#ezra (prospect) fic

[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. 

[prolix-yuy]

HELLO I'm here I've made it, don't mind me running in with my little pocket watch like the White Rabbit. Ahem! For the position, I got missionary with a pillow. For the man, I'd like to request Ezra. And for you, I have many kisses for your cheeks.<3 Ok love you byyeeeeee

Birdieeeee I will accept all of the cheek kisses and oh so many nights with Ezra. I hope it's filthy enough for my favorite Ezra writer.

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader

Position: Missionary with a Pillow

Word Count: 1584 (hELp)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, unprotected PiV sex (don’t be a fool, wrap your tool), little bit of oral (f receiving), fingering, allusions to sex toy use, mentions of bad past sexual experiences, Ezra's filthy fucking mouth.

Notes: This has gotta be one of my favorite positions and I love it for Ezra because there's a kind of care that comes from this that gets me all swoony.

Ezra’s expression blooms from curiosity to confusion.

“You would like me to…take you to bed?” he asks, bionic and flesh arms folded over his broad chest. The henley he’s wearing stretches over his biceps, tapering to loose work trousers cinched at his waist. His tongue peeks out to wet his lower lip, confusion beginning to morph to contemplation, all while you try not to wring your hands too nervously. 

“It’s just…I um,” you try to say, the sudden mortification of how you’ve come to this conclusion weighting your tongue. “I’ve…heard about you. With others. They’re always, uh, very satisfied.” You don’t dare to extrapolate on that, or touch on how his voice carries across the hall and into your small room on the Pug. The few times you ventured to listen at his door, you burned over how expertly he took his partners apart. But beyond all that, you hated to admit why you wanted to ask him. 

“And you would like to be satisfied?” Ezra says, just a little smirk at the corner of his mouth as he tilts his head down at you. Face burning, you nod. He uncrosses his arms and braces them on his modest desk, giving you a full view of his muscled body and soft stomach. “And what would you offer me for that gift?”

Your stomach drops, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep tears from coming to the surface. Bad enough that you had to humble yourself for this request, but to be so bluntly asked what he’d get out of it only amplifies your anxieties.

“I, ah…I can…I could…shit, I’m…I think I’ve been stupid about this, I’m sorry, I’ll…” you stammer, backing towards the door. Quick as electricity Ezra pushes off and closes the gap between you, hand coming up to cup your chin. You still as he studies your face, deep lines etched between his brows and under his dark eyes.

“Have you never laid with another before?” he asks in a soft voice he only reserves for speaking to his ward. It makes your throat clench.

“I have, but it’s never been…good.” You hold his gaze, willing your boldness to return. “And it sounds like it’s always….good…with you.” Ezra’s eyes dance over your face, thumb stroking along your cheek. “I’d like to see what it’s like when it’s good, if you’ll have me.”

Ezra purrs darkly, the cool plastic of his prosthetic hand drifting to your hip.

“That is quite a gift you’re offering me. Are you sure there’s no other who would want to share in your first taste of ecstasy?” Before you answer he tugs at your waist and you follow his lead, swaying steps leading you to his bed. 

“I’d like a sure thing,” you reply, giving him a smirk of your own that he greedily enjoys. His thumb swipes over your lips before pushing inside, scraping the pad over your teeth to press your tongue. Saliva floods your mouth. 

“Take off your clothes,” he says firmly, stepping back to pull his henley over his head. The lines and planes of his chest are littered with scars and faded pink burns, noticeable redness where his prosthetic attaches. You rid yourself of your tunic and slide your pants to the floor, shedding your underwear in one fell swoop. This pleases Ezra, who groans and palms his crotch at your nude form.

“Lie down, I’m going to stretch you out on my fingers first,” he husks, stalking towards you as you sit on the edge of the bed. 

“You don’t…have to, I made sure I was ready before I came,” you said quickly, making Ezra’s head cock and eyebrows pull together.

“You…prepared yourself? Without me?” he says slowly, sinking to a crouch and parting your knees with broad, hot palms. Your core is puffy from the toy you worked yourself up with, shiny with the lube you generously used in case Ezra was larger than you were used to. His eyes flick up to your face, now anxious.

“You did not need to do this. I take great pleasure in making you cum on my fingers and in my mouth before finding myself in your tight heat.” You try to shut your knees, embarrassed that your forethought seems to be in bad taste, but he slots his hips between yours and pushes you back on the bed. The sudden intimacy of his body so close makes your heart flutter. “Did you even make yourself cum?”

You shake your head, which he follows with one of his own. “Next time you’ll let me take my time with you, pull two screaming peaks from this sweet pussy before I bed you.” The promise of next time rushes blood to your head so quickly you fear you’ll faint, but Ezra’s thick fingers sliding through your folds to press inside makes you snap into sharp focus. As he coats his fingers, pressing a spongy spot that zings pleasure down your spine, he deftly unbuttons and shucks his pants to join you nude and scorching hot.

“Since you wish to get to the main event so efficiently, I’ll do my best to make it worth your while,” he says, and one hand urges your hips to lift as he tucks a pillow under your bottom. The height tilts your hips, your cunt suddenly empty as he pulls his fingers out to wrap around his cock. “I find if the act is not as pleasurable for you, this position helps.” 

“Thank you,” you blurt out, his motions stilling as he looks down at your pliant body. There’s a flicker of something hungry on his face, the harsh squeeze he gives his cock echoing your observation. 

“You may thank me when you’re cumming on my cock,” he plays it off, circling the tip of his cock at your entrance. A deep breath, then he presses in inch by sumptuous inch. Throwing your head back, you clutch at his biceps as he leans over you, harsh little pants blowing out of his nose. He stops in his journey to shallowly fuck, tiny movements that pinch your brow and drop your mouth open. Finally, after what feels like whole minutes, he’s seated deep and full inside. 

“Oh, wow, Ezra, that feels…” you pant, opening your eyes to find him inches from your face. He’s draped down over your body, elbows planted on either side of your head, watching you so closely it makes you want to close your eyes again. The veins in his neck bulge, lips parted with his teeth clenched behind them.

“How many men have had you and not satisfied you?” he asks, strain in his voice as he drags back out.

“All of them. Never…fuck, never knew how to tell them,” you gasp, fisting Ezra’s close-cropped hair. It’s softer than you expect, sweat curling the strands at the base of his neck. 

“Tell me everything,” he rasps out, then snaps back into your cunt.

Ezra’s pace and power curls your toes and rolls your hips against the mounting pressure. The angle is perfect, cock pressing into a place that makes stars explode on the edges of your vision. He watches your face for pain, revels in your pleasure, and when he begins cursing colorfully he drops his forehead to your shoulder. The rough pants and drag of his lips and teeth drive you to wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him flush with you.

“Is it good? Is it what you needed?” he asks, arching over you and shifting his weight to find your clit between your sweaty bodies. Fanning his fingers over your abdomen, he strums his thumb over it. Your cunt clenches, legs trembling as the telltale signs of your orgasm rumble into your body.

“Yes, Ezra, thank Kevva it’s so good, please…” you beg, clamping your body around him as he speeds up, humid mouth finding your ear. 

“I would fuck you like this and any other way you desired. Every night. Would have done it every night before this, since you told me your name. To think you’ve been suffering so long and I could end your torture. Cum for me, and you’ll never want again.” 

You let go with a ragged shout, the profound ecstasy of cumming full of Ezra and surrounded by him thrashing you through the best orgasm you’ve had of late. He pins you down with his hips and hands, arms above your head as he mouths at your jaw and throat. Finally your body relaxes, sticky sweet with endorphins and dumb with pleasure. When you can peel your eyes open enough to watch him, the smugness you expected is well tamped by an affection that catches in your lungs. 

“Can you move?” he asks, your agreement preceding his gentle movements to roll you on your stomach. Pillowing your hands under your head, you sigh and prepare to thank him even more properly. You’re beaten by his large hands tilting your hips, and his hot tongue sliding into your pussy from behind. The gasps you choke out elicits a chuckle from Ezra’s throat.

“I’m going to take my reward now,” he teases, kneading his fingers into your generous ass. 

“What’s that?” you manage to get out before he slaps one cheek enough to spike arousal back in your cunt.

“Every orgasm I can pull from your body before the sunrise.”

Night cycles on the Pug last 16 hours, and Ezra uses every minute.

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

[flightlessangelwings]

Ktober 2023 Day 13- Anonymous Sex

Ezra x fem!reader

Word count- 1.5k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), sex worker reader (respectfully), glory holes, oral (f receiving), squirting, multiple orgasms, creampie, protective!Ezra, petnames, praise kink, no use of y/n

Notes- This was one of the first ideas I had and one of my favorites of the month! And this one has a little hint of plot too lol! Prompt list made by me! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is myupdate blog so please follow that too and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on my new fics!

~

Nerves weren’t something that normally plagued Ezra. He was usually so confident and sure of himself- he had to in order to stay alive after all. But, this wasn’t a fight to the death in the green or piloting a ship through the darkness of space. The room was dark, only lit with low lights, low music in the background, and no one spoke to another. It was only men inside, the women were��� behind a wall.

Ezra couldn’t hold off his needs any longer, and thus found himself here. Looking around, he saw some men already picked out who they wanted for now. He muttered something to himself as he looked to the far end of the room, and when he saw the most beautiful pussy he had ever seen in his life, his breath was taken away.

You laid comfortably on the table as your bottom half was exposed on the other side of the wall. Your legs were strapped to the wall where the patrons were and your arms were bound on either side of you on the inside. You waited in anticipation, not seeing anything on the other side, when a sultry voice spoke to you.

“Hello my flower,” the smooth voice said as a hand caressed your thighs and ass, “I have to say, this is the most delectable and tempting pussy I have ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on.”

You moaned as he squeezed your ass before he ran his hand across your folds. You arched your back as you felt how thick his fingers were, even before they entered you. He played with your clit a bit, rubbing it a few times before he ran his hand up and down your cunt once more.

“Beautiful,” the voice said.

Your legs twitched in their binds when he finally pushed two fingers inside you. He was gentle though, taking his time to work you open with his fingers. You whimpered when you felt him brush against all the sensitive spots inside your body, and you bucked your hips involuntarily into him.

“Eager are we?” he huffed in amusement as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.

