#ezra prospect x reader

[frannyzooey]

devour (the entire universe)

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: E (additional warnings: harvesting violence, mentions of gore and blood, mentions of cannibalism, love as consumption and all the visuals that come with it, so much fucking and filth and ass play and cum eating it isn’t funny)

My submission for the @pedrostories Secret Santa event, my giftee is @wannab-urs ❤ Merry Christmas, my lovely!

I was so excited when I was given your name (!!) - I absolutely love seeing you on my dash. I tried to take as many things from your list as possible, but the prompt "love as consumption" really inspired this piece. Having never written anything like this before, I really, really hope you like it. A million thank yous to @hier--soir who beta'ed this for me and also gave me the best inspiration and guidance - I couldn't have done it without them. Thank you also to @bageldaddy who put up with my terrible spelling and who always reminds me, in the best way, that less is more ❤

--

CYCLE ONE

The first time you saw him, he stumbled into the field you were working in.  Your head snapping up at the sound of someone coming through the grass, you observed each other for a moment, each of your throwers raised. 

“Now this is something I have never seen in all my time in The Green,” he said. “A little girl.”

Immediately bristling, indignation flashed across your face underneath the glass dome of your helmet. You resented being called that - a little girl. The open prejudice against women harvesters was well known and there was something about his tone that felt mocking in a way you loathed, so you didn’t even dignify his statement with an answer. 

Instead, you held your ground. 

The two of you locked in a silent standoff, he took you in with a tilt of his helmet, assessing the threat you posed. You did the same, taking in his battered yellow suit, his lithe but broad frame. 

Eventually, he lifted his hands in acquiescence and turned, disappearing back into the thick vegetation. 

“A little girl,” you muttered angrily to yourself. Gouging your shovel into the rough soil, you sneered at the remembrance of his tone – as if he was taken aback by your presence. As if you didn’t belong here. 

Three weeks later, you understood the marvel in his initial statement. 

A woman an anomaly on the Green, others saw you as an easy target. Strong-armed out of your gems for the third time in weeks, other harvesters used brute force against your own smaller frame. Repeatedly forcing you into submission, you started to hate both them and yourself; the cruel environment and even crueler inhabitants bending you until you almost broke. 

It was at this point that he stumbled upon you again: only this time, he offered himself to your aid. 

Impressed by your tenacity, he suggested a partnership: your nimble fingers paired with his protection. 

Sitting in the dirt with your suit torn and your case gone, you knew it was foolish to reject his offer of protection, but you did it anyway. 

Both of you knew it was pride talking.

He crouched down in front of you, bringing you face to face. “I don’t see you have much of a choice. Or perhaps you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

You narrowed your eyes in stubbornness. “What’s in it for you?”

He shrugged. “A companion.”

You stiffened, and he shook his head. “Not that sort of companion.” His eyes raked over your form, as if he could see anything under your bulky suit, coming back to your face with a raise of his eyebrows. “Unless you’re interested?”

Your face hardened. “Not a chance. Protection only. Even split.”

He thought for a moment, his face suddenly transforming into something amenable.

“Of course.”

CYCLE TWO

At first, you hated him. 

Couldn’t stand the way he was always talking in that drawl of his, always spewing those endless sentences filled with nonsensical words and even less content. You had come to the Green to work alone in silence, after all. A concept he seemed to despise, given the way he wouldn’t fucking shut up. 

Attempting to ignore his ceaseless talking in the days that followed, you thought all the time about breaking the partnership - especially when you saw just how deceiving he could be with those words of his. It was a resource, you reasoned, to have that type of deception on your side, but what was stopping him from deceiving you? Constantly questioning his true allegiance, you kept your guard up – until the fourth time someone tried to take what was yours. 

He killed them. 

No hesitation, no negotiating. Calculated yet with a glimpse of something feral underneath that flashed in his dark eyes with every plunge of his harvesting knife into the man’s chest, you held your breath as you watched him take out the threat. Your form was frozen, the heavy grunts of his struggle echoing through your helmet. 

Chest heaving and fist gripping a blade covered in thick, dark blood when he rose, his breathing sounded heavy and labored through the radio. His deep voice crackled through, pulling you from your fog. 

“It’s okay, Birdie. Keep digging.”

CYCLE THREE 

Sharing a tent for logistical reasons, you had to get used to his…proximity. 

The careless way he discarded his clothes around the small space, the constant crinkle of Bits Bars. The way he changed his clothes in front of you whether or not you averted your gaze. His scent that clung to everything in that tent: the thin pillow and blanket he gave you, the towels you dried yourself with, the clothing he lent you to sleep in. 

Unused to having anyone in his presence, he was careless with his body and trying to give him some privacy (that he didn’t seem to want, nor need) you strained your eyes attempting not to look at his tanned skin every time he bared it. His body littered with evidence of survival, you wanted to touch every line of puckered skin with your fingertips just to see how it felt. 

Attraction due to proximity, is what you told yourself. 

Imagining the texture and heat of his skin, obsessing about the way his tongue peeked out to dart at his top lip when he was deep in concentration, staring at the size of his hands as he worked to daydream about how filling his fingers would feel inside you. The images haunted your every waking moment, and you tried to ignore them all, including the sleep thick mumbles that left his plush lips while he was dreaming at night. 

The intimate sound drove you mad with arousal, even though you assumed they were nightmares that plagued him…until the sounds changed into something more desperate. Until he said your name, his hips shifting on his cot with intent. 

Your pulse pounding in the dark, you slipped your hand beneath your waistband and delved your fingers deep into the silken wetness that greeted you. 

Swirling, swirling, swirling, you joined him in his dreams. 

CYCLE FOUR

Everything about your dynamic changed when he lost his arm. 

Used to him being confidence brimming over, he turned into something else. Sullen, quiet. The silence you once craved too foreign to be comfortable, you tried to coax him out. 

“You seem like you’ve been doing this a long time. Tell me about it.” 

“How long have you been on your own? How many planets have you harvested on?”

“How did you get that blonde streak in your hair, is it a birthmark or something?”

Slowly inching yourself into the hole he’d lowered himself into, you settled in next to him, curling yourself into his still side. 

Diving deep inside him to find the self-confidence you knew was buried deep, you cradled it carefully, nurturing it back to life. You modified his throwers for one armed use, stitched up the sleeve of his jumpsuit so it would stop flapping in the wind, helped him practice fighting techniques to learn a new way of throwing his lean strength around. When he had a setback in his healing, you bartered for more juice all on your own. 

Carefully soaking his stump, he had avoided your gaze the whole time – or tried to, but you wouldn’t let him. 

“Hey,” you murmured, his chin cupped in your hand. His dark eyes lifted to yours, and you held his gaze. “We’re still partners, right?”

He huffed in disgust, looking away. “A one armed man is of little benefit to you.”

“I decide what’s beneficial to me,” you challenged, the fierceness in your tone forcing the edge of his lips to tug up. 

He said nothing as his eyes searched your face and you considered how this must be for him – a reversal of roles, an independent creature like him used to coming out on top. Scrambling and clawing and fighting for it, sure – only this time he lost, and with it, everything he knew.

Except you. 

“I need you,” you said, reaching for his whiskered cheek to guide his face back to yours. “Partners. You and me, okay?”

“If you’d still have me, Birdie,” he offered, nodding in confirmation. “You and me.”

CYCLE FIVE

The first time you kissed, you were both drunk – and you did a lot more than kissing. 

For a man still getting used to one arm, he fucked you senseless. 

A bottle of…something found on the body of another harvester who saw Ezra’s missing arm and tried to take advantage, the two of you drank it in its entirety next to the still body left in the fight’s wake. Stumbling back to your tent with warmth spreading through your limbs to pool between your thighs, he saw your aching, restless want and matched it with his own. 

Insatiable, filthy, depraved: you thought his inhibitions were gone along with the contents of the bottle, but it turns out he never had any. 

Helmets tossed and clothes torn from each other’s bodies, his fingers left bruising marks in their wake paired with the ones pounded into the inside of your thighs from his rough thrusts that shifted the cot along the floor. He swallowed your guttural moans before matching them with his own, his teeth biting into the soft, pliant flesh that he found under the rough exterior of your suit. 

Riddled with the marks of his desire, he watched you ride him until you cried out his name and then made you sit on his face, licking his own spend out from inside you. 

Never stopping until you begged him for reprieve, he only let you sleep an hour before waking you up to do it all over again. 

He fucked you anywhere you were willing to be fucked after that: in broad daylight against the hull of an abandoned pod, bent over his cot with his dirty t-shirt stuffed into your mouth, right in the loose soil of a dig once. 

Introducing you to so much more than you had experience with, he drew every debased fantasy out of you, and then made it come true with his fingers, mouth and cock. Wondering where he’d even learned the things he knew, he regaled you with more tales of his travels, only this time he told you about the interactions of a different kind. 

A brothel, specializing in bondage. 

A woman who had trained her gag reflex, and then bringing in a friend, had shown Ezra how to train his as well. 

A bounty hunter once, who refused to take off his helmet. 

“It was thrilling, not being able to see his face,” he mused, a delighted smile stretching his cheeks. “He came more than anyone I have ever been with. Filled my mouth full of his milky desire.” 

He stopped there with a fond expression, lost in reminiscing. 

“Sounds like you don’t need me anymore,” you teased. “You should go find your tall drink of bounty hunter, and –”

A smirk graced his face, and he rolled you onto your back to settle above you. “I love my gems golden colored, but I love them green as well.” He winked. “Come now, my envious Birdie. I’ll always need you.”

CYCLE TEN

You learned to move as one - both inside the tent and out. 

Alone for months, you shifted with each others every movement, as if your bodies were connected just like the frequency of your helmets. Every tell of his showed plain through his suit, every mood shift of yours was met with a lift of his eyebrow. 

Every beat of time spent in the presence of one another all merged and blended into one timeline: before, and after Ezra. 

Before, there was insignificance, and after, there was only him. 

Love seemed too simple a word, too small for what you felt. You shared a heartbeat, a body, a mind — something more than just love. It was crushing and all consuming, something that took root deep inside you and branched out to connect with his own limbs. You needed a better word than love to describe your devotion. 

Something that dripped in reverence and coated your tongue just like he did. 

“Have you ever cared for someone so much you wanted to consume them? Swallow a piece of them whole, to keep within you forever?”

Love as consumption, he called it. 

You were used to his musings by now, the knowledge that he’d gathered over a lifetime of travels pouring out of his generous, plush mouth. Your bodies squeezed together on his cot, your skin was bare and sweat damp with exertion, your limbs intertwined with his. “There is something romantic about it, don’t you think? Wanting their body within yours.”

“Your body is already within mine nearly every night,” you teased, and he pinched the tip of your nose, grinning. 

“Too true, little bird. Too true.” His face shifted from playful to something subdued. “But you know what I mean.”

“Is that what you want me to do?” Your thumb traced a line across his eyebrow, your fingers seeking out the patch of white in his hairline just above.  “Want me to slice a piece of you off and eat it?”

He ignored the grimace on your face. “Which part of me would you choose?”

The question was phrased in such a way that you could tease him again, but you knew he wanted a real answer, not a playful one. 

“Well…” you thought, lacing your fingers with his to bring them to your mouth. “I have always loved these. But to leave you with any less fingers would just be cruel.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes fixed on the way your mouth molded around his knuckles as you gave them a kiss. Letting go, your touch drifted to dance along the blunt edge of his stump.

“Maybe a piece from here?”

He frowned. “You’d take even more from me, in a place I am already lacking?”

Your voice dropped an octave, your own expression turning solemn. “It was horrible, what we had to do. I hate thinking about it: the weight of your arm as it dropped away, the pain you were in.” You found his dark eyes, holding his gaze as you stroked the puckered flesh. “I want to carve a piece out right here, just to rewrite the memory of it. A gift from you to me, rather than something I took.”

“You took nothing that I did not beg you to take.”

The double meaning in his words – like all of them – wasn’t lost on either of you. 

“Only you would make amputation sound so romantic.”

He smiled, and you dug your fingers into the firm round of his shoulder, pulling his body to lie on top of yours. Cradled safely between your plush thighs, his hips immediately rocked forward with intent. 

His head dipped to nuzzle his nose against your own. “It’s easy to be a romantic with a muse such as you.”

Catching him with a kiss, your lips locked as he slid his tongue inside the wet cavern of your mouth and you breathed him in, winding your arms around his neck to keep him in place. Your fingers slid up through the crown of his mussed, shortly cropped hair and he relaxed on top of you, deepening the kiss. 

“I would give you my arm if I could.” 

You whispered your confession as his mouth covered your pulse with a harsh suck, and whined when he answered with a sharp bite: his incisors pinching your delicate flesh. His hot breath ghosted humid over your skin as he searched for another spot, biting down on the other side of your slim neck. 

Arching underneath him, you continued. “I would cut it off and give it to you.” 

He found the tender underside of your breast, catching it between his teeth and groaned, soothing the bite with a broad sweep of his tongue before continuing down the plane of your body. 

“I would give you anything, Ez. Anything.”

Mindless with lust from the sharp edges of his love, you writhed underneath him, hitching your knees higher along his torso. His strong muscles flexed and shifted under the squeeze of your legs, and he forced them open to spread your legs wider. Questing, his mouth sought out the tender skin along the curve of your hip with another bite. 

“Fuck,” you breathed, pushing your fingers through his hair to guide him lower. 

Situating his broad shoulders between your thighs, his mouth devoured.

Wide open to catch everything you gifted him, his tongue slid smoothly through your folds to collect every slip of arousal that dripped out, his throat bobbing with a swallow before going harder. His hunger shifted you up the cot, the lower half of his face buried inside your aching cunt and when his tongue found your clit with a smooth, forceful grind, you shamelessly begged for more. 

“Harder. Eat it harder.”

He growled, his fingers digging into your flesh to tug you tight against his face and a hoarse cry crawled out of your throat – one that broke into an astonished cry when he pulled back just to bite into the plush, smooth skin of your inner thigh. This one drew blood – you could feel the hot slip of it against your skin, his kisses smeared with it. Ignoring the blossoming throb of pain, you asked him to do it again. 

He did, right at the same time he slid two fingers inside you with a filling stretch and joining your hand with his, he rested his cheek on your inner thigh and watched as your fingers breached your slick warmth together. A finger of your own and one of his, then two of your own and two of his - your hands worked together, as they always have. His face right next to the liquid warmth coating the digits, his tongue joined to lap at your clit. 

Obscene sounds filled the small tent: the audible slick sound of your cunt accepting his fingers over and over again, your higher pitched moans blending with his lower ones. Keeping his fingers tucked snugly inside, his mouth lowered down between your cheeks to slide against your asshole and he ate you there with abandon as well, your thighs dropping open wider to give him more room. 

When his mouth found your clit again with a suck, the impulse to be eaten alive by him spread thick and warm through your hips, weighing heavily in your core. Propelled higher and higher with every pump of his fingers, the image of his blood soaked mouth as his teeth tore into your pulse made you pitch forward into your release, your body bowing against the thin cot. 

Breathless and still riding a pulsing wave, you begged him. “Come up here and fuck me.”

He obeyed immediately, letting his weight push the air from your lungs just before his mouth stole the rest. His kisses soaked in desperation, his cock notched thick and stiff at your entrance, and you accepted him within you without any resistance. Fucking you with harsh snaps of his hips, your fingers dug into the meat of his ass and surrounded in his warmth with the light blacked out by his broad frame, your lips found a home on his bicep that flexed taut next to your cheek.

Your body cradled within his, the humid air around you pulsing with life. The rhythmic woosh of his strong heartbeat, the safety you’d feel within the damp darkness, finally joined as one. 

His strokes snapped harder, his own want matching yours. His mouth ached to bite your soft lips, to nibble on the skin until it broke under the force of his love. 

His harvesting knife slipped between his ribs to crack them open, gifting you everything held inside. Feeding you bits and pieces of his heart, watching the muscle that’s only ever beat for you disappear between your lips. 

“Where do you want it, Birdie?” he begged above you, his mouth molding around the hinge of your jaw, tasting the sweet skin there. “I’m gonna come. Shit – shit. Where do you want it?”

“Inside me.”

A shudder slipped through his body as he came with a loud, sated groan, his hips forcing themselves into the cradle of your thighs to bury it as deep as possible – but he wasn’t done. He was never done, when it came to you. Before he could catch his breath, he slid his softening cock from your warmth and replaced it with his fingers, crooking them to gather the milky spend. 

Bringing them up to your mouth, he fed it to you. 

Glistening tendrils of release coated his fingers and your lips, smeared across your tongue when he forced them into your mouth and then sliding them out, he kissed you deeply, savoring your joined taste. He gathered more, this time shifting his touch to the tight ring of your ass and he pushed some in there as well, your hips arched up to accept it. 

Sweat, spend, blood: he consumed them all and likewise fed them to you. Hours slipped by, his appetite for you insatiable: forcing you onto your hands and knees to eat you roughly from behind, filling your ass with his cock before pulling out to spill hot across your lower back, smearing it over your skin like a balm, his fingers tacky with it when he wrapped them around your slender throat and made you take him again. Riding him, your fingers sought out the wet heat of his mouth and he kissed and nibbled on them, before drawing them in with a suck. 

The vast universe outside the tent was a threatening thing: harsh and unforgiving, ruthless and deadly. Inside the tent, tendrils of filthy intimacy surrounded your bodies as you orbited each other, creating your own universe between the sweat damp press of your bodies. 

“You and me,” he breathed under you, his teeth catching on the pads of your fingers and you dropped down, resting your mouth just under the whiskered curve of his jaw. His pulse a rapid beat under the skin, you relished the strength held just under the surface. 

“You and me,” you replied, your mouth opening wide.

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect/you #ezra prospect/reader #ezra prospect x reader #pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories

[beskarandblasters]

Voyeuristic Tendencies

Din Djarin x F!Reader x Ezra

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist | Ezra Masterlist

Author’s note: I tend not to get horny writing my own smut but there’s a part towards the end that just… did it for me ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) No spoilers but I’ll reveal what it is in the end note. Thank you to @pedgito for beta reading 🤍

Summary: In an AU where the worlds of The Mandalorian and Prospect collide, you and Din are business partners and Ezra finds himself on Nevarro after escaping the Green. You both agree to let Ezra join your partnership but unbeknownst to Din, you and Ezra form a sexual relationship. What will happen once Din finds out?

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), post the events of Prospect, oral sex (M and F receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating, voyeurism, MFM threesome, light angst, jealousy, pet names (gem and cyar’ika), no use of y/n

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs

You and Din weren’t looking to add anyone to your little crew. Grogu went off to train with the Jedi and his absence strained the strictly business relationship you two had. But one day while wandering the marketplace on Nevarro, you encountered a strange man who babbled endlessly. His name was Ezra. He told you and Din that he just left a moon you’ve never heard of; the Green. He told you that he got separated from his old partner, a girl named Cee. And he told you he just recently lost his right arm. He spoke with an accent that you couldn’t quite place where it was from. But all in all, you felt bad for him. 

Din, on the other hand, didn’t want anything to do with Ezra.

“He sounds like a scammer,” Din said. 

“Aw, come on. He seems nice. And he’s in need.”

“You can’t replace Grogu with a strange one-armed man,” Din sighed. 

“Please? It would be nice to have an extra person to help out. Especially if Grogu comes back…” you said. 

Well, when you put it like that… How could Din refuse?

-

You’re walking through the marketplace, hoping to find Ezra again. He couldn’t have gotten far. From what you gathered he tends to hang out around here and somehow sweet-talk the vendors into giving him food. Maybe Din wasn’t too far off when he said Ezra was a scammer…

Whatever, you still want to help him. 

And there Ezra is, at the produce stand, holding a vegetable in his one hand while sweet-talking the vendor. You watch the exchange take place, Ezra using his big lofty words to coerce the vendor into giving him more. And it works, the vendor grabs a bag and puts a few more vegetables in it before handing it off to Ezra with a smile. Maybe it would be nice to have someone with that kind of skill on your crew. 

Ezra turns and walks away, crossing paths with you and Din. He stops and smiles when he sees you, face contorting into a lopsided grin. 

“Fancy meeting you two here,” Ezra says. The sunlight beaming down lights up the blond patch of hair on his head perfectly. 

“You’re here every day,” Din deadpans. 

“Well Mr. Tin Man, it seems I have no place else to go, nowhere to call my own.”

Mr. Tin Man. Din’s gonna hate that nickname. In fact, you can tell he does by the way his fists are clenching and unclenching at his sides. If you want Ezra to join your crew, you’re gonna have to diffuse the situation. 

“He was joking. You were joking, right Din?” you say, nudging Din with your elbow. 

“Yep.”

This is never going to work. 

“Listen, Ezra, we were wondering if… you wanted to join our crew?”

“Really?”

“Yeah but not for free. You have to put in work like we do,” Din buts in. 

“I ain’t no mooch, Mr. Tin Man or should I say Din.”

“You’d have to help if the Razor Crest needed repairs, or if we needed to gain intel for a bounty, or if we had to go shopping for supplies, or-”

“I can offer protection,” Ezra says. 

“I have that covered,” Din says matter-of-factly. 

“Are you in?” you ask. 

Without any hesitation, Ezra says, “I’ll take you up on your philanthropic offer. Thank you for your kindness.”

“Alright then. Let’s show him the Razor Crest!” you say to Din. 

Without a word, Din turns and leads you out of the marketplace to the outskirts of town where the Razor Crest is parked. 

“Here she is!” you say, gesturing to the Crest. 

“Fine looking ship you got there, Din,” Ezra says, shooting Din a smirk. But Din doesn’t acknowledge him. Ezra turns to you and says, “Don’t think I caught your name, little birdie.”

Your cheeks heat up in response to the nickname but you tell him your name. He repeats it to himself and smiles as Din lowers the ramp to the Razor Crest. You show Ezra around the Crest and it seemed so spacious up until now…

“One question for ya, Din. Where am I supposed to sleep?”

This is the third time he’s used Din’s name in the short time you’ve known each other. You should’ve never let it slip. You should’ve just referred to him as Mando in front of Ezra because you know under the helmet Din is physically recoiling every time Ezra says his name. 

“Hammocks?” you suggest, looking up at the metal ceiling. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Din says. 

“Well, what do you suggest?” you ask.

“Two people can fit in the bunk and one person can sleep in the cockpit. We can just rotate each time.”

“Aw, that’s cute, Din. You wanna cuddle up in the bunk together?” Ezra asks, putting his one arm around Din. 

You try to stifle a laugh as Din sighs and removes Ezra’s arm.

“You two can take the bunk. I’ll take the cockpit,” Din says.

“Can’t complain about that, gem,” Ezra says, shooting you a wink paired with a smirk.

“I’m going to the Guild to pick up a job. Be back later,” Din says, briskly exiting the Crest and heading off to town again.

“Is he always a real stick in the mud?” Ezra asks.

“No! No, I mean he means well. He’s just…”

“Awkward? Strict? Stiff as a board?”

“Set in his ways,” you answer.

“Think he’ll be gone a while?” Ezra asks, taking a step closer to you. 

“Probably. Karga talks a lot.”

“Better for us,” he says, slipping his arm around your waist, “I got a way to keep us busy. What do you say, gem?”

For a long time, you were attracted to Din but he never seemed to show you any signs of affection. So, you let your silly little crush die out. But here’s Ezra who has no problem showing you and telling you how much he wants you. You can’t deny that he’s attractive. His loquacious way of… never shutting up has a strange hold on you. 

“Why not?” you smirk, “Where do you want to-”

“Oh, I thought about that,” he says, pulling you to the refresher.

The door closes behind you and he says, “Bend over for me, gem.”

You do as you’re told, watching him sink to the floor in the reflection in the mirror. He pulls your pants and underwear down in one clean motion, coaxing you to spread your thighs a little. His tongue grazes your cunt, causing you to jolt a bit in shock.

“L-Like this?” you ask with a shaky breath, painfully aware of how close you are to the mirror; aware of every detail on your face as you’re being pleasured. 

“Mhm, just like that, gem. Want you to watch your pretty face as you cum,” he hums against your thigh before going back in for another lick at your cunt. 

“O-Okay,” you breathe out.

He buries his face in between your thighs, nose rubbing against your cunt. He wraps his arm around your legs, pulling you taut against his face. As he eats you out, your knees buckle underneath you. Your body shudders while pleasure builds in your core and threatens to spill over. A moan escapes your lips and you try your hardest to keep your eyes open, the tingling feeling about to break loose. But just when you’re about to cum, Ezra pulls his face back, planting kisses on the back of your thigh.

“Doin’ so good for me, gem. Makin’ all those pretty sounds for me. But you better be keepin’ those eyes open, got it?”

“Mhm,” you moan.

“Yes, sir,” he corrects, nipping at your thigh.

You let out a sharp gasp followed by a meek, “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he says against your cunt, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

He returns to licking, lapping, and pleasuring your cunt. Soon enough, the small refresher is filled with your moans and squelching, wet sounds of Ezra eating you out. And this time, he lets you have it– your orgasm. Your cunt flutters around nothing, muscles contracting and releasing erratically. Your wetness soaks his face and your knees threaten to fully give out underneath you. 

Once you’re done coming, he rises from the floor, helping you stay stable on your feet before you reach down to pull up your pants. Before you can even address what just happened, you hear the sound of the Razor Crest’s exit ramp being lowered. You hastily grab a towel and hand it to Ezra to wipe his face before dashing out of the refresher. Din catches the tail end of both of you leaving, tilting his helmet to the side. 

“Oh, I was just showing him how to use the refresher,” you say quickly as Din seals the Crest.

“They don’t work like that where I’m from,” Ezra says, “And we usually just call ‘em bathrooms.”

“Bathrooms?” Din says, thinking nothing of you and Ezra being cramped into the small refresher together. 

“Bathrooms,” Ezra affirms.

“That makes no sense. You’re not taking a bath every time you go in there,” Din says, walking past Ezra towards the ladder to the cockpit.

“That’s just what we call ‘em,” Ezra shrugs.

“So, did you pick up a job?” you ask, changing the subject.

“Mhm. We’re off to Tatooine tomorrow,” he says, climbing up the ladder and getting settled in the cockpit.

“Oh, okay… Well, goodnight,” you call up to him.

“G’night, Din,” Ezra says.

Ezra shoots you a suggestive smirk as both of you head to the bunk, crawling into the cramped space. You both rest on your sides, his body pressed up against yours. You just assumed you would go to sleep now, but the bulge poking your ass says otherwise.

“What do you say we pick up where we left off?” Ezra whispers in your ear. 

“Sounds good to me” you giggle.

He shifts to the edge of the cot, resting on his knees.

“Hands and knees, gem,” he commands.

You move to rest on all fours. Ezra hastily pulls your pants and underwear down again, just low enough for him to gain access to your cunt that’s still soaked. You shudder as his hand collects some of your wetness, slathering his cock and thrusting into you. A deep moan escapes your lips, prompting Ezra to say, “Shh, gem. Can’t let the tin man hear us.”

You nod and bite your lip, doing your best to stay quiet as Ezra rails you. His cock expands your walls with each thrust, hitting the deepest, most pleasurable angles inside you. It’s been so long since you’d had sex since working with Din and your body needed this. Ezra feels your cunt clench around him, knowing you’re on the edge of release.

He leans forward, whispering in your ear, “Gonna cum for me already, gem?”

“Mhm,” you whisper, choking back a moan.

“Do it,” he softly commands, slamming his lips into you.

You cum around his cock, reveling in the feeling of being full finally. Your orgasm triggers his own, spilling his cum inside you. He does his best to bite back his sounds of pleasure as he pants your walls, thrusting into you one final time before pulling out. You collapse against the bunk, truly spent. Ezra returns to his position beside you, pulling up your pants as you nestle yourself against him.

“Get some sleep, gem. You had a big night,” Ezra whispers.

You nod and feel sleep start to settle in but before you’re out, you whisper, “Welcome to the team, Ez.”

He chuckles against you, kissing your head before the both of you fall asleep.

-

That night was the start of your sexual relationship with Ezra. You two found time to fit in sex whenever Din wasn’t around, which was hard. Especially considering the cramped nature of the Razor Crest. There were a few close calls, times where you both were convinced Din caught you. But he never said anything, continuing like normal. So, you and Ezra told yourselves you were in the clear. 

That couldn’t be farther from the truth. The reality is that Din had caught you. He just didn’t make his presence known until you were done. He would hide quietly, listening to the way you were being fucked in his bunk. It made his cock twitch in his fight suit. He would listen to your moans in the refresher, listen to the way you rode Ezra’s cock in the cockpit– he listened to it all. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled his cock out, stroking it as he eavesdropped on you and Ezra. But he could never bring himself to tell you that he caught you, wanting to keep his dirty little secret to himself. As far as he was concerned, you were getting off and so was he. Why mess up a good system; a well-oiled machine?

It’s been a few standard weeks since Ezra joined the crew. Din’s walking back from the Guild, bounty puck in hand with your next destination. He thinks about how you and Ezra are probably glued to each other right now. The thought makes his cock hard but now’s not the time. It’s time to head to Sorgan. 

He lowers the exit ramp and heads inside, just like always you and Ezra are far away from each other but sweaty and flustered as if you hastily pulled yourselves apart. 

“Get ready to take off,” Din says.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Sorgan,” he replies.

“Never been,” you say, climbing up the ladder to the cockpit. Ezra follows behind you, sitting in one of the passenger seats. 

“It’s a primitive place. But I have contacts there. Maybe we can all sleep in a real bed before heading back to Nevarro,” Din says. 

“You know someone there?” you ask as Din prepares the Crest for takeoff.

“Yep. The kid and I stayed with a nice widow for a few weeks,” Din says, turning to look at you.

An unreadable expression washes over your face as you think about what he just said. He doesn’t quite understand what’s so confusing about what he told you but he turns his chair back to the control panel and takes off.

