#ezra fanfiction

[avastrasposts]

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

[penvisions]

plumage {ezra x reader drabble}

Fandom: Prospect

Pairing: Ezra x F! Reader

Summary: You recall the courtship between you and the man you love.

Word Count: 520

Warnings: allusions to adult content, allusions to smut

A/N: the lovely @morallyinept requested this as part of my follower celebration! i hope it's a good lil blurb for fluffy ezra, he deserves good things. thank you so much for your kind words, ilysm! had a lot of fun writing this ♡

He hadn’t looked like much at first glance. His suit dirty and worn, the glass of it dirty and smudged.

But the second he had opened his plush lips, quirked up in a captivating smirk. You knew you wouldn’t have stood a chance.

He had a way with words, so uncommon for those who subjected themselves to harvesting. He had a grace about him so alluring for someone lacking a vital extremity. He had a yearning in his eyes as he regarded you, lighting up the muddy brown of them every time you found them aimed at you. Facets coming into play as they caught the light, caught the sun, caught the very emotions brimming from him.

The dance of offers, of equal work for equal pay, of time spent together. Letting you see all he had to give, to share, was willing to. Even if the reality of harvesting had been so different before meeting him, a dark spot of brown amidst the lush green of the planet. Time allowed for his colors to show, for his dance to feel intentional and specific to you.

His colors reveal soft lingering gazes, teasing smirks, melodious laughter. His colors reveal intentional touches, a mouth that was capable of winding you around his finger as he showed how his words weren’t empty platitudes. That he craved you in more ways than just one. With burning kisses that lit you up from the inside out, tracing fingers that held you reverently, the rocking of his strong body against your own.

His colors revealed a heart of good intentions, a mind quick and smart, a desire in him to work hard and earn his share of things.

From that endearing patch of blonde amid his dark curls, that smile he flashed, the glitter of his eyes to the admittance of being skilled in this line of work and having been saved previously by a child he had taken in as his own. Cared for and provided for, not allowing her to get into the same life as he had, to ensure she had the opportunity to have a childhood, even if it was a little late.

For all the man’s plumage, he certainly had captured your attention.

And while neither of you had a nest to return to, that didn’t stop you from creating one together.

Equal time and funds and effort from you both that had you opting out of a return to the green that you found each other in. The dangers of which didn’t seem so acceptable now that there was something to be lost…someone to be lost. Opting not to stray too far from each other now that your bond was so complete.

You recalled his first words to you, and you smiled over the twin mugs as you returned to your shared bed to find him sprawled out and tangled within the sheets. His eyes glittered as they spotted you, not yet clear of sleep. A lazy smile taking over his handsome features that were now all yours. He repeated them to you now, bringing forth a smile of your own.

“Well, hey there, pretty bird.”

#dev writes #fic: plumage #prospect #ezra prospect #prospect 2018 #prospect movie #ezra #ezra x reader #ezra x you #ezra x female reader #fluff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #ezra fanfiction #ezra fanfic

[wannab-urs]

Ravage

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect) x f!Reader (in the role of Venetia)

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: “Oh birdie… I could just eat you.” OR Saltburn-style hate as consumption

Warnings: Weird vibes, period/menstruation smut, bloodplay and blood consumption, weird classism stuff, biting, fingering, oral f!receiving

A/N: Inspired by, but not a one for one recreation of, the Saltburn vampire scene between Ollie and Venetia. It’s a little combo of both scenes between them that take place outside the mansion + some details I thought would make it more interesting. Oh and I skipped the ED stuff.  Thanks to @beskarandblasters and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me yell about this fic

Ezra Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

You’d left your room in a near daze, wandering the halls of your family’s estate barefoot and in your thin nightdress. A wraith speared through by the moonlight, flitting from corridor to corridor until you ended up outside. You settled on a bench just below the guest room window and gazed out toward the labyrinth. It felt, often, as if your mind were trapped in that hedge maze. Circling, wandering, endlessly lost. 

“Birdie?” 

You nearly topple off the bench, a scream getting tangled in your throat and falling in a pathetic whimper from your lips. 

“Fucking hell, you scared me.”

Ezra, your brother’s friend, steps out of the shadows. He pops his knee out and puts his hands on his hips, eyeing you. 

“Apologies, little bird. I feared you might be sleepwalking.” 

You give the man a withering glare. His way of speaking seems to come naturally to him, though from anyone else you’d swear it was some sort of performance. Perhaps a mockery of high society or the educated class. 

“I just wanted to look at the moon. It’s nearly full. You know what that means?” You turn your gaze to the sky and draw your bottom lip into your mouth. 

“Can’t say that I do. Enlighten me.” 

You flick your eyes to him without dropping your chin. “We’re all about to lose our minds.” 

Ezra stares at you a moment, the blonde patch in his hair nearly glowing in the light, and a deep chuckle suddenly bubbles from his chest. You join him in his laughter, even though you think he’s making fun of you. He goes quiet again, staring at you. 

“You must be cold,” he intones, stripping out of his plush robe – provided by your family, of course, so really it’s your robe. He’s nearly naked underneath, broad chest bared to the moonlight, bulge in his briefs at your eye level. 

“I’m coldblooded. We’re all coldblooded. Haven’t you noticed?” Your voice holds a note of disdain – for him or your family, you’re not sure – but you take the robe from him and wrap it around your bare shoulders. 

“Oh birdie, you’re not coldblooded. Your family has been more than generous to me.” Ezra drifts closer to you and you almost unconsciously part your thighs. 

“Sweet,” you whisper. 

“No one has ever ventured so far as to call me sweet, little bird.” Ezra saunters away from you, turns his back on you, and it feels somehow like a loss. 

“Real, then.” 

Ezra hums, moves behind the bench you’re sitting on and lets your back press against his naked torso. 

“You’re presumptuous,” you sneer, as if you hadn’t just been mourning the loss of his heat between your thighs. 

Ezra’s hand threads into your hair and tilts your head back as he bends to whisper in your ear, “And you are adorned in a transparent night dress just outside my window.” 

Your body shudders, in fear or arousal or both. “It’s– it’s my house. I can go wherever I want.” You try for defiant, but your voice shakes. 

“Oh, okay. And your desires led you to be in a transparent nightdress just outside my window?” He straightens again and pulls your body back into his. 

“I didn’t really think about it.” 

“Just a masochist, then.” It’s not a question. He moves slowly, almost predatory, until he’s settled on his knees in front of you. 

“Maybe,” you stare at the moon, refusing to look at him kneeling before you. 

He sits up on his knees, pinches your chin in his fingers and forces you to look at him. “Oh birdie… I could just eat you.” 

He grabs the hem of your nightdress and shoves it roughly up your thighs. You smack his hands, shoving the gown back over your legs. He pushes the hem up again, and you don’t stop him. Your hands grip the bench beside you. 

“Ezra. It’s– it’s not– it’s not the right time of the month,” you plead with him halfheartedly. You don’t want him to stop now. 

“Do you think that will hinder me?” He quirks an eyebrow at you, his hands gripping the meat of your thighs tightly. “How fortunate for you, birdie, that I am a vampire.” 

The tip of his middle finger swipes through your folds. You gasp sharply, but his hand is gone as quickly as it came. He holds his fingers up in the scant space between your faces. You feel trapped in his gaze as the pink tip of his tongue flicks against his shiny red finger. He traces your bottom lip with it and your mouth falls open. 

You’re trapped somewhere between disgust and awe. His finger plunders your mouth, smearing your own slick and blood on your tongue. His other hand snakes up your thigh, two fingers plunging into your slick heat while the fingers in your mouth hook your jaw. He shoves your head back until you’re looking directly above you, the robe falling from your shoulders. 

You’re hooked on him at both ends, unable to pull away even a fraction. You gasp and moan around his digits, pressed so far back in your throat you’re almost gagging on them. His thick fingers feel perfect inside you, gliding easily through your slick and blood. 

He drags your face to his, slotting your lips together. It’s not so much a kiss as Ezra trying to eat you alive. His right hand slips from your mouth and grips your hair. He drags your head backward even further, forcing your chest out and baring your throat to him. You are entirely at his mercy. His lips and teeth clatter down your neck. His tongue dips into the hollow of your throat, his teeth graze your collar bone, his lips close around your pulse point and he sucks hard enough to bruise. 

He jerks your head back up to stare into his eyes once again. “You got a little something there,” he whispers, his thumb dragging over your bloodstained chin. He has a feral glint in his eye. He looks every bit like a wild animal barely contained in the body of a man, and he’s on his knees before you. 

You almost laugh. Maybe you do laugh. He throws the hem of your nightgown over his head and buries his face between your thighs. He grips your hips tightly, pinning you to his face and keeping you from toppling completely off the bench. 

His tongue curls languidly through your folds, as if he’s trying to collect every bit of you and swallow it down. You grab his head through the sheer fabric of your dress and let yourself fall into the sensation. 

Two of his fingers slip easily into your cunt and his tongue finds your clit. He lathes your bud in steady circles, bringing you to the edge. You squeeze your eyes shut so tightly you see starbursts of color behind your lids. His fingers curl perfectly into your spongy walls and your eyes snap open as your body convulses in pleasure. 

Ezra quickly replaces his fingers with his tongue, your core spasming around the wet muscle. His hand, shiny with your own blood, slithers up your body, smearing red on your nightdress. His face remains buried in your cunt as his hand finds it’s way to your mouth. You should push them away, but you let him press the pads of his fingers against your tongue, let him fill you up with his spit and your slick and your blood. Your lips close around his digits and you suck them clean. 

He groans into your pussy before dragging his lips down your inner thigh. You can feel a wet trail where his mouth has been, skin tingling from his mustache. His teeth latch onto the sensitive flesh where your thigh meets your groin and you scream, the sound muffled by his fingers in your mouth. He almost certainly broke skin. 

He releases your flesh only to bite down again, slightly lower. You bite down on his fingers in return, splitting open the skin of his knuckles. You smooth the bite with your tongue as he finally drags his hand out of your mouth. 

Ezra places his left hand on the small of your back and brings his right back beneath your nightdress. You wish you could see more of him than the outline of his body between your thighs. 

His lips close on your clit at the same time he buries his fingers inside you, your blood combining with his inside you. He pumps his fingers deep inside you, so hard it feels like he’s trying to scoop out your insides. His blunt nails catch your front wall and you try to squirm away from him, crying out at the sharp sensation. He clutches you closer to him, catches your clit in his teeth and smooths the pads of his fingers over your agonized cunt. 

You are shockingly close to coming again, despite the pain radiating from your thigh. His tongue joins his fingers inside you and you bear down on him, his aquiline nose grinding into your clit. His nails dig into your back, pulling you even closer to his face, and you’re free falling. 

You cry out into the wet night air, feeling at once scattered in the breeze and held entirely in the grip of the man still between your legs. He rises slowly, releasing you. You nearly fall backward without the support of his strong hands on your body. You cling to the bench, chest heaving, panting breaths puffing mist into the air between you. 

The moonlight casts him in an eerie glow, but his face is almost entirely in shadow. He looks satisfied or disgusted, you can’t quite tell. He turns on his heel and saunters slowly back up the stairs, leaving you beneath his window. 

#Ezra #Ezra fics #Ezra fanfiction #Ezra x reader #Ezra x you #Prospect fanfiction #Prospect (2018) fanfiction #ezra (prospect) #ezra (prospect) fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

[morallyinept]

I've put together this little one stop shop writing resource guide, specifically for my main man Ezra, so you can find it all in one place when writing/attempting to write for him.

I hope you find it useful. 🖤

Writing For Ezra - An Overall Analysis Of Our Favourite Scoundrel's Articulation

Ezra's Dialogue - Complete Script Dialogue From The Film, Including Deleted Scene

Ezra Character Breakdown - Full Analysis of Ezra's Character, Look, Weapons etc...

The World Of Prospect - A Look Into The World Of The Prospectverse (Wiki Page)

Prospecting For Aurelac - Your Guide To Getting Rich On The Green Moon Pamphlet

Ezra Fic Recs - Amazing Fics From Writers In The Fandom To Help Inspire You

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #ezra prospect #prospect ezra #prospect movie #prospect 2018 #ezra fanfiction #ezra (prospect)

[alwaysmicado]

incomplete

2.2k | Ezra x gn!reader | one-shot

established relationship, negative body image, anxiety attack, emotional support Summary: Ezra has not been the same since losing his arm in the Green. When he suffers an anxiety attack, he reveals his biggest fear — not being enough for you. A/N: I love Ezra with all my heart and I can only imagine how difficult it must be to navigate life after losing an arm, especially in “ordinary” situations such as hugging the person he loves. I just had to give him reassurance and comfort. 🤍 masterlist | AO3

“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

The dim glow of the moonlight casts a soft illumination across the room, highlighting shadows that dance on the walls. The silence of the night is broken by a subtle sound — a muffled sob that echoes through the otherwise quiet hut. You lie on your cot, eyes wide open, unable to ignore the pattern that has emerged over the past few nights any longer.

Ezra, the enigmatic prospector you’ve come to recognize and admire for his strength and composure over the past year of your partnership, is struggling.

You can hear him pacing in the living area, a restless energy evident in each step. Occasionally, a stifled whimper escapes him, the weight of his emotions too much to contain. It’s a painful symphony of anxiety that unfolds behind the closed door.

As much as you want to respect his privacy, the concern gnaws at you, urging you to offer support. You slip out of your covers and put on your sweater, guided by the muted sounds emanating from your partner. The door creaks softly as you open it, revealing Ezra standing near the window, his silhouette framed by the moonlight. 