“Oh fuck!” you moaned.

“I would be willing to gander a guess,” he spoke again, “That this pussy tastes just as delicious as it looks.”

This was the first time you’d had someone that was this much of a talker, but it actually turned you on more than anything. And it didn’t help that the voice was incredibly attractive too. And his fingers were thick. But, when the man put his lips on your pussy, licking your clit with eagerness, you screamed even louder. He swirled his tongue around your clit before he sucked hard a few times. He knew what he was doing as he ran his tongue along your pussy, just like he did with his fingers before.

“Fuck!” You screamed as you thrashed in your bounds, feeling the tingle of your climax quickly approach.

You felt him hum into you as he pumped his fingers in and out of you even faster, knowing exactly what your body was telling him. As he licked and sucked at your pussy, you came hard, gushing into his mouth with a loud cry that echoed in the space.

“I was correct,” he murmured against your skin, “Nectar from Keeva.”

Taking a breath, you thought he was going to fuck you now, but again this man surprised you. Instead, he thrust his fingers in and out of you again and attached his mouth to your cunt once more. You screamed as your legs trembled on their own, already more sensitive from having cum once.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned as your second orgasm quickly hit. And it was just as strong as the first. Again, you gushed into his mouth, and the man eagerly lapped up every last drop of your release.

“That’s it,” he purred as he kissed your inner thighs, “A goddess among men.”

As much as Ezra would have been content to stay on his knees and eat your pussy all night, his own cock screamed at him, begging for its own release. He placed one final feather-light kiss on your pussy before he stood up with a groan, pulling his fingers out of you in the process.

You whined at the loss.

“I am sorry, my goddess,” the man caressed your thighs, “Though I thoroughly enjoyed feasting on you, I do have my own needs that require attention.”

All you could do was let out a moan as you anticipated his next move. By how thick his fingers were, you were expecting an even thicker cock… and you weren’t wrong.

You cried out and arched your back as he slowly pushed himself inside you, murmuring praises as he did so. He seemed to know how big he was, as he took his time pushing his length into you.

“Fuck, my goddess,” he groaned, “You feel divine.”

Slowly at first, he pulled back and thrust forward. You gasped at the action before it dissolved into a moan. Again, he thrust once, and again you moaned.

“I feel so lucky to get to fuck this pussy,” he murmured as he started to rock into you faster, “Feels so good. So beautiful.”

You screamed as he thrust faster and harder, and your eyes rolled back into your head when he slammed into that sweet spot deep inside you. Your toes curled as you cried out even louder the more he hit that spot over and over again.

“Are you going to cum on my cock, my goddess?” he purred as he grabbed your thighs and spread them as far as he could.

“Fuck! Yes!” you screamed as your whole body trembled.

“Are you going to allow me to cum inside you, my goddess? Let me worship you the way you were meant to be worshiped?”

“Please,” you begged.

“Good girl,” he cooed as he pounded into you harder and faster, determined to send you over the edge at the same time as him.

He got his wish, and it only took a few more thrusts for you to cum hard on his cock, gushing once more. At the same time, Ezra’s own orgasm hit and he spilled himself into you, filling you up even more. He shuddered as he babbled incoherent praises and curses as he rode out both your climaxes together.

When he was spent, Ezra grunted and leaned against the wall, his cock still buried deep inside you. Panting while he caught his breath, he heard you breathing heavily on the other side of the wall. “That was incredible, my goddess,” he ran his hand along the wall and imagined it was your face he caressed.

Ezra heard you moan on the other side of the wall.

He smirked, “Perhaps,” he said coyly, “This famished man can feast upon his goddess some more?”

This was the best night you had in a long time. Perhaps ever. And you didn’t even see the man’s face.

*

“Have a good night,” you bid farewell to the others as you grabbed your stuff and headed out after the end of the night. A smile lit up your face as you left more satisfied than ever before, and you had a faceless man with the smoothest voice to thank for it. Silently, you wished him well.

But your good mood was quickly soured when another man blocked your path, “You didn’t call me back, baby.”

You frowned, “I said we’re over,” you pushed him out of the way, “I’m going home, Leave me alone.”

“Oh don’t be like that, baby,” the man pleaded as he grabbed your wrist, “I can take care of you. Treat you like a queen.”

Doubt it, you thought. Especially after you were just treated like a… goddess. “Let me go!” you tried to break yourself free, but it was no use.

But suddenly, another man appeared behind him, pressing a weapon to his side, “I believe the lady told you to leave,” a familiar smooth voice spoke, “Now I will let things get messy if they need to, but I would rather not make a scene in front of the lady. Your choice.”

The man, who was so confident before, shrieked and scurried away in a panic, suddenly scared. As he ran off, you got a better look at your rescuer, and your mouth dropped open at how handsome he was. He had a lock of blond hair in his messy brown waves, soft dark eyes, a sharp strong nose, and stunning features.

“Are you alright, miss?” he asked.

You gasped as you recognized the voice.

“What is it? Are you ok?” He seemed genuinely concerned.

“Fuck,” was all you could say.

He froze, and you knew your voice was all. He placed a hand on your arm and his face softened, “Nice to meet you, I’m Ezra.”

It was like a fairytale, and your heart pounded in your chest as you gave him your name.

“Can I take you home? Or somewhere else?” he asked, “I don’t want anyone else harming my goddess. Not when I can protect her.”

Your skin warmed. You had good instincts, and something in you said that you could trust him. You nodded as you slipped a hand in his and something new started to blossom.

[pedrito-friskito]

Hi,

and I'm back for sleepover saturday sdvcdvd how about prompt “I trusted you!” readers saying the prompt with Ezra please?? 🥺🥺🥺

SIL. HI DARLING ♥️

quite literally anything for you my sweet. ezra is always such a challenge for me to write and honestly I had NO idea where I was gonna go with this, but I kinda love it?? hope you enjoy 💕

request are open until saturday midnight!

aurelac angel

(word count 1.4k)

You found him half-dead. Hole in his suit, filter nearly completely out, the plexiglass of his helmet cracked in two places.

He’d have died if you hadn’t stumbled upon him. He was lucky. He got lucky.

The Green is not for the faint of heart; you know that. Years of experience, working first with your family, then with other scavengers, before finally venturing out on your own. It was risky, going solo, but you knew the area well enough, knew yourself well enough. It would be better this way. Some of the scavengers you’d travelled with had worked out, but others had left you high and dry, broke with a bad taste in your mouth. You wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

You’d hesitated, at first, finding him in a heap on the forest floor. You’d taken his weapons first, adding them to your own collection, making sure they were unloaded and unusable until you changed that yourself. He was well-prepared, all the proper tools tucked carefully into his suit and pack, and a smaller lockbox, cuffed to his wrist, which you knew must be full of aurelac.

Your own was hidden back on your lander, six locks and security codes between it and the outside. You were well prepared. 

But prepared only enough for yourself. That’s what had you hesitating. You’d planned out your rations carefully, made sure you had enough for yourself and then some, but feeding another person, you hadn’t counted on that.

You hadn’t counted on him.

You had half a mind to leave him, like any other scavenger would, leave him to the forest, to the beasts the lurked in the shadows, the spores in the air that would take his life quietly. You could take what you could from him, figure out a way to pry the case of aurelac from his wrist. If it was filled enough, you could cut your trip short, head for the freighter earlier than you’d planned. 

But then he looked at you.

His eyes were dark, like hunks of obsidian in his skull, and his hand flashed out, wrapping around your ankle, squeezing weakly. “Put me out of my misery, girl,” he said, his voice thin and reedy through the helmet’s speaker. “Please, don’t leave me here to die. Kill me now, if you plan to take what’s mine as your own. Don’t let the moon take me for itself.”

You hadn’t.

You hadn’t killed him, either.

Against your better judgement, against every thought in your head that screamed at you to do the opposite, you brought him back with you. You patched his suit and his helmet, hooked his filter up to yours, and half-carried him back to your lander. He’d passed out halfway through the journey, turning to deadweight on your arm, and that first trickle of regret had shot down your spine.

Once you got him inside, thoroughly decontaminated the both of you in the lander’s O2 chamber, you’d laid him out on your cot. His suit was old, had probably seen more trips than you had in your lifetime, if you had to guess. You set his helmet aside, making a mental note to see if you could try and repair it, and then tended to the man himself.

Of course, he had to be handsome.

Dark eyelashes fanned his cheeks as you undressed him, finding multiple wounds, both fresh and old, beneath his suit. Scars littered his body, everywhere from his face to his feet, and you cleaned the open ones, using up a good portion of the first aid ointment you’d brought in the process. He started to rouse as you worked, his dark hair slicked against his head with sweat, save for that little white patch, like a spot of moonlight.

The worst of his wounds were on his left leg, fresher than the rest, blood caked onto his skin, and it took time to deal with, a few spots even needing stitches. That had him awake, springing upright, pushing against your grip. He yelled something unintelligible, but when his eyes landed on you — still as dark as they’d been out in the forest — everything about him softened.

“It’s you,” he said, voice quieter than it had been outside, barely above a rasp. “I truly thought you’d leave me to die, pretty thing.” He chuckled, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “And yet, here you are, nursing me back to health like some kind of angel.” He fell back again, chest heaving with breaths.

“I patched your suit,” you tell him, resuming your work. He winces a few times, but stays still as stone. “Not sure if I can fix the helmet though.” You pause, reaching for the bandages in the first aid kit. “What happened to you?”

“Caught myself up with the wrong kind of crowd, angel,” he said, staring up at the ceiling of the lander. “The wrong crowd, indeed. Although, if it was fate that tossed me together with them, then it must be fate that has swept me into the hospitality of such a beautiful thing as yourself.” A full grin now, stretching across his handsome face. “Perhaps my streak of bad luck has ended.”

It’s far too easy to get mesmerized by his voice; you knew that from the first night. He spoke, and you hung off his every word, drinking the words down like they were water and you were dying of thirst.

Ezra, he told you his name was. At first, you weren’t sure if you believed him, but it suited him so well, and the name was uncommon enough for you to think it true. You told him your own name in kind, and the way it rolled off his tongue made your stomach fill with something like the flutter of bird wings.

But still, you were hesitant.