The truth is… you’re seething with jealousy. What do you mean he stayed with a widow? For a few weeks, too. Your mind is already going to the worst possible conclusion– that he fucked that widow. And you couldn’t be more jealous; couldn’t be more mad at him. You’ve been practically throwing yourself at him since you started working together. When he didn’t pick up on your advances, you just assumed he wasn’t a very sexual person. But he can stay with a woman for weeks at a time?? And feel comfortable enough to reconnect with her again?? You’re pissed.

You look out the window into the abyss of space, saying nothing more for the rest of the journey. 

-

Once Din lands on Sorgan he sets off to capture the bounty, leaving you and Ezra alone in the Crest. 

“We’ll head into the village when I’m back,” Din says, turning and leaving, his cape billowing in the wind. 

You say nothing, sitting on a crate in the storage area of the Crest with your arms folded. Ezra sits beside you, hand running up your thigh.

“Wanna get busy?” he asks suggestively.

“No. Not in the mood,” you say coldly.

Ezra moves to the floor, kneeling before you and looking up at you.

“What’s wrong, gem? You’ve been so quiet ever since Din told us we were coming here.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you grumble.

“Don’t be cryptic with me, gem. I know you’re bothered by something,” he says softly.

“Fine,” you sigh, “I’m just… jealous.”

“About the widow?”

“Yeah… How’d you know?”

“Figured as much. Anyone with a set of eyes can see you have feelings for Din.”

“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Now now. You don’t know that for sure. I get the sense that the tin man isn’t… in touch with his feelings.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right about that,” you chuckle.

“All I know is that I’m real fond of you, gem,” he says, interlocking his hand with yours.

“I know… I feel the same way… Which is why I should just forget about him,” you decide. You lean forward and kiss him before deciding to spend your time just leaning against each other on the crates.

Soon enough, Din returns with the bounty, a big, burly human male. He shoves the bounty into the carbonite freezer before leading the way to the village. As you walk there, Ezra says, “You know… This place isn’t too much different than the Green.”

“How so?” you ask.

“The forest,” he says.

“Is it nice? You know, to be reminded of the Green?”

“Not really. The air was toxic and I was stranded there for Kevva knows how long.”

“Kevva?” you ask.

“Kevva is like… the Maker for your folk.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, not asking any more questions. The more you learn about him and where he came from the more confused you get. 

Eventually, you reach the outskirts of the village and as soon as people notice Din, they swarm him.

“The Mandalorian is back!”

“He came back for us!”

“Does he have the baby?”

Groups of men, women, and children surround him. But one woman with long dark hair just smiles softly at him, approaching him once the commotion dies down. You assume this has to be the widow by the way she seems so enamored with him. 

“Welcome back,” she says. Once she’s noticed you and Ezra she says, “And you brought friends.”

He introduces you and Ezra to the woman and you learn her name is Omera.

“No Cara this time?” she asks.

Another woman? What the kriff??

“No Cara this time,” he affirms. 

“Well you’re still welcomed here just the same,” she says.

The sun is starting to set and the sky is turning brilliant shades of pink and purple. 

“If it’s not too much trouble, could we stay here for the night before we leave in the morning?”

“Of course,” she says, turning and leading you further into the village. Watching them interact makes your stomach swirl with jealousy but you try to remind yourself of what Ezra said earlier. But it’s not hard to react to the way she smiles at him, the way she grabs his arm, and the way he seems so comfortable with her. 

“How much space do you need? I assume you want a place for yourself so you can remove your helmet,” she says as you walk. 

“Two huts would be fine. Thank you,” Din says. She nods and leads you to the first one, giving it to you and Ezra.

“See you in the morning, tin man,” Ezra says, bidding Din goodnight. Omera chuckles at the nickname and leads Din to his hut. Your fists clench and unclench at your sides as you watch them disappear deeper into the village.

“Come on, gem,” Ezra says, grabbing your hand and bringing you into the hut. There are two cots inside you know you’ll only need one. You sit down on one of them and Ezra sits beside you. 

“Let’s get busy,” Ezra purrs in your ear.

You shiver and say, “Kriff yes,” palming the growing bulge in Ezra’s pants. You move to the floor, kneeling before him. But Ezra stands up, wanting to tower over you as you suck him off. You pull his cock out of his pants, cupping his balls and kissing his groin. He groans and throws his head back in pleasure, reaching his arm up to one of the wood beams on the ceiling. You take him in your mouth, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock and keeping the other hand cupping his balls. You suck your cheeks in and keep your tongue flat on the underside of his cock. The new, more intense sensation has him cursing under his breath. 

“Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Just like that, gem,” he moans, smirking down at you. You hum, sending waves of pleasure down his shaft. He lets out another moan, this one deeper and louder than the last. But both of you freeze when you suddenly hear a twig snap outside.

“Who’s there?” Ezra calls out. You swear you hear a modulated sigh.

“Din?”

No reply.

“Come on, Din. I know you’re there. Just come inside,” Ezra says. Before you have time to take his cock out of your mouth and protest, Din enters the hut with a bulge in his flight suit.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Ezra laughs. You take his cock out of your mouth and keep your gaze off of Din. Ezra notices the bulge in Din’s flight suit, too, and puts two and two together.

“How long you been spyin’ on us?”

“Wait what?” you ask, looking up at Ezra and glancing over at Din. 

“What? I have not. I-” Din starts but Ezra cuts him off.

“Might as well tell the truth. Get everything out on the table,” Ezra smirks.

“For the past few weeks,” Din admits.

Your mouth falls open in shock. It’s only been a few weeks since Ezra joined your crew. Has he been listening in on you this whole time?

“Well, stop watching and join us,” Ezra says.

You look back up at Ezra, prompting him to add, “Well only if it’s okay with you, gem. Though I’m sure you’ve been waiting for this…”

“Waiting?” Din asks.

“Oh, yeah. This one’s been pining for you from the start. You’ve just been too dumb to notice. That helmet must be too thick,” Ezra chuckles.

“You have?” Din asks, his visor fixed on you.

You’re too embarrassed to answer so Ezra does for you. 

“She’s wanted you this whole time, tin man. Just fix this by joining us.”

Ezra lets go of the wooden beam above him and reaches down to grab your chin. 

“Think you took care of me long enough, gem. What do you say I eat that pretty pussy of yours?” Ezra says, swiping away the mixture of his pre-cum and your saliva dripping down your chin with his thumb. 

You nod and rise from the floor, shedding your clothes. You lie down on the cot, goosebumps prickling your skin as both men tower over you. Ezra moves to the foot of the cot and kneels, hooking his arms around your thighs and pulling you into his face. He moans at your taste, licking at your wet cunt while Din stands by your side, stroking his cock. You look over at it and somehow it’s everything you imagined it would be; long, thick, and uncut. Pre-cum beads at the head of Din’s cock, spreading down his shaft as he strokes himself. You pull your gaze from Din as Ezra flicks his tongue around your clit, looking up at you with a mischievous look in his eye. He pulls away for a second to kiss your thigh and tease Din because he can truly never shut up.

“Bet you wish you could have a taste, don’t you, Din?”

Din lets out a strained moan, cursing under his breath.

“Yes…” he admits.

“Let me help you out with that,” Ezra smirks.

Ezra slides two fingers into you without warning, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. He curls his fingers before pulling them out, taking a large amount of your wetness with them. He stands and walks over to Din, holding his hand out.

“Try it for yourself,” Ezra says slyly, “You don’t have to take off your helmet. I know you got a creed and all.”

With a shaky hand, Din lifts his helmet, just enough to expose his mouth. You feel rude trying to sneak a glance but how can you not watch Din sucking your wetness off of Ezra’s fingers. Ezra places his fingers in Din’s mouth, watching as he tastes your slick. He pulls his fingers from Din’s mouth and Din lowers his helmet again.

“What do you think? Tastes real good, doesn’t it?” Ezra says.

“So sweet,” Din moans. 

“See, gem. Look what you do to us,” Ezra chuckles, returning to his place on the floor.

He swirls his tongue around your clit and replaces his fingers inside you. You look back over at Din whose gaze is fixed on you, hand wrapped around his cock, jerking off to the sigh of Ezra eating you out. You cum hard against Ezra’s face and hand, moaning so pretty for both of your men. Ezra moans at the feeling of his face getting soaked, letting you ride out your orgasm on his fingers before pulling them out of you. He stands and looks over at Din. 

“You fuck her since I’ve been doing it this whole time already,” Ezra says. 

Din nods and takes Ezra's place at the foot of the cot. You inch up a bit so he has room to situate himself between your thighs. He thrusts into you slowly, face to face with his visor. You gasp as he expands your walls, his cock burying itself deeper and deeper inside you. The modulated moans slipping out from under his helmet only make you more and more turned on. He slams his hips into you repeatedly, building up your pleasure higher until it feels like it’s coming to a head. Off to the side, you hear Ezra jerking off and moaning but you keep your eyes locked on Din and the way he’s fucking you relentlessly.

“Din, I’m gonna cum,” you moan. 

“Let me feel it, cyar’ika,” he commands. 

With one final slam of his hips into you, you’re coming around his cock. Tears spring in the corners of your eyes as he fucks you through your high. He cums, too, his orgasm triggered by the way you convulse around him. His thrusts become sloppier until he stops, waiting until every last drop of his cum is released inside you. He pulls out and stands up, looking down at your cunt and the mess you made. 

“That was quite a show you two put on,” Ezra says, still standing beside you and stroking his cock, “Think you can help me out here, gem?”

You nod and sit up, taking his cock in your mouth. It doesn’t take long for him to cum. He brought himself to the brink of orgasm watching Din fuck you. You swallow his release, taking on the other man’s cum. But once he’s done he pulls himself out of your mouth and smirks at the both of you.

“That was a long time coming,” he says, sitting down on the other cot.

You lie down on the cot and try to catch your breath, exhausted from the evening’s activities. 

“You need to rest, cyar’ika,” Din says, kneeling beside you.

“Stay with us,” Ezra says.

“Yeah, Din, stay with us,” you plead, making room for him on the cot.

He pauses for a moment but ultimately decides he wants to sleep with you, wanting to feel your body pressed up against his.

“Why not?” he says, scooching in beside you.

“Same time tomorrow night?” Ezra asks.

“Sounds good to me,” you say.

“Deal,” Din says.

“Goodnight, team!” Ezra chuckles. 

And with that, you all fall asleep satisfied with the night’s events and happy that the tension has finally dissipated. 

End note: Lmao it was the part where Ezra gathers the readers wetness on his fingers and Din lifts up his helmet slightly to get a taste ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Tag list: @suzdin @survivingandenduring @hellfire-state-of-mind @max--phillips @pamasaur @apesarecuul @whxtedreams @criticalarchitecture @katw474 @corazondebeskar @clawdee @elvinaa @yorksgirl @pedrostylez @alltheotps @venturawriter @ezrasversion @wtfc-huh @hiddenbabynyc @stagerightlauren @lokislittle @raisinghellionsblog @rubyfruitjungle @pedroshotwifey @fawnosblog @bqoak @camzzn @dindjarins-big-tiddy-goth-gf @glycerinrivers @for-a-longlongtime @pedrostories

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin fanfiction #ezra prospect fanfiction #ezra prospect x reader #ezra x reader #prospect 2018 #ezra prospect #prospect movie #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #star wars fanfiction #din djarin smut #pedrostories #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #ezra x f!reader

[palioom]

welcome to my very first kinktober 🖤

below you'll find all of the characters & prompts in one place, enjoy! last updated 31/10/23

pegging/leather & latex - maxwell lord

titfucking - ezra

hate sex - agent whiskey

teratophilia - max phillips

sweat - javier peña

dubcon - joel miller

waxplay - oberyn martell

breeding kink - oberyn martell

lactation kink - oberyn martell

praise kink - oberyn martell

sensory deprivation - agent whiskey

somnophilia - dieter bravo

size difference - joel miller

orgasm denial - maxwell lord

shotgunning - dieter bravo

double penetration in one hole - javier peña

threesome - oberyn martell (& ellaria sand)

spanking - frankie morales

uniform - javier peña

mind control - max phillips

panties & lingerie - joel miller

bondage - agent whiskey

deepthroating - dave york

sex toys - agent whiskey

pregnancy - marcus moreno

overstimulation - oberyn martell

double penetration in two holes - dieter bravo

body worship - joel miller

breathplay - ezra

free use - pero tovar

free day/public sex - oberyn martell

#kinktober 2023 #kinktober #pedro pascal #maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #oberyn martell #oberyn martell x reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #javier peña #javier peña x reader #max phillips #max phillips x reader #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #dave york #dave york x reader #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #ellaria sand #my writing

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 𝐆𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋.

DAY THREE OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: priest au + “worship me. until i tell you to stop.”

pairing: priest!ezra x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, dark content

summary: after a breakup, you find solaca at the local church. there, you meet father ezra.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: dubcon, manipulation, brief mention of reader going through a breakup, reader having a brief anxiety attack, reader having confidence issues, loneliness, messy blowjob, degradation, leg humping, dirty talk, facial, power imbalance, dumbification if you squint, use of whore, religious themes, this is written for horny purposes only, priest kink, a lot of 'yes father's and 'forgive me father's

Comfort is what leads you to your local church.  

You wouldn’t exactly say you’re a believer, but coming to the church and sticking wishing candles into the sandy surface was one of your finest memories from your childhood. You enjoy the chocolaty smell of the wooden benches, the stained large panes of the windows that cast vibrant rainbows upon the polished floor when the sun hits them just right. 

When you sit on the bench, surrounded by a calm dimness and silent prayers, you feel contented, like the world outside doesn’t exist. 

You feel lonely out there in the modern world, especially after your breakup, which was the turning point that led you to the adorned wooden doors of the church in the first place. It wasn’t a messy breakup, still, it left you in shambles. He’d moved on so quickly. Just picking up his clothes and throwing them into the bag before he left. It broke your heart if you’re being honest. He was never overly affectionate or necessarily cared about the things you cared about, but it was better than being utterly alone. 

Just a little bit of comfort. That’s all you want. Just a sense of belonging. 

Here at the church, the sense of commune affects you, even if you’re not exactly a part of it. 

Sitting at the edge of the bench, you look up. The church is empty today due to the heavy downpour, there’s only one more person other than you. They’re busy in prayer so you don’t stare at them for long, not wanting to be rude. 

Your eyes move away from the person, they linger on the confessionals. You always found the idea appealing in some twisted way. As if asking for forgiveness from some random man will solve all your problems. You never went it, always feeling too paranoid that someone might hear how stupid you sound. 

The person finishes their prayer, and as they walk down the middle, you notice it was a youngish man, his hair stuck to his forehead. His steps echo, a second later the sound of his departure rings dull against the cold walls. 

You rise slowly, eyes once again fixed on the booths. They’re barely noticeable thanks to how dimly lit the church is, and with no sun there’s little light to guide you. 

You’re not even sure a Father will assist you when you open the door to the small space. It creaks loudly and your skin crawls. You’re hesitant, yet you still climb inside and take a seat. It’s small, dark, and smells overwhelmingly of wood. It’s oddly comforting. 

You’re unsure what to do with yourself until you hear the door opening and closing from the other side of the booth. 

“Welcome. I am Father Ezra, and I am here to listen, guide, and offer you the grace of God's forgiveness. As sunlit moments blend with shadows, so too do our lives weave intricate tales of both frailty and strength. With open ears and an open heart, I beckon you to unburden your spirit. When you're ready, please share your thoughts, knowing that your words are heard in the spirit of compassion and understanding.” 

Your eyes widen at the sound of his voice. He doesn’t rush his speech, taking time as if every sentence is a story of its own. It’s so smooth, enticing, beckoning you to pour all the darkness that lingers around your heart. You’re surprised to find yourself wanting to hear more of that honey-dipped voice. 

Father Ezra, you’ve heard his name before and from afar, even laid eyes on him. You can barely remember what he looks like now though. You certainly never heard him during sermons, you would’ve definitely remembered his voice if you had. 

You’re pulled away from your thoughts when you hear a creak and a soft flutter of a robe. 

“Sorry,” you say, quick and silent. “This is my first time doing this and I didn’t really have a prepared thing in mind.” 

His soft chuckle echoes—god, why does he sound so good? 

“Sweet, lost, little bird, you do not need to rush it. You can start by introducing yourself. Tell me your name.” 

A shudder that starts from your toes claws all the way up to your spine. All he did was ask your name, yet, it feels like he’s asking for something drastic like your life. You swallow around the know in your throat, lowering your gaze even though there’s no one that can see you. 

You give him your name and something you can’t discern shifts in the air. 

“What a lovely name,” he hums. “Now tell me, what troubles you on this rainy day.” 

“Nothing specific,” a sigh parts your lips, and again, a creak comes through the other side. Your skin prickles. You can feel as if his eyes can see through the thin wall that separates you both. “I’m feeling a bit lonely. I—I went through a break up a couple of weeks ago and. . . I guess I can’t help but feel it’s my fault somehow.” 

You wait for him to say something, but when he doesn’t, you continue. 

“This might sound dumb—” 

“There is no such thing,” you can almost hear the smile in his voice. “There’s no shame in asking for guidance and forgiveness.” 

“There were these things. . . that he said about me. Things like I was too needy, too dependent, and too much overall. And I feel like it’s true because no one ever seems to stay with me,” you let out a bitter chuckle as tears begin to well in your eyes. “I don’t know why I’m like this, maybe—maybe God is punishing me for a sin I don’t know and i-if that’s the case, Father, I seek forgiveness.” 

A breath. A low, violent exhale of breath. Your eyes flit to the grille, a pair of plush lips now visible through the tightly made slats. 

“You ask for forgiveness, atonement, yet do you actually believe?” he coos, voice low. 

“I don’t,” you answer a bit too quickly and blood boils under your nails. “I–I mean I don’t know.” 

“How do you expect me to help when you doubt the lord’s existence, little one?” Despite the provocative question, you see the faint curve of his smile through the darkness. “Are you desperate?” 

“I didn’t mean to offend,” you say quietly. The rain pour had begun again, drowning out the rest of the sound. “I’ve been coming here ever since the breakup. I enjoy watching people pray and smile, looking comforted. I just thought that if I did this, that comfort would extend to me as well. I’m sorry.” 

“The comfort is fleeting when you don’t believe it to be true,” he murmurs, ignoring your apology. “If you seek guidance, I can help you understand better and maybe then you’ll receive the comfort and the forgiveness that you crave oh so deeply.”

There’s a mocking lilt to his tone that you decide to ignore. It feels only right when you had outwardly said that you didn’t believe in the man’s religion. 

With an open heart, you accept his offer of guidance. 

You visit his office almost every night. 

You found yourself enjoying the church even more after hours. Ezra became a friend, which didn’t surprise you because that man had an essence about him that would charm the pants off of any devil that he might encounter. You guys did bible studies together and talked about other religions as well, and what it means to understand the words inscribed and given to the people. It was interesting to listen to. He would even give you assignments sometimes, telling you to read a specific paper or book. It felt like being at school again. He’d given you something you thought you had lost forever; A sense of purpose. 

It didn’t hurt that he was a sight to look at. His dark brown eyes always held a certain mischief to them, lighting up in amusement whenever you said anything peculiar. 

You knew it was cliche to have a crush on a priest, yet here you were, wagging an imaginary tail whenever he praised you for doing a good job. 

But tonight is not one of those days you feel all giddy and excited to see him. You enter the wide halls of the church and take a sharp turn towards his office, all you sense is impending doom, your insides riddled with anxiety. You’re shaking, barely able to feel your legs as you walk. 

When you enter, his eyes look up from the papers that lay in front of him, his gaze momentarily dropping to where your dress ends, then back up. His brows furrowing instantly at your heavy breathing, “Little bird, what’s wrong?” 

“Everything!” you exclaim, heaving a breath. “Everything is wrong—I’m wrong—I—fuck—” 

Ezra clears his throat in warning, “Language,” he says with a click of his tongue. 

“Sorry, Father.” you look down in shame, your hands balled into tight fists as you fight the urge to pace around his office. “I just—” 

He cuts you off, “Why don’t you take a seat and tell me what happened?” he smiles kindly. “And maybe you can stop shaking while you’re at it.” 

You nod as you take a seat. Your heart continuously rams against your ribcage and you can barely breathe, your throat convulsing in agony. Ezra gestures to you to look at him. When you do, he takes a deep inhale, making a demonstration in showing how his chest expands and contracts, his hand following the movement as if on waves. 

You breathe with him, the oxygen that fills your lungs calming you. 

“Good,” he hums. “Now tell me what happened.” 

“I saw him today. My—My ex,” you shook your head, reliving the moment. “He’s already seeing someone, which is fine if he was just honest about it. It’s some girl from work, the same girl I asked him about when he moved out,” a hiccup parts your sentence and you continue, your eyes dropping away from Ezra’s. “I said ‘is it her, do you like someone else’ and he said no. He pretended not to recognize me, even though his girlfriend did. I could see it in her eyes but he just walked past me, like I never existed.” 

A sole tear trickles down your cheek and you wipe it away with your sleeve, sniffling. When you feel another, you repeat the motion, finding solace in the softness of the fabric. “I’m an idiot,” you say, still not looking at him. “What am I even doing here? I should try to face reality not escape it in some—some church.” 

You hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. The church had helped you when you needed it most, it had given you Ezra, most of all. But you couldn’t help the words, you’re angry. Furious. You feel invisible out there, but here, here people recognize you, and ask where you’ve been when you came back the other day. It’s good to know that if you disappear some people would wonder about you. 

Ezra’s voice rings in your ear, and without even understanding the words he’s saying, you’re looking up. 

“Let’s try something,” he says probably again. “Come here.” 

You’re slightly confused but obliged. He pushes his chair slightly back, making some room between him and the desk. Your eyes drop to the end of his robes, two shiny shoes peaking from underneath. 

“Get on your knees.” 

You snort, “Excuse me?” 

“It’s going to calm you,” he says. “Do you trust me?” 

Your lips part with a faint gasp, you don’t blink as your eyes search his. There’s a tranquility in his expression that makes your heart throb. “Of course, Father,” you get on your knees. 

“Good girl,” he pats his thigh. “Now lay your head.” 

You do so without question this time, appreciating the firmness of muscle under your head. A moment passes, awkwardness starting to settle in, then you feel his fingers touching the back of your neck and gradually they move up to your scalp. Humming a gentle melody, he starts to stroke your hair, massaging your head as he went along. A deep sigh comes from the depths of your lungs, your nerves humming, your rigid muscles finally relax. 

“You’ve been doing so well these past couple of weeks,” he says, a hint of amusement lingering in his voice. “You’ve been learning, little bird, but you still have much to learn. The church is part of the real world, you haven’t been doing nothing.” 

Listening to him so intently, he sends shivers down your spine, the thickness of arousal pooling between your legs. He drags blunt nails down your scalp and comes down to your nape to squeeze from both sides. You’re embarrassed of the moan that rattles your throat but he doesn’t seem to mind it. You lean closer, pressing your cheek further against his leg. 

“Isn’t this nice?” he asks without needing the answer. “You, my obedient girl, listening and eager to please. You’ll always feel like this when you’re with me. No anxiety, no need to compete and try to accomplish something when all you want to do is. . . relax. . .” 

His voice had dropped to a whisper, every word a gentle caress to your skin. Eyes fluttering close, you only focus on the ups and downs of his voice, your body reacting to every stop and turn. The fabric of your underwear dampens, your folds becoming slicker the more you inch towards him. You ache for your fingers—or better yet his cock—but he isn’t allowed to touch you is he? 

You try to remember the lessons in celibacy but can’t seem to remember any of them. 

Your tighs instinctively press together, the brief friction doing little in dousing the wildfires between your legs. You wiggle a bit closer, his voice nothing but a siren song now. 

Ezra notices the constant movement, his fingers slip under your chin, and drags your eyes up to face him. Your breath hitches. The faint moonlight that trickles through the windows behind him cast his face in complete shadow, his features hardening with darkness. He slips his foot between your legs, the floor creaking under the sole of his shoe, “Now, why can’t you stay still when I’m trying so hard to soothe you, little bird?” 

He lifts the point of his shoe, the leather pressing directly against your throbbing clit. A surprised whimper rips from your throat, your body shaking as he drags the leather tip down. Your insides clench with want, with a primal need that you can’t seem to understand. 

You’re haunted by his words and the darkness that lurks in his eyes. Despite yourself, you press yourself up against his leg like some animal. You can’t seem to stop staring at him. And by the way he pushes his shoe further into you, borderline on almost being painful, you don’t think he minds either. 

Your eyes flutter as he parts his robe, your gaze immediately drops to the outline of his cock that’s visible. Your mouth waters. 

“Worship me,” he unbuttons himself with expertise but leaves it at that. “Until I tell you to stop.”

His leg still between your legs, you pull out his cock. The tip is an angry shade of red, precum dotting at the tip, without much thought you lean over and dip your tongue, tasting him for the first time. The taste of him coats the inside of your mouth and you swallow greedily, the blood rush to your ears muffling his voice. 

“Such a sweet whore,” he hums. “You like sucking cock, don’t you?” 

Dragging your lips down the length of him, you answer with him between your lips, “Yes, Father.” 

“I really do enjoy it when you call me that,” his thumb touches your cheek as you finally take him between your lips, you allow out your cheeks and flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock. “All you needed was a little encouragement and now you’re the perfect hole for me. There’s nothing wrong with you, all you need is someone to take care of you.” 

You hum in approval around him, taking him deeper while grinding against his leg, your dress rides up your thighs, your underwear nearly sheer in color.   

“I can feel how wet you are. So needy,” he lays back in his chair and spreads his legs. “I want to feel every inch of your mouth. I said worship, if this is how you think that works you’re mistaken, dove.” 

Your stomach churns at that. You want to make him happy—you truly do. You part from him, strings of saliva following the frame of your lips as you bend down closer to the floor, feeling the full shape of his shoe. You look up to him, the heft of his cock laying directly in the middle of your face, the scent of sex and him clinging to your nose. Opening your mouth, you lick between his balls, taking one into your mouth, you swirl your tongue around it. His eyes roll in pleasure, a thick drop of precome dripping to your forehead. 

“That’s it,” he raps and guides you back up, lining the bulbous head of his cock against your lips. He pushes forward, cock filling your mouth then inching down your throat. Tears trickle down your cheeks, your throat convulsing as you try to accommodate to the width of him. You swallow and swallow, until your nose is buried into the dark curls that crown his length. You can barely breathe. “I knew you could take it all, little one. I know that mouth could do more than talk.” 

The heavy palm of his hand moves down your throat, he feels the shape of himself through the skin. His cock twitches when it feels his hand, straining your mouth further. 

He pulls out and you gasp for air, his grin is wide as he looks down at you. “I want to make a mess of that face,” with the rough pitch of his words, you roll your hips, your clit catches against his shoe and a loud moan spills from your damp lips. He clicks his tongue with annoyance. “Ask for forgiveness,” he growls, hand moving up and down his cock with hard strokes. 

“For what, Father?” your voice is barely above a whisper. And you’re not sure why you asked when you’re going to surrender to his wants regardless of what they are. 

“For being a whore,” he spits. “For talking about a past flame and for taking pleasure without permission.” 

He watches with heavy eyes as you straighten yourself, his cock aimed directly at your face. You watch him with parted lips. His nail gently traces the vein that curls around the length of him, slick sounds filling the normally silent office. He swipes a thumb over his head and thrusts into his fist. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you begin. “It has been two weeks since my last confession. I have behaved like a whore, talked about another man in the presence of the clergy, and taken pleasure without permission. I come before you seeking God's forgiveness and guidance.” 

“Will you repeat your sins?” 

“No, Father. Not unless I have permission to do so.” 

His hand quickens, his grip tightening, “Do it then,” he snarls with a devilish smile. “Ask me permission to be a whore.” 

Instead of a verbal permission, you part your mouth wide and stick your tongue out. His eyes widen with shock momentarily before understanding. He seems pleased and in return, you feel genuine jot for finally doing something right. 

He grips your chin, pulling you away from his leg and directly between his thighs. It doesn’t take him long to go over the age—one, two more strokes and you feel the first string of white come spurting over your face. It drips down your forehead from your face. The sounds Ezra make are unhinged, his hips lifting from the seat as he moans openly into the air, defiling you and marking you as his. His seed feels heavy over your face and with your tongue, you catch a bit of it, moaning as you swallow. 

Ezra hunches over you and you feel his tongue on your cheek, taking himself into his mouth, he presses his tongue into your mouth, forcing more of himself inside of you. 

When he parts away, you’re dazed, all pretense of the life outside of this church gone. 

“My sweet bird, so dirty now,” he purrs, this time he collects more of himself over his fingers and stuffs it into your mouth. Your eyes rolling you swallow over and over. “What do you say?” he asks melodically. 

“Thank you, Father.” 

#ezra prospect x reader #ezra x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x f!reader #ezra prospect x fem!reader #priest!ezra #tw dark content #tw dubcon #pedro pascal characters #hauntedhoedown #pedro pascal character fanfic #prospect fanfic

[morallyinept]

Helianthus - An Ezra One Shot 🌻

Summary: Ezra and you have docked on a planet that harbours a pleasant surprise for you both.

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 3.4k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️ “It's the emergence, of.” 

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here. 

Warnings/Triggers: Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/kissing/reader is in the very early stages of pregnancy/mostly soft mush with some Ezra spiciness

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

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

Author’s Note: Ezra and sunflowers - what more could you want? 🌻

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST | FLORA & FAUNA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

In the hazy realm between wakefulness and dreams, where misty clouds encircle an electrifying peach glow, breathy snuffling tugs gently on the strings of your consciousness. 

The lightest sensation of touch - a soft nuzzling against your cheek - pulls you back from the brink of satiated sleep and into the warmth of him. 

It’s a gradual awakening, the back of your eyelids swathed in sunlight from a wayward beam in the hatch spotlighting over your face. The slow unfurling of a tight bud at the break of dawn, you emerge from a gossamer veiled cocoon of unconsciousness to the feel of his large, pore-filled nose gliding planes over your jaw.

Flutters of his dark, fanned lashes are felt as he forges a path up to your forehead before placing a tender kiss on it with soft, cracked lips, making you smile. 

