked at you through his fingers, his expression equal parts mortified and hopeful. “It is?”

“Yes,” you assured him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s actually kind of… sweet that you’re so honest about it. Most people wouldn’t admit something like that.”

Spencer exhaled shakily, lowering his hands. “I just… I didn’t want you to think I’m avoiding the topic because I’m, uh, judging you or anything. It’s the opposite, actually. I think you’re…”

He stopped himself, clearly unsure if he should continue.

“You think I’m…?” you prompted, your heart beating a little faster.

“I think you’re amazing,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours. “And way out of my league. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Or the books you’ve been buying. And I—” He swallowed hard. “I don’t want to mess this up by being… me.”

Your chest tightened at his earnestness. “Spencer,” you said, your voice warm. “You’re not going to mess anything up. If anything, you’re the reason I keep coming back here.”

His eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really,” you said, smiling. “And for the record, I think it’s brave of you to admit all of this. It makes me like you even more.”

Spencer blinked, as if your words didn’t compute right away. “You… like me?”

“I do,” you said simply. “And if you want, maybe we could… take things slow? Get to know each other better? No expectations, just us?”

A small, tentative smile broke across Spencer’s face. “I’d like that. A lot.”

You took the bag from the counter, your fingers brushing his as you did. “Good. Then it’s a date.”

Spencer’s blush returned full force, but this time, there was a spark of confidence in his eyes. “A date,” he echoed, his voice soft but certain.

As you left the store, you glanced back and saw him standing there, still looking a little dazed but undeniably happy. You couldn’t wait to see what came next.

You couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves as you walked into the small café where you and Spencer had agreed to meet. It wasn’t far from the bookstore, and the cozy ambiance—a mix of soft lighting and the smell of fresh coffee—felt like the perfect backdrop for your first date.

Spencer was already there, sitting at a small table by the window. He was fidgeting with his watch, glancing at the door every few seconds. When he saw you, his face lit up, and he quickly stood, almost knocking over his chair in the process.

“Hi,” he said, his voice just a little too loud before he cleared his throat and tried again. “Hi.”

“Hi, Spencer,” you replied, smiling at his endearing nervousness.

“I, uh, got us a table,” he said, gesturing awkwardly. “It’s by the window because I thought you might like the view. But if you don’t, we can move. Or—”

“This is perfect,” you interrupted gently, taking the seat across from him.

He visibly relaxed, sitting down as well. A server appeared, and you both placed your orders—coffee for him, tea for you, and a couple of pastries to share.

“So,” Spencer began once the server left, clasping his hands on the table. “I, um, did some research on first dates.”

“You did research?” you asked, amused but not surprised.

“Yes,” he admitted, blushing. “I wanted to make sure I, uh, didn’t mess this up. Apparently, asking questions is a good way to, um, get to know someone better.”

“You’re doing great so far,” you assured him.

He smiled, his nerves slowly giving way to that boyish charm you were growing so fond of. “Okay. So, um… what made you start coming to the bookstore? Was it just the books, or…?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Well, the books were part of it. But the owner? He might’ve been the bigger reason.”

Spencer blinked, caught off guard. “Me? Why me?”

“Why not you?” you countered. “You’re smart, sweet, and passionate about what you do. Plus, you have great taste in quotes.”

He ducked his head, clearly flustered. “That’s, um, very kind of you to say.”

“It’s true,” you said firmly.

Spencer’s coffee arrived, sickly sweet, giving him a moment to recover. He stirred it thoughtfully before glancing up at you, his expression more serious now.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“Of course.”

“It’s about the books,” he admitted, his blush deepening. “The, um, romance ones you’ve been buying.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “What about them?”

“I’ve just been… curious,” he said, stumbling over his words. “About what you like about them. Not that there’s anything wrong with liking them! I just—well, I don’t really understand the appeal. But I want to.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his earnestness. “Are you asking because you want to understand me better?”

“Yes,” he admitted without hesitation.

Your heart swelled at his honesty. “Well, for me, it’s not just about the romance or the steamy parts—though those can be fun,” you said, watching his blush deepen. “It’s about the connection between the characters. The tension, the buildup, the way they overcome obstacles to be together. It’s… exciting and comforting all at once.”

Spencer nodded thoughtfully, his brows furrowed in concentration. “So it’s about the emotional journey, not just the… physical aspects?”

“Exactly,” you said. “Though I won’t lie—the physical parts are written pretty well too.”

Spencer’s ears turned bright red, and he took a long sip of his coffee to hide his face. You laughed softly, reaching across the table to touch his hand.

“Spencer,” you said, your tone light but sincere. “You don’t have to worry about comparing yourself to fictional characters. You’re already more thoughtful and charming than most of them.”

“Really?” he asked, his voice small but hopeful.

“Really,” you said, squeezing his hand.

He smiled, a genuine, heart-melting smile that made you forget about everything else around you.

The rest of the date passed in a blur of conversation and laughter. Spencer opened up about his love of obscure literature and his dream of turning his bookstore into a community hub for readers. You told him more about yourself, and by the time the check came, it felt like you’d known each other for years.

As you left the café, Spencer walked you to your car, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He hesitated for a moment before saying, “This was… really nice. Better than I thought I’d be at, honestly.”

“You did great,” you assured him, stepping closer. “I had a wonderful time.”

“So did I,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours.

For a moment, it felt like the world paused. Then, tentatively, Spencer leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek. It was quick and sweet, but it left you feeling warm all over.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“Goodnight, Spencer,” you replied, smiling as you got into your car.

Just as Spencer turned to head back toward the bookstore, you rolled down your window and called out, “Spencer, wait!”

He stopped mid-step, turning to look at you with wide eyes.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” you asked, your voice soft but sure.

His surprise melted into a shy, hopeful smile. “I’d like that.”

The ride to your apartment was quiet, but the tension between you was undeniable. Spencer sat with his hands tightly clasped, his gaze flickering to you every so often. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was charged, like the moment before a storm.

Inside, you gestured toward the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab us some tea.”

He hesitated for a second before perching on the edge of the couch, his eyes scanning the room like he was trying to take in every detail. By the time you returned, he’d stood again, nervously wandering over to your bookshelf.

His fingers brushed one of the novels you’d recently bought, and when you handed him his mug, he was staring at the sultry cover. “This one…” he murmured, trailing off as his face flushed.

You set your tea down and stepped closer, gently taking the book from his hands and placing it back on the shelf. “Forget about that,” you said softly, your voice steady.

Spencer turned to you, his face still flushed, his lips slightly parted as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. You smiled, stepping closer, until you were just inches apart.

When your hand reached up to brush a curl from his forehead, he froze, his breath catching. Slowly, you let your fingers trail down to his jaw, cupping it gently. His skin was warm under your touch, his pulse racing beneath your fingertips.

The first kiss was soft, tentative. You barely brushed your lips against his, testing the waters. Spencer exhaled sharply, his hands twitching at his sides before finally landing on your waist.

When you kissed him again, he responded more eagerly, leaning into you as his grip on your hips tightened. His movements were unpolished, hesitant, but there was something intoxicating about his inexperience—the way he kissed you like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

You guided him gently, deepening the kiss as you pressed closer, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. A soft sound escaped him, half-surprise, half-pleasure, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

Spencer pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His lips were slightly swollen, his expression caught between awe and uncertainty.

You didn’t give him time to overthink. You tugged him down onto the couch, straddling his lap as his hands instinctively found your waist again. His touch was tentative but firm, his fingers curling against your sides as if he was afraid to let go.

When your lips found his again, Spencer let out a quiet groan, the sound muffled against your mouth. His awkwardness was still there, but it was paired with a growing confidence as he followed your lead, his kisses becoming bolder, deeper.

Your mouth tastes like honey, and his lips are warm and soft. The contrast makes him smile into the kiss, pulling back ever-so-slightly, looking down at you and taking his lower lip between his teeth. He looks sheepish, but also pleased with himself.

He was shy, hesitant, and extremely adorable.

"Can we do that again?" He asks, a little breathlessly, his eyes hopeful.

"Sure, Spence, anything you want," You smile softly, cupping his cheeks and bringing his face down towards yours.

Spencer lets out a noise halfway between a groan and a whimper when your tongues meet. His arms tighten around your waist and he pulls you closer, pressing his body against yours.

His hands are large, and hot, and they almost cover your back as his fingertips draw patterns across your skin.

"Have you done this before, Spencer?"

He blushes. "Y-yeah, uhm… actually no. I- I mean I’ve kissed people before! I just-”

You quickly cut him off, pressing a finger to his plush, pink lips. “Let me lead you.’

He nods, his gaze dropping to your lips as his breathing picks up. You smile, tilting his chin up and kissing him softly, his lips parting instantly for you.

You pull back a few moments later, his eyes dark and full of longing as he stares at you.

"Lay down and let me take care of you, pretty boy."

"O-okay." He whispers, nodding his head and moving to the floor, lying on his back.

You crawl over him, his breath hitching as you position yourself above his hips. You can feel the hardness of his cock through the material of his pants and you press yourself down against it, drawing a low moan from his throat.

He closes his eyes, his lips parting as he lets out a soft gasp. His hands reach up to grip your hips, pulling you closer as his breathing grows faster.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his eyes still closed as he rocks his hips upwards. You can feel him growing harder and thicker with each movement, and you press down harder, rubbing yourself against him.

"Please," He whines, his hands fumbling at the front of your dress. "I need- I want-"

"Shh, it's okay, Spencer. I've got you."

He lets out a shaky breath, nodding his head. His fingers slip beneath the hem of your dress and slide over your thighs, moving upwards until they brush the edges of your underwear. You shift slightly, allowing him better access.

He lets out a soft gasp as his fingers brush over the wet spot on the fabric, his cock twitching against your core. You roll your hips against his, feeling his length harden beneath you, and his eyes flutter open, looking up at you with a desperate, pleading expression.

"I'm yours, Spencer. Take what you need."

"God," He whispers, his voice breaking. "I want you so badly."

He surges up, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue seeking yours out. You moan into his mouth, pressing your hips harder against his.

"Take it, baby," you whisper, your lips brushing against his as you break the kiss, leaning down to press your mouth to the delicate curve of his neck. Your tongue flicks against his pulse point before you suck gently, drawing a needy whimper from him. His breath is ragged, his chest heaving as his hands grip your hips like you might slip away.

His fingers tremble as they venture beneath the waistband of your panties, the tentative touch sending a shiver racing down your spine. “Please,” he whispers, voice breaking, raw with need. “Just want to feel you.”

With shaking hands, he eases the fabric down your legs, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of awe and hunger. His fingers ghost over your inner thighs, exploring the soft skin with a featherlight touch. His breath catches audibly when his fingertips graze over your warmth, the slickness there making his movements glide effortlessly.

Slowly, tentatively, he drags his fingers up through your folds, his touch hesitant but electrifying. The warmth of your arousal coats his digits, allowing them to press into you with ease. You gasp softly at the intrusion, your hips rolling forward instinctively, grinding against his hand as you bury your face into the crook of his neck.

Your lips trace a line along his jaw, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses that make him shudder beneath you. His voice is barely audible when he chokes out, “Like this?” His brows furrow with concentration, his inexperience evident but endearing.

Your walls flutter around him, pulling him deeper, and he groans low in his throat. “Yes,” you breathe, your voice hitching as you rock against his hand. “Just like that.”

You lift yourself slightly, reaching between you to help free him from his boxers. His cock springs free, hard and aching, the tip brushing against your entrance and sending a jolt of heat through you both.

He groans, his head falling back, lips parted as he struggles to catch his breath. His eyelids flutter closed, and his hands grip your hips, tentative but steady, guiding you as you sink down onto him. A low moan escapes you as he fills you, the stretch delicious and all-consuming, igniting a slow, smouldering heat that spreads through your entire body.

You pause for a moment, savouring the way he feels inside you, how perfectly he fits. Beneath you, Spencer’s breath hitches, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow gasps. His fingers tighten against your skin, trembling slightly as though he’s barely holding himself together.

“Look at you,” you murmur, your voice low and sultry as you brush a hand through his sweat-damp curls. “So fucking pretty, Spencer. You feel so good inside me.”

His eyes flutter open at your words, wide and glassy with awe. “You—you’re incredible,” he stammers, his voice cracking slightly.

You smile, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth, your hips starting to roll in slow, deliberate movements. “Doing so well f’me, baby,” you praise, your voice breathy. “Fill me up so nicely.”

A deep groan escapes him, his grip on your hips growing firmer as he instinctively lifts his own to meet your movements. His inexperience is evident in the unsteady rhythm, but the sincerity and hunger behind every thrust make your stomach tighten with pleasure.

“That’s it, Spencer,” you murmur, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “Just like that. Keep going, baby—making me feel so good.”

He gasps, the sound turning into a soft whimper as you grind down on him harder, taking him even deeper. “I-I can’t believe this,” he breathes, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re so perfect, I don’t—God, I don’t deserve this.”

You pull back just enough to cup his jaw, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Hey,” you whisper, your tone firm but tender. “Don’t say that. You’re amazing, Spencer. You deserve this—you deserve everything.”

His lips part, but whatever words he might have said are lost in a broken moan as you start moving faster, your hips rocking in a steady rhythm that has him gripping you tighter, his nails pressing into your skin.

“Feel how wet you make me?” you murmur, your voice dripping with heat as you guide his hand down between your bodies, letting his fingers brush against where your bodies are joined. “That’s all for you, Spencer. You’re driving me crazy.”

He groans deeply, his eyes squeezing shut as his hand lingers there, his touch hesitant but electrifying. “I—I’ve never...” His voice trails off into a shuddering gasp as you grind against him harder.

“You’re perfect,” you whisper, your lips brushing against his neck as you kiss and suck at the sensitive skin there. “So good for me. You feel so good inside me, baby. Keep going—don’t stop.”

His breathing grows more ragged, his movements becoming erratic as his control begins to slip. His hips jerk upward, meeting yours with increasing desperation, and he chokes out a shaky moan.

“God, I—I don’t think I can hold it,” he stammers, his voice breaking.

“Don’t hold back,” you murmur, your own voice trembling with pleasure. “I want to feel you, Spencer. Cum for me, baby. Let me see how good I make you feel.”

His entire body tenses as he gasps, “m gonna cum.” His fingers dig into the soft curve of your waist, holding you firmly in place as his hips buck upward, driving himself deeper into your heat.

“That’s right,” you murmur, your voice a breathy encouragement as you move with him. “Cum for me, baby.”

The words push him over the edge. His back arches off the couch, his face contorting with pure, unfiltered pleasure as his release takes over. His cock pulses inside you, the sensation leaving you breathless as his cries fill the room, raw and beautiful.

You watch him fall apart beneath you, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his hands clutching your hips as though grounding himself. His eyes squeeze shut, his head thrown back, and his lips form your name like a prayer.

As his orgasm subsides, he gasps, his hips still moving reflexively, as though he can’t let go of the moment. You run a hand through his sweat-damp curls, your touch soothing as his breathing begins to slow.

“So perfect,” you whisper, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

His eyes flutter open, dazed and glassy, and he gazes at you with something like reverence. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice shaky and soft.

You smile, brushing your thumb over his flushed cheek. “You’re welcome, sweet boy.”

With care, you lift yourself off of him, both of you wincing at the loss of connection. You settle beside him, pulling a blanket over your bodies, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along his chest as he drifts into a contented haze.

And there, in the quiet aftermath, you feel his hand find yours, holding it tightly as though grounding himself in you.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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jhilsara · 1 month ago

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Of Bookstore, Coffees, and Late Nights

Sunshine!Reader/Southern!Reader/Plus Sized!Reader

Summary: After Spencer is shot he can't do much in the field for a while, being stuck to the offices in Quantico. His insomnia starts to amp up and instead of an urge for McDonald's at 1 AM he finds himself desperate for a new book and a coffee. Somehow, he finds the Midnight Owl, the late night bookstore/cafe open at weird hours with a cute southern co owner who probably gets the same amount of sleep as he does.

She also makes the best coffee that is disgustingly sweet. Exactly how he likes it.

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: Mentions of Season 5 100 episode and canon typical BAU themes

|Next

The one with the late night bookstore

If Spencer could pace, he would, but his new semi-permanent crutch situation was impeding his mobility. He hasn’t been able to sleep, much less relax with the knowledge of Hotch being stabbed by George Foyet in his own home. Or how it’s clear that Foyet is playing an extreme game with the BAU, but mostly Hotch. Spencer didn’t even want to think about poor Haley and Jack being thrown into witness protection. These were scenarios Spencer knew came with the job he does, but seeing it happen to people he knows and cares about, makes his stomach churn. He couldn’t imagine if it was his own mother being threatened. It sends a cold chill down his back. He needs a distraction.

Spencer’s eyes drag over to his used and abused bookshelf. Looking through his collection trying to find something to read. Even for a distraction he’s not very interested in rereading any of the texts on his shelf. His go to comfort of Sherlock Holmes doesn’t even seem all that appealing at the moment. He needs something that isn’t about criminals or detectives right now. Too bad nothing else on his shelf seemed to catch his eye. Spencer eyes his clock and the analog clock on his wall tells him it’s two in the morning. He’d be lucky if anything besides a dingy twenty-four-hour cafe was open, much less a bookstore.

He sighs and looks over at his discarded laptop on his desk. He boots it up to see if maybe he could at least check how early the library opened. He could try to sleep but his insomnia was eating away at him, trying to focus on anything else but work seemed harder and harder. Spencer had to get out of his apartment. He looks up the library hours as well as a few bookstores. Just trying to see how soon he could sit down and avoid the never-ending running of his brain. He’s surprised when he finds a bookstore that was advertising its hours as open. Surely that was wrong. He spots the phone number on the webpage, and he decides to call to double check.

The line rings for roughly two seconds before it’s picked up, a melodic voice on the other line states, “Midnight Owl, this is Y/N how can I help you?” The cadence of the woman’s voice much too chipper for the middle of the night.

Spencer’s shocked into silence for a moment before he responds, “I thought the hours posted were wrong...” He finds himself stating.

“Nope!” She replies, unbothered by his blunt response. “We’re open 24/5, only closed on Fridays and Saturdays!” She tells him brightly, “You wouldn’t be the first to call thinking we posted our hours wrong though. More common than you think.”

He coughs awkwardly and finds himself nodding even though she can’t see it. “Okay, great, thank you so much.”

“Not a problem, swing by some time we have the best drinks crafted by yours truly!” She jokes with a soft laugh trailing her sentence. She drawls out the end of her words in a way that has them twisting together as sweet as the tea he’s almost positive she drinks.

“Have a good night.” He states before hanging up the phone.

He looks at the address listed and finds that it’s just up the street, barely a block away.

Spencer eyes his crutches for a moment debating on whether he should go or not. His good leg shakes in anxious movements as he sits on his couch. What were the odds that there was a bookstore up his block that was open at odd hours that catered to him? He knew the odds; they were incredibly low . He shrugs to himself and hobbles to grab his crutches, he’ll check it out. Why the hell not? If it’s too good to be true he can add it to the list of places he’ll never visit again like that one coffee shop downtown that burns everything he’s ever ordered.