You gave him no notion that you had as much aurelac as you did; you weren’t a fool. It didn’t matter how handsome he was, you were both out here for the same thing. You didn’t ask about the case, which he’d unhooked from his wrist, but still kept close to him at all times, no matter what you were doing.

You shared your meals, nursed him back to health, helped him regain the strength in his leg. He told you more truths about himself, and you returned in kind.

The next time you went hunting for aurelac, he was at your side. You split the harvest equally, and that night, he kissed you for the first time.

It didn’t stop at kissing. Life on the Green is lonely even when you have travelling companions, but Ezra laid you bare in a way no one else had in a long time. He licked at you until you saw stars, pushed his way into the deepest parts of your body, making you feel things you’d never felt with another. He held you closer than anyone else ever had, burying his face in your neck, eloquent words of praise on his lips, bringing you to peaks you’d only ever dreamed of falling from.

You knew he was burrowing his way into your heart, as well.

But still, you’re hesitant.

So when you come back to the lander one day, find your safe wide open, and the man you’d saved from the edge of the death it sitting amongst your now combined harvests, inspecting every stone from every angle, your heart sinks into your toes.

“I trusted you,” you breathe out, and the words are almost a sob. You nearly stumble backwards out of the lander, but he’s up in a flash, crossing the space to you, reaching for your wrists.

“You misunderstand, angel,” he says instantly, fingers brushing around your face, tracing your outline. “I’m not robbing you, I swear it. I’m merely,” he glances over his shoulder at the the pile, “taking stock.”

“Taking stock?”

“I have a buyer Earth-side,” he tells you, still holding your face. His words are so reassuring, his voice mesmerizing as ever, but you’re still hesitant. “The amount we have here, angel, it’s enough to get us a good life, believe me. A life without scavengers, without poison air and beasts that lurk in the shadows. A good life, angel, a safe life.”

You balk. “And you want that…with me?”

He kissed you slow, tasting your lips in a way that made your toes curl in your boots. “There’s no one else I’d rather share my life with, sweet angel. No one at all.”

[boredzillenial]

Day 8: of @flightlessangelwings fawktober!!

You and Ezra keep warm on the journey home

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——————

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

[misspearly1]

Day Eight: Cockwarming - Ezra (Prospect)

Kinktober22 List

WC: 1.4K Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Established relationship. Ezra's Pov and a little of Readers POV too. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected PIV. Cockwarming. Pregnancy. AN: Ohh, this one was sweet to write up and I hope you enjoy, my loves.

-

Home is where the heart is and my heart calls to you, moonbeam - I’m almost there. 

Ezra thinks these thoughts with his inner voice, a warm smile on his lips as he makes his descent through the clouds to reach the land below. The space shuttle in which he rides upon shakes violently and after looking through the window, he sees why.

It’s raining. The clouds are dark and dreary, but he remains unfazed by the small probability of danger as his excitement weighs heavily on his current mood. Once he broke through to the other side, he could now see how torrential the rain was and he snickers at mother nature's twisted humour.

It’s evident that she chose today, the day of his arrival, to unleash her fury. The heavens were open, sporadic rays of light beamed through the billowing darkness above and down below, where his home awaits, large bodies of water pooled across the land surrounding his little house. 

The day may very well be dark and dreary, but no amount of rainfall can dampen Ezra’s spirit. It’s been a long and gruelling three months away from his motherland, completing job after job harvesting Aurelac from the green and after amassing a grand total of fifteen thousand credits for all the gems he collected, it was time to come home. Ezra yearns to reunited by his most precious gem of all - you. 

As soon as the shuttle touches down, Ezra moves quicker than the lightning flash in the skies above his head. He uses his backpack as an umbrella, holding it above his head and shielding himself as he glides up the path towards his front door. It’s dark, inside and outside, no lights are on and he enters without treading carefully to be quiet. The man is determined, more than he has ever been to see your beautiful face again. 

Opening the door to his bedroom and moving inside hastily, you quickly rise from the sheets with a defensive stance, clearly frightened of the unknown presence breaking in, however as soon as you lay your eyes upon your husband, you sigh his name with relief. “Ezra.”

“Moonbeam.” He breathes heavily, painfully, and immediately reaches out to cup your cheek. Your lips connecting with his in a bruising kiss, wordlessly telling the man that you missed him just as much as he did with you. It was passionate and desperate, speaking with need that you both felt mutually. It was the basic primal need to make love. Ezra picked up on it instantly and was glad you felt the same as he did because he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since he left you three long months ago.

However he opted to take his time first and foremost, to relish in the feeling of your touch with each passing second that he kisses you. Tongue slipping past your parted lips and tangling with your own, you make a surprised sound and massage your hands over his shoulders, the action drawing out a delectable groan from Ezra. He then responds to your compassionate gesture by lowering his hands to your hips and squeezing the flesh, which works beautifully with extracting a sweet sounding moan from you. 

Ezra sometimes has to fight the growth in his crotch when thinking about you too much, however the moment he laid his eyes upon you just a few seconds ago, his cock stirred with life, and after your moans reached his ears, blood now rushes to the organ between his legs. That primal need to make love to you grows rapidly, makes him become painfully hard and forms a tent in his slacks, impatient with the desire to be buried in your warm canal. 

Just to ease some of the ache, he lowers his hands once more and uses your ass to pull you into his rutting movements. You break from the kiss to breathe a needy whine, the noise driving Ezra beyond the realms of self control. He couldn’t take it anymore, and neither could you. “Oh moonbeam, I’m afraid my composure betrays me.” He groans while laying you down on your back. “I need your warm embrace.” 

“Then take it, Ezra and hurry.” You plead between delicate, though hurried, kisses on his lips. “I need to feel you too, my love - it’s been too long.” You admit and the little crack in your voice damn near breaks the man. It has indeed been too long, he agrees silently and helps you to remove his clothes. You’re wearing your night dress, thus providing him easier access, however his clothes are the only barrier keeping him from satiating his desires. 

Pathetic panting breaths fill the empty space around you both and the heavy pitter patter cadence of rain hitting the window audible in the background as thunder slowly rolls over the house; just a sample of Mothers nature's song playing for you and Ezra. Once the man is bare, he slots himself between your legs and grunts from the contact of his cock pushing into your slick folds. Minimal, yet delightful, that makes him want more. Cupping your cheek again and gazing into your eyes, you lift up your hips and take him inside with ease, the stretch providing a phenomenal sensation.

“Heavens!” Ezra groans, his brows pulling together in bliss and his eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. Your mouth falls open with a throaty mewl, your fingers digging into the skin around the scruff of his neck as he bottoms out, however you expected the man to express how desperate he was to make love to you, but he didn’t move at all.

“Ez?” You whisper his name in question, wondering if he is okay, but the man just continues to gaze into your eyes, gently brushing the hair away from your face as he smiles. “Turtle dove, I have been lost without you.” He sighs softly. Resting his forehead against yours with a shuddering exhale escaping his lips as you clench around him, his words warmed your heart and made your cunt pulse. You smile too, even giggle a little at how drunk he looks, though Ezra hadn’t consumed a drop of alcohol, it was you that made him feel lightheaded. 

However, upon noticing him open his mouth to say something then stop before the words could roll off his tongue, your brows furrow with concern and you call him out on it. “What’s the matter Ez? I can tell something is on your mind.” 

“I am ashamed to admit that it has been too long.” He begins to share what’s bothering him and you notice the way his cheeks blush. “Too long without you and now I simply don’t have the power to move. I’m… I am sheltered by your warmth and it’s… Stars! It’s just so pleasant, moonbeam.” 

“Oh honey.” You giggle again, understanding what he was feeling right now and how to take care of it. “Switch positions and lay behind me instead.” You instruct and the man obliges without hesitation. Carefully pulling out of you, he moves to a spooning position then gently lines himself back up to slip inside your warmth again. The stretch was once again phenomenal, making you both moan together. Ezra then buries his chin into your neck with a deeply satisfied sigh, as if he were releasing all his woes and troubles in you velvety walls secured around him. 

“Moonbeam, explain why this feels just as good as sex?” He asks, then places his warm hand to your thigh, holding you still to bury himself deeper. You whine from the action, your hand reaching out to hold him, and now that he was comfortably positioned inside your heat, you lace your fingers between his and giggle humorously. “My dearest, it is really quite simple, don’t you see?” 

“Hm, I don’t think I do - enlighten me.” The man mumbles into your neck and after laying a kiss to your skin, he closes his tired eyes and feels a delicate flow of tranquillity washing over him. It was really quite bizarre to Ezra, he hasn’t ever experienced anything like this before, just to be seated inside your warmth and enjoy it as much as sex. No movements whatsoever, just enveloped by you, by your security and love. “It’s because of you.” He whispers, and you agree to an extent, however you had your own opinion on what it was exactly.

Pulling his hand over your strong growing baby bump, you feel Ezra smiling against your neck and it makes you smile also as you explain why he enjoys keeping his cock good and buried inside you. “It’s because you are home, Ezra and it’s like you always say to me-”

“Home is where the heart is.” You both whisper in unison.

-

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Kinktober Tag: @scorpio-marionette

[mothandpidgeon]

Helter Skelter (cult leader!Ezra x f!reader) - Chapter 6 [the end]

MASTERLIST - TAG LIST

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 

Pairing: cult leader!Ezra x f reader, dark!Ezra x f reader

Series summary: When you meet a mysterious thinker named Ezra, you join up with his followers and become a part of their family. Your new life is full of psychedelics, sex, and mind bending experiences. But there’s something dark lurking in Ezra’s philosophy. Will you discover it before it’s too late?

Words: ~3.7k

Rating: E 18+!

