#because now ezra is here

[ezraphobicsoup]

can i please request a fun fact about anything ever

#i would like that that would be nice #this is an open request not necessary a specific target (i mean there is one person who will definitely see this (hello #sorry about all of this i think i’m slightly silly hoursing and also just exploding like i dunno #i am alright i’m just also uaaaaaaaaaaaa #i hope you’re alright too i yeah i hope you are ok (this is me being paranoid #not because of you it’s a hormones thing i think cause this is just the feeling) #(man this was supposed to be a non specific post fuck ok oh well) #what was i saying anyway uhhhhh jonah is not the whale right??? i don’t think so im a fake jonah and the whale fan i’m sorry #i swear if it’s not even actually jonah like i’m not just getting confused with job and weezer my name is jonas am i #(like i say. i have no idea what i am thinking right now really i do slightly sorry that’s an exaggeration) #ok ending this ramble sorry everyone else that is not my girlfriend i don’t think she knows what i’m on about either here probably #i certainly don’t so if you can decipher this that’s very impressive #anyway anyway. fun facts !!!! #ezra’s real life rambles

[kanerallels]

Platonic sebezra, circus au?

Oh-ho-ho I did NOT expect this prompt to take root the way it did. Ahem. But here's a little ficlet that doesn't even begin to touch the depths of brain rot you've given me

“You’re the new tightrope walker, right?”

Sabine didn’t look up from lacing up her shoes as she replied, “Looks like it.”

This wasn’t where she’d expected to be— a circus in the middle of nowhere, barely breaking even. Clearly, it wasn’t as popular as it used to be. Everything made that clear, from the worn out waistcoat that the ringmaster had been wearing when he hired her and the threadbare costumes hanging on a rack near her, to the fact that the tent was still nearly empty, and it was fifteen minutes until show time.

But she’d gotten stuck, and she needed the money. And luckily, she was good at more than one thing. Tightrope walking would be easy.

Rising, she turned towards the arena— and froze, coming face to face with a lion.

Her instinct was to scream, her second to run or fight. But instead, Sabine deliberately tensed her muscles, feeling the panic race through her, silently counting to five. When she reached five, she let out a long exhale, then lifted an eyebrow at the orange clad boy standing behind the lion.

“Let me guess,” she said. “Lion tamer?”

He grinned. “How’d you guess?” With a quick whistle, he called the lion back, and it settled next to him, looking like nothing so much as an over large cat. “I’m Ezra, and this is Jasmine.”

“Sabine. This how you greet all your new coworkers?”

Shrugging, Ezra said, “Only the ones who can handle it. And it looked like you could. Besides, it’s a good test of who’s going to stick around.”

Sabine had no intention of sticking around. This job would, hopefully, get her enough money to make it to her next destination, and then she would move on.

But for now, she just nodded. “Looks like I passed.”

“Looks like it,” Ezra said with a grin. “Welcome to Circus Spectres.”

#thanks for the ask!! #star wars rebels #swr #sabine wren #ezra bridger #writing stories is a kind of magic too #YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND THE WAY MY BRAIN LATCHED ONTO THIS #listen. they're a struggling circus because they owe people money but they're still trying to inspire wonder and hope and joy #and do what they love #ryder azadi is the ringmaster (the last place he worked didn't survive and there are all kinds of rumors but the spectres took him anyways) #and kanan is a fire eater (partially because. reasons. and partially because of my childhood obsession with dustfinger) #and hera is a trick rider! and zeb is the trapeze artist (who used to have a partner that died and now he refuses to work with anyone else) #and sabine would help them bring life back to this place and ANYWAYS #i have a shocking amount of ideas about this au and backstory #and how everyone here is lost or broken but they all wound up together #(probably thanks to hera) #like i said. a LOT of thoughts #*whispers to myself* don't lose self control and write more don't lose self control and write more #so uh. if anyone wants to send me another prompt. and they don't know what au to choose #you probably shouldn't enable me like that #I DIGRESS #swr circus au

[achingly-shy]

thinking about everyone hating on sabine for giving baylan the map and choosing ezra over the safety of the galaxy....like did we all just forget "EVERYTHING i did was for FAMILY for MANDALORE"

#like i absolutely love when people take something soooo important to a character and just ignore it #sabine cares about her family so much and ezra is family to her hera is family to her kanan was family to her zeb is family to her chopper #is family to her even jacen is now family to her #the ghost crew is her family!!!! especially since they wrote her bio family out of the narrative (still upset about that one though) #and obviously i emphasized 'mandalore' because it's emphasized in the quote obviously that doesn't have anything to do with ezra #but like if we're going to be hating on something from the ahsoka series #let's not hate on sabine's actions let's hate on arguably trash writing (in the majority of places) #but!!!! her giving baylan the map is not trash writing in my opinion because it makes sense!! it's what she would do!! it's what any of the #would do for each other in the end!! hell it's what i would do for any member of the ghost crew <3 #geo rambles #sabine wren #don't know what exactly prompted me to go on a full rant here but i was watching drew gooden's sw video and he had some takes so it #got me thinking about all this again #also sometimes characters have to make tragic choices that doom everyone else to save the people they love and i think that is fucking #poetic and cinema and chef's kiss and i eat it up every time

[asexualbookbird]

i finished throne of jade and it made me realise how much more i enjoyed to shape a dragons breath lol

its not that one really did "our way is the right way to raise dragons" any better but dragons breath was definitely more approchable! i think it also helps that like. in dragons breath we werent meant to sympathetize with the people being racist lmao i know this series is about Laurence growing as a person and thats great but what about his friends lol

also sorry not sorry i just dont find racist learns not to be racist a very interesting story! especially when told from the racists pov!

i DO like watching Temeraire find his heritage and come closer to his roots but i want MORE of that lmao once again i feel like the dragons are being cast aside and i want MORE OF THEM

#bookbird babbles #ezra reads temeraire #ezra reads throne of jade #also lol hate that temeraire is like yes im very happy here but lets go back to war now #i know its not that simple but hng #i think in just being nitpicky because they were on that boat for 80% of the book

[prideandperdition]

Basil and seafoam 💚🩵

Oh dear dramatic anon who would die and kill for me, yes let us run off into the woods and let ourselves be surrounded by the growing ferns and find some mushrooms! 💚💜🍄

#ask #I like that idea a lot anon #also now you're here #go listen to let's run away to the woods by ezra collins because this song is wholesome as fuck

[husband-steve-cortez]

What if I had Miles destroy Maelon's data and Eve died on him...

I like thinking about these scenarios with Miles because he'd actually feel really guilty and I also kind of like being funny with paragon shep.

I also think Miles kind of feels guilty whichever path he goes and he feels a push and pull between what's morally the "right thing" and like. What's expected of him as a soldier, as a spectre, to keep the galaxy safe.

Such as. Wondering whether the Krogan can be trusted and feeling like, both to stop a potential future Krogan uprising and securing Salarian aid, lying to Wrex and his people and killing Mordin isn't that high a price to pay

Ezra isn't doing that kind of ruthless calculus. Not in this situation at least.

If Miles were more inclined to talk about it I think he and Kaidan might have some interesting things to say to each other about integrity and honor mattering even as the world falls apart.

#with Ezra it's less integrity mattering and more. Well as lame as I sometimes think it is. #He's not letting fear compromise who he is. #there's some lines Ezra is willing to cross and morally dubious things Ezra might do here and there #Tricking an entire race and withholding their salvation is kind of fucked. #Of course he considers it. Very briefly. #decides it's not worth it. #Miles can't rest as easy that it's not worth it. Because he's always thinking of earth #the destruction he knew about but couldn't prevent. #and now he's running around solving alien problems in the HOPES that they help back. #oc: Miles Shepard

[endless-ineffabilities]

there's hope for us yet - (1/2)

Anakin Skywalker x f!reader

After being overpowered by Baylan Skoll, Ahsoka and the reader find themselves in the World Between Worlds, each confronted with a version of Anakin. The reader meets the Anakin she fell in love with. Or, still loves.

masterlist ▪︎ part two

"Hello, stardust."

Two words. Two simple but poignant words to send you out of orbit. Wherever you are.

You had opened your eyes to an endless picture of the galaxy, stars and planets as far as you can see. Planes of light acting like pathways, one of which you found yourself lying down on.

Then you stood, head light.

And then you hear him.

Anakin.

You swear there is nothing else like it, the sound of his voice which used to be your very anchor.

"Impossible." You whisper, before finally turning around.

There he stands, as real as the last day you saw him. Donning his dark Jedi attire, blonde curls atop his perfect face.

"What did I tell you?" He tsked at you, shaking his head fondly. "Nothing's impossible."

"I'm dead, aren't I?" You take a step closer, as he walks towards you. This must be heaven, you want to add, but that seemed too hopeful. Desperate.

Heaven, after all, would always be with him. Anakin, who was lost after the duel on Mustafar.

"Do you really think that, stardust?" He reaches you, tucking a stray strand behind your ear. "Look around."

So you do. But truth be told, you don't want to look at anything else apart from him.

"Another... realm," you try to figure it out. "You've mentioned this, haven't you? Obi-Wan talked of a realm that encompasses all realms. All of time and space."

Anakin hums in approval, his thumb grazing your cheekbone. "If in here I still have you... then here is all there ever should be."

You feel tears pricking at your eyes, trying hard to fight them off. He swoops in at your rescue, bridging the gap between you two with a searing kiss.

It feels real, you think. And it must be, because how else can it make your entire being ablaze. His lips are softer than your memory serves, the sweet taste of him ingrained like a branding. Ani, Anakin. Your Anakin.

His tongue snakes past your teeth, begging for more. His hand tilts your head back to gain leverage.

"My stardust," he whispers against your skin, when he pulls away to drag his lips on your cheek. When he repeats it, his words take on a different tone. "My stardust. Mine." He nearly growls at the end, the sound of it low and grating in your ear.

The Force shifts. Where you felt uncertainty and hope, now you feel something darker. Something's not right here.

"Where is Ahsoka?"

"That's nothing you should concern yourself with." Anakin steps to your side, one hand toying with your hair. When he is behind you, you feel his breathing on the back of your neck, just imploring you to give in. "What matters is us, stardust."

"This isn't real." You shake your head. "At least, this is not my time, my current path. I have to go back. We have to find Ezra."

"This is real." His arm wraps around your shoulders, pressing your back to his chest. "You wound me, stardust. Do you not want me? Just like this?"

"I can feel you," you step away from him, immediately deflated at the lack of contact, as wrong as it may be. "and you're not really my Anakin, are you?"

He chuckles, low in his chest. There is nothing friendly about the gesture. "I am who I have always been meant to become. This is me. This is the man you love."

"No." You circle each other, akin to predator and prey, and you're not sure which one you are. "The man I love ..." you raise your voice, resolve weakening, "... is dead."

A moment hangs between you, filled with silence, but electrifying all the same. He holds you in his steel blue gaze, and for just a second, you can believe that he is truly yours. His mouth curls up in that familiar smirk, his eyebrows raise toward the center.

Please, he seems to say, this is me. I love you now, as I always have.

But the moment passes, and a gloom casts over his expression.

"Fine," he sneers. "Have it your way, stardust."

And the world falls all around you.

Everything is burning.

The Clone Wars rage at all sides, smoke filling the air and impairing your line of sight.

Anakin was by your side one second, the next he was lost to you in the midst of all the fighting.

You think you can hear him calling your name, but it seems so far away. Your main focus is on the open wound by your ribs, sustained from a blaster shot, staining blood through your white tunic.

You groan due to it all, but the familiarity of the pain somehow dulls the sensation.

I've been here before.

Anakin calls your name, much nearer now, and soon enough he is right in front of you. Face contorted in a mixture of rage and relief.

"Stardust!" He yells. "I told you to stick with me. Why do you never listen?"

"It's not my fault! I was..." Pain shoots through you, bringing you to your knees, and you press your hand against your side. "I was sidetracked by all the..."

"You're hurt. Kriff's sake, stardust. How can you do this me?"

"To you? I'm the one injured here."

He babbles on, inspecting your wound with precise movements. "I don't know what I would do without you. You can't get hurt, do you hear me? I would not be able to fight in these wars. You have to be alright."

His sincerity tugs at your heart, and you reach for his face. He takes a deep breath, pressing his nose against your palm.

"I'll be alright, Ani," you try to calm him down. "Nothing a little bacta spray can't fix."

"Right," he reaches inside his pocket, revealing the spray case. The immediate relief you feel as the solution comes in contact with your wound makes you sigh deeply. "This should tide you over until we get you to a medic."

"Snips alright?" You look around, trying to catch a glimpse of his young Padawan.

"She's alright," he confirms, helping you up with one arm firmly around you. "Worry about yourself for now, okay?"

"Are you alright?" You completely ignore his sentiment, giving him a once over. Well, what are you thinking? Of course he's alright. Anakin can face a thousand belligerents on his own and come out unscathed.

He pauses, a smile encroaching upon his face.

"Oh, stardust." He sighs, moving in front of you, and holding your face with both hands.

An explosion erupts from behind him, billowing fires. The atmosphere is red, an intense haze of destruction looming over the scene. There is screaming from all sides. Cries of attack and defense.

But Anakin only has eyes for you.

"I'll always be okay, as long as I have you by my side."

You remember this moment. You remember how you clammed up, and merely nodded in response. The gloom of battle like an assault to your senses.

Say something. But you can't, because you didn't.

Anakin presses a kiss to your forehead, and your eyes close.

And then he is gone.

I will always be with you, Ani.

But it is too late.

Always.

This is just a two-parter, and the next part will be sad/angsty, so brace yourselves. He is Darth Vader, after all.

update: part two is posted!

#anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #ahsoka #hayden christensen #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen imagine

[sabakos]

You probably don't know another language if you live in the United States and both you and your parents were born here unless you go out of your way to learn it. This is a problem of geography more than it is a moral failing because if you are an American, then learning another language is not immediately useful to you. This is because your options in school are as follows:

Spanish: Second most common language in America. Most people who speak it also speak English and will look at you funny if you know Spanish and will not appreciate you being able to eavesdrop on their conversations. But, it's the only non-English language with an appreciable population of native speakers that you can encounter without getting on a plane. However in all likelihood you will probably be taught by a non-native speaker who could not pass an A1 exam and you will learn no Spanish just the same as everyone else.

French: The only French speakers in North America probably don't want to talk to you ever, and if you speak non-Quebecois French at them they really won't want to. You are probably going to major in literary studies and spend the rest of your life pretending to read books no one else actually reads. You have opinions on Freud and Lacan.

German: No one in North America speaks German as their primary language. It's really only useful if you like philosophy or World War II history or want to move to Germany. You probably really like beer and will study abroad and be really annoying about it afterward. But most Germans you are likely to meet outside of Germany speak English somewhat well so you aren't really doing anything for yourself? So most people will also think you're a Wehraboo or worse unless you are Jewish.

Russian: You already speak Russian or another Slavic language at home and will insist that you do not up until the first day of class, when you and all of your classmates will spend the entire time gossiping with the professor in Russian. The few American kids will hang out in the back and probably talk about Dostoevsky and drink vodka out of their water bottles. Everyone will get an A and no one will learn anything new.

Mandarin Chinese: You (or more likely your parents) think "we'll all be speaking Chinese in twenty years" and so you want to get a head start. This attitude self-selects against people who will ever need to know Mandarin. You probably idolize Ezra Pound and use phrases like "command economy" unironically. Every single person from China who has ever met you hates your guts.

Japanese: You are a weeb. All of your classmates are weebs. Your professor may or may not be a weeb, but wants to die regardless. You'll probably give up halfway through the first semester along with the most annoying 80% of the class and switch to Spanish once you realize how hard it is to learn Japanese.

Korean or Arabic: Congratulations on your new job at [redacted]!

Pashto or Urdu or Farsi: Congratulations on your new job at [redacted], but also I really doubt you are supposed to be telling anyone that you are learning this language. Good luck on your future job search.

Navajo: Most Navajo people don't speak any Navajo and unless you live in New Mexico you will literally never meet someone who is Navajo. They don't want to talk to you anyway. I don't think many people ever even try to learn this, this is solely on this list because I've seen insane but clueless Europeans try to guilt Americans for not learning it for some incomprehensible reason.

Latin: Latin is a dead language. I'm sure you are tired of hearing about that by now, which is why I reminded you about it. Even Catholics will make fun of you now for learning this. Your parents probably want you to be a doctor, and will stop talking to you when you drop out of med school. Or maybe you're a classics student who will spend the rest of your life incorrecting historians about pissing contests no one cared about anyway. Go forge a historical demonology book or get off to a picture of Thomas Aquinas or Cicero or something, I don't know.

Ancient Greek: Oh, are you a theology student or something learning Biblical Koine? The Evangelical Christians don't care what the bible actu- ...No? You're learning Attic Greek? And you're not like, a linguistics or classics major or something, you chose to do this specifically. Hey, uh, are you doing anything later? Or right now, even?

#posting #language learning

[erodasfishtacos]

Always Choose You

Happy 2 Years of ErodasFishTacos ♥️

Hi, my loves. Long time, no see! I am coming up on my second year of writing and wanted to celebrate with everyone.

I posted this on my patreon and wanted to share the twins with everyone. Thank you for all the support from everyone over the past two years.

I am still no longer posting regularly on here but I want to give everybody a little something ❤️

prompt: follow MLB!H and YN through nine months of pregnancy with the twins

word count: 10k+

warnings: smut, angsts, birth

Easton is 10, Cash is 8, Ezra is 6, Briar is 4 :)

I really hope you enjoy! Please let me know your thoughts!

love you all so much 

isla x

-

two months; eight weeks

Harry was sniffling the whole ride home.

He had managed to keep it together through the rest of the appointment but as soon as they got in the car, he lost it and was crying.

YN asked twice whether he was okay because she couldn’t quite decipher whether they were happy or not after a few minutes but Harry had just squeezed her thigh and said he was ‘okay’ even though she felt like he was breathing a bit too hard.

“Can you pull over?” YN asks a few minutes away from their house, it was all woods surrounding them as they drove up to where they were tucked away in privacy from the world.

“Of course, do you feel nauseous?” Harry answers instantly but he’s already pulling off on the side of the road - there wasn’t any houses or other cars near them.

“Get out with me for a minute,” YN says instead as she opens the passenger door, waiting until Harry walks around the car with a bit of a perplexed expression but as soon as he’s in front of her, she presses his body back against the car.

“I can’t tell for certain but I feel like your about to have a panic attack. The tears and how fast your chest is moving up and down. Are you scared that it’s twins?”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut and shudders out a shaky breath, shaking his head ‘no’ before actually mumbling, “It…I couldn’t be happier that we’re having twins. It’s a dream come true to have one more baby than we bargained for.”

“Then what is it, H?” YN frowns as she uses the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe the tears off his cheeks as they continuously run down, she hasn’t seen him like this in a long time and it was starting to make her worried.

“I…” Harry swallows harshly, avoiding her eye contact that he normally never did, “I feel like I’m having trouble breathing, I think am having a panic attack because I’m so in my head right now and I am so worried…”

“Harry,” YN replies firmly, putting her hand over his heart, “What are you worried about? The babies are healthy and growing normally -“

“S’not about the babies,” Harry shakes his head again.

“Baby, I’m not a mind-reader,” YN reminds him as she feels how fast his heart is beating, “If it’s not about the babies, then what is it about?”

Harry blinks up at her, hesitating as he wipes his face, “You. I…As soon as she said twins. I know it’s going to be so much for you and it’s not what we planned - to have two more. I didn’t even ask how you were feeling. And now I’m worrying that you felt pressured to have more children and if that leads you to resent me because of the twins.”

YN can’t help but snort out a laugh, “You’re absurd, you know that?”

Harry’s face drops into a boyish pout, “Don’t laugh at me.”

“You’re having a panic attack over something that isn’t even happeninf, H,” YN soothes, using a nicer tone as she wraps her arms around his narrow waist and nuzzles her face into his chest.

“I came to you asking for another baby, I’m sure you remember. I know you wouldn’t have minded more children but I knew you would have been okay with my decision if I didn’t want more. I want both of these babies and now I can’t picture just being pregnant with one. Please stop worry and go back to being happy about it.”

“I’m so happy,” Harry murmurs into her hair as he hugs her closer, “I can’t believe that we are going to have two more bubs running around our house. I think East, Cash, and Ezzie are going to be so excited. Briar may lose her mind not being the baby anymore.”

“Or what if she’s not the only girl too?” YN giggles because she can imagine Briar either loving a sister or having to transition to the idea of it.

“I can’t imagine it, I feel like you’re a boy mama beside her,” Harry smiles, his heart rate already going back to normal, “I love you with everything in me and more. I am so grateful for everything you do for us and continue to do. This family wouldn’t be without you.”

YN pulls back to smile back at her husband, “Do you want to have a quickie in the car before we go home?”

“Hey, I was trying to be romantic and sweet,” Harry remarks as a surprise laugh comes from his chest, his hand moving down to smack her bum lightly as if to scold her.

“So is that a no?”

“The answer to that question will never be no,” Harry’s voice drops lower, predictable as always, “Get your arse in the backseat.”

-

When they get home from the doctor, Anne is sat in the backyard as all four of the children run around on the playset and sandbox, Easton and Cash chasing each other around as Briar and Ezra look to be having a tea party with their dolls and stuffies.

“Is there good news?” Anne asks hopefully as Harry and YN take a seat on the lounger next to her; the kids hadn’t spotted them quite yet.

“Mum,” Harry can’t tamper down how wide his smile is, “We’re having twins.”

Anne’s eyes widen comically before they start to water, “I’m going to have two more grandbabies? Are you pulling my leg?”

YN riffles through her purse to pull out the sonogram where baby one and two are labeled, they’re tiny and still look like little blobs but they’re there nonetheless.

“My goodness,” Anne puts a hand up to her mouth, eyes watering as she stares at the little picture in her hand, “Two more to love. I’m so happy for you two.”

Anne leans over, tugs YN into a tight hug and it feels like a flashback to when they first told her about Easton.

-

YN shakily hands over the sonogram to Anne, Harry had his hand firm on her shoulder to remind that he was there.

“Look at how much he’s growing ,” Anne coos as she traces her finger over the photograph, “He’s looking so big!”

“Doctor said he looks completely healthy, labs came back and they were all as they should be,” Harry smiles proudly, his hand moving around to cradle the bump.

“You guys are so excited aren’t you,” Anne grins as she looks between the two of them - the excitement and love was obvious.

“I know we’re young but we are so excited to have this baby. We will be graduated from college and in New York for Harry. It will be a new journey but we are so incredibly happy.”

“That’s all that matters,” Anne hums as she pulls them into a strong hug, “Happy kids and a healthy grandbaby.”

-

Anne quickly tucks the picture under her thigh when all the children realize their parents are home at last.

Briar crawling up onto YN’s lap and cuddles right into her chest with a whiney, “Mama, mama, mama.”

“I’m right here. We were just gone for a little, hm? Being such a good girl for nana,” YN coos as Briar blinks heavily, she was just about ready for a nap, and that girl loved her sleep.

“Daddy,” Briar lazily reaches over to tug at Harry’s shirtsleeve to get his attention before tucking herself back into the cradle of YN’s arm.

“Hi lil’ mama, I see you,” Harry leans over to kiss her forehead and smooth out a stray curl but lets out an ‘oomph’ when three rambunctious boys jump on him at the same time, “Were you three monsters good for nana?”

They all chime out a giggly ‘yes’ as they cling on their father, excited both their parents are home with them.

“Alright, m’going to give you three a head start. I’m going to count to five and then I’m going to get you!” Harry growls which makes the boys all squeal and begin to run back into the yard.

Harry bolts after them, wasting no time in tackling Easton who’s laughing so hard he has tears streaming down his face.

Briar starts grumbling and squirming around, she is serious about her sleep, she blinks up at YN and says, “Nap, mama. Now.”

“You’re such an amazing mother,” Anne puts her hand on YN’s knee with a soft smile, “I can’t wait to see what this journey brings you.”

-

month three; 16 weeks

The smallest bump was starting to show on YN’s belly and it was easy to cover with an oversized shirt or hoodie but while she was standing at the mirror, it was obvious to see.

Harry was still in season, traveling, and her bump was changing with such frequency that she looked just a little bit different every time that Harry saw her.

They had to tell the children soon, YN didn’t know how some of them would respond - they knew that Ezra would be excited but she couldn’t guarantee the rest of them.

YN was eager to show Harry that her little bump had started to protrude, she started to show maybe a few weeks later into pregnancy with the others but since she was growing two - she assumed that she would get bigger faster and that seemed to be proving right.

That night, Harry was getting in from Denver and as always, he loved when YN stayed up and waited but he assured her she didn’t need to.

He knew how tired she was by the end of the night from parenting all day, sometimes he found her asleep from where she valiantly tried to wait up but ended up dozing off on the couch.

Harry comes in through the garage, dropping his suitcase and duffle entryway before he goes about grabbing a water bottle and seeing if there’s any leftovers from dinner.

He feels stupid that he gets butterflies in his stomach when he sees a container of chicken, rice, and vegetables with a post-it note that just has the initial H with a heart.

When he puts it in the microwave, YN must hear that because she’s padding into the kitchen in one of Harry’s shirts and just a pair of underwear.

“Mama,” Harry rasps, his voice worn from yelling during the games, “C’mere, I missed you so fucking much.”

YN walks right into his arms, allowing Harry to wrap her in a tight hug before he’s pulling back to kiss her nose then lips.

“I missed you too. I hate when you leave us, never gets easier,” YN sighs sadly and that was something that happened during every pregnancy.

YN always misses Harry when he is gone but when she was pregnant was the only time her hormones were off and she got angry about it before crying and apologizing.

“You know I’m never gone for longer than I need to be. And anytime I’m away, I’m thinking about home,” Harry murmurs sweetly, ignoring the alarm of the microwave signaling his food’s done, “Thank you for leaving me dinner. You always surprise me.”

YN steps back suddenly with an excited grin, taking enough room back so Harry can see her fully, “Speaking of surprises, I have another one.”

Harry squints at her with skepticism, leans up against the counter, “Whassit?”

YN lifts up her shirt and holds it under her breasts, turning to the side, and looking back at Harry to see his reaction.

He just stares at it for a moment in silence before his eyes find hers but he’s holding her gaze for no longer than a second before he’s glancing back down at her belly.

“S’a bump,” Harry whispers gleefully before he is scurrying forward to cradle her tummy in his hands, “It’s little but it’s there. You’ve never showed this early but it’s because we got two of ‘em in there. Oh my god, this is the best surprise.”

YN is always grateful with how attentive he is to her pregnancy, some women she’s friends with - their husbands can’t even remember what trimester there is, let alone week or what their bump looked like from the last pregnancy.

“Let me take a picture,” Harry reaches for his phone in his pocket, taking a few steps back to take a picture of his wife smiling down at where her babies are growing, “Fuck, you’re the most beautiful thing on this earth.”