He desperately needs to get out of his apartment.

Y/N’s night at the Midnight Owl was going slowly. You had a few regulars wander in, which you were happy about since the store had only officially been open for four months. There was a couple that sat on the loveseat in the cafe every Thursday night reading their books together and drinking the cafe’s famous homemade lavender lemonade. Not that you could brag about it, your co-owner makes pastries and premade drinks. All homemade family recipes. On the opposite side of the store was the guy who came in every other day to check for anything new. He grabs a coffee and roams the stacks for an hour. Sometimes he buys, sometimes he doesn’t. He comes in at the same time though, so you’re pretty sure he works a graveyard shift.

There were a couple of students at a table in the cafe section clearly up studying and writing papers. The semester for school had only just started a month ago, but the influx of students coming and going was increasing by the day.

You loved your little bookstore, and during the day it was popping. A rising trendy place for local university students. You preferred the quiet of the nights though. It gave you time to make orders for books, restock, and change out displays. It was methodical cleaning and sorting that kept you sane. Your daytime life was overly complicated and having your own corner of the world was nice. It felt like a safe bubble that didn’t necessarily feel like work.

You’re in the middle of compiling a list of books to reorder that have already sold out when the front doorbell chimes telling her someone just entered. You are behind a stack finishing what you're writing on your notepad when you calls out, “Be right there!”

You bound around the stack to the counter to meet the newcomer, “Welcome in! How can I help you?” you asked happily pushing your hair behind your ear nervously.

You scan the guy from head to toe, he’s definitely new. He looks like a grad student, probably around your age. His mousy brown hair is tied back into a low ponytail and he’s in a well-worn Caltech shirt and sweatpants. The oddest thing about him is the crutches he’s sporting as he comes in. You send him a warm smile.

Spencer looks at the woman standing at the counter and finds you’re not what he expected you to be. You look like the moon; you have features that are soft and delicate, and your eyes shine with the bright ambience of the bookstore. Spencer almost loses his train of thought as he takes in the bookstore worker’s features that just made you seem so inviting.

It takes a second before he registers that you asked him a question. “Oh, yes,” he rushes out awkwardly. “Is the cafe still open?” He questions, tilting his head to the empty-looking bar on the other side.

You nod happily, “It is! I’m the only one who works the night shift, so I run the register and the cafe. Would you like something?” you ask him, already walking toward the counter that holds the cabinet of pastries and coffee machines.

“A latte would be great actually.” He says in a much clearer voice.

“Can do.” You grin at him radiantly and it’s so infectious he finds himself returning one. You turn and almost have a skip to your step as you walk, far too awake for him to deem reasonable for two in the morning.

Spencer watches her as he slowly moves forward on his crutches, she almost dances around the machines as she makes his latte. She’s humming to the music that he’s finally registered playing in the bookstore. She’s radiating a warmth that Spencer doesn’t get to see much day to day except for the one and only, Penelope Garcia. Garcia looked and acted like the sun, one giant ball of pink and blonde energy. He watches the worker move around her workstation making his latte and it’s seamless how she moves, it’s her second nature. She’s just at ease here, which settles his uneasy nerves about trying a new place out in the middle of the night. He looks around and sees a few people mingling about.

Spencer takes time to look around the store and notices how it feels much more lived in than any box stores he’s been to. The overhead lights aren’t fluorescent like a normal store but a few well-placed wooden chandeliers that are carved to look like vines. Every other light is a floor light or table lamp that has mismatched covers and stained glass. He turns to the large windows, and he guesses the store probably gets great sunshine when it’s daylight. The multiple house plants by the window and on the empty tables being a good indicator. The ambiance is so inviting, not to mention the amount of comfortable faux leather seating he sees.

He could imagine spending a lot of time here, it was just so cozy. Spencer can’t imagine he would have missed this place opening but with all the cases they’ve been busy with, he actually isn’t surprised at all.

He’s brought out of his thoughts by her placing the drink on the pickup bar, “So what ails you?” Your voice carries to him, and you tilt your head waiting patiently.

“Excuse me?” He finds himself stuttering out.

You shrug nonchalantly, “Well, it’s the middle of the night and I’ve never seen your face in here before.” You state the fact like it's so obvious.

“So, what’s buggin’ you?” Your voice drawls out sweetly as you look at him expectantly.

It’s almost like the lights in the cafe frame her from behind, bright and dazzling. She’s clearly personable and Spencer isn’t used to people with Y/N’s personality being overtly kind to him. He’ll see how long it takes her to dismiss him like most people do. It doesn’t annoy him like it used to, he expects it really. Especially when his own team and friends do it almost regularly.

You are waiting patiently for his response with unwavering kind eyes.

“Insomnia,” He settled on admitting to you, he gave you a tight lined frown. “I needed a new book; I’ve read through my catalog.”

Your eyes light up, “That’s my specialty! I mean, I make a mean latte, but my favorite part of this place is the books.” you whispered conspiratorially.

“So,” you come around from the back of the bar and put your hands on your hips, “What genre were you looking for? Or was it a specific book?” you ask him.

“Fantasy, preferably. I’ve read all of Tolkien and Gaiman’s works.” He tells you.

You nod in understanding your eyes giving a quick look of him from head to toe, “You look like a man who’s read The Hobbit and American Gods .” You said, almost more so to herself.

Spencer gives you a quizzical look, unsure if he should be insulted or not. You read his face and your own cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your hands start moving exaggeratedly as your voice pitches, “Not in a bad way! I promise, I’m here for a well-read person! Not that you have to have read those two authors to be well read, I just-” You take a deep breath and stop yourself.

“Sorry, I just mean, you look like you’ve probably read some of the most popular titles in that genre.” Your voice grows smaller, and your face is bright in a flush as you rush through your words, drawling them out in that voice that sounds like sugar. You bite the inside of your cheek forcing yourself to stop talking.

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head, “I get it, you’re good.” He tells you reassuringly.

You sigh in relief, pushing your hair out of your face nervously, “Sorry, I really didn’t mean anything by it. I just meant you probably want something different and not recommended every time you ask for fantasy.”

Spencer just gives you a smile, “I appreciate it.” He shifts his weight on his crutches to awkwardly sip his latte.

You usher him over to one of the comfortable chairs with a nice side table lamp that has beautiful green and red stained-glass roses on it.

“Here sit, I’ll grab some recommendations, and you can let me know what you think.” You don’t even give him a chance to rebuttal before you’re off and disappear into the stacks.

The silence that followed her absence was overwhelmingly loud, except for the soft music playing from the speakers. Spencer takes his time drinking his latte and it’s delicious. Better than the place the BAU grabs coffee from, and much better than whatever was in their coffee pot at the office.

You pop back out from the stacks within ten minutes holding at least five book options for him to sort through.

“These all have different sub-genres but are fantasy in nature. Let me know if any look good to you.” You hand them over to him happily. He notices you biting the inside of your cheek again, as you watch him look over the books.

You’re rocking on your feet, as you watch Spencer thumb through the books, reading the summaries keeping his face neutral. You start picking at your nails trying not to seem like a dog waiting for its owner. You should busy yourself with something else besides trying to gauge Spencer’s reaction to the books, but you can’t help it.

Spencer pauses on a book with a bright colorful cover that was in the middle of the stack. It’s the only one he pauses on and your face lights up.

“I loved Howl’s Moving Castle !” Your voice pitches up in enthusiasm. You start talking with your hands again, “It’s fun, and the cast of characters who, in a magical world, feel so relatable. The two leads also have great dialogue! I was genuinely laughing out loud.” Your face splits into a grin as you explain the book to Spencer without spoiling anything.

You are so filled with joy as you talk about the book, it doesn’t take him but a second of listening to you to know he’s sold. He’s reading this, your genuine joy selling him on it. He doesn’t have to look through the rest of the stack, though he’s sure you’ve likely read all the books you offered him.

“I’ll take it.” He said, moving to stand up to purchase it at the counter.

You move to stop him, “Don’t worry about it! You can pay on your way out. You look like you’ve been struggling with those crutches.” You tell him waving him back down to sit.

“Just relax, drink and read. It’s what the Midnight Owl’s for.” You chirp happily shooting him a triumphant look as you move to walk back to the counter.

You go back to working on creating an order for books back at the checkout counter. You have the work desktop open back to the list of books you were cross referencing for prices. You go back and forth from looking at your handwritten list to researching prices from different distributors.

The couple who was there earlier finally get up, waving goodbye to Y/N.

“Have a great night y’all! See you next week.” You tell them with your own wave that’s brief as you make the order.

The only noise in the store is some shuffling and the music playing overhead and you humming along to it. It’s a mix CD you burned a few years back and most of the songs are still your favorite. You keep meaning to make a new one, but you just haven’t had time. Your eyes wander from your computer to check on your new customer reading in the corner. You don’t want to hover, but you try to gauge if he’ll be a regular or not. You hope so, he seemed nice enough.

Spencer can feel her eyes on him occasionally, he can see her fidgeting behind the counter. Every other song he can spot her leaning out of the corner of his eye to look over to him. He tries to hide his grin; he knows that look well. She’s trying to see if he’s enjoying the book. Spencer tries to read at a normal pace, even though he can read twenty thousand words per minute, that defeats the purpose of him trying to get out of his apartment to just devour this book. Plus, he kind of enjoys watching the store clerk.

She’s full of energy and he has no idea where it comes from, but it’s almost a nervous energy. She’s constantly moving, either fidgeting or walking through the stacks to check or tidy the books. She’s also passed in front of him a few times to check the cafe machines or even grab a pastry he’s sure has been there for too long, and she feels bad about selling it.

Spencer stays there for a few hours; he really doesn’t notice how long until the door opens and the bell chimes again.

“Morning!” The new woman cheers sleepily.

You wave at her, “Morning Josie. There are still a few pastries left from yesterday, but I put them in the back fridge for you.”

The new woman, Josie, waved back, “Thanks, I’m going to prep for today.”

Spencer finally looks at the time and realizes it’s five in the morning, he sighs standing up. He grabs his crutches and pushes himself toward the counter to pay for his book. If he’s lucky he could get an hour or two of a nap before work.

He gently slides the book over to you and your whole face brightens, “Have you liked it so far?” you asked him.

Spencer grins “It’s charming. You were right about the cast; it’s a great blend of characters that shouldn’t fit as well as they do together.”

You nod excitedly. “I don’t know if you’ve gotten to a certain part, but I won’t spoil it, I loved how they explain the magic that affects Sophie! It was a fun book.”

Spencer hands over some cash to pay for his book. “I’ve liked it so far. I’ll have to ask for another recommendation.” He tells you.

If you were a dog, your ears would be pointed up and tail wagging, you cannot contain your pure joy.

“Absolutely! Anytime, it’s one of my favorite things.” You push your hair back and you look down at the table nervously pushing his book back toward him with his change.

“I’m always happy to see a returning face.” You said looking up at him, your eyes sparkling. “I’m Y/N by the way, I don’t know if I introduced myself.”

Spencer takes the book and his change; you smile brilliantly at him, and he feels a little enchanted by the bookstore clerk. He returns it. “Spencer. It was nice to meet you.”

He gives you a small wave before walking out, crutches pushing him forward.

The one about Halloween

You have decided that you do not care if it’s only September, you are decorating for Halloween. Maybe it’s that you’re festive or maybe it’s from growing up in a southern community that went all out for decorations, but you are determined that the Midnight Owl will be the place to be for October. You’ve also planned a few events for the spooky month for all ages.

There are a few reading hours planned for children during the day, costume contests, and some trick or treat candy lined up to buy. Your shopping list was filling up quickly. For the nighttime events you’ve gotten together with Josie to throw a movie night every Sunday night at eight in October. You’ve already planned a lineup of movies to play and popcorn to order. You still can’t decide on having two movies or not, a family friendly one first and then a scary one. She’ll figure it out.

To say that you are bubbling with excitement is an understatement.

You're in the middle of dragging out one of the boxes of decorations from the attic when the door chimes open.

“Welcome in! Help yourself to shop or if you wait a few minutes, I can fix you a drink at the cafe!” You shout from behind the large box you’re carrying. It’s not heavy, filled mostly with paper and plastic decorations. The box itself is just quite large, and it blocks your view when you walk.

“What are you doing?” A soft chuckle passes through, and you recognize it immediately. It’s your new favorite regular.

You set the box down in a huff behind the counter and look at Spencer exasperatedly.

“If you must know, I’m preparing for Halloween.” You said matter-of-factly.

Spencer’s hazel eyes light up, the same way he gets when he’s about to tell you a long list of facts about something. You love it when he gets excited. It’s contagious.

“Oh, please continue then. It’s never too early for Halloween.” He said happily.

You let out a burst of laughter and it echoes in the room, “Thank you! Finally, someone who understands.” You tease him.

Spencer’s been coming in almost every night since his first visit. It’s only been a month, but you love talking to Spencer. He’s full of endless information and he loves to read just as much, if not more, than you do.

He has an unfair advantage though. He had admitted how quickly he could read to you in passing a few weeks ago and your jaw dropped. You didn’t believe him at first.

“Okay, that’s the fifth book you’ve finished in like two days Spencer. Are you even actually reading them?” You had teased him, when he returned to the shelves looking through the selections.

“Of course I do. I just happen to read twenty thousand words per minute.” He said easily running his fingers along the spines of the books as he pursues.

You scoff, “Yea right.” you rolled your eyes. “Just say you skim through them.”

Spencer shakes his head, “I’m serious, I have an eidetic memory too.” he said.

You blinked at him a few times in disbelief before just bursting into a fit of small giggles.

“Wow, I wish I could read that fast. I’d get through my TBR so much faster!” you said impressed.

Spencer pauses looking at you, trying to assess if you're trying to make fun of him or not. Your face is split into a wide grin, and he realizes you are intrigued by this little tidbit. You didn't think it was weird, that he’s weird.

Spencer felt his face flush a bit, and he just shrugged it off. “It’s not a big deal.”

“No, it’s just a really cool fact about you.” You said, like it was obvious.

Spencer mouth tighten into a fine line, and he shook his head, “That would be a first.” he had mumbled under his breath.

You didn’t press him, but you did file away in the back of your mind his response for later. Clearly Spencer wasn’t used to someone reacting positively to this tidbit about him.

You look at Spencer as he stands there watching you. He’s in his work clothes, which you're used to by now, but it’s the opposite of what he wore when they first met. He’s in a purple button up shirt that he’s rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. His cardigan is hanging off his faded brown leather satchel sitting against his hip. He’s leaning on his crutches as she assesses him.

“C’mon,” you said waving for him to follow. “Let’s make something fall flavored to get rolling with the season.” You suggest a small smile tugging at your lips.

Spencer just nods and follows you toward the cafe section.

“Are you a fan of pumpkin flavors or do you prefer other autumn flavors?” You ask him as you walk around the counter to the coffee machines.

The pickup counter for the cafe doubles as a normal place to sit and Spencer grabs a stool to sit in, leaning his crutches against the counter.

“I only like my drinks sweet. Flavor isn’t too important.”

You hum in acknowledgement and get to work on making him a drink. “I’ll just surprise you then.”

Spencer brings out a few books he’s reading and places them on the table. While you make his drink you ask, “What’s your favorite book to read to get into the spooky spirit?”

He perks up, “There’s plenty of options, I think I prefer something classic like The Shinning or maybe even an old compilation of ghost stories. Those are always good.” he said passionately.

“Ooh! I’m obsessed with the paranormal!” you gasp in excitement.

Spencer feeds into the enthusiastic response, “Did you know there are a multitude of categories of the paranormal? Most people only associate it with ghosts or demons, but ufology and cryptozoology are also subcategories. Personally, as interesting as ghost or demon possession stories are, I’m far more fascinated by cryptozoology and the creatures that different areas of the world claim to see and state they have proof of.”

Spencer realizes he’s rambling and tries to cut himself off, but your eyes are wide as you actively lean against the counter giving him your rapt attention.

You notice his abrupt stop and you tilt your head, “Keep going, you have my full attention! I’m trying to get into the spooky spirit!” You drawl out, your rich accent seeping through.

You turn to grab his drink and hand it to him. It's in a nice burnt orange colored mug, “It’s a maple chai latte. Felt like fall to me.” you said quietly, having a matching mug with him. You lean against the counter and bat your hand at his forearm.

“C’mon tell me more!” you giggled.

Spencer stared at you in awe for a moment, before he tried to hide his expression through drinking his latte.

“Ghost hunting became popular in the early 2000s, but it’s been around since the 1920’s and even before then there were popular ghost stories told throughout history! Humans have always been interested in the afterlife which is why we’re probably so fascinated by looking for proof of the afterlife.”

You nod and sips from your own mug, “Have you ever watched those ghost hunting shows before?” you asked curiously.

Spencer shook his head no. “I don’t watch a lot of television.”

You hum in thought, “Yeah, that checks out. Well, they’re super cheesy and trashy. Love them to be honest.”

“Which one’s your favorite?” he asked, leaning closer against the bar.

It felt like it was only the two of them in the bookstore. Inside their own bubble, the world moved slowly inside the confines of the Midnight Owl.

“This is gonna sound so awful!” you laughed lightly shaking your head, “There’s a show called Ghost Adventures, and the main guy, Zak Bagans, he’s such a dick to the ghosts! He instigates all the time, and I mean, regardless of if ghosts are real, he goes in hot ! Not to mention he always throws his costar Aaron into the worst places! It’s just insane, absolute trash.” you shake your head in disbelief.

“But you love it?” Spencer asked.

You gave him a deadpan stare, “Oh absolutely, it’s the best kind of quality trash.”

You burst into a fit of giggles and Spencer couldn’t help but find it contagious.

“Aaaaaaanyway~” You drag out, moving to grab your box of decorations.

“Wanna help me decide how to decorate?” you ask him, grabbing a pumpkin garland out of the bin and tossing it dramatically over your shoulders like a scarf.

Spencer brushes his loose hair out of his face and nods. He may still be useless on crutches, but he could help... Kind of.

You empty the containers of the bin on the counter where Spencer’s sitting and he quickly grabs his mug to lift it up to avoid being knocked over from the avalanche of orange and black. You smile at him apologetically before trying to dig out your favorite decorations.

Spencer’s face is twisted in a look of frustration as he sits in the corner reading. He came in a while ago and besides his drink, he hasn’t spoken much to you.

Which isn’t a bad thing, tonight was one of the busier nights. It was mid-October, and the festivities had been nonstop. Tonight was vampire night, which upon entering the building Spencer was already grimacing. There was a special drink deal on the board hanging above the cafe for anyone buying a vampire related book. Twilight , Dracula , Carmilla , Interview with a Vampire, just pick a title it was an option with its own fun themed cafe drink that was absolutely red.

It wasn’t like you knew he had just finished working on a case that involved vampirism, but the odds weren’t in his favor for finding an escape from the most recent case. Halloween season had its ups and downs he supposed.