His gaze is fixed on the distant moon, his shoulders are hunched, and his hand grips the edge of the windowsill as if anchoring himself in a storm. His breathing is rapid, shallow, and you can see the distress in his eyes.

It’s clear that he’s in the midst of an anxiety attack.

You immediately move towards him, concern etching your features. “Ezra, hey, what’s going on?” Your voice is soft, trying to cut through the chaotic thoughts that might be racing through his mind.

He looks up at you, his eyes wide with panic, and it takes a moment for him to register your presence. “I–I don’t know,” he stammers, his words coming out in fragments. “It just–it hit me.”

You move to stand beside him, giving him some space while remaining close enough to offer comfort. “It’s okay, Ezra. I’m here. Take deep breaths with me, alright?” You model the slow, deliberate inhales and exhales, hoping he’ll follow suit.

He tries to mimic your breathing, but it’s clear that the anxiety has a tight grip on him. His chest rises and falls rapidly, and his attempts to regulate his breath are met with resistance.

“Focus on me, Ezra,” you encourage, gently placing a hand on his back to rub soothing circles into his strained muscles. “You’re safe here. Let’s try it together. In…and out.”

It takes a while, but gradually, his breathing starts to sync with yours. The rhythm becomes steadier, and you can feel some of the tension beginning to dissipate. Still, his eyes are wide with residual fear.

“Do you think you can tell me what triggered this?” you ask, your voice soft and understanding, sympathy evident in your eyes.

Ezra shakes his head and lifts his gaze to meet yours, struggling to find the words to properly convey the inner turmoil he is facing. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice breaking. 

“Everything just felt...overwhelming. I couldn’t catch my breath for the life of me, and my mind started racing like a runaway train — thoughts careening in every direction. Images, memories, and possibilities colliding, creating a chaotic symphony of ideas that I struggled to make sense of.” 

You nod, recognizing the unpredictable nature of anxiety. “It’s alright, Ezra,” you coo. “Sometimes, our minds can play tricks on us and cause us to feel everything at once.” You continue tenderly rubbing his back. “What’s important is that you’re not alone, and I need you to know that you’re not alone.” 

Ezra takes another deep breath and nods weakly, the color slowly returning to his face. “I am truly sorry for disturbing your peace, sugar plum,” he mumbles, apologizing for something beyond his control.

“You don’t need to apologize,” you reassure him, a comforting smile gracing your lips. 

When you feel his muscles tense again, you can’t help but furrow your brow with worry. “Look at me, Ezra,” you prompt quietly, reaching out to gently place a hand on his arm. “Will you tell me what’s going on? I might be able to help, you know.”

You search his dark eyes and softly rub the skin beneath his shirt’s short sleeve. “But I need you to let me in.”

He looks out of the window again, avoiding your gaze, and you can see the remnants of dread in his eyes, vulnerability evident in the set of his shoulders.

“There’s nothing going on that needs to trouble that beautiful mind of yours, sugar plum. Just a rough night.” He shakes his head and glances at you, sensing that his attempt at deception, in this case for your own good, is not having its desired effect.

You know him too well, know the man behind the rugged, sly persona he’s been cultivating as a survival tactic. You know what’s hidden beneath, shielded from prying eyes, only revealed to the people who are worthy of his love and devotion — first Cee, now you. 

“Ezra, I’ve heard you. I’ve heard you pacing, and I’ve heard the tears. It’s not ‘nothing’.” You cup his cheek with your hand, your eyes boring into his. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

He takes a deep breath, the facade slipping away as he meets your eyes, his shoulders trembling slightly. He hesitates for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “I just–I cannot seem to shake this feeling, this overwhelming feeling of grief and hopelessness that is threatening to pull me down into the depths of darkness every time I am alone with my thoughts.”

You see the tears welling up in his eyes and feel your heart break in your chest. 

Ezra looks away, trying to contain the flood of emotions threatening to spill over. “I thought I could handle the memories floating around in my mind, memories of death, destruction, greed, loss. I honestly, truly thought I could move on with my life, be a better man for you and Cee, and lead an honorable life here in our community. On this stunning piece of land I am so fortunate to find myself on.”

He clenches his fist, and closes his eyes.

“But it is always there, always, always there. No matter what I do. No matter how hard I try. It is always lurking in the shadows of my existence, following me, holding me back.” He sighs deeply and opens his eyes to look at you, his brow furrowed. “I am haunted by the absence of my arm. I miss him deeply, in everything I do. And at night, when darkness takes over, when everything is quiet, it is all I can think about.

It’s a pain that goes beyond the physical, a yearning for a wholeness that seems elusive.”

He turns to face you fully, gently tracing your cheek with the back of his fingers. Your heart aches for him, understanding the weight of his words.

“I am broken beyond repair, my darling, and I cannot help but feel that you would be better off if I was go–”

Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a warm and reassuring embrace. Ezra hesitates for a moment, surprised by the sudden contact, but then he leans into the hug, allowing himself to be enveloped by the comfort you offer.

The room around you is silent, and all that can be heard is the subtle sound of his breath.

You can feel the tension in Ezra’s body as he wraps his arm around you, the heavy burden, the weight of his grief he’s been carrying alone all this time. Slowly, you start to sway gently, a rhythm that seems to soothe the troubled thoughts that linger in his mind. The embrace is tight but gentle, a silent reassurance that he’s not alone — and that you’re not going anywhere.

As you hold him, you sense a subtle shift in his demeanor. A quiver runs through his body, and you realize he’s starting to cry. It’s a quiet, almost imperceptible release of emotions that he's been holding back for too long. You tighten your grip, offering him a safe space to let go.

“You’re not alone in this, Ezra,” you whisper. “Losing a part of yourself is a profound loss and it’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to grieve. And you don’t have to be silent about it. I’m here for you.”

After a while, the tears subside, and you loosen your embrace just enough to look into his eyes with sincerity, keeping your hands on his shoulders. 

Ezra’s eyes glisten with hurt and uncertainty, something you’ve never seen in them before. You brush away a stray tear from his cheek, your touch gentle and calming. 

“I cannot adequately describe how much I despise myself for not being able to do this properly — the way you deserve, my precious sugar plum,” he murmurs, pain straining his voice. 

You tilt your head in confusion, unable to decipher what exactly he’s talking about. “What do you mean?” you ask softly, a reassuring smile prompting him to answer you.

“This,” he whispers as he pulls you closer, resting his forehead against yours with closed eyes. “I cannot help but think about how my missing arm, my incompleteness, prevents me from embracing you properly. You deserve the world, my darling, and I can’t even present you with a hug. You deserve a man who can hold you close and show you the love and affection you deserve, and I am truly sorry for having deprived you for so long.”

You pull away enough to look into his eyes again, anger now simmering beneath your skin. 

How dare this capable, intelligent, and loyal man entertain the notion that he deprived you of anything. Throughout your time together, all he’s done is take care of you, offering you a life teeming with adventure and love. It’s unfathomable that, even for a fleeting moment, he would think you’d be better off without him.

“I love you, Ezra, and I understand what you’re trying to say, I really do,” you say as calmly as possible, taking deep breaths. “But I need you to listen to me very carefully now because I need you to hear and understand every word. Can you do that?”

“Of course, my darling,” he answers with a nod. “You have my undivided attention.”

Your features soften as you witness the sad admiration in his gaze. “I can’t imagine how unimaginably traumatizing it must have been to lose your arm, having to adapt and relearn everything you knew how to do before. But you did it, you persevered. Because you are strong.”

You lift your hand to cup his cheek, causing him to lean into your touch immediately. “I have seen the incredible progress you’ve made since you and Cee arrived here and, Ezra, I’m so fucking proud of you.”

He looks at you, a mix of gratitude and disbelief in his eyes, a single tear making its way down his cheek.

“But I can’t even hug you. I can’t hold you like I want to, like I should be able to.”

You smile, reaching up to wipe away the tear. “Ezra, a hug is not just about arms. It’s about connection, about being close to someone. And in case you haven’t noticed, our hug right now is pretty perfect to me.”

He chuckles through a tear-streaked smile, a flicker of relief in his eyes. “You really think so, sugar plum?”

“I know so,” you affirm with a genuine smile on your lips. “Your worth isn’t determined by the number of limbs you have. It’s about the person you are, the heart you have, and the way you make people feel — what matters is this.”

You gently take his hand and guide it to your chest, so he can feel the steady rhythm of your heart beneath the fabric of your sweater. “You feel this?” He nods slowly as you put your hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat.

“You aren’t broken, my love. You’re human.”

Ezra takes a moment to absorb your words, and you can see a shift in his demeanor. The weight on his shoulders seems to lighten and you can see the spark in his beautiful, dark eyes return.

“You’re perfect just the way you are, Ezra,” you coo. “And if you ever feel the darkness pull at you again, try to remember that you have someone here who sees you, all of you, and thinks the absolute world of you.” 

He nods, his signature smile spreading across his face. “Thank you, my darling,” he says, his voice filled with gratitude.

You pull him back into your arms, holding him close once more.

In that moment, you both find solace in the simple act of being together. The room is filled with the quiet understanding that perfection isn’t about the absence of flaws but about embracing every part of oneself — scars and all.

“After all my time floating through this forsaken universe, searching for meaning,” he murmurs into your ear, a soft smile gracing his lips, “it turns out that love is the answer. Quite poetic, don’t you think?” —

#ezra prospect x gn!reader #ezra (prospect) #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra x gn!reader #ezra x you #body image #prospect 2018 #self worth #emotional support #anxiety #ezra x reader #ezra prospect #pedro pascal characters #ezra prospect fanfiction #ezra pedro pascal #fanfiction #body positivity #ezra fluff #ezra fanfiction #hurt/comfort

[frannyzooey]

In The Dark: 11

Ezra x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Series Masterlist

A/N: Thank you endlessly to both @mourningbirds1​ and @the-ginger-hedge-witch​ for helping me with this one - they both gave me endless reassurance and great advice, and I couldn’t have done it without them. ❤️

—

“This?”

You look up from the stack of used notebooks in your hands, glancing at the cover of the book Ezra’s holding. 

“No.”

He nods, placing it next to him before reaching for his beer, taking a long pull. He sets the bottle back down next to his thigh, reaching for the next book in the stack in front of him. 

“This one?”

You look up again, nodding. Watching him set that one into a box on his right, you make an internal face at how full it is already. 

“This?” 

You shake your head, and he places it just so in the discard pile. He picks up the next book, thumbing through the worn pages scribbled with ink in the margins and he flips it over, reading the back. 

Sitting on your floor, he’s bathed in a warm glow, a line of light from your lamp highlighting the curve of his nose and bringing to surface the rich brown blended into the darker strands of his hair. The light fades in its reach around his face, the whiskered cheek facing you darkened with shadow and when he absentmindedly reaches for his beer again, you watch the movement of his mouth, and the swallow of his throat.  Rain patters against the glass of the window in your living room, and the contrast between the bleak weather and the warmth of the room is cozy and comforting. 

“You can put that one in the donate pile,” you say, grabbing your phone from the floor. Ignoring the late hour listed on the screen, you swipe it open and switch the music in the room from Cat Power to “Modern Romance” by The Yeah Yeah Yeahs. 

He looks up at you with a grin, and you match it when you see his dimple, deep in his cheek. 

“Nice.”

The domesticity of the scene is littered all over the room: his shoes by the door, his jacket on the couch, takeout boxes on your coffee table. The book he’s reading (one he swiped from your stack the last time he was here) is on your kitchen table, one of your bookmarks keeping his spot. Street sounds waft through the glass underneath the thrum of the bass, the floors creaking above you as your neighbors shuffle around, and the two of you sit together on the floor, sorting.

He sets the book on top of the stack next to him, reaching for the next one and you go back to the notebooks in your hands, organizing them the same way. These are much harder to get rid of than books - the curled, filled pages holding thousands of words of your scrawled handwriting, and anything that holds a semblance of a story idea goes into one stack, while anything that has to do strictly with school goes into another. You open one, the aesthetics of the flowing black ink with the neat, blunt lines of bullet point highlighted text speaking directly to your soul and you admire the page for a moment before closing it, placing it in the keep pile.

“This one?”

He holds a romance book in his hand, and you laugh at the way he’s wiggling his eyebrows. 

“I mean, I should donate it……unless you wanna take it home?” you tease. 

“Oh, I’m taking all of these home, Birdie.” He turns the book to look at the summary on the back, reading it. “This one sounds filthy,” he murmurs. “I’m definitely gonna keep it.”

“You don’t have to bring them home,” you say, frowning. “I’ll find a place to drop them off. You don’t need to do that.”

“I don’t wanna give these away,” he answers, placing the book he’s holding down next to the rest of them. He picks up another one and flips through it, a look of affection stealing across his face at the sight of your haphazard lines, scrawled notes and highlights. He pauses for a moment, his voice quieting. “They have your writing in them.”

“My Birdie’s thoughts?” he continues, raising his eyebrows in question before closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Those belong only to me.”

You let your head tilt to the side, your face melting into a shy smile. Leaving your notebooks on the floor, you start to crawl towards him and he watches with amusement, his eyes darkening at the movement. 

“You’re insanely sweet, you know that?” you whisper when you get close, your mouth inches from his own and when he leans in for a kiss, you can taste the delicious, yeasty flavor of his beer on his tongue when you slip your own into his mouth. 

You deepen the kiss, your hand coming up to wrap around the nape of his neck and your fingers push through his cropped locks, silky under your touch. He hums, the deep sound shifting into a chuckle when you knock the stack of books over in your haste to climb into his lap and when you’re settled there, he pulls back, taking you in. 