And right when he’s about to put his phone away, YN says, “Wait, one more picture!”

And when Harry brings his phone back up, YN being the cheeky thing she is, pulls her shirt up until her breasts are revealed - soft but perky as she shakes them at the camera.

Harry definitely snaps more than one picture before he’s slipping his phone in his pocket, “S’that how it’s going to be? You like knowing there’s pictures of your tits on my phone, look at ‘em constantly when I’m away.”

“That’s all you have on your phone?” YN teases with a smirk, knowing there’s a double passcode protected album that contains much more than that.

“Got a pretty nice variety,” Harry drawls, his voice deep with arousal as he begins to stalk towards her, “Your tits, your bum, my cock in you, the list goes on, baby.”

YN giggles as he presses her back into the counter by crowding into her space, the ledge at the lower of her back, and his dinner completely forgotten- he was hungry for something else.

“You’re so easy,” YN tells him for the millionth time in their relationship because she can get him going by just existing.

And Harry replies often in the same way, “I’m demi and I’m only attracted to you. Imagine being married to the most attractive person in the world and that’s what it’s like for me. I am married to the person I’m most and only attracted to, it’s a dream.”

“You’re the most attractive person in the world to me,” YN replies sweetly because it’s true, he is the hottest man on this earth and no one could tell her elsewise.

“Show me then, take me out, pet,” Harry murmurs in the filthiest tone, his athletic shorts showing clearly that he was plumped and ready for her.

YN was just about the tug down on the waistband when a cry echoed out through the house.

The noise came from the top of the staircase because there was a gate up because YN didn’t want any of the children to be half asleep and take a tumble.

It was Briar without a doubt as she cried out, “Mama, daddy.”

“She has not been sleeping well,” YN sighs, patting Harry’s hip, “Reheat your dinner and then come upstairs.”

This was a common occurrence that they had to get used to with a household of children, they were going to get interrupted.

Harry gives a sad little pout but nods, giving her a kiss and a smack on the bum before YN’s disappearing back to the foyer to the staircase.

He can hear Briar’s desperate little whines when she sees her mother, “Mama, mama, hold me, please. Where’s daddy?”

His heart breaks a little bit,  YN responds too softly for him to hear but he quickly turns the microwave back on and scarfs down his dinner.

When he found them, YN had brought Briar into their bed which he didn’t mind one bit, and wasn't going to turn down a cuddle from his two favorite girls.

Briar looks up happily from where she’s cuddled into her mother, “Daddy, you’re home. I missed you.”

And it is the sweetest sentiment but he hates that his kids have to miss him, he knows it’s going to be two times harder when he has two more babies to leave at home.

He can’t share it with YN until Briar drifts off to sleep because the kids don’t know about the babies yet but they won’t be able to hide it for much longer.

“How am I going to leave you and them after the twins are born?” Harry murmurs softly after Briar had finally fell back asleep between the two of them.

“The same way you have the past four times,” YN says back as she reaches over to brush at his curls that Briar had run her hands through, “It will be okay.”

“Six kids,” Harry replies with a frown, “I will feel like shit for leaving you, every single time. More than I do now.”

“Have I not handled it well these past ten years? Since Easton was a baby?” YN asks and there’s a bit of defensiveness in her voice like he’s offended her abilities.

“Mama,” Harry titters because he didn’t want his own anxiety to be misconstrued, “It doesn’t have anything to do with you. You do such a fucking good job. We have four perfect amazing kids. It’s more about me, I guess, not being a good enough husband or dad.”

“But you are,” YN reassured him fiercely, “You are the best provider. You provide for me so that I can stay home and raise our babies. You make sure our children have anything they could ever need or want on top of always being present, even when you’re away.”

Harry turns his face to where her hand is on her cheek and kisses her palm, “Are you worried about having six kids at home without me sometimes?”

YN shakes her head, “I always have your mom’s help. Plus Easton, Cash, and Ezra will be in school full time and Briar will be in preschool three days a week before she’s off to kindergarten.”

“I never want you to feel like when I’m away you have to do this on your own.”

“Why do you talk like you abandon me? I’m never on my own. I always have you. I know that if I needed you, you would get on a flight in half a minute.”

He would. He one hundred percent would.

-

four months; 16 weeks

The bump was noticeable now.

YN could still get away with loose clothing which she has been doing but if the fabric clings anywhere near her belly it’s obvious.

Tonight was when they were going to tell the kids about their new siblings and they didn’t know how they were going to take it.

YN had her bet that Easton would be the least thrilled while Harry bet on Briar having a tantrum over it.

They were both wrong.

It was just after dinner, the sun hadn’t set yet but it was starting to creep below the trees that surrounded their estate to keep everyone out.

YN had made cupcakes and each child was eagerly unwrapping the baking paper to get to the sprinkles and icing.

“Okay, Mama and I have some news,” Harry announces when they had settled back down and were working their ways through dessert.

“S’it good or bad news?” Easton asks through a mouthful of a vanilla cupcake, blue icing coating his lips.

“We definitely think it’s good news,” YN smiles and she felt nervousness in her stomach over delivering the news and Harry could sense it so he took the reins.

“Mama is pregnant,” Harry announces which makes all the children look in a bit of confusion to which Cash interrupts.

“Does that mean you can’t have peanuts? I think Landon is pregnant in my class,” Cash remarks as Easton snickers at his cluelessness which makes him whine.

“That’s an allergy,” Harry chuckles as he clarifies, “It means that mama has babies growing in her belly. Usually, it’s just one. But we were extra lucky and mama has two in her stomach which means you’re going to be getting two brothers or sisters.”

Easton looks absolutely thrilled as he chirps, “Really? That means two more people playing games with us! That means Marco Polo in the pool will be even better!”

Ezra squeals with joy, clapping his hands, and squirming in his seat when he giggles, “I can help mama with the babies!”

Briar is still so little that she’s a bit confused but has a smile on her face.

She seems to like what Ezra says and agrees, “Take care of babies with mama and Ez.”

As for Cash, his brow is furrowed and he had stopped eating his cupcake, silent for a moment before he melts down.

“No! No babies! I don’t want a stupid baby,” Cash shouts angrily as he throws his cupcake on the floor before shoving out of his chair and storming away.

He marches toward the back sliding door that connects to the kitchen, opening it before running out into the backyard where YN and Harry watch him climb up into the tree house they have built.

None of the kids typically acted out like that and it left the three of them in disbelief that Cash had thrown his cupcake and ran outside without permission.

“Cash is in troubleee,” Easton giggles as looks down at the marble floor smeared with sprinkles and icing with a splattered cupcake.

“Easton,” YN says with a firm look.

He zips his lips quick and finds interest in his cupcake wrapper.

“That wasn’t good. Why did he do that, daddy?” Ezra asks within concern as he watches Harry bend down to pick up the thrown food and wipe the floor with a napkin.

“Well sometimes when people have really big feelings, they struggle to express it without doing something. Cash was angry and he didn’t know how to convey it so he threw his food and ran outside,” Harry explains calmly, “So we will talk to Cash about how to express that better and what you guys can do is show him lots of love. Okay?”

“Yes, daddy,” Ezra agrees sweetly and Harry has to lean down to kiss his forehead because he’s just the sweetest boy.

“I’m sorry I laughed,” Easton sniffles as he glances down, “I wasn’t trying to be mean.”

“East,” YN coos softly, quickly making her way over to lean down and hug him, “It’s okay, baby. We know it wasn’t like that, we just have to be considerate of others feelings. No tears, baby.”

“I’m not a baby,” Easton giggles through a few stray tears as his mama blows a raspberry on his cheek to brighten him up.

“You’ll always be my first baby,” YN assures him as she smothers him in love, “My baby Easton, always my bubba.”

Harry’s heart is a puddle of goo as he watches them.

“We should go check on him,” YN murmurs as she ruffles Easton’s curls, “Can you three please go in the den and put on a movie? We will be right back. We’ll just be in the backyard if you need us, okay?”

They agree before Easton is shuffling Ezra and Briar out of the room who are already chattering about what movie to put on.

YN and Harry make their way outside, down to the stump of the tree before Harry calls up, “Cash, can we please come up? S’just me and your mama.”

There’s a minute of silence before there’s a weepy, “Yes.”

Harry and YN make their way up into the little one-room tree house that had a few books and toys scattered about.

Cash was tucked in the corner, looking out the window with damp cheeks.

Harry and YN don’t try to get into his space, staying at the other side of the treehouse, and Cash refuses to look at them.

“Baby, can you please tell us what you're thinking?” YN prompts in her most soothing voice, she hated seeing Cash like this who was normally the most upbeat, carefree, goofy one.

“A-am I in trouble for throw-throwing the cupcake and coming ou-outside without permission?” Cash whimpers, stuttering through the sentence because he was crying so hard.

“No, you’re not in trouble,” Harry tells him in a tone that matches YN’s, “We know we just told you something really big and it’s okay to have big feelings. Next time, we would like you to talk instead of doing those things but you’re not in trouble, bub.”

Cash finally looks at them, green eyes watery and his bottom lip wobbling, “What if Easton doesn’t want to play with me anymore? What if Ezra and Briar like the new babies better than me?”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Harry asks with his own frown.

“Yes because Easton said more fun with games. Briar and Ezzie were excited too,” Cash pouts but his body language is more open.

When Harry opens his arms, Cash takes the invitation to move over to let Harry wrap him in a tight hug.

At eight, Cash still liked a cuddle but not as often and for Harry it was nice to have his little boy want that once again as he buried his face in Harry’s chest.

“Easton is excited to have more people to play with but that doesn’t mean he won’t want to play with you. Same with Ezra and Briar. The new babies won’t be replacing you. No one could replace you,” Harry murmurs against his son’s identical chocolate curls, “Everyone loves you so so much.”

“Promise, dad?” Cash asks, voice muffled but the words were still clear.

“I promise the twins being born will be a good thing and just make everything more fun. We would never do anything to hurt you,” Harry promises as he rocks his son a bit, a special moment he’ll never forget.

YN gives them some alone time as she goes back in the house, stepping into the den to see that all three are on the couch, and watching Moana.

Easton despises Moana so YN knows he let his little siblings decide because she could see the boredom written all over his face.

She steps over and plops next to him, whispering in his ear, “Thank you for helping. You can have another cupcake if you want one.”

And with that, Easton’s off the couch and scurrying off to get an extra helping of dessert like it was the best prize in the world.

Ezra and Briar peek over at their mother before looking back at each other before her son’s speaking up, “Mama, can we see the babies?”

“Of course, you can,” YN hums as she leans backwards against the couch, pulling up her shirt to reveal the bump.

“They’re in there?” Briar whispers in awe, both of their hands coming to roam over the skin, “What are they doing?”

“They’re getting big and strong,” Ezra chirps in knowledgeably as he leans down to lay his head on her belly, “But we can still cuddle ‘em.”

“Okay,” Briar agrees before adjusting her position too, both of them now focus back on the movie with their heads resting on her.

-

About fifteen minutes later, Harry’s coming into the den with Cash on his back, arms around his neck, and he’s belly laughing at whatever Harry is singing to him before he’s collapsing on the couch with him, acting like he’s going to squish him.

“Daddy, no!” Cash howls with humor as he lightly smacks his dad’s back before he cuts off which concerns Harry so he follows Cash’s gaze.

Cash was staring at his two younger siblings who were cuddled up against the bump in his mama’s stomach.

YN and Harry both share a concerned glance, unsure of whether this would set him off again after Harry just spent the time to calm him down.

“Mama,” Cash’s voice is shaky again but this time he sounds nervous.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can, um… Can I have a cuddle with the babies too?” He asks hesitant before adding, “I will be nice, not like earlier.”

“Come here, sweet boy,” YN titters as she beckons him over, Ezra moves over back towards his original position on the couch so that Cash can have his turn as his eyes stay glued to the screen.

Cash cautiously moves over until his head is rested by Briar, YN’s hand coming to run her fingers through his unruly curls as he wriggles to get comfortable.

“Just because you got angry earlier doesn’t mean you’re not nice,” YN reminds him, “It’s okay to be upset that there’s going to be a change.”

“Daddy said that Easton, Ezra, and Briar will still want to play with me.”

“Of course they will,” YN soothes with a chuckle, “You’re still going to be just as special to daddy, me, East, Ez, and Briar. That will never change.”

“I think I’m excited then,” Cash mumbles as his eyes start to droop, tired from all the activity, and soon after, his breathing had evened out and he was fast asleep with his head on the bump.

-

month five; 20 weeks

There was an uptick in paparazzi as soon as people caught wind that Harry Styles was expecting baby number five (and six).

Which in turn, made his protectiveness go up nearly tenfold - always concerned about his wife and children’s safety around aggressive, photo-hungry people.

They weren’t trying to hide the pregnancy, at this point, YN’s bump was big enough that it was unmistakable what it was.

It started at the grocery store when someone snapped a blurry picture of YN reaching for a box of cereal and her bump was obvious.

The next day it was all over the news.

Styles with Baby Five on the Way!

How Many Kids Does Harry Styles Want?

Accident or Planned? YN Styles Pregnant!

Harry Styles Net Worth Just Hit $600 Million - A Baby To Celebrate?

YN stayed out of the media, she wasn’t active on social media or trying to be an influencer - she wasn’t ever interested in that and so in turn, people dubbed YN as mysterious because they did not know much about her.

Harry was arguably one of the most famous athletes on earth but despite that, he was just as private in his personal life.

He was constantly being put on all the major sports networks, he was on television usually three times a week during a game, and then post-games interviews after that.

Harry did interviews on television, in magazines but he always made sure that the main thing he was talking about was his career and not his personal life.

Did he like to throw in how much he loved his wife and kids? Sure but he wasn’t eager to share anymore than that usually.

It will never feel normal to have paparazzi following her and she especially hates it when she has the kids without Harry.

A group of seven or eight photographers decided that it was perfectly acceptable to plant themselves at one of Easton’s baseball games to try to get more pictures of YN’s bump.

Harry was in the city for a photoshoot for Nike but he was going to be on his way to the game if he wasn’t done already.

YN was on edge because she’s trying to watch Easton play but all she can focus on is a group of men with long lenses that are all pointed at her.

Normally the other kids would go play on the playground but YN didn’t trust those men and made them right by her side with the photographers around which made them all a bit miserable and whiny.

It was also embarrassing because YN could tell it made the other families attending the game uncomfortable and they all knew it was because of her.

The biggest concern was when Harry shows up because YN knows that he will absolutely flip when he sees a group of men with cameras pointed towards his pregnant wife and little children.

And she was a hundred percent right.

YN (and honestly the other parents) watches as a tinted, sleek matte black SUV pulls into the parking lot and the vehicle is unmistakably Harry’s, and by the way he slams on the break, throws the car in park, and is getting out of the car with agitation.

He’s a bit far away from where YN is, she can’t hear everything that’s being said but she does see is Harry storming right over the group of men who quickly turn the camera and video recorders on him.

YN quickly gets up, asking one of the mom’s who she is friends with if she can keep an eye on the three for a moment while she makes sure Harry doesn’t do anything he regrets.

When she gets close enough, Harry’s not yelling but his voice is booming and full of threats as he speaks, “Following me is one thing. Follow m’wife and children to their baseball games, are you fucking insane? Do I have to file a restraining order against all fucking seven of you? You don’t want that or you’ll lose out of all your money shots, you fuckin’ leeches.”

“Harry,” YN interrupts as the photographers try to profusely apologize, the last thing they want is Harry to file a restraining order because he makes them the most money.

Harry’s green eyes are fiery, his fist clenched at his sides, and his shoulders tensed as he stares down the paparazzi who are cowering and taking big steps back (they also probably don’t want their cameras broken).

“Get the fuck out here. If you release any pictures of my children,” Harry grits out, trying to maintain his cool, “I will sue you for everything you’re worth. I’m an adult, I chose this. They didn’t. I won’t hesitate to protect them. Do you understand me?”

They all nod with worried expressions.

“I said, do you fucking understand me?” Harry barks out, demanding verbal confirmation which they all give as soon as he shouts at them, he’s giving them one last dirty look before they’re turning and running to their cars.

Harry waits until they’re all peeling out of the parking lot before he’s turning to YN, who’s looking at him with a pursed expression, he pouts at her, “What?”

“Nothing,” YN shrugs as she intertwines their hands to begin their way back to the field where all the other parents are trying desperately not to stare but they are, “You’re just so hot when you’re being a good dad and husband.”

Cue Harry’s sleazy grin, “Yeah? Does that mean I’ll get some tonight, mama?”

“I’ll consider it,” She hums teasingly, smacking his hand when he moves to get a feel of her bum but when he tries again, she lets him get a good handful as a promise of tonight.

“How are the bubs,” Harry asks as his hand moves to her bump, “Can see your bump from a mile away now. It’s making newspapers everywhere. My pretty pregnant wife.”

YN scoffs as she shakes her head, “I don’t know why but I saw my face on a People Magazine in the grocery store yesterday. It said, ‘A Baby To Save The Marriage’, do you have something to tell me?”

Harry snorts out a laugh, “The day they get a story right will be a magical day in history. Those magazines don’t benefit from healthy marriages and happy families.”

“They really don’t benefit from us then,” YN mumurs as Harry leans over to kiss her temple, “They’re doing good. I thought I felt a flutter of movement earlier but it was only once so I don’t know.”

“I can’t wait to feel them. Just feels like yesterday Briar was kicking at you in the middle of the night and it woke me up,” Harry laughs fondly, “Speaking of Briar.”

As soon as they got close enough, Briar was hurriedly running over to her father who scooped her right up, “Missed you, daddy.”

-

When they got home and all the kids were asleep, Harry made a few calls to his lawyers about what he can do about the paparazzi showing up at the children’s sporting games and how to prevent their pictures from getting blasted all over the internet.

YN was brushing out her damp hair in their bathroom when she felt that same flutter from earlier but it was stronger, she held her breath hoping that it wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her.

The movement continued which made YN hike up her shirt and touch gently at her stomach, there was definitely a baby or maybe both moving around in there, and she was so excited she dropped her hairbrush.

Without a second thought, she’s walking as fast as her pregnant self will let her down the stairs to the office where Harry’s having a tense conversation based on the sharpness in his tone.

“That’s the only thing that can be done?” Harry snapped at someone, his face was contorted into an angry grimace as he sat in his office chair, feet up on the desk, and twirling his wedding band.

When Harry sees YN standing there with wide eyes and an unreadable expression, he rudely says to whoever is on the other line, “I’ll call you back tomorrow,” before hanging up.

“Everything okay, baby?” Harry worries as he stands up and starts walking towards her.

YN nods before shoving up her shirt again, she grabs his hand as soon as he’s close enough, and puts it right on the middle right of her bump where there’s one of the twins rolling around.

YN doesn’t realize that she has tears streaming down her face until Harry wipes them before kissing her nose, “Why are you crying, mama?”

“I didn’t realize how much I missed the feeling,” YN sniffles with a giggle, they were happy tears, and it was her twins telling her that they’re healthy and growing strong - that she’s doing a good job.

“It’s just like a butterfly,” Harry hums as he squats down, kissing over the spot where one of the babies is moving, and YN’s heart melts at the sight, she loved him so much.

-

month six; week 24

The sex was going to be a surprise to everyone, they decided just like with their other babies that they wanted it to be a mystery up until their birth.

As they lay in bed, Harry is in his usual position now which was with his head resting on her thighs, just below the bump - he was always waiting to feel a kick or flutter.

“How do you feel about the name Posie for a girl?” Harry hums as they both scroll through their phones on a baby name app.

“Do you think we will have a girl? What if we have two girls?” YN hums in disbelief, “I just can’t imagine Briar having sisters. But no, no to Posie.”

“What about Teddy? Could be for a boy or a girl?” Harry brings after a few minutes later as he favorites that name.

“I love it actually,” YN sits up a bit more, the name instantly connecting for her, “I think I like it best for a boy but I love that name.”

Harry looks at her skeptically, “Did we just come up with one of the names that easily? Can it be that simple?”

YN shrugs with a hand affectionately rubbing  at her belly as she says the name out loud again, “Teddy. Teddy Styles. It’s perfect.”

Then for the next few weeks it’s not easy.

Harry will text her a few.

H: Annie, Violet, or Daisy?

YN: Nope.

YN: Lily, Vera, or Mia?

H: No.

Then one day YN texts

YN: I think I found the name. Just like Teddy, it could be for a girl or boy.

H: Try me. I think we have vetoed every name in existence.

YN: Scout.

And as Harry sits in the locker room, supposed to be putting on his gear, he’s struck with absolute joy because it fits so well.

H: Scout and Teddy?

YN: Scout and Teddy.

H: I love them.

YN: We named our babies 🥹

H: I love you, mama ❤️

-

YN isn’t the same person she was when she had Easton - then she was young, afraid to offend, and eager to please.

And when Gemma had come at her for the unplanned pregnancy, YN had let it flip her whole world upside down and make her feel like absolute garbage for quite a while.

Now, YN was different and for the better - she had no problem standing up for herself when it came to her sister-in-law.

They didn’t spend much time together but YN tolerated her.

Ever since the riff about Easton, Harry’s never been close with her again, and YN knows Gemma puts blame on YN for that but YN couldn’t convince Harry to try to make amends because he didn’t want to.

YN had a feeling as she was cleaning up the dining room after a family dinner with Anne, Dave (her boyfriend), and Gemma that there had to be at least one smart remark.

It comes as YN begins loading the dishwasher while Anne and Dave help Harry wrangle the kids outside to make s’mores in the fire pit.

“Thanks,” YN says to Gemma as she brings in the rest of the plates and silverware from dinner, Gemma nods before leaning against the counter and crosses her arms over her chest.

“So twins, that’s so exciting,” Gemma remarks but her voice is flat and doesn’t sound like the thought of having two more nieces/nephews is that exciting to her.

“It is,” YN nods as she focuses on scrubbing a spot on one of the wine glasses, her hormones had been shifty these past few weeks as to be expected with pregnancy and she didn’t like where this was going.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Gemma prompts with a casually shrug, trying to come off as nonchalant, “I mean four is a lot already and you guys are still young. Six kids by the time you’re thirty and thirty-one? I mean Harry didn’t get to experience any of his twenties.”

YN, who is normally a pro at containing her rage, well that’s not the case tonight because her hormones have her capacity for bullshit at an all time low, she slams down the wine glass in the sink and looks over at Gemma.

“Harry didn’t get to experience his twenties?” YN scoffs with a dangerous edge to her voice, “He became the richest baseball player in history, is the captain of The New York Yankees, is living every dream he had as a child. He experienced more in his twenties than most people ever do.”

Gemma’s lips turn down, she was testing YN and was definitely surprised by the pushback that she was getting.

She had been expecting that she could bully YN and that wasn’t the case, she wasn’t the scared and pregnant twenty year old anymore. She was a grown woman who was secure in her relationship.

“It’s not like that,” Gemma tries to downplay, picking at her nails, “It’s just he could have done more if he didn’t have so many responsibilities at home. I’m just looking out for my little brother.”

YN shuts off the water with a bit more force than necessary before grabbing a hand towel to dry off, “Gemma, I’m so sorry if it offends you the amount of children we decided to have. However, I have some bad news for you. I couldn’t have conceived these babies without Harry and believe me, he wanted our children more than anything else in the world.”

YN continued on as her voice rose louder, “More than money, more than baseball. I know you don’t understand because you don’t have children but I know he would choose me and our babies over baseball and experiencing his twenties a million times over. I’m sorry if that upsets you.”

Then someone is clearing their throat and both women look to see Harry standing in the doorway to the kitchen with furious expression, arms crossed tight across his chest, and the vein on his neck popping in effort to stay calm.

“Get out.”

And Gemma has the nerve to look at YN with a sickeningly sweet smile, as if Harr was telling YN to get out but she knew better and Gemma was too cocky for her own good, honestly delusional at this point.

“Gemma, get the fuck out of my house,” Harry repeats with a louder tone this time, “I don’t know how many chances I have given you to get your shit together but enough is enough.”

Gemma opens her mouth like she’s about to argue but Harry puts his hand up to stop her from even beginnning.

“I don’t want to hear it. Nothing you ever say or do is helping me,” Harry tells her clearly, “And for the record, YN couldn’t be more accurate. I chose her and I chose all six of my children first. Over anything. You have your own life to live, stop trying to control mine.”

“I am just try-“

“God damn it, don’t make me yell,” Harry sighs as he squeezes the bridge of his nose.

“You always pick YN. You’re supposed to pick your family.”

Harry lets out a laugh, loud and obnoxious enough that it even makes YN jump, “For fucks sake, Gemma. Don’t you see? I will always pick YN. I will always pick my children. They are my family. Not you, a poor excuse of a sister.”

And at first, YN’s heart jumps when she sees Ezra wander right up next to Harry and tug on his shorts, unaware of how absolutely seething Harry is.

“Daddy, Easton was telling a scary story and now m’really anxious. Can you help me do my breathing to calm down?”

And Harry snaps out of it instantly, his death glare towards his sister softens when he kneels down to attend to his son.

“Of course, I can. Patricia will be so happy to hear that you used it. Let’s go somewhere quiet, okay?” Harry murmurs to his son before taking his hand and guiding him out of the room without a glance back.

YN just refolds the dish towel, not interested in continuing the argument , and sure as hell not letting it bother her - she just walks out the back door to be with her children outside, leaving Gemma alone.

That night, as Harry and YN shower the smoke from the campfire off of them, he cradles her bump and holds her stare, firmly telling her once again.

“I will always choose you. I will always choose our children.”

-

month seven; week twenty eight

YN accompanied Harry to Los Angeles for five days while Anne watched the children back at home - a little babymoon if you will.

However, it was proving a bit difficult to actually do anything they were looking forward to because of how big YN’s bump was getting.

“My thigh is cramping,” YN moans uncomfortably from where she’s lying on her back, Harry holding one of her legs bent near his chest but when he hears her complaint, he pulls out.

“You want to ride me?” Harry asks with little to no other suggestion because the bump was on the way in almost every position.

“You really think that I can lift myself up and down right now?” YN bites out with no real sharpness, she had sweat beading at her temples already and she was only one orgasm in from his mouth.

“I can just use my mouth again?” He suggests as he massages the muscles in her thigh that are twitching, YN felt bad because she could physically see how much he wanted it.

She wanted it too.

“No no, I want to,” YN puffs a stray hair off her forehead before she gets an idea, “Just spoon me from behind.”

Harry helps her lay down on her side before cozying up behind her - his lips teasing at the nape of her neck as he guides himself in, both of them moaning in relief when he begins to pump in and out.

“Yes,” YN mewls in relief as it starts to feel good, Harry moves to get his hand between her thighs to rub at her clit but the bump is in the way, “I can without it,” She assures him breathlessly as he kisses her shoulder and moves up to play with her swollen nipples instead.