You feel his hand, warm and rough, sliding delicately up your arm. Fingers stroking the skin back and forth over your shoulder with blunt nails. Eliciting warm tingles; the fine hairs standing tall powered by need and a pulling want that pools in your belly. 

His lips trace under your jaw, a wet tongue slithering out tasting the skin there, ripe and fruitful. When he reaches your bare nipple, the sheet sliding down your body with his movement, you can’t contain the contented, sleepy moans vibrating on your lips as he sucks it into a hardened pebble around his insidious wet tongue.

“Awake?” He murmurs, kissing over the swell of your breast, plump in his hand. 

As you slowly blink your eyes open, the warm, intense browns meet you with a tender intensity. A crooked grin, a flash of yellowed enamel and the cracking of skin over his pink grin greet you - marred, hawkish features that are all his own and yours to savour.

Your voice barely whispers, "I was hoping to steal a few more moments of sleep. How rude."

With a gentle chuckle heavy in his throat, he drags his lips up the juncture of your neck. “Alluding to the pretence of your slumbersome charade. Your smile gives you away every time, Birdie.”

“And here I thought I was being subtle this time.” You sigh as he cages you under him, teeth perniciously tugging at your nipple again. 

“Subtlety has no place between us,” he says as he sucks it gently back in the warmth of his mouth.

You hum out as he suckles, thick fingers tracing patterns on your cheek, thumb gliding over your lips. You taste the salt and soil in the whorls of his print, nipping on the pad.

A tidal wave of warm breath bathes your face as he grunts into it, eventually finding your lips. His tongue seeks your own to exploit. Your hands engulf him close, a red giant swallowing him whole.

“Ezra…” You whine, your legs wrapping around his paunchy waist, and you realise a rough layer keeps you from him. “Your suit is on.”

“It is indeed.” He murmurs haughtily into your skin, teeth grazing.

“Take it off.” You sway.

His tongue licking tracks makes you whimper. He looks up at you and shakes his head of greased, mussed waves stuck against his forehead. “I have meticulous plans that you won’t scupper.”

“And if I refuse?” You pout, wrapping your legs around him tighter.

He groans as you rake your nails at the back of his skull in the slick oil of his hair. A move that you know will wilt him into subjugation.

“Do you know what you do to me, foul temptress?” He growls as he snatches at your hand managing to only capture one with his singular mitt. He nips on your fingers and you hiss. 

“I can feel it.” You muse. You reach for his turgidity with your other, trying to get inside his suit, but he soon stops you. 

“You’re insatiable,” he hums, licking his bottom lip. He then bites into the flesh at your neck, faint purple violets bloom on your skin from the marks of his teeth. “You’ve slept all day. I’d like to show you something before it gets dark. Put your suit on.”

You whine, a noise akin to a strangled squawk. He watches you reluctantly shuffle into your suit, chewing on his lip and humming as his beady eyes trawl up and down your body.

“Saturation?” You query as he reaches for the latch on the inside door without hesitation, or a helmet.

“No need. The air, while thick, is plenty breathable.”

“How do you know?” You baulk.

“This isn’t my first foray." He remarks with waggled eyebrows. "Took to scouring the landscape with thorough reconnaissance of our environs in search of any auspicious indicators of coveted resources. The discovery of a hidden cache would be a boon to our expedition.”

You shake your head at his length of explanation. “And did you find anything?”

“Something.” A conspirator of delight, Ezra guides you from the lander pod with a playful gleam in his dark eyes. 

“Where are we going?” You query.

“A little way up there.” He points with his only hand to the beacon of lumpy hills in the near distance.

The planet is green, lush and reminds you of a home you once knew. Breathable air, blue skies and dappling bokeh sunlight. It’s been a while since you both stumbled on an Eden to rest your weary bones and crooked backs.  

“Bit of a trek.” You mumble, relishing the chance to have stayed in the cot, warm and snug in some lucid dream long since forgotten.

“Merely a twilight hike.” The fervour of exploration imbues him with an indomitable vigour, a grin flashing at you over his shoulder that’s as infectious as it is alluring.

As you near the summit, the sun streaking fire in the sky as it sets, he stands waiting for you to catch up; his hand reaching for yours as you approach with creaking knees and rasping breaths. 

“Kevva, that’s steep.” You puff.

“Lying horizontal all day will render your fitness lacklustre,” he mocks.

“My lack of fitness is all your fault.” You remark with a wry grin. 

“I don’t recall nearly this much complaining at the time.” He wraps his arm over your shoulder. “Close your eyes.”

“Ezra.”

“Indulge me, pet. Close your eyes.”

You do as he asks and you feel him prod you some paces forward. His breath is felt on the conch of your ear, warm and moist when he guides you to a suitable stop. 

“Open.” He purrs.

You sigh out with an immediate smile. “Oh, Ezra…” 

“Resplendent, isn’t it, Birdie?”

“Did you know this was here when we docked?”

He shakes his head with pursed lips. “Happened upon them during my early ramble. I was quite taken with them.”

“They're beautiful.” You agree. 

“Go on, get up close and personal.” He takes your hand in his and leads you down the hill. 

The sunflowers stand tall and proud, their sturdy stalks reaching skyward like nature's sentinels. Each intricate disc of petals, a radiant burst of yellow, catches the fading sunlight, creating a mesmerising dance of shadows and highlights across the expanse of the field that seems like it stretches on for eons.

As you walk through them, the sensation under your boots is a soft, yielding carpet of grass and fallen petals and seeds. The gentle crunch of earth beneath is accompanied by the occasional release of a subtle, herbal fragrance, as if the very ground exudes the essence of sun-soaked vitality.

With each step, your fingertips brush against the velvety petals, and you can feel the delicate texture beneath your touch. The petals are soft, leaving a subtle, powdery residue on your skin.

You wander through their obliesk mazes, pushing your way through clusters with an awed mirth as he follows. You take a moment to steal a glance back at him over your shoulder and he’s stopped, looking upwards with eyes closed and breathing in. 

There’s a quiet intensity about Ezra as he stands there, taking in the vast expanse of the alien, yet somewhat familiar, landscape before him. His eyes, usually so alive with energy and steely determination, now hold a depth of emotion that you’ve rarely seen - a mixture of awe, wonder, and perhaps a hint of vulnerability.

You observe the play of emotions across his face - the furrow of his heavy brow as he concentrates, the slight quirk of his lips as a sense of wonder washes over him. The intensity in his dark eyes as they capture yours. 

"Well, hello there, pet," he says, his voice low and filled with affection. "Caught me admiring the view, did you?"

“We both are.” You simply say, reaching for him. 

As you both wander deeper into the labyrinth of the sunflowers, you can’t help but feel a sense of whimsy taking over you. He stops to pluck seeds out, tearing open a head and offering you some as they roll around his teeth.

"They're so beautiful," you remark, your voice filled with wonder.

Ezra nods in agreement, his eyes alight with mischievous excitement. "They are indeed.”

"I feel like we're in our own little world here," you say.

He squeezes your hand gently, his touch reassuring. "That's all we need.”

As the sun sets, he invites you to recline amidst the golden blooms, your head in his lap looking up at the sky, lost in a burrow of thick stalks. The anticipation that had danced in your eyes now transforms into a quiet serenity as you lie together, surrounded by the sunflowers' nodding heads seemingly miles above you in the sky.

Your fingertips, still adorned with the powdery residue of sunflower caresses, trace idle patterns on his hand as you clutch it close.

Above, the leaves create a natural canopy, dappling the sunlight into a mosaic of dying warmth as the cobalt bleeds in.

Lying amidst the sunflowers, you become part of the landscape - a living diorama where nature itself paints the backdrop for your being. It's not just a surprise; it's a moment of shared bliss, a poetic pause in the heart of the sunflower field on a foreign planet far from anywhere you could call home.

Companionable silence joins you both for a while, a break in Ezra’s beaky ramblings, content to simply be together in the midst of such natural splendour.

You turn your gazes upward, greeted by a luminous river of stars. His eyes, now reflecting the twinkling lights overhead, find a mirrored universe in yours. The sunflowers, though no longer in focus, cast long shadows that seem to reach towards the cosmos.

His accent, reminiscent of stout Southern edification, begins to expound upon the wonders above as he points out constellations and planets that twinkle as little beams of light.

"The beauty of the universe is unequalled." You conclude dreamily, your head resting on Ezra's thighs, his thick digits weaving and stroking under your jaw. 

From this position, you can see the vast depths of it, curling its fingers out to beckon you to dip your face into its secrets. 

"Lies." He retorts with a little snicker. "I fear the universe has met its match." He tilts your chin so you’re facing him and those deep brown eyes regard you sincerely. 

"You like to talk, Ezra." You smirk. 

"I mean it " he assures. “Look at you, the stars are blushing.”

You smile, feeling your jaw ache as he strokes under it with his only thumb.

“Have you ever pondered the nocturnal inclinations of sunflowers?" He breathes out looking up at them.

"Can’t say that I have.” You smirk. "Regale me, o' skilled raconteur," you tease as he tugs on your chin.

"It's a fascinating theory I came across - a notion that in the absence of the sun, these golden blooms, like erudite companions, turn toward each other. A celestial dance, if you will, where they share their stored energy."

“A cosmic conversation among sunflowers. I never thought I'd be part of such a poetic moment." You snort with a giggle. 

“Oi. Mock me all you like, woman.” Ezra nudges you with a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh, I do."

"It's as if the sunflowers are sharing secrets, don't you think? A botanical confabulation beneath the cosmic theatre."

“Botanical confabulation? You sure have a fascinating way with words, Ez."

"Imagine if we could decipher their floral discourse. What tales do you think they'd share?"

You sit upright. “That they do wish you'd shut up and kiss me.” You say, pulling him towards you for a deep, saturated kiss. 

He sighs into you as you comb his hair back, your thumb lingering in that stark blonde piece of the moon in his hairline. Your hand grips his right shoulder, stroking down gently until it stops where he ends. You squeeze and caress the stump gently.

"You know, when you do that, I feel whole again." He breathes, nuzzling into you. "Confounding in it's whimsy."

“You’ve always been whole to me, Ezra.” Your nose traces the wiry route of the scar under his left socket.

"I won't get to feel your hand in mine." He says, casting a gaze to his stump. You’ve altered his fraying suit so his sleeve no longer flaps about, patching it tight and padding it. Some days he swears he can still wiggle his fingers. 

"You have another." You say, taking his hand and kissing the pads of his digits before slowly sucking the middle into your mouth.

“Careful,” he hisses, eyes turning as black as the sky above as he watches you suck it all the back to your throat.

You smile as it pops wet out of your mouth and he pulls you close against his chest. 

“Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if we missed the sling back… stay here a while.” You murmur as you take in the sights of the sunflowers cresting and creaking above you.

“Thirty turns until the next sling if we linger.” Ezra ponders, running the fuzz of his lips over your crown.

“Mm.” You nod. "We have the means."

"I'm concerned by your raffish approach to this contrite endeavour, however serene. Wouldn't you feel more secure in a near proximity to the birthing pools?”

“We've a while to go yet.” You reassure stroking under his chin in the wiry, greying hairs there. 

He slides his swamping palm over the small swell of your belly, rubbing back and forth gently. “That’s as maybe, we can come back. Bring the Niblet when all is well.”

“Or we could settle, make it a home.” You sway.

“A find of a calibre we've not yet encountered... feasible to some end.” He grazes your jaw with his nose, lips kissing you side on as you cup his hawkish face. “You know I would give you the universe, pet.”  

“I already have it.” You say, staring up at him. 

“Oh, the hackneyed piss that pours outta your mouth,” he smirks as you giggle into his face. 

“Now you know the trite that I have to endure that comes out of yours.”

“Hokum. You love the elucidation of my wayward charm.” Ezra sneers. 

“Among other things.”

“Such as?” He smirks.

You sit upright, slowly pulling the poppers open on his suit. He doesn’t resist as you pull the zip down revealing his chest and belly. You hold yours taught so he can unzip it, revealing the naked flesh underneath it.

He leans forward, sucking mouthfuls of your sumptuous skin into his mouth, hissing as you find the dripping swell of his cock.  

“So that’s what you’re getting at?” He smiles crookedly at you as you work him in your palm, rolling back the skin to reveal a ruddy bulb.

Thick and sticky, he fills your hand. Feeling the rough material of your suit pressed into the crease of your cunt as you wind your hips desperately against him, moaning with frustration keening into his mouth. 

“Be careful you don’t overplay this distraction technique.” 

“I have no idea what you mean,” you simply smile, standing and removing your suit entirely.

“I am immune to your tactics.” Ezra assures as he lets his eyes wander freely over your body as he strokes his cock in want.

“Are you sure about that?” You mirth as you sit in his lap. He’s considerably hard as you subtly grind against him as you kiss. 

“Should I aid you in your release, pet?” He taps your clit gently making you squeal. “Shall we make the sunflowers recoil in their chaste shrewdness?”

“Let them gossip and blush.” You nod into his face. Your fingers curl around his thick length, stroking as you kiss him some more.

“Mmhm. Hold it like you love it, Birdie... yeah, just like that.” He drawls at you. 

“Scoundrel.” You groan.

“I am but incorrigible.” He smirks. 

Your kisses are desperate, incisors and tongues, far reaching and choking. His pads swipes against your clit again and you cry out as your whole body jolts with pleasure, his fingers soaked already. 

"Sweet Mother of Kevva… a parched man could never drink you dry." He sucks you from his fingers, before slipping them inside you. 

You groan out, long and laboured as he strokes your spot with ease, fingers as thick as his cock as they pump and uncoil the muscles from your bones. 

“Gently, does it, hmm?” He cajoles as he brings you to the brink.

“Ez… mmm,” you can feel it bunching tight, the knot unwinding as he lets you soar into the heavens above, watching in rapt attention as you shake in his lap. 

He drones out as you line yourself up with him and sink down slowly. Knees in the soil and fingers in his mouth. 

“Shit,” Ezra groans as you slide all the way down. Eyes paused in a mid-possession as your cunt squeezes and your back breaks. 

“You seek to annihilate me, don’t you?” Ezra rasps as you rock on him, broad shoulders in your teeth as you kiss indents in them. 

“Ezra, fuck!” You whine, feeling him bottom out and fuck up into you with the simple flex of his hips.

"Give me another one of your kisses, Birdie. Take me back to paradise." 

The way he fucks you is like poetry in motion. His gaze unwavering, his touch never faltering. The softness soon replaced by desperateness; fingers bruising more violets into your skin as he clutches you for balance. Kisses with more bite, pants that start to howl. 

“Ezra,” you whine, holding onto him. “Kevva, I’m close…”

“Let me have it,” he coaxes, turning your face to him, watching as your eyes cloud over under a sky full of iridescent stars. "Beg me to fuck you harder." Ezra hisses to you.

"Please... h-harder-" Your body convulses around the rapture of him. 

"That doesn't sound like begging to me." He taunts with a sly grin. “You have my cock in you, pet. Make me fuck you with it.”

“Please! Mmm fuck, please!” You grapple at him, nails drawing blood in their grazes, his teeth bared as you pull at his greased roots. “Give me all of you, Ezra!” You growl. 

“Your cunt is just full of me,” he rasps, your breath bouncing in the back of your throat with every hard thrust. His babbling eutony filling your ears like cotton as you fade out into the white noise. 

Just barely hearing the clicks of your kisses and the lewd squelches of you around his cock. 

He feels you burst, sees it, hears it. Dissolving him to dust in your solar flare. In that moment, you're his, wholly. And he swears to Kevva he feels something akin to unwavering love rattle through his punctured bones. 

The push of you onto him with his hand makes you gasp as you grind and gyrate, your clit pressed in and rubbing against the patch of coarse hairs that you soak sticky with your slick. 

“Hm, hm, hmphf…” he grunts, small and ragged as you work, nostrils flaring under the steep hook of his nose. Plush lips pressed into a thin line as he strains. 

He throws his head back growling, teeth bared at the universe above, howling throatily as he spills inside of you. His thighs shake, rioting of their own accord as you watch them ripple and tense.

His eyes are squeezed shut before opening them with blown pupils and a slack jaw. They glide down to yours, mouth panting into that wolfish, crooked grin. 

“Birdie, I’m still pouring… look, look what you do, exquisite creature.” He pants, sweat slick hair creasing on his forehead, that little blonde patch rip curling in its defiance. 

You settle against his clammy chest when he comes to; he lays back with you in his arm as you cup and stroke the stump gently tracing the knot of scar tissue until your fingers still.

You both sleep there, under the stars, in the dirt and leaves of the sunflower stalks protecting you both in their intricate cocoons. 

In the morning, when the sun rises and the sunflowers turn their heads in its direction, conversing in their unspoken language with the bright star, Ezra wakes you again with those soft, gentle nuzzles, humming the secrets of the universe inside your ear.  

Thank you so much for reading, I really hope you enjoyed spending time in the sunflowers with Ezra. Let me know your thoughts. And I'd appreciate a re-blog if you enjoyed what you just read so other's can enjoy this story too - thanks so much!🖤🌻

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST | FLORA & FAUNA MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect #pedro pascal characters #prospect ezra #prospect film #jett's writing

[netherfeildren]

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A Joel infidelity AU

The Cassandra Complex : Ongoing : Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: Enter: A man who is not so much a man, but an effigy, a wound of steel and armor and Creed – secrecy and masked faces, above all else.

Enter: A girl who is not a girl, but a creature helmed in darkness and spit out unto the galaxy broken and unmoored.

Enter: the creation of myth.

-OR-

the mandalorian / dark sider au

Pink : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: The story of a son who won’t love you, and his father, who will.

-OR-

the father-in-law AU

Honey, Stomach, Mine : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you. 

She'll still come for you. 

-OR-

the A/B/O outbreak AU 

One Shots :

bétteln : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary : You really want Joel to give you a baby. You don’t really care what he has to say about it.

biéten : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary : Now that you have his baby in you, you’re Joel’s most special girl. 

Kiss, Kiss, Kill, Kill! : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel is a long haul truck driver. One day he finds a pretty girl in a diner and decides he’d like to keep her. 

Murder and sex ensue!

Greener Memories of Better Men : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Best Story of the Day! South Austin elementary school started a “Breakfast With Dads” program but many dads couldn’t make it and several students didn’t have father figures. The school posted fliers at the local YMCA’s for 50 volunteer fathers… 600 different people from all backgrounds showed up…

Joel Miller is one of them.

-OR-

Sarah’s gone and Joel wants to feel close to her again. He reconnects with someone he used to know along the way.

I urge you: Bite me : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Sometimes love hurts like a split nail, and sometimes we like it like that.

Sometimes Joel hurts like a split nail, you like him like that too. 

With Mercy for the Disturbed : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: He's a father and then he isn't, and then he's in the perfect place with the perfect girl, and he's done so many bad things that terrify the both of them. And then, finally, he's saved and there are dancing bears and doors newly opened, and everyone's a little mad at the end of it all.

-OR-

the Hannibal/Alice in Wonderland AU wherein Joel loses his mind

Evermore : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: The Thanksgiving AU

Meet Me in the New Year : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: The New Year’s Eve AU

10:05 PM : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel is exhausted, you’re there to make him feel better.

How to Endure Ardor : Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel teaches you how to love him.

At the Restaurant : Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this, and his eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship AU

Forfeiting My Mystique : Ezra x F!Reader

Summary: You're a girl made of golden gossamer, a work of art come to life, and Ezra, well, he's dedicated his life to collecting beautiful things.

-OR-

An Ezra Art Collector AU

Austerlitz : Simon (Ghost) Riley x F!Reader

Summary: The day he left for his hideous war, the dream changed. The house was still there, but now neither of us lived in it anymore. And when he finally came back, if that’s what you could even call it, he was nothing but a Ghost. 

-OR-

Ghost goes away, comes back in a maybe dream.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #joel tlou #pedro pascal characters #joel x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #ezra prospect fanfiction #ezra prospect x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller fanfiction #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #call of duty fanfic #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader

[fake-bleach]

fallen star | darkish!ezra x reader

summary: You're lost, alone, and looking for your family in the middle of a planet you know absolutely nothing about. That's until you encounter a man who offers to help you, giving you more than you bargained for.

word count: 9k (crazy i know oops)

warnings: (18+ only!) fem!afab!reader (no use of y/n), bit of a slow burn but not rly, dub-con smut (ezra convinces reader to give in), kinda manipulative/creepy ezra, unprotected sex, virgin!reader & is innocent as hell so.. innocence kink?, age gap (but reader is of legal age & an adult ofc), piv (pls use protection), fingering, foreplay, nipple play, crying from pleasure, slight spit kink, size kink, breeding kink, praise, degrading, dirty talk, all that good, filthy shit - lmk if i missed anything!

author's note: hi all! this is the first official writing i've ever done so please feel free to give me any suggestions, notes, etc! i've been so inspired by the incredible writers on this app, such as @mypoisonedvine & @toxicanonymity's fics & wanted to give it a try for myself! i'd appreciate it so much if you could let me know if you'd like more from me as well! hope you all enjoy <3

ao3 link | masterlist

The heat and humidity sticks to your skin while you run, desperation seething through your teeth as you take a deep breath. You inhale sharply as you finally take a break to sit on the ground. The bright, green scenery around you consumes you as you look around frantically, having seen the same trees and leaves over and over again. You're practically running in circles at this point.

You're stuck, and quite frankly, losing hope.

You've lost your family amidst this strange, new planet, as your father convinced you and the rest of your family that there would be hope to discover new materials and minerals that you'd be able to sell. You all would be rich and finally 'comfortable', not having to live off of the things you'd be feeding off on day by day, as your father said..

What a load of shit.

You're unsure of where exactly your family had gone, as you woke up two mornings ago to an empty tent; the "home" that provided you no privacy for the past few weeks, whatsoever. Since then, you've been on the search for them. They're all you've ever known, and despite the immense pressure and burden you've had on your shoulders for being the eldest sibling, you needed them.

You've never been out in the real world on your own. At least, not without your father to help guide you and provide reassurance in what you were taught to do.. what you had to do. You were completely dumbfounded and unsure of what you'd do next in this planet you hardly knew of, and to your knowledge, barely had any population.

The solitude you've experienced the past 48 hours has been torturous to say the least, and the scraps of food you were luckily able to find were running low already. You were getting tired already. How could you survive if you could barely last a day?

As you catch your breath, you begin to stand back up, prepared to continue on your journey and in hopes of finding more food and water. To your advantage and luck, this planet was breathable, giving you one less problem to worry about. As you lift yourself up back on your feet, you hear the crunch of a branch around you.

You quickly turn your head towards the sound as your breath hitches, your heart racing a bit faster. Your mind wanders to the worst case scenario, unsure of what might be out there. You weren't even sure if there were any creatures or other dangerous species out here.

The one thing you did know was that there were dangerous people out there. There was that constant reminder in the back of your mind, engrained from the repeated lectures that your dad gave you as you grew up.

"Sure, there are monsters out there, honey.. but it's the humans that'll get ya for good. They're the real monsters."

With his words roaming around in your head, you slowly take a step back as you continue to frantically look around, seeing nothing but the same leaves, trees, and branches filled in your eyes. You lick your lips nervously, clearing your throat to prepare yourself to sound tougher than you look.

"Who's there?" You yell out harshly, showing that you're no one to mess with. But to the unknown force watching you, it's not convincing one bit.

Silence fills your ears as nothing responds to you. No voice, no steps.. not a single sound. You take a long pause before you start to open your mouth again, until you see something out the corner of your eye move closer, yet subtly towards you.

Quickly whipping your head around to look towards that direction, you gasp faintly as you see a man approach you slowly. His hands are up, almost in a surrender. "Hey, hey, now.. no need to be afraid.." he says softly to you. The accent that his voice lets out consumes your ears as you take a step back, your eyes looking over him, taking in his presence. He's the first person you've seen in the past 48 hours and you're shocked, and more notably, afraid.

"Step back.. Stay away." You let out sternly, grabbing your small switchblade from your pocket to aim it towards him, trying to prevent him from getting any closer.

He was a tall man with messy, black hair, and a patch of white leaking towards the front. He seemed exhausted, looking at you with hazy eyes and on the brink of passing out. "P-Please, girl.. just need some help, I swear," He says as he licks his dry lips, breathing in harshly, "Been out on my own for a couple of days now.. and I'd assume.. you've been on your own, too."

You scoff as you shake your head quickly, denying the fact of the matter, "N-No, sir, you'd be wrong. I'm just getting back to my family, that's all. I can't.. I can't help you." You tell him as you glance around, a small brink of hope in your chest telling you that your family would be right there. But, you knew deep down, that would never be the case.

You look back at the man in front of you as his hand reaches towards yours, gesturing you to put the switchblade down, "Come on now, no need to do that. We can stick together, huh? I can help you get back to your family, you can help me get some food and supplies.. How's that sound? Keep each other some company, yeah? Then I'll be out of your way.." He tells you with a soft chuckle, a small grin forming on his lips in hopes of you to agree.

You back up a bit more before feeling your back hit a tree, making you sigh harshly as you lick your lips, thinking of what you should do. Your mind races as you think of all the possibilities that can come out of this. If this man was genuine and just needed some company and a bit of help.. he might be able to help you get back to your family.

As long as you kept your distance from him, you'd be okay.. and you would be able to finally find them. You wouldn't have to worry about being on your own anymore.

You look at him with stern eyes as you begin to reply, the grip of your hand on the switchblade tightening, "I don't even know you. You're a stranger. What makes you think I could trust you?" Your voice is a bit shaky as you speak, unsure on what decision you should make.

"That's right, birdie.. I'm a stranger, I know, but I guarantee you that I'm only tryin' to help you. You help me out too, and we'd be doing each other a favor. Killing two birds with one stone, if you will.." He proposes to you, his voice a bit gentle and soft as he tries to persuade you into joining him, giving you a small smile. "You just.. gotta put a bit of faith in me, that's all. I'm sure a pretty girl like you's got a nice heart, hm? We can help each other."

He nods at you as he finishes, taking a step towards you with his hand reaching closer to your switchblade. You breathe out faintly as you nod back at him, slowly bringing your hand back down to the side of your body. You flip the switchblade back and insert it into your pocket, your eyes never leaving his.

You bite your lip nervously as your heart begins to relax a bit, relenting, "I.. Okay, let's say I say yes.. What's in it for me? What makes you reliable in helping me? You said you needed my help too.. what would I be doing for you?"

The shakiness in your voice is evident as he stares at you intently, his eyes focused on you. He chuckles softly, explaining himself to you, "Well, birdie, I know this entire planet like the back of my hand. At least this entire area, that's for sure. More importantly, I know where we can stay for the night. I can give you some food.. a nice, warm place to sleep in.." He lets on, his grin widening as he notices your eyes soften at his words.

He can tell that you're exhausted, the hunger in your stomach increasing as every second passes. He knows what you need.

"Seems to me like you want that, don't you, honey? I can give you that.." He continues as he smiles at you. He seems genuine, even if you can't sense the obscure tone in it. "Just asking for your company, that's all.. that's all I want from you."

You breathe out through your nose, taking in the words he was saying. You're conflicted as your mind races with your fathers' words flooding through your head. But, you know you won't make it out here alone, especially not through another night of wandering on your own without any food or water.

Desperation is getting the best of you.

You gulp and reluctantly nod your head at him, ultimately agreeing to his offer. "Alright, fine, but we're keeping to ourselves, okay? There's no need for us to.. get to know each other or anything like that. You're helping me get back to my family, I'm giving you the 'company' you want: That's it." You establish the ground rules, letting him know that you want nothing else from him.

The man slightly shakes his head at you, poking his tongue against his cheek for a second. He laughs softly and nods, saying, "Alright, birdie. You got yourself a deal. But the least you could do is tell me your name, right? Here, I'll go first.. I'm Ezra."

Putting a name to the face, your eyes soften a bit as you stare at him. Ezra. You acknowledge it and nod your head, taking a pause before telling him your own name.

His mouth forms a bright smile, presenting his nice teeth to you, repeating your name on his tongue. "Lovely to meet you, sweetheart. Now, let me lead the way. Shouldn't take too long." He tells you enthusiastically, looking over at you while he proceeds his way east.

The sun's down by the time you reach the destination that Ezra's led you to. By the time you get there, your mind is hazy, the exhaustion and hunger getting to you with each step you take. Your eyes widen as they lay on the site in front of you; a decent sized tent that seemed much more impressive than the "home" you had with your family for the past few weeks.

Ezra's voice fills your ears, breaking the silence around you outside as he approaches the front of the tent, looking over at you with a grin. "Here we are, honey. Home sweet home." He tells you, licking his lips as he makes his way into it, beckoning you to follow him.

And you do. You follow behind him eagerly, impatiently expecting everything he's promised you: food and a nice, warm place to sleep in. Once you enter the tent, he turns on a lamp that fills the space with light. You're immediately looking around, taking in and cherishing the fact that you're actually somewhere that's remotely cozy and comfortable, just how a home should be.

"Do you like it?" He asks you softly, making his way behind you as you look around with curious eyes. You nod your head, giving him a small smile despite your inability to trust him too much. "It's.. really nice. Thanks, Ezra." You tell him, licking your lips as you pull your eyes away from him to set your bag of things in one of the corners.

The tent has almost everything you'd need in a basic home and it's impressive, to say the least. A small table for you to sit and eat at, a tiny kitchen area, and a decent sized bed that fit perfectly in the corner of it.

You turn your head back towards him, his eyes already wandering over you in curiosity. You ask him eagerly, yet collected, "So.. I was promised food? Can I get that now.. please?" You're trying not to have an attitude, seemingly as this man was kind enough to take you in, but you're starving.

Ezra smiles at you and nods, waving his hand towards his direction to gesture you to come over to him. While he walks towards a decently sized bin, he speaks to you, saying, "Don't got too much here, but it should be more than enough for the both of us the next few days. We'll go out looking for more soon."

You nod and follow him, eagerly looking over his shoulder as he kneels down to open up the bin. It's filled with packs of little food that are meant to get you through a tough journey or for you to get by, but it's definitely not anything special. By all means, food is food and you were more than happy to get what you could.