Warnings: SPOILERS dark!Ezra, elements of dubcon (this is a cult so there is psychological manipulation), cults (obviously), pregnancy, p in v sex, oral sex, pregnancy loss, violence, blood (feel free to let me know anbout anything ive missed)

a/n: This is the end of the story. I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride. I can’t believe that it took me this long to get this fic completed. I remember messaging @wordsandwhiskey​ about an acid trip to the Green and it feels like ages ago. My personal life has been a journey. I’m working on publishing a fucking book. But I’ve wanted to come back and finish this out. I pretty much never get into drama or get personal but here’s some tea. Before I even posted the first chapter of this fic, there was a lot of negative shit being said about its content. I was blocked by people who I’d never interacted with. I saw conversations about me bleed over to twitter. I got nasty asks (not even on anon) that I simply deleted because I knew replying would just get them off. I actually considered not posting this fic at all and when my amazing friends convinced me that was silly, I still felt so much anxiety about the asks I might get. I remember posting the first chapter not because I was excited to share a story but as evidence, to prove that whatever had been assumed about what I wrote wasn’t true. Anyway, to get to the point, I know this isn’t one of the more popular things that I’ve written but thank you for reading it. Thank you for reblogging it. Thanks for just giving it a chance. I actually love this fic for all of the reasons other people hate it. I love hearing that I’ve given readers goosebumps and that they feel the pull of Ezra’s charm despite knowing how dangerous he is. I’m really proud of this. All of that being said, I warned you from the very beginning, there is no happy ending. This story gets darker still if you can believe it. I hope it thrills you.

That night there was a bonfire. Everyone was giddy, especially Cee who’d laid her hand gently on your belly, her eyes as big as saucers. She threw her arms around your neck and your tears had come even harder.

You sat in the grass by the fire soaking in its warmth, your body deliciously exhausted from emotion. Your face hurt from smiling. Ezra was behind you, his knees outside of your own, fingers tracing the skin of your bicep. On the opposite side, Clo and Rieve had already started making out. Tracy situated herself beside Ezra but you hardly noticed. When she tried passing a joint to Ezra he waved her away.

“You’re not going to leave now, are you?” Cee asked. She perched in front of you with her knees folded under. Her cheeks glowed in the warm light of the flames.

You cupped her face in your palm.

“Of course not, birdie” Ezra’s voice came as he wrapped his arm around your middle and rocked you side to side. 

You laughed and Cee let out a whoop as she stood and started spinning around. She looked beautiful and delicate like a magical woodland creature. Her silhouette was dark against the thin fabric of her dress, illuminated by orange. You could feel Tracy watching you until Cee pulled her to her feet with a bubble of laughter.

Ezra pinned you in closer to his chest, pressing a lump in the denim of his jeans at the small of your back. “I want you so desperately,” he purred against your ear. A shiver of pleasure spread over your skin. His eyes looked black as they slid across you, deep enough to fall into.

He got up and took you by the hand, leading you back to the house. It was dark inside, everything covered in shadow but you could find your way up to the bedroom blind. The bon fire shone through the bedroom windows and you could hear the far away sounds of the others singing.

Ezra laid you out on the big bed. It wasn’t Muriel’s bed anymore. This place was yours now. They’d claimed this house, your family, made a place for you, for this. You slid out of the dress, your dress, and you could barely breathe as you felt Ezra’s glinting eyes drinking you in.

“My beautiful starlight queen,” he rasped. He cupped your breast and found your nipple, sucking furiously. You moaned deeply and he made a noise of approval that set you on fire.

When he was finished, his lips were glistening and he kissed you. The sour taste from retching earlier still lingered in your mouth but Ezra didn’t seem to care. His tongue burrowed against yours eagerly as if he wanted to devour you from the inside out. He wanted all of you, even the vile parts. And you would take him the same way. Whatever had revolted you, whatever you’d feared, none of it compared to the feeling of Ezra wanting you, needing you. He’d become a part of you, one that you couldn’t cut out. 

You grasped his standing cock and tugged. Ezra let out a throaty groan but his hand encircled your wrist.

“Patience, Star,” he whispered, guiding your touch away. “My most precious jewel.”

Ezra put his lips to your fingertips and then slunk down your body, his nose trailing a heated path across your belly. His hand slid up your leg towards your center and you gasped. He knelt between your legs and inhaled deeply. The feeling of his stubble against the sensitive skin of your thigh lit up your entire body.

“I want to taste you. You’re already sweet as honey,” he said as he parted your thighs. “Soon you’ll be ripe as a peach.” His mouth surrounded you, tongue coaxing more release from you. He growled into you, vibrating up your spine and making your back arch away from the mattress. “Delicious.”

His palm splayed out on your belly as his tongue swirled over you, drinking you in. Ezra continued on noisily, drowning out the sounds of the celebrations outside. Your eyes screwed shut, overwhelmed by the mounting sensation, dizzy and glorious. He edged you closer and closer with his long strokes. A tingle burned up from Ezra’s mouth to your throat and it burst out in a feral grunt through gritted teeth.

“That’s right,” he cooed as you came down from your high. He crawled up beside you, held your chin in his big hand and put his slick lips to yours.

You were still reeling, pulsing at your core, and breathless as Ezra rolled you over him. His eyes darted over your body, greedily trying to take all of you in at once. You felt needy, desperate for more of him so you rocked up on your knees and slid down onto him. The long, straining sound he made was delicious.

You threw your head back, rolling your hips over him. Ezra’s hand found places to touch and grab– the curve of your hip, the muscles in your calf. It felt like you were floating, like you could take him up to the Green with your ecstasy alone.

Ezra’s hips stuttered against you, brows twisted, lost in pleasure. You pressed your chest against his, skin sticky with perspiration. He buried his face in your hair, snarling, and you felt his nose against the sweat on your temple. 

“Let me defile you once again,” he said. 

His ragged voice made you come apart and, just as you crested, your body quivering and plummeting like you were sliding downhill, you felt him leave you. You clenched around nothing, a cry escaping you as you panted. Ezra put your limp body onto your back and you opened your eyes to see him up on his knees, pulling at himself. Soon he was marking your stomach with his hot release, swearing and grunting.

Ezra was still sleeping when you slid out of bed. He’d pulled you into his chest before he dozed off, a heavy arm draped across your middle. 

“It’ll be a girl,” he told you. “We’ll call her Ruby.” He brushed his lips against your shoulder, the stubble on his face rough and wet. “Stay with me.”

You wouldn’t dream of being separated from him now.

Dawn was breaking, painting the room in a dull purple glow. The house was quiet and you assumed the others had gone to sleep just a few hours earlier. There was a full length mirror on the door to the armoire in the corner. You crept over and studied the reflection of your naked body.

How had you missed it? You spent so much time in your own skin and yet you hadn’t paid any attention to the swell that was growing. It wasn’t a dramatic change, a little fullness in the belly like you’d feasted on a Thanksgiving dinner. You realized now that your breasts had swollen like a balloon threatening to pop. No wonder Ezra had spent all night clutching them in his sleep.

You smoothed your open hand across your stomach. What would she look like? You hoped she had Ezra’s eyes, his thick, dark hair. A smile bloomed on your lips as you pictured him with a soft little child in the crook of his arm. You had to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from letting out a laugh. 

Ezra wouldn’t let you out of bed once the mid-morning came. When you told him it was your turn to make coffee, he chuckled. “Cee can attend to that,” he said and began kissing your neck again. 

You arched your back, wiggling closer to him. It could always be like this and, still, it would never be enough of him. 

When you sighed you heard his deep purr in your ear. “Mhmm.”

His fingers had just began to tease between your legs when you heard the door squeak open. Tracy appeared with her hands behind her back and Ezra unwrapped himself, sitting up against the wooden headboard.

“Harmony,” Ezra said. 

Irritation prickled at you as she sat herself down on the corner of the bed. You rested your head on Ezra’s shoulder, tangled your fingers into his.

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize,” Tracy said. “Star, you’re like, totally glowing.”

“She is,” Ezra agreed. “Yet Star has always been incandescent.” 

“What’s it feel like?” she tried.

She looked at Ezra skittishly trying to see if he was listening. You noticed it, though she hid it well. For a moment, you felt bad for her.

“I don’t know,” you told her. “It’s special.”

“Far out,” she responded. “I’ve never held a baby before.”

The image that popped into your head made you feel nauseated again. You had the urge to snatch away a child that wasn’t there. Suddenly, you grasped at your stomach and whined, curling into yourself. Ezra was immediately attentive, concern cutting his brow. You breathed in a hiss of air and buried your face into him. 

“Star,” he said.

“Hurts,” you replied.

“I’ll get her some water,” Tracy said and rushed out. 

Ezra rubbed your back gently, murmuring reassurances. After a moment you sighed and wiped sweat off of your brow. 

“What’s troubling you?” Ezra asked. 

“It’s nothing,” you told him. Your voice sounded weak. “I feel better.”

“It appears to be a wealth of something,” he said. 

You sighed. “I don’t know. I just felt this…vibration.”

You could see Ezra’s eyes harden just slightly. Tracy was in the room again. 

“Drink this, Star,” she said. 

You winced when she handed you the glass and when she put her palm on your shoulder you shivered. 

“Harmony, allow her to rest,” Ezra said. 

Tracy flushed and nodded, quickly retreating from the room. Ezra got up and slid into his jeans. He tilted your chin up for a kiss.

“Sleep,” he whispered and then he left, closing the door softly behind him.  

You never saw Tracy again. 

You didn’t know what Ezra said to her but she was gone the next morning. There was a part of you, the part that had wondered about old Muriel, that questioned whether she’d actually left of her own free will. But you’d been able to ignore that voice before so just enjoyed the fact that she was gone and you were here with Ezra and the family and Ruby. 

You were happier than you could ever remember. Every morning you woke up with your legs tangled around Ezra’s– hot, naked skin cooled by the breeze from the open window. Occasionally Cee would sleep next to you but Ezra, he was all yours. He didn’t want anyone else, never spent the night in another bed, would leave you breathless and spent over and over again. During the day, he touched you carefully and watched you with an intense desire that made you feel dizzy. Ezra whispered in your ear about how exceptional you were, how beautiful you’d become, how he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. 

The others took extra care of you, never asking you to volunteer for chores. Cee would pick flowers for you and write poems with words that rhymed with ‘Ruby.’ Even Clo was sweet to you and brought a pint of ice cream back when she and Rieve drove into town. 

It was the best week of your life. If only you’d known how quickly it would all change. 

You were on the porch that afternoon. The sky was the most perfect shade of blue, warm sun bathing the yard. It was autumn and the only leaves that still held onto the trees were red and purple. Cee braided Clo’s hair on the front steps. Rieve had just finished chopping wood. He laid against the painted floor of the porch, occasionally plucking a string on his guitar.