“There we go,” Harry groans in pleasure as his forehead drops to her shoulder, she could tell he was trying to keep his pace steady but he was struggling, “God, you always feel so fuckin’ good f’me. No wonder I fuckin’ see you in my dreams, darling.”

It wasn’t the dirtiest thing out of his mouth ever but it was enough to release that band of tension in her lower stomach to make her find her second relief quickly.

As soon as she was taken care of, Harry was picking up the speed of his hips, even though she was sensitive, it still felt good to know that she was making her husband feel just as amazing as she did - she loved feeling his tensing ab muscles against her back, his thighs working right behind hers.

“S’good,” Harry grits out as he starts to finish, “Fuck, you always make me come so hard.”

After Harry pulls out, he grabs a cold washcloth from the bathroom before running it over YN’s overheated body, don’t get her wrong - the sex was phenomenal as always but with two babies only two months away from being born pressing on her insides, it took a lot more out of her.

“Baby,” Harry chuckles as he runs it over her forehead, “You should have told me it was too much. You’re still breathing heavy.”

“It felt so good though, H. Wanted it,” YN whines, wrapping her hand around his wrist and he gets the hint, running the cold over her skin once again.

“Maybe we should just stick to mouth stuff until the babies are born?” He suggests softly before patting her with a dry towel.

YN snorts out a laugh, “Mouth stuff? Are we in high school?”

“Heyy,” Harry huffs as he tries to stop a smile from appearing in his face, “M’just trying to be thoughtful and you’re making fun of me.”

YN pulls him down for another kiss, “I think you’re right though. I feel like I just ran a marathon and all I did was lay there and take it.”

“Yeah but you looked so fuckin’ sexy taking it,” Harry murmurs against her lips, his hand rubbing over her taut skin.

“Don’t need to charm me, already got six babies out of me,” YN jokes which now it’s Harry’s then to snort out a laugh.

“Never going to stop trying to charm you, mama,” Harry assures her as he lays back down next to her and yawns

-

eight months; 37 weeks

Dr. Riviera had informed them that twins typically didn’t make it past thirty-eight weeks, it wasn’t common, and that twins usually came out weighing a bit less because they had to share space and resources.

Even though the doctor can only predict, she didn’t see why YN would carry to thirty-eight weeks with how well the babies were developing and they didn’t seem to be wanting to move anytime soon.

Anne had been staying with them because she was going to help with the children for a little bit after the twins were born and she wanted to be there to watch them when YN went into labor.

Harry was in the city for a sponsorship meeting with Gatorade when his phone began to buzz in the middle of the meeting.

He didn’t care that he was being rude when everyone in the room was speaking to him but he just gets up out of his seat and leaves the room when he sees that his wife is calling.

“Mama, everything okay?” Harry asks nervously, ignoring the looks he’s getting from the men in suits as he exits the conference room into the empty corridor, making sure his car keys are in his pocket.

“Don’t sound so scared,” YN chuckles softly, sounding completely okay, “I just called to see what you were craving for dinner.”

False alarm.

-

That same night though, it wasn’t.

Harry and YN went to bed at a decent time after getting all the children down, probably around ten thirty when they drifted off after a long day in the city and with the kids.

It was when Harry woke up around two in the morning when YN shook him a bit, as he blinks his eyes open and turns on the bedside lamp - he realizes the sweat was gathering at YN”s brow and the vein in her forehead was popping.

“Ca-Can you help me get to the bathroom?” She panted, out of breath, “I think I’m going into labor. I need to pee. O-Oh fuck.”

Harry quickly jumps out of bed to help guide her to the bathroom before getting her back into the bedroom, “What do you want to do-“

Just as he asks, YN lets out a low groan and a splash of fluid trickles down her legs and onto the carpet - water breaking right as they speak, “H, they-they’re coming soon. Please, I think we need to go.”

Harry was shaking with nervousness as he loaded up the hospital bag, woke Anne to let her know what was going on, and they were off to have their twins in less than twenty minutes.

Harry was surprised just how quickly her labor was progressing, with the other four, it was a slower, more tedious process of hours and hours of dilation before there was any pushing.

But YN is gritting her teeth, tears streaking her cheeks as she tells Harry, “Please, baby. Drive as fast as you can. I-I need to push. I need to, they’re coming fast. I need to push.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry grips the wheel, he know he can’t drive in a way that could get them in an accident but he really didn’t want his wife to have the babies on the side of the road.

Luckily, the hospital wasn’t more than fifteen minutes away and he calls shakily ahead so that they know to expect them.

As soon as they have an IV hooked up, YN’s changed into a hospital gown, and in a hospital bed - they’re encouraging her to push, no time for an epidural which was proving hard for YN.

“It hurts so fucking bad,” YN cries as she squeezes Harry’s hand with all of her her might, it was moving fast and they hadn’t been in the hospital for more than half and hour and the doctor was telling them he expected the twins to come soon, “It hurts to push.”

Harry has the utmost respect for his wife. He can’t possibly even begin to imagine the tremoundous pain that she’s agreed to put herself through so that they could have more children.

He’s already a sniffling mess when the doctor announces that she’s crowning.

“Mama, they have so much hair,” Harry chuckles as he looks to see, moving to kiss her hand, “You’re so close. I can’t wait to see what we’re having. A boy or a girl. You’re doing so good, baby.”

“One more push,” The nurse encourages and YN is squeezing her eyes shut and groaning as she uses all of her might to give a long, hard push.

Harry’s so distracted by watching YN that he doesn’t even realize that push had been enough for their baby to come out, only realizing that one had been born when a high-pitched cry pierces the room.

“Baby number one is a boy,” The doctor announces before the nurses are working on cleaning off the baby and doing all their routine tests.

“A boy,” YN says breathlessly, blinking tearfully at Harry, “Wa-wait, I need to push again. Will the other one come just as fast?” YN directs the question at the medical staff.

“Typically they come out without minutes of each other,” The nurse smiles as she wipes YN’s forehead with a cold rag.

“Gonna give us our other baby?” Harry murmurs distractedly, he was watching as they put the baby on the scale before rubbing it off with a clean towel to get off the fluid - he was memorized until he was snapped back when YN is howling out another grunt of effort before the second piercing cry of the night echos through the room.

“Baby number two is also a boy,” The doctor calls out before passing off the other baby, “Good job, mom. Really got those babies out fast and with no pain medication, very impressive.”

YN’s exhausted as she tries to catch her breath, “Two boys, H. Two boys.”

Is anyone surprised that Harry is full on sobbing happy tears by the time that the babies are laid on YN’s chest where she cradles them closely, tears streaming down her cheeks as well.

“Two more boys. Five boys and one girl,” YN giggles happily as she leans down to nuzzle her nose against each one of their cheeks as Harry caresses YN’s hair and watches on in awe.

“You did such an amazing job,” Harry sniffles as he leans up to kiss YN’s temple, “I am so proud of you. Look at what you did, mama. Gave us two healthy boys, you did it.”

“Mmm,” YN hums tiredly, chuckling when one starts rooting which Harry helps adjust her gown to help the baby find what it was looking for, “And they’re latching with no issues. This is perfect.”

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” Harry says firmly as he can’t get his heartbeat to slow, “And you gave us two more perfect babies.”

“I love them so much already,” YN whispers as she watches the baby eat hungrily with the cutest little coos as they can barely keep their eyes open, “Teddy Reese and Scout Hudson.”

“Our little Teddy and Scout,” Harry repeats in disbelief of his life, of how he couldn’t ask for anything better, “Welcome to the family.”

#mlbrry #mlb!verse #mlb!harry #mlb!harry masterlist #erodasfishtacos masterlist #file

[morallyinept]

Reverence - A Ezra x Limb Prosthesis F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

Summary: A mysterious, vagabond man comes to your aid, and in return you show him some kindness. And over the course of a stormy night, you discover you both have more in common than just outward appearances.

Pairing: Ezra x Limb Prosthesis F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity, Reader does have hair, however. Reader has a prosthetic limb. She was born with an underdeveloped limb below the left knee. Reader's age is not mentioned, so you can determine/imagine it's you, if you'd like to, bub. Ezra is in his early-to-mid 40's.)

Word Count: 12.1k - because Ezra won't shut up. 🙃

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Triggers & warnings: Mentions and descriptions of limb loss/use of a prosthetic limb/Ezra is missing his arm/Reader is missing her leg below the knee/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) fingering/oral M & F receiving/there is no fetishising of limb loss here, it's real love/sex with very real bodies/an imagined world created within the Prospect universe/Ezra comes with a thesaurus

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The condition/disability mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

The Pug is a skiv of a planet that seems to have been forgotten by time itself.

Its once-gleaming skyscrapers now stand as towering monuments to a bygone era; their facades stained with the grime of countless rotations. The feculent streets below are a tangled web of concrete and steel, where the lurid neon glow of Vayok advertising signs cast flickering shadows on the faces of the downtrodden masses.

The air of Puggert Bench is thick with the acrid stench of industry, a noxious cocktail of pollutants and toxic fumes that hang heavy over Noki District like a thick shroud.

The sound of machinery echoes through the streets, a constant reminder of the ceaseless churn of production that drives the small planet's rototiller economy, despite being nothing more than a mechanical layover for most passing through on freighters. 

Despite the harshness of its environment, Puggert Bench is a livable place of vibrant contrasts. Here, lander pods zip past rusting hulks of abandoned ship corpses, their sleek orbs cutting through the smog with effortless grace.

The cloud stream, blocking out the sun in a haze of burnt umber that chokes you when it sticks to the back of your throat, carries on the breeze through the air into your nasal cavity as you breathe in. When you blow your nose later, black shit will present itself to you in your tissue, unless you wrap up with a mask or scarf whilst outside.

For every gleaming skyscraper and bustling marketplace, there are a dozen dark alleys and forgotten corners where the lawless thrive. In the shadows of the city's turgid underbelly, criminal syndicates and black-market traders ply their illicit loot prospected from alien moons; their activities hidden from the prying eyes of the less-than-honourable authorities.

Everyone is fair game in this place.

A place, where walking by yourself late at night probably isn’t a wise idea, but when left with little choice as your shift runs over - again - you brave it head on, picking up your often wonky steps with a hurried pace.

You’ve walked this grimy thoroughfare countless times, memorising the way with muscle memory. You wrap your fraying scarf round your face, cutting out the tar that burns on your tongue.

A slight drag on your gait, an itch surfaces where the buckles rub at your skin around your left knee joint. You stop, pinching and digging your fingers in over your pants to tug out the relief from the burn of the itch.

With each step, you’re reminded of the weight that bears down upon you - the prosthetic limb pressing back against your prickly marred skin with a relentless intensity. The artificial joint, no matter how seamlessly it's been integrated with your body, still causes a continual dull ache that reverberates through your bones with every movement.

You can switch it off sometimes, but the hard pavement beneath you seems to magnify every twinge of discomfort, every jolt that sends shockwaves of thudding pain coursing through your remaining upper limb with every step you take.

You’re still toying with the idea of trading it in for a bionic model, but the foreboding cost and invasive surgeries to wire it into your nerves - that come with their own horrific testimonials of those who’ve had it done, and done badly - far outweighs any desired practicality. Instead you navigate life with the callouses and blisters, used to them being part of your daily routine.  

Slipping your fingers between the buckles offers minimal, sweet respite for a few blissful moments as you scratch, when suddenly, a hand shoots out from the darkness, grabbing you roughly by the arm and yanking you into a secluded alcove; the brick walls slick with the sweat of the city.

Before you can react, a gruff voice growls in your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

"Your credits. Now!" The assailant demands, his putrid breath hot against your neck as he presses a sharp object against your side.

Panic surges through your veins as you fumble for your wallet, your hands trembling with fear as you forget momentarily which pocket it’s in.

He shoves his hand in the pocket closest to him, rooting around in there uncouthly as you protest and struggle.

You’re both disturbed when a shadowy figure emerges from the darkness, with a quiet determination.

The newcomer is a man of imposing stature, his features obscured by the billowy hood of his tattered coat, and a facial scarf of his own that covers his nose down to his chin.

But what catches your attention most is the sight of his empty right sleeve, the fabric of his coat pinned haphazardly against his shoulder where his arm should be. 

“I’d rethink that course of action, unless violence with a matched counterpart is what you're getting at.” The man warns in a steady, yet rich Southern drawl. 

Your mugger mouths some regurgitated insult in Vayok. You don‘t fully speak it, but you know enough to know he’s mocking the obvious disability of the man, who simply chortles in response to a jibe he’s probably heard before.

But you're left wondering in bewilderment at how your apparent saviour will pull this off. 

“You assume this handicap is to my detriment? Are you sure you wish to find out how inaccurate that misinformed assumption is?”

Undeterred by his physical limitation, the man squares his shoulders, his gaze locks on the attacker with unwavering resolve; a pair of dark eyes shining defiantly in the dim light of the alley.

In a matter of moments, fisticuffs ensue. It happens so fast, you're unsure who threw the first hook. Seizing the opportunity, you break free from the thief's grasp and stumble away; your heart pounding in your chest as you watch the scene unfold before you. 

You watch helplessly as the man’s coat is torn where it’s previously pinned as they kerfuffle and tussle - the tear in the dirty fabric is deep. The one-armed man subdues your attacker, his movements fluid and precise despite his apparent infirmity.

But a surprise blow to the sternum knocks him down with a winded oof. 

The bolt pistol is revealed; gleaming chromatic and pearly in the night air as it falls from the coat pocket of the man and skitters towards your feet. 

A single squeeze on the trigger renders your attacker incapacitated, growling as he clutches his shoulder and stares up at you taking careful aim again. 

The thief stumbles backward, his grip loosening on the man completely as he struggles to regain his balance. He’s all teeth and spittle as you watch the one-armed man take his hand - that’s still holding onto your wallet - and bends it back at a sickening angle.

The assailant yelps with the slow, deliberate cracking. 

“Drop it, or I can assure you I’ll make it a more painful process than necessary.” The man warns.

The wallet clatters to the ground.

“Excellent. I suggest you hasten with speed to get your wound tended to, lest I change my mind about absolving myself from further violence.”

As the thief slinks away into the darkness, nursing his wounds and cursing under his breath, you turn to your saviour, your eyes wide with gratitude and dumbfounded admiration.

But he slumps down the wall clutching under his ribs, chest heaving. 

“In Kevva’s name, woman!” He snarls when he sees you still taking aim.

Taking little risk, you keep a grip of the pistol, primed and ready.

“Yes,” he nods, breathing in raggedly. “Best to keep your wits about you, Birdie. There are all manner of beasties out here who would relish a chance to get you.” He sniffs deeply. “But tell me, do you treat all your saviours with the same warm welcome or am I the exception?”

“Can never be too certain.” You remark with a shaky hand. "It's like you say, all manner of beasties."

He looks at you like a dog sniffing out the other; sniffing out whether you’re a threat to him or not. Dark eyes preened on you and unrelenting.

“Keep it steady, pet.” He motions to the blaster with a subtle nod. “A weak grip makes an opportunity easy to exploit.” 

You look at him suspiciously, two dark tar eyes regarding you back as he pulls down his scarf to breathe, and to show you his face for reassurance you assume, although the swampy air makes him cough and hack.

“Just some friendly advice.” He explains with a dull shrug. He sucks in air with a deep snort and spits out a globule of phlegm on the pavement. 

“The mistake you make is assuming we’re friends.” You confirm confidently, although there's a tremor to your tone. Your body feels like jelly as you try to steady yourself. 

“An underestimation I won’t make again, duly noted.” The man confirms as he struggles to stand upright himself. 

“Do you need a hand?” You put to him as he struggles with balance. 

He glares up at you with a rather repugnant look through cinched in brows. The two deep pits of his nostrils flare at you like black holes opening across the vacant universe that’ll swallow you whole.

“Sorry. Poor choice of words.” You quip, as you step towards his sneer. You remain steadfast with the bolt pistol, holding out your other hand. 

He mutters fast under his breath, growling, and you don't catch it.

"What was that?" You query, suspiciously, arming the pistol again.

“Timid threats from a quashed maverick. I’m no harm to you, pet.” He holds his only palm out to you.

You take it and pull him upright to his feet. He passes your wallet to you with thick, grubby fingers and you surrender his bolt pistol in return, albeit reluctantly.

You shudder and gasp out, feeling the unrelenting burn around your prosthetic make itself known again; the adrenaline subsiding in your body.

“Quell your snivels. You remain unsullied. I'd garner that a win.” He says simply, noting your watery eyes. “He was nothing but a hungry brute.”

“Quite the hero, aren't you?” You remark with a scoff at his barbarous contempt towards you.

“Don’t mistake me for a gallant knight, I’m far from that. More of a superfluous hooligan, but I’m still a man with a mere iota of sympathy and respect for the superior species when they find themselves in trouble.” He eyes you carefully as you wibble about on your feet. “You're just a slip of a thing, why are you out so late wandering? Are you lost, little bird?”

“No. My shift… it ran over. This is my usual route home when there's no shuttle.”

“Do you often find yourself in trouble’s embrace?”

”Won’t be the first time, I'm sure.” You mutter. 

“Unfortunate. I hear a surge-five is well on the way. Best be homeward.” He remarks with a click of his lips as he looks up at the glowering sky. The heavy swell of a incoming storm predicted is approaching in from the horizon in a cluster of almost onyx clouds.

His scowl softens as he looks back at you still trying to process the whole incident and remaining a little unsteady on your legs. 

“I expect you to denounce the offer, but walking you back to your quarters would seem prudent, given the errant situation. I know I appear as a stranger to you, so I’ll respect your wishes if you decline.”

You don’t hear his words as you focus on remaining upright, trying to process the events. 

“Oi. Woman. What say you?” He questions again, bringing you back to him.

“I can mend your coat.” You offer, fuzzing back in and your eyes fall on the large gaping flap on his right shoulder. 

He looks down at the sleeve you nod to and a growl erupts from his lips at the tear. “That will be unnecessary.”

“Do you have another coat?”

“No.” He gruffs. 

“Then it’s necessary.” You assert. “The surge-five is predicted to be harsh.”

He simply nods and drops his hood, shaking his head fully out from under it. An aquiline nose cuts a sharp line across his face, accentuating the aura of strength and intensity that surrounds him. But oddly, a small, messy blonde coiffure sticks out against his hairline, stark amongst a sea of dark oil-slicked tufts.

“I'm not holding out much optimism at your skill. The hole is quite impossible to simply mend.” He observes. 

“You let me worry about my skill. I accept your offer of chivalry. It’s kind of you, thank you.” You say, with a pertinent nod. 

“I’m not kind, pet, but the assumption is appreciated nonetheless.”

“Kind enough to walk me home and save me from losing my wage.” You tuck your wallet back into your jacket. 

“I have enough on my conscience to reconcile with, let alone the thought of a woman of your calibre making it home in one piece.” He tucks the bolt pistol away inside his coat. 

“My calibre?” You baulk.

“I meant it as a compliment, of course. Pretty thing like you out here is bound to attract some attention.” He says, eyeing your stance.

"Why are you out here anyway?"

“Minding my own. What’s your name, friend?”

You tell him and he nods. “Ezra.” He introduces. “I’m perplexed by your intentions.” Ezra replies flatly. 

“All I offer is some tea and some respite from the incoming storm.” You say. 

“Do you open your home to every vagabond you meet?”

“Only the charming ones.” You remark with a snort. 

You’re convinced you see a grin turn up his lips. “No quid pro quo? Nothing is free, Birdie. Smart women like you, you know this.”

“I am smart. I offer you some food and drink and to patch up your coat, that’s all. I know very well you’re a stranger and could harbour ill intent despite this heroic facade you've presented.”  

“It’s no facade.” He says with a frown. 

“Good, because I have no qualms in putting a bolt in you should you try to turn on me, we clear?” You warn with a satisfied smirk. 

"Been there, done that." Ezra eyes his stump with a wry grin before he rolls his eyes dramatically at your stern look. "Clear."

“I have my own bolt pistol back at home.” You warn.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt. The fire in your belly serves warning well enough, Birdie. I wouldn’t dream of any chicanery.” 

“Then follow me, Ezra.” You say, with a brewing smile.

Your tiny, poorly provisioned apartment is nestled in a nondescript building on the outskirts of the city.

A walk there that has you both absorbed in a mutual silence that offers a strange comfort, akin to the satisfaction of picking at a scab. Ezra mostly keeps his hand in his pocket and side glances you occasionally with parted lips as though he’ll say something, but doesn’t. 

“Let me get you something for that.” You offer, as you note his knuckles when he takes them out of his pocket and pushes the rusted gate open for you.

“It’ll dry over soon enough.” He says, looking down at his bruised and bloodied fist.

“It’s cold and the winds are picking up.” You say, noting the ferocious sky churning overhead. “I’ll get the tea brewing. Come on up.”

“You’re not as frail as I first assumed. I must stop doing that.” Ezra mumbles as he looks you over.

“He took me by surprise. Had I been prepared, I might have thrown a hook or two.” You shrug. You note he hesitates behind you. 

“Pertaining to the circumstances of our meeting, perhaps you might want to be alone?” You can sense the trepidation hanging around him; he’s wary of you and it pulls at something inside your chest.

“Come up, Ezra.” You repeat, ignoring him. 

He lets go of the creaky gate behind him. “Far be it from me to deny a lady. Even if her taste is somewhat marred in misjudgement.”

“Something tells me I can trust you.”

“That would be your first mistake.” He assures. 

“Well, this evening might surprise us both.” You say, as he follows up the steps behind you.

You take your time, hand sliding up the railing as he walks beside you. With each step, you focus intently on the movements of your prosthetic limb, adjusting your gait to compensate for its artificial nature.

You weight bear on your right side, loading your foot and keep your momentum forward up the stairs. You wince as you feel it rub uncomfortably again. 

“Are you hurt?” Ezra asks as he examines your unhurried pace. 

“No.” You shake your head with a rueful smile as you carry on. 

The stairs, with their unforgiving surfaces and steep incline, pose a formidable obstacle, testing your resolve with each upward stride. The prosthetic, while marvellously engineered, lacks the finesse and flexibility of a natural limb, making each step a delicate balancing act between stability and control. The last thing you want to do is slip in front of him.

After you reach the eighth floor, slightly panting, he follows you round to the faded door of your apartment. 

“Cosy,” Ezra retorts as he's introduced to your small, cramped world. “It's not often I’m rendered without speech.” Stacks of clutter balance precariously in columns on every available surface.

“I like to collect things.” You say nonchalantly.

“I can see that.” He counters, blinking as he steps through cautiously. 

You hold your hand out expectantly for his coat and he hesitates. 

“I can’t patch it if you’re wearing it.” You sway.

He slips it off his shoulders and you try not to look at the long sleeve that flaps without a hand at the bottom of it on his right side. His sweatshirt is terribly frayed and holey, and his pants seem loose and ill-fitting.

Boots that are at least a size too big for him clomp around his feet. His appearance, although broad and foreboding, also hints at the gaunt and destitute. There’s a peculiar smell emanating from him now he’s taken off his coat. Something sweetly rotten. 

You beckon him through, tossing his heavy coat over your arm, and he follows you through to the living quarters; a stalwart room that overlooks the grimy city.

The air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and lingering incense spices, mingling with the faint hum of electronic devices scattered throughout the cluttered space. 

You switch on an air purifier and remove your scarf revealing your face to him fully as you instruct him to make himself comfortable in the ragged recliner.

You busy yourself in the small kitchenette, chinking cups and getting out a tin of med supplies for his hand. You throw a couple of packets of freeze dry in the warmer and set a timer. 

On the splintered coffee table in the centre of the room, stacks of dog-eared books and half-empty mugs vie for space with an assortment of trinkets and knick-knacks thrown clumsily over it.

He leaves through the pages of a hefty book on mining. “Light reading material?” Ezra queries as he tosses the book down. 

“Call it a tempered curiosity.” You say, coming through with the cups and the tin shoved under your arm. 

“Curiosity killed the feline.”

“Yeah, but it has nine lives.” You state boldly to him and he smirks. 

“I could tell you all you need to know. Was my profession, a man’s work.” Ezra explains as he takes the mug from you. The heat immediately absorbs into his fingers. 

“You're a Prospector?” You ask, with raised eyebrows. 

“I was. Not much of anything now.” His lips downturn into the rim of the mug.

“Where are you from, Earth? You look the type.” You ask him, settling slowly and rigidly into a rickety chair opposite a sewing machine in the corner.

You lay out his coat on your lap and reach for a pin cushion. It smells musty and wild, like the outdoors. 

“From that suppurate shit-hole? No. Sorry to disappoint.” He smirks.

“Where then? Lau? Your accent hints at relations from a primitive Earth.” You probe.

“You seem well acquainted with it.” He says, reaching for the med tin and flipping it open. He tears at the packet of an antiseptic pad with his teeth, spitting the paper out that sticks to his lip. 

“I read.” You smile as you regard him.

A rugged moustache adorns his upper lip, its edges slightly frayed, combined with a shadow of facial hair, adding to an air of menace that might initially catch one's attention. His presence in the small, dimly lit room feels both enigmatic and imposing.

If you had to guess, you propose him to be within his early fortieth, to forty-third rotation, or thereabouts. His skin carries a layer of grime, a testament to the rigours of his endeavours. 

“The memory of my origin is hazy at best.” Ezra shrugs, as he presses his knuckles against the moist swab he lays out on the coffee table. He hisses with the sting. “Home hasn't been a concept that I’m all too familiar with. Although I’m informed it was blue like Earth was before it was ravaged. It's been a long time since I was stationed in permanence. My bones have always been restless.” He leans back in the recliner and sips at the fragrant tea. “This tea… it harbours memories.”

“Regale me.” You entice, as you thread the bobbin on your machine. 

He licks round his lips savouring the citrus taste. “Have you ever ventured to Kerulon?”

“No.” You shake your head.

“A pisser of a planet, why would you? I got waylaid there once, on my fuknugt ship. Stranded for a time, which seems to be the continual narrative for my story, but I digress. It’s a planet on the edge of The Fringe, known for its vast expanses of sand and scorching twin suns that never set. Not much there at all except for a slow, agonising death. But as luck would have it, amidst the dunes that stretched endlessly towards the horizon, I sought refuge in a humble desert oasis. A rare oasis of life amidst the harsh landscape, it was tended to by a group of nomadic travellers known as the Sand Dwellers. They offered me a generous cup of their signature orange tea - a brew infused with spices native to Kerulon's desert flora, I’ve come to suspect. Your tea reminds me of that cup of salvation.”

Ezra sips another mouthful loudly and hums with his eyes closed.

“I got it from the marketplace.” You chirp. 

“Really? How uncanny… And where exactly did you procure that?” His pointer finger, stubby and long points to the glassy jewel on your shelf by the grimy window. 

“I found it.” You shrug.

He scoffs as he approaches and reaches for it as though drawn under a spell. “Birdie, do you know what this is?”