"Thank you, Ezra, I appreciate it," You say to him kindly as he grabs two bags for you, looking up at you while he places them in your eager hands. He nods at you and gives you that kind smile again, making you grin back at him.

As he grabs his own bags, he closes the bin and stands back up, motioning you to sit with him at the table.

When the two of you sit, you immediately open up the bags and nearly devour your food, your stomach growling in the process of your meal.

You hear a small chuckle as you eat and you look back up at him, mouth full of food. "Slow down, sweetheart. It's not goin' anywhere, don't you worry," He tells you, all while he calmly takes bites of his food, clearly cherishing it more than you are. "The faster you eat, the less you'll enjoy it, you know? Better to eat slow so it fills you up real good." He finishes.

You sigh as you nod at him, agreeing and taking in his advice. You hadn't realized that maybe you should be cherishing what you're getting right now, rather than indulging yourself in it so quickly.

Looking down at your hands, you sigh, apologizing to him. "Sorry.. I've just been so hungry. Thank you.. again. I really am grateful." You finish with a small smile at him, continuing to slowly eat your food and taking in the flavors that were satisfying your palette.

The both of you ate in silence, simply enjoying each other's company. As much as you hated to admit it, you liked knowing that you had someone with you, regardless of who it was. And from the few hours you've spent with Ezra, he seemed like the right person to be with.

As the two of you finish eating, you're satisfied, and definitely a lot more happier than you were before. You were just ready to end the day and get a good night's rest, exhausted from the relentless journey you were on.

You yawn softly as you shut your eyes, bringing your hand to your mouth to cover it up. Ezra looks at you attentively, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips once you remove your hand. You didn't notice that, though.

He then chuckles at you and shakes his head, smiling widely, "Ready to go to sleep now, birdie? You can have the bed tonight." He tells you, the kindness in his voice seeping through.

You look at him with soft eyes, eyebrows furrowing, "No, no, it's okay, I can sleep on the floor. You're the one who got this place and took me here.. you deserve the bed." You tell him earnestly, unable to accept his offer. Sure, it's just a bed, but he deserved to sleep well tonight too.

Ezra just shakes his head at you and laughs faintly, "No, you take the bed. I take the floor. Don't you worry, we'll have time to make it work.." He lets out, chuckling.

You aren't too sure what he means by that.

You ignore it though, just giving him a small smile instead. He was just being kind, and you were grateful for it.

Nodding your head, you reluctantly give in and sigh out, "Okay, just tonight though, alright? I'll be out of your hair eventually, anyway." He just grins at you as he takes in your words, his eyes never leaving your face.

"Right.. it's just a couple of days." He murmurs out, glancing around the room, pursing his lips. He looks back to you and nods, getting up from his seat as he gives you a grin, "Alright, time for bed, darlin'. You need some privacy?" He asks.

Getting up from your seat as well, you nod your head, slowly moving towards your bag. "Yeah, that'd be great, thanks Ezra. I'll let you know when I'm done." You tell him.

He acknowledges your request and walks out the tent, zipping it up securely. You take your spare clothes out of your bag, beginning to change into the comfortable pajamas; the only ones you had left.

You don't feel the eyes on you, staring at your every move.

Getting ready to go to sleep, Ezra's changed into some comfortable clothes as well. He sets up a small area for him to sleep in, right next to the bed that you'll be taking. As he does so, you sit on the bed, staring at his movements.

Still feeling a bit guilty about the bed, you tell him, "Are.. are you sure you're okay sleeping down there? What if you get cold.. or something?" You ask him, gradually starting to care for him more than you hoped or expected to.

He glances up at you, sitting up on his knees as he lets go of the sleeping bag, shaking his head. "Honey, stop asking. This isn't the first time I've slept on the floor, and besides.. it's much more comfortable than you'd think," He replies to you, grinning at your concerns for him, "Don't you worry about me, alright?"

You sigh and nod your head at him, giving into his request to let it go.

"Alright.. goodnight then, Ezra. Thank you, again." You let out tiredly, giving him a final smile. You moved yourself towards the edge of the bed that was facing the wall of the tent, preferring to sleep where you weren't so exposed to any open part of the bed.

"Goodnight, sweetheart." Ezra says, turning off the lamp in the tent before he gives you a final glance.

You turn to your side to shut your eyes, putting your hands underneath the side of your head as extra support from the pillow. You were comfortable, more comfortable than you've been in the past month.

You hear shuffling down on the floor, Ezra moving around in his sleeping bag as he tries to get comfortable enough to be able to doze off.

A couple of minutes go by as you attempt to fall asleep, failing everytime while your body shivers. You had a blanket over you, but it wasn't enough. There seemed to be a constant drift of wind from the outside coming inside the tent, making the heat in your body gradually fade away.

You sighed frustratingly as you softly whispered to Ezra, hoping he was still awake. "Ezra.. is the tent open?" You asked him, wondering if he forgot to close it all the way.

You hear his rough voice, whispering back to you, "No, honey, it's closed.. You cold?" He asks back, leaning up on his arm to look at you.

Turning your head and body towards him, you nod your head and sigh, "Yeah.. sorry, I can't sleep like this.." You let out, annoyed at yourself. You've already asked for so much from him and you were sure he just wanted to sleep already.

He grins at you and begins to get up slowly, saying, "Don't apologize, birdie.. It's hard to sleep when it's so cold," He breathes out, the silence in the room deafening you besides his course voice, "Why don't I come up there? Keep you warm for the night.. I promise it'll help you fall asleep."

You swallow as you think of it, unsure if you should let him be so close to you that way, so quick into your acquaintance. You were so cold though, as your fatigue ran through your body and all you wanted to do was sleep.

So, you agreed. What else was there to lose?

"Okay.. just for tonight." You murmur out, gesturing for him to come on the bed as he nods at you. You lay back down on your side, facing the wall of the tent as you move the blanket so he can have some too.

You feel him get on the bed, the weight and smell of him consuming you just from being right next to you. His hands move the blanket up to lay it on top of himself, sighing contently as he feels the warmth of the both of you surround his cold body in just a few seconds.

A couple of minutes later, as you're gradually starting to doze off, you feel arms wrap around your body, their strong hold pulling you by your waist. Ezra's chest presses into your back, his crotch just below your rear as you gasp softly, the intrusion of physical contact suddenly waking you up and energizing you.

You turn your head slightly to try to look at him, but before you open your mouth to say anything, he cuts you off. "Shh, honey.. just to make you feel a bit warmer. There's no harm in that. Physical contact creates warmth.. you know that, right?" He mumbles to you, just enough to be coherent as you furrow your eyebrows, conflicted by this.

You had just met the man and he was already holding you this close.

You sigh out and breathe softly, saying, "Okay.. I guess you're right," continuing to let him hold you. It starts to feel kind of nice, the warmth in your body increasing as you're both huddled so close together.

As you start to relax again, you press the side of your head to the pillow, allowing yourself to shut your eyes gently and let the sleep take over you.

Your peace is quickly taken away though, as you feel Ezra's hand on top of your hip begin to caress your stomach, slowly moving it lower to the hem of your pajama shirt as he slips his hand underneath it. His hand begins running across your stomach, feeling you.

Gasping softly, you turn your head to look at him again, asking sharply, "What are you doing, Ezra?"

He just hums and continues, his eyes shut. "Shh, sweetheart, c'mon.. Just gonna make you feel better, alright?" He whispers out, his other hand gripping your body tighter against him as the hand on your stomach lowers itself to your pajama pants, starting to slip it underneath the fabric.

You squirm against him as you groan out harshly, "S-Stop, Ezra, stop!" You protest against him, unsure of what to do. Your eyes move around the room frantically as his arms overpower you, holding you still against his chest.

Ezra's eyes open as you squirm against him, making him laugh out faintly at your struggle. His fingers start to roam across your panties, letting them run over your core. His head moves closer to your ear, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Be quiet, honey.. just let me do this, let me make you feel good. It'll keep you warm.."

His hand slips underneath your underwear, quickly cupping your pussy with his entire hand, making him groan out as you whimper, gasping out, "Ezra, please, stop!"

He ignores your pleas, moaning into your ear as his fingers run across your lips, feeling you grow wetter by the second. "Fuck, birdie.. You feel that? You're wet for me.. you're liking this, aren't you, darlin'? It'll feel good, just trust me.." He sighs into your ear, moving his lips to your neck to kiss it softly.

You continue to shake and squirm against him, trying to kick him off of you, but it's no use. He moves his leg over your own, entrapping you against him as you feel his crotch press into your hips and waist. The hard bulge in his soft pants makes you throb, forcing a moan out of you, both from a mixture of fear and unwanted excitement.

"Don't fight me, baby. Don't fight this. It'd be much better for you if you just gave in.. it'll feel so good, sweetheart, please, let me.." He pleas into your ear, pressing two of his fingers on your cunt to find your clit.

Rubbing small circles around your lips, he hears for your moan, indicating that he's found it. He smirks widely as he continues to rub small circles on your clit, feeling you grow wetter by the second as the pressure of his movements persist.

You whine out as your body grows a bit weak, feeling the pleasure build up in your body. Your heart races as you gulp, shutting your eyes tightly. You've never had anyone in your life do this to you before.

Ezra laughs faintly as he continues his motions, "That's it, sweetheart.." He draws out, "Give in, fuck, I know you want to. Anyone ever touch you like this, baby?" He inquires, moving the hand underneath the side of your body you were laying on. He grips your stomach, right below your breasts, and moves his body to lay on his back, taking you with him. Your back lays just against Ezra's side, his left arm wrapped tightly around you, moaning out as he has more control of you like this. He kicks the thin blanket off of the both of you, giving him a view of his hand down your pants and underwear, the moonlight shining through the tent.

You whine out, shaking your head quickly as you feel the warmth grow in your stomach the more he rubs those circles on your clit. "N-No, never, no one's ever touched me like this.." You moan, gasping and panting a bit heavily as you stare down at his fingers moving furiously against you. You can't help but grow wetter at the sight, knowing that it's him who's doing this to you.. but it feels so wrong.

"What I thought, baby.. Knew this pussy was pure." He chuckles, his teasing and almost mean demeanor running through your body, making you shiver and whimper slightly. You don’t know why you like it.

He stops his movements as he slips a finger through your folds, gathering how wet you became, making him sigh out in satisfaction. He pulls his finger out to look at it, showing it to you as well. "Look at that, honey, you're so wet for me now.. Didn't I tell you how good it'd feel, huh?" He lets out as you look at the glistening finger in front of you.

He moves it to suck it into his mouth, moaning around it. Popping it out from his lips, he laughs wryly, "Tastes good too, baby," making you blush furiously. It's so dirty and makes you feel so fucked up.

He takes no time to waste and moves towards your bottoms, quickly grabbing the hem of both your pants and underwear, "Let's get these off now, honey. Wouldn't want them in the way of our fun," and pulls them quickly off of you, making the cold air hit your core.

You gasp loudly as you clench your legs together, not wanting to have him see you there, much less continue.

He looks up at you with dark eyes and places his hands on the top of your knees, warning you, "Don't you get shy on me now, sweetheart. We've already gotten this far. I don't want to make it hurt for you.. I want to make you feel good, baby.." He tells you, his voice gradually becoming softer as he finishes. His hands proceed to grip at your knees, pushing them away from each other to spread your legs for him.

You reluctantly follow his requests, knowing that it would go a lot smoother if you complied. He groans faintly as his eyes latch onto the sight of your wet cunt in front of him, taking it in completely. "Fuck, honey.. what a pretty fuckin' pussy. Gorgeous.." He tells you, the dirty words filling your ears as you blush again at them. You've never had anyone talk to you like that, nor have you even heard anyone speak in that way til’ now.

Your eyes look around the tent, wanting to look at anything else but him and yourself, the shame starting to flow through you. You feel his fingers gently spread your lips apart, making you whimper softly at the feeling. It makes you look down at him and his hands, and you move your legs to try and clench them together again.

He tuts and shakes his head, gripping your knees harshly this time as he pushes your legs away from each other, spreading you for him completely. "You do what I want, baby, and this all goes smoothly, okay? You don't, and I promise you it'll hurt for you."

His eyes are stern as he looks into your own, seeing the angriest he's been so far towards you. You nod your head gently at him, gulping nervously and not wanting to make him any more upset.

The lips on his face slowly turn upwards, grinning at you brightly, "That's a good girl.. Just be a good girl for me," He encourages you, letting his fingers run around your glistening lips again as he moans out softly. "Gonna give you a finger, okay, darlin'? I'll go slow, if that's what you want.." He proposes to you, seemingly wanting to make this enjoyable for you as well.

You nod quickly and sigh sharply, pleading him, "Y-Yes, Ezra, slow please.. Please don't make it hurt."

His smile grows fonder, knowing that he's got you where he wants you now. "Don't worry, birdie, I'll make it good for you.. Just trust me."

The index finger that's right above your clit then moves into your lips, swiping it down between your folds as you moan. He then finds your entrance, pushing it in slowly and as gently as possible, making him groan out.

You gasp softly as your jaw falls open, looking down at his finger entering you. He sighs, "Fuck, so tight, sweetheart.." as his finger then pushes all the way inside of you, thick and long. You pant as you stare at his hand, clenching around his finger. He looks up at you and smirks, lips curling up into another grin, "S'good for me, honey.. Have you ever even touched yourself?" Ezra prompts you, realizing how shocking this was for you.

You move your head to look up at him and shake your head, gasping out, "Just.. just touched myself a couple of times, but never.. put one inside," and you lick your lips, your throat becoming dry, making you gulp.

He chuckles and slips his finger out, thrusting it back into you to see you gasp again, making him laugh. "Fuck, that's hot, baby.. Pretty pussy taking my finger so well. So tight.. Think you can take more?" He asks you, his finger gradually moving faster as you grow wetter, the squelching sounds filling the space more and more.

You moan out louder as you bite your lip, nodding your head at him. It was starting to feel good, and you couldn't help but give in.. forgetting about ever wanting him to stop.

"Good fuckin' girl, birdie.. My god." He says, taking his finger out just enough for it to be outside of your entrance. He presses his index and middle finger together now, rubbing them in between your folds to gather the slick you've produced for him. He then pushes it into your hole once he feels they're wet enough, making you whine loudly.

You gasp out, "F-Fuck, Ezra!" and grip onto one of the pillows next to you, lifting your head to sit up and watch his movements. You feel your body grow hotter by the second, the overwhelming feeling of his slow, yet deliberate fingers moving deeply inside of you, the mere sight of it making you lightheaded.

Your throat grows dry as you pant heavily, feeling nothing like you've ever experienced before. His eyes wander over your body, taking in the view of your worn out face, moaning for him, and your body that's trembling for him, your baggy shirt lifting up and up as you begin to shake.

His gasp is low and loud as he smirks, his mouth falling open as he looks at you, his need for you increasing more and more. As his fingers continue to move, he adds a third finger, making your face twist in pleasure and a mix of pain, the sudden intrusion shocking you. It feels too good for you to even care at this point.

He praises you filthily, moving his free hand to move your shirt up, exposing your tits for him. "God, you're so pretty, honey.. Such a pretty fuckin' cunt. Can't believe I found you, huh?" He says, making you squirm as butterflies fill your stomach with his dirty words and nick names.

He grasps onto one of your tits, squeezing it harshly, but not harsh enough to hurt you. Just right. He twists one of your nipples gently between his thumb and index finger, watching as it hardens and perks up for him. He groans at the view and brings his face closer to them, taking your other nipple into his mouth as he sucks onto it desperately.

You moan loudly, whimpering against him as the pleasure grows immensely. You've never felt this good in your life and you're in absolute bliss. You're not sure how or if it could get better than this.

"E-Ezra, can't.. can't take it, oh god," You cry out, panting even faster and louder as his fingers hit a spot inside of you that makes you see stars for a second. It's too overwhelming, too fucking good. Your hands find their way towards Ezra's hair, tugging on it gently, needing him more than ever. You wouldn't even begin to think that meeting him today would lead to this moment.

He finally removes himself from your tits, chuckling darkly as he looks up at you, bringing his head closer to your face. He looks at you intently, with desire and as if you were the only person in the entire world.

His fingers slow down, making you catch your breath a bit, and he removes them from your entrance, bringing them up to your face. "Taste yourself for me, baby.. Wanna see you take my fingers, can you do that, honey?" He whispers softly to you, his three fingertips resting against your lips, waiting for you to open them up for him.

You oblige, nodding your head as you open your mouth for him, allowing him to slip them in between your lips. You close your mouth shut around them, sucking on them gently as you moan out, looking at him the entire time. Your eyes roll back as he pushes them even further into your mouth, making it a bit harder to breathe, but you continue, wanting to please him.

His fingers were so thick in your mouth, and his scent was driving you insane. "Atta girl.. God, you're so fuckin' sexy. Makin' me go all crazy, you know that, pretty girl?" He groans out, bringing his free hand to grip your chin roughly. It makes you whine against his fingers, making Ezra feel the vibration of it through them.

He laughs lowly and slowly pulls his fingers out of your mouth, looking at them as your saliva connects, providing a string of it as he pulls it away. He just chuckles as he watches it, looking at you with adoration in his eyes. His grip on your chin moves to your cheeks now, squeezing your face a bit tightly as he demands you, "Open your mouth, baby. Open wide for me."

You quickly listen to him, opening your mouth as wide as you can. Before you could even process it, he spits down your throat, making you gasp loudly. "Now, swallow it. Swallow it all, darlin', let me see it." He instructs you, his grip on your face remaining rough and tight.

You nod and close your mouth, swallowing all of it for him. His hand squeezes your cheeks together, making you open your mouth again to let him see that you did what he asked of you. "Dirty, dirty fuckin' girl. Got so lucky, didn't I? Now you're getting it.." He lets out, snickering as you stick your tongue out to prove it.

His words make you feel so filthy, but you can't help but start to love it.. crave it. He's making it harder for you to even breathe right now.

You let out a small laugh, still absolutely worn out and overwhelmed, thanking him as your head feels cloudy. Ezra then grasps onto one of your hands, making you stare at its motion. He brings your palm to his hard bulge, all pent up through his pants, and the way it feels makes you moan. You've heard stories about men and this happening to them, but you never thought you'd be able to feel it like this.

"See how you make me feel, sweetheart? How hard you make me? You know what this means, right?" He says to you, his voice rough and raspy while he palms your hand over his bulge, making him moan lowly. You shake your head, not knowing if what you're thinking is the right answer.

He grins and chuckles, "Means I need your pretty pussy around me, honey. That's the only way I can satiate this.. make it all go away.. You gonna help me with that, baby? Gonna be a good girl for me?" Ezra eggs you on, wanting you to crave this just as much as he does.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you swallow a bit nervously, unsure but curious to know how it'll feel like. You've wondered about this your entire life, and you could finally experience it now.

You open your mouth to speak, hesitating to do so. Ezra softly rubs his other hand towards your inner thigh, attempting to reassure you. "Don't worry, birdie.. I'd never hurt you, if that's what you're concerned about. I'll make it feel real good for you. Make you see stars, honey.. What do you say?" He encourages, leaning in closer to your face.

What else do I have left to lose? You ask yourself, coming to your decision to agree. You pause, nodding your head at his proposals.

"Words, darlin', need you to tell me. Tell me you want this.. that you want me." He tells you, urging it from you as he removes your hand from his bulge to lift his hand to your face, gently caressing your cheek affectionately. It makes you shudder to the touch.

You sigh, inhaling sharply, "I want you, Ezra.. I want this." You admit to him, the arousal running through your body as it reaches your core. You grow wet again, thinking of this actually happening.

He smiles gently at you and leans in closer to your lips, whispering out against them, "That's it.. Atta girl, baby," and presses a gentle, yet firm & long kiss to your lips.

You moan into the kiss, shutting your eyes at the feeling. You've been kissed before, but never like this.. never from a man who's made you feel this good. It leaves you dazed and hazy as he pulls away from you, the need for him growing even more.

Ezra's hands reach for his pants now, grabbing onto the hem as he pulls it down along with his own underwear, revealing his hard cock for you. The sight of it makes your mouth water, wondering how he'll even fit inside of you if you could barely handle a few of his fingers.

Your throat grows dry as you gulp nervously at the thought, making you stammer out, "Ezra.. A-Are you sure it'll be able to fit? I.. I'm not sure if it will.." You confess to him, licking your lips as you finally look up at him.

A soft laugh escapes his throat as he grins at you, stroking his cock gently and slowly, staring at you with a hard gaze, "Don't you worry, honey.. I'll make it fit." He tells you, the nervous tone in your voice all the more spurring him on, aching with need for you. "Now, keep those legs open for me, birdie.. Wanna look at you while I take you."

Your heart races at his words, yet you comply with his requests, knowing that there's no way of getting out of this regardless. Nodding your head and staring at his face intently, you keep your legs spread for him, the cold air hitting your core and making you shiver.

Ezra moves himself in between your legs, grabbing the base of his cock with his right hand as he rubs the tip of it along your wet folds, making him moan out from the feeling. His stare is fixed onto your glistening cunt; the only thing he's been fantasizing about this entire day.

Without warning, he pushes the fat head of his cock into your pussy all while keeping his eyes on your face, wanting to see your reaction to him. Your eyes shoot open from the sudden intrusion, mouth falling open. "E-Ezra!" You gasp out, looking down at his body connecting to yours as you grip the bed to the best of your ability.

He just lets out a sigh of satisfaction, laughing at your reaction, "Sorry, baby.. Couldn't wait any longer. You can take more, can't you?" He pushes you, smirking as he continues to make his way into your cunt more and more, feeling his cock grow deeper inside of you.

Your walls involuntarily clench around him, the stretch of it almost unbearable for you as your shut your eyes, throwing your head back. He wasn't giving you any time to really adjust, and the pain burned while the pleasure slowly made itself apparent with the warmth in your body growing quickly.

Panting, your heart races even faster, unable to stop yourself from opening your eyes. You keep your gaze on the sight of him pushing himself inside of you, making your body feel fuller by the second.

Ezra groans as he continues to push further, gasping out, "Fuck, that's it, baby.. What a tight fuckin' pussy. Fillin' you up nice and good, just like you needed.." The words on his tongue making you throb for him, as he finally buries himself inside of you completely.

Your breath is taken away as his thick cock fills you to the brim, tears beginning to form in the corner of your eyes as your mouth gapes at the feeling and sight of it. He's huge, making it evident that way as you see him bulge out from your stomach.

He chuckles as his eyes follow where yours are, seeing himself in your stomach. He places his hand right there on top of it, pushing onto your stomach so you can feel him right there. "You feel me in you, honey? So deep, I know.. But it feels good, don't it? Takin' every fuckin' inch.." He pants, slowly but adamantly rocking himself against you.

It takes every bit of control in him to not fuck you hard, taking what he wants from you and using you how he wants.

"Gonna move now, baby.. S'gonna feel real good, I promise.." He whispers, reaching for one of your legs to lift it up onto his shoulder, making the angle of his cock push into you even deeper as you groan loudly, the unbearable feeling running through your core.

You just lay there, taking it as the pleasure builds up and up inside of you, his hips pushing and pulling as the speed gradually increases.

He pulls his hips back, his hand pressing harshly onto your stomach to keep you still and full of him, making sure that he pulls his cock out just enough for it to rest at your entrance, wasting no time to shove it back into you.

The burn of his girth and how much it stretches you feels incredible now, making you moan out and shudder at the feeling. With each push of his cock, he fills you completely, pressing his hips to the hilt of your pussy, almost like you're taking him deeper every time.

"F-Fuck.. Ezra— please.. please!" You whine, the tears in your ears now falling down your cheeks at the overwhelming pressure in your pussy. "So.. So good, please, fa-faster.." You plead, your eyes fixed on him completely.

He lets out a filthy laugh, loving how much you're craving for it now. He knew he'd get you right where he wanted you. "That's my girl.. my good girl. Don't you worry, honey, I'll give you more than you need.." Ezra whispers lowly to you, the speed of his thrusts and movements now going at an unbearable pace, making your body shake and move from the force of his hips.

You whine out loudly, choking out as your eyes shut from the rapid change of speed. The noises that your pussy makes from his huge cock hammering inside of you is filthy, making you flush from how it rings in your ears.

"Dirty girl.. You hear yourself? Hear how soaked you are from my fuckin' cock? Can't get enough of this pretty little pussy, honey.. It's too good. Wanna fuck this cunt forever.." He groans out, making your eyes roll back at his words.

His movements suddenly halt as he pulls out of you, grabbing onto your waist roughly to flip you onto your stomach, trapping your legs and hips with his thighs. Ezra quickly grabs hold of his cock, gliding the tip of it through your folds as he shoves it back inside your tight cunt, feeling him deeper than you ever thought you could.

Your back involuntarily arches up, the feeling of him buried inside of you being too much, too deep, as you whale and whine, turning your head to try to look at him. "W-Wait! Too much, please.. slow down!" You choke out, trying to get him to relent.

Ezra just laughs and shoves your head back down onto the bed with his left hand, the other pushing your back down to press your stomach flat. He shushes you, his thrusts quickening as he fills you with each push, "Shh, honey.. Just take it.. You can do it, I know you can, baby.. S'Better like this. Take this fuckin' cock, like the good girl you are.."

Your body convulses at his harsh movements, making your stomach coil in pleasure as you feel yourself grow hotter and hotter, the feeling in your cunt making you sob out. His cock repeatedly hits that spot deep inside of you, making you see stars.. just as he promised you.

His hips continuously collide with your ass, moving his hands to grab handfuls of it, squeezing your cheeks harshly as he spreads your ass for him, watching his cock plunge into you over and over again.

"Fuck, birdie.. Gotta nice ass, too.. So perfect for me." He chuckles out, slapping your ass a few times, making you squirm and groan out from the pleasurable sting. "Mmphf!" You whimper, his hand pushing the side of your face down onto the bed.

You cry out, tears falling down your cheeks as you sob, "T-Too much, Ezra! I.. I can't.."

He shakes his head and tuts his tongue, correcting you, "Yes, you can, you can, sweetheart.. Not gonna stop til' I'm done with you," He says harshly, his tone needy and mean as his movements grow rougher. "Cryin' so pretty for me, baby.. Makin' me so proud.. My girl."

You shake as your body convulses from his thrusts, and Ezra laughs at that, knowing that you're close.. feeling that you're close, as you clench around his huge cock repeatedly, that unrelenting feeling building up in you.

Ezra's arm moves beneath your stomach, grasping onto your waist tightly as he suddenly pulls you up against his chest. He holds you unbelievably close and tight against him, making it impossible for you to move away, keeping you absolutely still for him. His hand at your waist moves to one of your tits, grabbing it hard as he holds you there.

His thrusts hit that spot inside of you repeatedly, pressing into it over and over again as you shake, your body feeling too weak to even hold yourself up. Ezra just does that for you, gripping and taking your body to his liking, as if your body was his.

To be fair, your body already is.

Sobbing out, you scream and shut your eyes tightly, lifting your head up to rest it on his shoulder, his pants and groans filling your ears as you grow lightheaded. "That's it, honey.. Gonna come for me? I feel it.. Feel how close you are. I am too.." He whispers in your ear, moving his free hand down to your cunt, using two of his fingers to rub rapid circles on your clit.

Your eyes shoot up at the feeling, enduring the feeling of your climax increasing as your stomach tightens and coils uncontrollably. "F-Fuck— Ezra! Go-Gonna.. come!" You cry out, your body completely giving out as his cock just takes you.

"That's right, come on my fuckin' cock, baby.. Gonna come too.. fill you up real good, sweetheart.. Make you mine."

Your eyes widen at his words, knowing that he shouldn't.. he can't. "N-No, Ezra, not inside, you can't, I.." You whimper out as your breath hitches in your throat.

He just shakes his head, laughing in your ear, "I can't? I can't? I can do whatever I want, baby. Nothin's stoppin' me.. not you, not your little family.. They're long gone now, honey.."

You whimper and cry out, squirming against him as you try to pull away, knowing that you can't get pregnant. Not in a world like this.

Your pleads just spur him on, all while his fingers on your clit push you further to the edge.

"You know, I was watching you.. following you around all day.. wondering how tight this pretty cunt would feel around me. Fuck.. I was right.. Now, you're mine. Never gonna leave you, baby.. Pussy's too good. Can't let you go.. Can't give this up."

Tears stream down your face as the pressure inside of you builds up with every breath you take, not even processing the words he just said. Your lower body shakes as you try to keep your eyes open, screaming out, "G-God.. M' gonna come!" His fingers apply even more pressure on your clit as he laughs. "Come for me, honey.. Doin' so good for me. Come on my fuckin' cock."

Your ears drown out every single noise in the tent, ringing loudly as your throat tightens, screaming out. Your cunt tightens around his cock, clenching onto him as much as you can as your pussy convulses and writhes against his, seeing stars. He fucks you through it, his pace never faltering as your climax coats his cock with your slick, running down your weak thighs.

He lets go of your body, making you collapse on your stomach as his thrusts go faster, harder. He's close, and you can feel it too, his cock twitching inside of your spent cunt.

His groans fill the room as he hammers into you, gripping onto your ass and waist to keep you still for him. "Gonna fill this pretty pussy so deep, you're gonna feel me for days, honey.. That way, you'll never leave me.. Never gonna feel any other man fuck you this good.. My pretty girl.."

You whine out at his words, knowing how fucked up it is.. but, you can't help but love it.

His hands grip your hips tightly, pulling your waist flush against him as he groans loudly, holding you there. His cock is buried inside of you as deep as he can, pulsing streams of his come inside your cunt. You feel him deep inside of you, painting your walls as you sob out at the feeling. "O-Oh, fuck!"

"Fuck, yeah, baby.. All fuckin' mine, Take it. That's a good girl." He sighs out contently, pushing his cock even a fraction of an inch deeper, as far as he can. You whimper at how full you feel, his come running through your pussy, whining at how good it feels for you, even though it shouldn't.

Ezra's body slowly collapses on top of your back, keeping himself inside of you as he finally slows down, beginning to catch his breath, his high deterring.