“Does this mean we’re done for the night?” His hands find your waist, his eyes dragging up your torso to find your face. “Have we done enough work?”

Karen O’s voice filters through the boxes surrounding you, some already addressed with their international shipping address in his neat, all caps handwriting. Your thighs spread on his lap, you stretch in his hold and feel his hands glide down to your hips, the light scratch of his whiskered cheeks along the crevice of your breasts as he leans in to kiss you right over the neckline of your tank top. He places another on your collarbone, another along the slope of your neck when you lean into him and you nod, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. 

“Yea, we can be done. Lemme shower?” 

“Want some company?” His mouth molds around the hinge of your jaw, his tongue tasting the sweet flavor there and you melt, closing your eyes. His fingers inch up the hem of your shirt, his knuckles dragging slowly along the bare skin of your stomach. 

“No,” you sigh, nearly saying yes, but deciding you have something else in mind. “Go wait for me in bed.”

He pulls back, his eyebrows raising and you smile, cupping his face in your hands. 

“I’ll be right back,” you promise, brushing your mouth against his before standing and he watches you walk away from him, keeping his eyes on your ass until you turn out of his sight. 

–

You cherish it, while you can. 

The city slowly emerging from the bleak, gray winter, the sidewalks clear one day to stay clear, the buds on the trees bursting with delicate, new color. Your favorite place is the line of cherry blossoms along the Hudson; the worn benches underneath the reaching arch of branches the perfect place to read. The river seemed to glitter with newfound sun, the gentle waves sparkling in their ripple and it must be the relief of spring itself that made you see any sort of beauty in the murky brown waters of the Hudson River bay.

The sound of people had been muted all winter - their footsteps softened by the snow, or hid under the sound of slush splashing around tires - and the first time you’d heard a basketball pounding rhythmically on the concrete made you smile, as had the first early morning chirp of birds outside your window. 

Not that you had a ton of time to enjoy these things. The sounds of spring only reaching your ears between trips to the library, or around campus, or back and forth from school to home, you’ve been buried deep in your laptop and your books, only coming up for air when Ezra pulls you from the depths. 

Cee still hasn’t come around. Slow to trust, slow to forgive — you know she needs space, and so you let her have it. Head down as you walk to class, holing up in a different tucked away corner of the library, sticking to a coffee shop closer to your house. You imagine her spending her days the same — and sometimes you still have a fleeting urge to text her to commiserate, or bring her her favorite tea as a pick me up. The disappointment when you’re reminded of her absence weighs you down, but you understand it. And so you let it be. 

Ezra takes her place — not that he can take her place, but he takes up his own place. You’ve become something domesticated, something comfortable and you look forward to every single time he comes over. The secret thrill never wears off, and given the finite amount of time you have left in the city, he makes it his mission to show you all his favorite things. 

Revision until 9pm, then sushi across town. Researching all day Saturday, then a concert at a venue buried in the Bronx. That night you felt lighter than air: packed in a crowd of bodies, your sweat damp limbs winding around each other, just like you longed to do the night at The Library. His mouth dragged over your pulse point in front of everyone, pressed against the hinge of your jaw at the bar without a care in the world, and tasted the salt on your skin later that night when you brought him home. 

Spending the night when he can, you relish Sunday morning fucks —  the slow, syrupy kind that only intensify in sensation given the way you are each half asleep; your room cast in a blue wash as he drapes an arm over you, tucks you into the curl of his body and holds you in place as he slides into you from behind. Building and building, limbs tangling together in a humid embrace underneath your blanket, the solid weight of him presses you deep into the mattress with each stroke forward until the room is fully light and your expressions are slack and relaxed with release. 

Then coffee, while reading the paper in bed. 

Then breakfast, before venturing outside. 

Everything, while you’re here.

You both know what this is — a silent understanding of something momentary, something now, something you have to enjoy while you can. No rush to put words on it, because what would you say? This isn’t the thing where you get married, have kids. This isn’t the thing where you officially commit, right before you move halfway across the world for a year. 

This is the thing where it burns bright and intense for this moment in time — and then, when it runs out of oxygen, it gutters before going out. 

Sometimes you think these things, logic forcing its way through the rose colored haze that surrounds you in his presence — but then he looks at you and treats you the way he does, and you aren’t so sure. His fingers lacing with yours in public, his hand stroking the dip of your spine at the record store, his inability to go a day without talking to you on the phone. You want it to be more, you know that — but how? How could it be, when you’re leaving and you’re the age you are and he’s the age he is? 

The thought of asking the question makes apprehension settle in your gut, your body restless with nerves as you rinse the soap from your body, preparing to get out of the shower. In truth, you’ve thought about asking him for weeks now, but you don’t even know what you would say. You don’t know how to bring up the topic without sounding insecure and childish. 

Wait for me. Please. Even though I know you have a whole life without me and before me and you’re a grown man and that’s not a fair thing to ask. Wait for me. 

Or rather, tell me you’ll wait for me, without me having to ask. 

These things seem so unrealistic even through your yearning, that you press them down deep every time you see him, forcing yourself to be content with what you have. You want more, a solid answer defining what this is – but maybe you can’t do that right now. 

So right now, you’ll just cherish what you can, while you can. 

You step out of the shower, grabbing your towel and wiping the water from your limbs, you think about him in the other room. Him, waiting in there for you. Him, in your bed, staying the night. Him, choosing you — and the internal clock on your time left here ticks louder; your hand reaching for the tray of lipstick next to the mirror. 

Being with him has made you bolder, basking in the glow of his affection, love and guidance. Like he’s taken a piece of the confidence he holds within his being and gifted you with some of it, making you braver, more sure of yourself. 

Wiping the fog from the surface, you lean forward and start to line your fresh mouth with the dark shade; the color bold against your bare skin. You remember his face the first time you did this while he watched - the blatant want etched into his features, his eyes almost black with the truth. 

You finish up, capping the tube and when you’re done, you slip your robe on and open the door. Steam escaping into the hallway, you pad down to your bedroom and when you get there, you stop in the doorway, admiring the view.

He’s sitting with his back against your headboard, reading. One foot propped on the mattress, the other leg relaxed and extended, he’s wearing nothing but his black briefs and you soak in the image in front of you. An image that you only get for the next couple of weeks, but you push that from your mind as soon as it pops in, making your way over to him. Your hand curves over his shin, gliding up over his knee and the sparse hair on his thigh slips under your palm as you make your way up the lean muscle. 

He keeps his eyes on his book, though you can tell from the slight jump in his belly that he feels your touch. When you start to gingerly straddle his lap, he lets his foot slip down on the mattress to let his leg drop and give you space. 

Resting your plush seat on his thighs, you wait a beat and when he doesn’t look up at you, you tuck your fingertips underneath the waistband of his briefs, flicking your eyes back up to his face. The warmth of his skin presses against the back of your fingers, the trail of coarse hair from his navel leading down underneath the fabric brushing against them and you toy with the elastic band, waiting.

“What are you doing there, Birdie?” he murmurs, slowly turning the page.

You say nothing, pushing your fingers a little lower. You feel the base of his cock, stroking  featherlight against the thickness of it, just enough to see him twitch under the black cotton. He still doesn’t move.

“Excuse me, I’m re –” he starts in a stern tease, beginning to scold you when you reach up and pull the book from his hands, tossing it onto your floor. As soon as his hands are free, you lean into him, bracing yourself on his broad chest as you lean in and his hooded eyes immediately find the pout of your mouth, a small smile forming at the sight of your lips. His hands settle on your hips, tugging you closer. 

“It’s like you only want me for one thing,” he hums against your mouth right before you kiss him, and when you nod into the kiss, he smiles.

“Thank god.”

His hands sliding up your back to hold you in place, his kisses are immediately consuming. It’s like he gives them with his whole being, like he can’t get enough of your flavor, of the slide of your tongue, of the taste of your mouth on his and this one is no different, the heat between you rising as he sits up to meet you. When he tilts his head to deepen it, you have to hang onto his shoulders for purchase against his hunger. 

He tugs at the sash of your robe and you help him pull the knot open, his hands slipping under the thick fabric to push it off your shoulders and down and he groans softly into your mouth when he feels how soft your skin is from the shower. His tongue sliding deeper against yours, you open up for him, pressing your bare chest tight to his own and your fingers weave into his hair at the nape of his neck.

You’re so soft and pliant, your skin flush with warmth and he can’t stop mapping it with his hands; testing the weight of your breasts, thumbs stroking along the buttery soft sides. His hands splay broadly across your back, a weighted drag down your sides as you shuffle your knees closer and when you’re sitting directly on top of his cock, you can feel the heft of it slotted perfectly against where you need him. It makes you ache, knowing what it feels like he slides inside you and your hips grind down in a gentle circle; again, again. 

His hands drag down to cup your ass, his fingers spreading wide and the tips of them dig into you, guiding your movements on top of him. Pulling back from the kiss, you look down at his face as you cradle it in your hands and his lips are parted and kiss swollen, wet from your mouth. Your thumb presses into the divot of his bottom lip, and he kisses it. 

Looking at him for a moment, you take in the depth of his eyes - nearly black, in the dim light beside your bed. His dark brows, the lines surrounding his eyes, his mustache, his sparsely covered cheeks. Lower still, the pebbled line of his throat, the bob of it when he swallows as he sits under your gaze and you lean in for another kiss, pushing against his shoulders to force him back. 

Shifting your seat down his legs, you make sure he stays in place and when you start to tug his briefs down, he lets himself slip down low, taking you in with an amused look on his face. It’s not there for long though — not when you lean forward and give his hip an open mouthed kiss. And then another one, pressing against the soft slope of his belly. Another, your bottom lip pushing underneath the elastic. 

He lets a heavy breath out, letting his head tip back into your pillow, a low hum of want coming from his throat and though his pose is relaxed, you can feel the tension thrumming under his skin where your hand curves over the top of his thigh. 

He watches as you give him this. Not only this reward, but also this memory, and you hope he’ll hold it as tight as you will, because the way he’s looking at you right now will be burned into your mind forever. 

You shift lower still, working his briefs down around his thighs and then off, tossing them on the floor to join your robe and then continuing your kisses, you start at the inside of his knee. At the skim of your warm breath, he shifts his leg to the side, opening wider for you and your mouth travels up, your hand resting on the inside of his opposite thigh to hold him open. 

He is so warm, so fragrant, so soft when you rub your cheek along the buttery skin right before you kiss it, and you slide your hand up, circling his cock with your fingers. 

He lets out a low, pleased groan, his hips shifting on the bed as he bucks into your touch and it only takes a couple firm strokes to get him fully hard, waiting for your mouth. It’s close, your tongue laving at a patch of skin high on his thigh and when the heat of your breath gets to the base of his cock, he lets out a beautifully broken moan when you rest it there, pushing your lips against it in reverent kisses. 

“Put it in your mouth.”

The statement should sound more commanding, but it’s gentler than that, more like a murmured plea. Instead of doing what he asks though, your mouth molds around the delicate skin of his balls; your hand beginning to lazily stroke while you place another lingering kiss. He draws tight under your exploration, his fingers digging into the sheet by his hip and you lift the weight of them with your thumb, your tongue sliding along the seam on the underside. He hisses in pleasure, letting out a low curse. 

You come back up, letting your breasts drag along the inside of his thighs as you shift to place the rounded tip of his cock on your tongue and you stroke him more firmly, jerking him into the wet cavern of your mouth while he watches. 

There is always an arrogance to his expression that you love; to the way he holds himself. It’s something that radiates from his being for everyone to see, his confidence on unashamed display and even though you have him literally by the cock with his jaw slack as he takes in the lipstick smeared at the base of it, you can still feel him radiating control of the situation. Like you’re serving him right now, and he knows it. 

And fuck, it makes you wet. 

You wrap your lips around him, your tongue finding the dip just below the head and as you work it with your tongue, he bites his lip, arching his back. He groans again, deeper when you open up to slide your mouth halfway down his length and when you do it twice more, taking him deeper each time, his hand finds the back of your head, resting there. 

You’ve had other guys guide you like this before, and you hated it. Impatiently pushing you down further, making you gag because you weren’t ready when they forced themselves deeper, but there is something about the way that he does it that makes you burn bright with arousal, makes you moan around the weight of his cock. Maybe it’s the desperation in which he’s doing it, the inability to wait any longer until he feels the slick press of your throat. Or maybe it’s the way he’s starting to use you for his own pleasure, the knowledge of your reward coming as soon as he does. Like you feel so good he can’t stop himself. Like he needs you, just like you’ve always needed him. 

Whatever it is, your thighs press together as he thickens in your mouth, his hand cradling the base of your skull to push himself as deep as you’ll let him go and when you gag warm and wet, saliva flooding your mouth while a whine escapes with a heavy exhale out of your nose, he groans again, bucking into your mouth. 

“You always —,” he looks down at you, then lets his head tip back into the pillow as if you’re too much to look at. “The way you choke on it, I – fuck. Fuck.”

You pull back, wetness pooling around the corners of your mouth before you slide down to take him again and your hand pumps what you can’t fit in a slick, firm slide; your nails digging in the meat of his thigh before your hand slips down to cradle his balls, letting them press lightly against your palm. 

“I don’t wanna come in your mouth, Birdie. I —“ a hiss, when you mold your lips over the tip of his cock and suck. “I wanna fill that pussy up. I wanna see it soaked with me. I wanna make a mess.”