Ezra was happy that day. He had you in his lap, moving lazily in the rocking chair as his fingers slid your skirt up inch by inch with excruciating patience. Usually he’d be rambling on with one of his stories but he hadn’t spoken in a long time. Instead, he hummed a tune that was only loud enough for the two of you to hear.

“What song is that?” you asked him in a whisper.

He looked up at you with shining eyes and a mischievous smile. Your skirt wandered further up your thigh. Ezra opened his mouth to answer but he was distracted by the sound of crunching gravel. You turned to see a car pulling up the driveway.

“Who could that be, Birdie?” Ezra asked.

In the corner of your eye you saw Cee go rigid. Rieve sat up on his elbows.

The station wagon pulled to a stop close to the house. Its plates said Wisconsin or Washington, you never could quite remember. A woman in the passenger seat got out like a spring. She was somewhere in her 50s or 60s and the sour look on her face did little to make her look youthful. Her strawberry blonde perm was covered by a plastic kerchief and a little handbag bounced off of her arm.

Ezra slid you off of his lap and stood, stretching like a cat that had just woken up from a nap in the sun. “Afternoon,” he said. 

The woman ignored him. Her little eyes looked over the property and you noticed how thickly she’d coated her lashes in mascara. “Harold, look at this place,” she said in disgust. 

Harold unfolded himself out of the driver’s seat and had just managed to put his hat on as she berated him. He was balding and looked tired. 

“How can I be of service to you?” Ezra inquired.

“Now, what’s going on here?” Harold asked. 

“Where’s Muriel?” the woman demanded.

You swallowed. Ezra had dispatched with the old ladies easily but this woman was raring to fight.

Ezra looked between them he answered, “I’m afraid she isn’t at home.”

“Oh, don’t give us that malarkey,” Harold groaned.

Clo giggled quietly and you shot her a look. Cee’s body seemed to shrink on the other end of the steps.

“Aunt Muriel!” the woman began to call, craning her neck towards the windows on the second floor. “Aunt Muriel! It’s me, Rita!”

“Rita,” Ezra said, his voice as steady as ever. “You’ll have to forgive me but I have some tragic news.”

“I’ve heard all about it,” Rita snapped. She thrust a hand into her purse and pulled out a folded page. “A letter of condolence from her Rotary Club.”

Rieve started to gnaw at the corner of his fingernail.

“That’s right,” Ezra told her.

“And who the hell are you people?” Her face was blotchy with righteous anger as she peered at the letter. “Her granddaughter?” she scoffed. “She never had any children.”

“We live here,” you said. You weren’t sure how the words had come out so easily, so defiantly but you were standing tall with your arms crossed. 

“Why in God’s name would a bunch of hooligans be living in my aunt’s house?” she snarled. “Where is she? What have you done with her?”

“She is deceased,” Ezra said, some of the cold irritation edging into his voice.

“What is this?” she went on. “You’ve turned the place into some kind of whorehouse?” 

You could see Ezra’s shoulders rising and falling as he tried to keep his breath steady. Your jaw clenched so tightly you thought your teeth might shatter.

“Harold, get back in the car. We’re going to the police!” Rita said. 

Just as you’d spoken so easily, everything that happened next came like an avalanche. Your vision tunneled. Rita turned towards the station wagon. You grabbed up the axe that had been left resting by the steps. Its wooden handle was still warm from Rieve’s grip. 

THWACK. 

It was kind of funny. The noise of blunt side of the axe connecting with Rita’s head was a lot quieter than you would have expected. And she didn’t immediately crash to the ground either. Instead, she reeled around, stepped towards you on wobbly feet, all while making a guttural groan. 

Harold cried out and lunged for you and Clo tackled him to the ground. You hardly noticed, still incensed, smashing the axe into Rita’s skull again until she’d finally gone down.

All the while, your mind flashed hot. You weren’t going to lose Ezra because of this cunt. You hadn’t let anything come between you. You weren’t going to give up this life, not when you were finally happy, not when Ruby was on the way. You weren’t going to see your family threatened. Not by this bitch who hadn’t even noticed her aunt was six feet under. Fuck her. Fuck anybody that would keep you from what was yours. 

Harold was screaming his head off, begging and scraping his fingers at the dirt. Somehow he managed to wriggle away and scramble onto his feet. You were so caught up in your fury that you didn’t see him approach, didn’t brace yourself when he leapt at you, circling you around the middle and pulling you to the ground. You landed hard on your side and you heard Cee call out your name but you didn’t feel anything at all even as the wind was knocked out of your lungs. Reive pulled Harold off you easily and Clo started kicking him in the stomach. 

When Rita was finally down in the dirt, she flopped around twitching like a fish out of water until she stopped moving altogether. There was so much blood. A pool of between her matted hair and the clear plastic kerchief, smeared up the handle of the axe, staining your dress all up your belly. There was blood on your legs, too hot and sticky on your thighs. 

You were breathing hard and you struggled to stand, the axe suddenly so heavy. You felt your heart beating fast in your chest, too fast. No, it was beating lower. Two heartbeats out of rhythm. You were shaking and you turned back to the porch, an eerie silence taking hold as Harold stopped whimpering. The axe handle slid from your grip and it fell with a thud against the earth. Cee was staring, a look of terror over her features. It made you laugh. There was nothing to worry about now. You’d done what you had to do but you were all safe now. 

Your vision was going blurry. 

Ezra was on the steps, motionless, his dark eyes on you, brows raised, lips parted. His expression was hard to read but he looked so handsome like that. He was a yard away but somehow he caught you before you fell to your knees. Everything was getting dark and you were so dizzy. Now there was yet another heartbeat pounding in your ears. You felt Ezra’s palm on your belly and the last thing you heard before you passed out was his voice saying your name.

“Star.”

You sit in the hard metal chair. How many times has he said your name?

“Where are they?” one of the doctors asks. 

You begin to shake, your whole body shivering, tears budding in your eyes. The beige cinderblocks of the room seem to radiate cold, all the walls bare except for a clock. On the other side of the white table are three men, one with glasses, another taking notes. 

“Where are the others?” the doctor asks. 

You take a shuddering breath.

“On the Green,” you say, plastering a smile on your face but your lips twitch and quiver.

You know that’s not true. But you want it to be, desperately. You close your eyes every night before you fall asleep on the thin mattress and you see Ezra there, waiting for you. He has to be waiting for you.

“Come on, Star,” one of them says. His voice is tender but the words are cruel. “They left you there, didn’t they? They took you to the hospital but they didn’t stick around. They got out of dodge.”

Your head begins to shake back and forth uncontrollably and the tears fall down onto your cheeks. Your chest is so tight it burns.

“Ezra abandoned you.”

You nearly double over. This doctor doesn’t know anything. He’s lying to you. Ezra loves you. You and Ruby. But Ruby’s just an ache in the pit of your stomach, a punch in the fucking gut. You cry and tremble. 

“Stop fooling yourself. They left you behind. Don’t you think you deserve better than that?” he asks and has the audacity to sound concerned. 

You want to tell him to fuck off. He doesn’t know shit about it. But you just close your eyes. 

“We’re trying to help you, Star.”

The words to one of Cee’s poems come to mind and you recite it silently over and over until you can’t hear what anyone’s telling you. 

“I think we’ve put her through enough today,” someone says. 

Once you settle down and stop hearing your pulse in your ears, after instructions to take deep breaths, they secure the cold cuffs around your wrists before escorting you back down the hall. You can’t be sure how long it’s been since you came here. And where here is, you’re not certain of either. They give you medicine that dulls your memories, makes you sluggish and puts the edges of things out of focus. Sometimes you wonder if this isn’t just a bad trip, a wrong turn on the way to the Green. If that’s the case it’ll end, that’s what you tell yourself. 

They take you back to your room. Or is it a cell? You wait. 

You close your eyes and remember the feeling of Ezra’s touch, the softness of Cee’s lips. It’s lonely here but they’re still with you.

Tonight, when you fall asleep on the threadbare cot, wrapped in the itchy smock you always seem to be wearing, you wake up again on the Green. 

It’s dark and there's a chill in the air and you can hear the bugs chirping. You’re not wearing your suit but the air smells clean and moist. You make your way through the tall ferns, foliage tickling your shins, the ground plush beneath your bare feet. A glow outlines the rust colored trunks— a lantern hung outside of a tent. And you know what’s waiting inside. 

THE END

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

Ezra || fic masterlist ═══ ✧☾.·:·.

·:·.☽✧═══ chaptered + long reads ═══✧☾.·:·. none

·:·.☽✧═══ oneshot collections ═══✧☾.·:·. none

·:·.☽✧═══ limited series ═══✧☾.·:·. none

·:·.☽✧═══ one-offs ═══✧☾.·:·.

Dream within a Dream Shorn In the Aviary Tinseltown Triple

[radiowallet]

Ezra (Prospect) Masterlist

Oneshots

Kiss Me - Ezra Prospect x F!Reader You meet Ezra beneath the cherry blossom trees.

Drabbles

Not an Act - Ezra Prospect x GN!Reader Is Ezra's rougish charm real or just and act?

A Disaster - Ezra - Prospect x GN!Reader Ezra has never been great in the kitchen.

[netherfeildren]

forfeiting my mystique ezra iykyk

thank you guys so much for all the recent love on that story it means so much to me 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

[prolix-yuy]

I'm shyly peeking around the corner of your beautiful Bangathon.

Spinning the wheel brought me one of my favorites: SPOONING.

Pedro boy...I can't decide between Ezra, Pero, and Oberyn but think you'd do heavenly things with any of them.

I'm so glad you're using your conference time for filth. I'm so proud of you. <3

Adira! Welcome to the Bangathon! Spooning is such an underrated position, and while I love it for all the boys, Ezra is calling to me...

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader

Position: Spooning

Word Count: 999 (this pleases me)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, unprotected PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), little bit of oral (f receiving), fingering, biting and drawing blood, rough sex, a moment of consensual somnophilia (though it's a little gray in the beginning).

Notes: Oh my god, I meant for this to be a sweet little thing because your writing is so soft and gentle and then Ezra just went and made it filthy. I am hiding my face in my hands. This is like someone dropping off the ingredients for a birthday cake and I bake a huge anatomical penis instead. Oh boy.