The tears in your eyes start to dry up and your eyes stay wide open, processing everything that just happened. The shock runs through your body, making you shiver at the thought. You can't help but crave him even more, making you realize that you wanted this.

Ezra moves his hands around your waist to pull you against his chest as he rolls to his side, taking you with him. He pulls you in closer, preventing you from moving, staying flushed against him.

His coarse, gentle voice fills your ears as you shut your eyes, the exhaustion catching up to you, all while his hand runs through your hair, caressing your head affectionately.

"All mine, honey.. Never lettin' you go.."

And he never does.

You never make it back home.

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[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2023: October 3rd

Day 3: Rimming, Fingering/Handjob, Dry Humping

Ezra (Prospect) x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Spit, filthy language, hand jobs, self image issues, cum

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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

His curses reach your ears, making you glance over your shoulder discreetly to where he was fumbling and berating himself under his breath. 

Since coming back from the Green, Ezra has been different. Churlish and short tempered with his shortcomings that have become apparent with the loss of his dominant hand. 

He had insisted that he needed work, that he could do it. Coming to you with an almost desperate plea in his eyes that was very unlike the loquacious and enigmatic prospector. Tugging on the strings of friendship and occasionally more when you both were of like mind. 

The job was pretty straightforward. Harvesting was Ezra’s passion and his skill. Needing to bring in five cases of latinum, processed from the crystals near the cobalt vein on Fero 2. 

Except….Ezra is struggling. Unable to do what he could before that fateful tour on the Green’s treacherous surface. The ragged and red skin that has been patched together over the remaining stump of his arm is a testament to what he has lost. 

More than that, he’s not the same charismatic, confident floater that had talked his way into your bed and into a split of your profits. He’s lost. You can see and worse, so can he. 

“Mother fuckin’, mong nonger, flipper cunt, son of a bitchin’ floatin’ piece of shit.” Ezra hisses, slamming the palm of his left hand against the cursed zipper that it stuck. It’s been one hundred and twenty cycles since he had lost his fucking arm and still he’s unable to do most of the simple tasks he had taken for granted. 

It doesn’t help that it’s been nearly a hundred and twenty-five since he’s had anything resembling pleasure. 

Ezra isn’t a greedy man, but he is one who sees to his needs. Now, he’s unable to. Not just because of proximity, there’s no privacy in the smaller tent you are both residing in with most of your gear taking up the space. It’s because it doesn’t feel the same. There’s no pretending it’s a lover stroking his cock when he closes his eyes. The damn phantom pains knock him out of any fantasy. 

Now he’s here with you. A woman that he intimately knows and he cannot even bear the thought of touching you. Knowing that his skills are woefully inadequate for being considered a lover. Unworthy of treating you to a fumbling, unsatisfying encounter with a man who is unable to perform at the peak of his ability. 

He wants to cum, he needs to. But he can’t even drag the zipper down on his suit right now. 

You watch him, sighing softly at the stubbornness of the man. That was something that has been consistent from the Ezra prior to the Green and the one in front of you. 

He’s spoken about his fears. His shortcomings and his desires. Not in verbal words, but the way he has acted has been louder than any story he could have told you. 

The cot you are sitting on is yours, the only space you have to stretch out and relax. Where you unwind from a day of dealing with Ezra’s increasingly short temper and the work of extracting the crystals you had promised to fulfill the contract. Your boots off and your suit stripped down to the soft, worn underclothes that protect your skin from the rubberized suits. 

“Ezra.” He grunts, not even looking at you as he continues to struggle with the protective outer layer of his outfit. Another few creative curses filling the tent. 

There’s a hazy idea on what would soothe the rough and raw man. It’s the same that always mellows you out when you have an itch that needs to be scratched, the pulsing pleasure of an orgasm making your rough day better. 

It makes you move, standing and quietly shedding the layers until you are bare. Your feet padding quietly across the thick canvas flooring of the tent. Moving closer and reaching out to touch his shoulder gently, soothingly. 

“Gem- please-” You can hear the rejection of help in the tone of his voice, the haggard resignation.

Instead of saying anything, you shush him and circle around his body. Bringing your own to stand in front of him and for once, Ezra is quiet with the exception of a strangled groan as his eyes widen. Taking in the sight of you nude in front of him. 

Taking advantage of his silence, his frozen movements, you take the zipper that has been giving him so much trouble and drag it down after a few good, hard yanks. “Let me help you.” Is all you whisper, looking up at him under your lashes as you start to push the fabric off his shoulders. The neatly pinned sleeve on the right easily drops, but the left side is still caught on his bent elbow. 

“Gem-”

“I’m going to jerk you off.” You tell him, concentrating on undressing the prospector while he stands stiff as a board. “I’m going to get on my knees and wrap my hand around your cock. Stroke you until all you can think about is cumming on my tits.” 

You smirk when he groans, knowing how much Ezra once enjoyed painting your body with his cum when he was feeling particularly wicked. Filling your mouth and covering your face when you gagged on his cock. Or splattering his seed on your tits and belly. Seeing himself on you was something he had enjoyed. 

Ezra exhales, a ragged sound that you imagine costs him dearly. The round curve to his shoulders as you strip down the suit to his waist and then to his ankles. His cock is half hard, poking up in the threadbare sweats that hang on his hips. Obviously interested in the helping hand you are offering despite himself. 

He doesn’t say a word, barely breathes as you pull off his boots, strip him of the suit, pull down his sweats and reveal the body underneath. He never wore underwear, didn’t believe in it, and you’re glad some things haven’t changed. 

Leaving him in the ripped, holey shirt, his cock curves up, hardening even more as you had knelt down and proven to him that you were going to do this. Eyes dark and piercing as he stares down. 

Your own eyes are meeting his when you spit in your hand. Coating it generously and reaching out to wrap around the bobbing, quivering length. 

“Fuck.” His hiss is gloriously raw when you squeeze him, sliding your hand up loosely to coat his dry skin. “You are really going to treat me, aren’t you, gem?” 

He’s not expecting an answer, no when you had very clearly told him what you were going to do. Spitting in your hand again and then leaning forward to allow the spit to dribble directly on his cock from your mouth as Ezra swallows a moan. 

His cock is perfect. The foreskin rolls back beautifully and reveals the pink, shiny head, begging for your mouth but you aren’t going to suck it. Wanting him to take this bit of pleasure that you will give him. Allow him to relax for a moment without lamenting his inability to do anything. 

Starting slow, making sure that the long, luxurious tugs to his cock are pulling every ounce of pleasure out of him that you can. Letting him feel the crevices in your hand and the warmth of your grip. 

“You’re too good to me.” He groans out, head tilting back and exposing the long length of his stubbled chin and neck. “Undeserving of your beauteous consideration. Your curative touch.” 

His cock throbs in your hand, twitching when you twist your wrist as you stroke back towards the base. You had watched him several times as he had stood over you, jerking himself off to finish after he had finished wrecking you. 

“I should be servicing you, dear gem.” He grunts, biting his bottom lip until it is plump and bruised with his eyes fixed on the slow, steady movement of your hand and the feeling it brings him. If he closes his eyes, it would almost feel like his own touch. “For so readily dealing with a cantankerous, feeble man.” 

You huff, not finding him to be feeble, but you don’t argue with him, knowing it would be useless. His hand finds the curve of your face and you turn your head, pressing a kiss to the palm of it, enjoying the roughness of his skin as you nuzzle into it. 

“So pretty with my cock in your hand. Imagined that image so many times as I tried to pleasure myself. Angry about having no means to give myself love. It was not nearly as sweet as the grip you hold my length. My fumbling attempts to stroke myself falling sort of your angelic touch.” 

There’s the Ezra you want to hear, to see standing above you. His chest rising and falling under his shirt as he starts to pant. His mouth running more and more as he slowly starts to rock his hips forward. “You’re gonna let me paint you, gem?” He asks breathlessly. “Adorn your glowing skin with the white hues of my pleasure?” He twitches again, obviously looking forward to such a thing. 

You hum, nodding up at him while your grip tightens slightly, enjoying the feeling of soft, velvety skin over the hardness beneath. Growing wetter as you remember how that hardness feels as it is pounding into you. Perhaps you will bend over your cot tomorrow and beg Ezra to fuck you. He would be able to manage that position with ease. 

When you squeeze his cock, moving your hand faster, you seemingly steal Ezra’s ability to speak. The groans and moans of his pleasure all the music that your ears are privy to. The symphony of his sounds shooting straight to your cunt and if you weren’t focused on relaxing him, you would have started touching yourself. This is for him. A handjob for a man who continually laments the loss of his own. 

“Shit- gem, gonna-” Ezra barely manages the strangled words before his cock is pulsing in your hand. Giving you a split second warning before ropes of cum start spurting from the tip. His warmth splattering your skin and his whine of joy at the release nearly enough to make you cum. Working him, milking his cock of every last drop until Ezra reaches down and wraps his fingers around your wrist. 

You are covered in him. The milky white seed coating your tits and chest is thick, viscous. Copious amounts that speak of it being a long time since he had cum.

“Kevva, gem.” He hums, almost drunkenly. “I am humbled by your assistance and have yet begun to sing your praises, but my cock is nearly untouchable from how pleasured it is at the moment.” He closes his eyes and sighs, a small smile on his face. “Have I ever told you about the orgy that I had the pleasure of engaging in on Rynock?” He asks, showing glimpses of the man you know.

#pedro pascal #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #absurdthirst kinktober #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect smut #ezra prospect x f!reader #ezra prospect fanfiction

[frannyzooey]

On The Green: 1

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Mature (violence, slight gore, killing - typical Ezra 😌 — will be explicit in later chapters)

Summary: Two strangers meet.

a/n: New series alert! Man alive first chapters are hard, and so I am going to yeet this into the universe before looking at it anymore. I owe everything to @bageldaddy for educating me hardcore and for being so extremely kind and thorough, and to @the-ginger-hedge-witch for her Ezra eyes and inspiration and to @familyvideostevie for her support and enthusiasm and notes. It took a VILLAGE to get through this one. Enjoy meeting our stranger. :)

--

You come to surrounded by unnatural stillness.

An absence felt in the air surrounding you, there is something about it that tugs at the foggy corners of your brain, beckoning you closer to the surface. You try to listen for anything beyond the ringing in your ears, and there is…something.

A beeping sound emerging through the fog, its incessant chirping grows clearer. You blink slowly, your limbs made of lead when you try to turn your head. Instead of trying to investigate, you let yourself slip slowly back into the lush darkness, closing your eyes.  

But the strangeness of the silence tugs at you, and the beeping gets louder. 

Splices of memory come through in sharp flashes: 

The deep, bone-shaking tremble of turbulence. 

The grating sound of tearing metal. 

Beeping - so much fucking beeping, every sensor in the transport pod going off - and the whole cabin jerking to the left, your body weight pushing against the fabric restraints, your dad’s voice raw with hoarseness as he screams orders at you and –

Oh shit. Your dad. 

Your eyes pop open, and you sit up - or rather, you try to, but every muscle resists. Battered and bruised, you fumble at your harness with clumsy, shaking fingers. Looking up as it finally clicks open, you’re about to leap from the chair when you freeze. 

He’s there next to you, unmoving. 

Dead. 

“Dad?” you whisper. 

You can see without even checking for a pulse that he’s gone. That’s the feeling that pulled you awake, the vibration of life gone from the air. The stillness weighs heavy in the small space, and the beeping gets shriller somehow, more noticeable in the utter silence. 

The pod shrinks to a claustrophobic dome, and your breathing starts to come fast. Harsh, rapid exhales out of your open mouth and then you’re vomiting, right onto the floor. A cold sweat breaks out under your thermals, and you swallow hard against more bile that threatens to come up. 

There is blood splattered on the dash, pooled around the buttons. A deep gash gouged across his temple, his left eye already swollen beyond recognition. You stare at the dark, pulpy wound that runs with blood and with a heave, lose the remaining contents of your stomach. 

To have hit his head like that, he must have unbuckled and tried to fix something mid-crash, but why? Why the fuck would he do that? He knew better than that. You try to think about the sequence of events, but there is only a blur. A foggy, black spot in your memory, hazy images obscured by panic. 

You remember pieces: watching Puggart Bench grow smaller as you ascended through the atmosphere. The vague details of your father’s latest scheme, along with promises that this would be your last job. The frustration you felt at those words – ones you’ve heard a million times. 

You remember rolling your eyes and slipping on your headphones, and then scolding you for not paying attention after he jabbed you in the shoulder to take them off, and then…this. Somehow this. Guilt settles deep in your gut. 

Keeping your dazed eyes glued to the floor, you ignore the blood and beeping and the dead fucking body. You crouch low in the safety of your chair, winding your grip around the harness strap as an anchor and you sit for a moment, trying to steady your breathing. 

You sit. 

And sit. 

–

“Think she’s got anything left?”

The words spread condensation across the lower half of his visor, and Ezra listens for an answer he already knows isn’t coming. 

He always asks anyway: a constant dangling bait, in hopes his partner will bite. 

He hasn’t yet. 

Ezra bends back over the rough dug pit, his fingers splaying through the loose dirt. Anything worth digging for is sealed in his case already, but he stalls, thinking. 

He had watched the pod streak across the sky; the sight not unusual on the Green. Mercs and prospectors landed here every day to try their luck on the uninhabitable planet, but the speed in which the pod broke through the sky was unusual. Ezra could tell it was going too fast, even from the ground. His dark eyes had tracked the potential opportunity’s descent from behind the shield of his visor, and when the ground shuddered with the impact, he felt it through his gloves. 

If it had landed safety, protocol would be to keep his distance – no use needlessly engaging in a potential threat. However, he doubted that was the case after watching it fall to the earth like a stone. If he had to guess, the occupants were probably dead, and therefore, in his favor. 

His old pod flashes through his mind; nonfunctional and by now, probably stripped bare. If he doesn’t get there quickly to stake his claim, this one could fall to the same fate. It didn’t look sizeable by any stretch of the imagination, but he doesn’t need big. 

He just needs enough to fit one man, and his case. 

Ezra keeps his voice light and conversational. 

“Did you feel that?”

He looks up at his silent partner, and is met with a blank stare. Or at least Ezra assumes it’s a blank stare, with the man’s visor blackened. He can’t see his face, and has never been able to. He’s had many offers of partnership while on the Green - some out of desperation, some through coercion, some forced upon him – and though his current partner is one of the latter, he had been secretly pleased at the sheer size of him. Brute strength a valuable commodity; the hulking man is more of a utility than a partner. 

“Think it’s worthy of our time to investigate, or do you suppose there won’t be much left after a landing like that? If you want, I can go it alone?”

Met with more silence, both from his partner and from the unforgiving atmosphere of the Green, Ezra grimaces with annoyance when his partner starts to walk in the direction of the site without him. 

“Hang on now. We approach together.” Climbing out of the pit, the loose soil slips under his boots. He scrambles up as quickly as he can, unwilling to see his chance at the remains slip through his dirt-crusted fingers. 

“Now then,” he breathes heavily. “I think it would be befitting of us to use caution in our approach. The passengers may still be alive, and feeling panicked enough to pose a risk. I think –”

The hulk appears to listen to half of what Ezra says, and then turns abruptly mid-sentence, walking away. 

Snatching up his case, Ezra switches off the comm link in his helmet and his expression falls from tactful to annoyance. His eyes narrow on the man’s broad back, his fingers itching for his thrower. 

Grumbling, he follows. 

“Fucking idiot.”

–

You’re going to have to touch it. 

You wonder what it will feel like – stiff with rigor? Still pliant with traces of warmth? Heavy and impossible to move?

In all the ways you imagined you’d probably find your father dead, you somehow hadn’t thought about the logistics of actually moving his body. You imagined someone else would be the one responsible for it. Medical staff, most likely, who were used to the clammy skin and the stiff weight of death. 

Not you. 

Yet another thing you’ll have to do unwillingly for him. 

The reason you’re on this godforsaken planet in the first place, he’d forced you along to help him pay a debt owed for those fucking drops he relied on to get through his days. Days that bled into nights spent waiting for him, more his parent than his child. A freefall into the nomad life since your mother died, you’d been trailing behind him for years - an afterthought, only remembered when he needed something. 

A reluctant digging partner when he forced you to be, but also a navigator, a cook, a laundress, a caretaker. You were a lot of things to him, but never the one you wanted to be the most. 

Never a daughter. 

Your eyes slowly scan the disarray of the cabin, taking in the damage. For all the things he asked you to do, he had kept you in the dark when it came to any actual useful skills that might help you in this situation. Prospecting, digging, self-defense – anything that would have afforded you a glimpse at the possibility of independence – all of those were kept from your reach. 

Never a mechanic either, unfortunately for you. How the fuck you’re going to fix this thing, you have no idea. The manuals for it were tucked away somewhere, but they required at least a basic understanding, and you have barely that. 

You could stick with the harvesting plan he had vaguely outlined to you on the way here (assuming you could even find the gems, let alone dig them up), try to come back and fix your pod during the evenings (assuming you could even figure it out) and then try to catch the next slingback home (assuming you could even get off this planet). 

Your other option would be…none. There are no other options. 

The entire situation expands into something overwhelming, each step far outside your base of knowledge and your breathing starts to come fast again. You scold yourself, willing it to slow. 

Panicking again isn’t going to help shit. 

Wrestling with your emotions, you take a deep inhale and close your eyes, focusing on the first step. 

Before anything else, you have to move him. 

–

Through the edges of lush greenery, a pod. 

Ezra tries to tamp down his excitement, kicking his senses into high alert to scan for whomever it belongs to - but there is nothing. 

Fucking silence, the bane of his existence. 

Though in this case, a good sign. 

His own pod taken from him months ago in a standoff between himself and his former crew, this off-white piece of rubbish appears as treasure to him. It’s banged up for sure: one of the engines loose from the frame and the metal surrounding the bottom crumpled from hard impact. Unlikely that anyone survived the crash, anticipation thrums through him at the harvest in front of him. 

Keeping his expression measured, he beckons his partner to approach with him, silently advising caution. 

The idiot doesn’t though. Instead, he stomps forward and punches at the hatch button with force. 

Ezra frowns deeply, anger slipping into his tone. “Hey,” he reprimands sharply. 

The man pays Ezra no mind as the ramp slowly opens. 

–

One hand extended towards your dad’s shoulder, it hangs hesitantly in the air for a moment. Inching forward, you try to summon every ounce of bravery that you have and just when it’s about to touch— 

A loud thump sounds outside the pod, and your hand jerks back. Crouching low along the side of the pod, you crawl through the ship's scattered contents all over the floor and grab the thrower, trying to desperately wind a sufficient charge for a shot or two. The rummaging outside grows louder, and you crouch behind your chair, gripping the weapon in your sweat slick hands. Panic floods through your veins, the sharp stink of fear oozing from your pores as your body shivers with adrenaline, and you flex your hold on your weapon.

The door to the pod opens with a hiss, and two men emerge. 

One slighter than the other, which isn’t saying much—anyone would be slight compared to the size of the second man. You aren’t even sure how he managed to get into the pod, between the width of his body and his height. 

Rising swiftly, you point the weapon at them. 

“Stop,” you force out, trying to mask the tremble in your voice. 

The lithe man freezes, surprise showing on his face for a split second before disappearing. Tilting his helmet in thought, he speaks. 

“Now this is something I’ve never seen in all my time in the Green,” he muses with a drawl. “A little girl.” 

A statement, not a question, and you bristle while he continues to study you curiously. 

“Leave, or I’ll shoot.” 

Your finger flexes on the trigger, and he raises his hands in front of him. 

“Calm down, little bird. My partner and I merely ventured this way to see if all was okay after that crash we heard.” His eyes scan the cabin, a scattered mess. “Seems it was quite the landing.”

Shuffling your stance a fraction closer, you keep the thrower trained on them. “I’m fine. Now please. Go.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re fine.” He sounds completely unbothered, like you aren’t pointing a weapon directly at him. Taking a slow step forward, he peers around you. “Your partner sure doesn’t seem fine.”

“He’s not my partner. It’s my –” You freeze, scolding yourself for immediately volunteering information and his gaze drops down to your father’s lifeless form. The stranger's face sobers, and he looks back at you. 

His jaw shifting in thought, his partner seems to grow bored of the conversation and takes a heavy step forward, advancing on you. 

“Stop,” you try to order, panic creeping into the command, but he doesn’t. He keeps going, his large arm reaching towards your thrower. His massive grip choking the barrel, he rips it clean from your hands before you can even think about stopping him, and you crouch back behind your chair, trembling.

“My apologies for my partner, little one. He’s not keen on having weapons pointed at him. You can understand, I’m sure. Why don’t you come out from behind that chair and let’s talk. A deal, if you’re open to it.”

You don’t want to strike a deal with them. You know that any deal you attempt to broker on your behalf is going to be in their favor no matter what the conditions are. Your father never taught you the skills of negotiation – those were always done out of sight. Your mouth dries, sweat beading along your nape. What fucking deal could there even be to make that doesn’t end up with you dead? Or worse?

With so much happening in the last two hours, it’s hard to process anything, let alone a negotiation with deadly strangers on a hostile planet. How you handle this situation could be literally life or death for you, and you beg your brain to pick up pace. 

Please. Please. Come on, think.

Your mind still struggling but knowing you’re running out of time, you force yourself back up. 

“The deal was leave, and I won’t shoot.”

He only grins at that, and rage at the unfairness of it all flares bright through you.

“Besides, why should I believe anything you say? You’ll probably just kill me the first chance you get.”

“Why would you assume I intend harm?”

You don’t have anything to say to that, instead looking at his partner. Fear at his sheer size displays clearly on your face no matter how hard to try to mask it. “Why else would he steal my gun? Shoot me first before I can shoot, right?”

“If that was the case, he would have shot you already.” He lets a beat pass, his eyes narrowing in their focus on you. “Still could though, I guess.”

There is something behind the indifference in his voice, something in his eyes that begs you silently to listen to him — but then his partner raises his thrower, and several things happen at once.

You whimper, dunking behind the tattered chair. 

The smaller man whips his railgun from his hip, pulling the trigger.

You scream, and the bullet hits his partner square in the chest. 

The larger man stumbles forward as if to grab him but the smaller one shoots him again, the second shot landing in his gut. The force of the close shot pushes the larger man backwards, his heavy body slamming into the pod wall. 

He slumps down, collapsing into a lifeless heap.

There is a beat of weighted silence; your form frozen. 

The roguish man’s profile faces you: dark features partially obscured by the dome of his helmet, you can see closely shorn brown hair in matted disarray with a shock of white that smears just above his temple. Black eyes that glimmer in the fluorescent light, the edges lined with age. Tanned skin, a strong nose, plush lips under a mustache. 

He stares at his dead partner with something akin to satisfaction, and it turns your stomach to think of not only how quickly he resorted to violence, but also how much he seems to enjoy it. 

“Well would you look at that. Now we have two to move.” 

Still in shock, the violent scene in front of you startles you just as much as his nonchalance does. You watch as he turns to face you; a hooked scar marring the skin under his eye. 

“Now little one,” he says with seeming politeness. “You ready to hear that deal?”

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

[beskarandblasters]

An appreciation for the “small” fic writers

Hello! I’m taking a small break from writing and posting fics but today I got this idea and I just realized I needed to do it.

I think it’s easy when you’re first getting into fic writing to feel discouraged by the amount of notes you get or the amount of followers you have. So that’s why I’m compiling a list of “small” fic writers! (Around 1k followers or less!)

Every single fic writer is valid on this space regardless if you have 10 followers or 10,000.

So send me your favorite smaller creators and I’ll be compiling a huge rec list!! I’m asking for writers who write for Pedro Pascal characters specifically!

Thank you all in advance 🩷

#pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x reader #din djarin x reader #javier peña x reader #frankie morales x reader #dieter bravo x reader #ezra prospect x reader #fic writing #writing #small creator

[palioom]

day two - titfucking

pairing: ezra x f!reader word count: 723 warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; ezra only has one arm; titfucking, lowkey spit kink, ezra is obsessed with boobs, cum play, cum eating

• kinktober 2023 masterlist •

Ezra had been worked up all day already, unable to tear his eyes away from her. The way she looked in that tight turtleneck shirt, her breasts perfectly on display for him, seeing her perky nipples poke through the thin material. Stiff because of how fucking cold it was up here, taking a rest in between prospecting gigs to sell some stones and stock up on food and utensils again.

Trying to get her to come back to their ship the whole time, always brushed off by her because they had shit to get done. She had very well noticed his eyes glued to her chest and she had just waited for his hand to reach out and grope one.

But now that they were finally back on their small ship, his hand immediately wrangled the hem of her shirt out of her pants, pointedly looking at her to just fucking help him out here.

She did, pressing her lips onto his as she quickly took off her top, her bra following right after. It was still difficult for him to accept the loss of one arm, but he was getting better with each passing day.

Knowing exactly his mood would improve the moment he got to slide his rock hard cock in between her pretty tits.

His hand was on her naked breast right away, groping and pinching her nipple, guiding her backwards towards the small kitchen table and pushing her down onto a chair.

“Squeeze them together for me, my gem.” He rasped, fiddling with the buckle of his belt, swiftly taking his cock out. Ezra had become quite good at that, wasting no time as he presented it to her, letting her spit dribble all over it so he could give himself a few pumps.

Groaning at the feeling of his calloused hand around himself, watching how she pressed her breasts together, some of the spit dripping onto them.

“No prettier gems than these in the whole galaxy.” He chuckled, positioning himself so his cock was in between them, unable to keep his hips still, already thrusting on their own. “Certainly none softer than these.”

A giggle left her, moving her breasts up and down in time with his thrusts, letting more spit dribble onto her skin to help him.

The sight of his dick poking out between them and then vanishing over and over again was mesmerizing, her eyes glued to the display right in front of her while Ezra made all these wonderful sounds above her. Rambling along as he picked up some speed, his hand digging into her shoulder for purchase.

“Oh, Kevvar.” He moaned, trying hard to keep his eyes on her beautiful tits, but only wanting to throw his head back in pleasure. This was so much better after having waited all day for it, her skin so soft, the mess of her spit exciting him. “My sweet gem, open your mouth for me. I want to cum onto your tongue.”

So close already, his hips stuttering when she did as he asked her. A smile on her lips as she opened her mouth obediently, almost like she wanted to taunt him, spur him on.

“Make a mess on my tits, Ezra.” She cooed, batting her lashes at him. The desperation in his eyes had her squeeze her thighs together, hoping to ride her own frustrations out on him later. “Please, cum for me, baby.”

His fingers curled into her shoulder as he came with a low grunt, watching his cum cover her chest, some landing on her tongue. Humming at the salty taste, she waited until his dick had stopped twitching to swallow what little had made it into her mouth with a grin.

Ezra slumped into the chair behind him, breathlessly taking in the mess he had caused on her chest, the spit and the cum mixing as she let go of her breasts, swiping some up with a finger and sucking it clean.

“Oh, my pretty gem.” He breathed, chuckling quietly. She really was a sight, with her grin and her glistening skin. “I could lay my cock in the valley of your breasts for all eternity, watch the mess I create.”

Utterly obsessed with her breasts, even more so than her pussy. And she couldn’t say that she minded one bit.

#ezra #ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x you #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect fanfiction #ezra prospect smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fandom #my writing #kinktober 2023

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐓 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌. 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐄𝐳𝐫𝐚

pairing: joel miller x f!reader x ezra (prospect)

genre: smut, filth filth filth, minors dni

word count: 3.9k (this was supposed to be 1k smh)

summary: you, joel and ezra spend the night together in an abandoned cabin during a snowstorm.

warnings: established fwb between reader and joel, dirty talking, voyeurism, male masturbation, undisclosed feelings, underwear being used as a gag, overall just messy smut, piv, rough sex

requested by @doctorliamsr

a/n: this is part of the dark hearted people'verse but it can be read as a standalone. Everything you need to know is in the fic, enjoy 🖤

AO3 | Series Masterlist | Playlist

Ezra smells dust. Nowadays that’s all he can smell. But the deteriorating cabin they had managed to take shelter in certainly wasn’t any help to his poor lungs. He can feel the small specks sticking to the inside of his lungs. He hears you in the kitchen, sounds of plates clicking together, and metal pans scraping as you move them around. Ezra doesn’t concern himself with what you’re doing. At least he tries not to. You’re meant to be nothing more than entertainment, a thing that he would need to turn away from soon enough. 

But being on the road for so long, trying to earn their trust— it’s hard to keep the line between caring for and using for nice and fresh. 

Joel isn’t much of a problem. He’s easier to push away. Ezra has no complaints with how the older man views him as; untrustworthy, dangerous, a person that should be put down before they attacked first. Ezra can see it in Joel’s eyes. The hatred. But he can also see something else, an anger in the other that is worth investigating. It’s the type of anger that Ezra could use for himself; the type of anger that needs a release. Ezra had no arguments about being on the receiving end of said anger. In fact, it looked like it might be fun. 

His fingers skim over the shelves, a thick coat of dust seeping into his fingers. He rubs his thumb and forefinger together, the feeling of it makes his teeth grind. 

Lifting his gaze, he skims over the titles. Nothing really that interesting, mostly encyclopedias, some history books…

Ezra’s eyebrows raise when he comes across an old sketchbook. His interest piqued, he picks it up from the shelf. The cover of the book is made of thick, textured leather, worn with age and use. It is a deep, rich brown, almost the color of roasted coffee beans, and is embossed with an intricate design of vines and leaves. The edges of the cover are frayed and soft, as if it has been held and handled many times over the years.

He smooths the pads of his fingers over the surface. He feels every crease, every ripped edge. His pulse quickens, an immediate bond forming between him and this old sketchbook. He doesn’t even know who the owner of it was. With a soft smile, he opens the sketchbook. 

The pages creak and crackle beneath his fingertips, revealing a treasure trove of beautiful artwork. The pages are yellowed with age and dotted with small flecks of ink, evidence of an artist's hand. Each page is filled with drawings and sketches that span the entire spectrum of human emotion, from joy to despair.