He is messy. He loves it — loves spitting on your soaked cunt before lapping it up, loves coming on your ass or your back or your stomach before rubbing it into your skin, loves to scoop it up with his fingers and push them into your mouth, or his own. Lube, saliva, sweat, come — your sheets are smeared with the evidence of his love when he leaves, and the only thing you don’t wash is the pillow. The one that smells like him. 

“Get up here. Please.”

You pull off and his hands are already greedily reaching for you, tugging you back up onto his lap. When he pulls you down to meet your mouth with his, you both can feel the wetness in your kiss, slick from sucking on him. It drives him wild, his kiss forcing your mouth open wider and your movements getting frantic, you reach down to guide him inside of you. 

He pushes home immediately, filling you with a smooth stroke forward and he swallows the puff of air you let out in surprise; his arm across your back to force you to stay in place. One hand across your lower back, the other wrapped under your arm to curl around the top of your shoulder and he starts to fuck you, your body bouncing lightly over him as you meet his every push. 

“No,” you moan, and his hold tightens, the hand on your lower back slipping down until his fingers push into the crevice of your ass to hold you there.

“Yes.” His hand moves lower, and you stiffen on top of him before melting into his touch when the pad of his finger brushes against the tight ring of muscle he finds. He fucks you harder, groaning as he feels it under his touch and your forearms brace on the pillow around his head as you clench down around him. God you want it, but you want something else. 

“No,” you repeat again, trying not to succumb to the way he overpowers you and you pull free from his hold, sitting up to take him deeper. This. This is what you wanted. This is what you want him to see, and miss.

Your back curves as you put yourself on display for him, and he automatically reaches for your breasts, the weight of them filling his hands. Your head tipped back, you can feel him knead and caress, map the smooth rounds with his calloused touch and his thumbs stroke your nipples, making them peak. 

“You look so fucking beautiful, Birdie.” His words bring your eyes back to his, and when you sit up straighter, he gets harder at the fleeting pinch of a frown over your features. He’s so deep like this, forced into you. You rock your hips again, adjusting until he slides smoothly and fills you just so. 

“You’re always so beautiful, but especially when you take my cock like this. When you ride it.” He watches you for a moment, the languid movement of your body on top of his lap. “Tell me how it feels. Tell me how you like to fuck yourself on it.”

“Oh god, I do. I –” you bite your lip, your tongue running along the plush skin and when he arches his hips underneath you, you moan. “I wanted it so bad today. Just like this.”

“Yea? Just like this?” He sits up with a cinch, his hand wrapping around the nape of your neck to hold you in place and you squirm, biting back a whine. 

“Did you think about how I would barely be able to fit it into this tight pussy?” he whispers into your ear. “About how even when you’re so wet - and fuck, you are, Birdie, you always are, just for me – about how even when you’re so wet, we have to work it in?”

“It’s in – oh my god, it’s in. It’s in and I’m – it’s gonna make me come. Ezra, you’re gonna make me come.”

Your hips roll faster against his, your body unconsciously chasing the high of what’s building inside you, and the low, strong pull of arousal intensifies into something firmer, something stronger, something you can taste with every downward stroke onto his lap. 

“Say it again. I want to hear it again, okay?”

“Oh God, Ezra – oh, I –,” words leave you, your mind unable to focus on anything but the soothing, intoxicating fill of his cock and he delivers a swat to your ass, bringing you back to him and pushing you closer to the edge. “Fuck.”

Your tits bounce in front of his face, his mouth watering as your hips work as hard as they can and your fingers dig painfully into the meat of his shoulders, holding on tight. 

“Ezra. Ezra,” his name a chant, your words punctuated with every push forward. “You’re gonna make me come. You Ezra. Only you. Only –”

You keen, his hold keeping you steady as you lean back and let your release wash through you and the tight fist of your cunt keeps squeezing him, locking up around him in a pulse. He wonders briefly if your heart would match the same rhythm if he were to place his palm against your chest right now. 

“Come here,” he groans, pulling you tight against his body and he wraps his arm around your waist, pushing you backwards into the bed. He settles on top of you, hooking your knees up over the crook of his elbows one at a time before he gives you the first, full push inside and using the weight of his body behind it, he fucks in deeper, groaning loud over your breathless moans. 

Your bed is a nest of blankets, the pillows pushed onto the floor, the two of you locked in a rhythmic embrace and the sound of his flesh meeting yours is just as filthy as the grunts he’s letting out as he pounds into you. 

“Fuck me,” you whine, clenching your teeth and he grins breathlessly for a moment, before picking up the pace. 

“Like this, Birdie? You want it like this?” He quickly sits back on his heels, his hands wrapping around the back of your knees to force them into your chest and when he starts fucking down into you, black creeps around the edges of your vision. 

He feels so strong, so big, so solid above you right now as he manhandles you into position to make you take his cock and when he tips his head back and groans something filthy, the last thing you see is the ripple of his muscles along his sides before you close your eyes, tipping over the edge again with a cry, just as he does.

“Shit. Shit.” 

His voice thick with awe, a guttural groan pours from his throat; rain sliding down the window pane by your bed. 

–

Fitting the key in the lock, Ezra lets himself in the front door of the house. He had spent the night, and left you this morning to your writing after leaving a plate of food and a glass of water on the table in front of the couch. Slipping on his shoes, he ran his hand over his mouth as he stepped outside onto the street and he could smell you in his mustache; the scent of you pressed into his skin after he woke you up this morning with his head under the covers. 

The memory of your moans and your sleepy smile still lingering in his mind, his movements are light and carefree, loose in a way only a sated man can be when he swipes up the pile of mail after dropping his keys onto the table by the door, and walking towards the kitchen, he thumbs through the mixture of envelopes, distracted. 

“Oh, hey.”

The sound of Cee’s voice makes him look up, stopping. “Hey.” The greeting is tentative, his face matching the tone.

“Where ya been?”

The way she phrases it comes out like she’s trying to be casual, but the words are too tight and he shifts his jaw, dropping the mail on the table before shrugging out of his jacket. He gives her a meaningful look, tilting his head to the side. 

She nods, turning to finish making her coffee. The silence in the room is heavy for a moment and without saying anything more, she grabs the cup and leaves the room. 

Ezra sighs, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck before rolling his head on his shoulders, as if he’s trying to relieve a tension that only just entered his body. He fights against it, his body instantly restless. 

There has been this weight to the house, weeks of it, and he’s tried everything he can to broach the subject with her. Eventually resigning to an awkward, stilted arrangement where they both know where he’s spending his time, but neither one acknowledges it, he hates it. A very direct person by nature, especially when it comes to the things he wants, the avoidance pulls at his skin, especially in contrast from how it feels to be with you. 

His natural instinct would be to always talk it out, but it’s hard when the other person is the opposite. Attempting to be careful and considerate about her feelings, he hasn’t pushed too far but there is something about the peace he felt in your bed earlier this morning in comparison with how uncomfortable he feels in his own that pushes him to end this stand-off. 

Fuck it.

Steeling himself, he walks down the hallway and raps on her door with his knuckles.

“Hey,” he takes a step in, “can I talk to you?”

She slips her headphones off, leaving them around her neck. She looks so small sitting there on her bed, her hands wrapped around her mug and he waits until she pauses the music on her phone. Sitting down on the edge of her bed, he shifts a book to the side, making sure to keep her place. 

He takes a breath, then begins. 

“You know where I was, right?”

Her face betrays nothing, and she nods.

“I don’t –,” he starts, looking away from her. “I’m tired, Cee,” he sighs. His eyes close, his tense shoulders dropping before he leans forward, rubbing at the frown between his brows. 

“I’m tired of this.” He looks up at her, earnestly honest. “Aren’t you?”

She looks away from him, chastened.

“I know you don’t wanna talk about it. I know.” He shifts on his seat, facing her. “But I – I gotta just say what I’m going to say and you can sit there and listen to it, or you can ignore it, or you can talk to me.” He bends his head, his eyes catching hers. 

“I’m sorry. I’m…..sorry for a lot of things. For going behind your back, for hiding something from you, for saying – saying some of the things I said when you found out.”

Having set her mug down, she picks at the comforter underneath her crossed legs and he resists the urge to stop because she looks so much like a child right now. She isn’t, he reminds himself. The two of them should be on equal ground rather than the tilted scales of parent and child, and he pushes forward, wanting to be honest with her. Wanting to confess, to relieve the weight in these walls. 

“But I am not sorry that I did it.” To say he is would be a lie, and thinking of you, he can’t even bring himself to say the words. He wouldn’t mean them. He shakes his head slowly. “I’m not sorry about that part.”

“I'm sorry that you felt you needed to see her behind my back,” she says quietly, anger held in the words. Not looking at him, she continues. “That you feel you can’t see anyone because of me.”

His words come back to him, guilt flooding his chest as he remembers the way he shouted them at her and he looks down for a moment, ashamed. 

“I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean – I was upset, and I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not true, that I don’t see anyone because of you.”

They sit in silence together, Ezra choosing his words carefully.

“I just —” he sighs, looking down at his hands, one rubbing the other in thought. “When you came to me, I tried so hard to put you first.”

Her head snaps up, eager to reassure him. “You did. I always felt like you did.“

He nods, agreeing. “I did. It’s been me and you for so long, you know? And I didn’t want you to feel like….left behind. Or forgotten, or neglected. I wanted you to know you had me.” 

He looks at her. “You come first. You’ve always come first. But I want this.” 

She continues looking at him, her face sliding from reluctant listening to sympathy and for a moment, she looks ashamed. 

“I don’t know why you didn’t just tell me? You’ve never lied to me. Ever.” 

He looks pained, his hand rubbing at the tattooed mark between his thumb and finger. 

“I think because I knew it was wrong? Because she’s so much younger, and —” he rubs his neck with his hand, “I don’t know. I think I knew you would be upset, but I didn’t want to stop. Selfish, I know.”

She thinks about how he cares for her — how he’s always cared for her, and how selfish would actually be the last word she’d describe him as. Maybe selfish with other people, definitely self interested at times, absolutely knows how to get what he wants when he wants it — but selfish, with her? Never. 

“I don’t — I don’t know. I get it, but it’s so uncomfortable now, knowing you’re…..sleeping together.”

He frowns, but nods. “Have you talked to her?”

She shakes her head. “No. I mean, she’s tried, but….”

He gives her a disappointed look, one heavily reminiscent of the ones he gave her when she was young. “You’re just gonna ice her out? Just gonna forget about her?”

“She’s leaving, so I guess it doesn’t really matter in the end.” She’s still angry, her jaw set as she bites out the words and he knows her well enough to see the mask over her vulnerability. He doesn’t say anything, letting her sit with what she just said and when she glances up at him, he sees a flash of shame before her face softens. 

“What are you gonna do? When she leaves?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Let her go, right?” He shrugs in resignation, sitting up straight. “Help her pack, drive her to the airport, and let her go. Same thing I would do with you.”

Cee frowns, looking away from him. 

“I’m sorry too,” she says eventually, pulling him from his thoughts. “I could have handled it all better, and……I didn’t.”

Avoiding his eyes, she continues. “I guess I was just — well, you know. I told you when we fought. Jealous. Hurt.” A pained expression passes over her features, and she shakes her head at herself. “I could have —“ she starts, abruptly stopping, letting out a deep exhale.

“Anyway,” she looks up, “I’m sorry.”

She does look sorry - genuinely sorry, even as she wrestles with the rest of her feelings and Ezra feels sympathy for her, for how she’s always been. Always a thinker, existing in her head as she navigates her feelings on her own time, feeling the need to push her insecurities deep down in order to keep a brave, uncaring face. Other people would be fooled, but not him. He’s seen her face enough to read it as clear as day; the apology she truly means for him, and the complex feelings she still has towards you. 

He’s lifted his mask, and even though she’s still partially wearing hers, at least it’s a start. 

“You’re fine.” His hand settles on her knee, squeezing it for a moment. “It’s fine.”

Knowing when to push and when to let her nurse her thoughts alone, he gives her one last look and stands from her bed. It’s then that she sees the small stack of books that were resting next to him. 

“What are those?” She bends forward, reaching to slide them closer and he turns, pausing on his way out. 

“Just something I grabbed for you. They were gonna be tossed, but I know how I can’t throw any possible treasures away.” He grins, and the corner of her mouth lifts in a small smile. “And I also know how you could never turn down a free book.”

She looks at the cover, a flicker of recognition on her face and she opens it, confirming when she sees your handwriting. She settles slowly back against her pillow, turning the pages, reading.

“I’m gonna shower,” Ezra says, watching her, “and then I’ll be in my work room, okay?” 

“Yea,” she responds, distracted. When he doesn’t say anything but continues to stand there, she looks up. 

“Yea, sounds good,” she replies with a short smile. 

He nods back at her, walking out into the hallway and as he takes the first deep breath he’s taken in weeks in his own home, she scoots down deeper into her bed; one hand reaching for her mug, the other holding the book open in her lap as she begins the first page.

#ezra x you #ezra/you #ezra/reader #ezra x reader #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra fanfiction #ezra smut #pedro pascal

[boredzillenial]

Day 8: of @flightlessangelwings fawktober!!

You and Ezra keep warm on the journey home

Theme: “cuddle for warmth”, f!reader, sass, cockwarming (pinv)

A.N.: not beta read, apologies life is getting a bit hectic so this fox isn’t as long as I was hoping for but I hope y’all still enjoy ☺️

You’d forgotten how cold space could get. After far too long on that godforsaken planet you’d managed to convince Ezra your jobs were done and that you both could leave. However once your ship had left the atmosphere you quickly realized something had gone wrong and the heating system was barely working.