There was no way of explaining his slightly irritable mood. Spencer hadn’t mentioned his work to you. You never asked, and he didn’t feel like explaining that he spent most of his waking hours profiling serial killers. In the past it hasn’t made the best openers in conversation. It’s also nice to have this small corner of his life not be coated with unsubs, victims, and death. It’s just his favorite bookstore.

Spencer looked up to see you making more drinks, the cafe was popular tonight. Your chatting up another woman who’s laughing at the joke you told her. The other woman is holding a book that Spencer is positive is a vampire novel.

“And I have one raspberry mocha for a Carmilla lover!” your voice rang out and you handed over the drink to the customer.

“Come back Sunday for our movie night, we’re playing Beetlejuice !” you said and waved goodbye to the customer.

For eleven o'clock at night the shop was busy. Busting out drink after drink and ringing up books at the cafe register. It was your idea to do a deal with a themed book and drink combo, but you didn’t expect to still be busy into the night. You hadn’t even had a break in customers to say hello to your regulars.

For business, this was great, for your own mental health, you were struggling. You just needed it to slow down enough to catch your breath. You should have scheduled someone else on shift with you, but you weren’t about to call for help now. It was your mistake, and you'll live with it. You made a note to make sure someone is on shift with you tomorrow night for a different themed deal.

After another round of five more customers there is finally a break. You sighed leaning against the counter and took a grounding breath. You don’t move for a minute, just catch your breath before you look up and catch Spencer from his chair looking at you. You shot him a shaky smile that is supposed to be reassuring but actually looks like you’re about to cry. Spencer’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he decides to get up and come over. The cafe was still bustling but no one was sitting at the counter. Spencer shoves his book into his bag, grabs his crutches and hobbles to the counter.

“Busy night?” he asked, already knowing the answer but trying to see how you were doing.

Your eyes look up into his hazel ones and you look worn. “In my head, the whole vampire boom and Halloween themed event seemed like a good idea. For profit, absolutely. For my sanity? I never wanna see another Twilight shirt or raspberry flavored item for a while.” you said in a groan placing your head against the counter.

“What is Twilight ?” Spencer asked.

He doesn’t know anything except that it has something to do with vampires and its popular enough that the victims of the latest case were also obsessed with it. He knows it’s a book, but besides that, he has no clue.

You slowly move to look up and blink at him for a moment, trying to deduce if he’s being serious or not. “Very funny Spencer, I know you’re not asking what the pop culture phenomenon Twilight franchise is.” you replied with a laugh.

After a moment of looking at Spencer’s confused face you realize he was in fact, unaware. Your eyes widen.

“Wait, wait, wait, you seriously don’t know? I mean it’s like everywhere. The second movie is coming out in less than a month. I don’t think I’ve sold so many copies of a book in my life. I can’t keep New Moon on the shelves.” you said almost exasperatedly, but the smile on your face gave it away. If Spencer didn’t know any better, he’d think you were getting a kick out of it. He knows by now you won’t make fun of him; you're elated for a completely different reason.

“I just know it’s popular and about vampires.” He replied with a shrug.

“Oh my god, I get to explain Twilight to you.” your face splits into a massive grin, your energy returning quickly.

Spencer quirks an eyebrow, “I thought you were over hearing Twilight ?”

“No, no, no, no! This is totally different!” you're almost vibrating with excitement. “I’ve read all the books, I’m gonna let you borrow my copy next time you’re in! Actually, I’ll give you the first two since you read so fast!” her words are running together in a run on sentence she’s talking too fast. Your accent came through stronger than ever with your eagerness.

He doesn’t have it in him to turn you down, you're just so thrilled. Spencer just finds himself too caught up in your joy to tell you he had no interest in the book series. He finds himself agreeing to borrow your copies.

“I can buy them if you need me too. I don’t want to take your copies unless, you’re sure.” He offers.

You shake your head, “I can’t keep them on the shelves long enough for you to buy them. Just go ahead and take my copies.” You move to make Spencer a drink that isn’t one of the red blood themed drinks on the menu. “It’s not a big deal. I do have a lot of sticky notes in there though, my friends and I read it for a book club night.”

He sits up a little straighter, suddenly becoming more interested in reading these books. Not because of their pop culture relevance but because he could read your commentary. There was something special about that, sharing a book with annotations.

“I’ll bring one too.” He finds himself offering before he can think.

Your face glows as you hand him a chai latte. “I’d love that! It’ll take me a bit longer to read than you will.” you joked lightly.

“It’ll be worth it; I haven’t had someone to talk to about books since my mom.” He said looking down at his drink, his eyes growing distant for a split second.

You open your mouth to ask but quickly shut it, biting the inside of your cheek to stop. You might be nosy, but you knew when to not pry. It was how Spencer seemed to be somewhere else in his mind, if only for a moment. It was enough to know that you had no business asking him to open a can of worms he maybe didn’t want to. Instead, you turn around to grab a set of fake vampire teeth to put in your mouth. They were small and awkward and not cute by any means, but if you could get him to smile, that was all you needed.

You patiently wait for Spencer to look back up at as you rest your head in your palm and keep your face neutral. The fake teeth are making your mouth uncomfortable, but you’ll survive.

When Spencer does look up and sees you dramatically batting your eyes at him and grinning madly with children’s plastic vampire teeth, he can’t control the bubbling laughter that takes over him. His shoulders shake with the full body movement, and he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Where did you get those?” he asked through his fit.

You turn to spit them out into the trash, your mouth disgustingly filled with drool from the uncomfortable teeth. You cover your mouth and grab your own drink to flush out your mouth.

“They were a gimmick for the themed drinks tonight.” you finally replied. “Good for a quick joke not for actually wearing.” you said groaning.

“Pretty sure they are made for children’s mouths.” Spencer teased.

You shrug and sigh, “Well, being a vampire for Halloween is off the list of options this year. I don’t want to wear those for a whole night.”

“Probably better off.” He said trying to not immediately focus on Dante and his manager coercing a mentally ill young woman into committing vampire ritual like murders.

“Yeah, the whole thing with that celebrity kinda left a sour taste in my mouth.” you mentioned grimacing.

“Dante?” Spencer asked for clarification.

“Yeah, it was all over the tabloids,” you pointed to the magazine stand by the main register. “Got them in this morning.”

Spencer tries to not make a face as he sees them, “You read that?”

You let out a loud snort of a laugh. “No, no, no, oh god!” you stand up a little straighter and push your hair back. “I don’t trust a TMZ article as far as I can throw it, but those murders are real. Making it look like vampire bites...” you shudder, “that just skeeves me out.”

Spencer drinks from his mug but nods his head in agreement. He didn’t peg you to believe paparazzi reports. The magazine articles would be wrong anyway; they didn’t make the arrest until that afternoon. It was refreshing to see someone not believe everything they read.

“If vampires are off your list, what other costumes are you thinking about?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“No idea.” you groan out in irritation. “I usually do group costumes with my friends but, kind of hard when they live 600 miles away.”

“South?” he asked.

You snorted with a roll of your eyes, “Aw geez what gave it away?” you tease with an exaggerated drawl, making your accent thicker than normal.

Spencer shakes his head in amusement. “Very funny. Why move here?”

You tense up, avoiding his doe eyes. You look down biting your lip nervously. “It’s uh, a long story.” you said quietly.

Your body almost looks like it’s trying to shrink in on itself. Spencer doesn’t need to be a profiler to understand your body language. Whatever it is, you’re not ready to share it.

Instead, he tries to be reassuring that he’s not prying for information.

“I’m a transplant too. I grew up in Las Vegas.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “I’ve never been, is it really just the strip filled with casinos or are there nice pockets of peace and no tourists?” you asked.

You sigh, “It is a lot of tourists. There’s plenty of local places, ones that are only there if you’ve grown up knowing how to get to them.” he told you in a quiet voice, almost conspiratorially.

Your mouth splits into a smile that reaches your eyes, “So you’ll be my tour guide, right?”

Spencer’s face heats up from the suggestion and your giggles fill the room.

“I’m just teasing you,” you pat his arm reassuringly before going to grab a pastry from the front display.

“Come on and split this last cookie with me, I know I'm not going to sell it.” you said grabbing a chocolate chip cookie and warming it up before cutting it in half.

Spencer’s face is still tinted pink but the soft cookie and the way it melts when he bites into it and seeing you look happier than earlier, is enough for him. A small corner of peace in the world inside the Midnight Owl.

The one after Haley’s funeral

You’re sitting at the checkout counter reading the book Spencer most recently traded with you. It’s one of the Sherlock Homles books, which you had admittedly never read before. You've watched plenty of films and shows but reading it never really crossed your mind.

You joked about making Spencer watch The Great Mouse Detective when you finished so you could explain your first introduction to Sherlock Holmes. He had no idea what you were talking about, which you found charming in its own way. You loved introducing Spencer to the pop culture media that just filled your brain. Even if it was trashy. You had promised him The Great Mouse Detective was anything but trash. A childhood classic for sure.

You take your time reading the books Spencer lent. He started leaving small post-it notes for you in them with commentary and questions. It was like you two had your own language, and it was books. Even if he let you borrow a genre you had no interest in, you suddenly were invested. It was a way to get to know him, and in turn he took your books happily. Your annotations were way more scattered brained and filled with tiny commentary to yourself.

You saw Spencer reading one of the books you let him borrow and he laughed, loudly, in the middle of the store. You both flushed in embarrassment. It was a busy night, filled with university students studying late at night, so it was mostly silent besides the music that was playing through the speakers. You knew you had written something insulting about one of the characters in that sticky note. You were creative with your insults, and you had completely forgotten to take that out before giving it to him. Spencer teased you about your comments on Gale from The Hunger Games for the rest of that night.

You’re in the middle of The Hounds of Baskerville when the door opens. You look up to greet them but your face falls when you see Spencer, he looks terrible. You slowly close the book and move to walk toward him.

His eyes were hollow and the normal dark circles under his eyes seemed impossibly darker than usual. Spencer just seemed sad and defeated. You hadn’t seen this side of him and all you wanted to do was press your thumb to his forehead and smooth out the furrow of his brow. To get him to relax, if only for a moment.

“Hey honey, what’s wrong?” you asked gently walking toward him. You reach out to rub his arms affectionately, “What happened?”

Your voice is soft and sweet, the way you said honey with your southern drawl feels like a hug. Spencer just needed a minute. One second of peace. The image of Haley’s body unmoving with blood still fresh behind his eyes.

“It’s been a long week.” His voice comes out a little rough. He’s haggard from the flight from Nashville and he really didn’t want to go home.

The only comforting place he could think of immediately was the Midnight Owl, of you. Your warm voice and comforting drinks were the only things he could stand to be around.

Your face softens at his words, and you tilt your head, “Do you need a hug?” you asked softly.

There’s a shaky sigh that escapes Spencer’s mouth and he just nods his head, unable to form the words.

You pull him into your embrace gently, your arms wrapped around his shoulders tightly. You rub soothing circles into his back and Spencer holds onto your waist. Your body radiates heat and it's comforting as he shoves his face into your shoulder. You smell like vanilla, cloves, and parchment paper and his whole body relaxes into you. You hold onto him until Spencer pulls away, not wanting him to feel like he was a burden. The store was empty anyway, it's been a slow night.

He takes a deep breath before peeling himself off. He moves his hands to hold your arms so he’s supporting himself. Your eyes soften as you look him over, her hand coming up to cup his face.

“You don’t have to talk about if you don’t want to, but I’ve been told I’m a great listener.” You whisper softly.

Spencer relaxes against your touch and doesn’t say much, just hums in response. He eventually finds his words, “My friends wife died recently, and it just, it was a shock.”

He doesn’t want to get into how Haley died. That his job makes him and his coworkers targets. The people they love. George Foyet died at Hotch’s hands for killing Haley and attempting to kill Jack. Spencer watched Hotch’s face crumble, fall and lose what he loved the most. He knew Hotch didn’t want to divorce Haley, he loved her and his son with his whole heart.

That love had cost him Haley’s life.

“Oh hun,” your voice brings him back, “I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head, “I’ll be fine. I’m just processing it.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, you’re allowed to process and grieve, especially if you knew her.” you tell him firmly. “C’mon, go sit down and I’m gonna make a delicious warm drink and we can just relax alright?”

Spencer gives a tiny, tight smile and lets you grab his hand to pull him to one of the nicer chairs. He sets his cane against the arm rest and is floored by how easy everything is with you.

You don’t push or pry for information, let him ramble, and Spencer doesn’t think he’s had a real friend outside of the BAU in a long time, much less someone his age. As much as he loves his team, there are times where they don’t understand him. It’s a lot easier to be himself with you. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what he’s doing most of his days, and he could argue with himself that you don’t know him. Almost 90% of his life is the BAU, and who is he if he isn’t Dr. Spencer Reid, FBI agent in the Behavioral Analyst Unit? A small part of him hopes he could be the person he becomes when he enters the Midnight Owl.

He’s too lost in his thoughts to notice you walking over with two steaming mugs.

“Here, it’s just tea but I think you need a relaxing drink. No caffeine.” you said with a sweet tone looking him over.

You sit on the arm rest of the chair cradling your own mug. “Can I try something?” you ask him.

Spencer drinks from his mug, but he mutters an agreement under his breath.

“Lean back fully in the chair.” you instructed.

He does as he’s told, he lowers his hands to his lap, mug still warmly pressed into his hands. Spencer isn’t sure what you’re trying to do until your hands are running through his hair, feather light. You’re not massaging his scalp, just the lightest of touches as you card your fingers through his long hair. Spencer’s eyes close and he almost moans from how the tension leaves his body immediately.

You let out a tiny snort but continue the motions.

“My momma used to do this when I was little.” you whisper to him, keeping a low voice.

“I would be asleep in an instant.” you emphasized with a quiet snap of your fingers.

Spencer’s eyes flutter open to look up at you, his big doe eyes looking up to see your soft features be highlighted in the warm glow of the lamps. You look down at him and tilt your head.

“I might pass out like this.” he murmured in a low voice.

“You can if you want. Promise I won’t let anyone bother you... not that anyone’s coming in anytime soon.” You drawl out looking around at the empty shop.

“Just a quick nap, twenty minutes.” he told you, voice already fading and his eyes growing heavy.

You don’t respond to him, just continue stroking his hair until he falls asleep. He felt the warm mug leave his hands and he heard ceramic clank onto the wooded side table next to him.

You watch Spencer sleep, giving him much longer than twenty minutes. His dark circles told enough; he needed this nap more than he was letting on. It takes less than five minutes for Spencer to pass out. His body relaxed into the chair with all tension leaving his body. You slow down your movements until you feel safe enough to stop. His small snore a sign he was asleep.

You moved to stand and went back to your duties, which wasn’t anything more than inventory tonight. Mondays were always slow.

You moved about the bookshop, filing away books, crossing off things on your checklist, and beside the few customers that came in for less than twenty minutes each, the night was quiet. Enough so that you let Spencer sleep much longer than twenty minutes.

Spencer sleeps peacefully for most of the night. You check on him occasionally, and besides the few snores, he’s sound asleep.

Around four in the morning he stirs awake, blinking blearily and looks around the store. You hear him and poke your head out from behind a shelf.

“Good morning sunshine!” you teased in a chipper tone.

Spencer looks at you confused before looking down at his watch. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked, tone not accusing, just confused.

You shrug and make your way over to him, “You looked like you needed the sleep.”

You gently reach your hand up to smooth the furrow of his brow. “You’ll die young from all that stress you’re carrying on your shoulders.” You tell him softly. The way you’re gently touching his forehead is like you’re trying to erase the stress and pressure.

Spencer sighs into the light touch, “For sleeping on a chair, it was pretty peaceful.” he murmurs.

You snort in amusement. “Well, at least I know they’re comfy.”

“I sleep on planes frequently, so this is much better.” he said.

“Travel a lot for work?” you asked.

Spencer just nods. Not wanting to explore too deep into his job. The job that was leaving him sleepless most nights.

“Do you feel any better?” you ask quietly.

He nods solemnly. “Better than when I arrived.” he said with a shrug.

You frown but don’t press, you push his hair back again giving him a reassuring smile.

“I’m a good listener if you ever need to talk. Promise.” You hold out your pinky finger in the childish gesture of a pinky promise.

Spencer finds himself smiling, finding it charming. Regardless of his problem with germs, it doesn’t feel so intense with you. You’re not a stranger anymore. He hooks his pinky with yours.

“Not now.” He whispers. “But someday...”

“Someday.” you reaffirm.

The one about family

Spencer’s surprised to see that you’re not working one random night in November. He knows that, of course, You can’t possibly be working every single night he comes in. It just throws him off when he doesn’t see you immediately. The sunshine woman behind the bar making him a new sickly-sweet coffee to try. You’ve only ever missed one day max two, so he doesn’t think much of it. Just a blip on his night.

One night without you suddenly turns into half a week. Every day Spencer walks in and it’s not your bright bubbly voice greeting him. It’s one of the handful of people who work the late-night shift. They aren’t strangers, Spencer’s ran into a couple of them occasionally. So, when Spencer comes into the bookstore to see, yet again, Robert, manning the front desk lazily flipping through a magazine, his mild frustration turns to worry. You've been gone for four days and none of your coworkers seem to know why.

What if you’re sick? What if something happened to you? Did you take a vacation? What if you’re in danger?

The thoughts consume Spencer so much he almost calls Garcia to track you down. Or at least give him your address to check on you. He pulls himself together and realizes that it would be a bad idea and an invasion of your privacy. He’ll just have to wait it out.

Spencer does wait, mostly because he’s forced too. The BAU never truly stops working.

When he finally sees you again it’s near the tail end of November and way too close to Thanksgiving for his liking. He feels like you've been gone for ages, but it’s only been two weeks. The door chimes behind him as he walks in, he’s expecting to see your eyes light up with a smile on your flushed pink cheeks. The way you’ve always greeted him.

Instead, he sees a side of you that he’s not used to at all. You look tired, exhausted. The dark circles under your eyes could compete against his natural ones. You’re wearing glasses which he’s never seen on you before. Her hair is haphazardly tied up, and You're in a large well-worn sweater that reads, ‘Read Banned Books’. He doesn’t think you've slept much, if at all, since he last saw you.

You look like a zombie, barely functioning.

You don’t even register Spencer enter; you're standing at the checkout counter finishing a transaction with a customer. You're swaying on your feet the whole time.

Spencer lets you finish the interaction before coming over to the counter, concern clear on his face.

“Y/N?” He says your name softly as he approaches.

Your eyes fly up to him and widen a little in surprise, your body reacts with a small flinch. “Oh god Spencer!” You give a soft laugh, your hand coming up to clutch your chest, “You scared me! I didn’t hear you come in.” you try to calm yourself down.

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and Spencer can tell. It doesn’t take a profiler to see you’re not yourself. Her eyes are only half open, your hands shaking from what he can only assume is the obscene amount of caffeine you probably have in your system. Everything just seems muted, not the bright colors he used to see you framed in.

“Are you feeling okay? You’ve been gone for a while.” he prompts, trying to get something out of you. A clue to what might have happened. Anything.