The sketches themselves are incredibly detailed and lifelike. There are delicate portraits of people, captured in moments of stillness and contemplation, as well as bold landscapes and cityscapes that capture the beauty and chaos of the world before. Some of the sketches are unfinished, with bold, confident strokes of the pen giving way to lighter, hesitant lines that trail off into nothingness. 

His thumb traces over the lines that disappear, a sense of familiarity warming his chest. Without showing the others, he sneaks the sketchbook into his inner pocket. He might have some use for it later. At the very least he can stare at it when he’s feeling particularly lost. 

The open kitchen area is dominated by a large, rusted stove and a wooden table that has seen better days. Ezra’s eyes move around the wooden exterior, already taking mental notes of what can and can’t be used. The living room is sparsely furnished, with a sagging couch and a few broken chairs placed haphazardly around an unlit fireplace. The atmosphere is heavy with the scent of wood and old smoke. Joel lays on the couch, Ezra can see his boots dangling over the armrest, his body too broad to be contained by such a small and delicate-looking furniture. 

Ezra sees a rusted axe leaning against the wall and a pile of old books and tattered clothes lying in the corner. The boarded-up windows are covered in thick layers of dust, and cobwebs stretch across the corners of the ceiling.

Outside, the snow falls heavily, piling up against the cabin's walls. It seems as though time has forgotten this cabin and the surrounding wilderness has reclaimed it.

“Should I light the stove?” you ask from the kitchen, drawing Ezra’s attention. The question isn’t directed at him, but an answer already lays heavy on his tongue. 

Before he can say anything, however, Joel beats him to it. A rarity. 

“Sure. How else are we suppose’ to eat?” 

“I found some cans,” you offer. “Peach and pineapple. Some tuna as well but I’m not sure if we should risk it.” 

“Let’s just cook the rabbits.” Joel answers, his voice sounding gruff and heavy with sleep. “I shot them for a reason.” 

“We,” Ezra corrects, prompting the twitch of Joel’s left eyebrow. “We shot them for a reason.” 

Ezra can’t help but head towards the couch, he stands above Joel’s head, staring down at the man trying to sleep. He gently nudges the couch with the tip of his boot and Joel begrudgingly opens his eyes, a snarl already forming on his lips. 

“Wouldn’t lighting a fire put us in danger oh macho man?” 

“In this storm, I doubt anyone would be stupid enough to try and get us,” he grunts, closing his eyes once more. Ezra can see the crinkles of his eyes, the crease between his thick brows as he forces his eyes to remain shut. 

“Does that mean we can light the fireplace too?” Ezra teases, knowing that Joel probably checked the wood and that it was probably unusable.  

Joel doesn’t answer him, and his eyes remain shut. 

Rolling his eyes, Ezra turns to you. You seemed to be in a world of your own, struggling with the old stove and poking it with a rusty spatula. 

“Need help there little bird?” he coos, his feet bringing him to the kitchen.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” you huff, but smile nonetheless. “But yeah. This thing definitely isn’t cooperating.” 

Ezra watches as you make a show of your struggle, as if he doesn’t believe you. Your delicate fingers fumble with the kindling. Something warm and sinister coiling in his stomach, he steps closer. He can almost hear your heartbeat, fluttering like a caged bird. 

"Give’em here," he mutters, his voice low as he reaches for the matches. Ezra allows his fingers to brush against yours. He almost groans at the jolt of electricity he feels, a sharp sensation burning him all the way up to his shoulder. 

With a flick of his wrist, the kindling ignites, and the flames dance to life.

Your eyes go wide, a brilliant orange flickering in your eyes. He can’t help but lean in, take a closer look. He’s sure you can feel his breath across your cheeks, warming you from the inside out. Sucking a breath, you pull back, your gaze falling to the rabbits on the kitchen counter. 

“Thanks.” 

“Always a pleasure to be of your assistance,” he answers, lips curling into a cat-like smile. “You two are helping me find my rather precious supplies after all. The least I can do is help prepare dinner.” 

Your silence speaks words. Ezra follows your lead, preparing the rabbit and emptying a couple of cans of peas to go along with it. It’s not as chaotic as it would normally be when dinner is being prepared. There isn’t much to do so your movements are more languid, a simple dance as you occupy each other’s spaces. He enjoys the dance. He enjoys the way you try to avoid him by not making eye contact, but he’s more observant than you and Joel give him credit for. 

He notices the stolen glances. He notices the way Joel stiffens on the couch, trying to catch on to what was happening, while still keeping his eyes closed. 

But by all means, he’s not innocent. Ezra's gaze lingers on your every move, taking in the curve of your neck, the gentle sway of your hips. He wants to grab you by the nape, push you down and fuck you right then and there. Unlike him and Joel, You have an unbridled need to trust others. He likes that about you. He likes that you listen and believe in what he says, despite what your partner in crime might think. 

Placing the pieces of rabbit into the pot, you turn to grab a spoon. 

Ezra feels it before he sees it— The accidental brush of your ass against his groin, your softness and curves forcing him to hold his breath. A hiss makes its way between clenched teeth. The two of them stay like that, your back to his chest, neither one of you daring to move. Your breathing accelerates slightly, the sound prompting him to further close the distance, his body towering over yours. 

Time seems to stand still in that moment, and he’s content to just stay like that forever. Frozen in time. Just like this cabin buried within the snow. 

The fabric of his shirt and pants are rough against his skin, and the feeling only serving to heighten the arousal coursing through his veins. He aches to fill you up, to feel the warmth of your body around him, to finally fuck you until you go stupid. His cock stiffens under his pants, eager to follow the path of his twisted mind.

He can’t help himself, his hands wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. You don’t stop, your movements slow as you allow him to hold you. He can hear the blood rush in his ears, his breath comes in shallow gasps. 

He can feel Joel’s gaze on them both, but Ezra doesn’t stop. 

He’s not a weak man, but he’s not that strong either. That he can fight the temptations

Ezra’s fingers move up your  shirt, gently tracing circles on your skin, his touch light, fleeting like every moment in this world was. He wants more than anything to kiss you, to feel your lips on his, to taste your sweetness. 

But he can’t.

Some part of Ezra wants Joel to get mad, to march over to the kitchen and bend him over. He wants to hear the older man growl into his ear, telling him to behave. Ezra’s heart races at the thought, his mouth filling with saliva not from the scent of rabbit but from the one that seems to despise him. He lets out a slow breath, his fingers twitching and burrowing themselves further into your body. 

Finally, you pull away, your movements a beat too fast, and panicked. 

A chill envelopes him without your heat. He ignores the tug at his heart, the ache in his lower stomach. Ezra turns to cook the peas, but in his periphery, he notices Joel still staring at them from the couch. His gaze is blank and unreadable, but there's something about it that makes Ezra's skin crawl. 

He turns away, focusing his attention on the food, but the moment has already been broken.

The flickering flames are nothing but small ambers warming the late hours of the night. The cabin is a spacious one, filled with rooms, but Ezra had decided to spend time by the fire, leafing through the sketchbook he’d found before dinner. It’s a pleasantly look through. Ezra had missed seeing other faces beside his and those who he was with. He’d forgotten how different people can look. 

He only looks up when the small dots of orange of the ambers also fade away. The cold of the night settles in and he decides to head to bed. They would leave in the early hours of the morning so it’s probably best to sleep early rather than later. Ezra winces at the way his muscles ache, the bottoms of his feet burning with the rough drag of his tattered insoles. He can’t wait to be rid of them. 

Walking through the dark hallway, he wonders where you and Joel are asleep at. Ezra, again, had notices that you and Joel are in some kind of situantionship—he suspects there is more to it— but you two never actually slept in the same room together. He presumes it’s part of the deal you two have going on. 

Ezra’s fingers graze against the worn walls, all the room doors seem to be wide open, not a soul inside. How peculiar. His lips part and he rubs his jaw, he’s in dire need of a shave. 

Once more, he checks the rooms. Nope. There wasn’t a single soul inhabiting these rooms. 

His heart races with the sudden thought that you and Joel might’ve ditched him, but then he calms himself. Takes a deep breath. With the snow laying as thickly as it did outside, it would be suicide to leave. 

So where the hell are they? 

He suddenly catches sight of a faint light in the distance. Intrigued, he quickens his pace and turns the corner to find a covered walkway leading to a small shed.

The walkway is made entirely of glass, with moss and ivy creeping up the walls, the panes reflecting the flickering of the moonlight. Ezra's eyes travel upwards, taking in the sight of the roof, which is covered in a thick layer of snow. The shed itself looks ancient, its wooden walls and door rough and worn.

When he reaches the shed door, he hears heavy breathing and soft moans pouring through the crack of the door. His steps slow. He knows what they’re doing. 

He knows that they’re fucking. 

His breath caught in his throat, he nears the door until he can peer inside. There’s a lantern dimly illuminating the room and he can see your bodies clearly from where he stands. You’re bare naked, hands hanging on a wooden beam for dear life with your breasts pressed against it. Joel looms behind you. Fully clothed, except for his cock that Ezra can see the base of every time the older man pulls his hips back. 

Stupidly, Ezra steps a bit too close, the tip of his boot nudging the wooden door ever so slightly. A creak echoes and Ezra stops breathing. Eyes glued to your moving forms, sweat glistening across your skin, he holds his breath and watches, waiting for one of you to hear him. 

Neither you nor Joel notices the uninvited visitor, too lost in the pleasure, in the warmth—in the act of it all. 

His cock twitches eagerly, growing under the confinements of his jeans. Licking his lips, he unbuttons himself and sneaks a hand down his pants, cupping his erection. The cold that littered his skin melts away, leaving burning ash and coal in its wake. A soft groan echoes in the back of his throat. His fingers squeezing the base, and moving up to swipe a palm over his weeping head. 

He hears your moans, Joel’s grunts. He can’t help it. The other man pounds into you with an intensity and desperation Ezra had only seen in animals. He thinks of the moment in the kitchen, what he thought of when you had your ass pressing against his clothed cock—how desperately he wanted the older man to put Ezra in his palace, how he wanted to feel that anger and hatred being let out against his weaker body. 

Heat builds at the end of his spine, he circles his cock with thick fingers, his lips parted as he comes even closer to the door. He can almost smell the sex and sweat clinging to your skin, he wants to get closer, wants to inhale you and burrow you into his lungs. He gives his cock a not-so-gentle tug, hissing as pleasure pricks at his skin. 

His fingers move faster, spreading the drops of precum over his length. His breathing becomes shallow and erratic. His balls tight as he watches the two of you. The moans and grunts coming from the two of you become a soft background noise, almost like background music to his own pleasure.

He can hear murmuring but can’t decipher the words. Not that he cares. Ezra’s hips stutter forward, every muscle drawn taut, he slides his hand along his length. Joel grabs at something from the side, underwear—your underwear, to be precise. 

His breathing hitches and his heart stops— he watches as Joel brings the fabric to your lips, your moans and words coming only as muffled noises, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. 

Ezra's eyes widen, his body shuddering. He can feel it, he's so close, but he can't bring himself to finish, not yet. He pulls his hand away from his now aching cock and takes a step back, away from the door. His erection still throbbing, he wants to—no, he needs to watch. This is a rarity, something he’s only thought about in the late hours of the night. 

He takes a deep breath, his heart still racing and his cock still pulsing. Gathering his thoughts, he takes a step closer to the door, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene. He can feel his body heating up, his mouth going dry. Ezra reaches down, feels the weight of his balls, and rolls them over his fingers. He has to bite his bottom lip to not make a noise. His nostrils flare as he breathes heavily, the pleasure burning him from the inside out.  

His other hand reaches for his cock, squeezing the head and giving himself hard, slow, strokes. 

Ezra continues to watch, mesmerized. Joel shows mercy and reaches for your mouth. The fabric is pulled away, revealing swollen lips and wet, skin. Joel thrusts harder, faster. His hips move with a frantic rhythm, his grunts becoming louder and more frequent. 

His chest aches, more precum dripping and making a mess of his pants. He hisses through his teeth. 

Ezra’s not sure how much longer he can hold on. 

“You realize he’s watchin’ us right?” 

He grips your hair and tilts your head back, lips finding a spot over the hallow of your neck. Joel bites into the warm skin, his chest trembling with a growl. Your thighs quiver, your insides desperately clenching around his cock. You do realize but you’re too far gone to care. 

And it doesn’t help that your brain purrs at you, telling you how much you’re enjoying Ezra’s hot, heavy gaze on you. 

“You like that he’s seein’ you like this? All fucked out barely able to speak.” 

“S-Shut up, Joel.” 

“You’re a brat.” he clicks his tongue, sharp and loud in your ear. “Takin’ the praise but not takin’ the punishment. That’s not how the world works, honey.” 

Joel takes you harder now, pushing you up against the beam, your body trembling as he drives himself into you. His grip tightens around your waist as he pumps into you. You feel the sweat dripping down your skin, your body for him to use. You clench around him, your cunt dripping down his length and wetting your thighs. A soft whimper parts your lips, the burn in your loins a stark reminder that you’re going to be feeling this tomorrow. 

“I’m startin’ to think you have a little crush on him, sweetheart. Not sure how I feel ‘bout that.” he grunts. “Or maybe you just wanted to rile me up with that little stunt—grindin’ your ass against him,” Joel presses into you deeper, coaxing a shout trembling in your chest. “You know how I feel about sharin’, especially with someone who’s out to get us.” 

“We’ve been on the road for a month. He’s safe. Stop being so paranoid.” 

He cups the back of your neck, thick fingers reaching both sides, he squeezes and pulls your head back. His lips touch the side of your cheek, movements slowing to a torturous grind. 

“It’s been a month and he’s making us go in circles. How the hell are we supposed to find his equipment after so long? He’s stringing us along for his damn pleasure.” 

A grin curls at the corner of your lips. You’re about to say something really stupid, but you can’t help it, you love getting under his skin, pressing his buttons. 

“You like him.” 

“I don’t.”

Suddenly you feel something dry being shoved between your lips. Your eyes go wide when you realize it’s your underwear, the one Joel had been so eager to rip away from you.  Joel clamps a hand over your mouth, his other hand drops to your waist, and blunt nails bite into your skin. 

“I’m sick of your yappin’,” he grunts, hips picking up the pace. “Just fuckin’ take it, I don’t need your needless observations.” 

You bite into the fabric of your underwear, muffling a moan as Joel drives himself into you. His hips thrust up, pushing him deep inside you, his cock stretching your walls. His grip tightens, drawing a sharp hiss from you. You’re so far gone, barely able to focus on anything besides the pleasure coursing through your veins.

Joel’s breath is hot against your ear, his voice a low, rumbling growl. “He’s probably touchin’ himself. Fuckin’ his fist as he wishes it was your sweet cunt instead.”

Your body quivers, a wave of pleasure crashing over you. The thought of Ezra watching, his eyes hungrily devouring you—another muffled moan seeps into the fabric, spit dripping from the corners of your lips. Joel’s thrusts become more desperate, more primal. His fingers dig into your hips, his grunts turning into a feral snarl as he slams into you.

The pleasure builds, every nerve in your body on fire. Joel’s hand tightens around your throat, his thumb stroking your clit as he continues to drive himself into you. You’re so close, your body trembling. With one final thrust, Joel pushes you over the edge. 

He rips the underwear away from your mouth, dropping it to the floor. 

You scream, your voice echoing in the night air. All you can think of is Ezra; the darkness of his gaze, the poetic lilt to his tongue—the way he’s probably fucking his fist just like Joel said. You clench, gushing around his cock. His fingers continue to circle the sensitive bundle of nerves, lighting your fire again and again as his cock strokes your deepest parts.

“That’s it,” he groans, lips pressed against your heat. You tremble at the rasp in his voice. “You like it, don’t you? Being used by one while being forbidden fruit to the other? My insatiable fuckin’ whore.” 

He nuzzles your cheek and it feels like whiplash, but you lean into it, nonetheless. He’s right, you do enjoy it. 

Pulling out, Joel follows shortly after, his body going rigid as he spills himself over the curve of your ass. It’s hot and sears your skin, you wish you could feel that warmth inside, feeling it dripping out of you when he pulls away.  

You collapse against the beam, your body tingling. You’re sweaty and out of breath, but still, your eyes move to the door. You don’t see him, however, you do hear soft footsteps moving further and further away. 

You’re not sure which one of you left the door open, you or Joel. 

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #ezra prospect x f!reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[morallyinept]

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

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

BODIES MASTERLIST

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

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

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

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

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

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

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

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

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

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone is fair game in this place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The assailant yelps with the slow, deliberate cracking. 

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

The wallet clatters to the ground.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have another coat?”

“No.” He gruffs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My calibre?” You baulk.

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

"Why are you out here anyway?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Something tells me I can trust you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Curiosity killed the feline.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” You shake your head.

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

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

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

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

“I found it.” You shrug.

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhm."

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

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

Ezra baulks and struggles to form words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. “Nothing to ask.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sound bitter.”

“My hindrances keep me here.” You sigh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you, this very evening. 

“What happened to her?” You enquire. 

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

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

“Are you alright?” You query.

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

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

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

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

“I might have a tranq.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” He queries.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You trust me fictitiously.” 

“No, I trust you.” You correct him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fancy.” You remark, unimpressed. 

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

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

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

“I’ve offended you.”

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

“Because you're indeed bewitching.”

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

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

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

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

“You come with secrets,” he hisses jovially. 

“Missing pieces.” You correct. 

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

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

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

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

“Perhaps.” You smirk.

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

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

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

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

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

“Birdie-”

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

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

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

“I've got you, pet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t like peas.” You chuckle. 

“Another commonality,” he smirks.

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

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

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

“Homemade.” You clarify. 

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

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

“Tingly,” he says in wonder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you to fill me up, Ezra.”

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

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

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

“Ezra!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Merely spectating.” You reply back, softly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then don’t. Defile me at your whim.”

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

Perfect, puffy lips crooking up into his cheeks revealing a dimple that draws the eye in; a smile that could convince the sun into imploding. But his smile has dissipated and those dark eyes are prying into places they ought not to pry again.

"I'm going to annihilate you, pet." He whispers, grazing his lips against your own. "You think you can take it?"

You know you’re stupid to think you can do this; nudge him to the precipice and encourage as he jumps off it willingly. Coax him to show you the most depraved, abominable parts of himself and not have some repercussions come and bite you on the ass for it.

See him unleashed fully; the worlds across the Interplanetary cracking open and their suns splitting into two as he savages and ravages.

But you want him despite all the swill and misfortune; you want him to make you fall apart - to totally obliterate you. Use you as mere clay for his own twisted satisfactions as he leaves imprints and eternal marks on you that’ll blister and bleed.

The way he touches you, the way he doesn't shy away from your body leaves you wanting for the affection he drowns you in. He’s your missing piece making you whole. He dilutes your pain with his own making it bearable. 

You shudder at the feel of his fingers softly stroking over your half leg; a ghostly touch that you acutely zone into. His eyes are still brooding into yours. 

"Break me." You urge.

“I can smell your sweet stink all over me." Ezra grunts as his fingers slip down the between your ass cheeks, leaving a devastation of goose pimples in their wake.

You rest your clipped knee onto his hip, opening you up for him. You bite your lip, gnawing frantically on the bottom as the path takes a delectable turn towards your cunt. 

Your head swims; the hairs on your body and nipples coming alive. Feeling high and giddy, balanced on that precarious cusp of passing out, but not quite managing to do so.

You breathe out slowly as his fingers pause; the burn of them felt deep inside your core already as you clench around nothing, and the throb of your clit aches and prickles with a pang of eager want. 

Ezra’s gaging; reading your reactions and fine tuning into that solid will that you’ve been dismantling slowly over the course of the last turn spent with him.

He knows, for it’s ambushed his own impenetrable walls too. 

He feels your hand clamp around his cock as the tension in your body pulverises at any remaining restraint you have. He strokes over your mound towards your clit, and as soon as he touches it - that hard, pulsing nub - you both groan out in unison. His fingers push into your pussy, slow and thick as you gasp.

Your other hand fists inside his hair as your face draws nearer to his own, your eyes zoning in on his lips that are wet as he licks them.

“I will destroy you.” Ezra breathes, admitting defeat. “I have nothing to give you, pet.”

“I don’t want what credits can buy from you.” You moan as his fingers swipe over your clit. “You see me.” 

“I do. I see all of you. I like what I see.” He tongues at the skin at your neck. “You see me, too.”

“It’s kinda hard not to, you’re like a neutron star.” You smile. 

“You trying to woo me, pet?” He smirks, as he slides down your body, kissing over it as he goes, elbow pressed into the mattress for support. 

“Is it working?” You gasp as he abruptly buries his head between your centre, and lets his tongue go to work. 

Your head is thrown back in the pillows, your eyes greeted with that dark void of space; the stars turning in their spirals as time slows down and he pulls you out from the inside.

Marvelling at the true alchemy of his tongue as it laps at your wet folds and he slurps you up like water, dehydrated like he once was on Kerulon. Transcending above the highest point in infinity and still climbing as your eyes roll into the back of your skull. 

Your hand fists through his hair, drawing him closer; his nose dusting your clit as his tongue fucks deep and swallows all the sweet honey you have to give him.

“All I can do is take you to the stars.” He grunts. “Is that enough for you?”

“More than enough.” You whine as you come around his lips. 

Ezra then spends the rest of the night breaking you apart, piece by piece, and putting you back together again, just as he said he would.

His voice wakes you, but not from beside you where you expect him to be. 

“Consarn it, you fumbling bawheid!”

You quickly reach for a tattered robe and grab at your crutches, wooden and rickety beside the bed, and follow the infernal muttering to the kitchen where he’s standing around broken cups on the floor.  

Ezra glances up at you with razor wire for lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Were you making tea?” You enquire through heavy lids, and he turns bashfully from you, the broadest back presented and littered with constellations of freckles and moles. 

“Yes trying, but my cumber-world impairment-” he grits his teeth “-makes me sloppy. Fuck.” 

Your gaze lingers curiously over him, determining him not to be an apparition but real; half expecting him to have fled already. You glance behind you and the Aurelac gem is still there on the shelf by the window as he left it.

“I can make the tea.” You smile softly, a hand reaching out to touch the expanse of his back, and his hackles immediately soften. 

He steps to you, his singular hand finding the familiar shape of your waist as he pulls you close. 

You take in the detailing on his worn face again. The way the pores on the smooth bump of his nose are marred with oil, the thickness of his brow; the entice of his full bottom lip. 

Ezra wanders freely over your features too, from the shine in your eyes to the feel of your hair soft in his hand as he brushes his fingers through it like a comb.

He scratches up to your scalp massaging your skull as he steps closer into your personal space and your eyes close at the sensation of it, birthing millions of prickles across your skin; your nipples standing tall and hard beneath the slip of the gown you’d thrown on, like diamonds cutting through the thin fabric. 

“How good does that feel?” His breath is drenched in a stale warmth on your face and you breathe the notes in deep.

"Really good." You breathe, nuzzling into his ministrations.

"Is your body defeated, pet, or can you take more?" He whispers into your crown.

You smirk. "More."

"Greedy." He snickers. "You'd make a fine Prospector."

Something’s hanging around in the air between you; something that’s unspoken. You’ve noticed it growing between you as the eventful turn has worn on into the night and seeks the new light of the dawn glowering through the smog. 

It’s inside the delirious crookshank smile on his lips as he reveals it to you in between the comfortable silences when you talk. In his swampy brown eyes that take you in and feel as though he’s pulling you apart with them to see what’s really going on inside of your fibres and nerves. 

And it's here again now as you linger, watching Ezra watching you, sensing that when the time comes to part from the questionable consternation of his company, it'll leave ruptures somewhere inside of you.

The black lacquer thoughts slither up from your spine and germinate insipid sparks into your core; a groundless lust that dizzies you from the smooth tickle of his fingers brushing down your hip and across your thigh.

You gasp as his fingers stray too close to your swollen centre, still drenched warm with his copious spend and aching from the stretch of him. 

You’re weak for him; weak for those skilled fingers on his singular hand to be crawling inside of you and fucking you up, quite literally, as he weaves them in and out of your soaked pussy, curling them and wrapping you around them further.

“Ezra,” you gasp as he pumps them in and out, your balance swaying. 

“Hold onto me,” he says, as you rest your crutches against the counter and wrap your arms around his neck. 

He pulls your only leg around his waist once more, hard cock bobbing at your perineum, lifting you with ease; his only hand resting on your ass, and carries you back to bed. 

Ezra has you all over again, devouring, leaving his marks on your body. Revelling in the melodies of your panting chants of his name as he fucks deep and hard.

His lips part slowly as do yours, reacting to him. Drawn to him, drawn into him completely and controlled somehow like a puppet and he’s playing with your strings; plucking slowly and gently at you and you’ve no idea how.

No idea how you've gotten so willingly naked in front of a stranger, despite his strange appeal, and are allowing him to guide you like this. Thighs splayed open before him and showing him your most intimate self.

It doesn’t matter how, for it’s pure fucking bliss. 

You slide down on his cock and ride him slowly, gently as his arm wraps you up and holds you close to him, almost crushing the life out of you as both you exertions wane.

You gasp out, letting his lips go as he fills you up again, makes you detach and lose yourself in this moment inside of his arms - inside of him.

And that’s the crux of it, you want to give him this, make him see that he’s worthy of love and affection and tenderness. You know what it’s like not to have that.

Ezra smiles faintly at you, giving into the feel of you lavishing your love on him.

He reaches down to grope your knee gently, and you shudder at the feel of his fingers brushing against it. You run your hand equally down his stump, and you watch as his eyes glisten before he scrunches them shut and crushes you against his chest as he spills inside you once more. 

“The storm has quelled. I should take my leave.” He says distantly after, stroking over your smooth nub as it rests languidly across his torso. His gentle touch soothes better than the balm. 

“You should stay.” You murmur, hoping he hasn't heard the longing in it. But of course, the plucky sleeveen has. 

“We find ourselves in a quandary.” Ezra retorts as he draws circles over your skin with his fingers. 

“Dare I ask what stories these tell?” You put to him as your fingers trace the marred lines over his sternum. 

“Probably wise if you remain in the dark, Birdie. I was not a gentle man once upon a time.” His warning is stark, but his eyes are soft and velvety as you look at them.

“You know how to be gentle.” You sway. 

He nods. “To those who I feel so inclined.” He nudges his nose against yours.

The skin of your knee is so soft despite the roughness of the chafe. It’s a sensation that imbues you with warmth rather than discomfort; his thick fingers caressing gently, exchanging heat between your skin.

You’ve never let anyone feel it before, but he doesn't shy away. Neither do you as you kiss and flick your tongue tenderly over the stump of his arm. You let your tongue dip into the jagged welts and fleshy riverbeds of his scars.

He hums out with his eyes closed as you explore languidly and find your way eventually back to his bruised lips.

He makes you feel seen, he makes you feel whole for the first time. And it’s a feeling you don’t want to let willingly extinguish. You kiss him deeply, fearing it might be the last time. 

“Your hospitality has been most charitable, pet. The swell has dissipated satisfactorily.”

You sigh out. “This whole idea was just idiotic from the get go.” You’re already mourning the loss of him, another part failing to grow on your body, but he doesn’t move. 

“Something I specialise in.” Ezra muses. But his smirk downturns when he sees your face. “Is that sincere affection you possibly harbour?”

“You think this whole time I spent with you was a ruse?” You frown.

He shakes his head. “I hope not. Did I fall victim to a spell?”

“I want you to stay, Ezra.” You say, reaching for his hand. “But only if you want to. There’s a place for you here, with me, if you want it.”

He closes his eyes, your knuckles resting on his lips, his thumb stroking over the hilt.

“You definitely have me under a spell. There’s no other possible explanation.” He hums as his eyes find yours staring back, unwavering. “You and your magic tea.”

“No magic. Maybe you just want to stay with me.” You smile, knowingly. 

“Perhaps some things can’t be explained by the universe after all.” 

“Perhaps it’s the Aurelac.” You snort. “That Siren song you Prospectors can't resist.”

Ezra shakes his head vehemently. “Maybe it’s just you, Birdie.” He smiles as he leans in to kiss you. “Maybe I finally found my missing piece.”

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Ezra, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

BODIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

EZRA MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #pedro pascal characters #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x f!reader #prospect 2018 #ezra prospect smut #ezra prospect fluff #tw limb loss #tw prosthesis #every body is beautiful #diversity #inclusivity #bodies series #jett's writing

[iamasaddie]

psst, wanna read?

Every fic has it’s own warnings, but you can guess the mood using little symbols next to the name [♡ - EXPLICIT CONTENT ♢ - DARK-ISH CONTENT ♤ - EXTREMELY DARK CONTENT ♧ - ANGST]. All of the works are with FEM!AFAB!READER unless stated otherwise. Remember, you are responsible for your online experience, so navigate it carefully! This list will be updated, new characters will be added, so if you reblog, just remember that your reblog will not be updated! 

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Spread love, kindness and respect! 