There’s only so much a man can be expected to endure in tight quarters for so many cycles, and you’re pushing him to the edge of sanity.

First it was the showers, too noisy for him not to imagine how the water traced your curves. 

Then it was the heat, stripping you both down to compression shorts, a cropped bra barely covering the sumptuous breasts he wanted to savor.

But now you’re testing the last threads of his resolve, curled on your side slicked with sweat and sleep. The flimsy blanket slipped to pool in the hollow of your back, the gusset of your panties peeking from between your thighs. 

For a moment Ezra contemplates if just the sight would be enough for him to get off, circling his cock inside his boxers and letting a few pumps bring him to attention. But the cotton is damp and sticks to your lips, so close he could trace them with his bionic fingers. Your body calls to him, shifting ever so slightly to arch your back more. 

“Kevva be damned,” he rasps to himself, dropping to his knees and leaning down to nose at your cunt. The first inhale of your sex pulls a groan deep from his chest, rumbling too loud. He’ll wake you at this rate, and his cock can’t decide what he enjoys better, your body sleep-pliant and unaware or your wide eyes staring up at him.

Another inhale, and this time he runs his tongue along your slit, pressing in where your clit should be. A sharp gasp alerts him.

“Forgive me, nightingale, but you have driven me wild for too long to deny a taste,” he bemoans, not an ounce of apology in his rakish voice. 

“Ezra,” you breathe out, and to his delight you grind against his touch, pressing an open kiss between your thighs and nuzzling his nose in.

“A sweeter word has never fallen from your lips,” he husks, dragging his prominent nose up between your cheeks and following the path of your spine, stopping to drop a messy lick here, a ring of teeth there. You squirm under his touch but don’t shy away, keening until his lips finally press to your neck. He fits himself against your back, the thick humidity making your skin slide. 

“Ezra, please, I want…” you plead, and his cock aches at how wrecked you sound from just the simplest touches. He cannot wait to see how much more desperate he can make you. 

“I know what you want, my little nightingale,” he coos, tucking his bionic arm under your head while sliding his fingers along your stomach. Your skin is hot under the tips, catching on little patches of hair and the ridges of scars. You both had stories to share with the maps of your body, and Ezra could finally learn them.

“Want you inside me,” you whisper, and he has to bite his lower lip to stop from taking you right then. 

“Can’t say that so sweetly, I’ll ruin this if you let me,” he teases, cupping your cunt and roughly rubbing. You back into his hips, his jutting cock nestling into your plump ass. Dropping his forehead to your shoulder, he ruts in time with his wandering fingers. Slipping underneath your panties, he pulls a surprised moan from your throat when he dips two thick fingers inside, cursing at the slick tightness.

“Do you know how hard it has been, resisting this sweet nectar?” he growls, curling his fingers to shred against the devastating spot inside you. He wants you clenching and wailing, soaking him and begging for more. He needs your body like air, if only you’d give it to him.

“Then don’t,” you toss back, blood roaring in Ezra’s ears. “Don’t resist.”

Ezra has been a better man of late, but hearing your permission - Kevva, even your desire - has him yanking your wrist into your panties, roughly pulling them to the side.

“Fuck, touch yourself,” he orders, using the wetness coating his fingers to slick his cock. Sliding the head through your folds, your keening moan is all it takes for him to sheath himself in one powerful stroke. 

He can’t wait, as soon as he’s in your blissful heat he’s snapping his hips, every thrust exploding inside his groin. Planting one foot, he cages you in, pressing you tight to his chest, snarling into the shell of your ear. Every punch of his cock into your g-spot tears out another ragged wail, but once he sets the pace you’re pushing back against him just as greedily. 

“My sweet companion, wet and ready for me the moment I want it. How many nights did you wait for me, hoping for this cock inside you?” Ezra covers your hand, fingers sliding together in the mess to stroke your clit. 

“Every…fuck, every night, Ez. Wanted it…every night,” you gasp, and if the hunger inside him wasn’t raging by then it was an inferno at your admission. Sinking his teeth into your shoulder, he yanks you back against his rapid thrusts, white heat blossoming as his jaw clamps hard. Copper suddenly dances on his tongue, a sharp shock that makes him release, but in that moment you cum around his cock, tossing him over the edge to spill inside your pulsing cunt. Both of you gasp and tremble in this embrace, Ezra’s eyes finally opening to see two small beads of blood where his incisors bit in too deep. He laps his tongue over them, followed by a softer kiss than he thought it possible for his cautious heart.

“Nightingale, in my lust I’ve been a little too rough with you,” he murmurs, hissing when you slide off him and turn in his arms. Studying your face, he preens at the quirk of your smile.

“Good, then I can leave my own marks on you next.”

Ezra thanks Kevva for long trips across the galaxy and his undeserved luck.

“Anywhere that delights you.”

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

[tommysversion]

Request Status: Open (Selective)

Pedro Pascal Characters I Write: Din Djarin , Joel Miller, Javier Peña, Oberyn Martell, Javi Gutierrez, Ezra (Prospect), Frankie Morales, Comandante Veracruz, Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels.

Gabriel Luna Characters I Write: Tommy Miller, Boro Polonia.

Be My Future - Din x Reader (Breeding Kink)

Possessive!Din

Touch Starved Din

Teaching Din To Eat You Out

Take It - Dom! Din x Reader (Breeding Kink)

Over Eager, Inexperienced Din

Din Spanks You With His Belt

Din When You're Pregnant

What's In A Name? - Din Djarin x Named OC (SFW)

Din As A Girl Dad (SFW)

Domestic!Din x Teacher!Reader (SFW)

"I'm Not Wearing Underwear" - Prompt

Headcanons

Jealousy, Jealousy - Jealous!Reader x Joel / Jealous!Reader x Tommy (Most Popular Fic!)

Jealousy, Jealousy (Part Two) - Jealous!Reader x Joel

Joel's Kinks

That's My Girl - Jealous, Possessive Joel x Reader

Differences Between Game!Joel & Show!Joel

Playing Rough - Joel x Reader (ft spanking & the knife handle).

Mine - Possessive!Reader x Joel

DBF! Joel Catching You Staring At His Arms

'Accidentally' Getting Joel A Shirt That's Too Small

DBF! Joel Has Enough Of Your Teasing

DBF! Joel With A Bratty Reader

Joel Sees Your Scars (SFW)

Seducing Joel

Joel Wants You In Sub Space

Oblivion - Joel x Reader (Established Consent / DubCon CW)

Breathe Through It - Joel x Anxious!Reader (SFW)

Pre Game - DBF!Joel x Confident!Reader

Plus Size Reader Is Reassured By Joel (SFW)

“We Have To Make This Quick” - Prompt

Joel When You’re Sick (Headcanons)

Curls - Jackson!Joel x AFAB!Reader

Honeypot - Joel “kisses it better”,

Heat - Ezra x F!Reader

Taste - Ezra x F!Reader, short continuation of Heat

Ache - Ezra x AFAB Reader (Sex Pollen Fic)

Jealousy, Jealousy (Alt Version)

Bedside Manner (TLOU2 Spoilers!)

Taboo

Part One (SFW)

Part Two (SFW)

Tennessee Nights (Part One)

Tennessee Nights (Part Two)

Fall In Love In A Single Touch - modern!Oberyn (fluff & hurt/comfort)

A Breath Of Fresh Air - (Dubcon Smut)

[boredzillenial]

Fawktober 2023 Masterlist

This was so much fun! Thanks again to @flightlessangelwings for the prompt list this year!

Oct 1st: Impact Play with Jake Lockley

Oct 2nd: Bathhouse with Orestes

Oct 3rd: Exhibitionism with King John

Oct 4th: Thigh Riding with William Tell

Oct 6th: A/B/O with Max Phillips

Oct 7th: Slow and Soft with Marc Spector

Oct 8th: Cockwarming with Ezra

Oct 10th: Anal with Oberyn

Oct 13th: Anonymous Sex with Basil Stitt

Oct 15th: Free Use Against the Shower Wall with Miguel

Oct 17th: Praise Kink with Steven

Oct 19th: Voyeurism with Richard Muñoz

Oct 21st: Hate Sex with Blue Jones

Oct 23rd: Dirty Talk & More with Jack Jackson

[misspearly1]

Hello my love 😍

Congrats on being on this crazy site a year and blessing us with your amazing work. So proud to call you a friend 💕😘

Ok so….I have a request 😜 I have been in my Ezra feels lately and would love a little something written for him, if you don’t mind. Please and thank you ☺️

I was hoping to have something soft and sweet with a good mixture of smut 😜 (been a lil down about my body lately, happens quite often since I had kids. It’s just not the same and although my husband says I’m beautiful and I’m forever grateful for it for giving me my babies, I’m human.) Anyway, if I could get these prompts please for my comfort character Ezra 🙏

23. I love your body,baby.Everything you hate about it is what drives me crazy.

50. You're so beautiful...so,so beautiful...

It’s also by bday this weekend so it would be a double whammy and I would be forever grateful to you 😍🙌

You can of course completely ignore it if you don’t vibe with it because I know how it is with requests, I won’t be offended.

Ok that’s it, love ya bitch 😍🤘

Char!! The number of times I've wanted to drop in your inbox and be like 'bitch, guess what?' I stop myself because I worry that the word bitch isn't coming across as affectionate as I intend it to be lmao 🤣.

Ohh, yes! All good vibes, all good vibes. I'm loving this request and I've really enjoyed typing something up for you! You are beautiful my dear and I understand sometimes that when someone tells you so, it just doesn't quite sink in the way you hope it does. You gotta feel beautiful and I think I've got something in mind to help with that. 🥰

Thank you for sending something in! Happy Birthday and love ya too bitch 😉.

A Man of My Word

Send Me Requests (supplied prompts)

Pairing: Ezra (propsect) x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Insecurities. Self-conscious reader. Ezra being a gentleman and a tease. Lots of compliments and lots of fluff. Hints to Sex. Fade to black oral sex.

Prompts: "I love your body, baby. Everything you hate about it is what drives me crazy." // "You're so beautiful...so,so beautiful..." (I changed baby, to moonbeam instead. Hope that's okay, my love).