“A pretty rock.” You say with a lazy mirth.

He stands and fondles the faceted cabochon inside his big palm, eyeing the blood amber middle. “Aurelac. You’re sitting on an abundance of riches.”

“I’m well aware of Aurelac and it’s worth on the black market.” You press on the pedal under the table, and the coat slides through your machine fluidly. 

Ezra blinks, bewildered. “You know it’s worth, and yet you’ve abdicated it as a paperweight?"

"Mhm."

"Such a curious creature, unable to be bribed by gems in abundance. You must be the only one not to be swayed by the allure. And that’s a rarity.”

“I don’t need riches. If it matters so much to you, you take it.” You simply say with earnest eyes. 

Ezra baulks and struggles to form words.

“You Prospectors are all the same. Vultures just picking at the sinew on the bone. I’ve yet to meet a Prospector who didn’t live up to the reputation of harbouring an unsatisfied greed. You’ve killed for that.” You look at the gem wrapped inside his whopping palm with disdain.

“I have, and indulged in deeds far worse.” Ezra nods with a sigh through his enrapturing verbosity. But also a drained voice that indicates he’s just plain sick of this shit now, sick of it all.

Ezra smirks, bearing teeth and a corrupt murmur slips out. “Your assumption is emphatically sound, little bird. It's like a disease, the siren song of Aurelac knows no bound or reason. A sane man would always be swayed to harvest and reap. I couldn't count on all of our combined digits the number of times I’ve made lewd choices in spite of my perseverance to merely covet the riches that the Kevva forsaken moon bequeaths under her ample bosom. I've spent a long time there suckling at the teat. It only pains me now to ponder my very justifications for it to begin with, purging the bowels of that fecund wood…” He trails off grinding his teeth and sighing as he examines the unspoiled gem shining in his hand. 

As you work, Ezra's voice pierces the silence once more, each syllable laden with a poignant blend of resignation and acceptance. 

“There was a time when spitting off the edge of the world was an arrogant riot; to pillage and plunder with luck and careless abandon, but now with spirited discourse, I’ve settled into a freefall back into the harsh shunt of The Fringe. Some of us have the proclivity for greatness, while most do not. I fear I’ve become the latter.”

You look up at him and his face bears the worn lines and creases of hard experience, etched deep by the sun and wind, giving him a weathered and world-weary appearance.

His prominent nose adds to the pastiche of mystery and arcane belligerence that hovers about his person. A scruffy beard adorns his jawline, adding to his rugged and no-nonsense demeanour.

Oily hair streaked with grey at the temples, falls in disarray around his forehead, but what catches the eye most is the striking patch of blonde amidst the darker strands at the roots.

It seems like the evidence of a possible birthmark born in the hair line, or could just be a fashion choice exalted in bad taste. You make a mental note to ask him later. But it adds a unique touch to his plotline in a twist of his devious character as you ponder him and his story.

“Such a beauty,” Ezra remarks, observing you as he twists the jewel around his thick, calloused fingers. “It’ll fetch you a good sum.” He simply returns the gem to the shelf, his eyes lingering on it long after it leaves his grip. 

Your eyes graze down to the missing appendage, trying to fill in the gaps on his pages, as you place pins in your teeth. 

“Ah.” He notices your lingering gaze. “Go on, ask away.” Articulating around his Southern inflection with deep flutters of his tongue, it scatters out of it like jagged diamonds from the mines of Ajaxia.

You smile. “Nothing to ask.”

“I’m not foul to you like this?” You sense that he loathes it. Wired bitter with the loss. 

Despite the initial challenges and the occasional stares from strangers when your limp overtakes you when your prosthetic becomes unbearable to bear full weight on, you refuse to be confined by societal expectations or limitations.

You throw yourself into mundane life with unparalleled gusto, pursuing your work with a fervour that could inspire those around you if they weren’t so ignorant and assuming. A trait that might only embolden Ezra too, the more time he spends with you, if he cares to.

The thought of revealing your commonality with him rests idle on your tongue however. 

Yet, beneath your fearless exterior, you can harbour moments of doubt and insecurity. There are days when the weight of your prosthetic feels heavier than usual, and the whispers of self-doubt threaten to overshadow your resolve. You recognise it too, in his dark eyes right now, fierce, but also harbouring that self-loathing and defeated eroding.

It’s different for you, you don’t miss what you’ve never had, you only know a life like this, but for him? To have had it and then lost it, you can feel the decayed emotion that it evokes pouring from him, even if he never says the words out loud.  

You stand, approaching him with his coat patched and he raises his eyebrows. “Far from it. We might have a common depth.” You mutter. 

“I fail to see anything we share in common. However, you have magic in you, no doubt.” He says, as he admires his mended coat. “Witchcraft.” He smirks, running his fingers over the neat stitches.

“You have a way with words.” You smile, reaching for your cup.  

“A flair, so I’m told. Thank you.” He says earnestly to you, eyes big and round. 

“I work in the textile factory, my job.” You explain as you disappear into the kitchen when the beeper from the warmer goes off. 

“I was good with both my hands too, once,” he surmises bleakly. “What meat is this?” Ezra enquires, chewing slowly to savour the peculiar tang from the heated freeze dry meal that you’ve thrust at him with a spoon.

“Trog. At least that's what I tell myself. Makes it go down easier.” You remark.

“Never look a gift trog in the mouth, I suppose that’s good counsel.” Ezra shrugs and shovels in more, steadying the packet in his crotch for support; the warmth of it seeping into his thigh muscles and warming him pleasantly. 

“I’ve some Bitz Bars if you'd prefer?” 

He shakes his head. “If I never see a Bitz Bar again it’ll be too soon.”

The brief silence between you is disturbed only by the battering swell outside that has increased in its voracity in the last hour, and the soft chews and gulps as you both devour your meal in ensconced silence. 

It’s a harmonious, off-key beat that serves as the background chime to your dining encounter. Discreet in your mutual voyeurism as you eat and steal curious, yet wary glances at one another. 

You’re sitting at the small table with your sewing machine, whilst Ezra masticates on the recliner, albeit much slower, and negotiates a spoon in a hand that’s not ambidextrous in the slightest. 

“Tell me where you learned your skill.” Ezra prompts around a spin cycle of meat. 

“I have many. You’ll need to be particular.” You finger a newly discovered hole on your kneecap idly and frown at it. You can see a peep of leather from the buckle tarnished underneath.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, pet.” Ezra smirks, as he chews through his mouthful and runs his tongue around his teeth dislodging pieces of meat; his dark eyes flashing to you briefly. “Specifically your skills with a needle,” he waggles his stump at you and his sleeve flaps about and knocks his pouch over. “Fucking tarnation!” He mutters, pissed. 

You get up pliantly to assist him as he gathers the packet with quick snaps of his fingers. He spoon-scoops the contents off of his thigh, plopping the mounded heaps back into it, feeling the juice and gravy soak into his pants in a small, irritating patch.

“My grandmother taught me.” You say, dabbing at his thigh with a cloth.

He nods at you whilst continuing to alternate between cleaning himself of the spilled grains and meat, and eating it with good measure.

“Commit to a deal with me.” Ezra prompts after he swallows down the gristle.

“What kind of a deal?” You question, narrowly.

“I’ll tell you my story in its entirety and you regale me with yours in equal measure. Omit no detail too small.” Ezra declares.

“There’s really not much to tell. My life has not been spent roaming the Interplanetary digging up sparkly gems.” You remark. 

“You sound bitter.”

“My hindrances keep me here.” You sigh. 

“What hindrances?” He cocks his head at you. 

“Tell me your story, Ezra.” You deflect as you settle back in the chair to eat. 

Ezra smiles exaltedly. He relaxes back into the recliner after discarding the packet, whilst you listen keenly as he recounts how he came to be on the wretched moon with a group of like-minded individuals - rapscallions, as he refers to them - who were an entourage of the roguish sort.

Ragtag acquaintances he’d collected during his time prospecting many planets and satellites across the Interplanetary, but seemingly coming up short until The Green was set in his sights during the heights of the Aurelac rush. 

Of course, man’s greed always complicates even the basics of well interpreted relations, and soon he found himself without his ship or his crew; most of them deciding to pick one another off over petty quarrels, whilst the successful of the rogues took to leaving the moon. And Ezra was stranded with nothing but a serious, yet mysterious being known only as Number Two, who filled the role of henchman to Ezra’s own smart, callous wit at genial leadership. 

He reiterates to you, several times, that Number Two was not much of a conversationalist, much to his imminent dismay, so when he happened upon Damon, he informs you of the relief he felt to copulate wildly in words exchanged with a stranger, even if they weren't pleasantries.

It’s apparent to you, before he’s started to share his whimsical story, that Ezra has a rapt knack in kinking the tendrils of censorious intelligence and a dry sagacity that often blurs the lines of sarcasm and menace. Flowery, Southern treble clefs dance off of his tongue in a verbal, bewitching thrall, playing their music around your head in kaleidoscopic wonder. 

The things he'd done, the things Ezra he'd lost, are all painted from his cracked lips for you to see and experience, unscathed in the most exquisite details and colour. Feeling as though you’re there with him by his side and witnessing the altered course into complete annihilation. He was sure he’d be abandoned by Cee in a warped juxtaposition that, even his attempts at atoning for his previous sins couldn’t seem to cleanse him of. He iterates wistfully that he should've seen it coming. 

Ezra finalises the story with her gallant return and bringing him home rather than being left there to perish.

He’s notably candid when he speaks of his love for women - plural. He shares vulgar trysts about his many lovers on Luxillion, mostly whores whom he paid good credits for before he settled off on his wanderings, but who won't even entertain him now that he;s no longer whole. He mentions he occasionally dabbled freely in the delights of flesh with a fellow Y chromosome too; a flouted omission that makes your pores saturate at the outlandish, yet scandalous thought of it. His laying partners are of no prejudice. 

Ezra is regimented in never speaking of an unrequited love nor a love that holds permanence inside of his beating organ of clogged ventricles. The closest Ezra has come to feeling an emotion akin to the desire to protect another is with the bolshie whippersnapper named Cee, who had saved him from his fate on The Green.

And then you, this very evening. 

“What happened to her?” You enquire. 

“Your guess is as good as mine. I woke up in a med bay and haven’t heard a whisper since. Skipped out with a sack full of gems. Good for her.” He remarks. 

You watch as he winces and scowls down at his stump.

“Are you alright?” You query.

“Just an irritation" You watch as his lips curl back over his teeth. "Sometimes it… it feels as if it’s still there. Sears. Feels like I can still wiggle my fingers, the most peculiar thing.”

Nursing the aggravation is made small, as Ezra stares out at the window with a watery look making his scleras shine and the cords in his neck tense. Trying to push it to the back of his mind to be recycled into some distorted relief.

“That’s quite the story you shared.” You say. 

“It’s but mine to keep. And now yours too, I guess.” Ezra sighs and winces again. “Do you happen to have anything for the burn?” He asks, feeling the pain grow and mutate from his wrangled nerves into his veins.

“I might have a tranq.”

“Bliss.” He says as you get up. He notices you take a moment to regain your balance, a slight limp to your gait as you make your way forward. 

A large explosion-like sound is heard outside and you turn towards the window as the lights go out in your dingy apartment.

“Kevva’s wrath!” You gasp, a silhouette lit up by the purple lightning that rips terribly across the sky.

“Did something calamitous occur?” Ezra asks, standing too.

Aggressive thunder is heard rolling in once more as the rain pelts harder until it’s a tiresome skirmish battering the panes.

“Looks like a strike hit the fuse box. Whole District is out.” You say, hovering by the window.

“Perhaps it was a good call, your invitation.” Ezra says, a small smile unfolding on his lips. 

“Mm. The rain is often acidic.” You retreat to the kitchen and find some medicine and some candles. Lighting a couple on the coffee table, you take a hold of Ezra’s sleeve after passing him the pill. 

“Not a tranq unfortunately, but it might take the edge off.” You begin to roll his sleeve upwards. 

“What are you doing?” He queries.

“Making it easier.” You say, softly. You pin it in place, and then fetch a spool and needle from your sewing table. 

He watches, eyelashes fanned across his cheekbones as he stares down at your fingers working around the new hem of his sleeve you've created.

“I think I’ve seen you before... Around the District, down by the river.” You begin, carefully as you start to sew the sleeve in place. "You live there, don't you?"

He immediately bristles. “I don’t require charity. I’ll take my leave.”

“Ezra. You have nowhere to go. We both know that. It’s a dangerous night with the surge-five. Drink your xanadu tea and stay. You can take my bed.”

He sighs as his eyes shy away. “My predicament since my return from the Green has rendered me… unlucky, it’s true. There isn’t a place or a sympathetic ear here for people like me, and so my place is with shelter under the bridge. But I won’t spoil your evening with my dreary plight.”

“We can share in the dreariness.” You smirk, looking around at the dim confines of your apartment gloaming with waxy candlelight. 

He sighs again as he watches you thread neat stitches to keep the sleeve in place. 

“I can’t force you to stay. But I’ll sleep better knowing you’re safe rather than outside in that. I’ll make do on the recliner. I insist.” You say as you glance at the lightning streaking across the sky.

“Kindness offered to a scoundrel. You are something, Birdie.” 

“It’s only gratitude for what you did in the alley. We’re even.” 

"If I were to take you up on your offer, I will sleep here. You won't be denied your bed."

"There's no argument, Ezra. You'll take the bed and we'll say no more about it." You confirm.

“You trust me fictitiously.” 

“No, I trust you.” You correct him. 

“You know nothing of me. I could take your treasure and run whilst you sleep.”

“So do it. I already told you I care not for it.” You say, as you thread the stitches carefully. 

“Why don't you cash it in? You could improve your living quarters.” He suggests. 

“My living quarters are fine as they are.” You reply with a frown. 

He looks at you curiously, deep eyes burning into you as you find them with your own. 

“I don’t care about the material things.” 

“Pet, your dwelling is stacked with material things.” He grins. “Look at all this treasured garbage.”

“It’s gotten a bit out of hand admittedly. But it's mostly worthless.” 

“What is worth it's weight to you?” He enquires, boldly. 

“Life. Connection…" You catch his eyes. "Love.”

He scoffs as he brings his cup back to his lips and swallows the pill. 

“Immaterial things.” You say, as you notice his gaze heading towards the Aurelac gem again. 

“Before I left for the Green, the only material possession I owned was my ship. A Testing Screamer.”

“Fancy.” You remark, unimpressed. 

“No, she was a patched up shit bucket of rust, with a channel rat infestation, but I worked her hard. She got the job done. As I recounted, words and metal flew amongst my crew and they left me there to seek my death without her. I came back with far less.” He says, glancing down at his missing arm. “So, I relish the importance of the immaterial, even if you assume otherwise of me.”

“I assume nothing, Ezra.” You confirm. “There. You’re all patched up. You’re free to go into the wily night if you're so adamant.” You wince at the chafing burn around your knee joint.

You’re keen to rid yourself of the prosthetic, but hesitate whilst he’s here. You don’t mean to be prickly, but it’s a burn that’s starting to irritate.

“I’ve offended you.”

“No.” You shake your head with a faint smile offered. “I’ve been really grateful for your company, actually. It's been nice to converse with someone.”

“Do you feel lonely, pet?” Ezra questions out of the blue. 

You turn to face him, your knee knocking against his and you wince. “All the time.” You answer honestly.

“I find it hard to accept that you cloister yourself here alone each cycle.” 

“Why?”

“Because you're indeed bewitching.”

His hand is felt on your waist, gently squeezing, and you stop him as he reaches your thigh. 

“Too fast?” Ezra queries, reading your eyes carefully. 

“No.” You smile. “But…” You sigh with a steady gulp and then take his hand, hesitating before you place it on your artificial calf just past your knee. 

He immediately raises his eyebrows with a crooked smirk as he feels not soft flesh under your pants when he squeezes, but a hard shell. He knocks against it, bewildered. 

“You come with secrets,” he hisses jovially. 

“Missing pieces.” You correct. 

“As do I.” He says as your eyes fall to his stump barely poking out of the rolled up sleeve now. “Tell me your story,” he murmurs hauntingly.

He begins inking soft kisses into your collarbone and you don’t stop his forwardness. Instead you close your eyes and relish the feel of the warm, tender contact offered.

“No story. I was simply born this way.” You sigh, feeling his lips burn on your skin. Your fingers run themselves through his oily nape and scritch into his scalp. 

“Then there’s no less of you to love, pet.” Ezra groans, looking up at you. “A simple man would be worthy of your affections, even if just for a night?” 

“Perhaps.” You smirk.

“Perhaps? Here you sit like Kevva pushed you out her womb for me, perfectly moulded from clay, and you say perhaps?” 

You simply smirk as he looks at you, trying to figure you out. 

“I’m not perfect.” You say, your eyes averting away. 

“I’ll be the judge of that. I’d like to see you bare.” He says, and you know immediately what he means. 

You sigh out deeply and nod. “You too.”

“Birdie-”

“You. Too.” You sway. “Let me see you, Ezra.”

He watches as you stand and unzip your pants. You notice his eyes lingering on your centre for a moment, hidden beneath your bland underwear, but then his eyes trail down your left thigh to your knee where the buckles meet your skin.

You unbuckle your prosthetic without any meekness at all, leaning on his shoulder for support as he wraps his only arm around you, offering balance.

“I've got you, pet.”

You let it clatter to the floor and sit down in his lap, straddling him as his fingers tentatively brush over your revealed skin.

He, however, gulps as his fingers linger on the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Can I help you?” You ask him, and he shakes his head, pulling the offending item off clumsily and revealing his stump to you as his sweatshirt plops beside him.  

“Beautiful,” he says, observing the smooth skin of your ungrown limb. You shudder as his fingers sweep delicately around and across it.  

“Likewise,” you say, stroking down his arm to where it stops into a knot of twisty scars.

“Two peas in a dreary pod,” Ezra says, hooked nose brushing over yours. 

“I don’t like peas.” You chuckle. 

“Another commonality,” he smirks.

He watches as you reach forward behind him and take a small jar from the shelf. You push it into his hand as you open the lid and begin to scoop out some of the waxy salve inside. 

The balm, infused with cooling agents and healing properties, provides instant relief to your inflamed skin with a comforting warmth; soothing the rawness that bears the brunt of the day's chafing from your prosthetic.

He inhales the scent, lifting the jar to his nose and hums at the fresh, earthy aroma. 

“Homemade.” You clarify. 

“More potions from my talented sorceress.” Ezra smirks. “May I?”

You nod, holding the jar for him as he scoops out a small dollop, and rubs it between his thick fingers until the consistency turns thin.

“Tingly,” he says in wonder.

He runs it gently around your skin, rounding the circumference and across the calloused welts and blisters, soothing and massaging gently. 

“That feel good?” He queries with a bewitching smile all of his own.

"So good, Ezra." You nod with a breathy hum and he watches as you lean forward and kiss his stump gently, mouthing over the fibrous knots and welts. 

“Your mouth is Kevva sent,” he groans as he watches you.

You run your tongue over it, kissing up his shoulder and tasting the salt of his neck. Tasting him there as he fondles and rubs your knee gently, fingers slick with the balm. 

“Your ministrations, although kind, are wasted.” He gasps. “I’m not a man that can be tamed. I fear it's been too long that I won’t be gentle.” Ezra warns. 

“Neither will I.” You growl as you pull him to you, teeth tugging on his lips.

He engulfs you wholly; his hand swamping your back for support as you crush him towards you. His tongue slithers into your mouth and you suck on it, gasping as you feel his blunt nails rake up your back over your shirt. 

“Here?” He pants around your succulent mouth. “Or the comfort of your chambers?”

“Here. There. I don’t care. I just want you, Ezra.” You groan, your body tingling and sweating.

You squeal in delight as he stands with you abruptly, his sole arm keeping you wound tight around his body as he steps into your bedroom.

“I may only have one arm, but you're safe in it.” He reassures you by gripping you tight. 

“Never doubted it.” You say, nuzzling into the salted musk of his neck as you cling on around it.

He twinkles as he smirks at you; those dark eyes regarding you with a controlled enthral, left to marinate spicily in your thoughts and on the fine hairs of your arms. 

Outside, the sky growls, bearing its teeth as Ezra lays you on the bed. He watches you unbutton your shirt and pull off your panties, revealing yourself fully bare in all your flesh and graces to him.  

His eyes roam over the contours of your body, taking in the shape of your tummy, your hips, the swell of your breasts. The way your right leg curls up and the way your left, stopping at the knee, moves with a seductive fluidness to it just like the other.

Your entire body is his to freely claim, to roam unbidden. Slick pussy to drown in, to worship at the altar.

He's never been a good man, undeserving of the fruit you bear freely to him now as he licks his salivating lips. But you make him feel good; a small, insidious voice convincing him he’s unworthy is quashed inside his mind, silenced blissfully as you beckon him forward and allow him to touch, to explore.

He’s marvelled by his own restraint, wanting nothing more than to tear into you - pull you apart and put you back together again. Yet he’s rendered docile, eager to draw long, haunting moans out of you as he tastes and feels each of them, taking his sweet, glorious time instead.

“You’re so…” He fails to find the right word in his mental thesaurus to do it justice. "I want nothing more than to whelve myself inside of your tight, hot cunt right now." Ezra sighs, staring at your slick centre, an obvious tent growing in his pants. “But first, we must discuss logistics."

You giggle looking up at him. “Fuck logistics, just get over here and fuck me.”

He shakes his head in disbelief at you, spread out before him and he swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

“Can you ride me?” He kneels on the bed, pink lacing his cheeks. “It’s easier if you can, my balance is often maligned. A chin to the nose might be an unpleasant douse to the fire.” 

“I can. I might need you to support me if we go hard.” You nod. 

“I can do whatever you need.” Ezra smirks crookedly. "Slow, fast... hard."

“What do you need?” You ask him, reaching for his face and planting kisses over it.

He smells wildly acrid, a build up of sweat and grime from the city has sunk into his flesh, but you’re undeterred as your mouth runs over his skin. Your cunt is so fucking wet just inhaling the stagnant, earthy hidrosis of him; beads of your slick running out of you in a delectable tickle.

“I need you to sit on my face, pet.” Ezra instructs you through a strained grunt, his lips curling up over his teeth as he helps position you above him. 

You lower yourself down onto his waiting tongue, holding onto the bed railings. His arm is firmly around you, as assured. 

He licks burning acid on your pussy, dissolving you down to the chalk of your bones as he tastes you; groaning into your folds hungrily. You grind on his mouth, chasing that blooming high that tingles and leaves you clawing in his hair desperately as he tongue fucks you gloriously.

You're basking in the pure pleasure of his mouth and tongue lapping at your pussy, all consuming and euphoric. Losing yourself to that dreamy build up of tension that arches your back and curls your toes.

And just when you think you can't take it anymore, suddenly all that tension is released and pulses throughout your body. You fall into a zen state of absolutely nothing - just white, hot pleasure coursing through your body.

You forget everything. Your name. The aches from your prosthetic. You even forget to breathe. He’s taken your body and mind to this exquisite place simply with his mouth and lets you fly and float around up in there until you come down, and then he’ll build you up again and again.

“I could lick you for turns, pet.” He snuffles through a satiated smile.

It makes you melt into him, crumpled like paper. Burnt up and falling ashy onto his skin. His stump rests against your thigh, prodding gently against it as his hand sweeps down your back and grips onto your ass, pushing your cunt further onto his mouth.

You move your hips, writhing against his tongue as he licks up onto your clit and you cry out in relief at how good it feels. 

“You taste divine,” he muffles around your sticky lips. 

He pushes his head up, lips squelching around to get right in as your thighs ripple and shake as he brings you to the edge once more. You're standing on the precipice of the universe and looking down into it's swamping, glittery depth.

You rest back on your hands, your fingers squeezing around the meat of his thighs as his one hand blazes a journey over your belly and towards your breasts where he squeezes and massages the left in his grip. His eyes stare up at you and you stare down, lips parting as your moans increase. 

His tongue is precisely erratic, licking, sucking and flicking in all the places he can get to to draw your orgasm out and make it last. A kaleidoscope of colours stream in the room, their waltz blinding you as they swirl and merge. You can feel it all over your body, the heat, the burning as you tense and coil. 

When you come again, it feels like you're floating once more; your body slack and wibbly as you gush into his waiting mouth. And as much as you could let him do this, for indeed many a turn, you want him in your mouth too.  

You move with ease, comfortable to slide across the sheets gracefully and with speed that makes him grin. Pulling his pants down, you see him in all of his thick, weeping glory. 

"Fuck, Ezra..." You murmur at the sight of him.

“This is how you make me feel.” Ezra pants as you stare at the hard swell of him almost lunging out his groin at you.

His cock feels imposing; heavy and smooth. A flushed pink head swollen and leaking profusely. You feel how hard he is, how he’s acutely dripping for you; strings of pre-cum coming away in your palm as he brings it up to his mouth and licks it away whilst eyeing you.

And you can’t explain what it does to your body, let alone your brain, at how wet he is for you. And hard, so fucking hard that it bulges angrily; a taut, thick vein popping off on the side.

“Take me to paradise, Birdie.” Ezra hums, as he watches you slither between his legs and take him in your mouth. 

Ezra's eyes roll into the back of his head and he bites his lip until it bleeds copper rust on his tongue. He makes some intangible sound as he looks down at his fat cock sucked slowly and deeply into your mouth.

He brushes your hair away with shaky fingers, unsure and unfamiliar with such a gentle movement that he orchestrates, thumb stroking over your cheek.

“You can take it deeper than that. I know you can. Let me slide all the way down in there. Feel me in your belly.” Ezra grunts. 

He bucks his hips as you swallow, your fingers scratching into the soft, wiry hairs in his groin and over his belly. He fills your throat and you feel him twitch when you suck harder. 

He pulls your head back and tells you to spit on it. Smirking, you do as he instructs, and he watches as the globule decorates him in crystal strings.

“More,” Ezra keens, as you spit and drool over his cock further.

You’re panting for it; desperate to have him inside of your mouth again as he keeps it close enough, but just out of reach from your lips - teasing with that crooked grin lacing down at you.

But then, he finally lets you have it again, and is enthralled as you take him in greedily like you’ve been starved.

Humming in satisfaction, you suck him down and swallow deep, feeling him prod at the back of your throat as he guides and controls you with his hand knotted in your hair.

His grunts are felt on the end of your clit, his satisfaction tingling all through your body and you get off on getting him off; grinding your hips against the comforter on the bed as you suck, chasing your own release. Groaning out around his cock when the sheet catches your clit deliciously.

You pull him out of your mouth in a wet slurp and begin kissing around his groin; each little kiss peppering him and absorbing into his skin, leaving further fiery brands as you go.

You haven’t lost interest in his dick, still grasping him in your hand and running it over him, but you’re interested in all of him now, want all of him.

He’s drawn into your eyes as they look up at him, as you work your way across his abdomen and leave his hand to weaken inside of your scalp. It drops to your jaw as he helps you slither up his body and kisses you.