Hope you have a great reading experience,

love,

Aly

𝙁𝙄𝘾𝙇𝙀𝙏𝙎  [ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ 1000 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ] 

ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍᴇ ♡  ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇɢ ♡ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ [ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙏𝙎

ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴍᴀɴ ♡♤ ᴀɴᴅ ɪꜰ ꜱᴀᴛᴜʀᴅᴀʏ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ꜱᴏᴏɴ, ɪ'ᴍ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʟᴏꜱᴇ ᴍʏ ᴍɪɴᴅ  ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪꜱ ♡ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ɪɴ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅꜱ, ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ♡ ɪ’ᴅ ꜱᴜꜰꜰᴇʀ ʜᴇʟʟ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴅ ᴅᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ ♡ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ, ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ, ɪ’ᴍ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ♡ ʜᴇ ʜᴜʀᴛ ᴍᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ꜰᴇʟᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ♡♢ qᴜɪᴛ ɪᴛ ♡ ʙᴜᴛ, ʙᴀʙʏ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴏᴜᴛꜱɪᴅᴇ ♡ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀᴠᴀɪʟᴀʙʟᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ♡ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇqᴜᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ♡

𝙎𝙀𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙎

ʟᴏꜱᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ♡♢♧ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ, ᴛᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ♡♢

𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙏𝙎

ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʜɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ ♡ ɪ ᴡɪꜱʜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ♡♧

𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙏𝙎

ɴᴏ ᴇʀᴇꜱ ᴛú (ꜱᴏʏ ʏᴏ) ♡♤♧

𝙁𝙄𝘾𝙇𝙀𝙏𝙎 [ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ 1000 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ] 

ɪ ꜱᴀɪᴅ ɪ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ, ʙᴀʙʏ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ʟɪᴇᴅ ♡♢

𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙏𝙎

ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ♡♤ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴀ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴ' ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴀᴅ ♡♢ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ʜᴜʀᴛꜱ, ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ʜᴜʀᴛꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ ♡♤

𝙁𝙄𝘾𝙇𝙀𝙏𝙎 [ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ 1000 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ] 

1:07 ɢɪʀʟ  

𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙏𝙎

ᴡᴇʙᴄᴀᴍ ꜰᴏʀ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴᴇʀꜱ ♡

𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙏𝙎

ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴ ᴅᴏʀɴᴇ ♡ 

𝙁𝙄𝘾𝙇𝙀𝙏𝙎 [ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ 1000 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ]

ᴍᴀʀᴄᴜꜱ 

𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙏𝙎

ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴʟʏ ᴠɪᴇᴡ ♡ ᴛᴏ ʜᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴍᴀʀᴄᴜꜱ ♡♤ ʙᴀʙʏ, ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛꜱ ɢᴏ ᴏᴜᴛ  ♡♢

𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙏𝙎

ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀ [ + ʀᴀᴍᴏɴ ɴᴏᴍᴀʀ] ♡ ʜᴀɴɢʀʏ ♡

FICLETS

ᴄᴜᴍ ʀᴀɢ ♡ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʟᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ  ᴍᴏᴀɴɪɴɢ, ᴘᴀɴᴛɪɴɢ ♡ ᴘᴇᴀᴄʜʏ ♡

FICLETS

ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋꜱ

ONE SHOTS

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛꜱ ♡

WRITING CHALLENGE WRITING CHALLENGE 2.0

PART ONE ; TWO ; THREE ♡♤

#iamasaddie fic #joel miller x reader #javier peña x reader #dave york x reader #frankie morales x reader #oberyn martell x reader #javi gutierrez x reader #ezra prospect x reader #ezra x reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #marcus pike x reader #comandante veracruz x reader #veracruz x reader #tim rockford x reader #fic rec #dark fic #smut fic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction

[sp00kymulderr]

gideon!!!! congratulations on the milestone!!! absolutely so so deserved and i’m sorry I just now saw the post! 🖤

💭i’d like to request ''stay tonight.'' from the prompt list, maybe with ezra?? I miss him 🫶🏻

wonderful Liv! I'm so sorry this has been in my inbox since January. Me and Ezra were having a moment, but things are all good now. I humbly offer you this:

Starlit

sex worker!Ezra x afab!reader

694 words

Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI. sex work, oral (reader receiving)

He is always the first thing on your mind when you arrive here.

The beautiful silver-tongued man with starlight in his eyes. Known by many and more than once by you, memories of him seared both on your flesh and in your mind.

Standards of travel have left you wanting, needing. Your fingers never work you the way another can, your touch never grips the way a lover can. Worst of all, the remembered whisper of his voice in your ear leaves you without the comfort of his warmth and sincere affection.

Ezra advertises his services as comfort. He sells sex, yes, but moreso he sells a few needed hours of companionship to the weary traveller, the tired prospector, the anguished fringeling far from home. He is generous with what he gives, not just in passion but in succour, in the intimacy of his whispered weaving stories as he holds you - he offers a piece of himself. Ezra provides comfort, and pleasure, and it is always more than worth the cost.

He is like an artist, you think. His art is being able to relieve the tired ache of your bones, and leaving your soul a modicum lighter than it felt upon arrival here.

There’s a stream of sunlight warming the bed as Ezra works between your thighs today. Your fingers hold in his soft hair with a gentle tug as he works what you can only describe as magic, that silver tongue finding it's way towards your second release of the day.

Your breath comes shallow; the way he flattens his tongue against you and stretches you on his fingers at the same time makes your legs shake in assailing delectation. He is a god, divinity in pleasure, and you thank you star that you came to find him on this miserable planet again.

You are, of course, just one of many but you like to think he doesn't look at the others the way he does you, the way his sparkling eyes meet yours as you look down upon him now, as he eats you like a blessed repast.

Your back arches, a gripping feeling of closeness tightening your core. His fingers curl, his plush lips sucks until you cry out and pull again. The room is hot and your bodies are warm, sticky. His own hips rut against the mattress as yours rise in increasing desperation. This gift of his, it takes you over. You are stardust as your body trembles, heart pumping wildly. The sweetness of release finally lays itself upon you. Oh. He is a god. Some spirit of heavenly pleasure.

You wish he could be yours forever.

You whimper his name over and over as you come down from a high unlike any other.

"Ezra...Ezra...my Ezra"

He kisses your twitching clit a few times more, never quite ready to give up your taste – he had told you before that he doesn’t do this only for the money but also for his own desires.

Finally he rises to lay over you, his body heavy and hot on yours, the hardness of him grinding against your soaked centre as he eyes you curiously.

"Yours?" He whispers, a devilish smile on his lips that makes you quiver again lustfully.

"Yes, mine...tonight?" You whisper, thankful that he understands it when you words are staccato and flustered.

You've never had him stay for more than a few hours. Never been so lavish with hard earned credits, but money feels no object right now as your cunt flutters and pulses at the thought of a full night with him. To wake up beside him is an experience worth all the money in the universe, you imagine.

Your fingers play in the white-blonde patch of hair. Curious, like him. You know little of this man and yet you want him in your bed for as long as you can possibly keep him.

He is a symphony of raucous desire.

“Stay tonight” You murmur, pulling him in to a searing kiss as soon he nods his agreement.

You know so little of him, but what you do know if that one night with this starlit man - even though it makes you poorer - will make you richer in heart and soul.

#ezra prospect x reader #sp00ky follower celebration #💭

[netherfeildren]

Forfeiting My Mystique

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader

Summary: You're a girl made of golden gossamer, a work of art come to life, and Ezra, well he's dedicated his life to collecting beautiful things.

-OR-

An Ezra Art Collector AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: voyeurism; kind of objectifying? (not sure how to tag the strange shit going on here); ezra’s weird; mommy issues; references to past childhood abuse; touch aversion/touch starved (at the same time); sugar daddy vibes; size difference; oral sex (f! receiving); butt stuff lite; dom/sub undertones; power dynamics; self esteem issues x2; panty thieving; masturbation; obsessive behavior; possessive behavior; brief mention of recreational drug use; brief discussion of parent death

A/N: This is extremely self indulgent - basically I wrote it for me, but you guys can read it too. I know I took some liberties with Ezra's characterization but whatever.

Inspo (and some of the dialogue) pulled from Lenny Kravitz’s Paris town house Vogue tour, Jeremy Strong’s favorite things GQ interview, and “Marianne” from Delta of Venus by Anaïs Nin.

Title is from the poem by the same name by Kaveh Akbar.

Word Count: 12K

Read on AO3

Ezra has always loved beautiful things. Since he was a child, his mother taught him to instill an appreciation for beauty into all facets of his world. She herself, a gorgeously beautiful creature, was well versed in such a life. But beautiful as she was, she was also cruel, selfish, capricious to her very core, and she’d turned him into a strange amalgamation of a man by proxy. At once also cruel and selfish and capricious, but hurt and soft and gnarled, as well, so that he was also made gentle and aware and hopeful. That above all else, his greatest weakness, always hopeful. Perhaps, to the point of naivety, the point of peril. For he looked for beauty in all things, and to do that, he was forced to bestow his hopeful eye upon even the ugly and harsh things of the world. 

And so he’d dedicated his life to finding those beautiful things. An art collector by virtue, they called him. A vulture, a scavenger, a treasure hunter. A man full of greed and pride, demons and too much money. All he thought of himself as, was hungry. So yes, perhaps a scavenger, a morsel of greed within the marrow of his bones, always looking for the next sublime artifact, painting, statue – person. But he also liked to think of himself as a protector of those beautiful things, of historic things. Things that changed the very face of humanity, shifted the tide of the world. A collector – always in search of the next life changing sight. Always certain the world was filled with endless possibilities for beauty, for loveliness, for sensuality, for something to captivate, to overwhelm him.

-

The first thing he sees are your feet. Standing in the gallery over from the one you’re inhabiting, people he doesnt know or give a fuck about talking at him, schmoozing and preening and prostrating themselves. Probably hoping he’ll cough up a couple million euro for whatever cause they’re pretending to crusade behind at the moment. He can see only the quarter bottom half of the famed performance artist he’d heard so much about. The entire exhibit tonight had been built around you, and it had the whole of Paris raving and ravenous for a piece of the lovely morsel they so claimed you posed as. Shallow and vain creatures that the peers of his echelon were, they were easily amused and easily bored by the smallest passing fads. At once desperate to be the first to see or speak of a thing, and consequently, the first to discard it as dépassé. 

He’d made the trek all the way to the Left Bank from his townhouse in the 16th arrondissement, to see the performance of the woman whom his associate, Oruf, had said would change the way he thought of a living creature forevermore. Big words from a little man, Ezra had no real inclination to believe. 

The angle of the wall blocks most of you from his view – granting him the sight of only your knees down. Your feet are small, he can see the tiny square shape of your nails, the gleam of them under the soft warm overhead light – lying on your side, one slotted above the other. The fine architecture of your ankles – delicate, the blue hued veins crawling like vines up the top of your foot, lost to the pale of your skin. The smooth, glossy slope of your calf, up to the flat round of your patella. It’s all he can admire from where he stands. Pretty legs, but nothing to lose one’s head over so far. 

The person talking at him is interminably long winded. Ezra would like nothing more than to beg them to shut the fuck up and be on his way. He wants another drink. He wants to see you in full. He’d heard so much about the woman sitting for the live art exhibit. You’d been heralded into a creature of myth by the wagging tongues of Paris. He wanted to discern for himself the level of sanctity you deserved. He wanted to see your face. 

Finally, he’s able to demure from the conversation, the promise of ten million euro for the charity of the sycophant’s choice, promised off-handedly – any amount of money would’ve been too little to get the gaping, begging maw to quit it’s yapping. 

He slinks along the shadows of the walls, a vulture in its natural habitat. The lights brought down to a low warm hue, meant to shape itself along the contours of your skin, bring out the soft gleam within you. Surely the oldest trick in the book, that of light and shadows. He moves further into the room slowly, your back to him. The plush round of your bottom comes into view, two little dimples gracing the low of your back, the notches of your spine, up, up, to the heavy mantle of your hair. You’re resting on your hip, your torso twisted so your chest is pressed to the chaise you lounge on, your head laying cradled in the circle of your bent arms. There is a tiny, delicate outline of a sparrow tattooed at your shoulder. He watches the slow rise and fall of your back, the shadow of your ribs – he’d feed you more if you were his. The thought comes unbidden – a little shocking – a lovely bottom, beautiful, long hair, but for a man like Ezra – one who so wholly avoided any sort of ownership by another or over another, the thought of such intimacy, something to cause revulsion, not desire, coming from his own psyche, it’s almost distressing to acknowledge as his own. 

The crown of your head gleams like a halo in the soft overhead gallery light. The room is muted, voices hushed, and the patrons rove around your unmoving body, the rhythm of your breath the only discernible sign of life on your form from back here. Oruf had claimed that you did not move a single millimeter during the entirety of the three hour long performance. He sure as fuck didn’t believe that. He was having a quite, self proclaimed, contrary and bitter season, by his own choosing, and was prone to bouts of obstinance and general disagreement at anything and everything that presented itself to him. He was choosing, as of now, to not believe in your myth.

He moves further around the center where you lay in repose. He needs to see your face. That will give him the answer he’s come here for. 

There’s a large group standing right in front of you – rudely pointing, whispering, and he feels a surge of annoyance at the sight of them. You were here to be observed, appreciated, not fucking ogled like some cheap attraction, and he was here to see you – they needed to get the fuck out of his way. 

Finally, they shuffle off, leaving the space directly in front of you open. He makes the final round above your head, comes to stand before you. Oruf had said the only part of you that moved were your eyes.

They fall on Ezra now. 

It could have been as if, in that moment, you’d gotten up, naked as Venus, to shriek directly in his face. That powerful was the force behind your gaze – a punch to the gut, his mothers handbag swinging unexpectedly, purposefully into his stomach as he scurried meekly behind her as a child. 

He pulls his Jacques Marie Mage frames from his nose. He needs to look away from the searing power of your attention. He needs a moment to collect himself, taking deep breaths as he studies the glasses, runs the tip of his finger over the bridge. He’s held frozen in place by the feel of your gaze still upon him. 

He decides in that very instant he has to have you. 

When he looks back at you, your eyes flit away. He is dismissed – made ravenous. On the verge of tears, perhaps. Look back at me, look back at me, look back at me. What sort of reaction is this to a woman whose name he doesn’t even know? Nonsensical. Perhaps it’s the sleep deprivation – the edibles he’d downed before coming, maybe he’s having a bad reaction. 

But the gift of your slow, lazy gaze roves around the space he inhabits now, everywhere but directly at him, almost like a punishment for having looked away from you first – even for a second. 

He’s never considered the prospect of trying to buy a person. The moral question or dilemma of it. He decides he doesn’t necessarily care. Whatever he has to do to get you to leave this place with him, he’ll do. What he’ll be able to bring himself to let happen after that,  if he’ll even be able to touch you, be brave enough to let you touch him, remains to be seen. Inconsequential too, he finds. 

He circles the gallery for close to an hour before he can no longer help himself, can no longer feign casualness. The rest of the art here is pale and dull in the light of your luminescence. He finally comes to a stop in a corner diagonal from where you face, in the shadow of the sculpture of Paolo e Virginia. At this moment, he feels certain Puttinati prophecised your existence, to so depict the vision of reverence he’s feeling for you in this moment. 

The performance is three hours long. In that time you don’t move your body at all, Oruf was right – lying with the stillness of marble. The only thing that moves are your eyes, and you watch the patrons closely, examine them. Your gaze is part of the art, part of the power of it. 

The visage of you is shocking, not for your nudity, but because in a lifetime filled with unimaginably lovely things, you are, by far, the most magnificently gorgeous creature Ezra has ever laid eyes on. It is like a recurring bullet to the temple over and over again for the visceral shock you pull out of him. 

Finally, finally, your gaze falls on him again. The meeting of your eyes, like the strike of lightning against the earth. He can feel his cock thicken, grow heavy, just at the touch of your gaze. It’s voyeuristic – unexpected – he can’t remember the last time he got hard. He feels almost perverted, sporting an erection at the mere sight of you, surrounded by all these people in this crowded gallery.

He can’t see your breasts entirely, pressed to the chaise as they are, only the full, pale sides. He wonders desperately at the color of your nipples, the shade, the hue. He’d like to imprint it in his mind. Know the taste of them, as well, of all your skin – wonders if the color there matches that of the skin between your legs. The thought causes hunger to climb like fire up his chest into his throat, saliva pooling heavy in his mouth at the mere suggestion of your cunt in his mind.

His eyes leave you for a moment, to cast the wide net of his gaze around the room, at the other men. He wonders if they’re hard too, if only your naked skin, lying still in repose, has the power to make their blood rush, their muscles thicken. He is not pleased by the thought of that. And when he comes back to you, you’re still on him. Gaze roaming down his body, taking in the fine cashmere sweater, his perfectly tailored suit, built to hang in a precisely designed loose cut over his shoulders, down his long legs, the incongruous sneakers, back, back up to his face, the spot of blonde at the front of his hair. A single delicate eyebrow crooks in a minute arch at him. It is all the answer he needs

You are looking back at him. It’s all he needs to know. 

As the three hour mark comes to a head the lights dim even further until only a singular overhead spotlight falls upon your form. Your skin glows, seems to flare brighter for a single moment, and then a golden sheet of gossamer begins to slowly fall from the ceiling, and right before it lands upon your body, you finally move. Your body stretches, toes pointing and curling, long arms stretched in an arc over your head. The fine lines and slopes of your body coming into startling clarity for one moment, and then you turn over, away from him, where he can’t see your face anymore, and curl in on yourself. The golden gusset falls upon your coiled form, as if you’ve finally been put to rest. The lights dim until all that’s visible is the luminous gleam of the shroud over your curled body. 

You are a girl made of golden myth and gossamer, and he must have you. 

-

“Hello, Sparrow.” He steps into the small, warm space of your dressing room.

You turn to face him, you’ve been waiting for him. “Hello,” you say slowly. “You were watching me.”

“Everyone was watching you.”

“Not like you were–”

“No… not like I was.” His accent is some strange sort of concoction of eclectic European – at once French, but also slightly Germanic, with an inflection of deep American South at the end. The vowels and consonants rolling off his tongue, smooth and hypnotizing like the warm pour of honey, and then, suddenly, inflected with a bout of sharpness. Something that snaps you awake, forces you to come to attention, to pay attention to him. That was all it was really, you could tell, a forceful, demanding grab for attention at all times. He called it to himself, seduced the people around him into ardor. Whether they knowingly chose to be entranced or not, was not up to them.

“Ezra,” he gives an imitation of a little flourished bow. You give him your own name in return. “You were watching me back.” 

“I couldn’t help it.” He had demanded it of you, after all, no need to lie now. 

“I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me.” You turn back to continue packing your bag. 

“I’m not very hungry.” You feel him come closer, hear the subtle hint of pleading desperation in his sensual voice that has pleasure coiling deep in your belly. 

“A drink then.”

You’d like to be on clear ground with this man who you can see, even now, is an enigma not to be trifled with unconscionably. “Where? At your house?” you turn to crook a sardonic brow at him.

“Would you like me to take you to my house?”

“Yes. If that’s what you want too.” You’d already decided, didn’t see the point in prolonging the game. 

-

His security takes you out the back of the gallery, dark Maybach rolling smoothly up as soon as you reach the curb, and you feel the searing phantom  heat of his large palm hovering over the small of your back. 

He hasn’t touched you a single time yet, and everything within you is coiled tight, waiting for that first graze. 

He pulls the car door open for you himself, and then his driver is there, smoothly offering you his hand to help you step into the sleek interior. The leather beneath you is buttery chocolate brown and you press your thighs together. His security had taken your bag from you, and you felt bereft and listless without the protective clutch of it within your hands now. 

He follows after you, sliding gracefully onto the seat across. You can see he’s wearing two gold chains around his neck that rest in the dip of his collarbones, and your mouth waters at the sight. The car pulls quietly away from the curb and then you’re merging into the busy city traffic, ensconced in the quiet of this liminal space he’s stolen you into with him. 

He crosses one knee over the other, one thick arm thrown languidly over the back of the seat. You can see a small gold signet ring gracing his pinky – some sort of crest emblazoned on it. 

Fucking family crest kind of rich. God. You don’t know if you’re prepared for this. 

You cock your head to the side, the muscles in your neck are a little stiff and sore from holding your pose for so long, and you let your neck roll back on the head rest. 

He’s quiet, still observing, as if you’re still existing within the walls of the gallery, and not being spirited away to his home so that he might have his way with you. 

“Are you going to fuck me?” Might as well be blunt, you think, now that you’re here. He was so gorgeous in that room, watching you, circling you like a beast hunting in the wild. There was really no other way this night was destined to end, but with you beneath him, taking him into your cunt. 

“Would you like me to fuck you?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t respond, only gives you a melodic little non-committal hum, continues to look at you from the seat across with those deceptively guileless eyes. You want him to snatch you by the chin and spit in your mouth.

-

The drive ends in front of the grand façade of a pristine Parisian townhouse on a secluded street in the 16th arrondissement – flanked by national embassies, no less. 

You are very, very far from home. In a Paris you’ve not ventured into in all your years of living here. 

He helps you from the car, finally, finally, finally, thick palm wrapping entirely around the thin of your wrist. Everything within you coils and pulses, tight and wet. His skin is warm and dry, you can feel the pull of rough calluses on his palm. You’re sure he can feel the hammering staccato of your pulse through the thin membrane as you stare at the way his fingers overlap completely around the circumference of your limb.

He lets you step into the foyer ahead of him as one of his staff sweeps the door open for the two of you, ready and waiting for their master to return with a respectably quiet, monsieur, mademoiselle, in greeting. There’s a huge Basquiat in the entrance hall, across from the sweeping staircase.

“Lots of his art came my way,” he says at your obvious admiration, shock, desire to tuck tail and run back home. “We weren’t friends, but I was roommates with a guy he’d lived with. His last girlfriend was best friends with my girlfriend at the time, so when he died we had one of the first calls.”

“It’s wonderful–” Your voice is full of awe, eyes taking in a type of home you’ve never seen before up close like this. Something out of a picture book that sits on the coffee table of someone wishing for more. 

“How many bedrooms does it have?”

“Well… they get used for different things – so I’m not sure. Let’s call it eight.”

You huff a small laugh, run your finger along the keys of the opulent crystal Steinway. “Let’s call it eight, sure.”

Now that you’re here, that he hasn’t overtly said he’s brought you here for sex, you don’t really know what it is he wants from you. A bad thought, but an honest one. 

“Drink?”

“Yes, please.”

He leads you into an elegantly lush reception room, hovering hand again at the place above the small of your back. There’s a gargantuan crystal chandelier hanging at the center of the room, two enormous elephant tusks flank the elaborate mantelpiece. The room is a mix of eclectic eccentricities, both neutrally elegant and demure in its obvious wealth, but inflected with touches of vibrant color and idiosyncrasies to bring the room together in a way that you think must reflect the house’s owner. 

He moves to the bar, choosing the green bottle of twenty year Laphroaig and pours a knuckle into two crystal tumblers. He’s quiet, subdued, and the lack of small talk to fill the silence has the backs of your knees itching and sweating. 

There’s a glossy red panther sculpture prowling across a gold and ivory lacquered coffee table. He comes to hand your glass to you. “That’s a museum piece. I can’t remember where I got it, but it’s rare.” You can’t tell if he’s trying to boast, to impress you, or merely share his satisfaction at owning a piece of art worthy of a museum's gallery. You’d already discerned that at the Basquiat’s first glance, shit, at the first sight of the house. It was a veritable museum on its own. You were sure the number of museum pieces in every room were too many to count in a single night, nay week. 

You don’t sit as he goes to do, but start to slowly circle the room. An imitation of his slow roving of you earlier at the gallery. The peat whisky is bold and smoky, a surprising hint of something akin to seawater, but also mellowly sweet. You think that this must be what his skin tastes like, his come – an amalgamation of all the different flavors on the wheel. Saliva pools heavy on your tongue and you take a deeper sip, eyes flitting to him. 

“Three hours is a long time to lay so still,” he says. 

“It is. But I’m used to it by now.”

“You must be tired.”

“Not particularly – perhaps a bit stiff.”

“Have you been doing this for a long time?”

“Not so long, but not so short, either.”

“So just the right amount?”

“Yes.” He’s quiet for a moment then, still watching, watching, watching. His gaze upon you feels like the drag of a specter’s fingers along your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake. You wonder if this is how he felt while you watched him in the low light of the gallery. Hunted. But no, you imagine there isn’t anything that could make a man such as this feel like prey. 

“Can I draw you a bath?” You pause at this – firmer, more familiar ground, finally. This is what you’ve been waiting for. His request for you to get naked for him, to let him into your body. It’s what you want also. He’s not rushing this, and it’s making you feel unstable, unsure of the ground you’re treading here together. 

“Yes, I’d like that.”

-

He leads you upstairs, to one of the guest bedrooms. The en suite, one of his favorites in the house – dark marble tub in the center of the room under a low hanging crystal chandelier. The French windows let in the soft glow of the moon outside, and he draws the bath for you as you peer through the glass. The reflection of your face in the windows, eternally distracting. 

When the water is warm and ready, a splash of Neroli Portofino Body Oil poured under the stream, he turns to you. He’s hesitant – both of himself and you, equally. It’s been a long time since he’s touched a body not his own, and he feels the slight anxious tremor of his hands. Although he can’t be sure if that’s strictly attributed to nerves, or all the blood in his body pooling in his cock at the moment. 

“Can I take your clothes off?” said as gently as possible, so as not to spook you.

Your gaze is as direct as it was while you lay watching him, surrounded by half of Paris. “Yes.”

He starts at the tiny bow holding the front of your soft silk blouse together – the weave so fine, it’s almost translucent, and he can see the outline of your evasive nipples he’s been so desperate to see. He pulls on the string letting the neck of the blouse fall open, then down to the tiny pearl buttons holding the rest of it together. All without touching your skin. 

You’re panting, face already flushed, eyes bright, almost fevered. His balls are tight and heavy, ready to come, just with this. Just at the mere fucking vision of you ready and panting for him. His belly clenches and then he pushes the silk off the fine bones of your shoulders. The wings of your collarbones, the shadow of the dip in them the most tempting image he’s ever beheld in his entire life. He wants to dip his tongue into the tiny pool, fill them with ambrosia and drink directly from your skin. 

He feels his cock begin to leak. 

The zipper at the side of your skirt is next. He watches the rise and fall of your ribs, the tremble of your throat as he pulls it down slowly, revealing the rest of your skin to him. There’s a tiny lace thong around your hips, robin's egg blue. Oh, he will be stealing that for himself. 

He finally lets himself touch your skin as he pushes the scrap of lace down your legs, crouching smoothly to his knees to help you step out of it. He takes in the sight of your small feet up close now. The fine tendons of your musculature entirely too fucking beguiling. He ghosts the tip of a single finger over the top of your foot and you moan for him. So goddamn sweet and wanton. 

He unfolds to his full height and pockets your panties. To be inspected at a later time, pressed to his nose and mouth so that he might drink the scent of you down into himself. He tips his chin at the tub now, holding your wild gaze, breaths coming in short little gasps. Your cheeks are flushed the color of your nipples. The tiny wisps of hair at your neck and temples beginning to curl deliciously in the humidity of the bathroom. He could spill his seed just at the look in your eyes, he’s sure of it. 

“In,” he orders, crowds you towards the edge of the tub and grips the bend of your elbow between his thumb and index finger – as little contact as possible – to help you into the water. “Sit.”

You immediately obey, and that fills him with more pleasure than the sight of your naked skin. The control you’re granting him right now, allowing him the privilege of ordering you for the sake of his own comfort – he’s going to reward you very well for being so good for him.

He bends over the edge of the tub, hovering over your beseeching upturned face. He brushes his thumb softly over your full bottom lip. “Good girl.” Your eyes flutter shut, you look down into the water, a lovely pink blush blossoming over your cheeks. “Relax. Soak for a while.”

He can tell you want him. Badly. The flush of your cheeks down to your breasts, rosy little nipples peaked, your quick breath. That want, compounded doubly by his refusal so far to really touch you — his inability. The more he stays his hand, the more you want him, and the more you want him the harder his cock grows, the more frightened he becomes. He thinks it’s very true, that old adage, the harder you try to push a woman away from a man, the closer she will go to him by virtue of rebellion.

You sit in the warm bath for close to an hour, and he watches rapturously, hypnotized by the slick wet of the water rolling over your skin, from his seat on an ottoman at the center of the room. The weight of his gaze on your skin, almost violent in its intense desire. He wants to lick every single droplet from your body and then bite into the heavy lush weight of your tits until his teeth are imprinted in the soft flesh, bruises sucked into the pale globes. He hopes you’ll let him. He hopes he’ll let himself. 

Your returning look is equally wanton. He watches your gaze trained and hungry on the heft of his cock hiding beneath his trousers. You spread your legs for him beneath the water as you wash yourself, putting on another show, private, just for him. An unjustly jealous wrath stirs within him, coiled and hissing, at the thought of any other human on earth ever getting to see you the way he is now. Largely a passive man, the violence that surges within him has him surprised and not, in equal measures. For he thinks that no being ever having beheld you, could ever possibly be driven to feel any other way than obsessively possessive over such a creature as yourself. You’re like a siren in this moment, languishing in the warm water of his bath, in his house, where you agreed to come with him tonight. A nymph willingly slinking into the depth of Tartarus, knowing she’s in peril of being wholly devoured by the beasts that lay at its depths, and still going anyways. 

He helps you out after a while, tiny little fingers and toes soaked to wrinkles, elbow once again caught between his two fingers, and the heat rolling off your skin sears him. Has a violent tremble running jaggedly down his vertebrae. 

He wraps you in a plush white towel, pulled from the warming rack, helps you dry your long hair. Then goes to his room for one of his shirts to put you in. He pulls one he’d worn a few days ago off the pile from the chair in the corner. He wants to know you’re sleeping in something that’s already been on his skin, that smells like him, that you’re soaking now in his own scent. 

As he pulls the towel from around your body to once again reveal your bare form to him he presses a soft kiss to your naked waist – can’t help himself, the soft slope entirely too beguiling. Overtaking any apprehensions he may have, and his gut clenches with fear and desire. He can feel the weeping of his cock dribble down his thigh as he presses his lips to the warm, fragrant skin. 

You’re quiet, watching him, letting him do with you as he wants. His own little sentient doll, created for his pleasure only. “I have a farm in Brazil,” he says. He rounds your form, starts to braid the long strands of your hair into a single plait. You put up no protest – it feels like water, slipping through his hands.  “We grow organic fruit and vegetables and there’s cows, lots of cows. We never kill them, they just live there, graze.” One of his favorite places in the entire world, but perhaps, second to the place he resides now, staring at you, dressing you, touching your hair. “I love it there, I’ll take you.”

“Okay,” you say easily. “I’d like that,” the gift of the gentle curve of your smile. He wants to lick into your mouth, fuck you with his tongue, slap your pussy and watch the blood rush to the surface, feel the tight clench of your asshole as he fills you with his come. 

“Will you let me watch you play with your cunt?” he asks gently.

“Won’t you do it?”

“I’m scared to touch you yet – to find out if you’re actually real.” He feels an uncharacteristically self conscious blush mar his cheeks. “I–I’m not ready. I want to watch first.” He comes to kneel between your parted thighs that dangle off the high bed. “Pet your cunt for me – show me how you like it, sweet girl. Please.” He is not above begging. Not for this. Not for you – for the sight of you playing with your wet, pink pussy. 