-

Stepping out of the shower as fresh as a daisy, the smile on your lips faded as soon as you looked in the mirror and you stepped forward to take a closer look.  

The image staring back at you felt wrong. It didn't look like you, didn’t feel like you and disgust quickly began to settle in the more you observed. It was only yesterday that you stepped out of the shower and adored the image of your body in the mirror. You looked as pretty as a picture and felt sexy, today however, you can’t say the same. 

It’s both scary and intriguing to see the differences in the span of twenty-four hours. You turn to look at your body from behind and the expression on your face worsens. You don’t like what you see. You don’t like the extra weight in areas where it shouldn’t be, don’t like the cellulite and the stretch marks. They didn’t stand out like this yesterday, or maybe you just didn’t notice them as easily as you do right now. 

Shaking your head while also attempting to shake off your sudden insecurities, the sound of Ezra cleaning his throat startles you and you turn swiftly to see the man sitting on the edge of the bed. You didn’t know he was there, but you should have known better because almost every time you run the shower, he rushes into the bedroom to watch you bathe. He loves to gaze at your physique, watching the water cascade like a waterfall down your body, rolling off the end of your breasts is especially his favourite part. You should have known he’d be watching you, it’s actually why you subconsciously leave the door open. 

“Do you require my assistance, little dove?” He asks, calling you out immediately for the way you just looked at yourself in the mirror. “Whatever it was that you think you saw, it’s not real. The cruel workings of the mind are just playing tricks on your eyes.”

“I don’t think it’s my mind playing tricks on me,” You shake your head with a small smile, “But I appreciate what you’re saying. Thank you, Ez.” You turn to face the sink, avoiding the mirror as you reach for the towel on the rack to cover yourself up. 

“Leave it,” Ezra calls out softly, “Leave it and come to me in your bare form, moonbeam. I wish to remind you of your beauty.” 

“Ez really, it’s okay. It’s nothing to wor-” You cut yourself when you turn to look at him again and see the expression on his face. It speaks of passion and desire, his eyes feral and dark as if he were starving and you were a delicious meal. It makes your cheeks burn a little before the memory of what you saw in the mirror pops back into your mind and snatches your blush to replace it with embarrassment instead. You felt embarrassed to be nude in front of him. 

“Come to me, Y/N,” He asks again, this time holding both his arms out persuasively, “I vow to exile what plagues your mind and restore your confident glow.” He promises, to which you scoff and use humour to deflect your sadness. “You vow to exile what plagues my mind? Oh, okay. Didn’t know you were a wizard, Ez.” 

“Yes, I do. Cross my heart and hope to die.” Ezra whispers as you walk towards him slowly, “My word is my honour, is it not, moonbeam?” He reaches out and holds your hips firmly, resting his chin against your stomach as he looks up into your eyes. “You're so beautiful…” He sighs breathily, his brows knitting together as he tugs his lip between his teeth. “So, so beautiful.” 

“You think I’m beautiful, Ez,” You reply, your lip pouting a little as his compliment was gratefully appreciated, but it just doesn’t seem to penetrate the thick cloud of insecurities hanging above your head as much as you hoped it would. There are days where you feel as beautiful as he claims you to be, and there are days where you don’t feel attractive enough to justify the way he looks at you; he looks at you like you’re the most magnificent lady he’s ever laid eyes on. 

Though, you still felt self-conscious, and the man heard you loud and clear. He could see that you needed something more to help make you see clearly, so in order to help, he asked: “What don’t you think looks beautiful in the mirror, moonbeam?” 

“Um…” You hesitate, not expecting him to ask you to point out and shine a light on what exactly makes you feel insecure, but you like the approach and answer honestly. “This, those and that,” You pointed everything out for him, and of course, Ezra had his spectacular way with words to reassure your doubts. “I love your body, moonbeam. Everything you hate about it is what drives me crazy.” He growls with a voice thick like sweet honey, “Your cellulite is as pretty as the dimples in your smile. Your stretch marks are the signs of a life lived and these-” He grabs the extra supple flesh on your hips with a smirk. “-These are my handles, my guidance system, my leverage that I cling onto for dear life.” 

“Ezra!” You bark out a giggle while shaking your head at him, as if you were disappointed but your blushing smile said otherwise. His different approach worked. It makes you laugh genuinely and forget about what bothers you for a moment, and to keep you in this positive mood, he offers. “I would be glad to demonstrate my point. More than glad as a matter of fact,” He emphasizes his words by groping your hips, grabbing handfuls of the flesh with that same hungry look in his dark brown eyes. Your falls open with a surprised sound slipping past your lips as he plants a kiss above your mound. “I’ve not yet fulfilled my vow and I have many more ways to restore that glow, moonbeam.” 

“Oh, you do?” You ask, to which he nods eagerly and plants another kiss, this time lowering to the hairs on your mound. “I do indeed, little dove-” He slips off the bed and falls to his knees, giving you a glimpse of the growing tent in his slacks as he drinks in the sight of your burning heat directly in his face. A shuddering exhale escapes him, his face softening with desire and sheer need before licking his lips. It’s as if he could already taste what he’s so desperately hungry for. He looks up and the irises of his eyes expand with love and adoration as he teases:

“I’m a man of my word, am I not?”

-

Perma Taglist (Everything): @marydjarin @kirsteng42 @supernaturalgirl @supernaturalgirl20 @harriedandharassed @joelmillerscoffee @joelsrifle @swtaura @alexxavicry @boliv-jenta @dragonsondragons @practicalghost @janebby @faceache111 @sleepylunarwolf @tusk89 @anismaria @graciexmarvel 

All Pedro Pascal Character Content: @joelsflannel @mswarriorbabe80 @readsalot73 @allthe-ships @avengersftspn @hb8301 @scorpio-marionette @squidwell @sunnshineeexoxo @trickstersp8 @graciexmarvel @tanzthompson @bbyanarchist  @oogaboogasphincter 

[mothandpidgeon]

While the Baby Sleeps (demon!Ezra x f!reader)

pairing: demon!Ezra x f!reader (mom!reader)

rating: E! 18+!

wc: 2.6k

summary: The only way to get your baby to sleep through the night is making a deal with an unholy creature. But, of course, there are consequences...

tags: dark fic, Dub/non con (making a deal with a demon), breastfeeding, nursing, lactation kink, mommy kink? (but not like that), stretch marks, oral sex, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, horns, Ezra is a sex demon, moth never uses y/n

an: Here is my submission to #MothandBirdMothersDayChallenge! Actually this fic is the reason why I wanted to do this challenge. Sometimes when I'm in the dark nursery in the middle of the night, I have fun intrusive thoughts like 'What if there was a shadowy figure in the doorway?' To combat how terrifying that thought is, I took it and made it horny. Thank you @ezrasbirdie for betaing this, helping me do this Mother's Day Challenge, and all around being a cool auntie to my fics and baby Moth.

 ...

He wakes you every night. It doesn’t matter what you try. Your son hasn't let you have more than three consecutive hours of sleep since he was born. 

You’re at your wit’s end. 

Every time you look in the mirror you see a hollowed out version of yourself with dark bags under your eyes. You make yourself coffee without putting grounds into the filter. You fly into a tearful rage when you spill a bottle of precious milk. You don’t know who you are anymore. 

Tonight’s no different. You lift your crying baby from his crib. Rock him, shush him. You sit with him in the glider and try to nurse him back to sleep. It’s all done bleary-eyed, half asleep. Everything is these days. 

You’d give anything for this baby to sleep. 

Just as the thought crosses your mind, you look up to see a figure standing just outside the nursery. It’s shadowy against the dark of the hallway, shades of gray on black. From the height and broad shoulders, it could be a man. He stands abnormally still. Silent, watching. You think it’s just a trick of your sleep deprived mind until he moves just slightly and a patch of silver hair is caught in the moonlight. 

You must be dreaming because if there was a man in your baby’s room, you’d be terrified. And you’re not. You feel calm like you’re floating on steady waters. 

“Who are you?” you ask. Your voice drifts like a lullaby. 

He doesn’t respond, just leans in the doorway. All that you can make out is that blonde hair and two eyes that glint at you.

“I’ve come to help you, petal,” he finally says. His voice is warm and melodic.

You feel yourself nodding off for a moment. When you blink yourself awake, he’s by your side.

You can make out his features better now. Dark stubble covers a handsome face. The sharp angles of his nose and jaw are silhouetted in the dim. You smell woodsmoke and frankincense as he comes near. He kneels beside the chair and his brow furrows as he looks up at you.

“You need that child to rest,” he says. 

You nod pathetically. You can feel familiar tears well in your eyes. Hopeless, helpless. Desperate. 

“I can be of assistance,” he says. 

“Don’t hurt him,” you say, holding your son a bit closer to your chest.  Your baby might be torturing you in the night but you love him. You won’t let anything happen to him. Even though you’re sure you’re dreaming, you remember old fairy tales, creatures that try to trick and deceive. This man isn’t human, you know that somewhere deep inside you. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I won’t even touch him. It’s not the babe that’s piqued my interest. It’s his mother,” he explains. His obsidian eyes are on your lips, pink tongue darts out to lick his own. 

“Don’t hurt me either,” you say, though there’s no fight in your words. 

“That’s not my intention at all. Quite the opposite. You’re so beautiful, petal,” he coos, brushing his knuckles across your jawline. 

It must be a dream because you haven’t felt beautiful in a long time. Your body’s been stretched and broken, engorged and swollen. Your hair falls out by the handful. Your breasts reek of sweat and milk, a sickly funk. 

“I want you. Carnally,” he says.  

The growl in his voice makes warmth pool between your thighs. He looks at you like something divine, an awe over his features. His light touch moves down your neck and over your collarbone sending goosebumps over your skin. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel anything other than exhausted, touched in a way that isn’t a demand for food or comfort. 

“Let me have that and that boy will slumber like an angel,” he promises. He watches your baby suckling himself back to sleep.

It sounds so good. Suddenly the only thing you want more than a a night’s sleep is for this stranger to pleasure you, to be inside of you. You haven’t felt desire in just about as long as you haven’t slept. You’ve barely been able to shower and feed yourself let alone take care of your own needs.

“Put the child in his cot and go to bed. Tomorrow I’ll come for you and you’ll see,” he says.

“Who are you?” you ask again.