You shake your head, “I’m fine, everything’s fine.” You said it a little too quickly.

Spencer doesn’t buy it, but he’s kept enough secrets to himself to know he probably shouldn’t go looking into friends’ private lives. Some things he knows he’d rather keep to himself... but seeing you like this, he wants to help.

You avoid his eyes and start to play with your hands on the counter. “I-” you open your mouth but promptly shut it again. You bite your cheek with a frown plastered on your face.

“Sorry, it’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.” you said quickly before turning to grab some books from behind the desk to busy yourself with.

You don't want to talk about or think about it. It’s been a long two weeks, and you just need some normalcy. Something that you know you can do and enjoy.

You feel Spencer’s eyes burning into you. You try to keep your usual high energy, you truly do. Everything has been so rough this month; you just need a break. The bookstore was your one solace. The Midnight Owl wasn’t just a job, it was your home. Your safe haven.

You didn’t want to bring your real life here, not when sometimes your only highlight is seeing Spencer and sharing books back and forth. If he starts asking about your life outside the four walls of your shop, you don’t know if you can hold yourself together. Not today.

“Y/N,” he opens his mouth trying to get your attention again.

“Really Spencer, it’s fine, I’m fine!” you tell him, a short tone to your voice.

You spin on your heels to walk somewhere, anywhere, else. “You know I have your book actually, let me return it. I left some notes in there.” You make it five or six steps before you falter and sways again. Spencer reaches out to grab and steady you.

“Forget the book, you don’t look fine.” He makes you face him. “You look exhausted.” He chastises you.

You deflate immediately and let Spencer guide you to a chair. He gently sets you down and he pries the book out of your hand and places it on the side table.

“Sorry, you don’t have to take care of me.” you murmur feebly swatting him away. “I just...” You take a deep breath. “I had to take dad to the hospital on Tuesday and it’s just been downhill all week...” you admit timidly. You pushed your glasses up to your hairline and pressed the heels of your palm to your eyes.

“I haven’t gotten much sleep.” you admit.

“You’ve run yourself ragged.” Spencer lowers himself to be eye level with you. “Is he home now?” he asks gently.

“No, they’re keeping him one more night.” you said with a heavy sigh.

Your arms fell in between your knees, and you lean your head back exhausted. “It’s just been hard this past year...” your voice is small and lingers with sadness.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked hesitantly.

Spencer maybe doesn’t like talking about his hardships, but he’ll listen to yours if you let him. He wants to desperately ease your mind, see you smile.

You look up at him, eyes wide as you assess him. “I don’t want to put my problems on you Spencer.” you give a tight smile. “I’ll figure it out.”

Spencer reaches out to put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Talking about it doesn’t mean that you’re inconveniencing me. I'm just worried.”

You sigh, already feeling him chip away at you. You didn’t stand a chance against his big doe eyes looking at you like you were fragile.

You take a deep breath before answering him, “My dad has ALS, he was diagnosed a few years ago... I’ve been taking care of him.” you admit.

“Where we were, the doctors just weren’t cutting it. So, I did some research and of course there were stellar doctors in DC... plus my baby sister came here for university so I just thought... maybe it would be easier. On all of us.” The tone of your voice gives your worry away.

“Anyway, he just, he had an accident and fell down the other day. His legs are finally giving out and he’s being so stubborn about needing a wheelchair.” Your voice shakes and you close your eyes.

“It’s been a long week.” you finally admit looking up at Spencer with watery eyes.

Spencer understands. He’s spent most of his life taking care of his mom because of her own illness. While your dad is suffering from something different, he understands. Probably more than you realize.

“I get it, I do.” he said. You go to retort, but he cuts you off. “I took care of my mom for a long time. She...” He pauses looking at you, debating for a moment on if he should tell you.

“My mom has schizophrenia, and I committed her when I was eighteen.” he tells you with a tight frown.

“It’s hard to take care of your parents, especially when it’s their job to take care of us.” He tells you sincerely.

You have tears pricking your eyes, “Oh Spencer, I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head, “I’m telling you this because I understand. I promise I do, it’s not easy.”

You take a shaky breath; your heart feels like it’s a thousand pounds. “Does it ever get easier?” you ask softly.

Spencer squeezes your hand, “No, it doesn’t. There are happy moments though. Moments where you know you’re doing the right thing, even if it’s difficult.”

You sniffle and wipes your face, “Thanks, I uh, I needed that.” you said with a small smile.

It’s getting closer to Christmas. The bookstore is decorated and busier than ever. There’s a handful of special events but between people coming in to buy presents and university students staying all night to study for finals, you have your hands full.

There’s a second staff member working nights with you this month until the holiday break starts for the store. You and Josie were adamant about closing the bookstore between Christmas Eve and New Years. If someone needed a book that badly they could go to a big box store.

What you really don’t need right now is your baby sister coming to your place of work and harassing you about Christmas and your dad.

“Bridget, I don’t have time to discuss this with you right now!” you hiss out at your younger sister. “You didn’t spend Thanksgiving with us and daddy really wants you to come home just for Christmas.” you chastised your sister with a frown.

You have a pause in customers for the moment, but you know that the large study group is coming in half an hour like they have been for the past week and half.

“That’s not fair Magpie!” your sister groans in frustration using your nickname to try and be sweet. “I made these plans months ago; Mark really wants me to spend Christmas with his family.”

You cross your arms and look at your sister sadly. “Birdie, we don’t know how much time we get with dad-” you start but is cut off.

Bridget’s face scrunches in disgust at her sister’s words and huffs exaggeratedly. “Good god Y/N! He’s not gonna die over the holidays, stop fucking guilt trippin’ me over every decision because it doesn’t revolve around dad!”

Bridget’s annoyed and you can tell, she always tries to skirt around her problems when she’s frustrated. She thinks you’re trying to back her into a corner.

“Birdie-”

“It’s Bri. I go by Bri here.” Her sister crosses her arms and looks at you in annoyance.

“Look, I know dad’s sick, I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were Bridget.” you said defensively.

She rolled her eyes, “I didn’t decide to pack everything up and move dad out to DC. Just because you’re closer doesn’t mean I’m going to stop living my life to take care of daddy.”

You bite your tongue. Trying to not fight with your sister, but your irritation rises in your throat. Burning words of resentment linger in your mind.

“Fine. Would you please just call him on Christmas and please come by after the New Year. He really misses you.” You try to plead with your sister.

Bridget just waves goodbye as she walks out the door, “Will do. See you next year Magpie.” she almost ran out the door.

You deflate, your shoulders dropping. You almost don’t hear Spencer walking up next to you holding a gift bag in his hands.

“I didn’t know your sister visited you.” he said.

You look up at him and smile at your favorite regular. Your friend. You think they’re allowed to call each other friends now. He already saw you cry and that was a big step.

You shake your head, “Yeah, we’re not as close as we used to be.” you mumble under your breath.

Spencer nods his head. He never had any siblings, but he can read your face well enough to know you’re not thrilled.

“Still close enough for nicknames, Magpie?” he asked, biting back a smile.

“Childhood nicknames, Birdie and Magpie. Cause we were birds of a feather.” You said looking down at your hands sadly.

“It’s fine.” you shrug it off and give a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. You lean against the counter. “What’s that you got there?” you asked, changing the subject.

You’re pointing to the gift bag in his hands. You tilt your head curiously.

“Oh, this is,” he flushes for a split second rushing his words out. “This is for you. I know you’re closing for the holiday soon and I don’t know if I’ll have a last-minute work call or not so., I brought your Christmas present.” He fumbled through his words quickly, but he held out the small bag.

You light up immediately. Your eyes shimmer with excitement. “Aww, Spencer! This is so kind thank you!”

You bend down below the counter and grabs your own item, “I actually have your present too.” you said shyly, handing him a wrapped package.

Spencer is quiet as he gently takes the gift from you, a tiny smile on his face. He brushes his hair back out of his face as he looks at you softly.

“This is so kind thank you.”

Giddy giggles consume you, and you hold the gift bag. “Should we open them together or do you want to wait until Christmas?” you asked.

Spencer shakes his head, “No no, you can open it now.” He reassures you.

You smile, biting the inside of your cheek and open your present. Under the tissue paper is a sweater that’s twice your size and it’s the softest thing you’ve ever felt. You pull it out and it’s a purple crocheted sweater with a beautiful sun right in the middle. It reminds you of one of the tapestries from the late nineties that would have been in Practical Magic or something like that.

“Oh Spencer, this is perfect.” you say quietly holding it tightly to your chest. “Thank you so much, I love it.”

You pull off your cardigan and immediately shove the sweater on. You nestle yourself inside it and grins widely, “It matches your scarf!”

Spencer just takes in your joy and how you light up, and he’s happy he could make you feel better.

“Well go on open yours!” you said excitedly pushing your wrapped package toward him.

Spencer gently peels back the wrapping paper and uncovers a white box; he opens the box to find a ceramic mug. It's custom made, with some uneven texture. It’s glazed a speckled purple and wrapped around the bottom is a quote, “Some books are so familiar that reading them is being home again.” -L.M. Alcott

Spencer is quietly inspecting it, and you start explaining. You push your hair behind your ear, “I uh, I took a pottery class in my free time this past year. Since you’re here so much I thought you would like your own mug.” you said hesitantly.

Spencer’s eyes widen, “You, you made this? For me?” he asked in surprise.

You nod, looking down at the counter nervously.

Spencer makes his way around the counter and pulls you into a tight hug. “This is the best gift anyone's ever gotten me.” he whispers to you.

You return the hug holding Spencer tightly. You press your face into his shoulder, and you feel infinitely better than how your night started.

When they pull apart you play with the edge of the new sweaters' sleeves, a small blush on your face. “Do you go visit your mama for holidays?” you asked him.

Spencer shakes his head, “Not all the time. My job doesn’t usually care if it’s a holiday or not.” he tells you.

You nod, “Well, I hope you get to this year Spencer. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

He takes a shaky breath and nods in agreement. “Yeah, I’ll try to see her soon.”

You nudge him lightly, trying to keep the tone light, “Want a fresh drink in your new mug?” you tease.

Spencer chuckles but nods his head. “I’d love that.”

“We’re about to test run if I’m actually good at pottery. So, fingers crossed it doesn’t leak.” you joke moving to the cafe counter at the back of the store.

Spencer watches you walk away, with a skip in your step like the first night he came to the Midnight Owl. The way you easily glide through the crowd and chatter with customers and giggling.

You shine bright like a star, like the sun.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #x reader

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amongemeraldclouds · 2 months ago

Text

bookstore meet cute | jess mariano | flufftober masterlist | 729 words

a/n: special tag for the lovely @thatdammchickennugget ♡ glad you're back in your gilmore girls phase!

Your eyes lit up when you found the book you were looking for at the store. This was the third bookshop you had visited and you were starting to lose hope you'd ever get a copy of it.

You had already read The Subsect from the library, but you liked it enough to have wanted your own copy. It was a coming of age story that was sarcastic but meaningful, raw and relatable. The character felt like a friend you had known for years.

It was rare that a book could make you feel that way and you greatly admired the author. Your hands itched to underline phrases and annotate paragraphs. Now there it was, right in front of you.

As you reached out to take it, a stranger approached you and grabbed it first. You stared back at him, aghast. It was the last copy on the shelf.

"I got here first," you huffed.

"What's so good about this one?" He asked, scanning the cover. You looked at him with his geled hair and sharp jaw, mischief glinting in his eye. He was cute, it was a shame he was such an asshole.

"You're the one holding the book, you tell me," you bit back, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Answer my question and I'll give it to you," he offered.

"Stop harrassing my customers, Jess!" the owner called out from the counter. "This boy will run me out of business, I swear," she said fondly, giving you an apologetic smile.

"You know I'm your favorite," he replied to her with a charming grin and she waved him off as she turned to greet a new customer, not denying it.

"Well," he said, handing the book to you. You studied the book and frowned.

"The woman called you Jess..." you started, piecing things together.

"That is my name," he nodded.

"What are the odds that you're the Jess Mariano who wrote this book?" your eyes widened a fraction.

He tilted his head, "maybe, depends who's asking."

"This is why you should never meet your heroes," you muttered to yourself, rolling your eyes. "Don't let that get to your head," you warned him as an afterthought.

He raised his hands as if he wouldn't dare. "I'm not usually one to judge someone's life choices, but why me?"

"You know what, I'm asking that very same question myself right now," you brought your fingers to your chin.

He laughed, "and what's your answer?"

"To be determined," you decided. "You should at least buy me a coffee first before asking about my life decisions."

You regretted the words as soon as it left your mouth. "Shit, no. I did not mean to ask you out," heat rose to your cheeks and you wanted to be anywhere else but here.

"Technically, you asked me to ask you out. And you know what? I think it's a great idea. Want to grab a coffee with me?"

You frowned, "you don't even know my name."

He just shrugged, "maybe that's another question you can answer over coffee."

You smiled at his persistence, "you invite all your readers out for coffee?"

"Just the ones who call me their hero."

You winced at his words, "what time do you get off work?"

"As it so happens, I'm due for my lunch break," he said. "I can ring that up for you then we can go, there's a place nearby that serves great coffee."

"I'll have to check my calendar." You considered for a moment and thought of all the questions about the book that you wanted to ask, you could now get answers straight from the source. You tamped down your excitement, you had already embarrassed yourself enough for a day.

"Works for me. You move fast, Jess Mariano," you said nonchalantly as you both moved towards the counter.

"I know what I want, name-to-be-discovered-soon-over-coffee," he said as he finished up and handed you the shopping bag.

You laughed, "you can call me y/n."

"And you can call me your hero. Oh wait, you already did," he teased.

"You'll never let me live that down, won't you?"

"Not until I hear something more interesting over coffee. No pressure," he winked before he moved away for a second to inform the owner he'd be taking his break.

He then returned and reached his hand out to you, "right then, shall we?"

#jess mariano x reader #jess mariano fluff #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano fanfic #jess mariano x you #jess mariano x y/n #jess mariano #gilmore girls fanfiction #gilmore girls fic #gilmore girls #flufftober on emerald clouds #flufftober #amongemeraldclouds fluff #amongemeraldcloudswrites

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cowgirlcherrie · 1 year ago

Text

☆ WISHFUL THINKING. loser! sbf! ellie williams headcanons

♪ 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠…wishful thinking by benee

a/n: here are just some quick head-canons of loser ellie, ellie is best friends with the readers sister, basically like bbf! ellie but girls girl coded dynamic.

warnings/content: 18+ MDNI. a nsfw section. breeding kink. switch!ellie. kissing. petname usage. ellie is so loser…LOL but it intertwines with canon ellie. cursing. dirty talking. finger sucking. edging. mostly toothrotting fluff for the first section

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

౨ৎ loser! Ellie owns an obscure amount of graphic tees with silly slogans on them:

“I ♡ HOT MOMS” or “I ♡ MILFS” or “BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN”

** I can’t find the post but one of my mutuals had an exact post of how she would dress…adam sandler core fr

When she gets complimented on them, she does not know how to take a compliment. When you found one of the slogans funny, your hands delicately intertwined with the fabric of her shirt as you tugged the fabric — with your phone hovering over the bolded text to take a picture – Ellie was sweating bullets beneath your touch.

౨ৎ loser! Ellie dismissed you the first time that the two of you met; she moved like a shadow whenever you were around; if you were talking in the kitchen, she would completely walk out of the room and just avoid the area. At first, you thought Ellie stopped coming around and being friends with your sister until you actively caught her turning on her heels and just heads in another direction.

౨ৎ loser! Ellie goes to your college and is a year above you but you didn’t know she was going to JSU (Jackson state university) because you thought she was planning on community, so it was a shocker to see her around campus because she actually would say hi to you or sit and chat if she wasn’t with Dina or Jesse.

౨ৎ loser! Ellie is obsessed with Jurassic Park and owns all of the DVD collections. She even has posters up on the wall that is stills from the movie and ones she was able to find with a deep dive online *cough* Reddit *cough* Facebook marketplace *cough*

Frequently she tried to get your sister into it who gets sick of her asking– but kept on nagging at Ellie to ask you instead, and with many dab pen hits and a quick pep talk in the bathroom, Ellie built up enough courage to ask you to watch it with her.

The two of you bonded over having crushes on Ellie Sattler which was the first time that Ellie realized that you liked girls and she might have a shot with you.

“It’s even better to watch when you’re high because the dinosaurs are all like-…woahh”

౨ৎ loser! Ellie enjoys it’s always sunny in Philadelphia and parks and recreation, and would definitely enjoy emergency intercom or just podcast-y youtube channels

౨ৎ loser! Ellie sucks at eye contact, whenever you start talking to her she rubs at the back of her neck, and looks at her feet, twirling the necklace that’s tucked closely to her skin and her shirt. She just doesn’t stop fidgeting. Her face gets all red but she plays it off that Joel kept on turning the heater on when there was no need for it.

౨ৎ loser! Ellie wears flat-brim vintage hats, especially some with corduroy fabric, and apart from her standard arm tattoo gets silly patchwork ones, like one of a drawing she did for Joel. Has a lot of rings and especially enjoys the spinny ones.

౨ৎ loser! Ellie who collects Savage Starlight comics, as always, is surprised when you tell her you found some copies in the bookstore that was actually going to get thrown away but you bargained with the owner to buy the barrel of the books because you knew she would like to have them. She gets all flustered when she realizes that you were thinking of her and it brings the craziest smile to her fast that you took enough time to remember such minuscule detail about her.

“Do you– uh- do you want me to pay you back?”

౨ৎ loser! Ellie wakes up late all the time when she sleeps over at your house like I’m talking 11-12:30 pm and will walk around the house with messy hair, a large t-shirt and boxers, and dry drool patch on her mouth and down her cheek until she realizes she had been watched for the past few minutes by you who was scared shitless because you didn’t even she spent the night.

౨ৎ loser! Ellie in traditional Ellie fashion uses cursing as a coping mechanism when she gets nervous and doesn’t know what to say:

“I don’t fuckin’ know ask your sister”

“That’s fuckin cute… I guess”

“Oh – Fuck you!”

౨ৎ when your sister started this thing every two weeks where there is a girl’s night, she’d invite Ellie over for a sleepover and the sleepless night would be full of gossip, painting each other’s nails, drinking cheap wine that Ellie got from the gas station down the way — primarily a self-care night, it takes a lot of convincing to get Ellie to join in but once she does, she regrets it slightly. However, she tolerates it because she can use it as an excuse just to see you and learn about what is up with your life or if you started seeing anyone.

౨ৎ loser! Ellie who bitches and cries when she has a facemask on, and is hissing and spewing curses under her breath every few minutes, with a fluffy headband on that is pushing her auburn hair back, begging you to take it off; meanwhile, you are applying a clear coat on her nails because she would complain about any other color but she keeps tensing up.

“Ow! What the fuck is in this…it hurts, take it off! Take it off!”