You spread your legs wider, give him the tantalizing peak of your bare sex, your glistening folds. You’re already fucking wet for him. He feels an unrestrained growl claw up his throat like fire. His mouth goes dry, parched. The only way to sate himself, to drink straight from the source of your glossy slick. 

You press your fingers to the pearl of your clit, swollen and needy already, he can see. You start to swirl little circles over your slippery flesh, your wet mouth falling open in a gasp. “That’s it, yeah–” he whispers, bringing his face in closer to the apex of your thighs so he can smell you directly from the source. His eyes flutter as he breathes in the scent of you, the deep amber and citrus from the bath oil, but beneath that, entwined in the rich notes, the musky scent of you. Fucking mouthwatering. He hears himself moan, the sound pulled almost unconsciously from his body. 

“Inside– put your fingers inside. Let me see you fuck yourself.” You press a single finger in, all the way to the last knuckle, and start to rock your hips. He can feel your gaze on his face, the weight of it heavy and pleading.

“Ezra– p–please, please, you do it,” you beg, let your head roll back as you press another finger in and start to rock your clit against the mound of your palm in earnest.

“But you’re doing so well, sweet girl. About to make that little cunt come for me. Look–” He gives you the weight of a single palm on the bend of your knee and you moan deep and ragged at just that compact touch. He can’t help himself – he pulls the edge of the t-shirt up to bare your tits to him and holds it up against the base of your throat where he cradles the delicate column in his hand – the entire large span of him completely engulfing your smallness. “Your thighs are trembling, treasure. You’re going to do it just for me, aren’t you?.”

“Y–Yes, yes–” 

He pushes your knee in his grasp wider, opening you more for the fileting of gaze. “Make yourself come – I want to see it. Fucking come,” it’s a demand you answer, just the sound of it causing the heat of your skin to seemingly ricochet even higher. You start to come – he watches the clenching of the muscles in your stomach as you grind your fingers deep. He can hear how wet you are, the sopping wet squelch of your pulsing cunt, and he worries for one second that he’s about to come in his pants. 

You let out a reed high mewl, like you’re singing just for him. “What a good, good girl you are,” he praises, and your eyes flutter shut, pulling your fingers away so that he’s left to admire the clenching of your stretched hole. He can see the glossy shine of your slick sliding down the crevice of your ass, and he wants to lick through your sticky arousal so fucking badly he bites down on his cheek until he tastes blood. He bends his head to press his brow to the edge of the bed between your spread thighs, tightening his grip around your knee until you whimper in pain. He loosens his hold immediately, thumb brushing soothingly over the bend before he stands, lets out a long breath. He stares down at your panting, flushed form. Wet and sated after your orgasm. Fuck all the art in the world. He’d set fire to every single masterpiece he owns in this very moment if he was granted the gift of getting to watch you come even one single time more. 

He passes his palm over his mouth, feeling the soft bristles of his scruff. He’d like to see the smooth insides of your thighs rubbed raw with it, he’d like to see the stretch of your cunt as he stuffs you full of himself, the milky white of his spend leaking from all your holes. 

“It’s time to put you to bed,” he says instead. 

Your brow creases in the sweetest little frown, red mouth puckering, still panting. “You’re not staying?” 

“No, sweet girl. I think it’s best if you sleep here tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“But–”

“It’s alright. There’s no rush.” He leans over you to press a lingering kiss to your brow, pulls his shirt down to cover your breasts. You give him a little whimper, and he allows your hand to come up to clutch the thick swell of his bicep, the heavy muscle there bunching at the feel of your grip. He moves to help you settle beneath the silk duvet, pleased beyond belief at the sight of you tucked into a bed in his home, wearing his clothes, flushed and wearing the sated look of a recent orgasm. 

“Goodnight, treasure.”

“Goodnight, Ezra.”

-

You find his room later. You can’t help yourself, following the glow of the soft light spilling between the crack of his slightly open door, like he’d left you a bread crumb trail to follow, like he knew you’d come searching. You can’t sleep knowing he’s so close, this dazzling creature come straight from a dream. Twisting and turning in the plush monstrosity of a bed he’d left you in. His shirt, butter soft, the dark, gray blue swimming around your much smaller frame. It smells like him, his cologne – you recognize the scent of Le Labo Another 13. Musky with the softest most subtle hint of jasmine, paired with something earthier – greener, and folded between all that: the soft saltiness of his sweat.  Why would you sleep when a figure from your very fantasies was right here in the flesh. Your cunt clenches, wet and aching, even after he’d watched you make yourself come. You need more, want to feel the press of his cock inside of you, the heavy weight of it. 

He’s sitting up in bed, reading something on an iPad, glasses propped low on his nose. He looks up at your small knock, not waiting for his permission to slip inside. 

“I promise, I’ll be good.” You hold your hands up in surrender. “I won’t touch you. We can put a pillow between us if you like.” You move towards the bed.

There’s a large stack of books sitting on his bedside table, flooded by the warm moss stained light of the antique Tiffany lamp. A single idiosyncrasy of old world charm in a room made stark by its bright modernity. The pile is made up of a book of paintings by Howard Hodgkin, the diaries of Alma Mahler, The Spectator Bird by Wallace Stegner, the fourth volume of In Search of Lost Time – you appreciate his excellent taste – and at the very top, laying open, facedown, as if he’d just put it down a moment ago, My Struggle by Karl Ove Knausgaard. You find it fascinating to see a book that spoke of life in such a granular way — realistic, simple, a normal man in a normal world, speaking in such extensive, caring detail on the small things in his life — on the bedside table of this enigma, this person who seemed to be, by far and large, a different species to all other men you’d ever met before. To see the spine so cracked and worn — as if he’d read it over and over again, in search of the equation for that simplicity, to thus inject into his own existence – a way to embalm his own world in such appreciation for the small but infinitely significant moments. You wonder if it’s taught him much— if he’s been able to find and implement whatever it was he’d searched for through so many reads. 

“Alright,” he says easily, but the look in his eyes is slightly wary. You recognize Glenn Gould’s rendition of the Goldberg Variations playing softly on the surround sound as you crawl into his bed – under the silk smooth sheets, bringing a pillow to blockade you from him, protect him. You don’t want him to be uncomfortable, but you desperately want to be close to him also. The two of you have barely talked tonight – too caught up in the observation of one another, like two animals circling in the wild. You want to talk to him. Want to hear the sound of his deep voice vibrate through your nerve endings. 

“Intimacy is… difficult for me,” he says slowly, swallowing. “It’s hard for me to get close to people… emotionally, physically. I need time to — I suppose, to warm up to them.”

“That’s — that’s okay. I understand,” you say, because you do, because you’re the same in many ways. 

“It’s why I love art,” he continues. “You can be close to something, feel its warmth, beauty – whatever feeling it is the artist intended to pull out of you, from a distance. Untouched – it’s untouchable. That comforts me for some reason.”

“I think – I think I understand that as well. Something, perhaps, about the idea of a thing remaining as it was initially conceived as, for all time, undisturbed by outside influences.”

“Yes – yes, exactly.” His eyes are alive with the fire of being understood.

You look down at his straining erection. You can’t help it. “You’re hard,” you say. You want to touch him so badly it’s a physical ache inside of you. 

“I’ve been hard since I first saw you.”

“Let me help.”

He shakes his head, “Not yet.”

“I was embarrassed that the other patrons would be able to tell how wet my pussy was lying there staring at you.” Shocking words. His eyes flutter shut, fuck, he murmurs under his breath, brings his hand up to rub at his jaw. You’ve noticed he does that a lot – a tell of sorts. He takes several deep breaths, the tension seeming to seep out of his body by sheer force of will. 

You take him in as he settles back into the pillows, relaxing, or at least pretending to. His face, smooth and serene, laying there watching you, despite his heavy erection, but the look in his eyes – it’s also slightly provoking. As if he wants you to challenge him, question him, but also afraid, perhaps, that you’ll force his hand, that he’ll be forced to give in to what you both want before he’s ready. You decide to choose mercy – change the subject. More curious to see how he chooses to play this out.

“Let’s play the question game.”

“The question game?”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” he turns to lay on his side, facing you. Both of your hands are tucked beneath your cheeks. He’s wearing a soft, worn sweater, a tiny hole at the collar, the sleeves stretched and overly long. Oh, this may just be too much for you to handle. 

“We’ll start with something easy – what’s your favorite color?”

“That’s easy?”

“Yes.” You roll your eyes at him, laughing.

“Depends on the day,” he says very seriously. His blinks are slow, his pupils huge and dilated in the warm light of the lamp. You wonder if he’s taken something. Every time he blinks the thick fringe of his lashes fans over his cheeks, the pause of his languor allows you a moment to appreciate them.

“That’s not an answer – you have to give a real answer.” You want to reach your finger out and brush along that thick fringe, through the patchy hair on his face, threaded through with the smallest hint of silver, stick your nose in his hair and smell him right at the source. 

“It’s the only real answer there is – no one’s favorite color stays their favorite color forever.”

“Do you do this a lot?”

“What’s that?”

“Make things purposely difficult.”

A flash of his brilliant white teeth, “Oh, always.” You want very badly for him to bite into your flesh. 

“Okay, fine. What’s your favorite color right now?”

Without hesitation: “The color of your eyes – they’re very strange,” you can tell it’s a compliment, and he finally touches you again. A single finger, just the tip, to the point of your chin, tilting your head back slightly for his inspection, as if you were one of the pieces in his collection. You think you may become one by the end of this. You think you’d like that very much. You can feel the slight edge of his fingernail dig into your soft skin. 

“I already agreed to fuck you. You don’t have to woo me,” you breathe. You realize that, as of yet, he’s not overtly asked you to have sex with him – you throw the words out anyways, hoping to provoke him. This is too much. This man is too much. You don’t know what it is about him, but you want him desperately, like no one you’ve ever wanted before. You want him to overwhelm you – to take you by force. To take all choice and will and autonomy from your hands. You don’t care what will come of this, what will become of you after he’s done with you, if he discards you, forgets you –  none of that matters. All you care about, in this moment, is that he finally decides to take you, that he gives you the opportunity to let go, to relinquish control. To unfold from the pose for just a moment. A slightly deranged spark fizzes in your belly. Your heart pinches a burning little pain at the thought that he hasn’t kissed you yet, that you still don’t know the taste of his mouth. 

“None of my answers satisfy you. And yes, I do need to woo you. I find it very necessary.”

You try and emulate an unaffected scoff, his finger is still on your chin, but you feel your brow unwittingly fold into a confused frown. There is a tight knot of want coiled at the very center of you, burning hot and smoldering, and you need him to pick it apart with these strong fingers. He takes his hand away. The look on his face is very telling. He can read everything going on in your mind, you can tell. He looks like the cat that ate the goddamn canary. You try and take a deep, calming breath. “Alright, now you have to ask me one?” you divert. 

“Me?”

“Yes, you – that’s how the game works. I do one, you do one.”

“Alright,” he’s quiet for a second, contemplating, “Do you have siblings?”

“No, I’m an only child. Do you?”

“I had a brother, Damon. He died when we were younger.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yes, well– it was a very long time ago. But thank you. His daughter, Cee, is my ward now. ” Not his niece, not someone mentioned in any capacity as his family. The connection, maintained as if at a distance — his ward — cold. But he gives himself away, his tender vulnerability made transparent, with the sudden flash of bright fondness in his eyes at her name, despite his trying to remain aloof. You are not so easily fooled. You see him despite his attempts to deflect from the true core of himself. 

His gaze is so mercurial – at once relaxed, uncaring, and then flaring into something bright hot like a flash fire. But remote, remote always. Like the very center of him, his true gaze is very far away, very deep within him, and this gaze, the one he presents to the world, is merely a farce, a mask. A shroud he pulls over himself to keep others out. His own golden gossamer. You’re shocked that he’s shared this with you. 

“My parents died when I was very young,” you offer, your own morsel of ragged soul in the face of his sudden vulnerability. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, as well.”

“It wasn’t so bad, after the fact. I went to live with my aunt – my mother’s sister. She was a dancer. My childhood was… unconventional, but wonderful.”

“What about it was unconventional?”

You laugh a little, looking up at the coffered ceiling above you, the thick beams a rich, glossy mahogany. You feel his gaze on your face like a brand. He has not stopped looking at you since he first started. In a sea of years being observed, his gaze is singular in the pleasure it brings you.

“She was a dancer. I mean—” you hum, “What wasn’t unconventional about it? We lived in New York for several years, then Budapest for a time, and then she brought us here, to Paris, where we stayed until her death – where I’ve stayed since. Her girlfriends were always around – fellow dancers, costumes and makeup, drinking and men. They taught me how to smoke when I was eight — Gauloises like a fucking chimney, at all hours of the day, after that — I forced myself to stop a few years ago. Now I only have one on special occasions, sometimes.” He looks at you like he knows you’re the sort to make a special occasion out of a trip to the market. “She had many lovers. Parties… disaster everywhere, but the riotous, happy sort – not the tragic kind.”

“No?”

“No. Perhaps, to the outside eye it may have appeared different… I don’t know. No life for a child, I think. But it was wonderful. She always protected me. But– but never like a mother. She was never like a mother – more like – a friend, or an older sister.” You laugh fondly at the memories, but also a little sadly. In the eyes of an adult now, you’d never want such a life for a child of your own, as exciting as it was at the time.

“One time someone told me I ended up as I did, naked for the world to ogle at, as a means to earn money, because of her. Because of how she was. And perhaps they were right, but… but not in the way they meant —  to insult me. She taught me what art was, gave me the means to turn myself into it.” 

“Who the fuck said that to you?” His tone makes you look back at him now. All the mystery in his gaze is gone, only fury burns now – very clearly. If he’d let you, you’d cup his cheek, soothe him. 

You can see he isn’t ready yet, though. So all you say is: no one that really mattered – the truth, but you can see that it does not soothe him. 

 “What about you? What was your mother like?” You can appreciate how easily distracted he pretends to be, the deception of it, merely another shroud. 

Another one of his long pauses, filled with his eyes on you. He gives you the gift of his touch again. Thick fingers picking up a strand of your hair, running it between his grasp. You feel the slight ghost-like tingle of the tug along your scalp, there but also not, and a jerking shiver moves through you. All the hair on your body standing on end. Fuck, this man. 

“She was very beautiful – very cruel,” he says slowly, mesmerized by your hair sliding through his fingers. 

“Cruel to you?”

“To the world.”

“Why?”

“But also me.” Succinct in its truth. The thought is a terrible one – for anyone to have been cruel to this magnificent dream of a man. The backs of your eyes pinch. Another long pause. “Hmm,” he tilts his head side to side, still sliding your hair through his fingers, twisting it gently around his hair. He gives it a tiny tug, and you want to scoot forward, even just the smallest bit, just to be a little closer to him, to feel the brush of his belly against yours with the movement of his breathing. “It’s difficult to say – unhappiness, bitterness, boredom. A great and complicated concoction of things that made her into the eternally complex creature she was.”

“She died?”

“Yes. She killed herself.”

“Ezra– I’m so sorry,” the words leave you choked and breathless. 

He says it so plainly, starkly, like a slap to the face, one not meant to cause pain or harm, but shock. One meant to cause fear, something to say, look at how fucked up I am, stay away or I’ll infect you with it too. You scoot closer now, you can’t help it, and he goes immediately still, frozen – eyes wide, hesitant, but you don’t touch him. Your hair is still clutched in his hand, and his eyes move back and forth between your own and his hold on you. You’re close enough now, though, that you can feel the heat rolling off his body. Your eyes flutter shut, you say again: “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“She was too vain to grow to old age.” You feel him relax, comforted by the indication that you’re not going to touch him just yet. “I think she felt it was the only recourse for her.”

You open your eyes again, and he’s still staring at you. You so badly want to know what he’s thinking, to feel the press of his mouth against yours, to know the taste of his tongue, the feel of his incisors pressing into your skin. 

You pivot three-sixty again: “Do you want kids?” He lets out a loud barking laugh at that, head thrown back so the tendons in his neck jump out starkly. Your cunt clenches around nothing. Wet and jealous. 

“This is a very difficult game,” he says, giving you a sly look. 

“We don’t have to play anymore, if you don’t want to.” A great lie – you never want to stop playing with him. 

“No, I want to keep going.” He slides his whole hand into your hair now, palm cupping the entire side of your head in its broad expanse, and you can’t help the desperate moan that claws out of your throat. His responding hum is all-knowing.  “I don’t know. But I love being… I like being able to imagine it.”

Your mind has been lost to a daze induced by the heat of his palm. “Children?” you murmur.

“Yes.”

Your fingers are twisted into the front of your shirt, clawing at yourself to maintain respect for his boundaries. “I want them. Lots of them. I hated being an only child. I always felt alone. I want to have lots of babies.” And his eyes flare with heat at that. The first blazing sign of lust in them tonight. Everything else before this, you realize, was merely a low simmering boil. The fist in your hair tightens so that your head tilts back slightly, the line of your throat exposed for his eyes to follow. 

“Lots of them?” You nod your head minutely, wide eyed, equally ensnared by that look in his gaze as you are by his hand. 

“Then you shall have them, Sparrow.” You let out a shuddering breath, turn your face into the pillow, enjoying the slight pull to your sensitive scalp as his hand follows, try to breathe deep, temper your racing heart. You’re so wet, you can feel it seeping out of you in a constant throbbing stream. The conversation serving as a more intense form of foreplay than anything else you’ve ever done with a man. 

“It’s my turn again. When was the last time you fucked someone?” Blunt – thrown at your face to throw you off kilter. Oh, he fucking loves this. A broken little whimper claws out of your throat at that. Your cheeks are flushed, you can feel them burning, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. The smug look in his eyes taunts you, tells you he knows just how soaked you are. But it is also wild, as wanting as you are. 

“Hmm?” he presses.

“Three years ago.” It’s his turn to be shocked now. You see the pause of surprise in that bright light within his gaze. 

“Three years? Why?”

“You’re not the only one who finds it difficult to be close to people.”

“And yet you agreed to come here with me?”

“And yet I agreed to come here with you.” You don’t return the question. You wouldn’t like to know, you don’t think. And you can tell he sees that in your gaze, for he doesn’t offer up the information either. You like the mystique of him. Like some eldritch beast, a deity of old, something amorphous, not to be contained or understood. The unknowable aspect of him is appealing to you for reasons you haven't quite figured out yet, despite this game of questions you’re flirting with. 

You go next: “Are you lonely?”

“Yes, very.” A pause, and then: “You are too.” This is no question. He can see it, recognizes the same scent of it that permeates the air around him, following you. “You seemed it, laying in the center of that crowded room, naked – bared for everyone to see.” It is not said cruelly. He is only telling you that which you already know about yourself, that which is plain for the whole world to see. “And then shrouded in gold, as if you wanted to hide that vein of aloneness that flows through you – it didn’t work very well.”

“Do you think everyone could see it?”

“No.” Good. You only wanted him. 

You take another turn, you can’t help but break the rules with him. “Have you ever been with someone who– who you didn’t really want to be with, but you were– you were so lonely and needed… something… or someone?” All the surety you’d posed your previous questions with is gone now. He’s already discerned so much of you, what’s a little more bared skin? “So you just– you just settled for being with that person even though you knew it was wrong, and the only thing on your mind was the other person you really wanted to be with?”

Without hesitation: “Yes.”

“I think that’s the only type of relationship I’ve ever had. Although, the other person hasn’t really existed – just – just something I’ve thought up in my own head.”

“I accidentally called her by the other person’s name. She never spoke to me again. It was terrible– terrible of me.”

“I want to touch you so badly,” you plead suddenly. Unable to hold it in anymore in the light of all he’s shared with you. Your voice cracking and begging. “I want you to touch me, so badly.”

“I know.” Yes, he does. “You want me to fuck you.” All you can do is let your eyes flutter shut, try to continue to breathe, nod your head. 

“Why was your mother cruel to you? What did she do?” You feel like crying now. 

“Many things… I had terrible night terrors as a child. Scared her half to death. I’d scream and cry and sleep walk. For years. She didn’t know what to make of me. Some sort of demon come from her very womb to possess and haunt her house. She hated me – would lock me in a closet furthest from her bedroom to keep my howling away from her.” 

The blazing heat of anger floods your cheeks, your eyes filled with tears, and he clicks his tongue, smoothes his thumb over the slope of your cheek. “None of that, sweet girl.”

“You were just a little boy – she should have– she should have comforted you. Helped you.”

“It wasn’t in her nature. You cannot fault a thing for not being what it was never made to be. She was a killer of soft things – within herself, within me too, I think. Or she tried, at least. She tried to kill everything soft she came into contact with. But she did love me. In her own way – a wrong way, but she did. That comforts me immensely.”

“That she loved you even if it was the wrong way?”

He nods, “And that I loved her – despite all her flaws.”

“Why?”

“I… I appreciate the idea of being a bad person, and still being able to find someone to love you.”

“You’re a killer.” It is not a question for you already know the answer – you can see it in his eyes, it is his inheritance. You know that either way, it won’t make a difference to you. 

“I am, indeed. But, are you?.” The soft curve of his cunning smile is so incredibly beguiling. The most tempting thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life. You shake your head, you’re not, you never have been. You think it must be very obvious at first glance, for the patronizing look he gives you as he asks anyways. 

“Sometimes I can be very bad,” he whispers slowly, drags the tip of his finger over your shoulder, down the swell of your breast, stopping just shy of your peaked nipple, circling the point. 

“What do you do?” your voice is breathless, beseeching. 

He smooths his thumb over your bottom lip, pushes between to get inside, presses down on the hard edge of your bottom teeth to inspect the wet gleam of your tongue. “I steal beautiful things for myself–” His voice is like smoke – his confession fortuitous, on the verge of disappearing. His mystique enshrouds the both of you. You hope you disappear alongside him. 

“Is that what you’re doing now? Stealing me?”

“Yes.”

“I think I like being stolen.”

-

He wakes, very late into the night, or very early in the morning, the confounding blue hue of the outside world seeping in through the heavy drapes over the tall windows. Shielding the two of you from the real world.

Your body is entirely draped over his own. You’ve invaded him in your sleep, taken over all the space and air and thought he’s ever possessed. The soft weight of your breasts presses into his chest, your head tucked in the hollow of his clavicle so that he can feel each pass of your damp breath wash over his throat and chin. He expects to feel overwhelmed, uncomfortable, perhaps even disgusted, so much skin, so much heat, your legs intertwined with his – but all he can focus on is the fullness of your tits pressed up against him, the hot wet apex of your cunt against his thigh. You’re wet in your sleep for him – he can feel your dampness seeping through the silk of your extra panties. 

One of your hands is curled over his shoulder and he brings it to his mouth, presses a kiss to the soft, small palm. His hand dwarfs yours, swallows it whole. He sucks each one of the tips of your fingers into his mouth, bites down as gently as he can. Your hips start to shift over him, needy cunt trying to unconsciously rub up against his thigh. 

He’s going to fuck you now. His cock is hard, aching, leaking, balls heavy – has been for ages, but finally, finally his mind has caught up. Thank fuck. 

He passes his palm down the smooth line of your back, pushes his t-shirt you’re wearing up your back to get to your skin. This lovely smooth back he’d spent almost an hour staring at in that gallery. He feels a terrible, unfounded curl of jealousy, once again, that anyone else in the world has ever gazed upon the magnificence that is your skin. He wants it to be only for him, he wants you to be only for him – to own you.

His hand moves down to clutch the full swell of your bottom, pushes under your panties to take a handful of your bare flesh. He bends his knee slightly to put more pressure on your core and starts to roll your hips over him. You let out a soft little moan, sleepy, so sweet. 

“It’s time to wake up, Sparrow. I’m going to fuck you now.”

“Ezra–” you murmur, coming to. Your body seems to take stock of the situation before your mind does, little cunt suddenly grinding down more firmly onto his thigh. You let out a moan that goes straight to his cock. He grips your hips and flips you over, settling between the spread of your thighs, slotting his length into your wet cleft, he starts a slow rock that has his head pressing up and into your clit. 

“Tell me how you want to be fucked.”

Your eyes are glassy, dazed and confused. He says again, “Tell me how you want to be fucked, or I will decide for you.”

And then your soft little voice, grabbing him by the balls and showing him that as sleepy or drowsy or small as you may appear, you’re still aware of the power you hold over him: “I think I’d like you to decide for me, please.”

Fuck– he deepens the pressure of his thrusts so that his tip presses into your opening over your panties. Your jaw is hinged open, panting wet breaths as you moan for him. 

He sits back on his heels then, pulls his t-shirt up over your head and then slides your panties over your hips and down your legs, grips your knees to spread your legs wide for him. 

He was right, your cunt is the same color as your nipples. Beautiful. 

It’s drooling, begging for him, and oh, how that fills him with pleasure – for such a beautiful thing to desire him, as much as he desires it. He ghosts the back of his knuckles over your slit, using his thumbs to spread your lips wide – he bends for a taste, moans deep and long from his chest. 

“Fuck, you’re so sweet. Do you want me to feed your cunt, baby?”

“Ezra, please – yes – I want it so bad.”

“I know, I could see – all night, I could see how hungry you were. I’m going to eat you now.”

Please, please. 

He settles between your thighs. Soft little licks to your swollen clit, then down to thrust his tongue into your hole. He grips the back of one thigh to press it up and back into your chest, uses his other hand to press down low on your pelvis, gives you more pressure as he sucks your clit back into his mouth. He can feel the clench of your pussy around his tongue, the shake in your thighs. Your keening moans move through him, have him grinding his aching cock into the mattress. You’re going to come in his mouth, he can feel it, taste it, your slick running from you, sweet and musky, all for him. 

Your hands clutch at his curls, pulling and tugging hard as you arch your back and start to orgasm. Ezra, Ezra, Ezra. It’s a litany, a benediction. You are a work of art come to life to sing into his ear. 

He gentles his mouth over your quivering sex, laps slowly at your pulsing entrance. He wipes his mouth over the tender slope of your inner thigh and goes back to his knees, licks his palm of your wet as he watches your gaze on him. 

He cradles your small foot in his hold. He likes the thought that he can grasp that which has carried you through your life, in his hand. For some reason, it fills him with immense pleasure, the feel of your soft foot, the thought of you walking through life, walking through the world, towards him, to find him. Always him, only him. 

There is a wound in him, dark, and putrid, overwhelming his existence always. It was only through the cathartic fulfillment of holding a beautiful thing in his hands that he felt reprieved of the terrible thing. He feels that reprieve in this moment, with the delicate weight of your small foot cradled within his palm. 

He brings it to his mouth and digs his thumb harshly into the elegant arch, forcing a moan out of you, deepening the curve of your spine, then drags his teeth along the instep, presses a soft kiss to your first toe. He can see the clench of your little hole at his ministrations, the flush of your skin from the peaks of your breasts to your cheeks. 

Your breath is hitching, breasts quivering with your gasps. He bends to lick into your mouth, thin ankle still held in his grasp, finally, finally taking the taste of your tongue onto his own and you moan, wanton and desperate, your legs wrapping around his waist to bring him closer. 

“I’m going to give you my cock now,” he presses into your skin, open mouthed kisses to your throat, your neck, your breasts. He nips a gentle bite to one swollen little nipple. 

He grasps the base of his cock, passes his hand slowly from root to tip once, twice, and then presses the flushed head to your clit, grinds there for a moment, you jerk, then moves down to your hole, feeds you just the tip. You cant your hips, try and take him deeper, but he holds back, pulls out and moves back up to circle your clit again, and then back down again to press inside. “No, no, no, Ezra, please – I need it so badly – so badly.” He watches a tiny tear, track down your temple and back into your hair, and he gives you the entire thick length of him at that, fucks inside, all the way to the end of you. 

“There? How’s that?” He presses a kiss to your breast, sucks it into his mouth. The taste of you is godly. “Is that better, needy thing?”

“So good – so good,” you sigh. Stretching your arms high above your head, arching your back to let him in deeper. 

“Fuck, yes–” he groans. He sits back on his heels, grips your hips and starts to give it to you hard. The strong swing of his hips causing the soft jiggle of your tits with every thrust. Your eyes are closed, lashes fluttering, soft mouth open and wet. So fucking beautiful. 

“Will you let me fuck your ass too?” Your head is already nodding, all rational thought currently being fucked out of you. “You will, won’t you?”

“Yes, yes – anything you want.”

“Good girl.”

He changes the angle, fucks up into that spongy devastating part of you he plans to own after this is done, and he starts to feel the tight pull of your inner muscles working to suck him deeper. “That’s it, beautiful, just like that. Taking me so wonderfully.” 

“God– I– I’m–” you press your palms to his belly and he brings one of your ankles up to his shoulder, presses a kiss to the bone. 

“God isn’t here right now – just me–” He grits his teeth, gives it to you harder. He can feel his orgasm start to pool, hot and liquid, at the base of his spine, balls drawing up tight. 

“Give me another, Sparrow, one more. Need to feel it around my cock,” spit through clenched teeth. 

“Oh, fuck – that’s so good,” you moan, and then you’re milking him, pulling his come out of him with the tight wet clutch of your muscles. 

“Fucking perfect, yes – just like that.” He lets his head roll back on his neck, hand grasping your ankle as he fills you. 

-

He watches you eat your pain au chocolat. Sitting in the warm morning sun of the observatory. Tiny bites of the flaky sweet bread, dollop of chocolate sitting at the corner of your mouth that he plans to lick off in a second. He is mesmerized. He knows, empirically, he probably looks like a fucking creep, staring you down as he is, but he can also see the subtle preen in your gaze when you glance up at him every so often. You enjoy this part of your play as much as he does, so it seems. The watching. 

“Will you let me take you somewhere today?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Brazil? I’d show you the farm.”

You swallow, the most guileless eyes he’s ever beheld, shining in the light. “Brazil? Really?”

“Of course, treasure. Or anywhere you want. Your happiness is mine to watch over now. I would do anything for you.” As he says it, he can tell, you did not lie when you said you’d like to be stolen. 

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