“D-damn it.” You growl as you shiver. “S-shoulda known something would go w-wrong.” Your anger roiled in your belly as you kicked yourself for not double checking the system before you left the ground. You’d worked for nearly 24 hours straight getting the ship ready and were exhausted. The dark circles under your eyes mirror Ezra’s as he’d worked to get everything loaded and accounted for.

“Hey could be worse.” Ezra twanged as he smirked, “could have cold company.”

“What the f-fuck does that mean.” You bite as your teeth chatter, he knew damn well there was nothing you hated more than being cold and tired.

“I mean I’m over here, and you’re way over there. We could be sharing body heat…” a mischievous twinkle lit his gaze despite the exhaustion as a shiver racked through him as well. “But I know you’d probably rather slit your throat then cuddle up.”

“T-try m-me.” You raised your brows and clenched your jaw as you tried to keep your teeth from chattering.

“Really now?” A brow of his own quirked up. “C’Mon then no use is being coy about it.” He pulled himself up and walked towards the sleeping quarters, you quickly followed suit.

Though you were just behind him he was already stripping his clothes off as he walked. You slowed a bit, admiring the contours and curves across his back. You gulped when he pulled his pants off and you nearly walked right into his naked form. “Come on, less clothes means quicker heat.” He got under the covers of one of the beds and waited for you to join.

Between the intense shivering and the weight of his gaze it took you longer to strip and get under the covers. You could immediately feel the heat radiating off him. Another shiver shook through you as you settled in. “Come here.” His calloused hand stroked across your hip and pulled you flush against him. You fought the surprised noise in your throat as you felt his thick erection press against your abdomen. “Now are you gonna let me really warm ya up?” He nuzzled his nose against yours as he grinned.

A familiar fire burned low in your belly at the offer as you nodded slowly. He shifted lower and hiked your leg over his hip the motion slotting him right at your entrance. His eyes met yours, waiting for your response. You nodded once, looking down where you met and bit back a whimper as he sunk into you.

“There we go, here-“ he held you tight as he rolled, keeping you connected as he moved onto his back. “You just relax.” He sighed. You laid your head on his chest and tried to keep your breathing even as you adjusted to him fully seated inside you.

Shifting you pressed your forehead against his chest as you shifted your hips, desperate for any friction against your bud. Ezra let out a breathy laugh as he heard you mewl against his skin. “Easy sweetheart. This is to get warm, nothin’ else.” He teased as he gripped your hips to stop their slow churning.

“You son of a -“ his slow drag of his cock out and back in cut off your insult.

“Sorry, just adjustin’” he smirked as he fully buried himself again.

“Yeah? Same.” You clenched your walls around him elicits a groan as his eyes closed.

“Alright truce truce.” He drew his hands up and down your back. “Let’s just get some shut-eye we’re both exhausted.” His breathing steadied despite his throbbing. You laid your head back down on his chest listening to his heart settle into a slow steady rhythm. You both managed to get some sleep before someone’s restless movements cut it short. You weren’t sure who started it but let’s just say you fell back asleep the way you woke up. His cock buried deep and your pussy holding him there.

——————

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @lunar-ghoulie @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

#fawktober2023 #ezra prospect #ezra Pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #ezra fanfiction #ezra prospect fanfiction #Ezra prospect fan fic #Ezra prospect fic

[thatredheadwriter]

Snowed In

ezra x f!reader

You and Ezra are snowed in at your little cabin and there’s nothing to do but each other.

I wrote this back before Christmas, but I’ve been a little distracted lately with my job that I hate and trying to figure out what I’m going to with my future. However, as the new year starts, I’m committed to doing more things that make me happy, which includes tumblr-ing and writing. I’ve missed this, and I’ve missed you. I hope you enjoy.

This is an NSFW oneshot for female reader with Ezra of Prospect. This work contains smut and mature language and should not be read by those under 18. As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however, I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon-level violence.

Content Includes (but is not limited to):

Set in canon universe

post-movie Ezra (aka one-arm Ezra)

No mention of Cee

Snowed in with Ezra

petnames  (Junebug, bug, sweetheart)

Swearing

Slight D/s dynamics

Threats of orgasm denial

Oral (f receiving)

Fingering (f receiving)

Anal sex (f receiving)

Aftercare

Cuddly Ezra

Please read at your own discretion and remember to consume your fanfiction responsibly.

It’s eerily silent when you wake next to Ezra, save for his soft snores that fill the dark room. But even those seem muffled as you sit up in bed. You hiss when your feet hit the cold floor, and you wish you’d heeded Ezra’s advice last night when he’d told you that the two of you ought to trade off keeping the woodstove going. Now it burned dim, only ashes and embers glowing in the bottom of the firebox.

You don’t realize how much snow has fallen until you’re restarting the fire with fresh kindling and dry brush, and you stand to peek out the window. Everything you can see is covered in a heavy blanket of pristine white--deadly and beautiful.

“Come back to bed, bug,” Ezra rasps behind you, and you turn to see him spread out in the dim light, his broad, scarred chest out on display like a piece of art.

“Gotta get this fire started, Ez,” you shake your head at him, the lazy bastard watching you do all the work.

His words drip with promise, “I’ll warm you right up if you’ll only return to me, my little Junebug.” Words unsaid send a shudder down your spine.

Ezra is absolutely insatiable. Last night he’d laid you out on the rug under your feet and eaten his fill until you were physically unable to cum anymore, and he’d relished in the way his beard was soaked through with your many releases. After, he’d fucked his fist and cum over your tits before cleaning you with his mouth as you tried to catch your breath.

But it seems he still wants more. You could have seen it coming though, he can never resist fucking you when you wear his clothes, and you’d pulled on his discarded thermal at some point in the chilly night.

“It looks like we’re snowed in” you comment, like your mind hadn’t just replayed all the orgasms he’d given you in the last twelve hours, soaking your panties. “Hope you didn’t plan on getting out today.”

“You know exactly what my plans are bug,” Ezra growls, and you know you’re getting to him.

“I thought I might fix some breakfast, at least get some coffee started,” you muse, hiding your smile by stoking the growing flames. He hates to be ignored, and you can feel his irritation growing from across the room.

The springs of the mattress squeak and you look back to see Ezra propped up on his one arm, gaze harder than any aurelac boring straight into your own. “Bug, don’t test me,” he warns, a dangerous edge to his voice that makes you clench around nothing.

“Why not?” you ask defiantly, only a slight shake to your voice as you clench your thighs together.

Ezra is a patient man, and he knows the game you’re playing. It’s not a new one and he knows just what strings to pluck that will have you singing in his embrace.

“If you continue to defy me, little Junebug, I promise you won’t cum until we burn through the last of the wood in that pile.”

Your eyes widen when you realize he’s looking at the stack by the door, about four feet by four feet, enough for at least two more days in this remote little slice of paradise the two of you had built.

“Now come over here and let a starving man break his fast.”

A tiny squeak escapes your lips as you bound toward the bed and jump underneath the covers, giggling as Ezra peppers you with kisses.

“I love you,” he groans into your neck as a peck turns to a nibble. “Now let me warm you up little Junebug.”

His hand snakes down your torso, dipping into your panties and finding the wetness already pooled between your folds. You whimper into his mouth as his rough fingers circle your clit, and your hips buck up against him.

“Already so wet for me, darling,” he teases, sliding his hand down and slipping two thick fingers into your waiting cunt. “Did you enjoy teasing me?”

You don’t answer, too content with his ministrations to search for words to answer him with, but he pulls his hand away in retaliation.

“Yes, yes I did!” you gasp, hand flying down to clutch his wrist and keep him from moving away.

“Filthy girl,” he admonishes, nuzzling your ear.

“Please, Ezra,” you plead, rolling your hips against his fingers. Your orgasm is building quickly and you know the more you beg now the more forgiving he’ll be when it comes to letting you release.

“What do you need, Bug?” Ezra coos in your ear.

You whimper as he finds the spot inside you that makes your eyes roll. “Need your mouth, Ez.”

He chuckles darkly and pulls his hand away before you can protest. But he’s moving toward the foot of the bed and you know what’s coming next.

“Got my Junebug addicted, have I?” he asks with a hum, settling between your legs and tugging your soaked panties down your legs. 

“Kevva’a yes!” you throw your head back as he dives in, his tongue lapping eagerly at your clit as he scissors his fingers in and out of you. “Fucking addicted to you, Ez. Your fingers, that fu-ucking mouth,” your breath hitches as he nips at your clit, “Your cock too. Feels so good when you’re splitting me apart.”

A wave of pleasure washes over you and one of your hands leaves the bedding to tangle in Ezra’s curls, making him moan into your cunt as your nails scratch across his scalp.

“Gonna cum, Ezra,” you moan, bucking up into his face, but he doesn’t stop. Instead he pushes deeper, harder, grunting into you as you release on his tongue, riding out your high against his face. 

It’s too much and not enough all at once and you simply can’t get enough of Ezra. Your fingers in his hair tighten and you use your grip to pull him back up your body so you can kiss him, the taste of your own release making your cunt clench again.

“I need you inside, Ez,” you pant when he finally pulls away for a breath.

He seems to be contemplating something for a moment.

“Gonna let me fill this tight little ass?” he asks, leaning in to nip at your bottom lip as his hand palms your ass.

The thought makes you leak out onto the sheets below. You’d been toying with the idea for a while, Ezra easing you into it with his tongue and fingers and plenty of lube. It was dirty and filthy and yet Ezra held you so delicately when he teased you there, calling you his sweet little Junebug, urging you to relax in that sultry sweet voice you’d come to think of as home.

“Do you have the lube?” you breathe, and Ezra nods, eyes dark.

He leaves your side for just a second to retrieve it from the bedside drawer.

“I want you to fuck my ass, Ezra,” you purr, nuzzling into his neck. You feel his breath hitch and it makes your heart swell. He knows what this means, and the trust you’re placing in him.

“Shit, Junebug. How can I say no to that?” He places one last kiss to your temple before moving over you, shedding his underwear and letting his hard cock bob up against the swell of his stomach. He pushes your knees until they’re nearly to your chest, spread so he can watch your face as he coats his fingers with the lube before teasing open the puckered ring of muscle between your cheeks.

Ezra’s eyes flit between where his fingers are working you open and your face, completely transfixed by the way your face reacts to the way he’s pulling you apart.

“Do you think you’re ready for me, sweetheart?” he rasps, hand withdrawing from your ass to palm his cock, now aching and red.

“Please, Ezra, fuck me,” you beg, wiggling your ass and pulling your knees closer to your chest.

He’s slow as he pushes in, your hole and his cock already glistening with a generous layer of lube. It’s a different sensation than when he fills your cunt, but he feels even bigger this way, closer. 

When he’s fully seated inside of you, you both lie there for a moment in the silence, listening to your labored pants of pleasure mixing in the cool morning air.

“Fuckin’ move, Ez,” your nails scratch down his back, and you can’t help but clench around his length inside of you.

Ezra wastes no time finding a pace that leaves the both of you breathless, his hand tangling with yours and pressing into the bed as he fills you over and over again. He’s babbling above you now, words pouring out of him like a fountain.

“Squeezin’ me so damn tight, Bug. Can’t believe I’m so close to you. So fucking close you to,” his brow is furrowed tightly and you can tell he’s getting close to his release. Your hand not pinned by his slips down between you and finds your clit, rubbing hard.

“I’m gonna cum, Ezra,” you assure him, meeting his gaze. “Come on, Ez. Fill me up. I want to feel it,”

A strangled noise leaves his throat and you feel his length twitch inside of you, spurting hot ropes of cum into your ass as you tip over the edge into a soft release that leaves you trembling beneath him as he rides out his high.

The two of you stay joined together for a moment after you’ve cum, you comfortably smushed under Ezra’s familiar weight. But eventually he pulls away, making you whine as his cock slips out of your gaping hole.

You watch his back as he disappears into the small bathroom, returning after a minute redressed in a pair of thermal pants and a washcloth in hand. Ezra is gentle as he cleans his spend from between your cheeks, only once getting distracted by the trail of cum dripping out of your ass.

He tosses the rag aside, a problem for later, and rejoins you in the bed, pulling you close to his body.

“Thank you, Junebug,” he murmurs into your ear, hand slipping under your shirt to trace circles on your tummy.

“I think I should be thanking you, Ez,” you chuckle, twisting your neck so you can kiss him sweetly. “I’m certainly not cold anymore.”

#ezra #prospect #ezra smut #ezra fluff #ezra x reader #ezra x reader smut #ezra x reader fluff #ezra oneshot #ezra x reader oneshot #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #ezra fanfiction #ezra fanfic #ezra fic

[deadhumourist]

Dinner with a scoundrel

Summary: You're a yet-unmarried woman in Regency times and you have another society dinner to attend. You meet a roguish stranger that turns the evening upside down.

Pairing: Lord Ezra X F!Reader - Regency AU

Warnings: Olympic level sassing, typical sexism of that time, mentions of food, pain-in-the-ass parents who want to marry you off, fingering. No physical description of reader apart from one mention of "cleavage" (but not breast size). Age not given but parents are clearly frustrated at reader not being married so could be anything from 20-40+ in my mind? Reader still lives with elderly parents because I have no idea how they did it in Regency times.

Rating: Mature/Explicit

A/N: This is a tongue-in-cheek smut story, you'll have to suspend your disbelief for some parts - for this story they have modern underwear, okay? We're here for a good time, not a historically accurate time. Thank you @just-here-for-the-moment for beta-ing this <3

Like this? Masterlist. Taglist link in bio!