౨ৎ loser! Ellie when the summertime rolled around, meant she would be spending way more time with you and your sister – eventually, your sister goes to the locksmith and get Ellie her own key. Ellie will be indulging in pool days with you which is a recipe for disaster

She is tripping all over the place, and terribly applied sunscreen on her face which cast a slight ghostly white cast on her face, adding to how stunned she was to see you in a swimsuit, but she couldn’t look away and caught herself wandering her eyes to places she probably shouldn’t have.

Underwater kiss! Underwater kiss!

But she tries to play it off and acts like it never even happened the next day. But when Ellie closed her eyes all she could feel was your wet lips on hers, as the two of you were grabbing at each other and the way for a second time slowed down and all she could feel was the movement of the water and your hands on her skin.

When she applied sunscreen wrong and asks you to fix it for her, gets so embarrassed as you rub your hands over her face to moisturize the sunscreen into her face, but every time she opens her eyes she just sees the view of your boobs in the bikini you are wearing and just squeezes her eyes shut. Visibly pretends to bite her fist when you’re done

౨ৎ loser! Ellie 100% asking strangers on Reddit how to confess for you with crazy ass headlines,

F(22) IN LOVE WITH MY BEST FRIEND'S SISTER F(21) ADVICE? If a girl’s arm lingers on you for too long does it mean she likes you? (F) Good pick-up lines that aren’t cringy for gays only…please How much does astrology and birth chart compatibility really matter?

౨ৎ loser! Ellie splits her sandwiches with you and gives you a jacket when you are cold because even though she asks you a million times and you said no each time she asked. She still brings a jacket just for you — and how she would scold you for not bringing one. (all out of love though)

“You fucker! I knew you would be cold, see this is why I said to bring a jacket”

Pretends to be angry but really she was waiting for this moment.

Eventually, you build a collection, having 3 of Ellie’s jackets in your room, which was Ellie’s subtle excuse to be able to talk to you.

౨ৎ loser! Ellie doesn’t hesitate to pick you up from an on-campus party, and her heart shatters when you are crying because you had a shitty night and you don’t want her to tell your sister. Takes you to whatever fast food is open at that hour even if that means she’d have to drive 30 minutes extra just to make you smile.

“Shh…sweetheart terrible nights happen it’s okay”

“Are you hungry?…cuz’ like I’m fuckin hungry” Ellie whispers amidst a thick awkward silence, mentally cringing and wanting to bang her head on the steering wheel as she grips the wheel until her knuckles turn white.

Suddenly becomes good with comforting people when it comes to you, but anyone else – the spinny wheel of death appears above her head as she struggles to formulate a good sentence.

౨ৎ loser! Ellie who hates when you bring up anyone you start talking to or that you are going out with, will sit there with her fist tight and jaw clenched whispering to you:

“There are people who can treat you way better”

And by people she really means herself.

౨ৎ loser! Ellie who set off the fire alarm once by accident because she was hotboxing in her room with Jesse and Dina and almost got a dean’s office summons and tried to blame it on the neighbors next door.

౨ৎ loser! Ellie when Ellie tells your sister that she likes you, your sister makes the most disgusted face at her, but becomes Ellie’s wing-woman and kinda tells Ellie all of your likes and dislikes, which Ellie has a whole page in her journal with facts about you.

“can I have your blessing to uh…date your um, fuck sorry your sister?”

“ellie please shut up I’m gonna throw up”

౨ৎ loser! Ellie has pictures of michael cera as her icons on every form of social media.

౨ৎ loser! Ellie gets flustered easily over indirect kisses, like sharing food or sharing drinks, and suddenly she becomes so hyperaware.

nsfw 𖦹⋆彡🫧꩜♪⋆

౨ৎ When Ellie started having more than just friendly feelings for you…her whole demeanor changed, the tension was so thick it could cut with a sharp knife. Subtle touches suddenly had more meaning and her body felt like someone lit a match with gasoline dripping from her body and set her aflame.

౨ৎ after an accidental confession that leads to the two of you dating, lewd thoughts from the shadow of her brain came after and she couldn’t control it — initially was too embarrassed to tell you and had nights where she would just walk to the bathroom and try her best to get off in the shower but it only got her so far before it wasn’t helping or doing enough and at this point she needed to actually touch you

౨ৎ That time she slept over and was sleeping on your couch, hoodie on her body with the hood up covering her face, blankets falling off of her body giving a full view of her sleep boxer shorts. When you walked by to go grab a drink of water around 3 am you could hear her moaning your name in your sleep.

౨ৎ is one of those people who seem bashful, sparky, and innocent throughout the day but in the sheets is the biggest freak ever, she becomes another level of unholy.

౨ৎ a breeding kink! Definitely owns one of the squirting dildos because she loves to watch the way liquids drip out of you when she’s done, will sit back pulling at your folds with her fingers with the shit-eating grin on her face that reads I did that

“Look at you~” “all fucked out for me” Ellie speaks coly and in between breaths as her head reaches down to put kisses all over your face.

౨ৎ Ellie likes to see how much she can get away with, smacks your ass, pulls you back by your belt loop, sticks her hand way too far up your thigh, moans high pitched in your ear during public settings

౨ৎ falls asleep with her hand on your boobs, god forbid she’s having a nightmare, she starts squeezing them in the midst of it.

౨ৎ makes dick jokes talking about some:

“My pullout game is not weak thank you very much, if that was the case we would have had a lot of children already”

When listening to rap music that goes into heavy description about fucking humps the air sometimes to the lyrics...not elaborating she's hella immature LOL

౨ৎ The minute the two of you go out and one of your friends says how she is a simp and how you have all the control in the situation, Ellie will make sure you know that she indefinitely has the upper hand. It’s like a switch flips in her head she gets so ruthless and so mean, she doesn’t want you to forget it either and fucks you until you can’t think

You will be moaning and clawing at her back as she pounds in a rhythmic motion in and out of you, her mouth would get so filthy, smirking as her fingers rub over your lips as she slips her thumb in for you to suck,

“but …do your friends know that you cry like this under me? that you look so pathetic under me?”

“Who’s in charge again cuz’ I fuckin’ know it’s not you”

“Are you cumming? Oh no you don’t…let me see you” “What if I just stopped right now?”

Likes to edge you, no doubt.

౨ৎ a switch likes to be topped or touched but also likes to be the top

౨ৎ whimpers whenever you touch her like a puppy, her eyes get glassy and her face gets red as she lets out low mewls of your name, and suddenly it’s like you’re an angel hovering over her and your touch is an addictive drug that she never wants to stop having.

౨ৎ Overall just the best girlfriend ever, with a combination of silliness and fun in one, a big ol’ dork that is really just obsessed with you.

taglist

@beforeimdeceased @starologist @destielcore @luvrgalore @ellsss @zahraaziza @emluvselandabs @abbyily @elliestrwbrry @mossc0vered @spacewlf @as2rid @spaceshipellie @lottiematthewsceo @emonopolyman @mikasbby @trulygnomed @machetegirl109 @munsonsfairy

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avalentina · 6 months ago

Text

Love's Booked Part 1 📖

Image Not Mine

Warnings: None that I can think of. Some kissing, a bit of angst, but mostly cute fluff.

Word Count: 3.6k

I’m grabbing another box of reshelves when the little chime above the door of Rose’s Books dings. My grandmother used to call me her little rose and it was her who fueled my love of books. When I get out from the storeroom, a young guy about my age is wandering around looking at everything. He looks like he just finished an early evening run. His short hair has these adorable natural curls to it and when his amazing brown eyes meet mine, the box slips from my hands and thumps to the floor, landing on my foot.

“Merda, ouch.” I yelp as he rushes over with a shy smile on his face and grabs the box. Easily hoisting it onto the nearby counter.

“Is your foot okay?” He asks with an American accent and my stomach erupts in butterflies.

“It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. Bruised toes tend to happen when you own a bookstore.”

“Oh, you own this place? It’s cozy, I like it.” He says, that shy smile back.

“Thank you.”

“I take it you’re Rose?” He asks.

“Well technically my name is Y/N, Rose is a nickname from my best childhood memories, so it seemed fitting. But anyways, did you just come in to browse or are you in need of a specific title?” I ask, shaking myself out of the daze and back into sales mode.

“I was hoping you had a copy of The Sorcerer’s Stone. I lost mine.” He says sheepishly.

“I don’t have The Sorcerer’s Stone, but I do have The Philosopher’s Stone.” I say with a knowing smile.

“I keep forgetting it has a different name in the U.S.” He says and we fill the short walk over to its shelf with talk about Potter. I hand him the book and our fingers brush as he takes it from me.

“All set then, or do you need some time to browse?” I ask, hoping he opts for the latter option.

“I think I will take a peek around if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” I nod. “Can I get you anything to drink? I’m a firm believer that a good book is always better with a comforting drink.” I’ve got a little setup of some espresso, tea options, water, lemonade, and my favorite apple cider behind the register station.

“Maybe just a small lemonade.” He says and I grab him one before going back to my shelving. As I go around the shop reshelving I feel the weight of his eyes on me from time to time and can’t help but take quick glances over at him as well. He’s just so pretty to look at.

I hear the door chime again, as my best friends and business partners Livia and Nico come in to help me close up the shop. Nico grabs his first box and starts reshelving before setting it aside and rushing back over.

“Y/N why is Christian Pulisic in the shop right now?” He asks me and I guess he’s referring to the cute guy with brown eyes.

“He needed a new copy of Philosopher’s Stone. What’s wrong with that?”

“He's Christian Pulisic, one of the new signings for AC Milan.

“So he’s a footballer?” I ask.

“One of the BEST footballers ever. I bought his jersey to wear to games as soon as the transfer was finalized.”

“Okay Nico, breathe, he’s also a normal human being. Why don’t you do the reshelves in the kids section and I’ll finish your area.”

“Would it be a bad time for me to get his autograph?”

“Of course not, happy to chat with a fan.” The guy who I guess is kind of a big deal says to Nico with a genuine smile and extends his hand so Nico can shake it.

“Ciao. È un piacere conoscerti di persona. Sei incredibile. Adoro quando fai scivolare la palla tra le gambe di un altro giocatore, penso che tu la chiami nutmeg, comunque è così bello.” Nico says in rapid fire Italian.

“I'm going to be honest. I have no idea what you just said. I recognized nutmeg but that's about it.”

“Not to worry Christian, I can translate Nico for you. He said, “Hello. It’s nice to meet you in person. You’re amazing. I love it when you slip the ball through another player’s legs, I think you call it a nutmeg, anyway it's so cool.” I say. “Nico just has a tendency to get all of his rushed thoughts and ramblings out in Italian. It's a lot easier.”

“That makes sense. Maybe all I need is an Italian tutor.” He says, looking at me with that shy smile.

“Oooh, Y/N would be amazing at that. After all, she is half American.” Livia chimes in, having finished her round of reshelves.

Christian raises an eyebrow and my face flushes as I explain. “My father was on vacation in Florence when he met my mother who was on holiday there with her friends.”

“Her parents are the best Italian love story. Boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, boy and girl enjoy classic Italian food, boy up and moves to Italy to be with girl.” Livia adds and I bury my face in my hands.

“That's actually adorable.” Christian says. “So what do you say? Will you help me learn Italian?”

“I'll think about it.” I reply.

A little bit later Christian is ready to pay and I ring him up. I scrawl my number on the bottom of his receipt along with a little note while he and Nico talk a bit more.

“Text me when you're ready for your first lesson.” It says and I stick it inside the book before handing it to him.

“Receipt is in the book. They make great bookmarks.” I say as he leaves the store.

Later on that night I've just gotten settled in my apartment above the shop when my phone pings with a new text.

Same time tomorrow? He had texted.

I suppose. We can use the lounge area up the rounded staircase in the shop. I answer.

Christian sends back a thumbs up and I go for a quick shower. As I fall asleep I can't help thinking about his pretty face and shy demeanor. But it's the curls on top of his head that get my stomach tingling.

I get dressed the next morning with him in mind. Wearing a slightly lower cut shirt than normal. It's bright red and I pair it with black dress pants and a gold chain style belt. My sneakers are the only thing I refuse to compromise on.

When Christian arrives he's wearing an identical outfit to yesterday but I notice the AC Milan logo on the zip up this time.

“I take it you had training again today,” I say to him.

He nods and follows me up the rounded staircase in the middle of the shop to the mezzanine style space where we have chairs and a sofa set up for anyone who wants to read a bit while they're in the store.

“So what do you know?” I ask him.

“Well I know that Ciaò means hello, arrivederci is goodbye, and grazie is thank you, but that's about it.” He says and I smile.

“And what do you need to prioritize for learning?” I ask next.

“I'd like to be able to communicate with my team on the pitch.” He answers with that cute shy smile. "After that, anything and everything that will help me with press and media interactions."

“So pass, see, drop, ball, cross, shot, man on, etc.?” I clarify after we share a laugh over press and media interactions.

“Yeah that covers most of them, I take it you know football.”

“I know both world football and American Football. Although I'm still not sure I understand how the latter is classified as football when the only players that touch the ball with their feet are the punter and the kicker. Plus it's not even spherical.” I ramble and he lights up with a huge smile.

“I get it. It is kind of funny.” He chuckles. “So does that mean I'll see you at the San Siro?” he asks and this time it's my turn to laugh.

“Maybe for the derby. But I'll be in black and blue.” I say with a smile.

“Ahh, you're an Inter fan.”

“Which makes you the archenemy.”

“Oh no, whatever can I do to change your mind?” He says jokingly.

It was then I noticed that we'd been slowly leaning in closer to each other and now we were just inches apart.

“Fanculo, baciami.” (Fuck it, kiss me.) I say and close the distance pressing my lips against his for a short moment before pulling away.

“Can I grab you something to drink?” I say in an attempt to get a breather, but before I can get up Christian pulls me back, kissing me again. I can't help but kiss him back.

“That, that was amazing.” He says in a whisper, smiling.

Eventually we both venture back down for waters. On his way out for the night Christian kisses my cheek and I blush like crazy. “See you tomorrow Y/N.” He says as he leaves. You wave goodbye and turn your mind to closing up when Livia interrupts you.

“I saw that.” She says with a giggle and I just smile at her. “And don't you have the day off tomorrow?”

“Yeah, he insisted on taking me for ‘an evening coffee and maybe gelato,’ were his exact words.” I say, a smile forming.

“You're into him! OMG wait until I tell Nico!” Livia exclaims. “He'll be begging for pitch side tickets.”

“Oh good Lord, you're right. You can't tell him, at least not yet, let me have tomorrow and then we can talk.” I tell her.

“Oh sure, make me keep gossip this good from my fiance.” She says back and we both laugh.

-The Next Evening-

I pair my favorite navy blue and gold constellations cold shoulder shirt with light wash flare denim jeans and my Ja 1 Chinese New Year sneakers. My Inter Snake necklace and a light gray leather crossbody bag with my wallet, phone, and sunglasses as my only accessories. Christian meets me just outside the bookstore in a white puma tee with a black logo and jeans.

“Bellissima.” (Beautiful.) He says as I exit.

“Grazie.” I say back with a smile.

“Any suggestions on the best spots around here?” He asks and I nod as we make our way to one of my favorite espresso places.

We arrive and take a seat outside as a waiter comes out to greet us.

“Buonasera, cosa posso offrirvi per questa splendida serata?” (Good evening, what can I get you two on this gorgeous night?) The waiter asks.

“Due espressi e due cannoli, per favore, grazie.” (Two espressos and two cannolis please, thank you.) I respond in rapid Italian. Christian just looks at me wide eyed.

“I ordered an espresso and a cannoli for each of us, the ones here are fantastic.”

“Do they have the Italian doughnut ball things?” Christian asks.

“Zeppola?” I ask him back just to confirm we're on the same page.

“Yeah, those.” He says smiling shyly.

“They should, but if you're on a sweet kick you gotta try the cream cheese Sfogliatelle.” I say back.

“I'm sorry, the cream cheese what?” He asks.

“The Sfogliatelle. Sfol-ya-tel-le.” I have him say it until he gets it. Which is pretty quick. “It's basically a croissant filled with cream cheese. They can also be filled with a custard, or sometimes almond paste.” I explain to him.

“I'm at your mercy here, whatever you like I'm down to try.” Christian says before adding, “Go crazy with it, I'm going to have to try it all eventually.”

When the waiter returns with our espressos and cannolis I order the zeppola and sfogliatelle, as well as a cream puff and a classic tiramisu.

Christian's eyes alight when everything arrives. I can't help but comment on it, “Looks like someone has a bit of a sweet tooth.” I say with a laugh.

“I'm usually more careful with it, but this feels like a good time to just let myself enjoy it since I just have light training and film tomorrow. We play Torino on Saturday, my first game at the San Siro.”

We enjoyed the espressos and pastries with light conversation. Christian told me a bit about his time at Chelsea but was very vague about it. It seemed like a place that frustrated him more than anything. After we finished, Christian insisted on paying even after I offered to split it with him considering what I ordered for us. As we were walking back to the store Christian and I exchanged stories about childhood. When I told him I played football at university on a scholarship he seemed pretty impressed and asked if I ever wanted to go pro.

“No. Towards the end of uni I felt more of the stress, I wasn't playing for fun anymore, I wasn't enjoying myself on the pitch, and I realized I didn't want to lose my love for the game.”

“What position did you play?”

“What didn't I play is the better question. I had really good pitch awareness, I acted as the secondary goalkeeper, but I usually played in the center, whether that was at center back or center mid. Sometimes striker, but I liked center back the best. It was more of a defensive midfield almost, with the way we played, but I got my share of goals and assists and a few clean sheets too.”

“Leftie or Rightie?” He asked and I answered with a proud smile on my face. “Dominant leftie.”

“Impressive.”

“I'm also left-handed but I actually golf and bowl right handed.”

“You bowl?”

“Of course, it's great for grip training. It helps exercise and build the muscles in your fingers, which is good for keepers.”

“Ok, damn, that's actually interesting. I'll have to ask Mike if he bowls.” Christian comments just as we reach the shop.

“Well, this is me.” I say and he shakes his head with a smile.

“You live above the store? Why does that not surprise me at all.”

“It's like the shortest commute to work a person can have and then I have more time with Astra and Aurora in the mornings.” I say and Christian raises a brow. “Come on up, I'll introduce you.”

We go up the back set of stairs inside the building and I unlock my door. Astra my huskydoodle and Aurora my havanese are sitting in their respective beds patiently waiting for me to call them out.

“Okay, are you ready?” I ask Christian. They won't bite him or growl or bark obnoxiously, or anything but they will go beg for all the attention. He nods and I give my girls the signal.

“Ciao Ragazze.” I say. At the mention of their code (hi girls) they come rushing out of their beds towards me for a few nuzzles before they begin their investigation of Christian.

Christian ends up spending about twenty minutes with me and the pups, before heading home to get some sleep. I went about business as usual the next morning, it was shipment day so I had plenty to keep me busy all day. Nico arrived late in the afternoon. He does all the businessy managerial paperwork on Fridays. Livia and I call it his office day. I'm on a quick break when Nico comes and grabs me.

“Someone requested you specifically.” He says as I follow him out to the front.