He’s surprisingly gentle, explorative and leaves no part of you untouched by his lips as he’s only too willing to return the favour. He lays back, his body weakening as you sit on his cock; your hands running through his hair, massaging his scalp as his head lolls back and he loses himself to the feel of your nails scratching through it.

You’re squirming and pushing yourself down on his length.

“Oh, you want it all, huh? Take it. Fuck my cock, pet. It’s yours.” He husks.

“You feel so good.” You whine, pulling on his hips as you work. 

“I'm going to make a mess of you when I come.” He grunts.  

“I want you to fill me up, Ezra.”

“Flood you,” he groans. “Fuck, I want to ruin you, but I want you like this too. It’s confounding.” He pants.

"Plenty of time to ruin me," you groan.

The infinite kaleidoscope only intensifies, becoming more vivid. Bursts of colour explode from behind your eyelids and are felt warming you all over as his cock nudges against the deepest part inside of you. 

“Ezra!” 

You feel his mouth roaming your chest. Sucking your nipples between his teeth as he alternates, pulling on them, teasing them hard; the tiny spots around your areolas standing and tightening too. Little pleasurable bumps that each have their own nerve centre that make your pussy twinge and drip like a leaky faucet over his cock as you ride.

Soon you flop forward onto him, your breasts hitting the hardness of his chest. That delicious pull deep inside your belly makes itself known. That tight, knotting before you’ll snap back and release.

His pants increase and those growls start to haunt. He’s close. It’s in the way he grabs and paws at you more sloppy now, like he can barely hold on anymore.

All it takes is an enticing whisper from you, telling him to come, to let go, to fill you up, and his teeth sink into your shoulder.

He groans and grunts deeply, hips stuttering and candid whimpers leaving his breath. All the atoms of his being spilling into you, thick and warm as he drips out of your cunt over his thighs.

And Ezra doesn’t let you go. He keeps you there, kissing you, glued to his chest, fitted around him like a perfect puzzle piece. 

The surge-five still roars outside, but seemingly less consequential. 

The acidic rains have moved on and the window of the bedroom is speckled with only a few streaks of wayward drops that the wind blows in squiggly lines around it; the tail ends of shooting stars before they die out completely. 

A little snuffle beside your ear focuses your attention on Ezra, still asleep beside you in the middle of the night; his stumped arm poking out of the bobbled blanket, and his other still curled under your back and ending around your waist.

His fingers twitch occasionally, as he jostles and flinches in his sleep, still branding on the skin on your navel. You wonder what he dreams about to make him shudder so.

Your head tilts to examine his face in the darkness. The slow roaming from the blonde tuft so stark in his chocolate hairline, to the way in which his eyelids flutter restlessly as his eyeballs move under them as though something is alive. 

He pelts your face with light breaths that are warm and hardened, and yet it’s a scent that doesn’t putrefy as you allow yourself to be bathed in the warmth of them.

You refute anything that’ll disturb your peace right now, such as the dull urge to urinate, instead cocooning yourself further into this moment right here in Ezra’s sleep laden grip.

He’s unlike any other man you’ve ever met and it leaves you breathless as you examine his face whilst he sleeps beside you.

Thick eyelashes adorn his swollen, sealed lids and a wiry scar is a slapdash carving below his left eye socket, leaving your imagination to ponder how he obtained it.

A thick velvet slug, matted with sweat and the residue of your slick, clings to his top lip, whilst the rest of his chin and neck is garnished with unruly stubble that's in the throes of growing in length and sparsity in hodgepodge greying patches. 

His lips, pale pink and fuller on the bottom set, are chapped and sore, much like your own as you continue to gnaw on them whilst you mull the events over of how this enigma came to be in your sheets this night.

“See something you like, Birdie?” Those lips move with a small gruff tone.

“Merely spectating.” You reply back, softly. 

“Spectating? I think the term is voyeurism.” Ezra smiles with his eyes still closed, and the creases around them grow in number and folds. 

You smile and Ezra can hear the moisture in your mouth click around your teeth at such a close proximity.

“Your lament protests about sleeping on the recliner were just a bunch of who shot John, weren't they?” He croons into the skin of your neck, dipping his head as he stretches. You feel him inhale deeply against your skin.  

Ezra wonders briefly if he’s suffered another loss, for his left arm is numb with the weight of you resting on it. He wiggles his fingers bringing them back to life and feels your skin warm against it under the blanket.

“Your practicality has been lampshaded,” he whispers. “Tell me, did you plot this tryst into fruition?” He chuckles. 

“One would think this situation is amusing to you,” you say.

“It’s ah… something.” That brazen itch turns from ghastly mania into a settling excitement, an accepted wave of rapture that shakes his bones at your warmth and proximity; the blood in his body rushing towards the end of his cock at breakneck speeds.

“I fear I won’t be able to resist sordid temptation much longer.” Ezra repeats, a dirty grunt escaping through his strained voice.

“Then don’t. Defile me at your whim.”

The sound of his haughty chuckle is both harmonious and husky at the same time as it reverberates from somewhere deep in his chest cavity. Ezra is most attractive when he smiles and laughs, you think. It completely changes his stern, scowled face.

Perfect, puffy lips crooking up into his cheeks revealing a dimple that draws the eye in; a smile that could convince the sun into imploding. But his smile has dissipated and those dark eyes are prying into places they ought not to pry again.

"I'm going to annihilate you, pet." He whispers, grazing his lips against your own. "You think you can take it?"

You know you’re stupid to think you can do this; nudge him to the precipice and encourage as he jumps off it willingly. Coax him to show you the most depraved, abominable parts of himself and not have some repercussions come and bite you on the ass for it.

See him unleashed fully; the worlds across the Interplanetary cracking open and their suns splitting into two as he savages and ravages.

But you want him despite all the swill and misfortune; you want him to make you fall apart - to totally obliterate you. Use you as mere clay for his own twisted satisfactions as he leaves imprints and eternal marks on you that’ll blister and bleed.

The way he touches you, the way he doesn't shy away from your body leaves you wanting for the affection he drowns you in. He’s your missing piece making you whole. He dilutes your pain with his own making it bearable. 

You shudder at the feel of his fingers softly stroking over your half leg; a ghostly touch that you acutely zone into. His eyes are still brooding into yours. 

"Break me." You urge.

“I can smell your sweet stink all over me." Ezra grunts as his fingers slip down the between your ass cheeks, leaving a devastation of goose pimples in their wake.

You rest your clipped knee onto his hip, opening you up for him. You bite your lip, gnawing frantically on the bottom as the path takes a delectable turn towards your cunt. 

Your head swims; the hairs on your body and nipples coming alive. Feeling high and giddy, balanced on that precarious cusp of passing out, but not quite managing to do so.

You breathe out slowly as his fingers pause; the burn of them felt deep inside your core already as you clench around nothing, and the throb of your clit aches and prickles with a pang of eager want. 

Ezra’s gaging; reading your reactions and fine tuning into that solid will that you’ve been dismantling slowly over the course of the last turn spent with him.

He knows, for it’s ambushed his own impenetrable walls too. 

He feels your hand clamp around his cock as the tension in your body pulverises at any remaining restraint you have. He strokes over your mound towards your clit, and as soon as he touches it - that hard, pulsing nub - you both groan out in unison. His fingers push into your pussy, slow and thick as you gasp.

Your other hand fists inside his hair as your face draws nearer to his own, your eyes zoning in on his lips that are wet as he licks them.

“I will destroy you.” Ezra breathes, admitting defeat. “I have nothing to give you, pet.”

“I don’t want what credits can buy from you.” You moan as his fingers swipe over your clit. “You see me.” 

“I do. I see all of you. I like what I see.” He tongues at the skin at your neck. “You see me, too.”

“It’s kinda hard not to, you’re like a neutron star.” You smile. 

“You trying to woo me, pet?” He smirks, as he slides down your body, kissing over it as he goes, elbow pressed into the mattress for support. 

“Is it working?” You gasp as he abruptly buries his head between your centre, and lets his tongue go to work. 

Your head is thrown back in the pillows, your eyes greeted with that dark void of space; the stars turning in their spirals as time slows down and he pulls you out from the inside.

Marvelling at the true alchemy of his tongue as it laps at your wet folds and he slurps you up like water, dehydrated like he once was on Kerulon. Transcending above the highest point in infinity and still climbing as your eyes roll into the back of your skull. 

Your hand fists through his hair, drawing him closer; his nose dusting your clit as his tongue fucks deep and swallows all the sweet honey you have to give him.

“All I can do is take you to the stars.” He grunts. “Is that enough for you?”

“More than enough.” You whine as you come around his lips. 

Ezra then spends the rest of the night breaking you apart, piece by piece, and putting you back together again, just as he said he would.

His voice wakes you, but not from beside you where you expect him to be. 

“Consarn it, you fumbling bawheid!”

You quickly reach for a tattered robe and grab at your crutches, wooden and rickety beside the bed, and follow the infernal muttering to the kitchen where he’s standing around broken cups on the floor.  

Ezra glances up at you with razor wire for lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Were you making tea?” You enquire through heavy lids, and he turns bashfully from you, the broadest back presented and littered with constellations of freckles and moles. 

“Yes trying, but my cumber-world impairment-” he grits his teeth “-makes me sloppy. Fuck.” 

Your gaze lingers curiously over him, determining him not to be an apparition but real; half expecting him to have fled already. You glance behind you and the Aurelac gem is still there on the shelf by the window as he left it.

“I can make the tea.” You smile softly, a hand reaching out to touch the expanse of his back, and his hackles immediately soften. 

He steps to you, his singular hand finding the familiar shape of your waist as he pulls you close. 

You take in the detailing on his worn face again. The way the pores on the smooth bump of his nose are marred with oil, the thickness of his brow; the entice of his full bottom lip. 

Ezra wanders freely over your features too, from the shine in your eyes to the feel of your hair soft in his hand as he brushes his fingers through it like a comb.

He scratches up to your scalp massaging your skull as he steps closer into your personal space and your eyes close at the sensation of it, birthing millions of prickles across your skin; your nipples standing tall and hard beneath the slip of the gown you’d thrown on, like diamonds cutting through the thin fabric. 

“How good does that feel?” His breath is drenched in a stale warmth on your face and you breathe the notes in deep.

"Really good." You breathe, nuzzling into his ministrations.

"Is your body defeated, pet, or can you take more?" He whispers into your crown.

You smirk. "More."

"Greedy." He snickers. "You'd make a fine Prospector."

Something’s hanging around in the air between you; something that’s unspoken. You’ve noticed it growing between you as the eventful turn has worn on into the night and seeks the new light of the dawn glowering through the smog. 

It’s inside the delirious crookshank smile on his lips as he reveals it to you in between the comfortable silences when you talk. In his swampy brown eyes that take you in and feel as though he’s pulling you apart with them to see what’s really going on inside of your fibres and nerves. 

And it's here again now as you linger, watching Ezra watching you, sensing that when the time comes to part from the questionable consternation of his company, it'll leave ruptures somewhere inside of you.

The black lacquer thoughts slither up from your spine and germinate insipid sparks into your core; a groundless lust that dizzies you from the smooth tickle of his fingers brushing down your hip and across your thigh.

You gasp as his fingers stray too close to your swollen centre, still drenched warm with his copious spend and aching from the stretch of him. 

You’re weak for him; weak for those skilled fingers on his singular hand to be crawling inside of you and fucking you up, quite literally, as he weaves them in and out of your soaked pussy, curling them and wrapping you around them further.

“Ezra,” you gasp as he pumps them in and out, your balance swaying. 

“Hold onto me,” he says, as you rest your crutches against the counter and wrap your arms around his neck. 

He pulls your only leg around his waist once more, hard cock bobbing at your perineum, lifting you with ease; his only hand resting on your ass, and carries you back to bed. 

Ezra has you all over again, devouring, leaving his marks on your body. Revelling in the melodies of your panting chants of his name as he fucks deep and hard.

His lips part slowly as do yours, reacting to him. Drawn to him, drawn into him completely and controlled somehow like a puppet and he’s playing with your strings; plucking slowly and gently at you and you’ve no idea how.

No idea how you've gotten so willingly naked in front of a stranger, despite his strange appeal, and are allowing him to guide you like this. Thighs splayed open before him and showing him your most intimate self.

It doesn’t matter how, for it’s pure fucking bliss. 

You slide down on his cock and ride him slowly, gently as his arm wraps you up and holds you close to him, almost crushing the life out of you as both you exertions wane.

You gasp out, letting his lips go as he fills you up again, makes you detach and lose yourself in this moment inside of his arms - inside of him.

And that’s the crux of it, you want to give him this, make him see that he’s worthy of love and affection and tenderness. You know what it’s like not to have that.

Ezra smiles faintly at you, giving into the feel of you lavishing your love on him.

He reaches down to grope your knee gently, and you shudder at the feel of his fingers brushing against it. You run your hand equally down his stump, and you watch as his eyes glisten before he scrunches them shut and crushes you against his chest as he spills inside you once more. 

“The storm has quelled. I should take my leave.” He says distantly after, stroking over your smooth nub as it rests languidly across his torso. His gentle touch soothes better than the balm. 

“You should stay.” You murmur, hoping he hasn't heard the longing in it. But of course, the plucky sleeveen has. 

“We find ourselves in a quandary.” Ezra retorts as he draws circles over your skin with his fingers. 

“Dare I ask what stories these tell?” You put to him as your fingers trace the marred lines over his sternum. 

“Probably wise if you remain in the dark, Birdie. I was not a gentle man once upon a time.” His warning is stark, but his eyes are soft and velvety as you look at them.

“You know how to be gentle.” You sway. 

He nods. “To those who I feel so inclined.” He nudges his nose against yours.

The skin of your knee is so soft despite the roughness of the chafe. It’s a sensation that imbues you with warmth rather than discomfort; his thick fingers caressing gently, exchanging heat between your skin.

You’ve never let anyone feel it before, but he doesn't shy away. Neither do you as you kiss and flick your tongue tenderly over the stump of his arm. You let your tongue dip into the jagged welts and fleshy riverbeds of his scars.

He hums out with his eyes closed as you explore languidly and find your way eventually back to his bruised lips.

He makes you feel seen, he makes you feel whole for the first time. And it’s a feeling you don’t want to let willingly extinguish. You kiss him deeply, fearing it might be the last time. 

“Your hospitality has been most charitable, pet. The swell has dissipated satisfactorily.”

You sigh out. “This whole idea was just idiotic from the get go.” You’re already mourning the loss of him, another part failing to grow on your body, but he doesn’t move. 

“Something I specialise in.” Ezra muses. But his smirk downturns when he sees your face. “Is that sincere affection you possibly harbour?”

“You think this whole time I spent with you was a ruse?” You frown.

He shakes his head. “I hope not. Did I fall victim to a spell?”

“I want you to stay, Ezra.” You say, reaching for his hand. “But only if you want to. There’s a place for you here, with me, if you want it.”

He closes his eyes, your knuckles resting on his lips, his thumb stroking over the hilt.

“You definitely have me under a spell. There’s no other possible explanation.” He hums as his eyes find yours staring back, unwavering. “You and your magic tea.”

“No magic. Maybe you just want to stay with me.” You smile, knowingly. 

“Perhaps some things can’t be explained by the universe after all.” 

“Perhaps it’s the Aurelac.” You snort. “That Siren song you Prospectors can't resist.”

Ezra shakes his head vehemently. “Maybe it’s just you, Birdie.” He smiles as he leans in to kiss you. “Maybe I finally found my missing piece.”

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Ezra, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

BODIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

EZRA MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #pedro pascal characters #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x f!reader #prospect 2018 #ezra prospect smut #ezra prospect fluff #tw limb loss #tw prosthesis #every body is beautiful #diversity #inclusivity #bodies series #jett's writing

[pedroshotwifey]

One Condition

This is actually a requested fic from the lovely @survivingandenduring! You can view the request here if you'd like!

Pairing: Marcus Pike x fem!reader x Ezra (Prospect)

Word count: 4.9k

Tags/warnings: unprotected piv sex, sex pollen trope, dubcon, unprotected anal sex, double penetration, oral sex, cum eating, so much cum like its kinda scary, Ezra being a nasty little freak, anal fingering, pain kink, big fat juicy plot twist, this is absolutely nasty shit, stuff I'm probably forgetting, I'm actually not sorry at all for this

Summary: You and your partner, Marcus Pike, get stranded on an inhabited planet and run into problem after problem. You find yourselves in a compromising position that requires help from a strange man, who comes to you with one condition.

A/N: Uhhh. don't look at me 🫣

*****

“Um, Marcus?” 

You look at your partner, who has the same worried expression on his face as you. 

“Yup.” 

It’s not a question. You’re both thinking the same thing; you’re in the wrong place. 

It looks similar to the planet you were supposed to be landing on, but most of the scenery here is a lush green instead of the blue hues you’d been expecting. It’d looked the exact same from above the atmosphere, but there is a clear difference now that you’re on the surface. 

Marcus mutters a curse under his breath but begins the landing sequence anyway. That’s probably for the best; that way the two of you can figure out where you really were, and then where you actually need to be going. 

Dust comes up around your shuttle as you touch ground, the greenery around you rustling a bit as the jets power down. You get up from your seat when you feel the craft settle enough for the floor to be stable. 

Marcus follows, shutting everything down and then unbuckling himself from the pilot’s chair. You’re already on the other side of the small contraption, looking through the maps you have stored in the tiny compartment of the far wall. He comes up next to you and pulls up the planet encyclopedias, trying to find a description that matches the world you’ve landed in. 

You spend the next few minutes flipping through various books and maps until Marcus comes across a planet that matches. He hands the book over and points at the section. 

“Here,” he points. “It looks like we're on a sister planet to the one we’re supposed to be on.” 

You hum in agreement, reading the small passage provided next to the picture.

“Alright, well, let’s get her powered back up.” 

Your partner sighs, running a hand over his face. You furrow your brows. His face has paled a bit and he seems a bit reluctant to follow your request. 

“Is there a problem?” 

“Yeah, actually. We’re out of fuel,” he admits, trying and failing miserably to maintain eye contact. 

You gape at him. 

“Marcus! You were supposed to fill her up before we fucking left! It says here that there’s no civilization!” 

He nods along as you scold him, knowing it’s well deserved. 

“Yeah, I know. I forgot until we were halfway here, but I knew it would take just enough to get us on planet, and we could get more from there. It’s not like I knew that we would be landing on the wrong planet” He spews it out, not defensive exactly, but regretful. 

You groan and walk back to the front of the ship, checking the fuel gauge. 

“We’re running on fumes right now, I don’t know if it’s going to be enough to get us to the neighboring planet.” 

You look at him, trying to keep your anger from showing up because you know that it was genuinely an accident, and Marcus isn’t usually one to mess up like this. But of course when he does, you get stranded on an unknown planet.  

Rubbing your eyes, you walk in a circle around the floor, trying to think of a plan. You can feel Marcus’s guilty eyes following you until you come to a stop. 

“Okay,” you start. “The book said that this planet is typically only used for mining aurelac, right?” 

Marcus nods slowly, obviously confused as to where you’re going with this. 

“Well then there should be at least a few miners on planet in that case, right?” 

He nods again, furrowing his brows in thought. 

“So we should go out and try to find someone to borrow some fuel from?” he asks. 

“Yes. Either that or see if there’s someone who can hitch us a ride.” 

He sighs and puts his hands on his hips, his gaze downcast to the floor as he thinks through the options.

“Yeah, seems like our best bet,” he agrees after a minute. 

Within a few minutes, you both pack small bags and suit up to withstand the harsh environment of the planet. According to the book, the air is extremely thin and can sometimes hold toxic chemicals depending on other factors. You follow Marcus out of the craft and watch as he makes sure everything’s sealed correctly, before you both start walking into the woods. 

“Do you know where you’re going?” you ask after you’ve been walking for a while.” 

Marcus looks at you, his expression still holding hints of guilt. 

“Not exactly. I think most of the mines are located in the forest though, so we’ll just have to keep walking and hope we come across—” 

“Shit, Marcus!” 

You yell for him as he stumbles across a root and tumbles down into a pit. It’s not super deep, but just enough so that he could have seriously hurt himself with that fall. You carefully slide down the side of it to join him. 

“Are you okay?”

He looks up at you from where he’s planted on his back and groans a bit. He opens his mouth to reply and that’s when you see that his mask is on the ground next to him, crushed into several pieces. 

“Shit,” he croaks, already feeling the effects of the thin air. 

You crouch down beside him, feeling him up for any injuries. 

“Does anything hurt?” 

“Just my head. It’s fucking pounding.” 

You sigh. “Probably from lack of airflow.” 

“C’mon,” you grunt, threading your arms under his. “Let’s get you back and hope that you don’t die.” 

He glares at you but allows you to help him into a sitting position.

“Well, isn’t this unfortunate? Two little birds trapped in a cage.” 

You both jolt at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. You peer up to the top of the pit and find a man standing near the ledge, a blaster aimed directly at your head. He wears a shabby, brown suit with a bulbous helmet that would be almost funny looking if not for the imminent threat he poses. You slowly raise your hands and start to stand back up, a rush of fear creeping up your spine. 

“We’re not armed,” you start. “My friend’s mask just broke; we need help.” You try not to sound too panicked as you explain your situation to the stranger, praying to whoever may be listening that he’s not planning to shoot both of you.

“Don’t worry gem, I don’t want to kill you. I simply would like to assure myself that neither of you had plans of my own execution.” 

You furrow your brows at his choice of wording, his strange drawl only adding to your confusion. 

“I, uh. No.” What else can you really say to that?

You glance down at Marcus and see the same befuddled expression on his face. 

“I will warn you that your…friend”—he cocks a brow at you as he says it—”has chosen a rather unfortunate time to lose his filtration system. Assuming, of course,  you haven’t already discovered the effects of the tainted oxygen.” 

You shake your head as your mouth goes dry. 

“Is—is he going to be okay?” 

The stranger pauses for a moment as if in thought. He cocks his head and then looks back at you. 

“He should be as long as he receives the assistance he should require.” 

“What do you mean by that?” This comes from Marcus. 

The stranger frowns and lowers his gun, which he seems to have just remembered he was still holding up. 

“Are you not familiar with this planet’s cycles?” 

You both shake your heads.

The man sighs and kneels on the ledge extending a hand. You stare at it, neither of you making a move toward him. 

“Do you want to stay in this pit? I think it would be rather unsanitary to do so under your current circumstance.” 

You flash another glance at Marcus, who nods slightly toward you, encouraging you to take the other man’s hand. You step forward and place your palm in his, allowing him to pull you up, and then you kneel to help him hoist Marcus up as well. 

“I’m Ezra,” the man says once the three of you are standing. You introduce the two of you as well, figuring at this point that the stranger has to be at least mostly harmless. 

“Alright, well tell me, little bird; are you and Marcus of the romantic type?” 

You just stare at him, unsure of how to answer that, nor of why he would feel the need to ask in the first place. You can feel Marcus’s eyes on you as your cheeks begin to burn. 

“I–uh…” 

You let your eyes meet your partner’s, a silent conversation transpiring. You’ve engaged in some less than appropriate activities throughout your travels, but it’s always been strictly for stress release or simply a product of boredom. The last few months, it’s been more of an unspoken thing. 

The two of you care for each other and behave as most couples would, but you’ve never actually given each other the labels. You definitely never thought that the deciding conversation would be in the presence of a strange man who seems to be about to deliver some bad news. You’re about to answer when Marcus gives you a short nod, lifting the burden off of your shoulders. 

“Yeah, we are.” 

The man nods, though he’s clearly amused. You’re sure he can see what just happened and must have used context clues to figure the rest out out. 

“That’s fortunate for you. What’s circulating in the air currently is what could be described as an aphrodisiac. I’m sure you’re familiar with such?” 

You and Marcus exchange yet another glance. 

“Yes, we’ve heard of them,” you say. 

“Do you have a craft nearby?” Ezra asks, peering behind you as if he could spot one he missed before. 

You hesitate before answering. Even if he’s seemed to be helpful so far, can you really be sure it isn’t a trap? 

“We have a shuttle,” you decide on just to be on the safe side. “We’re out of fuel though. That’s why we're out here in the first place,” you add just in case the man has some extra laying around for some miraculous reason.

Just then, you near a heavy thud and a groan. You spin on your heel to find Marcus keeled over, his hands over his groin and his exposed skin covered in a layer of sweat more intense than what’s normal for this climate. You’re on your knees beside him within a second, your hands running over him until he flinches away as if you’d burned him. 

“Marcus! What’s happening?” You aim your question at Ezra, who’s still standing above the two of you with an almost pitying expression. 

“The effects are getting to him, little dove. I’m afraid you’re going to need to help him in a timely manner.” 

You think for a moment, knowing getting your partner all the way back to your shuttle is going to be a difficult task in the state that he’s in. 

“I have a camp not too far from our current location, I’m willing to offer up the space on one condition. And before you protest, we both know it’s not safe to engage in life saving activities out here in the open.” 

You stiffen at this. Of course there’s a catch; it’s not common to receive help from a random stranger without them expecting anything in return. You glance down to make sure his gun is still in its holster before narrowing your eyes at his face, not liking the way his smile has turned a bit wolfish. 

“What do you want? We don’t have any coin.” 

“Oh, no, gem. I don’t want your profits. I simply desire to join you and your handsome partner. It’s been a long time since I had something other than my own fist to keep me company.” 

“What?” you bark, slightly humiliated that he would suggest something like that, regardless of how handsome he may be. “No, I’m sleeping with a stranger in exchange for shelter!” 

“Now don’t get feisty, dove. I didn’t say it had to be you,” he says, watching Marcus with a newfound hunger. “Though it would probably be fortunate for your friend here that it was, assuming he is of the hetero kind.” 

“Don’t,” Marcus croaks, looking up at you the best he’s able to. 

You’re torn, knowing that Marcus needs help quick, but not wanting to give either of you up to this man. When it comes down to it though, you’re always going to choose what’s best for your partner. You look up at the man with disdain, knowing that you’re not going to have much of a choice here. 

“Fine. But not him.” 

Ezra’s smile broadens. 

“Very well, gem. Right this way.” 

He turns around and waits for you to get a near-delirious Marcus about halfway up so he’s propped by one of your shoulders. Noticing your struggle, Ezra comes to his other side and mirrors your position, one hand supporting around his waist. 

As you walk, Marcus’s temperature keeps rising and his groans get worse. Fortunately, the man wasn’t lying when he said he had a camp nearby; you only have to walk for about a minute before coming across it. 

He opens up the flap as you get closer, taking the zipper all the way down and helping you ease Marcus in. As you lay him down, you can see the bulge in his flight suit; almost twice what is normal. You hear Ezra zip the opening back up and then step in behind you. 