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You stare balefully at your reflection in the mirror. You rarely pass up an opportunity to dress up and step out, but by gods tonight you are just not feeling it. Tabitha, your lady's maid, spies your lack of excitement and squeezes your shoulder.

"You would do well to have a sunny countenance tonight my lady, there will be many handsome suitors who will be vying for your attention."

You sigh deeply, the air seemingly rushing out from the very bottom of your soul. 

"That's what ails me, Tabitha. Strings of uninteresting men pontificating on even more uninteresting topics while I smile like a doll on a toy chest. It is so boring."

Tabitha meets your eyes in the mirror, her eyebrows pulled low in a measure of sympathy. 

"I can imagine, dear heart. But you will need to find a husband soon, your mother is grumbling about finding you a match herself. And you do look so beautiful this eve."

You smile at her wanly and look down at your dress for the evening. The deep crimson dress with the high waist frames your decolletage appealingly and the colour is well-suited to you. 

A flowery brocade interwoven with miniscule jewels are shaped into a pretty second layer which frames your form and adds a certain refinement. You smooth your hands over it appreciatively and fidget with the deep rose brooch that your aunt gifted you for your last birthday. 

"It is a pretty dress, I must confess. Perhaps tonight I will enjoy dancing and merriment and forget about the duties of a single girl."

As a last touch, you fasten your gold drop earrings and apply a touch more lipstick, patting a dot of shimmery powder on your Cupid's bow. If you were going to be bored out of your mind tonight, at least you would look good doing it. 

The carriage stands outside waiting, your elderly parents already inside. You scramble into the small space in a decidedly unladylike fashion and take a seat next to your father. The coach starts rumbling away, swaying slightly as the wheels move over the smooth cobbles. 

Trying your best to look out the window, feeling your mother's eyes boring into you, you turn her way. Unsurprisingly it looks like she has been sucking on a sour candy and she casts a disapproving eye over you. 

"Are we not making any effort tonight m'dear? Do you expect that a well-to-do Duke or Viscount will spare you a glance when you offer so little as a companion?"

Your mother and you grated each other's nerves in turn. The two of you had a good relationship when you were growing up but she was the equivalent of the ‘popular’ girl in society when she was a young woman. She was courted by the well-known eligible bachelors in the kingdom. She had everyone eating out of her hand back in the day.

The fact that you were completely unbothered by the societal structure and its obsession with marrying you off to the first man to look at you stuck in her craw in a way that made her passive aggressive nature flare up like a fire taking to kindling. 

“No, I expect a well-to-do Duke or Viscount to stop talking to me because they’re as interesting and attractive as wallpaper paste. Can’t I just find someone who I like?”

Then, tired of being accosted before even being greeted and with exasperation bleeding into your tone, you added: “Leave me in peace, Mother. You snip all day long and it only serves to wound me.”

Your Mother, now suitably chastised and very unhappy about it, turns her head to look out the window. The clack-clack of the carriage on the road is only punctuated by her mumbling to herself about her spoiled child who has never had to face the realities of being alone for the rest of their life. 

The coach eventually rolls to a stop in front of an impressive-looking mansion, the entrance already buzzing with other guests filing into the entrance. Footmen and servants bustle around them to attend to their every need. The next moment, the coach door swings open, and a footman comes into view, his gloved hand reaching out to help you down the two tiny steps of the carriage. 

Once your parents disembark, you smooth  your dress down again to look slightly less crumpled from the ride over. Walking ahead of your parents, you make your way inside and join the line of guests waiting to be announced. 

At the top of the staircase, the host announces your party and you make your way down the stairs slowly, a few heads turning in your direction. As you descend, you mentally note the usual crowd that are also in attendance for this ball. 

Lady Eleanor Fitzwilliam and her son Daniel, the most ineligible of bachelors due to a case of fainting spells and an overbearing mother. You pitied him on some level; the fainting spells could be treated but you could sympathise with the maternal problems, which were unlikely to go away on their own.  

Twins Simon and Cecilia Heatherwell-Boden, two of the nastiest pieces of work you were going to find on any guest list. Perpetual gossips and not above spreading malicious rumours, this twosome is best given a wide berth. 

Mary Isabella Winchester, now there is a peach. Sweet in demeanor and intention, you sometimes felt a twinge of envy at her. You were good acquaintances, but she seemed to swan through life without any challenges or difficulty, while maintaining her wide-eyed, innocent sensibility.

Turning at the bottom of the stairs, you reach out to take the proffered red wine from the waitron. And as night follows day, the first sip of the lovely burgundy blend is soured by the appearance of Sir Hugh Wellesley. A smarmy man who thought the height of fashion was his cow-lick of a fringe plastered to his forehead, and a trail of cologne that felt like a sensory assault up to 5 yards away. 

You took an impolitely long sip of the wine before allowing him to greet you. 

“My, you do look fetching this evening; much too pleasing among all the old ladies and lords. Aren’t you getting tired of these old bores?” he says. 

He laughs conspiratorially and it is evident the irony is lost on him. The stare that follows is on the uncomfortable edge of lascivious and you can feel your hackles rising at the impertinent gesture. He continues.

“I hope you will grace me with a dance later?” 

You hold up your finger in a sign for him to wait. With the other hand, you make a show of sticking your hand between the swell of your breasts, rooting around a little.

“My lady, whatever are you doing? He asks hurriedly, nearly breathless with consternation. 

“I’m fishing your eyeballs out of my cleavage, it’s been in there for the last few minutes and I would rather like them back on your face as good manners dictate.”

You smile at him - sugar laced with arsenic - and he pales before making up some excuse about going to see Sir Podlington standing by the window.  

From behind you, you hear a voice, the gentle lilting accent immediately setting it apart from everyone else. 

“Such a tongue lashing will surely break skin on lesser men. I would endeavour to stay on your good side should I dare a compliment in future.” 

“Bold of you to assume we will meet again after tonight, Sir….” you trailed off, waiting for him to fill in the blanks. 

“You can call me Lord Ezra.” 

You curtsy stiffly. “Lord Ezra” and you introduce yourself to him. 

He takes your hand and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles; your eyes following the plush curve of his lips on your skin and for the first time you feel an inkling of the night perhaps not being a complete loss.

"Are you joining the other gentlemen in the hunt for a dear wife, or is it pure chance that you're taking your leisure here this evening?"

Ezra can’t help the flash of teeth as he catches your glib comment. You are arresting, a crimson rose with thorns in a dreary garden of magnolias, safe and chastened.

If he is being completely honest with himself, you’re also a brat, unused to being on the back foot, and he was nothing if not a betting man.  

"Tis leisure, but by my own misfortune I have been corralled by every mother to meet a simpering, sweet daughter that I have no taste for."

He secretly hopes you would take the bait, the double entendre tantalising as it leaves his tongue.  

You lift one eyebrow in question, intrigued by his choice of words. 

"Does sweet and simpering not suit you, Lord Ezra? Perhaps your taste lies more in ladies who spend time on their knees and backs and require coin in lieu of skill from their lovers?"

He chuckles heartily at your barbs. Not at all discouraged, he presses on. 

"Coin is but a function of my profession, dear lady. It says naught about my skill."

A laugh bubbles up from your throat, a light, airy thing that hangs between you for a few moments. 

"I cannot comment on your skill, but profess it to surely be lacking if there is no lady on your arm who enjoys its benefit. Peer endorsement is such a thing, isn't it just?"

You smile at him impishly. You just impugned his honour as a man and lover and he is just standing there laughing at you. The next move is his, and you wait patiently.

Lord Ezra feels a tingle of excitement simmering in his belly. While you are quick with words, your inexperience shows. With a smile firmly on his lips, he takes in the fast heartbeat in the hollow of your throat, the excited little breaths escaping your lips between laughs. The way your eyes trail him, oh don’t think he doesn't notice. He can still feel your soft skin under his lips. He wants to tease you to the edge of ruin and watch you throw yourself off it. 

The next moment, the dinner bell rings out and guests start drifting towards the stately dining room. A long, ornately decorated table dominates the high-ceilinged space, crystal chandeliers hanging down like droplets from a waterfall, the glass clinking gently as the open doors let through the lightest of breezes. 

The table settings suggest that no expense is spared, the silverware polished to a bright gleam and the plates pristine and placed just so, down to the last measurement. 

Place cards with neat calligraphy grace every table setting, and as you take a seat at your designated place, you see Lord Ezra smoothly sliding into the seat right next to you. 

You peer over at the place setting. Lady Fitzwilliam is not going to be pleased with the usurper - you pin him with a look and then nod meaningfully at the card. Lord Ezra follows your eyes, smirks roguishly and then tosses the offending card over his shoulder.

You can’t help but be amused and a little intrigued. Of course, the untamed curls that gathers in the nape of his neck, and the way he fills out the longer, black silk-woven coat that is so fashionable right now is dashing. 

He places his right hand on the table while the left reaches out for his wine glass - he takes a generous sip and you follow the gentle press of his full lips against the glass. He’s an enigma - well groomed but wild, a gentleman with a taste for dangerous disregard. You wonder why you haven’t seen him at other society events. 

During the soup course, he leans over to you, his mouth pleasingly warm from the meal as his lips brush the shell of your ear. 

“It is my unfortunate luck to dine on such mild meals when the most exotic mouthful is right next to me." 

You grin at him. “Lord Ezra you forget yourself, do not make assumptions about my interest.”

Like a Cheshire cat, his teeth gleam in the low light when he smiles. His eyes are on the middle distance as he speaks. 

“My lady, I believe that it will be you who forgets herself, her name and her oblivious objections.”

With his words you feel your dress skim up your thigh and the next moment there are fingers tracing from your knee up towards the crease of your leg. 

A knowing smile unfurls across your lips. You're no stranger to teasing and with those hands? Shifting forward just an inch, you widen your legs a little more, encouraging him to trail further. 

Lord Ezra revels in the enthusiastic consent; under so many pairs of eyes this is the best you can do and his eyes glint mischievously. 

His long fingers languidly trail up and down your thigh, letting the short nails scrape deliciously against the sensitive skin on each upstroke. You inch forward a little more as you relax into it, but Lord  Ezra is infuriating in his patience and pace. 

The salad course arrives. His fingers trail all the way up to your clothed apex and he flicks his thumb out and presses the ball of it to your damp underclothes. The angle is precise and devastating. 

The sudden pressure on your throbbing clit almost makes you gasp as you're bringing the salad fork to your lips. The gold glints mockingly in the low light of the chandelier, daring you to be quiet. His thumb increases and decreases pressure slightly, creating a gentle pulsing motion that feels like nothing and everything at once. 

You steal a glance at Lord Ezra, who is quietly biting into a plump cherry tomato with gusto. A few moments later, the wait staff take the salad plates away, and he mercifully stops the light pulsating pressure but doesn’t retract his hand. 

He leans over again just as the next dish of fish is placed in front of you. 

“It is advised to be careful with this course. So many bones, a peril each. Any disturbance could find you choking so attention is of the utmost importance.” 

You take a bite of fish, thinking that he would surely need to concentrate on the meal in front of him. But just as you start chewing, his thumb moves away, and you feel his middle finger slip in the front of your underclothes, pulling at it. He raises an eyebrow at you in question, as if to ask if you want to continue. Wordlessly, you lift yourself an inch so he can slip the offending garment out from under your ass. 

It takes a while for you to feel his hand again but when you do, it’s rubbing your slick all over your clit and dipping his fingertip into your wet heat. The gentle breach makes you inhale sharply, when you remember Lord Ezra’s warning from earlier and you try to breathe evenly through your nose. It proves to be extremely difficult under his patient but relentless attention. 

He’s skillfully picking at the flaky meat in front of him, dragging it slowly through the butter-and-dill sauce and bringing it to his lips. The calm exterior betrays the traitorously skillful way his large finger plays at your entrance and clit, dipping and swirling, exerting just enough pressure and movement to keep you on edge. 

Sir Worthington, balding and lightly intoxicated, leans over to Lord Ezra and asks a question. You only see your companion nod his head a few times to show he’s listening before he answers the man. Without apparently paying attention to you above the table cloth, he wordlessly assures you he has not forgotten about you as his finger dips in deeper, languidly moving it until he is knuckle deep and grazing that spot within that you never manage to reach yourself. 

Sweat starts to bead on your brow from the sheer effort of looking neutral and you start wolfing down the rest of your meal to stop yourself from moaning out loud. 

Your mother pins you with a stare, from a few settings over, that could make a cactus wilt. Her lips are drawn into a tight line of disapproval as she eyes your plate and then your face, clearly very unhappy with the unbecoming way you’re stuffing your face. If she only knew. 

Lord Ezra straightens back up, and the servants come to take the plates away a second time. As the servant lifts the plate away from in front of you, you notice him looking over at you, mischief dancing in his eyes. 

You’re wrecked. This is the game he enjoys most - the barely-controlled breathing, the light trembling of soft thighs that frame a cunt that has been teased to within an inch of tolerance. He loves it. But you’re not tamed yet, he can see it in your eyes. 

The dessert course, a strawberry merengue nest laden with berry syrup, is placed in front of diners. 

You wait for Lord Ezra to lean over to you again but to your surprise, he doesn’t. He takes a bite of the merengue and while it melts on his tongue, slowly adds another finger to the already soaked one in your cunt. Your eyes shutter for a second at the delicious intrusion before they shoot open and you look at him pleadingly. You don’t know if you’re asking for more or less. 