Christian is standing there in his training kit with a small black gift bag. “Hey you,” he says with a smile.

“Hey yourself, I didn't think you'd be by today.” I replied with a wide smile.

“I brought you something.” He says and goes to hand me the bag when Nico pipes up. “Y/N why don't you and Christian head up to your place, I'll close up the store tonight.” He says and shoos us both up the stairwell that's inside the storeroom. Once we get inside and Astra and Aurora settle, Chris hands me the bag. I pull out a badge style pass to the San Siro which is attached to a black lanyard.

“It’s an all-access pass into the tunnel and the reserved section for the game tomorrow.” Christian explains and I sigh.

“I’m flattered, really, but I can't. I work an open to close at the shop.” I say. I go to hand it back to him when my phone buzzes. “What the hell did you do?” I ask Christian after reading my message.

“I messaged Livia about my idea and she said she'd be happy to cover it for you.” He tells me.

“So is this what happens? We kiss twice, go on one maybe-date, and suddenly my world is supposed to revolve around you? Because I hate to break it to you, but that's not how shit works.” I say back, mildly pissed off.

“Y/N no. I'm sorry, I thought I was doing something nice for you.” He says sadly and suddenly I feel like shit for getting pissy with him.

“I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have said that.” I say. We stand in an awkward silence for about a minute when I break it. “Listen Christian, I wouldn't say no to a second maybe-date or a first official date with you, but I love my job, I love that store, and I have worked way too hard to get it to where it is. It's my livelihood, just like football is yours. I need to be here for the store just like you need to be there for your team.”

“Then you'll let me take you out after the store closes tomorrow?” He asks.

“I'd like that.” I say back.

“I admire your passion and dedication to the store, so I'm sorry if I made it seem like I didn't care. I should've tried to look at it from your perspective.” He apologizes.

“Can we kiss and make up now?” I ask with a sly smile and Christian smiles back before pulling me into him and kissing me sweetly.

“I think I'm going to like having kiss and make up time with you.” He says with a smile. One I happily return. We watch a few episodes of one of my favorite American shows while cuddling on my couch with the dogs. Eventually we both end up hungry, and I pan sear some steak and vegetables, boil some of my favorite fresh pasta and then toss it all together with some granulated garlic, fresh grated parmesan, and a poppyseed vinaigrette. After dividing it into two bowls I rejoin Christian on the couch.

“So, do you prefer Christian or Chris?” I ask him in between a bite of dinner.

“I'm good with either, it's usually Chris during casual conversations like this with my family, friends, and teammates.” He elaborates.

“Noted… Chris.”

After we finish eating, Christian insists on helping me with the dishes. As he's leaving I go to hand him the badge.

“Keep it,” he says. “Just in case you change your mind.” He kisses me soundly and heads out.

I go to head to bed and see the gift bag on the coffee table. I can tell there's more in there just by the way it sits. Sure enough, under a few pieces of tissue paper is the mostly white US National Team jersey. When I pull it out a note falls out.

Y/N,

I was thinking that maybe we could meet in the middle. Seeing as you're half American and all, a US Soccer jersey wouldn't be treason.

-Christian

P.S. if you do feel so inclined and want to wear my club jersey, feel free, I included one of those too.

I set the note aside and pull out the red and black jersey. Flipping it to look at the back I see Pulisic 11 and can't help but smile. I grab the USA one and check its back as well.

“He thinks he's so smooth.” I say to Astra and Aurora. “Va bene ragazze, è ora di dormire.” (Alright girls, sleep time)

Astra and Aurora follow me back to my bedroom. As soon as I open the door they go and jump up. Aurora sprawls out on the pillow that I don't use and Astra curls up right in my spot. I take a quick shower to get rid of the dirt from the day. Once I've got my sleep shirt on I lift the sheets. Astra moves to the other side so I can slip in. Then she scootches back over for snuggles.

When I get up the next morning I glance around the room and my eyes land on the red and black jersey. I text Livia to make sure she's still ok with covering for me. I pull on black skinny jeans, the USA jersey, and combat boots. I pull my hair back in a braid, add my sterling silver football long earrings, paint on a dark red lip, and draw my cat-eyes. I grab my crossbody bag and the pass, before stopping in the shop to thank Livia.

“Go get him girl!” She hollers as I leave for the San Siro.

Hope you enjoyed! I'm still working on part 2. It will probably be 3 parts total with an open ending so I can do check-ins in the future.

-Ava

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magewritesstories · 3 months ago

Text

[ ᴊᴇꜱꜱ ᴍᴀʀɪᴀɴᴏ ] ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴘᴇᴀᴛ ɪᴛꜱᴇʟꜰ

summary: jess moves back to stars hollow to open a new branch of truncheon books in his hometown, and tries not to murder the girl living in the apartment above him and the town enjoys watching another grumpy business owner fall in love with a bubbly inn manager. TW: none note: in love with him and not even in a funny way, i need a jess

“Are you sure this is the place you want?” Andrew asked for what felt like the millionth time. The bookstore owner gave the 25-year-old a nervous stare as he signed the last few papers.

“Yes, Andrew, for the millionth time, this is the place.” Jess sighed, he couldn’t blame the man for his hesitance, he hadn’t exactly left a good impression on the people of Stars Hollow while living there.

Out of all the places he’d imagined settling down, Stars Hollow, Connecticut was incredibly low on the list.

But he couldn’t deny the fact that it was a good commerce town, people passed through on business or on their way to Hartford all the time. So when his friends asked him where they should open a new branch of their bookstore, it was the first place he thought of.

Once all the paperwork was finished, Jess had spent the week driving back-and-forth from Philadelphia to Stars Hollow and everything was finally done.

Andrew took papers, “Okay, I’ll get these to Kirk—” He moved to grab his bags— “Have you met Y/N yet?”

Jess shook his head, Y/N the mysterious person that lived in the apartment above the bookstore, “Nope, haven’t run into her yet.” Andrew nodded, “Well, I better get going.”

Once the older man had left, Jess turned to the bookstore. There were cardboard boxes everywhere, and all the bookshelves had been emptied along with the walls, where the hanging bookshelves had made place for paintings.

Jess started to unload the first box of books when Luke walked in, with you tailing behind him.

“Oh come on, don’t lie,” You insisted, “It is so a different brand.”

The older man sighed, maneuvering his way through the mounds of boxes. “Y/N, for the last time: I’ve been using the same brand of coffee for the past twenty years.”

You crossed your arms, “Liar, I know you did something different with it.”

“Well fine, you got me, I put drugs in yours hoping they would shut you up,” Luke deadpanned, handing Jess a paper bag, “Here’s your lunch.”

You turned to him as well, “Oh, you must be Jess!” You exclaimed excitedly, “I’m Y/N, I live upstairs.”

You stretched out your hand for him to shake. Jess stared at you, it was 9 in the morning, how were you so upbeat already?

“This is the part where you take my hand and tell me it’s nice to meet me,” You whisper jokingly. “Jess Mariano,” He replied, shaking your hand as you give him a bright smile.

“Don’t you have places to be?” Luke questioned, staring at you. You raise an eyebrow at him, “What’re you talking about?”

The older man sighed exasperatedly, “The Inn.” Your E/C went wide in realisation, “Michel’s going to kill me!”

Without another word, you ran towards the door, almost tripping over a box of paintings on your way out, “Sorry!” You excused, and quite frankly Jess wasn’t sure if you were talking to the box or him.

“Wow,” He breathed as he watched you made your way down the street, only to stop halfway to pet Babette’s cat before resuming your run.

Luke nodded, a small smile on his face, “Yeah, that girl’s a storm with skin,” He replied, “So, you need any help with these boxes?”

Jess groaned as Voulez-Vous played loudly upstairs. He couldn’t say anything about it yet, though, per Stars Hollow rules you were allowed to play music as loud as you wanted to until 10 PM.

When Toxic started playing he had enough. He made his way up the creaky stairs. You’d left your door open, and Jess took it as a sign to go inside.

You were standing on your couch, singing along to the song, using your spatula as a mic. Jess watched you jump off and spin around, before finally coming to a halt in front of him.

“Oh, Jess, hi!” You grinned, not even slightly flustered, “Can I help you?”

“Yes, you can, by turning that god awful music down.”

Your eyes went wide, “Shit, is it ten already?” He shook his head, “No, you just have bad taste in music.”

You laughed, “Right, you’re the kind of guy that listens exclusively to Metallica and Iron Maiden,” You teased, “Hey, I’m making cookies, you want some? They’re almost done.”

“What I want is for you to turn down the music,” He deadpanned, arms crossed over his chest. You shrugged, “‘Kay, Roommate.” You reached for the stereo and turned down the music.

“Are you my roommate, ‘cause you’re not the landlord, you rent the place too, but you don’t sleep here— or your not supposed to, I’ve seen you sleeping on the couch— but your not my neighbour either,” You rambled, smiling at him.

“Just keep the music down,” He grumbled, “And if you have to play it at max volume, play some decent music.”

An hour after your little encounter, you came skipping down the steps, a plate of cookies in hand. “You never told me whether you wanted the cookies or not,” You said, putting the plate down, “So I brought them anyway.”

The black-haired man stared between the plate of cookies and your bright smile in confusion. Finally he rolled his chair away from the desk and grabbed something out of the drawer near him.

“Here,” He said, handing you a CD he’d burned himself, “Some acceptable music I think you’d like.”

You inspected the plastic case and grinned, “Thank you.” With one last sunbeam of a smile you turned around and practically skipped up the steps to you apartement.

#jess mariano #jess mariano x reader #jess mariano fanfic #Jess Mariano fanfiction #Gilmore Girls #Lorelai Gilmore #gilmore girls x reader

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writing-mlm · 9 months ago

Note

jason todd x reader please 😔

The ShopKeep and the Hobbyist [J.T]

Summary: Jason's been going to this bookstore for long enough that he's developed a bit of a reputation with them. If only the cute cashier would understand he's trying to flirt but as fate would have it, one knife chase later, and maybe they're more than worker and costumer. Pairing: Jason Todd x Male!Reader WC: 7.3k TW: use of fag but its a quote

Jason traveled out of Gotham once a week, always on a Sunday, always to the same location for three entire hours. Everyone knew that Sunday from noon to four— accounting for traffic and eating out that might happen, that Jason was absolutely unavailable. Unless you physically went to track him down.

But that’s yet to happen.

It’s Sunday and Jason arrived at the normal spot earlier than usual. Traffic was amazing, no accidents on the way out of Gotham, and the highway was thankfully void. He parked his bike in his normal spot, right in front of the store, and lifted the visor to the helmet before heading inside.

The Open Book had always welcomed Jason, even when the shop was closed in the middle of a blizzard. And he helped where he could (Wayne Enterprises always made a large monthly donation to the shop and for some odd reason, someone had gifted the shop a fake bird that is able to stop any thefts(odd)).

“New shipment came in today,” The store owner's grandson greeted him, leaning across the counter to grab at the basket of free candies the shop offered. “Snagged this vintage-looking book collection for ya.” Ever since word that a Wayne kid visits the bookshop, sales have grown so it’s hard keeping certain items in stock. Especially the fancy-looking titles.

“Do tell,” He grabs a bite-sized chocolate and rips the packet open while you set your lollipop wrapper into your apron pocket before ducking under the counter.

“Shits heavy,” You grunt, slamming the box onto the table and read the label. “Uhh, ‘William Shakespeare, Comedies, Histories, & Tragedies. Published According to the True Originall Copies, 1623.’ Original is spelled wrong, though,” You look up at him and pause at his wide-eyed, clearly shocked expression.

“Shakespeare fan?” You ask, opening the flap to the box. “There’s a bunch of them in here. I think this was someone’s collection.”

“Do you know how much it’s worth?” Jason laughs, peering into the box, and then whistles.

“Probably a hundred at the most,” You shrug and he slaps the table with a loud Ha! that makes you look at him, crossing his arms. “Fifty?”

“Try nine mil,” The lollipop falls from your mouth as you look from Jason to the book collection.

“For all of it?” You gape.

“For the top book,” He corrects. “Thank god you snagged it before someone who cared did.”

“Yeah,” You sigh, staring at the book and taking in all of the details. That’s more than you’ll ever make in a lifetime. “What should I do? Do you want it?”

“Want it like I need air,” He admits, handing you another lollipop. “But you should probably auction it, get a stack and whatnot.”

“Grams would get pissed,” You shake your head and slide the box towards him. “Believes books should be read, not stored as an artifact, yknow? Think she marked this box as a hundred, want me to ring it up?” He looks at you and takes his helmet off so you can fully see his are you stupid? look that’s plastered on his face.

“(Y/n),” Jason slides the box back. “This is worth more than every single book in here!” And as much as he pained Jason to say that, he knew it was true. With over two entire floors filled with books, they were but a drop in the bucket compared to that singular box sitting between the two of you.

“It’s just paper and ink,” You shrug, staring at the box. “Besides, she’d get mad if I did and I can’t exactly hide nine million dollars!” Sighing through his nose, he agrees to buy the box and has you set it aside while he goes about shopping.

“You’re staring,” Someone tells him as they walk past and his head spins around to see who it is. It’s one of your younger sisters, around twelve or thirteen, if he remembers right.

“Wasn’t,” He tells her and picks up a book. “I was looking at this book!” She turns back to him and raises her eyebrows at the title before grinning.

“Didn’t take you as an Ice Breaker fan,” She chides and walks away while Jason stares at the book. It could’ve been basically any other book. Putting the book back, Jason returns to his actual book shopping which only takes ten or so minutes. He knows his bag is going to be heavy with the Shakeseapre books so he can’t get too many other books this week.

“Light load,” You comment, scanning the books. “You bought this one a month ago, too.” You note, holding off on scanning A Good Girls Guide to Murder.

“My sister wants to read it,” He explains, flipping through the pages. “And she likes to dogear pages.” Cringing, you scan the book and read him his total before leaning against the counter. It’s a large enough counter that most of your body can rest against it while he pays while you use your phone to order some lunch.

“That place sucks ass,” Jason comments as he’s putting his card away. You roll your eyes and look up at him.

“I’m hungry as shit and there’s no good places around within a reasonable price, this place has decent grilled cheeses.” You justify and he finishes paying.

“What would you have gotten?” He muses, leaning against the counter so the two of you are face to face. Staring at the sad picture of a grilled cheese you huff.

“Five guys,” You admit, looking back at him. He nods, silently urging you to continue while looking you up and down, his eyes slowly moving. You also don’t notice it or the small smile on his face when you don’t move away from him. “Strawberry milkshake and grilled cheeseburger.” You finished.

“No fries?” He asks and you shake your head.

“I don’t really eat fries from there,” You admit, fiddling with the skin around your nails.

“Sounds good,” He tilts his head a bit, grinning so his canines are showing. He watches as your eyes dip once and then twice to his lips before they finally stay on his face.

“It’s fucking good. An arm and a leg, but still,” Standing up, you groan and stretch. He stands up too and puts on his helmet. You watch and wait for him to dip his head down before giving his head two pats. For good luck, of course.

When he leaves, you return to your seat and look over the shop. There’s a dozen or so people inside, some people who are clearly not there for books as they’re recording those random interviews with the tiny microphones and such. You should really stop them, maybe put up a sign or something. But they’re leaving anyway. So it doesn’t really matter.

“Did you kiss?” Your sister asks, walking over to grab one of the candies.

“Girl,” Your face scrunches and she tosses the wrapper at you but it falls short.

“Just saying, seemed awfully close.” She shrugs. “I would’ve made a move on him a long time ago.”

“You’re ten.” Huffing, she huffs back and puts her hands on her hips.

“Nineteen,” She corrects. Making a talking motion with your hand, she smacks it away and throws a fireball candy at you. “That’s why you’re forty and a virgin!”

“Neither of those are true,” You stress, tossing the candy back into the bowl. “And didn’t you just get dumped by some loser who said he’d absolutely eat a turducken covered in chocolate?” She rolls her eyes and walks behind the counter to sign into work.

“I dumped him,” She corrects. “Unlike your failed relationship with the guy who wanted you to pretend to be a woman.”

“Too low,” You sigh, shaking your head. “Too low.”

—

With your lunch break in full swing, you’re upstairs in the break room watching some crappy straight-to-DVD movie your father had bought years back while eating the very sad grilled cheese when the door opens. Half expecting it to be another family member, you don’t look away from the TV and give a small hey but when no one replies you look towards the door and hum surprised to see Jason there. Even more so on who let him in

“Missed me?” You grin, watching as he closes the door behind him and rolls his eyes.

“Little delivery,” He corrects and motions for you to turn back to the movie. You do, albeit a bit hesitant to do so, but you try not to look back when you hear him getting closer. “Close your eyes, too.” He adds when you look as far back as you can without turning your head. Groaning, you cover your eyes with your hand just to prove you’re not peeking and hear him set something down on the spot next to you.

“See you next week!” He pats your back before snatching the half-eaten grilled cheese from your hand and you take it as a sign you can open your eyes. You’re not even upset he’s eating your lunch, it wasn’t good. Looking at what he had set down, you see the familiar white and red bag and crack a smile.

“You got me Five Guys?” Your head whips to the door but it’s already shutting and you can hear his heavy boots quickly running down the stairs. Turning back to the bag, you pull your phone out and scroll to find his contact.

Thank you

we feast tonight

The two of you don’t text much, mostly if he had forgotten something in the shop or given him a heads-up that the bookstore was closed for the day. Hell, his contact name is still Jason (bookstore fav). But he reads it immediately and thumbs up the last text.

This grilled cheese sucks by the way

It feels like plastic

Probably is lol

While Jason is very much a regular at the shop, you don’t really remember when he first started to frequent the shop. Just that one Sunday, you had seen the time and noticed he was late to the shop. He’d come in almost three hours later than he normally did and watched as you sighed, tossing his favorite candy at him before ushering him to the counter. He listened as you told him that next time he is late he needs to text or you’d send out an amber alert yourself.

He truly hadn’t thought anyone had noticed the change in his routine. Especially someone he only saw once a week. It had been a really shitty night for him and an ever-shitter morning, feeling like a ghost wandering through Gotham, living in a life he never should have.

He apologized with a grin and gave you his number. He also spent a little extra time in the shop, loving the familiar smell around him. He loves the bookstore more than he loves his guns, more than he loves most things really. It’s the only normal thing in his life and truly, Jason doesn’t know what he’d do without it. Without you, honestly. He’s only ever there when you are and a place is only as welcoming as the people inhabiting it.

Which is why he’d picked up the 2 am phone call so fast.

“Jason?” You whisper shout into the phone. He can hear some harsh wind and some distant shouts in the background, but it took much less than that for him to abandon his patrol and start over to you. “Shit— I’m sorry but I don’t know who else to call.” You add, the clarity hitting that during an emergency you called the guy who lived nearly half an hour away on a good day.

“It’s okay, doll,” He replies and you dare to glance behind you. Maybe they’d given up by now, but no. “What’s wrong?” He asks as you round a corner. “Where are you?” He quickly adds and you glance at the road signs.