“F-fuck, I’m sorry, I can’t–” 

Marcus cuts himself off as he shakily pulls down the zipper on his suit, revealing his undershirt and boxers. His hand goes down the latter not a second later, a pornographic moan coming from him as his hand makes contact with his engorged cock. He starts stroking himself under the fabric, panting heavily, and it makes your mouth go dry despite the circumstances. 

“Shit, I-it’s not enough,” he grits out, pumping furiously. There are tears in his eyes as he looks at you, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 

“Better help him quick, little bird,” Ezra quips from behind you, already removing his attire as well. You comply, though for which man you’re not sure. 

You strip quickly, the three of you tearing your own clothes off at the same time, each of you stark naked at the end. You feel so exposed between the two of them, especially with Ezra, who doesn’t help at all by giving a lewd whistle at the sight of your bare body. 

You give him a look so nasty that you’re surprised he doesn’t drop dead. He raises his hands in defense. 

“Woah, little bird, I meant it only as a praise.” 

You ignore him and turn to Marcus, who’s just now shoving his boxers off. You gasp when his dick springs up, heavy, red, throbbing, and leaking an obscene amount of precum. It’s swollen to a point that looks almost painful. 

You swallow your nerves and try your best to ignore Ezra as you instruct Marcus to lay down on the cot. He tugs you with him, feral to get to you at this point. You fall over him and he immediately starts sucking and licking all the skin he can get to, his hips thrusting up into nothing. 

You see Ezra move out of the corner of your eye, taking a seat in the single chair inside the small tent. You lift your head as much as you can to make sure he’s not going to try anything. 

“Carry on, gem. I’m a patient man; I can wait my turn.” 

If you’re being honest, he looks a little too smug.

Suddenly Marcus is flipping you over, shoving you down to the bed on your back, whispering something you can’t quite catch. He doesn’t wait another second before you feel his cock at your underprepared cunt, and your eyes barely have a chance to go wide before he’s forcing himself into you, groaning wildly as he tugs you down onto him. 

It’s only then that you realize he had been whispering “sorry”. 

You scream and your hands come up to reflexively try to get him off. There are tears as he keeps shoving himself in, stretching you to your limit. Through your blurry vision, you can see tears in his as well, more of shame than of pleasure by his sympathetic expression. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“N-no,” you squeak even as your hands claw at his back from the discomfort. “It’s okay. Don’t stop. Even if I beg you to.”

You close your eyes and try not to focus on the uncomfortable feeling between your legs as Marcus begins to unrelentingly slam his hip into yours. You hear a sound coming from beside you, and turn to see Ezra pumping himself through your blurry vision. It’s a sight that really shouldn't turn you on as much as it does.

You moan despite yourself as the pain coming from your sore cunt turns into pleasure. You’re getting wetter and wetter as the seconds tick by, the glide of your partner’s cock becoming easier and more toe-curling. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he starts to punch that spot deep inside you. You’re getting hot fast, sweat building up in every crease and crevice as your pussy seems to get more hungry for what Marcus is feeding it. 

Each thrust sends you up the bed, but Marcus holds onto you so that you don’t go too far. He’s grunting like a feral animal, his body maneuvering every which way until he finds the position that provides him with the most momentum.  

“Ohh that feels so fucking good, baby,” he hisses through his teeth. “Gods, you always take me so f-fucking well.”

You’ve never heard him talk like this before—with this level of vulgarity. You whimper, making eye contact with Ezra as Marcus nails something even more delicious within you. His gaze is heavy and on your face rather than on your body, which surprises you as much as it flatters you. 

“Does she suck cock just as well?” Ezra’s deepened voice comes from the chair, his eyes still on you as he asks the question. 

Marcus looks down at you, albeit with heavy lids, for your consent. You nod, already fucked out beyond thinking clearly. 

“Better,” comes Marcus’s reply, his stare just as heavy as Ezra’s. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?” 

You moan at the thought of being taken from both ends, one of the domineering men on each side. This is going much better than anticipated, both your mind and body opening to the stranger despite your earlier protest. 

Ezra doesn’t have to be asked twice, already getting up to hover his thick cock over your face, slapping it gently against your lips. The cot is the perfect height for him to stick it into your mouth, though he waits. 

“You want this, gem?” 

You almost find it funny that he’s asking, considering he didn’t give you much of a choice earlier. You nod anyway, because you honestly do, your gaze is trained on it as your mouth waters. He threads one hand through your hair, pulling you into the right position, and then uses his tip to part your lips. 

He moans as he sinks in, his eyes fluttering shut as you immediately wrap your tongue around him. You find yourself groaning at his salty taste, savoring the weight of him as you start to pull him in. Your cunt throbs as he and Marcus both moan out at the same time, Marcus doubling over while Ezra bottoms out. 

Marcus brings one hand to your clit and begins rubbing up and down at a furious pace that would have made you scream if not for the other man’s cock in the way. Tears leak from your eyes as Ezra begins to pump in and out of you, his hips thrusting as he uses the hand in your hair to hold you where he wants. 

“Oh you feel devine, little gem,” he moans, his eyes still closed and his lips parted as he picks up the pace. You can feel him hitting deep inside your throat, making you resist the urge to choke. It’s overwhelming but in the best way. 

“Oh, fuck!” Marcus nearly shouts the curse as his hips stutter. “Come with me baby, come on,” he urges, moving his hand quicker. 

Your back arches up at the feeling, though you’re still pinned by both men. Suddenly, everything flashes white, your hearing going dull as your entire body convulses with the power of your orgasm. You have just enough brain capacity to think that this has got to be the highest level of pleasure attainable. 

It goes on forever, your pussy pulsing as you sob and moan around Ezra’s cock. You faintly hear Marcus’s own moans and feel his dick twitch and throb within you, coating your walls in his creamy white spend.

You don’t even realize you had closed your eyes until you open them again upon feeling your own drool dribbling down your cheeks to mix with your tears. Ezra coos down at you, wiping away the saliva though he doesn’t dare slow his pace. 

“M-messy little bird,” he laughs.

You glance back down at Marcus the best you can just to realize that he’s still hard as a fucking rock. He’s still riding out his own high, rocking slowly to prolong it as much as possible. His eyes flick back up to yours after a moment, and then to Ezra’s who watches him intently as he continues to defile your throat. 

The gurgling sounds coming from you should be downright disgusting, but they only add to the eroticness of what the three of you are doing right now. The tent seems to have filled with the thick scent and humidity of sex, making your head even more foggy than provided by your orgasm. 

Ezra’s not far after the two of you, grunting heavily and pulling on your hair to a painful level. He pulls out and strokes himself over your face, letting his cum splatter across your features right after you close your eyes. His thumb comes to your lips, making you open your mouth as he moans aloud. 

Some of his seed falls on your tongue, and you swallow it down as Ezra finishes the last few spurts. You open your eyes when you’re sure he’s done, panting and gasping despite your sore throat. 

It’s at the same time that the two men pull away from you, and you’re extremely confused until you see that they’re maintaining eye contact, seeming to have had a silent conversation while you’d been distracted. 

Suddenly, you’re being lifted by the both of them, your body being rearranged to their preference. You’re so fucking tired, but you do your best to comply with their actions. You’re being lifted onto Ezra’s lap when you finally understand their plan. 

His cock is only half-hard after his orgasm, but he begins rutting himself against you regardless as Marcus disappears from your line of sight. You half-collapse on Ezra, moaning as your clit gets stimulated thanks to his thrusts. 

“Second drawer, pretty boy,” he pants. You hear shuffling and then Marcus returning behind you before you get the chance to ask what he was doing. There’s a pop from behind you, and then a cold substance at your ass. 

You yelp at the unexpected feeling, only to be shushed by Ezra. 

“Hush now, gem. I’ve heard you have experience in this area.” 

He smirks at you as your cheeks heat. 

You moan suddenly as Marcus slips a finger past your tight ring of muscle, pumping a good few times before adding a second. He leans close and whispers praise into your ear, telling you how good you’re being for them, how well you’re taking it all. 

He works you up to three fingers before he pulls his hand from you and helps lift you up, propping you up enough for Ezra to notch his tip at your thoroughly soaked cunt. You help the slow descent down his shaft, your lips parting and eyes pinching shut at the sensation. 

Ezra chokes on a groan, squeezing both of your ass cheeks as you bottom out. 

“Fuck, little birdy, your heavenly cunt should be reserved for those of immortal status.” 

You don’t even have the energy to cringe at his wording, instead savoring the way he fills you so nicely, not as long as Marcus, but a good bit thicker. The coarse hairs above his cock rub against your oversensitive clit nicely, making you want to rut against him. Just then, you feel Marcus settle in behind you again, dragging you partially onto his lap so you’re over his cock. 

“Ready, sweetheart?” He asks, clearly having regained some of his gentlemanly status after quelling his lust a bit. You whimper and nod at him, and he starts to push inside of you. 

“Oh, Gods,” you moan, wrapping your arms around Ezra’s back and digging your nails in for stability. He hisses and increases his grip on your ass, keeping you spread for Marcus as his hips come flush against you. 

You’re already so full it’s dizzying, so when the two men start to move, you think you may come on the spot. Ezra goes first, pulling out a bit and then sinking back in, which is when Marcus makes his move, repeating the other man’s actions. Your knees are planted on the cot, giving you the opportunity to move with them. 

The three of you are panting, moaning messes, hot breaths fanning across each other’s skin as you nuzzle together. The pace starts out slow, but quickly picks up, increasing your combined noises. Both of the men start to grab at you, moving their hands and groping anything and everything they’re able to. 

You can feel their cocks rubbing against your middle wall, creating an intoxicating feeling that you know you’ll miss when this is over. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, being so full you can feel them in your stomach. 

Small whimpers begin to spill from your mouth, but are quickly caught by Ezra, who captures your lips in a sloppy kiss, his spend from earlier mixed between your tongues. It’s difficult to keep it up with how much you’re being jostled, so he gives up after a moment and instead opts to lick his cum off of your sweaty cheek. You’re pleasantly surprised when you feel Marcus’s hand come up to grasp at your chin, tilting your face so that he’s able to do the same on the opposite side. 

The two of you clean your face with their tongues as they thrust into you at a punishing pace, somehow hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. You let out a raspy groan, your hands scrambling over both of their bodies for purchase. 

A heat is beginning to build once again in your abdomen, pleasure licking up your spine. It only takes a few more alternating thrusts before you’re coming around their cocks with a scream. You tighten around both of their throbbing cocks, getting them closer to their own ends. 

Marcus comes first once again, still slightly affected by the drug from earlier. He bites onto your shoulder as he busts inside of you, slamming his hips up and locking in place, his hands coming up to squeeze your tits as his balls empty into your ass. 

Ezra follows right after, seemingly liking Marcus’s idea of a gag, and biting into your other shoulder. You scream again at the pressure of both men’s teeth, your arms raising so you can grasp both of their hair, holding them close. 

Your orgasm lingers for as long as theirs do, the three of you coming completely down at the same time. You stay in a sweaty heap for a long time, just trying to catch your breath and make sense of what’s real and what’s not. 

You all fall apart after a few minutes, exhaustion officially taking over you. You can feel both of the men’s cum leaking from your holes as they pull out and help you lay comfortable on the cot. They get situated next to you, and you’re all out like lights within the next minute. 

The next morning, Ezra’s waiting for the two of you with a portable can of fuel and an extra mask. Your departure is swift and unawkward, Ezra walking with the two of you back to your ship like you’ve known each other for years. It takes a bit longer than it should due to your body being practically fucking wrecked from last night, but both of the men help you get along. 

When you reach your craft, you all say your goodbyes, knowing this will more than likely be the last time you’ll come across this strange man. To be frank, you’re still a bit confused about what exactly transpired last night, but you choose to ignore it. Your head is pounding with what feels like the worst hangover you’ve ever had, and you’re just eager to get off of this nightmare planet. 

Ezra watches you fuel up your craft and then take off, smiling and honestly quite satisfied with himself. Neither of you even figured it out that he was the one who planted the trap and laced the dirt pit with the drug, nor that he may have let a bit more slip inside his tent.

***** I mean really, do we really expect anything less from Ezra?

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A Baker's Dozen**

Ezra part two

Ezra’s chapter finished second in the poll about who should return to the bakery, and it made me so happy. I'd never written Ezra before and he was a challenge! But the story came together well with the help of his language and personality. But it was also sadder than I planned it to be, and I really wanted to revisit him and continue the story. So please enjoy part two!

(I'm editing and posting this in slightly more unconventional circumstances, so please excuse any errors!)

With a sigh you lock the front door of the bakery and flip the ‘Closed’ sign to face outwards. It had been a long weekend, lots of customers, and not all of them very polite. And to make matters worse, your shop assistant, the high schooler who’d worked extra on weekends, had been accepted at the last minute into their first college of choice and this was your first weekend without them. You’re exhausted and looking forward to your day off tomorrow.

The knock on the back door makes you jump just as you turn off the lights in the shop. Cautiously you walk to the back room and stop by the door.

“Hello?”

“It-it’s me, Ezra,” comes a muffled voice in a stutter from the outside, “P-please…I..”

You don’t need to hear more, you rush to the door and unlock it, throwing it open and the man on the other side almost loses his balance, propped up against the door frame. His appearance makes you gasp, reaching out to steady him as he wobbles. The stark blonde patch in his hair is plastered against his forehead, stained with blood from the cut just above his eyebrow, another cut marks his cheekbone, a bruise already blooming around it. From the way he’s curled his arm around his torso, you can tell something’s hurting his chest.

“Ezra, what happened?” you wince, helping him to step through the door, his face twisting in pain as he puts weight on his left foot.

He only grunts in response to your question, inhaling sharply as you carefully try to take his weight.

“Lean on me, let’s get you to the chair, I’ll call an ambulance, it’ll be ok,” you say, making him lean on you as much as you can as he hobbles into the kitchen and sinks down on the chair with a groan.

“No, no ambulance, I am not that badly off,” he says, shaking his head as you pull over the stool on wheels and make him put his injured leg up onto it.

“What happened, Ezra?” you ask again, sinking down to get a better look at him. He’s pale under his golden complexion, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

“It’s nothing, no matter, I just need to-,” he says, but even as he says it, he closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose, his hand tightening over his chest.

“Ezra,” you implore again, putting your hand on his uninjured leg, “you’ve turned up, injured and bloody, weeks after you disappeared, and you try to tell me it’s nothing? Do you think I’m that stupid?”

With that he peels his eyes open and looks down at you, and the pain in his eyes almost makes your heart stop.

“Ezra…” you implore again, softer this time, “be honest with me, I want to help, you know that.”

“I’m…I’m ashamed…” he whispers, his eyes falling to your hand on his leg, “you know what I am. I know I left you without explanation last time, after you were so kind to me. And here I am, needing your help again, because I have no one else to turn to.”

“Just tell me what happened, please, Ezra,” you say, “let me help.”

“I…I’ve…some men…” he begins, his eyes still on your hand on his leg, “I’d fallen asleep on the bus stop bench, and some men seemed to take offense,” he looks up at you, and you’re suddenly reminded of the mask Ezra is so skilled at pulling up over his true face, it’s firmly in place now, his hesitancy gone as he picks his words.

“They decided to make me leave by shoving me off the bench, and I twisted my ankle as I fell. When I couldn’t get up they roughed me up, threw me in a dumpster when they were done. I hurt my side trying to get out of it, fell badly when my foot gave up,” he gives you a humorless laugh, “Turns out climbing out of a dumpster with only one good arm and leg is rather tricky.”

“Ezra…that’s terrible, we need to get you to the ER, they need to check your chest, you may have broken ribs,” you make to stand up but his hand comes out and grabs yours before it leaves his leg.

“No, please, no, it’s not necessary,” he says, squeezing your hand, “I just need to clean the cuts and, if you have one, a bandage for my ankle so that I can at least stand on it while I make my way home.”

“You need to get your ribs checked, Ezra,” you reply, not taking a no from him, “and you might need stitches on the cut over your eye, it looks deep. Please,” you add as you see him shake his head again.

“Sweet girl, I can’t, please just let me get cleaned up and I’ll leave, I won’t impose on you again.”

“Ezra, you’re not imposing, except with your stubbornness, I’m taking you to the ER and that’s it. I’m not letting you leave without getting looked at by a professional.” You pull your hand from his and reach for your coat and he gives a forced little chuckle, smiling without mirth, his hand coming up as if to make a dismissive gesture in the air, but you stop him. .

“And don’t try that act with me, Ezra, I spent enough time with you last time to know when you’re lying, either to protect yourself or me.”

His hand falls back down, his shoulders slumping, “Your eagerness to help does you credit, but you don’t understand,” he says as you shrug into your coat.

He’s shaking his head, staring down at his solitary hand, picking at a fleck of blood on his stained pants, and you wait for him to press out the words. His words failing him in a way that is so far from his usual unstoppable stream that it makes you stop and look down at him with even more concern as he continues to pick at the blood.

“I…I simply don’t…I don’t have the…means, I just…can’t pay it,” he stutters, clenching his fist tight, his voice defeated, “I have no insurance…I don’t even have a valid driver’s license, they will not even let me in…” He doesn’t meet your eyes as you move closer to him, but he shakes his head again, his shoulders lifting up to his ears as the tension builds in his body, “No address.”

You sink down in front of the chair, taking his hand, stilling it against his leg, unraveling his fist as he sighs again.

“I’m as homeless as an alley cat, you see, sweet girl. I’m ashamed to say I have nothing, nothing to my name.” His voice is low, eyes downcast, and he doesn’t take your hand even though you wrap your fingers around it.

“I guessed,” you say, your voice low, trying to make him meet your eyes, “But you still need help, and I can take you to the clinic down by the church. They can check you out and get you more help, free if you need it,” you give his hand a squeeze, “Please, Ezra,” you implore, “let me help.”

You sit quietly next to the chair for a few seconds while Ezra seems to fight something inside him, his jaw ticking with the tension. With a small grunt, he finally gives you a short nod, his shoulders sinking down again, “You’re too good for this world, sweet girl,” he mutters, taking your hand properly and letting you help him to his feet.

“Not at all,” you reply, getting him to put his arm over your shoulder as you help him limp to the back door again, “but you’re my friend, and you need help whether you want to accept it or not. And I can be a lot more pigheaded than you.” The last you say with a smile in your voice as you help him down the back stairs. And it gets a small chuckle out of him before he winces at the pain.

You get him to sit in the back seat, his injured leg elevated as he grumbles about getting dirt in your car. Rolling your eyes in response, you strap yourself in and reverse out. Ezra shifts in the back, trying to get comfortable, in the rear view mirror you see him gently touch the cut over his eye that’s still bleeding.

“Would you recognise the men who did it?” you ask, looking back at the road.

“Maybe, but I’m not talking to the police,” Ezra replies, guessing what you’re thinking, “They don’t care about someone like me, I’m more likely to get into trouble for bringing their attention to my lack of address.”

“I was just thinking, maybe they make a habit of it, attacking sleeping people, they should be stopped.”

“Not by me, sweet girl, I don’t have enough fight left in me for that.”

You glance back at Ezra again, he never sounded so defeated the last time you saw him, and now he’s leaning his head against the window, staring into nothing, looking utterly forlorn.

Letting the subject rest, you drive in silence the rest of the short way to the clinic.

A nurse comes over as she spots you and Ezra coming through the door and soon he’s been told to lie back on a stretcher while you hover awkwardly nearby.

“Do you want me to wait outside?” you ask him as the nurse leaves to find the doctor on call for the evening.

“Only if you wish to,” he says, dropping his head back on the pillow and staring at the ceiling, “thank you for escorting me, but it’s not necessary to wait, I can manage on my own now. You should go home.”

“Ezra,” you hiss, keeping your voice low in the open room, only curtains separating his bed from his neighbors, “quit being such a pigheaded martyr, you’re such an idiot.”

His eyes snap to yours when he hears your anger, and you continue, “If I didn’t care about you I wouldn’t have opened the door in the first place, and I certainly wouldn’t have cried for a week after you disappeared the last time.”

His eyes widen at this and he opens his mouth to say something but you don’t let him.

“I’m staying. And you’re coming home with me when we’re done here. No arguments, so you can just hold that clever tongue of yours.”

Ezra closes his mouth and opens it again, meeting your glare with astonished eyes as he fumbles for a reply. But before he has time to compose himself, the curtain around the bed is pulled to the side and the doctor appears, followed by the nurse.

Ezra doesn’t protest any more as the doctor treats him. With a small bag of over the counter painkillers in your hand, and a crutch under his one arm, he slowly follows you back to the car without a word. Luckily no fractured rib, but a sprained ankle and a few strips of surgical tape over his two cuts is the tally of the beating, and you’re grateful it’s not worse. You’re even more grateful Ezra found his way back to you for help. You’ll be damned if you’ll let him go back to the streets, even if you have to shackle him to a radiator in your house. Ezra seems to realize this, and doesn’t say anything as you stop at a supermarket on the way home, and return to the car with a toothbrush and various other supplies he might need for his stay with you.

He doesn’t speak until you’ve closed the door behind the both of you and he’s hobbled into your living room. You put the painkillers on the coffee table and turn to help him sink down on the couch.

“Thank you. Truly,” he says, as you put a cushion under his leg, propping it up on the low table.

“Don’t fight it so much next time,” you tell him, “people are nice sometimes.” Straightening up you change the subject as your stomach rumbles, the time for talking is later, “Are you hungry?”

He nods, “Very.”

“I’ve got some leftover pasta sauce and bread, I’ll heat it up for us,” you say, leaving him on the couch. But it doesn’t take long before you hear him hobble after you into the kitchen, sitting down on one of the stools by the island.

“I apologize,” he says, “I was ashamed of showing you how pitiful my life is, both when we met last time, and today. I…I find it hard to accept help, I don’t want to burden anyone with my plight, it was my own foolishness who brought me to this low point. I should carry the consequences of my actions and not burden you with them.”

“Ezra…” you say softly, trying to keep any trace of pity out of your voice, “we all make bad choices, or just have a run of bad luck. Maybe next time I’m the one who needs help, and I hope someone is willing to give it then.”

He nods, but he still looks forlorn and you ache to put your arms around him, but you think he might see it as pity, so you give him a smile, and turn back to the stove.

“You should go back to the couch, Ezra,” you say, “put your leg up again, like the doctor said. I’ll bring you your food.”

“Will you join me on the couch for dinner?” he asks and it’s your turn to nod.

“Of course, I’m starving. Get comfortable, pick something to watch and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

When you return to the living room with two plates, Ezra has propped his leg up again and readily accepts a plate from you. Some nature documentary is playing on the tv and you gratefully sink down on your end of the couch and dig in. Ezra balances his plate on his lap and from the corner of your eye you can see him struggling with twisting the spaghetti onto his fork with his left hand. His eyebrows are pulled together in frustration and the fork clinks angrily against the plate.

You set down your own fork and leave for the kitchen, returning with a tray on legs, for having breakfast in bed.

“Here,” you say, putting it down and placing his plate on it, “Ask for help, Ezra.”

He gives you an indecipherable look, but you just return to your own plate, your attention on the rainforest birds on the tv.

“Thank you,” he says after a minute, looking over at you.

“You’re welcome,” you reply, giving him a quick smile that he returns, the first smile you’ve seen from him since he arrived back at the bakery.

The rest of the evening passes in companionable silence for the most part. You want to ask Ezra about where he’s been since you last saw him, how he’s been. You know why he didn’t return to the bakery, the other shop owners on the street certainly made it known that they didn’t trust him, and didn’t want him near. And you see now, even more clearly, how little value even Ezra places on himself.

I have nothing to give to anyone.

That’s what he’d written in his note to you, the day after his first visit. And it echoes in the back of your mind as you go over the events of the evening, stealing looks at Ezra sitting in the other corner of your couch.

He came back to the bakery when he was injured, but it seems even that had been a hard task for him, to ask for help, and then very reluctantly accepting it. He’d told you he lost his arm in a mining accident, but you don’t know if that was the true story or not. But whatever the truth is, you’re starting to understand the strange dark haired man with the odd blonde patch, a little bit better. He must’ve been fiercely independent before he lost his arm, capable, his skill matching his sharp intellect. And strong, if the shape of his wide shoulders and broad back is anything to go by. You can still remember how his muscles flexed and bunched under your exploring hands when he’d kissed you in the kitchen, a strength that hadn’t diminished when he lost his arm.

To lose that independence, and then his home, to be reduced to relying on others for help, even with the simplest things, it could turn any person bitter. And yet, the Ezra you met in the bakery, as wary as you’d been of him at first, had been warm and passionate, tender and gentle even. The mask he’d let slip while you baked together, had revealed a man you could fall in love with, even with the circumstances of his life twisting the person he showed the world.

You give him another look, his strong profile lit by the tv, his chocolate hair and beard longer and scruffier than before, more streaks of gray and the bags under his eyes heavy. But underneath the layers of grime, the stress of his life, he’s still a handsome man, albeit a little bit dirty right now. But that’s a problem for tomorrow you decide.

With a yawn you stretch and get to your feet, picking up the plates.

“I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket,” you say, “I left a new toothbrush in the bathroom, and a clean towel.”

“I can’t stay,” he says, predictably, and you ignore him, going back to the kitchen to put the plates in the dishwasher, turning it on before you return to the living room. Ezra is standing by the couch, the crutch under his arm.

“You’re staying, Ezra,” you interrupt him before he can protest, “You’re injured, and quite frankly, you’re dirty. Sleep here tonight, wash up in the morning, and then we’ll see.”

“Sweet girl…I can’t let you…” he begins but you shake your head.

“Do you think so little of me? That you think I’d let anyone, let alone an injured friend, sleep rough on the streets?”

Ezra looks back at your raised eyebrows and challenging look.

“Well?” you ask, “Do you think I’m that kind of friend?”

“No,” he says eventually, a small, exasperated smile, softening his face, “I know you’re not that kind of friend.”

“Good. Toothbrush and towel in the bathroom, go clean up, I’ll make your bed,” you point your finger in the direction of the bathroom and give him a stern look, softened by a crooked smile that Ezra returns.

“Yes, boss,” he says, and hobbles away.

Ezra beds down on the couch and you make sure his leg is propped up by a couple of extra cushions before you retreat to your own bed. You can hear him shifting on the couch, the old thing creaking under his weight, before you drift into sleep.

A loud crash startles you from your dreams hours later, early morning light coming through your curtains, and you shoot up in bed.

“Ezra?” you call out, scrambling out of bed, wrapping your gown around you as you hurry out of your bedroom. You find him by the open front door, cursing silently as he struggles to pick up the crutch from the floor.

“You’re sneaking out,” you state, stopping as you see him straightening up, the crutch still on the floor, his hand on the wall for balance.

“I’m afraid I have to depart, a pressing matter requires my swift attention this morning,” he replies, and oh, the mask is so clearly in place, the polite, apologetic smile, hiding the real man.

“What kind of pressing matter?” you ask, “Let me get dressed and I’ll drive you,” you challenge, crossing your arms and challenging him to just fucking dare to lie to you again.