As you bring your spoon to the dessert, he moves his hand, slowly pushing in, then dragging the two thick fingers out again. It feels incredible and you struggle to remember what it was you were doing. 

Lord Ezra hums appreciatively as he chews on a berry. You’re so wet he can feel your slick coating his hand to the wrist. Perhaps it is time now. 

After a few thrusts of his fingers, he pushes the heel of his hand against your engorged clit and you hiss loudly. 

Lady Podlington, to your other side, leans over and asks you “Are you quite alright dear?”

Oh god, this is the last thing you need while Lord Ezra is chasing you to a devastating finish. You make up a quick white lie. 

“The berries are quite tart, are they not? I have not tasted any as acidic this summer. ‘Tis good that there is so much syrup.” 

Lord Ezra, thinking of a different kind of sticky-and-sweet altogether, chuckles lightly on your other side. The sound makes your cunt clench around his fingers.

He’s relentless now. Thrust after thrust, he curls his fingers up to rub at that devastating spot, the heel of his hand gently pressing at your clit with every upstroke. You feel the familiar coiling in your belly, hot and overwhelming. 

But also panic, because you’re going to have your most intense orgasm ever with 40 onlookers. 

Anxiously, you feel the coil inside you stretch and stretch and you know you have a few seconds at best until you’re a writhing mess. 

You spot a fruit bowl nearby, and grabbing a peach, vault it over to the other side of the dining table, where it splashes loudly into an open soup tureen. The splash covers a handful of diners, and dismayed gasps and the scraping of chairs fill the dining hall. Luckily the ruckus directs all eyes to the offending disaster. 

Your cunt convulses painfully hard around Lord Ezra’s fingers, and you grab the tablecloth with the hand that isn’t clapped around your mouth to stop the loud moan from escaping. You try, but fail, to stop your hips from chasing his fingers. 

Lord Ezra revels in the moment your eyes pinch closed, your frown lines cease and your mouth forms an appealing “o” before you manage to cover it with your hand. You’re beautiful in your uncontrolled moment of bliss, and he slows down to work you through it. 

When your eyes open and your breathing returns to normal, he slowly extracts his hand from your heat, still lightly clenching in the aftershocks of a devastating climax. Not unkindly, he rubs a wet thumb over the side of your knee while his hand is on it, an act of reassurance and a wordless truce. 

You look over at him, your eyes blown out from pleasure, your chest heaving. Through parted lips you smile in defeat. You watch as he brings his hand up and sucks his finger into his mouth, swallowing your slick off it. He hums again, eyes closing in enjoyment for the barest moment. 

“The sweetest honey is harvested from the most dangerous bees; someone will need to inform the cook that his efforts this eve have been outshone. Wouldn’t you agree?”

---

Comments are reblogs are appreciated <3

#ezra prospect x reader #ezra fanfiction #ezra x reader #ezra x fem!reader #ezra x f!reader #prospect fanfiction #regency au #pedro pascal character fic #pedro pascal fics #pedro pascal fanfiction

[wannab-urs]

Written in the Stars Masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x Ezra (Prospect)

Series Summary: The Mandalorian takes a job unlike any he’s ever had before. Driven by his guilt over working for the Empire, even indirectly, and the strange bond he formed with the man, Din rescues his bounty. What follows is not something either of them ever expected.

Series Warnings: The Mandalorian/Prospect crossover AU, canon-typical violence, season 1 rewrite, eventual smut, slow burn, eventual romance

Graphic by @atinylittlepain (Thank you so much)

Ezra Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

Arc One: The Job

Prologue

Chapter One: You Caught Me

Chapter Two: Got So Much to Lose

Chapter Three: Constantly on the Cusp

Chapter Four: Like Lovers or Partners in Crime

Chapter Five: Will We Burn or Just Smolder

Chapter Six: Fall Back into Place

Chapter Seven: Will You Take Me All the Way

#Written in the Stars #Ezra #Ezra fics #Ezra fanfiction #Prospect fanfiction #Prospect (2018) fanfiction #ezra (prospect) #ezra (prospect) fanfiction #Din Djarin #Din Djarin fics #Din Djarin fanfiction #The Mandalorian #The Mandalorian fics #The Mandalorian fanfiction #Din Djarin x Ezra #Din Djarin x Ezra (Prospect) #Din Djarin/Ezra #Din Djarin/Ezra (Prospect) #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

[write-and-buried]

The Appreciation of Fine Liquor

Ezra x F!Reader.

An sort of unhinged continuation of this universe.

All filth, unbeta'd and yeeted into the void - with a spit kink for your troubles

*-*

It's almost unfair. The way he can tuck himself together with the flick of a wrist. While you catch your breath, feel the long drips of spit cool on your chin, sluice down your naked chest as you squirm on the carpet.

He watches you, the tangled snarl of your hair, the heat in your cheeks, the tears you brush from spidery lashes. You look beautiful, every shaky breath making your tits jiggle, the peaks hardened and shining in the light.

He pulls the brandy snifter from its forgotten place on the side table, enjoying the way you squirm under his gaze, the way your fingers tremble as you wipe your swollen mouth. You're swollen elsewhere. He can see the glisten between your spread thighs.

"What does that even taste like?" You ask, trying to distract him from his careful study of your arousal.

"You want some? I dont know if you'll like it." He asks, swirling the amber liquid, the crystal catching the light and sparkling. He raises an eyebrow at your tone, the roughness of your voice, still wrecked from his cock battering against it.

You lick your lips, swallowing heavily as you nod.

"Come here then little one"

He watches as you crawl to him, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a smile as your knees drag on the soft carpet, pulling yourself onto the couch.

He moves too quickly, your limbs still throbbing with arousal as he grabs you round the throat, pressing his thumb into your pounding pulse as he presses you back, nudging your knees apart to loom over you.

He lets out a low chuckle as your eyes widen, focused on the creases of his eyes, the glee that skews to darkness as he folds you onto yourself, spreading your legs wider.

"Hold yourself open for me little one. Let me see those sparkling wet thighs, that pretty swollen cunt. Show me how wet you get from letting me use you"

The whimper is involuntary. He can feel it under his palm as a snarl finishes his words, a bit more weight pressed in on your throat, your mouth falling open as he presses his thigh against you. The rough denim catches on your swollen clit, an involuntary twitch of your hips, a cry falling from your lips.

"That's it. Look at you, so needy for it. Getting off right on my thigh, greedy, like I didn't just use you for my own pleasure. Like I didn't just watch you swallow my cum like a hungry little whore - it's still drying on your chin little one, drips of my release mixed with spit on your skin, the way it catches in the light."

Your hips are rolling, grinding hard against him as he presses his thumb under your jaw, tilting your head to look at him, pressing his forehead against yours as a release builds quickly, churning low in your belly as he looks at you.

"Open your mouth little one"

Your lips part before he finishes speaking, earning another chuckle as he brings the glass to his own mouth. He takes a long sip, swirling it in his mouth before he sets the glass aside, movements slow and deliberate as your hips buck wildly, held down only by the weight of his body.

He grabs your jaw, a warm hand enclosing the bone as he leans closer to you, spitting the mixture directly into your mouth. It's spicy, smoky and sweet, exploding across your senses as it dribbles from the side of your mouth, mixing with the mess on your fevered skin.

He follows the brandy, pressing his mouth to yours as he flexes his thigh, the hard ridge of muscle twitching beneath your swollen clit, scraped raw from the fabric as you buck against him.

His teeth sink into your lip, focusing the pleasure into pinpricks of pain that explode behind your eyes, fireworks that sink into your bones.

"Come on little one. Fuck yourself on me, my messy little thing. Cum all over my thigh you dirty girl."

He smothers the scream with a squeeze to your throat. His lip curls over his teeth as he watches the roll of your eyes, the uncontrollable jerk of your limbs as you come hard against the weight of his body. You feel the dampness of his jeans, your release soaking him as he whispers praise, a soft hum that seems miles away.

Everything tingles. From your toes to the top of your head, a pleasant fuzziness that feels like a warm blanket, your hips still rolling as you begin to feel the stickiness of your skin. His spit, his cum, the brandy drying cold as your eyes slide back into focus the feeling of his nose brushing against yours as he angles your mouth for a kiss.

He kisses you tenderly, licking against your teeth as your muscles relax into the couch, the warmth of his body on top of yours making you feel like jelly, everything shivery and loose.

"You like it?" He asks, nosing against your cheek.

"I like it"

#ezra prospect #ezra #ezra prospect x reader #ezra x you #ezra x reader #ezra fanfiction

[imtryingmybeskar]

Inspired by this week's @writer-wednesday

I've been writing quite a lot of angst and hurt recently so here is a piece of tooth rotting fluff to get you in a Christmassy mood. And oh yes, they're back.

Ezra x OFC. Word count: 1,495

🌟 This is set between Chapters 15 and 17 of Starman 🌟

Starman

Earthlings

The sky outside was steely purple grey, heavy with the promise of snow. If she had been brave enough to open the windows she knew that she would be able to smell the tang of the same in the air. She sighed happily, closed the curtain against the rapidly approaching night. But only halfway. She left one side open to be able to see when Ezra would return.

He had expressed a desire to be more independent recently, and she felt today to be the right day for that to begin in earnest. He was unable to drive a car as yet - those lessons would come during longer days and better weather. He did however love the coastal road that her little cottage was on, so when she had suggested he walk the mile-and-a-bit to the nearest town he was only too pleased to go.

Before he left they had discussed the parameters of his trip – what to do if he couldn’t work out how something worked, or ran out of money, or lost his way. He had his own phone and most foreseen problems could be easily solved with a call to her. She would come and get him if he really wanted her to. But she knew that call would never come. Ezra was far too stubborn not to see an adventure through, no matter how small it seemed. So she had encouraged him to take his time, to explore a little without her, to visit the beach if he so desired.

"Ah, you want rid of me already, my love?" he had asked in a dramatic tone as he swept her into his arm. His hand was at the small of her back while he nosed softly at her cheek, a pleasant tingling warmth spreading from where their skin met. "Tell me what I might do to win your favour once more."

His eyes were sparkling, his grin lopsided and roguish as her hands came around his neck to tangle in his curls and bring his lips to hers in a feverish kiss.

"Never," she had said, her murmured reply fervent and sincere against his mouth despite the fact she could hear the joking tone of his words. "I never want rid of you Ezra." Another kiss, deeper and more explorative before she added with a smile, “I’m sure I can think of some things for you to do though!”

When she had presented him with the shopping list shortly after, he had laughed heartily and faintly protested that he had had other pursuits in mind before kissing her gently on the nose and then on the forehead, his soft lips tender and full of promise.

"Anything for you my Vive," he said simply. "I love you."

She smiled at the memory. This was perfect. Not only would the little excursion give him a chance to practice his English, but it would allow her to prepare the house in the way that she wanted in order to surprise him. She couldn't wait to see what he made of her handiwork. Christmas had been explained to him - the meaning behind it, the traditions – but learning about it and experiencing it were very different things. And she hoped his first one would be a joy. Turning away from the window, she surveyed the room.

Soft lights twinkled warmly in the corner of the living room, reflecting off the glittery golden ornaments that adorned the rest of the tree, while the comforting sweet smell of cinnamon was emanating from homemade garlands. A pile of beautifully wrapped gifts surrounded its base, their red ribbon bows enticingly perfect, wrapping paper gleaming. The fire was dispersing its crackling warmth throughout the room and Ben had forsaken his bed to stretch out in front of it for a snooze, the luxury of his experience writ plain upon his little furry face.

He suddenly stirred, opened his eyes and raised his head toward the door expectantly. Sure enough, a moment later she heard Ezra’s footsteps coming up the path. She flung open the door and met him with a tight embrace on the porch.

“I missed you,” she whispered as she nuzzled affectionately into the scruffy patches at his cheeks.

“Though I was gone only for a matter of hours, it felt like a lifetime without you my love,” he replied, kissing the top of her head.

She drew back, unable to hide the excitement in her smile. “I have a surprise for you,” she announced.

He smiled gently down at her. “Well, I must admit I did get the notion that you were up to something."

She took the bag of shopping from him and placed it carefully inside the house before turning back to him. “Close your eyes.”

She could see the moment when his smile turned from pure sweetness to amused indulgence and he did as she said, covering them over with his hand so she knew he couldn't see anything. She took him by the elbow and led him into the welcome warmth of the living room, settling him gently on the couch and sitting next to him so she could observe his reaction.

“Okay,” she said. “Open them.”

His mouth fell open, and his full lips quirked a little to the side in an amazed half-smile as he exhaled sharply. The blazing fire mixed with the off-white of the fairy lights turned his skin golden, and were reflected in the inky depths of his beautiful dark eyes. Her attention was captured so completely that she forgot to breathe for a moment, so lost was she in the soft rapture of his expression. He muttered something under his breath - something in his own language - the only word of which she definitely understood was ‘beautiful’. He had called her that enough in his own tongue and hers for her to recognise it. Before she could even reach for the translator where it was propped up on the bookcase, he turned to her and his eyes were lit with a fervent flame.

“This…you did all this?” he asked.

She nodded. “I want you to share in my experience of Christmas. It’s always been such a happy time for me. I adore it, and I hope that you will too.”

He took both of her hands into his larger one. “My life, my only love…I adore any time that I am with you. All of the time that I am with you. And this…thank you. This is so beautiful! I feel so lucky to share in your celebration." He smiled warmly before his eyes flickered, his attention caught by something. He shot a questioning look over her shoulder. “What’s the matter with Dog?” he asked.