“Uhh, heading towards Second Ave and Belcher Street. My friend's boyfriend thinks she’s cheating with me and him and his friends are chasing me,” You explain.

“Guns?” He asks, already leaving the Gotham border.

“No,” You huff, the strain of running heavy on your chest. “Just knives.”

That’s good, he tells himself. Distance is what you should be focusing on. But he knows that the regular person cannot run for nearly as long as he can and realistically, you’re bound to get tired much sooner than multiple people.

“Is there a crowd nearby?” You can hear some muffling to his voice but that’s honestly the least of your issues. “Maybe a club or hospital.” He adds when you don’t respond fast enough.

“No,” You strain. “Just apartments and shit. God, fuck! Do you think I should climb the fire escape?” There are several ahead of you, and one of them is low enough for you to grab.

“Can you?” He asks.

“Yeah— yeah,” Jumping up, you pull yourself up and start climbing up to the roof. “Shit, I’m really high up,” You pant, daring to look over the edge and see the guys climbing up. “They’re climbing up,” You tell him, quickly backing away and trying to find an exit. What type of roof doesn’t have a fucking exit?

“I’ve seen people jump from roof to roof,” You're thinking out loud at this point, trying to find some type of solution to your stupid idea. “Can’t be that hard, right?”

“Depends on the distance,” He truthfully tells you and you look at the two nearby roofs.

“Definitely too far. I’m fucked.”

“Still on Second and Blecher?” He asks and you mutter a yeah when you see them reach the roof.

“They’re up,” You mumble. “I could jump and live, yeah?” Glancing to your left, you see a dumpster and reassure yourself that you’d be fine.

“Do you think you can come back down the fire escape?” He asks. “Is there one behind the building?” Looking behind you, you let out a loud sigh.

“Yeah— yes, heading down.” Rushing down as fast as you can, you reach the ground as they’re in the middle and run back into the main road.

“Head back down the way you came,” Jason instructs. He’s only five minutes away at this point, maybe three if he tries hard enough. He just needs you to buy five more minutes.

“Okay,”

Running for what felt like an eternity, your legs are burning and your chest is tight. Maybe that one time you lied during your physical exam was coming back to bite you.

But they’re still chasing you and Jason is still guiding you. You’re sure you’re about to pass out when a motorcycle drifts in front of you.

“Red Hood?” You gape, panting. The fuck?

“Come on,” You hear him and Jason say. You’ll worry about that once you’re away from those absolute track-and-field freaks chasing you. Getting on the motorcycle, he holds your thigh with one hand before pulling off.

The ride is silent as you’re catching your breath and just making sure you’re okay in general. Aside from the insane burn in your calves, you’re fine. The ride does a lot to calm you down, by the time he reaches the shop your head is pressed to his back and you’re holding him not as tight as you were before.

“I don’t know your address,” He admits and you laugh into his back. After all that happened it’s a little humorous that your biggest issue is Jason getting your address. You give it to him and it takes him a second but he has the route mapped out before he pulls back onto the street.

“I’m staying the night.” He tells you as you get off of the bike. You don’t protest, not in the slightest. You’re far too tired to do so anyway. Instead, you wave him over and head upstairs. He tries to hide his helmet from the camera view but you tell him they don’t work.

“This guy got robbed two days ago; whole building found out the cameras are fake,” You explain while leaning against the elevator wall.

“And you feel safe?” He incredulously asks, looking you over. Even buildings in Gotham have working cameras.

“I have a gun,” You shrug while he looks at you with more of an analyzing gaze, a little surprised you’d have a gun. “And no valuables. My electronics are all secondhand for that exact reason.”

“So, steal the couch?” He jokes.

“If it can fit through the door, it’s yours!” Patting his arm, you exit the elevator and fish out your keys. Thankfully you hadn’t dropped them during the chase.

“What happened?” He asks as soon as you close and double lock the door. Looking at him, you drop your phone and keys onto the kitchen island before heading back to the door.

“My friend, Gina,” You start with a sigh, kicking your shoes off. “She used to be my beard in high school. But we never officially broke up, I guess because she posted a story saying happy six-year anniversary. With a bunch of pictures of us together. Her boyfriend saw and he’s always been…” Rolling your hand, you open your closet and grab a new outfit. “He thinks I’m lying ‘bout being gay. Because I’m too… I dunno what he thinks. But he says I don’t look gay and he’s never seen me with a guy before.” You explain with a huff. “Not my fault I’ve been single for two years, y'know. I got school and work and whatever!” Slamming the closet shut, you sigh and apologize.

“I’m gonna take a shower, feel free to snoop and prod. And take the boots off, I just moped.”

“Course,” He doesn’t move an inch as he unties his boots and walks to the shoe rack to set them down. You thank him and head into the bathroom.

“If you gotta piss or shit, go ahead. I got a curtain and a strong scent blaster plugged in.” You tell him at the doorway to the bathroom.

“Noted.” He laughs but it drops once the door closes.

He finds himself making sure the windows are locked and the curtains are properly drawn. He grabs his phone and saves your address into his personal map before he goes to check to see what type of security measures you have. And there’s not many, just a gun that’s badly hidden in your bedside table and the extra lock on the door.

But there’s not much to the apartment, the decor is extremely minimal but he remembers you talking about saving to buy a house in the countryside. Or at least outside of a city. Own land and all that.

He can’t decide if that’s good or not, there’s nothing to steal for sure, but it’s also really sad. There’s no personal touch to your apartment, it reminds him of one of his safe houses.

He settles himself into the couch once he’s checked over everything, listening to the sounds of the shower and eventually, he hears the shower turn off.

When you return to the living room in a pair of shorts, you’re a little surprised that Jason is still there.

“Bruce Wayne as Batman makes a lotta sense,” Opening the fridge, you pull out two water bottles before setting them on the counter.

“(Y/n),” Jason stops that conversation. “You should file a police report.”

“Fuck is that gonna do?” You huff, closing the fridge and opening the freezer to grab a popsicle. “Gina will hate me, cops will just forget to file it, and then I get harassed.”

“They tried to kill you,” He stresses, blocking you from moving away from the fridge. You stare at him, a little upset that he’s caring so much. You feel bad for even calling him and sending him out of his way. And now he’s staying for who knows how long. Not to mention now you know his biggest secret— a family secret at that, one that you can tell one person, and suddenly the whole world knows.

“Happens every day,” You shrug but honestly, yeah, that shit scared you. His face drops and he snatches the popsicle from your hand before tossing it on the counter to your left.

“No. Not to you. Not to most people. So what if Gina hates you afterward? Do you want a friend that’s known you since high school who would rather side with her crazy boyfriend?”

“Of course not!” You groan. “But it’s Gina. She’s always been there and— and this is a one-time thing,”

“You sound ridiculous,” He tells you as he walks out of the small kitchen and into the living room. “Trying to kill someone isn’t a fucking one-off. It’s a crime, a legit crime. Has Gina even checked if you’re okay?” He points to the phone that’s still on the counter; the same phone he knows for a fact hasn’t buzzed once.

“No.” There's no need to check your phone, you already know there’s nothing from her. She’d never text you first. He nods as if to say there’s your answer.

“Look, Jason. It was scary as fuck,” You admit. “But I’m good. And I thank you, but you should go home. I just…” Looking off to the wall. “I don’t know why I called you, I feel like shit for dragging you away from your home.”

“I was spending my night watching Harley and Ivy dry hump in front of a newly exploded power plant. You didn’t take me away from shit.” He blinks before heading to the couch. “Besides, it’s too late to drive back. I’m beat,”

“You’re lying,” You deadpan, tossing a water bottle between your hands.

“Am I?” He fake yawns, leaning back on the couch. “Can I get a blanket?” Clearly, he’s not going to leave, and it would be bad as a host to not make him comfortable. Asshole.

“Fine,” He grins as you walk away.

“Oh and Jason, Gram’s told me about the payment plan you set up. Taking advantage of a woman who can’t speak English is rude. She thinks you’re paying five dollars a week for some back dues you owe.” It was actually five hundred thousand dollars a week, which was absurd but hey, if he insists.

“It’s just nine million,” He calls back. “Not even my money and B won’t notice it’s gone.”

Just nine million, you repeat to yourself as you find a suitable blanket. It’s one of those thick fur blankets with a tiger on the front.

“The couch is a pull-out, by the way.” Heading back into the living room, you tuck the blanket under your arm. “I’ve used it like once. It’s pretty comfortable unless you want the bed.” You add, setting the blanket on the edge of the couch. There’s no coffee table, you don’t see a reason for one.

“I can sleep on gravel, doll. I’m fine, thank you.” For some reason, his eyes are having a hard time staying on your face but you’re busy walking back into the kitchen to notice.

“If you’re hungry make anything, I’m going grocery shopping in two days anyway.” Tossing the popsicle back into the freezer, you lean against the counter and watch him. It’s a little staring contest you have going on. His eyelashes are nice, real pretty boy-esque.

The silence and tension in the apartment is broken by four rapid knocks to the front door followed by a worried: “(Y/n)?”

“Gina,” You tell Jason as he’s already off of the couch and halfway to the front door by the time you stand up straight. When you walk up behind him you pause, when did he have time to grab a gun? But he’s looking through the peephole before looking back to you and holding up two fingers. You almost laugh, this isn’t some military operation; just a… friend? at your door.

“Please,” Gina says through the door. “We just— K wants to apologize,” Huffing, you look at Jason who’s standing behind the door, one hand on the top lock. He truly doesn’t want to unlock it, but it’s your apartment. Your call.

“Says who?” K snaps, his voice a lot more muffled than hers is.

“You’re going to fucking apologize.” She snaps right back.

He raises an eyebrow and you nod to the door against your better judgment. He unlocks the door and stands in front of them, really standing over them with his damn height, the arm holding the gun hidden behind the door. You can basically hear Gina pause when she sees him.

“Who are you?” Gina asks, looking him up and down.

“A friend.” He answers simply and then looks over to you. “Your friend is here.”

“Thanks, Jay.” You smile and usher him into your bedroom with two quick glances. “Gina,” You greet a little harshly as you stand at the door. “Kyle.” You look at him for only a second.

“It’s K.” He corrects.

“Can we come in?” She asks, stepping forward. “I explained everything to K and he’s sorry.” She looks back at him and he’s just standing there with this stupid look on his face.

“Is he?” You ask, looking at Kyle. “Because when he was screaming: I knew you weren’t a fag; I’m gonna cut your dick off; stop running bitch; and since you wanna pretend you’re a fag come and taste our dicks he just didn’t seem real sorry.” She cringes, he hadn’t said that part through the yelling they were doing.

“I don’t wanna lose you,” She places a hand on the door, not that you were planning on closing it just yet. “Let us in and he’ll apologize.” Sighing, you look at her and frown. Between not even texting to see if you’re okay and then coming over with the audacity to think that a fucking apology would smooth things over, you were peeved.

“You’re losing one of us tonight. Him or me.” She takes a step back and frowns, her eyebrows knitting as your words settle in her. But at that moment, you knew the friendship was over. It shouldn’t ever take that long for an answer like that.

“(Y/n), he’s sorry!” She almost shouts, shouting as if you had given her this impossible task. You want to reply, you want to yell, and to get into it then and there. But it’s no use. Your neighbors are sleeping, you’re tired, and far from a mood where you want to interact with them. As such, you close the door and put the locks back on.

She shouts some things from the other side but you’re not listening as you enter your bedroom.

Jason was standing right next to the door, startling you. If he hadn’t been so close you wouldn’t have seen him in the darkness.

“Is that a requirement for vigilantes?” You ask, clutching your chest in an exaggeration. “Y’all are fucking spooky,” Tossing yourself onto your bed, you stare up at him.

“She’s still at the door,” He ignores the comment on his family business once again. Instead, his eyes trained on your front door, watching and waiting to see what their next move is going to be. You hope for their sake it’s leaving because his hand is still on the safety of his gun.

“Not like they can get in,” You shrug, laying flat on your back. “I never give my key to anyone and it takes a full round of bullets to break the door.”

“You know that how?” He asks, setting his gun down on the dresser.

“Last year my neighbor's crazy ex tried to break in but the door didn’t budge.”

“Of course,” His head dips back into the bedroom, watching you. “Sleep, I’ll be in the living room.”

“Okay,” Turning your head to look at him, you grin. “If you get nightmares, the bed is free.” Patting the empty space, Jason rolls his eyes with a grin and leaves the room. “Your gun?” You call after him, staring at the handgun still on your dresser.

“I have two more!” He calls back.

“How the fuck?” But he doesn’t answer.

—

The next morning you wake up to the sound of the front door closing. It stirs you, really, but you’re lucid enough to realize that hey, either Jason treated you like a one-night stand or someone had broken in.

Sitting up in the bed, you collect yourself for a moment and grab his gun on your way out. While you’re surely not as keen as Jason is, you like to think you’re observant enough. The door is locked again, so you figure he didn’t leave and someone didn’t break in.

“Jason?” You turn the corner to the kitchen and see him standing with a bag of Ihop, staring at you as if he’d gotten caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“Good morning,” His eyes flicker to the gun as you set it on the counter. A part of him is proud that you were hesitant enough to bring the gun with you. “I got breakfast.”

“Aw,” You grin. “Post hate crime meal!”

“That’s an insane sentence,” He tells you, unpacking what he had gotten. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got you blueberry pancakes, french toast, eggs, and bacon. And the orange juice,” He places two boxes and a large cup of orange juice in front of you, then the straw. But you’re just focused on the fact that you know for a fact that wasn’t a random order. You’d posted about that exact order once before. Maybe a month or so ago.

“Oh,” You hum, looking at the food and then at him. “That’s sweet. Thank you.” He hums back, dropping the bag down to the floor, and takes his food. He’d gotten strawberry pancakes, hash browns, an omelet, and a coffee.

Now you feel bad for not having a coffee table.

“Wanna watch something while we eat?” You point your thumb toward the living room and he nods.

While in the middle of watching Breaking Bad, you get up to set the empty containers in the sink and the cup in the trash while Jason watches. He doesn’t really know what to do, he wants to sleep, having stayed up the entire night in case anything happened but he’s enjoying his time with you. Even if the circumstances were… less than ideal.

“Do you work today?” He asks when you’re walking back.

“Depends if my sister calls out,” Sitting, you turn your body to look at him. “I work Wednesday through Sunday, most weeks, at least.”

“Are you going to make the report?” He also turns his body to you, watching as you toss your head back and sigh.

“Probably not,” You admit, looking back at him. “It’s more effort than I care to do,” He blinks, clearly disappointed but he’s not going to push.

“You should carry a weapon.” Jason’s not really asking, he’s telling you. “How good are you with a gun?”

“Not sure,”

“You bought a gun without training for it?” He asks, slowly as if he’s waiting for you to correct him and tell him that you actually go to the gun range in your free time.

“My dad got me it when I moved out.” You shrug, feeling a little ashamed because now he’s looking at you like you’re insane. “He said I needed protection and he doesn’t believe in mace or tasers.”

“Clearly you do!” He throws his hand up towards the door. “We’re going to the gun range today.”

“Jay!” You groan, nudging his leg with your foot. He grabs it and slides you down the couch. “I’m fine.” He just hums and leans over you, it doesn’t do much. Aside from shutting you up.

He’s staring at you, his eyes unwavering from yours while you can’t seem to settle on where to look. It’s making you nervous— he’s making you nervous. The proximity isn’t the biggest issue, no the issue is the fact that you don’t mind that he’s above you, his hand right next to your head, and for fucks sake his breathing is even.

“You’re going.”

“Yup,”

—

Weirdly enough, the shooting range wasn’t in some building. No, Jason had decided to drive the hour's ride to a private lot. While normally you don’t agree to be in the middle of butt fuck nowhere without your own means of leaving, you were willing to bend your rules this one time.

He has you help with setting up the cans and the body dummies, which are incredibly lifelike. A little creepy, but whatever floats his boat, you guess. He also puts up a new target sheet on a metal wall before he returns to hand you a handgun and ear mufflers.

“Don’t hold it like that,” He blinks as you’re pointing the gun directly at your foot. You’re not a fool, you’ve played a couple of shooter games before.

“The safety is on,” You justify but point it toward the ground instead. Just to keep him happy. He just sighs and grabs his own gun, pointing it toward the dummy.

“Stand like this,” He watches you from the corner of his eye as you mimic his stance. It’s a little uncomfortable but very technical. “A little straighter.” Fixing your posture he nods and drops his stance to adjust your grip on the gun. He takes your hands and adjusts them appropriately. “It’s not accurate for beginners, but I learned this way.” He explains as he steps behind you and lowers himself to your height. It’s hard when you’re not the same six foot-five that he is, but that’s neither here nor there.

With his line of sight that is the same as yours, he raises your hands a little higher and a little to the left. You trust his judgment, you’re no fool on how accurate Red Hood is with his guns.

It's silent, so silent that you can hear him breathing even through the heavy earmuffs. Whether you like it or not, you start to stop focusing on the task at hand and on him. He smells like your soap, too. It’s a little too domestic for the setting you’re in.

“Take it off of safety,” He instructs, taking two steps away. Doing as he says, you want to roll your shoulders back but you’re worried you’d lose the position. “Go ahead.” His arms cross as he stares ahead at the dummy and you catch the flex of muscle under his shirt.

Adjusting yourself as lowkey as you can, you close one eye and press the trigger. It's harder than you would’ve thought, giving you only a moment to back out. Following through, you let the recoil push you back a little before looking at the dummy. It didn’t hit the center of the head, instead grazing over the ear.

“Close,” Jason looks over at you as you’re rubbing your shoulder but stops when you catch him looking at you. “Again?”

—

“I mean,” One of your friends, Tasha, takes a long sip of her drink. “None of us wanted to say anything but Gina is a bitch.” Frowning, you push around your food with the back of your fork. What was supposed to be your friend group's monthly putting ended up becoming a major therapy session when they noticed that Gina wasn’t there.

“Yeah,” Dante gives you a sort of frown sort of smile. “But you’d been friends with her for longer than us, so it wasn’t really our place.”

“It’s crazy that it took her boyfriend trying to kill me to realize that, though.” It felt a bit weird, she’d always been in your life, and before the whole incident, you never would’ve thought you’d be without her. But life was the same, if not better with her gone. You didn’t realize how much you didn’t need her until now and honestly, you’re just upset it didn’t happen sooner.

Especially considering all of your other friends didn’t like her.

“Speaking of,” Alex cranes her neck to look at you. “Who’s Jason?” She grins as your eyes narrow. You’re not one to divulge about your life, especially over text.

“How do you know about him?” Setting your fork down, she snorts before digging back into her meal.

“Girl, I was the Uber Eats driver.” She explains and looks to the others who are clearly out of the loop. “My first order of the day, some guy named Jason with a blank profile. Whatever, right? I pick up the Ihop order— he knows your taste, cute.” She quickly adds. “And then, I get the address. I’m just thinking (Y/n) created a fake profile. Nah, bro!” She covers her mouth to stop her laughing and to stop any potential food from flying out of her mouth.