“No, I can’t let you do that,” he smiles, wider now, even more apologetic, “I must converge with a most disagreeable drifter, a small matter of business I have with him that needs to be settled, I truly do not wish you to meet him. Such a rough, uncouth-”

“Ezra…” you say, your voice a warning, as you bend to pick up the crutch, holding out of his reach. It’s a dirty trick but he won’t get far without it.

“I assure you, sweet girl, I really need to depart, it would not be fortunate for you, or your excellent business, to be seen around town with myself, or this disagreeable man. I can’t bring this misfortune down on you after you’ve treated me with such kindness,” Ezra tilts his head, looking up at you through his dark eyelashes, the ringmaster at work, using his words to bend the audience to follow his ques, to believe his illusion.

You shake your head, and lean the crutch in a corner, away from him.

“You forget, Ezra, that you’ve bared more than you maybe intended to me, and I see what you’re trying to do,” you say, moving around him and closing the front door. “Your smooth lies don’t work on me anymore, I can see that mask you pull up whenever you try to bend me to your will.”

You stop in front of him, and he wavers, the smile, almost a leer, slips from his face. Carefully, as if he’s an animal you don’t want to spook, you bring your hand to his cheek, your thumb brushing across his scruffy beard.

“Ezra…you don’t need to fight so hard. Not with me.”

The mask is gone again, his determination to oppose your will melting away faster this time, and Ezra’s eyes fill with regret as he leans his face into your hand. You seek out his, hanging limp by his side and lace your fingers together, squeezing it lightly as you let him hold on to you for balance.

“I left you a note,” he whispers, “I’m truly grateful, I didn’t want to leave again without explanation.”

“What does it say?”

He sighs, closing his eyes briefly, “Same as I said last night, I don’t want to bring you more trouble, I have nothing to give, I don’t want to be a burden. And I know what you’ll say,” he looks up at you as he hears you inhale to berate him, “You don’t think I’m a burden, that I won’t bring you trouble. But I have not lived life honestly, and the people in this community know me as a trickster who cons them. It can only bring you trouble if they see you with me.”

“Have you stolen from them?” you ask, and he shakes his head.

“Not from them, no. But I have stolen in the past, and not only what I needed of food and clothes. And I conned them, used their good hearts against them, they will not pardon me and see me as favorably as you do, sweet girl.”

You caress his cheek again, “Maybe it wasn’t honest, but it’s not like you forced them to give you things, just like you didn’t force me to make you a soufflé. Even though I realize I was probably just a con to you too.”

Ezra drops his eyes from yours at that, looking away as he gives you a small nod.

“It was a con, at first, I have to admit it. I was hoping for a loaf or two of bread, maybe something sweet, but…the soufflé, it wasn’t a con, I promise.” He looks up at you again, your hand has slipped from his cheek, down to his shoulder, he’s so close you can smell the toothpaste and his unwashed clothes, the antiseptic from the bandage on his cheek and forehead. You remain silent to let him continue, to see if his mask comes up again, or if he tells the truth this time.

“I told you that you captivated me, and that’s the truth, I was watching you the first day I came into the shop, you were decorating a cake, your concentration palpable, you were clearly very skilled. And knew if I conned you, I couldn’t come back, so I bought a croissant…and I left.” Ezra gives you a small smile at the memory, “You wouldn’t even know, but that croissant…it bound me to you, it was that perfect. I couldn’t help but keep going back, to watch you work, to taste more of what you’d made. And then you noticed me, and I should’ve left, but it was too late, I had already made a plan to trick you, another kind of trick.”

“What kind of trick, Ezra?” you ask and he gives you the smallest of chuckles.

“The kind that let me spend more time with you, to let me be seen as something else than the sad, homeless drifter my life has turned me into.”

He sighs, letting go of your hand to drag his rough palm over his face, rubbing at his eyes, “I’ve thought since that perhaps it was the worst of ideas, that I tricked myself more than you. I let myself step into a bubble of what could’ve been, if I had been a very different man, build a fantasy in my head where you…never mind,” he cuts himself off, leaning on the wall for balance as you seek out his hand again, “I never conned you, and I wish things were very different.”

“Ezra, I missed you when you left, and I was hurt and confused by your note and what other people said about you,” you say, taking his hand in both of yours, “but I trust you, even if you don’t believe me, I trust you. And I want you to stay, at least until you’re better, please stay this time.”

“But your neighbors, your shop…” he begins and you step forward, pressing your lips to his, silencing him. He holds himself rigid for a beat, before you feel his lips part with a soft hum.

“Fuck ‘em,” you whisper against him, “Please, Ezra, just be selfish with me.”

You don’t let him answer, but you feel his arm move, circle around your waist and you take it as a capitulation as he pulls you a little bit closer.

The kiss doesn’t last long, just a mark to pick up where you left off the last time in the bakery. Instead you pull back from him after a little while, retrieve the crutch and lead him back to the living room. The note, Ezra’s lopsided, left handed scribble on it, sits on the coffee table next to his makeshift bed.

“Do I need to read it?” you ask and he shakes his head, taking the paper and crumpling it.

“No, I’ll stay, at least until you bid me to leave.”

“Not while you limp, you’re stuck with me for a while, con man.” The last part you say with a wink, teasing him, and you’re rewarded by the dimple appearing on his cheek as he smiles, his face transforming.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be stuck, sweet girl,” he winks back.

The morning passes easily, now that he’s decided not to leave as soon as you give him a chance. You make breakfast, stacking the bacon high on his plate, an extra fried egg with the bread and mushrooms, three sausages on the side and a large glass of orange juice.

“Sweet girl, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you stopped me from leaving just to give me a heart attack instead,” Ezra says, eyes bulging as you set the plates down on the coffee table in front of him.

“No offense, but you look like you haven’t been eating that well. Let me spoil you while I can,” you reply, sitting down in front of your own, smaller, serving.

"You’re not mistaken, and no offense taken, it has been a few arduous months,” he says while cutting into the food, humming in satisfaction as the yolk smears the bread. It’s the last you hear from him for a while, the food takes all his attention as he works his way the whole plate, even the extra mushrooms and bacon you slide over. Eventually he leans back, balancing a fresh mug of coffee on his belly, letting out a deep sigh.

“I fear I may burst if I eat another bite,” he huffs, his little tummy expanding as he takes a deep breath, “As usual, you’re too good to me, cream puff.”

“I told you, enough with the baking related pet names,” you laugh, leaning back with your own coffee. “I think we agreed on ‘honey’ last time, but I like ‘sweet girl’ too.”

“Sweet as honey,” Ezra smiles, “such a delectable name for the most captivating of women, for someone with such compassion for the most miserable, unfortunate man. Although…” he tilts his head so that he can look over at where you’re curled up on the couch, “perhaps I’m not so unfortunate, I count myself the luckiest man to have wandered into your particular bakery and then even to be allowed to call you ‘friend’.” His smile is soft, “How did a wretch like me stumble into such fortune?”

“There is that charmer that stole my heart,” you smile back at him, “I’ve missed you, Ezra.”

“I did not want to leave you last time, but you understand now why I told you the illusion had to break?” He puts his mug on the table and takes your hand across the couch as you scooch closer to him.

“I understand, but I hope you know now, that you don’t have to leave, and I don’t want you too… however…” you trail off, as the smell of his unwashed clothes reaches your nose again, “you need to shower, and change…”

Ezra looks down at his clothes and frowns, “I have nothing to change into, but I do agree that these old breeches are somewhat on the smelly side. The rogues that roughed me up made off with my bag and the clothes within.”

“Ezra, you should’ve said, we could’ve bought you something yesterday,” you say, pushing off the couch and going to the hallway closet that holds your winter jackets, “I’ve got an old oversized sweatshirt, a relic from an ex, if you don’t mind?” You hold up the sweater and Ezra shrugs.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, if it fits, I will gladly wear it.”

“I’ll put your clothes in the wash,” you dig deeper in the closet, “these will probably fit, my brother’s old shorts, they’ve got paint stains from when we painted the bedroom, but they’re clean, I promise.”

Ezra accepts the clothes and retreats to the bathroom as you clear up the breakfast. You hear him run a bath, and even the satisfied groan as he sinks into it, making you smile as you load the dishwasher. But the disgruntled growl doesn’t sound good a few minutes later so you gently tap on the closed door.

“You ok, Ezra?” you ask and a grumble floats through the door as something clatters to the floor.

“I find that washing my hair, which it is in dire need of, is impossible with the way this bruise seems determined to burn a hole in my side. I can’t lift my arm high enough. And I only have one of those, as you know.”

“Can I help? Are you decent?”

“Sweet girl, I have no concerns about being decent in front of you,” he huffs, “You’ve already been privy to my very lowest state. Besides, your bubble bath really is very efficient.”

The last thing he says with a chuckle and you open the door. You’re met with Ezra laying back, no, Ezra laying back in resplendence, in your bathtub, all but covered by bubbles and a satisfied grin on his face.

“This bathtub really is a most colossal feature, I feel like I could go for a swim,” he smiles up at you as you bend to pick up the shampoo bottle from the floor.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it, it’s half the reason I bought the house,” you say, sinking down behind him, “Can’t believe you got me washing your hair too, Ezra,” you mutter, but there’s no venom and Ezra hears the smile in your voice.

“I’ll repay the favor tenfold once I’m all healed up again, honey,” he says and scoots forward, giving you free access to his dark curls.

He’s like a cat, all but purring as you scrub his hair, letting your nails drag across scalp, rinsing it out once and giving it another wash. As you massage his head he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, you’re certain he’ll start snoring any second, and you gently tap his shoulder for him to sit up for a second rinse.

“Conditioner, sir?” you ask him with a teasing tone, as he moans.

Ezra opens one eye and looks up at you, “Are you mocking me, baker girl?”

“Only your obvious attraction to the skill of my hands, your moans are loud enough for the neighbors to hear.”

“Oh, I’ve always been attracted to the skill of your hands, in more ways than one, and I’m sure I can think of other uses for them too,” he winks and closes his eye again, leaving you with burning cheeks as his double entendre makes heat rise in your body.

As you rinse the conditioner from his hair you brush it back from his forehead, running your fingers through the blonde patch, stark white now that it’s properly clean. On impulse you bend down and place a kiss to it as you move to get up.

“All done, sir, enjoy the rest of your bath now.”

His hand comes up and grabs your wrist, surprisingly fast for someone right handed using their left, and he pulls you back down.

“Thank you,” he says in a low voice, bringing you close enough for him to reach up and return your kiss, warm lips pressed against yours for a moment.

“Anytime, Ezra,” you reply when he pulls back a little, your voice barely a whisper. You lock eyes for a few seconds, Ezra’s chocolate brown darkening as he rubs his thumb over the thin skin of your wrist.

“Anytime, sweet girl,” he whispers back and lets you go.

You feel unsteady as you leave the bathroom, slowly letting out a long exhale as you go back to the living room, aimlessly tidying, moving three books from one end of the room and back again twice before you realize what you’re doing and give up. Slumping down on the couch you turn back to the nature documentary from last night and try to zone out, but it’s no use. As you hear Ezra come out of the bathroom you shoot up from the couch and head to the kitchen, doing what you always do to calm your mind; bake.

The rest of the day passes without any more heated moments between the two of you. Ezra rests his ankle and you feed him, he complains that he can’t help you in any way, but you shush him and prop an extra cushion under his leg. From the corner of your eye, you see the soft smile he gives you as you turn back to the kitchen.

When it’s time for dinner you join him on the couch for the Great British Bake Off, a show Ezra is well familiar with but he’s missed most of the past seasons so the evening ends with you going back through the seasons and starting over. Before you know it, you’re lying down, your toes tucked in under Ezra’s warm leg while he absentmindedly strokes small circles on your calf. The whole scene is so domestic, he looks calm, more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. His whole face transforms as he laughs at the tv, looking over at you to see if you’re laughing too. And you are, but mostly because it feels good to see Ezra so comfortable and content.

When it’s time for bed, you scoot over and kiss his scruffy cheek, smelling your shampoo on him.

“Sleep tight, Ezra,” you mumble, relishing the soft touch of his beard against your lips.

“Sweet dreams, sweet girl,” he mumbles back, giving your leg an extra squeeze, “Do you want me to leave in the morning?”

“Not even a little bit, stay.”

“Then I won’t attempt to slip out unnoticed again,” he says, a crooked little smile at you as you straighten up.

“Please don’t, waking up when something goes bang in the night is not my favorite way of waking up,” you say, “Night, Ezra.”

He does stay, the next day and the next and the one after that. You go back to the bakery on the second day, leaving Ezra sleeping on the couch and come back to find him making dinner, wobbling one foot, chopping a stubborn onion with his left hand. The next day he’s done all the dishes and made your kitchen spotless. You berate him for not resting his ankle but he just shrugs and smiles, his soft southern lilt becoming more pronounced as he tries to charm you into believing that his foot is all better now. When you scold him, he gives you the most insincere puppy eyes, mischief lurking just under the surface until you crack and smack his arm and laugh at him. You almost kiss him, his infectious chuckle, the way his dimple appears as his eyes crinkle. The evenings end like the ones before, tucked in on the couch with The Great British Bake Off, but on the third evening you yawn widely and he pulls you in, his strength no match for yours.

“Rest your weary head on my leg, sweet girl,” he says, putting a cushion propped up against his thigh, “don’t stay so far away.”

You do as he says, and he pulls the quilt down over you and rests his hand on your arm. His slow movements, calloused fingers softly gliding up and down over the quilt, lulls you to sleep and it’s not until Ezra gently shakes you, that you blink awake to the end of the episode, and you stumble to bed after kissing his cheek.

The next day you come home to find Ezra packed up, what little he has, in a plastic bag by the door.

“I reckon I’ve imposed on you long enough, sweet girl,” he says as you question him, “I still limp, but I can walk now.”

“You’re not imposing, Ez, you know that,” you reply, putting down your shopping and stopping in front of him on the couch as he gets to his feet, “I want you to stay for as long as you want.”

He is moving a lot better, you can’t deny that, but the cuts and the bruises are still visible on his cheek and forehead. The bigger bruise on his torso has faded into yellows and greens and doesn’t seem to pain him anymore.

“And besides, where would you go?” you ask. You don’t want to be unkind, but pointing out the obvious flaw in his plan of just leaving seems logical. “Stay here at least until you have a place of your own, you know I won’t let you leave just to sleep in a shelter or in a car.”

“Sweet girl, how long would that endeavor not take me? I have no employment, no money to my name, and without it, I have no choice but to find improvised shelter. And finding a job without an address is not easy, finding a job for a one-armed man? Impossible.” He shakes his head and moves around you, “No, I’d rather leave now, and leave you missing my company than stay and have you tire of my disagreeable old face.”

As he limps towards the front door you feel the slow gears of your brain working until it clicks into place.

“Ezra! I have a job for you!”

He turns and looks back at you, a pitiful smile as he shakes his head.

“Do not make up a job for me. Your kind heart does you credit but I won’t accept any more charity from you, sweet girl.”

“It’s not a made up job, Ezra, I need help at the bakery,” you say, “The high school student who worked extra left for college last week, this weekend was my first without them and I hardly got any baking done. I can’t manage the bakery and the shop at the same time, especially not since I'm going into peak season with weddings and graduations. I need someone to work in the shop and you could do that, even one handed I’m sure.”

“I fear it would not do your business any good to have me at the front of your shop, or do you forget how I conned my way around the last time?” Ezra shakes his head again, turning towards the door to pick up his sad bag of belongings.

“And if there’s anyone who can charm his way back into their good books, it’s you!” you protest, yanking the bag out of his hand. “I need someone who can start tomorrow, someone who understands baking and the things I make, and who is as passionate about it as I am. You’re the perfect fit, Ezra!”

You take a step closer to him, putting your hand on his cheek. You haven’t touched since the kiss in the bathroom, it’s just been a comfortable closeness on the couch. He seems to have been holding back, not wanting to impose another layer of complications to the situation of a homeless man sleeping on your couch. You, on your hand, have been squashing your feelings and urges to touch him, not sure what he feels, if he even wants you close, he seemed so intent on leaving as soon as he could. But now you touch him, stepping over the thin line you’d both drawn, needing him to understand how much you want him to stay, not just for the bakery or out of pity for him.

And Ezra leans his head into your hand as you gently caress his cheek, the scruffy beard soft under your fingers, as he looks down at you, something shifting in him too as you come so close to him he can smell the cinnamon from the bakery in your hair.

“I want you to stay, Ezra. I missed you when you were gone, and I need you, not just in the bakery, but I need you in my life too, if you could let yourself believe that.”

“I’m a selfish man,” he mumbles, his hand coming up to rest on your waist, “I’ve been telling myself to not complicate your life, but if you offer it to me, I’ll take it.”

“Please, take it then, Ezra, I’m tired of trying to convince you that you’re worth something more, just take it, you-”

He cuts you off, his hand coming up to your cheek as his lips find yours, pushing you back against the wall with his body as your brain catches up, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers finding purchase in his hair and kissing him back.

You sigh into his mouth when he makes you part your lips, claiming your tongue the same way you remember from the bakery, the feeling you’ve been dreaming about since he left. He groans softly, his hand slipping down from your neck and curling behind your back to hold you even closer.

“Tell me again, I want to hear you say it again, that you want me to stay,” he whispers, pulling back just a little and looking at you with his dark brown eyes, filled with need, darkening with lust as you press your mouth to his lips.

“Pigheaded fool,” you smile, “How many times do I have to say it? I want you to stay.”

His responding groan, his mouth opening to let you taste him, sends a sharp jolt of desire through your body. Turning off all rational parts of your mind, you reach behind you and take his hand, pulling him with you through the house. When lead him into your bedroom he falters, an uncharacteristic shyness, or maybe uncertainty, flashing across his face.

“Sweet girl…” he whispers as you pull him onto the bed, making him tumble over you as he loses his balance, “it’s…been so long.”

“Do you want to, Ezra?” you ask, as he holds himself over you on his one arm.

“Yes, very much, I have dreamed so many nights of taking you to bed,” he breathes, his voice low, laced with both trepidation and lust, “I just never surmised you would ever want me like this, and I’m not sure these old broken bones could ever give you the pleasure you deserve.”

“How about we try out your old broken bones and let me judge how much pleasure they give?” you tease him, running your hands down his back, still as broad and muscular as you remember. He chuckles at that, some of the tension slipping from his face as you continue to stroke his soft shirt, tangling your fingers in the curls at the back of his neck, and then back down to his waist again. He puts his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and you can feel his warm breath over your lips, a slow exhale as he relaxes under your palms.

When you slip your hands under the edge of his shirt and pull it off he hesitates, the stump of his arm has always been hidden by his clothes or the bubbles in the bathtub that one time, now you sense his unease again.

“Do you want to keep your shirt on?” you ask, letting go of the hem and resuming your path up and down his back.

“No, no I want to feel your skin against mine,” he mutters, “I’m just afraid…you might find it…repulsive.”

With gentle hands you take hold of his shirt again and push it up his torso, making him roll over onto his back as you pull it over his head, freeing both his arm and the scarred stump. Ezra watches you with dark eyes, apprehensive in a way you’ve never seen him before, watching your reaction as you lean down and place a soft kiss on the scar tissue that covers the end of his arm.

“I’m sorry you lost it, Ez, but I’m glad you’re still here,” you whisper, placing another kiss on the rough texture before his large, remaining, hand cups the back of your head and guides you up to his mouth, his hot tongue seeking yours.

Now it’s his turn to tug at your shirt and you slip it off, tossing it over the side of the bed, letting your bra go the same way. As you sit up, straddling his narrow hips, the apex of your thighs rubs over the growing hardness in his pants, he growls and grabs your hip, rolling his own up into you. You gasp and Ezra pulls himself upright, his eyes now fully dark, lust blown and all trace of hesitancy gone as he pulls your core down over his cock.

“Sweet girl, I’m determined to make you cry my name until your voice is hoarse,” he says, his voice rough and low with a layer of intensity you’ve never heard from him before, “I really have craved you so many nights, dreamt of having you unfold underneath me, make you moan so prettily in my ear again, like you did when I kissed you before.”

He cups your sex with his hand, bringing the heel down over your sensitive nerves, making you ride it through the denim of your jeans, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His mouth leaves heated, wet marks on your skin when he sucks bruises into your collar bone. Hand moving over the buttons, he peels down the zipper and you feel him slide down inside your pants, fingers meeting flesh as he ignores your underwear.

“What if I can make you cry ‘Ezra’ in that delicious moan, make you pant for me, with just my fingers buried in your cunt?” he growls, hot breath on your skin, “Will that prove me worthy of your devotion?”

“You-you…already a-are…” you gasp, his fingers slipping further down, thumb finding your swollen bundle of nerves, two of his thick fingers sliding deep inside and curling back. You feel him chuckle against your throat when you buck your hips, demanding more.

“Fuck, Ezra…” you moan, head tipping back, his beard scraping over your throat as he sucks another mark into the thin skin of your neck.

“Let me feel you fall, sweet girl,” he mutters, pulling back, his dark eyes finding yours half closed, blissed out, “So beautiful, captivating, my sweet girl.” He looks hungry, greedy, and he surges forward, seeking out your skin again. You feel his teeth nipping on the curve of your jaw as he curves his fingers deep inside you, finding a spot that sends stars through your veins. Your fingers dig into his broad shoulders, leaving fresh marks on his flesh as he brings you closer to the peak.

“My sweet girl,” he purrs, close to your ear, his thumb rubbing tight circles, “come for me, honey, I’ve got you.”

It topples you over, his dark voice tickling your mind into submission, your back arching, pushing down on his fingers as he brings you through it. You cry out his name, pant it into the dim room, and he licks his tongue over your sweat salt skin.

“Ezra…” you croak, dropping your head onto his shoulder as he slowly caresses your slick folds and pulls out, his sticky hand curving around your waist and landing on your back. It takes a few minutes for you to catch your breath, Ezra mumbles into your ear, his words wrapping around your brain, trapping them in the haze of your orgasm. When you turn your head and scrape your teeth over the thin skin of his neck, your tongue licking the edge of his ear, his breath hitches, interrupting his torrent of sweet nothings. Against your core you can feel his cock twitch, ignored and aching.

“Take your pants off,” he says, the command soft in his voice, “And take mine off too.”

It doesn’t take long for you to rid the both of you of the rest of your clothes. Ezra hisses as you pull his cock free, letting your hand stroke it, catching the weeping head with the pad of your thumb before you stand up.

“How do you want me, Ezra?” you ask, returning from the bathroom with a condom in your hand. He’s flat on his back, his hand slowly moving up and down his cock as he watches you walk naked across the room.

“On my lap, my symmetry is sorely lacking in balance, I fear I might give you a bloody nose if I was on top,” he smirks, moving himself to sit against the headboard, giving his thighs an invitational pat.

“Just admit it, you’re lazy,” you wink at him, “just want me to do all the work.”

He grabs your hip and pulls you down, his hard length pushed up against the soft swell of your belly, “Oh, sweet girl, if I had both my hands I’d trap you beneath me and not let you leave until you were a quivering mess, begging me to let you come,” he smirks, kissing you hard when you bend your head down to him.

He rolls his hips, giving friction to his cock pressed between you, and you feel him hiss into your mouth, groaning deep in his chest.

You push back and unwrap the condom, slipping it on while he watches your hands with dark eyes. When you rise up on your knees, his fingers dig into your hip, his teeth capturing his bottom lip, biting down hard with a groan as you position yourself. With one hand wrapped around his twitching length, the other on his shoulder for balance, you stroke the head through your slick folds, watching Ezra let go of his lip, an almost animal snarl escaping him.

“My sweet girl, honey…” he pants, opening his mouth to continue, but you sink down over him, squeezing his length, and he groans, a low rumbling pressed up through gritted teeth, head tipped back, eyes closed. You feel him buck his hips, his hand guiding your hip, as he tries to fuck up into you and you hold on to his shoulders with both hands, stroking down over his arms, caressing both his good side and the edge of what remains on the other.

Ezra curls his arm around your waist and pulls you down, bucking up again with another groan. He sits deep inside you, making sparks run through your veins, the feel of him giving you as much pleasure as his graveled groans and panting breath. .

“I’m not going to last,” he mumbles, biting his lip again, “I’m…you feel…f-feel so good.”

You roll your hips over him, your clit rubbing against the dark curls at the base, moaning as he bucks up, rubbing over something electric deep inside. The sight of his face tilted back, eyes half closed in bliss, as his arm sits like a vice around your waist, it brings you to the edge of your own climax much faster than anticipated. Your thighs are protesting, sweat drips down your back, and Ezra claims your mouth again, while you work yourself up and down over his slick cock.

He’s rambling, mumbling into your mouth between licks of his tongue, he’s getting messy, kissing the corner of your mouth, down your jaw, burying his face into the crook of your neck while he grinds against you. His teeth sink into your shoulder as he cries out, his body going rigid underneath you, a hoarse shout against your skin and your own climax explodes. You know you’re leaving marks on his skin, but you can’t let go, Ezra is rolling his hips up, pumping himself into you as best he can, pulling you down onto him.

As your muscles relax you feel him loosen his grip on you too, and you drop your head down on his shoulder, caressing his back, his arms, pressing slow kisses into his sweat damp skin.

“My sweet girl,” he mutters, kissing the mark he left on your shoulder, “my sweet, sweet girl,” heavy breaths still making his chest rise and fall as he pants.

You rake your fingers through his damp curls and lift yourself off him, helping him handle the condom and toss it. Ezra stretches out and you curl into his side, sighing deeply and closing your eyes.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch anymore,” you mumble into his chest, and you hear the chuckle rumble under you between deep breaths, still recovering.

“I’m sure we’ll figure out other usages for the couch if you intend to keep this up with my broken old bones,” he says, smiling, his eyes closed as he begins to caress what he can reach of your back.

You both lie in peaceful silence for a little while, your breathing returning to normal, and your bodies cooling down. When the air raises goosebumps on your skin, you pull the covers over you both, and Ezra makes you curl closer to him.

“You really don’t find it repulsive?” he asks after a while, and tilt your head to look up at him, you know what he’s referencing. His dark eyes are turned to you with a questioning look, the smallest hint of worry clouding his forehead.

“No, I really don’t,” you say, moving your hand so that you can caress the scars at the end of his severed arm, “It’s just skin, or proof that you’ve survived something very difficult, why would I find it repulsive? I’m very happy you survived it.

Ezra places his lips on your forehead, kissing you softly while his one good arm pulls you in tighter.

“Thank you.”

“There you go, Mrs Levinson, all set for the weekend, I envy your guests, you sure do spoil your grandchildren! But I know you would spoil me just as well if turned up on your doorstep like a stray dog.”

Ezra gives the elderly lady his warmest smile and a wink, mischief twinkling in his eye as she returns the wink.