She turned to look. Ben had scuffled over to his bed underneath the window, but not to sleep. He was standing up in it on his little hind legs, his head and upper body obscured behind the curtain she had closed earlier. She went to him, peeking behind the curtain to check what he was looking at.

“Ohhh Ezra,” she said happily as she stroked Ben’s ears. “Come and see!”

She drew back the curtain again so that the window showed a complete view of her front garden. Fat white flakes were beginning to descend from the heavens, falling starkly against the blackness of the evening winter sky. She felt Ezra’s approach behind her - in her heart and in her mind she felt him, before he slipped his arm around her waist and held her against the broadness of his chest.

He exhaled an excited little breath from behind her. “This is…don’t tell me. I’ll remember the word. This is…snew?”

“Very nearly. Its snow,” she corrected him. “I’m glad you got back before it started. You didn’t have snow where you were from did you?”

“Not on my homeworld. I did encounter places where the precipitation fell frozen, but it was usually less…pretty than this. I’ve never seen it white before.”

“Tomorrow we can go out in it. Take Ben for a walk. He loves to roll around in the snow and chase snowballs. We can make a snowman too.” She tipped her head back to meet his upside-down gaze, his adoring grin spreading her own smile upon her face. “And then we can come back and I’ll make us hot chocolate and we can get under the blankets to warm up-“

He stopped her words with a gentle kiss, his hand slipping underneath her jumper and t-shirt to rest against the bare skin of her stomach. “And what about now?” he asked meaningfully. “Can we get under the blankets now?”

How could she ever refuse an offer like that?

The snow continued to fall outside – silent, soft, glittering and abundant. And inside the little house all was warm and cosy and beautiful, the fated lovers entwined, entangled, enmeshed eternally in their joyful love.

Taglist - @the-blind-assassin-12 @cannedsoupsucks @doommommy @shirks-all-responsibilities @taciturnsprocket @theassbuttchronicles @tentacruels @pagannightwitch @thisshipwillsail316 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @elegantduckturtle @dihra-vesa @midwesternwitchery @just-here-for-the-moment @eri16 @readsalot73 @littlemisspascal @princessxkenobi @harriedandharassed @kirsteng42 @deadhumourist

#ezra fanfiction #ezra fanfic #ezra fluff #ezra prospect fanfiction #ezra prospect fanfic #ezra prospect fluff #starman ezra #starman #writer wednesday

[in-for-a-pennyx]

Kinktober 2022: October 15th

Day 15: Facesitting // Sex Toys

Ezra (Prospect) x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: D/s established relationship, Soft Dom! Ezra, sub!reader, use of pet names (reader is called Kitten), Ezra has one arm, mention of body hair, sex toys, pet play, use of anal plugs, face sitting, oral sex (f receiving), cum eating, masturbation; reader is described as having brown skin and black hair long enough to stroke.

A/n: So I'm an Indian woman (the country, not the indigenous people of the Americas) and wanted to give reader my own features. I have brown skin and black hair, and wanted to see that reflected in my fics. But you don't have to be Indian to connect with those features. I apologise if it causes any discomfort, I absolutely don't mean it to. I just want to see myself in some of what I write. All of my other fics are blank slate (as far as I can tell) and I plan to wrote a mix of blank slate and Indian/brown skin readers. Thanks for reading and feedback welcome as always!

|| Prompts by @absurdthirst ||

This is only for anyone 18+ years of age, minors - please do not interact. Only proceed if you're over 18 and have read and understood the warnings and rating.

Ezra has come across many cats in his life. Puss in Boots was special in his childhood, the Cheshire Cat opened his heart to the love of books and words, his mind to the limitless imagination the universe contains, and his lips to the power of a well-placed smile. He’s seen old, withered photographs of an elegant cat-like statue protecting the tombs of Kings, from a civilization that also considered cats as Gods. When he met Cee, she reminded him of a feisty alley cat. But his favourite is you – his little Kitten.

Ezra comes in to find you curled up with a book on the plush pink velvet loveseat in the corner of the front partition of your pod. The sun is streaming in and you’re enjoying the warmth on your skin, the sunshine making your brown skin look a rich bronze, soothing the chill that has made a home in your bones. After spending many a cycle trying to find a hospitable planet after Ezra’s time on the Green, you settled on one that had a safe atmosphere and many seasons.

He smiles and sits down on the other chair, and you notice he’s holding a small box held close with a tied black ribbon. Marking your place in the book, you eye the box with curiosity.

"Come here, Kitten, I have a present for you” he hums, patting his thigh. Oh, he’s got mischief planned.

You slide your legs out from under you, stretching a little, and go to Ezra, kneeling between his legs and resting your head on his warm thigh. He strokes your hair gently, tangling his fingers in your raven locks and admiring how the sunshine bounces off them, making them look like the feathers of the bird he so loves, and then places the box on his lap.

"Untie the ribbon, dear Kitten. Reveal your gift," he says with a clever smile.

You look up at Ezra to ask permission and when he nods, you untie the ribbon and open the box. Your eyes go wide with surprise and heat rises to your cheeks. Nestled among the pink tissue paper is a fluffy, black tail with wisps of grey, matching your hair, attached to a small metal butt plug.

Excitement skitters through your chest, and your body vibrates with the effort to suppress nervous giggles. Ezra chuckles, placing a finger under your chin and lifting your face to look at him. “I thought it was time my perfect Kitten was bestowed with a special keepsake. Is it to your liking?”

“Yes, thank you, Master. I adore it! You always know what I like” you rave truthfully. Ezra always knows. Sometimes he knows you better than yourself and that realisation makes your heart swell with love for him. He got you a tail that matches your hair and that little detail is all you need to know about Ezra.

“That’s music to my ears, Kitten. Now stand, dearheart. Go to the back partition, undress and kneel on the bed on your hands and knees. I should be with you shortly” he instructs and you know it's playtime, your body and mind buzzing with the thrill of what’s to come.

You do as he says and assume your position on the bed. Your body is rife with anticipation and after what feels like hours, you recognise Ezra’s footsteps thudding into the bedroom.

“Many a man has taken pilgrimage over sands and oceans, under starry nights and hot suns, gone a hundred years without movement to attain a holy image. But Kitten, none of them will ever cast a shadow on the exquisite temple of your body laid open in front of me”.

You feel a genuine happiness at that, his approval always manages to soothe you. In Ezra’s hands, you find absolution.

Ezra walks to the edge of the bed and stands behind you, the rough fabric of his trousers covering his thighs a sharp contrast to the soft, sensitive skin of the back of your thighs. He starts to rub your shoulders and back, his lone hand sliding around your waist to cup your breasts softly. It makes you whimper, his touch setting you on fire.

“My bonny Kitten, how I missed you these last few cycles. The only friend I had was misery. The thought of you on your knees was the sole thing that kept this old man from losing his sanity”

You hate the thought that Ezra was unhappy in any way and press back into him, trying your best to convey that you are here and that you are his. He breathes in your scent and kisses the side of your head, nuzzling into your hair. You shudder and push further back into him so that there is no distance between you.

He stands back up and runs a hand down your back to cup your ass. Ezra strokes your round ass and runs a finger down the middle, halting briefly to circle the tight bud of your rear hole but doesn’t stop there. You moan at the feeling and buck your hips when he slips two fingers inside your wet cunt. He strokes you there for a while before moving his now-soaked fingers to your rear hole. He rubs your slick onto your tightly closed hole and asks you to relax, breathe. His touch and the deep cadence of his voice relax you.

“Alright, dearheart, you need to help me here. Put your weight down on your shoulders and raise your delectable behind up for me. I wish I could do it myself but with my lone arm, I need my Kitten to help. Pull your sweet cheeks apart so I can see that shying rosebud”.

You do as he says and soon enough, you feel some cool lubricant being rubbed in and his middle finger gently eases into your ass. “You’re doing so well, Kitten. Always such a brave little Kitten for me” he coos.

He dips his finger inside and briefly strokes you before leaving you empty once again. You feel so exposed with your ass in the air but your trust in Ezra is boundless and you know he will take care of you.

Suddenly you feel something new, something cool and hard pressing against your rear entrance. As Ezra starts to press it in, you realise that it's bigger than his finger and you moan at the feeling. But Ezra is gentle and slowly eases the object into you. It starts to get wider and you start to feel so full. Your breaths are coming in short, urgent huffs and you’re trying to stay relaxed, just as Ezra trained you. Then the object tapers down again and your sphincter closes down on the smaller end, holding the object firmly inside you. You feel something furry brush the back of your thighs and you realise that this must be your new tail.

Ezra steps back and you wiggle your ass to give him a show as much as to get comfortable with the plug inside you. It’s a sensation you’ve felt before but every time it feels new, the fullness is always overwhelming.

“You’re my favourite delight, Kitten, and this tail is the perfect cherry on top. Come on, give us a twirl” Ezra indulges himself.

A lewd thrill of submission floods your veins, making the soft hairs on your body stand on edge. You get off the bed in your best feline impression, wiggling your hips and stretching your limbs. Ezra goes to lie down on the bed and you twirl around sensuously, showing off your new toy for him.

“A rapturous sight you make, dearheart. A balm to my jagged soul”. You can tell he’s satisfied by his lopsided grin.

He taps his chest and looks at you invitingly “alright Kitten, seems like an opportune moment for me to partake. Come take a seat on your Ezra’s face. I want to drink straight from the source.”

You act coy, walking slowly towards him and climbing on top of him to straddle his chest, but in reality, you could be screaming with excitement. This is such an exceptional treat. With just his one arm now, this position helps him be in control and he doesn’t have to worry about collapsing on top of you too heavily. It also gives you the perfect view of his face: his poetic, wandering brown eyes, the messy mop of hair with the shocking blond streak, the nose you have memorised on your fingertips, and the lone scar that makes Ezra uniquely him.

Once you’re close enough, with a knee on either side of Ezra’s ribs, he grabs the backs of your thigh and gently prompts you forward with a light press of his fingers into your skin. He shifts his hold to your hip, guiding your glistening, wet pussy to his luscious mouth. As you feel Ezra’s tongue part your swollen folds and his fingers palm your ass, you moan so loud that you’re sure people three pods down could hear, but neither you nor Ezra care. He loves the delicious sounds his Kitten makes and he wouldn’t smother your voice for anyone.

By now, he is well aware of how you like being teased, and he knows when to relent; it makes your chest flutter, knowing that he’s not only committed your preferences to memory but is always set on indulging them as well.

You feel Ezra’s tongue slither and slide along your swollen slit, and as his fingers peel your blooming lips back to expose your wetness, you shake with the surge of pleasure, throwing your head back with abandon.

Your tail lands on Ezra’s chest, the ‘fur’ so soft on his golden chest and he loves the ticklish sensation of it.

“There’s an inferno inside your delectable cunt, Kitten” you can hear his muffled voice from below you and you can’t help but grind against his mouth harder, chasing his tongue to where you need it most. But Ezra’s in control and doesn’t relent, dipping his tongue inside you and making you mewl pathetically. His nose bumps against your clit and it’s electric, but not enough.

“Please Master, please put your mouth on me” you beg shamelessly, emboldened by sheer need.

“You already have my mouth, Kitten. Don’t be greedy now. Impatience doesn’t a good Kitten make”. You whimper but don’t push your luck. Ezra’s been known to stop if you get too snotty and you couldn’t think of anything worse at the moment.

With each dive of his sinful tongue inside your cunt, you can feel the familiar coil of pleasure tighten in your abdomen. At the same time, Ezra is playing with your tail, pushing and pulling it lightly and the dual sensations and stretch are driving you crazy. You’re close, so close but you need his lips around your clit. You’re panting, practically crying with your unfinished pleasures when Ezra takes pity on you and finally brings his mouth to your throbbing clit, suckling it gently.

That’s all it takes to break you and you cum with a shout of Ezra’s name on your tongue. The waves of pleasure wash over you and clamp your thighs around Ezra’s head but he doesn’t stop. He keeps going and brings you to the brink again. You vaguely register a slick sliding behind you, taking a second to realise that Ezra had wrapped his fingers around his hard length and is stroking himself.

He times his strokes to you riding his mouth. A few more strokes and he cums hard, spilling on his tummy. He moans into your fluttering cunt and that’s enough to drive you over the edge again. He keeps licking you through it and soon you’re too sensitive.

“Ezra please…” you purr and he understands, permitting you to move. You carefully rise and swing your leg over him, and kneel next to him on the bed. His lips and chin are shining with your wetness and you duck your head, feeling debauched.

Ezra lets out a satisfied hum and looks at you dreamily “You always explode on my tongue like stardust, Kitten. I never tire of it.”

“Will you lick me clean, Kitten?”

You’re delighted to be given the chance to taste his spend and clean him. You hinge down at your waist towards his tummy, your ass and tail up in the air, and start gently lapping at his spend, the slight tang of him making your pussy throb again.

Ezra delights in you and that makes you peaceful in yourself. You’re always safe in his hands and he reveres the trust you place in him. Not everyone will understand your relationship but you both do and that’s what matters.

When you finish, Ezra grabs your arm and pulls you towards him. “Come up here, Kitten. Let us travel to the valley of dreams for a while.” You cosy up to his side, satisfied and satiated.

“You are mine, little Kitten, as I am yours. And no more shall we part”.

END

(Yes, the last line is a Nick Cave song 😬)

#ezra x f!reader #ezra prospect fanfiction #ezra fanfiction #ezra fanfic #Ezra x you #kinktober 2022 #t's kinktober #kinktober #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ezra prospect #woc fanfic writer