“I knock and this tall guy with this hot face scar opens the door. If he would’ve asked I would’ve taken the tip,” And she didn’t mean money.

“Clearly he already did!” Dante cackles, watching as you drown yourself in the soda you’d ordered. The others laugh while you have to do damage control.

“Jay’s a friend who happened to be in the neighborhood when Kyle was chasing me,” The three look at each other, ever aware of the fact that you’re staring at your plate while talking. They just assume the friend part is a lie. “And he spent the night. On the couch.” You add, looking at each of them to make sure that they understand.

“And ordered you breakfast in bed. And he left a hundred-dollar tip,” Alex swirls her pasta around her fork while the others gape at the news.

“Oh girl,” Tasha looks over at you. “He got a sister?”

“Too young for your old ass!” You laugh while she pretends to be offended. “His sisters are nineteen and eighteen.” You wondered if you should add Barbra to his list of family. But you think she’s more of an acquaintance than family. But you could be wrong.

“You know his family?” Tasha’s eyebrows furrow.

“I know of his family. Never met that before.”

“Ah, waiting for the one-year mark?” Alex nods as if she had caught the drift you are trying to get at.

“Oh my god,” Rolling your eyes, you lean back in your seat.

“What? You’re acting like you’re not attracted to that man. He’s fine as hell!” Alex pushes her hair behind her ear as she talks. “Might have to revoke your gay card.”

“I never said that, it’s just…” Rubbing your hands on your pants, your face scrunches. “He could be straight.” Now, you weren’t going to deny the fact that Jason was attractive. He was the embodiment of your personal preferences, but you were a chronic overthinker with these sorts of things. To the point where it needs to be spelled out for you to get any hints.

“He got you breakfast in bed.” Dante sounds out each word, putting an equal amount of extra emphasis on it. Just to make sure it really sinks in.

“I did that for you guys before!” You defend.

“Fine— fine, how do you know him?” Tasha asks and the others nod, happily awaiting your response.

“He comes into the shop every Sunday. He’s been coming for about four years, give or take.” You shrug and they blink at each other. This is why you’re still single.

“Isn’t he the one that bought you Five Guys last month?” Dante is now physically turned to you, his eyes wide and you grumble. You never told them about that.

“You’re lying,” Alex cackles. “That’s your man and you don’t wanna admit it. Five guys is expensive.”

“How about this?” Dante rolls his hand before you can even reply to Alex. “If one of Tasha’s friends got her an expensive lunch without asking, showed up to her job every single shift for four years, stayed with her after a traumatic night, got her breakfast, and didn’t leave until she was truly safe; how much platonic energy does that give you?”

“Not a lot, but—“

“Nah,” Dante holds your hands as he speaks. “I love you, so don’t take this the wrong way but you’re stupid as fuck. He wants you.”

“He wants the books I sell. And my friendship.”

“He wants to spread something other than pages.” He shakes his head and you snort. “Ask him out, if he says no. Then I owe you a grand.”

“You don’t have a grand.” You deadpan and he nods.

“I’m so sure he’ll say yes that I’m making that bet.”

“Fine,” You huff. “But if this ruins my friendship you all owe me lunch for a month.” Surprisingly, they all agree and you settle on asking him on the upcoming Sunday. So, the very next day.

—

“Why are your friends watching you?” Your sister asks as she walks behind you to grab one of the display books and swap it for a different one.

“Don’t worry about them,” You mutter, too busy watching the window; waiting for the motorcycle to stop in front of the store. She notices, of course, and stands behind you before deciding it was time to take her break and join your friends upstairs.

Eventually, you see his motorcycle pull up and sigh, fixing your apron but stop when you hear them snickering. This whole situation was stupid, that’s what you’ve decided. But you’ve made your bed, it was time to lie in it.

Jason walks in, his eyes immediately finding yours but you’re busy ringing someone up. He grabs the basket from the front of the shop and walks around the shop until he sees the line is gone.

“Jay,” You grin, holding onto the counter.

“(Y/n),” His eyes focus on your hands for a second before he grabs a chocolate from the basket. Glancing at your friends, you fix your posture and reassure yourself. “Anything new?” Typically, you’d already be talking about what’s new but there’s just this hanging silence.

“Nah,” You shake your head but still double-check the inventory log. “But we’re getting some um… science fiction stuff next week.” He’s not too big on those, maybe once in a blue moon he’ll actually buy one. He goes to talk but your phone dings before he can open his mouth. Watching as you grab your phone, your eyes scan over a text before you huff and silence it.

“I heard about…” You trail into a whisper. “The Riddler kidnapping, you okay?” Not the best way to lead into asking someone out, but hey. Could’ve been worse.

“I’m fine,” He nods. “Arms a little sore but I’ll live.”

“Long enough to go on a date with me?” You ask, a bit quicker than you intended but thankfully your words haven’t jumped up. He laughs, his eyes closing and you falter, glancing up at your friends for some type of support.

“That was a bold transition,” He settles himself down. “When are you free?”

“Oh shit, for real?” You grin. “I’m free Monday. Or whenever you are, really. My shifts are pretty flexible,”

“I’ll pick you up Monday,”

“I asked you on the date,” You huff. “I’m picking you up.” He crosses his arms and his eyes lower into a sort of unamused expression.

“You’ll pick me up, from Gotham?” He asks, just to make sure you know what you’d be signing up for. Truthfully, you hadn’t. And as such, you weigh your options— you don’t even have a car to offer to pick him up in. Damn.

“Fine, Monday at eight.” Giving in, he nods and glances around the shop.

“I don’t need a book today, see you tomorrow.” He looks you up and down, this time you watch as his eyes slowly drag down and tilt your head.

“Looking like you already wanna kiss me, Jay.” You joke as his eyes reach yours again.

“Since you offered.” He grins and sneaks one single kiss that lasts less than a second.

“I get off in thirty,”

#x male reader #x reader #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x male reader #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x male reader

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 1 year ago

Text

Imagine Aziraphale finding you and Crowley fuming at one another…

The doorbell of the bookstore sang into the air with a delightful sound as the owner had returned from his trip alone. There was a sigh of content and homeliness as Aziraphale stepped deeper into the room. He took in the sight, noticing a few stray papers and misplaced books but they were all minor corrections.

Turning to his desk, he saw the trusted pair who he had left in charge - one on the chair and the other leaning against a shelf.

“So, how was your time bonding while I was away?” Aziraphale wondered ever so curiously with an excitable lilt to his voice. His adventure had been a silent plot to enhance coorporation between his two friends who had gotten off on the wrong foot and continued down the road.

Without wasting a second, you cast a finger of accusation to the demon lounging on the chair.

“He poisoned me!”

Aziraphale turned to Crowley immediately to hear the explanation but the demon merely waved his glass of alcohol in the air.

“I did not poison you. Not intentionally anyway. It was more of an accidental poisoning.” He more-or-less confessed.

“Oh, Crowley.” The disappointment in the angels voice wasn’t hidden. He had genuinely hoped that the two would have found some common ground to build a steady foundation for trust in his absence.

The angel’s tone struck a chord with the red-haired being who cast an equally accusing finger at his opposition.

“Y/n wouldn’t have been poisoned if they knew not to touch my things.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms. “Oh, please. You’ve been secretly plotting to write me out of this story ever since I foiled your plans of uncontrollable flooding and created the Niagra Falls all those years ago.”

“I’ve been plotting to write you out from the day we met. Believe me.” Crowley sneered back.

“And for what? To have Aziraphale’s undivided attention?”

The book-loving angel felt his face flush at the mention of a battle for his affection. The giddiness swept over his halo allowing him to revel in the feeling until he remembered the heat in the air almost starting to be reminiscent of ‘downstairs’.

“Now, now. I enjoy the company of you both but now I fear leaving you alone for a few seconds. Is it really so difficult to find common interests?”

You and Crowley turned away and looked around the room, pondering an answer. Surely there must have been one thing that you both could agree on?

“We didn’t kill each other while you were out?” Crowley offered.

You snapped your fingers and nodded.

Aziraphale hummed sceptically. “It’s not quite what I was going for but I’ll allow it.”

~ More imagines here ~

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #good omens x reader #good omens imagine #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x reader #aziraphale imagine #crowley x reader #crowley imagine

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boldlyvoid · 1 year ago

Text

Falling For You.

[REQUEST] spencer reid x BAU!reader but they're in a secret relationship, and basically she gets him to watch all these romcoms, so when he makes a reference to something like Notting Hill or You've Got Mail and then the whole secret is blown.

warnings: mentions of lila archer, spoilers for 90s/2000s rom-coms, co-workers to lovers, love confessions, implied smut, secret relationships.

word count: 2.4k

It was no secret that the newest team member had a thing for romantic comedies. From the little jokes she made with Penelope to the quote from Pretty Woman on her travel mug, she was a walking Rom-Com reference.

Hotch understood some of the references, JJ would talk her ear off about her favourites, and even Emily and Derek would jokingly re-enact that scene from When Harry Met Sally every time they had a team lunch. It was only Spencer who didn’t get the jokes, and after having to explain them all to him 1 too many times, she finally invited him over to watch some.

The first one they watched together was Can’t Buy Me Love. Patrick Dempsey, a loveable nerd has been saving up all summer to buy the telescope of his dreams when the girl next door accidentally ruins her mom's favourite dress and needs to buy a replacement… he ends up buying it for her on the condition that she pretends to date him so his Senior Year can be his best year yet. Spencer likes the movie overall, he wishes someone in his high school took enough pity on him to make him popular. But his favourite scene is when they go to the abandoned airplane graveyard and watch the stars in his homemade telescope.

“I can make one of those,” Spencer whispers to her.

“Really?”

He nods, “It would be pretty easy… maybe we could go star gazing someday too?” He asks, biting the bullet and making this movie date the first of many dates they’d go on.

—

The next movie they watch is Never Been Kissed. Drew Barrymore is a nerdy reporter who goes undercover at a high school and gets to relive her teen years while falling in love for the first time. Spencer likes this one because he can relate, he never had his first kiss until well into his 20s… and she was an actress, too. When he explains that to Y/N she can’t believe it, but he has the magazine photos of them saying goodbye after the case to prove it.

“Have you kissed many people since then?” She asks, wishing he’d move a little closer to her and steal one.

He nods, “a few.”

“anyone good?”

He shakes his head, “no, I’m saving the best kiss for last.”

She looks puzzled? “What?”

“My best kiss will be from the girl I end up marrying,” he gives her a smile and moves his hand over to hold hers.

“Oh,” she bites back a smile and looks down at their interlocked fingers. “Have you at least met her yet?”

“I think so…”

“Well, then shouldn’t you kiss her to find out if she’s the right one?” She teases, leaning into his space even more.

“I suppose you’re right,” he teases, he cups her face with his free hand and rubs his thumb over her cheek, “are you sure you’re okay with this?”

She nods and leans in all the way this time. Effectively pressing their lips together. And even for a first kiss, it sure does feel different. It feels like her last first kiss ever.

—

Keeping it a secret at work is hard when all they want to do is stare at each other with googly-eyes, they’ve fallen head over heels for each other and not told a single soul. No one knows about their movie dates or their real dates either. No one knows they’ve spent a whole night kissing or that they really, really, don’t mind sharing the hotel room with the two queen beds. And they definitely don’t know that they only slept in the one. Together. The whole week they were away.

After the case ends, they head back to her apartment for their mandated 48 hours off with the pan to watch as many movies as they can.

The third movie they watch is You’ve Got Mail.

“Rival bookstore owners hate each other in real life, yet on the internet manage to fall madly in love with one another. Based on an older movie called The Shop Around The Corner, it’s a beloved story brought to life once again by the one and only Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.”

She explains every movie like this before they put it on. He’s honestly only watching them because he loves listening to her talk about them.

“You see, they both have partners in real life but they email each other every day, as friends… but you know what it's like in movies like these,” she smirks. “Best friends who have a lot in common find it easy to fall in love.”

“That they do,” he agrees.

He raises his arm over the back of the couch and she sits back, leaning into his side just as his hand lands on her shoulder. They snuggle up close, she hits play and he watches with glee, not knowing this was going to become his favourite movie by the time it’s over.

His favourite line is when two cars honk at each other and their drivers get out to argue, followed by Meg Ryan saying “Don’t you love New York in the fall?” Which is something Tom Hanks says to her in an email earlier that morning.

He loves the way the old man recalls a woman of his past and called her “enchanting” because what a wonderful thing to say about a woman.

He giggles when Tom Hanks tosses aside Pride and Prejudice cause he just doesn’t get it the way Meg's character does. But ultimately, he picks it back up because he wants to get to know her through her reading history.

“I sympathize with Frank,” Spencer whispers as he brings out a typewriter when they have a perfectly good computer at her house.

“I know,” she laughs. “I love the tablets at work, I can’t believe you still have Penny paint the files out for you.”

You are a lone reed standing tall, waving boldly in the curet sands of commerce. Frank compliments Kathleen, or at least he tries to.

Spencer giggles again. “I remember what it was like being a lone Reid,” he whispers before pressing a kiss to her cheek.

She gets all flustered, so madly in love with him that she wants to scream it from the rooftops but it feels way too soon. They’re only 3 movies into their relationship. Maybe at 10, she’ll tell him. Till then, she looks over at him and steals a real kiss.

Kathleen is so passionate about her books in the same way that Y/N loves her movies. Spencer sees so many similarities between them that it’s really no wonder that Tom Hanks’ character falls in love with her. Passionate, kind, beautiful women will always have a place in Spencer's heart.

Their 4th movie is another Meg Ryan classic; When Harry Met Sally, and now Spencer understands why Derek pretends to have an orgasm when he eats a good salad…

Their 5th movie is Notting Hill and Y/N can tell he doesn’t like it very much because unlike William Tucker, the actress who kissed Spencer never talked to him again after that.

Their 6th movie, however, is Pretty Woman. And while they shared a bed all through the last case, they’ve never really slept together. So watching a movie all about sex and falling in love really didn’t help the frustration they were both feelings. By the time the movie ended, it was almost midnight and they should’ve been getting ready for bed.

She gets up and heads to her room, expecting him to follow but he just stands in her doorway, watching with a bit of anxiety in his gut.

“So…” Spencer asks. “What happens after he climbs up and rescues her?”

She stills, her heart fills with love and she quickly makes his way to him. She cups his face in her hands, staring up at him. “She rescues him right back.”

“Indeed you have,” he leans in and presses a quick kiss to her lips. “You know what all these movies have in common?”

“What?” She has no idea where he’s going with this.

“They all fell in love pretty quickly, I mean just look at Vivian and Edward, it took them less than a week,” he explains. “So I don’t feel too crazy when I say… I love you, Y/N. I love you so very much.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she whispers between kisses.

They kiss and kiss and he walks with her, leading her toward the bed where they fall in and make love for the first time. It's hot and close and emotional. It's slow and steady and perfect. It’s everything both of them have dreamed of when they finally met the one.

—

On their second day off they watch How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, 13 Going On 30, 50 First Dates, A Walk to Remember, 10 Things I Hate About You, and The Holiday. They would’ve gotten to more if they weren’t so wrapped up in one another. By the time they go back to work, they’ve gotten through half of her list of favourite movies.

He’s not sure if it’s luck or coincidence or what… but their next case happens to be in New York.

When they land, they get into their Bureau-issued SUVs and weave in and out of traffic on their way to the scene. They’re honked at multiple times and Spencer just smirks to himself. It’s not until they get out and they’re honked at once again, with some guy yelling at them to get out of his way, that Spencer turns to her and says. “Don’t you love New York in the fall?”

She giggles and shoves him, “Shut up.”

“It’s not the fall?” JJ remarks, not knowing why he’d say such a thing or why she’d react like that.

“Hey, isn’t that…” Emily thinks it over for a second. “That’s a line from you’ve got mail!”

“How would Spencer know that movie?” JJ laughs it off.

Spencer turns to beat red with embarrassment. “I’ve seen it…”

“You’ve seen you’ve got mail?” Derek even rides him for this slip-up. “And when do you have time to watch rom-coms?”

“I’ve seen the original,” he lies. “It’s based on The Shop Around The Corner. My mom liked it before she got sick.”

“Okay,” they drop it there.

Thankfully.

And by the time the case ends, 3 days have passed, the unsub has been booked into Jail at 9am and they’re free to go home. If they want to. Derek suggests they all go out for breakfast, and Hotch says he rather go home and sleep. JJ wants to go shopping and Emily’s right there with her.

Spencer on the other hand, he opens his phone and sends Y/N a message.

“There’s a place in Riverside Park at 91st street where the path curves and there’s a garden. I’ll be waiting there for you.”

She digs her phone out of her pocket seconds later and smiles, a small sigh leaves her as her shoulders slump. She’s so in love with him it's unreal.

“What about you, Y/N?” Emily asks her. “Do you want to come with us?”

“No… no, I have a friend in town I want to meet up with.”

“Looks like it’s just me and you for breakfast, pretty boy,” Derek teased, wrapping his arm around Spencer.

He shakes his head, “Actually, I was thinking about going on a little sightseeing adventure, you know I only come to new york for work.”

“Fine then,” Derek drops it and he, Emily and JJ watch as Spencer and Y/N head off, out of the precinct and in different directions. “I bet you ten bucks they’re meeting up.”

“Hold on,” JJ says as she calls up Penelope. “Hey, yeah, can you tell me where Spencer and Y/N’s GPS pings in 20 minutes?”

“I can… why?” Penny asks nervously.

“No reason. Just a hunch.”

When Penelope eventually calls her back all she has to say is Riverside Park at 91st Street and they know.

—

Y/N gets there first, she’s never seen this place in person before. The flowers are even more vibrant than in the movie. There are bees dancing around every other flower, couples walking around hand in hand, people on dog walks and moms with their strollers. It’s just an average early morning in New York.

And then she sees him. He comes rounding the corner, he’s carrying a bouquet of flowers wrapped in newspaper… at least she thinks they’re flowers.

What they don’t notice is their friends on the other side of the garden, watching them get closer and closer until they’re chest to chest. He wraps his free hand around her waist, she cups his face in her own hands, and she stares up at him like he hung the stars just for her.

“I wanted it to be you,” Spencer whispers what was originally Meg Ryan's line. “I wanted it to be you so badly.”

“You sure did save the best for last,” she knows exactly what he means.

Just as they lean in to kiss, as his lips meet hers, they hear it. Someone is playing “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” just for them. They smile into the kiss, shocked that their life is playing out like a perfectly written movie and then they see them.

It’s their own friends who played it. They’re clapping in the distance, “Woo!!” Emily cheers.

“We knew this would happen!” Derek throws in for good measure.

They can’t help but laugh, Spencer pulls her in for another kiss, a longer, more hearty kiss. He loves her and he wants everyone to know.

When she pulls back, she looks as though she could cry, so he extends the bouquet to her. It’s a bunch of yellow, newly sharpened number 2 pencils tied up with string.

“Don’t you love New York in the fall?”

“Not as much as I love you,” she says as she takes them, gladly. “Not even close.”

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