“I’m Ezra,” he whispers.

You wake up in your bed the next morning and you’ve slept like the dead.

That strange dream haunts you but you think of it as nothing more than that. When you put your son down to sleep the next night, you don’t expect any miracles. He goes down easily enough, a nice little fluke, and you decide to turn in early yourself. 

Its nearly midnight when you wake up but you realize it’s quiet. The baby isn’t crying for you. You glance at the monitor and see that he’s sleeping soundly, sucking away at this pacifier. Just as Ezra promised. 

Relief floods your veins. You put your head back against the pillow and your eyes drift close. As you begin to return to sleep, there’s a shift in the bed and you catch that earthy scent again. You gasp when you see Ezra’s black eyes. He’s beside you, the pad of his thumb tracing the plump of your lower lip. His chest is a wide golden plane littered with white scars, dusted with dark hairs. 

“Hush, petal,” he says. “I’ve kept my promise. And now I’ve come to ravish you.”

You want to tell him that you’re tired. You finally have the opportunity to go back to sleep and you shouldn’t let anything come between you and that sweet rest. But the same, strong want that you felt the night before is calling you. An ache runs between your legs up to where Ezra’s hand glides over the delicate skin on your pulse. You're powerless to stop your own desire from sabotaging the one thing you’ve wanted.

A languid sigh leaves you as you melt into his touch. 

Ezra sucks at your neck. You’ll have a black and blue mark from his teeth but the sensation is so delicious, you can’t bring yourself to care. 

He opens your legs and notches his hips between yours. The friction of his hard cock against your panties makes your back arch. 

“I want to taste you,” he says. 

He rucks up the ratty old t-shirt that you sleep in along with the nursing bra that’s constantly saturated with leaking milk. He takes a long moment to savor the sight of you so exposed, a smile twitching on his lips. A long, low growl leaves him as he slithers down your body, gathering your breasts in his big hands and bringing his face to nuzzle in your skin.

You hear him inhale deeply, taking in your scent. The stubble of his cheek scratches at your sensitive flesh. One thick finger circles your peaked nipple nice and slow. Your body responds— a bead of milk seeps out and rolls down to the valley between your breasts.

Your breath catches at the mix of sensations. Your cheeks heat and you can’t help the embarrassment that creeps up your spine. Much to your surprise, Ezra’s eyes widen with interest. He lowers himself and  traces the wet trail with the flat of his tongue. You can only imagine what he tastes– the musk of your sweat beneath sweet milk. It seems that he likes it. He closes his lips around your nipple and lavishes it with his tongue, groaning into your flesh. 

“Shit,” you gasp. 

You feel the tingle of letdown behind your breasts, his ministrations summoning more milk. Soon Ezra is drinking from you, grunting and rutting his hips against you. The other, neglected nipple weeps milk and he pauses to lap it up greedily. You tangle your hand into his hair and that’s when you feel it. There’s a raised bump amidst his curls but it’s hard as bone. It sits just above his forehead and stands only an inch high. As your fingers rake through his hair, you find another. Horns.

The terror you expect never comes. He might be something ungodly and all you feel is a building excitement. Everything about this is wrong but the world feels upside down. 

He comes away, his plush bottom lip glistening with pearlescent milk. It’s a sight that should repulse you but in the delirium of sleeplessness and lust, it just makes you hungry.

“You are an exquisite creature,” he purrs. 

His flat palm skates down your belly where you’re middle still holds baby weight, a reminder that your body is no longer your own. He peels your panties down your thighs. You feel the fine edges of his teeth against your skin. He penetrates you with two exquisitely thick fingers. No warning but you hardly need it— you’re already slick. 

You keen, back arching off of the mattress, and the sensation is doubled when he puts his lips to your clit and sucks with the same enthusiasm he had at your breast. His wide shoulders spread your knees to make room for his body. You drown in pleasure, a heady mixture of fire doused in the thick pool of sleepiness. Floating, sinking, cresting on a wave as he licks and spreads you open, presses in deep and coils you tight. It’s hard to believe your body can have such strong responses when you’re barely function in your waking life. Something primal drives you on and Ezra knows just how to unlock it. 

“Such a delicacy. To sup on milk and cunt,” he says, barely taking his lips from you. 

The swirls and undulations of his tongue and the sweet pressure inside works you into a frenzy. Your breath shortens and then stops altogether, your thighs tighten and you hold your eyes shut, listening to the whimpers and moans between your legs. It’s too much and not enough. 

When you come undone, it’s a rush of ecstasy that you want to live in forever. Rolling and gushing and sighing. You choke and arch, your entire body convulsing. Your spine clenches up like you’ve been struck by lighting and the electricity runs out through your fingertips and toes. 

“Such a glorious vision,” he muses as you come down, panting and shivering. 

Ezra’s eyes are fixated on you, pupils blown so wide they’re nearly black. He looks like he wants to devour you. 

You share his hunger. You want more already. You’ve just had a feast and yet you’re starving again. 

You see Ezra’s cock now for the first time. Thick and upright, it’s tip, flushed and red. He takes it in his fist, glazing his shaft in your release. There’s something animalistic about it that floods you with another wave of arousal. 

“More,” you manage to say. 

“Not too tired?” he teases with a wicked smile. 

You shake your head. How can you sleep when your body is on fire with lust?

“I’ll fill each needy hole,” he says. 

You whine. He lines himself at your entrance. 

“You’re a goddess. And I’m going to defile you.”

You're filled to the hilt. The noise that escapes him is animalistic and his eyes lose focus. You’re already fluttering around him, already so close to another climax. He fucks you, the stretch and rhythm making you dizzy. 

“This is the closest I’ll get to heaven, I fear,” he revels. “But what could be more divine than this sweet cunt?”

Each word that falls from his lips seems to stroke at your core. His hips drive into you, hands greedily paw at every soft part of your body. 

The only thing that quiets his debauched ramblings is suckling at your breast. Your senses are completely overwhelmed. Tears prick in your eyes as your insides tighten, another orgasm shattering through you. You bite down on his shoulder to keep yourself quiet. 

“Let me hear,” he demands. “He won’t wake.”

And so you do, crying out as you clench around his thickness, losing all control of your body. 

“That’s it, petal. That’s it,” he says. 

He goes on thrusting and pins you down, torturing that exquisite spot deep inside of you over and over again. You’re not sure where one climax ends and another begins but you’re possessed. 

“If only I could fill that womb, sire one after the other to keep you round,” he grunts. 

Ezra swears. He hisses out words in a language you don’t recognize. It sounds like an incantation. 

You hardly have time to make sense of it. He’s pulling out of you, grinding his wet length against your thigh and spilling hot ropes onto your mound. 

You lay beneath him, boneless and dazed. The exhaustion flushes over your weak body. You sense Ezra at your breast again as your eyes drift closed. 

The next thing you know, your baby is crying and it’s morning. 

It must be a dream. There’s no other way to explain it— a horned creature slipping in and out of your bedroom in the middle of the night, fucking you senseless when you have no energy left. But you wake up with come drying where he marked you. 

That night, he’s back again. 

And again after that. 

“Ezra, I’m exhausted," you breathe. "Please.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted, petal?”

Now your son sleeps soundly through the night while you are awake, debauched for hours without end. 

He’s insatiable and somehow you are, too. 

He fucks you until you’re raw. Your legs quiver and burn from being parted so wide. Your pussy feels battered and bruised. You beg him to fuck your ass just to give your cunt some rest. 

And although your body feels like it can’t take another second of pleasure, though it begs for a moment’s peace, every time he comes to you, you’re flooded with arousal. 

When you try to steal an afternoon nap, he’s there, cock already standing in his fist. 

Spittle dribbles from the corners of your lips as he fucks your mouth. It runs down your chest, your knees already bruised from the hours you’ve spent on them. You try to chase your own relief, grinding your hips against the floor. He pulls you by the ears to sink deeper down your throat. 

He grunts and moans and howls as he comes between your lips. 

He doesn’t always take. 

The next time he makes you come four times. 

“Again, again,” he chants into your ear. His words are hot breath as his fingers press inside of you overwhelming that ridge that sends you reeling. Your bodies are pressed together, sticky with perspiration and release and drool and milk. 

“I can’t,” you sob, your body sore and stretched to its limit. 

You’re so spent, so overstimulated, each orgasm takes more and more effort. But Ezra refuses to quit, punishing you until you reach a fearsome crescendo. 

“Oh, my petal, but I know you are more than capable.”

He’s right. You can feel the weak muscles in your core begin to twist. You hold your breath and focus on the brutal sensations Ezra gives you. 

“Besides, your ability is immaterial,” he goes on. “These were the terms of our deal. This cunt. Is. Mine.”

Despite the fact that you’re so exhausted you can barely remember your own name, hardly able to stand on your own two feel, the climax that hits you is just as monumental as the very first. 

“Have you endured enough tonight, petal?” he asks, sucking the gush of slick off of his fingers. 

“Please,” you whimper. “Please.”

You’re not sure if you’re begging him to stop or to keep going. 

“Tomorrow, petal,” he promises. “Now get some rest.”

He wakes you. Every night. 

...

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! My asks are always open and I don't bite (unless you're into that).

[janaispunk]

masterlist

so... i had the (insane) idea to go through all of my fic recs and to put them into one gigantic list. i don't want to talk about how long this took me BUT here we are! this list is gonna work like an archive, and going forward i'll be doing weekly fic recs (also linked down below).

please check the tags and warnings on each fic! if you enjoyed a fic, please show the writer some love <3

joel miller series

joel miller oneshots - part 1

joel miller oneshots - part 2

joel miller oneshots - part 3

javier peña series

javier peña oneshots

dave york series

dave york oneshots

frankie morales series

frankie morales oneshots

din djarin series

din djarin oneshots

dieter bravo series

dieter bravo oneshots

marcus pike series

marcus pike oneshots

ezra series

ezra oneshots

jack daniels series

jack daniels oneshots

max phillips series

max phillips oneshots

oberyn martell oneshots

javi gutierrez oneshots

tim rockford oneshots

comandante veracruz oneshots

lucien flores oneshots

clint oneshots

march fic recs part 1 & part 2

my 1500 kisses challenge masterlist

weekly fic recs

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3