“Ezra, you scoundrel,” she giggles, “you know you’re both always very welcome for dinner any day, and I’ll make sure to spoil you rotten.”

“Never would I be so uncouth as to impose such inconvenience on you, Mrs Levinson,” he replies, a hand on his chest in mock shock, “You should come to our house, I’ll cook my famous one armed bandit stew,” he grins and Mrs Levinson giggles again.

“Oh Ezra, you really do brighten my day, you’re such a treasure to have around,” she titters, collecting her shopping bags, “And I’ll be sure to take you up on that offer.”

“You’re too kind, Mrs Levinson, enjoy the rest of your day now, you hear!” he smiles as she gives him a wave and steps out through the front door.

Ezra turns and heads back into the kitchen, where you’re preparing the final batch of millionaire’s shortbread, sprinkling chopped peanuts over the melted chocolate.

“I may have invited Mrs Levinson for dinner,” he says, coming up behind you and wrapping his arm around your waist, “Said I’d make my stew.”

“I heard,” you reply, “your famous ‘one armed bandit stew’? You’re too much, Ez,” you laugh as Ezra chuckles.

“I did always have a flair for marketing,” he smirks, "maybe we should rename the bakery too, make it official.”

“Make it official that the scandalous baker and her ‘one armed bandit’ are in it for the long haul?” you ask, turning around so that you’re facing him and can see his warm smile as he looks down at you.

“Are we in it for the long haul, my sweet girl?” he replies, bending down to brush the strong curve of his nose across your check, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Well, it’s been two years, and you haven’t tried leaving again, so I think I finally made you realize I want you around,” you mumble as he nudges your head to the side to make better rooms for his kisses.

“You’re stuck with me now, sweet girl,” he mutters, “do you regret it?”

“Not even a little,” you sigh, tangling your fingers into his soft curls and he chuckles.

The bell over the door jingles and Ezra straightens up.

“Go on, Ez, go charm another customer into buying more than they need.”

“Yes, boss,” he smirks, pressing a final quick kiss to your lips before he hurries back into the shop.

“Good afternoon, ma’am, how may I help you on this most beautiful day?”

Part Fifteen

Specifically tagging my Ezra mentor @morallyinept !

 @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers  

#prospect ezra #ezra x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #ezra fanfiction

[harrysmimi]

Dress

Synopsis: One where Harry and YN go from Friends to lovers

More of my work

"Your girlfriend was here the other day and she said that you jumped out of window again, is that true?" Howard Stern asked Harry, "is that you have a bandage on your hand again?"

Harry looked at the man puzzled, even though he knew who the man was talking about. It was annoying for many different reasons, and most annoying one was that he doesn't have a girlfriend.

"YN, your girlfriend." Howard explained.

"She's my best friend, Howard," Harry corrected him, "and no, I almost jumped off a window but she stopped me. This is from injury. I, uhh, I was filming the new Eternals. Had a bit of a surgery done."

Harry was pissed the whole interview because Howard kept calling YN his girlfriend.

As much as he wants it to be true, he doesn't think it ever will be.

A bit of a back story, YN and Harry met at Brits back in 2019. She was there to perform and took home almost all of the major categories. He even presented her with one award himself. He had just gotten to see her perform at Grammy's where she took all major categories home as well. This time around he got to talk to her.

He has always been smitten by her since she first blew up in media. YN's former Miss World. And he didn't know why, he kept up with the pageant that year. To add to it, she was his favourite contestant even. So being able to present her with an achievement she deserved so much and worked so hard for was like a fan-boy moment for him.

He then got to meet her at the after party, they were joint to the hip that night. Their friendship only grew from there and so did his feelings for her. From infatuation it went to crush, to likeness and now he thinks he's really in love with her.

Good lord, they've been friends for almost four years! That's more than enough time for him to fall for her.

He also couldn't bring himself to speak his feelings to her. He can't live this anymore. Until, he went and fucked it all up.

No, quite literally.

They both drunkenly hooked up in a bathroom of his hotel room after her three time platinum album party two weeks ago ago. They both haven't talked since then. YN was called right in the morning urgently and none of them to sit down and talk about their drunk shenanigans.

To be fair, both of them are on tour. He shouldn't have been drinking when he had to go on tour in two days, and so did her when she had a show the very next day. From that very next, it have been interviews and shows for her, and constant travel for him.

He tried to call her but she's busy and when calls him back, he's busy. It isn't just working out and it's eating him inside out. He just want to talk to her that's all. He feels guilty because he remembers everything, he just hopes she does too and doesn't regret it in anyway.

......................................................................

He didn't get to talk to her for whole two weeks. He was on tour. She's busy with recording another one of her Album.

It's been nothing but small talk. And it's bothering him.

He gets to see her today on her last show. He just got in time when her sound check was almost done at the Madison Square Garden. She was checking the visuals of the show with her manager and her producer at the very back of the pit.

"Can we have Ezra's guitar a two notches louder, please?" She spoke in her sparkly microphone asking to make her lead guitarists sound a little bit up. "Yup that's perfect!" She handed the mic to producer and her manager had something to say to her in instant as Harry was about to approach her.

But YN quickly excused herself and sprinted towards him at the entrance, in five inch heels she wore to practice in for her performance. He still couldn't fathom how she can run in those, but his thoughts were put on a hault as she jumped up on him with her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs around his hips tightly, her face buried in his neck. If it weren't for his fast reflexes they would have both fallen down on the hard ground. But he wrapped one his arm around her waist and other under her bum to keep her supported. And before he could say anything else when she finally lifted her head up to look at him. Her lips were on his.

He was taken back. But so was she as she immediately pulled back again, "I'm so sorry!" He carefully placed her back on her feet, she stood almost as tall as him with her heels. He pulled in for another kiss with her hand behind her neck now. A sweet quick peck.

He didn't know he missed her so much that he remembered how she tasted. "I missed you so much!" She hugged him again when he pulled away this time.

"I missed you too, baby." He held her tightly close to her.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" She asked.

"No, I'm just confused." He admitted.

"YN come on, chop chop." YN's manager called for her interrupting Harry. She had no opening act for tonight as she had released a new album last night and she'll be performing for three hours and forty-five minutes there. With a new album, it only added to the pile of six other albums of her. But this was only her third English language album. They would start letting people in next ten minutes.

Her manager wasn't being rude, the lady loved Harry like her son. She just wants YN to be safe as people start coming in. And she also had to get ready.

"I'm sorry." She looked at him with sad puppy eyes, "I feel so bad we didn't even get to talk." She was on urge of crying.

"I know." He cooed, "it's okay. I promise. It's a big day, I don't want you to be anxious. I promise we'll sit down and talk after this, yeah?"

"Okay." She nodded.

"I'll be here when you come back, we're leaving together." He assured her. "Now give me a kiss before you go back." And she did.

Giving him a last squeeze she ran off to the backstage. Harry went back to the VIP standing area. He just hopes she's not anxious.

She tends to get very anxious and shut down. Full on pass out black when she's anxious. It's scary for him. Especially when he had encountered her that way not once but twice. He didn't realise YN's family had started to show up. She had a few relatives in New York plus her own parents and older and little siblings.

"You know there is going to be a secret guest tonight." One of the twin sister spoke.

"Yeah, she won't tell me about it!"

"Harry, do you know who that us?" The ten year old walked upto him, followed by her twin.

Harry has grown to love these kids, YN's affection and adoration for these little girls have rubbed off on him. Especially when that was all she talked about for first few months after they first become friends. She loved her little sisters with her life.

"I don't know darling, who do you think that is going to be?" He asked, holding both their hands back as he walked them to a side as the crew moved around.

He had a nice chat with both of them. They gave him the little birthday cards they made him as they missed his birthday this year. They ever made him a drawing each.

Now Harry wondered who the surprise guest is going to be. He can think of only three people at that time.

......................................................................

Harry danced with the twins as YN came on the stage well to halfway through the show. But the girls went to go get their sugary drinks leaving him alone.

He took the opportunity to admire her for that time. She wore a black dress sith puffy sleeves which hemed just above her knees, with her black tights and black heeled boots she wore earlier. The sweet heart neckline of her dress showed her collarbone, where he remembered leaving a very very in-your-face hickey drunkenly. Maybe she had covered it up or it might have healed.

Yeah, she might have covered it because her mother would kicked her and his ass at the same time. Her mother's very religious for context. And YN's mum is a softie but can be very intimidating.

It was a mother's day show. He wouldn't want YN's mum to be upset. Especially when he knows she have practically adopted him into her family. Maybe like a little lost puppy but she adores him.

It was complete one-eighty from her usually, grafic t-shirts and baggy jeans.

She looks gorgeous none the less. He just couldn't take his eyes off of her there. He shouldn't be looking at anyone else but it was obvious he's oogling at her. Just until the twins interrupted him offering him a Cool-aid.

The lights went down as YN finished her first Grammy winning song. Just a spot light on the elevator downstage.

Our secret moments in your crowded room

Taylor Swift herself rose up on the stage as she sung. Harry almost choked on his drink.

He thought YN only joked about bringing her girl crush who ironically is his ex on the stage with her. But she actually did it.

They got no idea about me and you

There is an indentation in the shape of you

Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo

Taylor sang as she walked upto YN beaming. As YN sang the chorus.

All of this silence and patience, pining in anticipation

My hands are shaking from holding back from you

All of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting

My hands are shaking from all this

It felt theatrical, with YN's amazing band and insanely  talented background vocalists. With the most genius lyricist, and in YN's glory. It was truly magical. YN's sister were going feral on the side. Sobbing by now.

Say my name and everything just stops

I don't want you like a best friend

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Take it off

Carve your name into my bedpost

'Cause I don't want you like a best friend

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Take it off

Both of the girls sang together. Taylor singing in beautiful harmonies with YN.

Then it hit him there. He froze as YN sung the next verse. Standing closer on the side of stage where he stood.

Inescapable, I'm not even gonna try

And if I get burned, at least we were electrified

And he knew exactly what she was talking about. Not her words but they held different meaning for both of them now.

His fans already hated her enough, thinking she's using him for fame. But little did they knew, she's more known than he is. And the narrative can be flipped around on him by YN's fans who are double and scarier. But they never di that. Because of YN.

I'm spilling wine in the bathtub

You kiss my face and we're both drunk

Everyone thinks that they know us

But they know nothing about

His jaw dropped for a moment. That's exactly what happened. It was nothing new for both of them to hang out, but this time she just felt like taking a bath. Harry supported her by running her a bath as she continued to get shit faced straight from a bottle of wine she picked up from the party.

He initiated it, in her defence. But she was as guilty as he he was.

Afterall, it takes two to Tango!

But it was also true, no one knew about their secret hang outs. They both practically lived together on their off months. Sharing a bed., Sharing their clothes, fighting over little disagreements then making up by bringing one another's favourite food. All of the cuddles all of the secrets they shared with one another, all of the vulnerable moments, which made their friendship that much stronger and every doubted like they every single detail about them.

All of this silence and patience, pining in anticipation

My hands are shaking from holding back from you

All of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting

My hands are shaking from all this

YN sang as Taylor joined her in.

Say my name and everything just stops

I don't want you like a best friend

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Take it off

Carve your name into my bedpost

'Cause I don't want you like a best friend

Both the girls flirted with one another as they both sang the chorus outro.

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Take it off

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Taylor took on from here. YN stood there fangirling, singing the bridge her lung off without ber mic. The crowd was too loud so she blended right in.

Flashback when you met me

Your buzzcut and my hair bleached

Even in my worst times

You could see the best of me

Flashback to my mistakes

My rebounds, my earthquakes

Even in my worst lies

You saw the truth in me

And I woke up just in time

Now I wake up by your side

My one and only, my lifeline

I woke up just in time

Now I wake up by your side

My hands shake, I can't explain this ah, ha, ha, ha

YN sang the next line.

Say my name and everything just stops

And lights went down again. Pitche black. As the light came back on, Taylor's outfit was changed making the crowd go even more feral.

I don't want you like a best friend

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Take it off

Carve your name into my bedpost

'Cause I don't want you like a best friend

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Take it off

The girls had their best time singing together.

There is an indentation in the shape of you

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

You made your mark on me, golden tattoo

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

And they ended the song singing one line at a time.

"Give it up for Doctor Taylor Swift everyone!" YN hyped up the crowd. Harry clapped and cheered as well. "Thank you so much for joining us here tonight. And thank you Taylor for joining us tonight. This took, so, so, so long to happen. Tonight is extra, extra special to me. Because it mother's day, and my Mummy is in the crowd."

The crowd cheered up, "and also we had to bring The Mother herself with us tonight." Taylor laughed as she grabbed her guitar from the crew member. "No seriously Taylor, this is my fangirl moment right here. And can't tell you how much this means to me. Have been you fan since I was seven, since Tim McGraw." YN grabbed her guitar well as the girls walked up to the middle stage on the catwalk. They both perched up their mic on the stand.

Taylor started strumming the guitar as she introduced her first ever song which gave boost to her career.

They both then sang more of her songs, like Clean, I Knew You Were Trouble, Delicate, and of course, Out Of The Wolds and Style.

Harry knew YN still wasn't going to leave his ass. She would tease him all the time. And it actually became reality tonight.

The show still went on until YN closes out with one of her party songs. And ran down the stage. Harry and YN's family was escorted backstage.

She was immediately greeted by her little sisters. And then her mum.

Harry stood back, mainly for two reasons, her family was going back home immediately and he was still scared of her mum. He promised her that they'll talk later anyway. Though it was super hard not to just kiss her right there.

YN bid her family bye as their car left. Her and Harry got into one car.

"That amazing. You killed it!" Harry hyped her up as she sat back and relaxed.

......................................................................

Back at YN's hotel room, the first thing she did was took off her boots as Harry shut the door behind him.

"Should I bring out the wine again?" He teased her and he pinned her against the wall.

"I don't think we need that right now." She answered, "I'm all sweaty stop."

"Like I haven't seen the worse of you." He scoffed but leaned down to button his mouth on hers in a delicate kiss, making her melt like an ice cube on a hot summer day. She now stood shorter than him with her heels off.

"I could really use a large pizza and a hot shower right now, please?" She suggested when he pulled away feeling her tummy growl.

"Yeah? I'll order us one." He offered as the walked into her room. "You want to put on our show?"

"No, I just want a quiet night." She shared as she picked out a change of clothes from her luggage. She was believer of not unpacking because she found it too tedious.

"Don't you want me to take off that dress of your." He walked up closer to her behind as he teased her. "Hey, is that my shirt?" Harry noticed making her take a run to the bathroom, "hey, come out here you little thief!" But the door was slammed on his face.

By the time YN was back from her shower, the fold had arrived. Harry ordered two pizzas for both of them and a few bottles of water and cut mixed fruits for dessert. He knows she isn't going to share because she gets so hungry after her shows as she doesn't like to eat before. And he was hungry too!

They both cuddled up in her bed under the sheets as it was getting quite cold. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." He placed a kiss on her temple. "Do you want to talk about the night we had sex?"

"Yeah." She nodded taking a bite of her pizza. "Did it mean anything to you?"

"Everything." He admitted, "you?"

"Mhmm. I couldn't focus on anything after. I was so scared that you'd be mad because I had to run out." She shared.

"But you woke me up, didn't you?" She did. She did woke him up telling him that her manager and the tour manager had to talk to her about one of the band member falling sick, and they had to look for someone new for the night. It was urgent, and only YN knew who were those people, because the girl made connections everywhere she went.

YN's a completely different human when it some to her work and her personal life.

And then later he got called for work and things went down hill from there. At least for two weeks.

"I did but that still didn't help." She glanced at him once.

"Yeah? Tell me about it baby." He urged her gently. He wants to know how she feels too.

"No, how about you go first?"

"Okay." He admitted, "you know I'm going to be honest and tell you I've always been smitten by you." He let her eat in peace he spoke, she's listening to him he knows. And he does not lime to interrupt her eating, not wanting to trigger her in anyway. "The night we met and talked was a fangirl moment for me. I don't know when we came best friends and I fell for you. It was scary, you know how bad I had to keep these feelings to myself knowing I won't be able to, thinking I might loose one of my only closest best friend."

"Do you regret it?" She asked, finally looking up at him, "us having sex that night?"

"Gosh no, I could never!" He exclaimed softly as he rested his forehead on hers, "could never. I was dying to kiss you and you hold that way." He pulled back, "do you regret it."

"No!" She exclaimed as well, "I guess I have always been stupid because I don't even know when fell for you. I've known it for a long time. But I had the same fear."

"You did?"

"Hmm." She nodded and leaned back into cuddles with him.

"I'm so glad our feels are mutual here, because I love you so much, I don't know if I can go a day without you knowing that." He confessed.

"You're not going let me have cuddle in peace." She made a puppy face she lifted her head up to kiss him again, "I love you too! So much!"

He chuckled, "come back here." He pulled her in again. That's when he saw the fading hickey just above her right collarbone. The shirt wore was bug on him, it was pretty evident it was almost falling off of her shoulders.

They ate their late dinner in silence until they were done. Harry threw away the boxes in trash before she slipped back in bed with her. He made sure to bring the mixed fruits bowl with him.

"You full now?" He asked cautiously, "you want fruit for dessert?" She's been doing so well lately.

Harry had suggested she goes to therapy but she never felt like it, which, fair enough. He's been trying his best to offer her any help he can. And it's working. But he hopes one day she feels comfor enough to get some professional help.

"Oh I'd love to!" She nodded. He let her pick out her favourites and ate the rest. "Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"What are we now?" She asked.

"Hmm..." He sounded again but as if he's thinking, "I think we should be Girlfriend bestie and Boyfriend bestie."

"You need to delete Tiktok and Instagram off your phone." YN laughed as she took a sip from her water.

"I'm serious, I want to be your boyfriend." He said, rather firmly.

"And I want to be your girlfriend." She mocked his tone earning a few soft laughs from him. He placed a firm kiss on her mouth.

"I love you."

"I love you."

Of course they had much more to talk about. But YN fell asleep on him there, holding onto him tight.

It's nothing new them, but Harry cherishes and savours each and every moments like these with her.

......................................................................

N O T E :

Y'all need to tell me how y'all are liking this. Feedback really gives me more motivation to improve and write more.

Also, I'm gonna go MIA for a next 3 days, that means there won't be any Saturday update hence, this early update.

And CEOrry last part will be up sometime next week. Hehe.

......................................................................

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#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry smut #harry styles fic #harry styles abo #harry styles blurb #harry styles concept #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry fanfiction #harry fanfic #best friendrry #best friend to lovers #boyfriendrry #boyfriend!harry #fiancerry #fiance!harry #husbandrry #husband!harry #famous!YN

[kyrri0]

you ever think about how kanan's death and ezra's yeeting to peridea happened in such quick sucession that it probably doesn't fully set in that kanan's dead.

because ezra's separated from everyone, he doesn't know if he'll ever see ANY of them ever again. ezra associates all his time in the rebellion with kanan and when he thinks back on that time, kanan's always there since he only spent like a week still in that galaxy without him.

when he gets back he half expects kanan to be there too, just standing around the corner because for the past several years, whenever he thought about home it was with memories of the whole crew, and now that he's home his brain associates it with all those times with kanan still around. he feels another force sensitive being at his door, and he turns around assuming its him before he turns to see jacen standing there, several heads shorter, kanan's eyes and kanan's expression.

and he's reminded again that his master is dead and it hurts like its fresh. it doesn't seem like that long ago, but its long enough that this little boy grew up without ever knowing ezra, and ezra feels like reality is slipping from him. he wants to turn to kanan and has to keep reminding himself that even though he's home, kanan's not here anymore.

#i have YET ANOTHER EXAM tomorrow #however. ezra bridger and kanan jarrus. #its just the associations that ezra must have made in his mind #to his life Before and life After #and in his life Before kanan features everywhere #that when he thinks about that galaxy kanan is there #and when he actually goes back to that galaxy he subconsciously expects it to be like Going Back to his old life #but its really not because everything is different and kanan is dead #whoopsies #ezra bridger #kanan jarrus #star wars rebels #skribbles !

[chloe-skywalker]

Keeping Each Other's Secrets - Jason Dilaurentis

Jason x Fem!Reader

Ezra x sister Reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 548

Summary: Being Ezras younger sister and finding out about him and Aria. Well Aria finds out about you and Jason.

Masterlist

Pretty Little Liars Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Whens. Your. Sister. Coming Over?” Aria asked in between kisses.

“Around 5.” Exar answered.

Little did the couple know it was already 5 past 5. So when a knock sounded on the door it made both of them jump.

“What time is it?” Aria pushes him back a bit.

“5 past . Shit.” Eaxar curses.

“The knocks were a warning because I do in fact have a key.” Y/n walks in having used her own key when no one answered. Y/n smirked at seeing their predicament on the couch. “Maybe I should knock harder next time.”

“It’s not-” Aria stuttered but she couldn’t find the words for an answer.

“We weren’t -” Ezra was at a loss for an explanation as well, it’s exactly what it looks like.

“Look guys. I don’t care. If your both happy. And you treat her right.” Y/n pointed at her brother. “Then your secrets safe with me. Because I do imagine this is a secret. Right?” She asked about the obvious age difference.

“Yes.” Aria and Ezra answer at the same time.

“Okay. Just be more careful, k?” Y/n said, wiggling her eyebrows.

Y/n, Aria and Ezra spent the rest of the night hanging out and having fun.

^     ^     ^

“Where are we going Jason?” Y/n asked, confused.

“You’ll see.” Jason smiles excitedly.

“High School?” Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Wow, I haven't been in a highschool since I graduated.” She said looking around.

“That was like a year or two ago.” He laughs.

“Oh hush.” Y/n laughs as well. “But why are we here? It’s closed.”

“I have a key.” Jason dangled the keys before walking them in.

“Ah perk of working here I guess.” Y/n flicked her brows up nodding her head impressed he’d use his work key this way.

Jason led her to a door and opened it, as they walked through the doorway Y/n laughed.

“The pool.” Y/n turns to Jason with a mischievous look. “Oh I know that look, what do you have planned Mr. Dilaurentis?”

“Let’s go swimming.” He smirks, excited.

“I’m in.” Y/n smiled.

As the couple enjoyed their secret swim. Little did they know they were being watched. Aria had been sent to the school thanks to -A. Who wanted her to see her boyfriend's sister and Jason together.

^     ^     ^

“Hey Aria, what’s up?” Y/n was surprised to see her brother's girlfriend at her door.

“I have something I need to share with you.” Aria tells her as Y/n lets her into her home.

“Okay?” Y/n was deeply confused now.

“I know.” Aria gave her a serious look as they both sat facing each other on the couch.

“About what?” Y/n furrowed her brow, confused by what she could have met.

“You and Jason.” She clarified.

“oh…How?” Y/n nodded and then tilted her head curiously.

“I saw you both the other night at the high school.” Aria explained sheepishly.

“Oh, Aria-” Y/n was blushing now considering they were practically naked that night.

“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” Aria was returning the favor.

“Thank you.” Y/n smiled gratefully. “You wanna stay for pizza?” She asked.

“Absolutely.” Aria smiled, the two hanging out all night at Y/n’s place.

Taglist: @padawancat97

#y/n #x reader #imagine #imagines #x y/n #pll #pll imagine #pretty little liars #pretty little liars imagine #pretty little liars imagines #aria montgomery #aria x ezra #ezra fits #jason dilaurentis #jason dilaurentis imagine #jason dilaurentis imagines #jason dilaurentis x reader

[palioom]

day two - titfucking

pairing: ezra x f!reader word count: 723 warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; ezra only has one arm; titfucking, lowkey spit kink, ezra is obsessed with boobs, cum play, cum eating

• kinktober 2023 masterlist •

Ezra had been worked up all day already, unable to tear his eyes away from her. The way she looked in that tight turtleneck shirt, her breasts perfectly on display for him, seeing her perky nipples poke through the thin material. Stiff because of how fucking cold it was up here, taking a rest in between prospecting gigs to sell some stones and stock up on food and utensils again.

Trying to get her to come back to their ship the whole time, always brushed off by her because they had shit to get done. She had very well noticed his eyes glued to her chest and she had just waited for his hand to reach out and grope one.

But now that they were finally back on their small ship, his hand immediately wrangled the hem of her shirt out of her pants, pointedly looking at her to just fucking help him out here.

She did, pressing her lips onto his as she quickly took off her top, her bra following right after. It was still difficult for him to accept the loss of one arm, but he was getting better with each passing day.

Knowing exactly his mood would improve the moment he got to slide his rock hard cock in between her pretty tits.

His hand was on her naked breast right away, groping and pinching her nipple, guiding her backwards towards the small kitchen table and pushing her down onto a chair.

“Squeeze them together for me, my gem.” He rasped, fiddling with the buckle of his belt, swiftly taking his cock out. Ezra had become quite good at that, wasting no time as he presented it to her, letting her spit dribble all over it so he could give himself a few pumps.

Groaning at the feeling of his calloused hand around himself, watching how she pressed her breasts together, some of the spit dripping onto them.

“No prettier gems than these in the whole galaxy.” He chuckled, positioning himself so his cock was in between them, unable to keep his hips still, already thrusting on their own. “Certainly none softer than these.”

A giggle left her, moving her breasts up and down in time with his thrusts, letting more spit dribble onto her skin to help him.

The sight of his dick poking out between them and then vanishing over and over again was mesmerizing, her eyes glued to the display right in front of her while Ezra made all these wonderful sounds above her. Rambling along as he picked up some speed, his hand digging into her shoulder for purchase.

“Oh, Kevvar.” He moaned, trying hard to keep his eyes on her beautiful tits, but only wanting to throw his head back in pleasure. This was so much better after having waited all day for it, her skin so soft, the mess of her spit exciting him. “My sweet gem, open your mouth for me. I want to cum onto your tongue.”

So close already, his hips stuttering when she did as he asked her. A smile on her lips as she opened her mouth obediently, almost like she wanted to taunt him, spur him on.

“Make a mess on my tits, Ezra.” She cooed, batting her lashes at him. The desperation in his eyes had her squeeze her thighs together, hoping to ride her own frustrations out on him later. “Please, cum for me, baby.”

His fingers curled into her shoulder as he came with a low grunt, watching his cum cover her chest, some landing on her tongue. Humming at the salty taste, she waited until his dick had stopped twitching to swallow what little had made it into her mouth with a grin.

Ezra slumped into the chair behind him, breathlessly taking in the mess he had caused on her chest, the spit and the cum mixing as she let go of her breasts, swiping some up with a finger and sucking it clean.

“Oh, my pretty gem.” He breathed, chuckling quietly. She really was a sight, with her grin and her glistening skin. “I could lay my cock in the valley of your breasts for all eternity, watch the mess I create.”

Utterly obsessed with her breasts, even more so than her pussy. And she couldn’t say that she minded one bit.

#ezra #ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x you #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect fanfiction #ezra prospect smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fandom #my writing #kinktober 2023