#Prospect movie

[thekawaiifruitworld]

Fun little practice sketch. I just enjoy doodling these two happy and healthy. 🎶🎵

[haveyouseenthismovie-poll]

[orangechickenpillow]

Pedro Pascal and the daughters that came back

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

Ezra and Cee are on a job, of course, but there’s purple snow to be played in first❄️💜

[xxhypersomnia]

EZRA Retrofuturism Lockscreen Set

Here it is 🤞🏼 LOCKSCREEN SET AVAILABLE IN STORIES & TUMBLR 🧡

All edits watermarked 💧 please use/share/credit

[yomi345345345]

stepfather?? he was he father that stepped up.

[ellies-enrichment]

Prospect (2018) + Text Posts

[deervsheadlights]

prospect (2018) + text posts || part 4: ezra edition✨

part 1 • part 2 • part 3

[marisferasiop]

Clearing out wips- I posted my vampire!reader/cryptid!Ezra last night. Enjoy!!

Ao3: link

Rating: mature/explicit- minors DNI

Summary: since being turned as a boy into- whatever liminal state of cryptid he is now- Ezra has walked this earth ageless and alone, never finding his place or a partner for long. He interrupts your meal in the city one evening, and brings you home to strike up a deal; feed from him, alone, and keep one another safe from discovery. The fact that he finds his purpose under the soft graze of your teeth and home between your thighs is a nice side effect.

Warnings: lots of blood, smut, soft yearning sweet boy Ezra, mapuche mythology and monsters, schmoop. Ezra is a subby little sap in this.

Word count: about 2.7k

________________

“Pleeeease, baby,” he begs, his chin tipping further up, neck curving back, pulse thundering under your slicked lips. His hand pulls at your hip, desperate to have you pressed all along his front. You oblige, your breasts sandwiched between your chest and his as you follow his backward tilt into the sofa backing.

His warmth bleeds into your skin, along with the sharp scent of moss, dirt, wood, life etching its way into the fibers of your soft cotton shirt. He tugs upward at the hem, wanting more skin, and you shift to accommodate.

You’ll always oblige him. You don't know how not to anymore. But he will still always ask.

“Ezra,” you sigh, letting his skin slide out of your wet mouth as he scrabbles for the buttons down your front. A line of that woodsy-scented blood crests over the swell of your full bottom lip, making you suck it between your teeth to swallow it. You can’t spill a drop of him. Even now, watching it pool slowly in the well of his collarbone feels like a sin. You lick over the pinpricks, sealing them, and lap away at the stains.

It would be a crime, wasting what he offers you freely.

He pushes the fabric off your shoulders and, finding you bare beneath, whines anew in his throat as you ease close again. He lets you so close. He wants you that close. Closer, even. Like it’s never enough unless you’re under his skin.

You tuck your nose against the hinge of his jaw, smelling the scent of him clinging to the scraggly beard that grows there. Moss hits the back of your tongue, makes you salivate. Your fangs drop again as you trace the sharp line of his jaw with the tip of your nose back to the bite already slowing on his skin. You lap at it, at the coagulating droplets there, twinned pinpricks.

“The other side, sweet thing. You haven’t had enough. Not yet.”

You hum in the back of your throat, dropping a kiss on his Adam's apple. It bobs under the press of your lips; tender. The pulse of him is still strong, the half cup you’ve taken barely noticed. He’s immortal as well- or as good as. Resilient. You can have much, much more.

“I have. I don’t need it.”

“You haven’t. Take your fill,” he says; pleads, really. You grin, quick and sharp, against his throat.

“Then fill me, Ezra.”

_______________

“Why are you following me?” You had slammed the moss-scented man into the bricks of an alley and pinned him with a hand on his shoulder. He held up his one hand and held your gaze easily.

“I’m not; not like that,” he explained. You wrinkled your nose at his scent again and suppressed a growl. “You’re ah – not human,” he hedged, blinking down the mouth of the alley. The street lamp at the end flickered and gave out. “Neither am I. Not anymore, anyway. Not really. Come somewhere quiet with me? I can explain.”

He had interrupted your meal. Your throat and chest burned and your skin prickled with how cold you were. “Fine.”

He had led you a few blocks away to a truck. Drove you outside of the city to a small farm edged in forest. You had spent the drive alternating between forcing yourself to ignore his pulse and body heat, and trying to pick out the notes of his heady scent.

He smelled like a dense, dark, old forest. Emphasis on the old. He smelled like everything from bright new leaf shoots to dense, herbal decay.

You learned that name was Ezra. He had a kid at home called Cee that isn't his but is now. He led you inside and called out up the staircase that he was home. A call returned, and he ushered you into the kitchen. You leaned against the counter, feeling every bit of how out of place the image was.

“Tell me about yourself. I’ve waited enough.”

“I will tell you anything you wish to know. But first, I interrupted your meal, sweet thing. I wonder if I can amend that?”

You snort, shaking your head. “Explain. And throw in why you smell like you bathe in Pine-Sol.”

Ezra smirks at you, his head tilted to the side, and nods. “Alright.” He slides onto a stool and props his elbow on the table.

“I am. Ah- approximately three- hundred and eighty- four years old. As a boy, I was playing in the woods with my brothers when a – a creature sought to chase us. We ran back for the village, to our family, but the creature caught up to me. It was- ah. A monster. We called them piwuchen. It hypnotized me, and very much intended to eat me, and steal my heart. I was helpless. My brothers ran and got the village’s medicine woman, a machi, and they came back and she killed it before it did more than bite me. The Machi touched me,” he touches the tuft of blonde at his temple and hums. “But the piwuchen had already bit me, and instead of staying under its spell, I was brought back by the Machi’s magic. My arm was amputated in an attempt to stem the spreading venom. And I aged slowly into adulthood, but no further. So I remain the same, and just… move around.”

You whistle low and make a mockingly impressed face at him. “Gonna have to Google that one. You gonna feed me, fae-boy, or am I hitchhiking back to town to drain some other asshole?”

Ezra grins at you and nods. “Fair enough. You’re welcome to try and feed from me. I admit I have never attempted to feed a vampire before.”

“How could you tell what I am?” You ask, watching him slip closer. He shrugs out of a zip-up hoodie, his right arm pinned, and is left in jeans and a tight gray tee shirt. You can smell his blood from here, washed over with the scent of damp earth and intricate root systems. He smells alive like nothing you’ve ever scented before.

“The ah- forest gift, whatever you want to call it, that was imbued upon me from the bite and the Machi’s magic, have left some side effects. My scent, as you have mentioned, is tinged with that of the forest creature’s. I am uncannily handy with direction and luring on a hunt. I can hypnotize, if I need to. And of course, the endless lifespan.”

He comes to stand right in front of you now, the tips of his boots framing your converse as you remain leaning against the counter. “So, I suppose, little bird... That like sees like.”

“Have you tried to die?” You ask, taking his wrist as he offers it up. His arm is toned but not bulky, the skin soft and supple, a beautiful golden- olive. The scent of dew on moss greets you as you bring your lips to his pulse in a kiss. He watches you test his skin, those dark eyes holding mostly curiosity. An odd sort of kinship, this.

One side of his face tics up in a knowing smile. “I have. Nothing takes.”

You hum in agreement, knowing well what the grip of ennui is like, as well as the disappointment when any action taken against it doesn't work.

“And what about the girl?”

“Another child lost in the woods, though fully human. She was fleeing a neglectful father, and got herself quite turned around. I am only ensuring she gets her education with a roof over her head and food in her belly. No nefarious intentions abound. You could no doubt scent it on me if there were.”

He’s not wrong. He smells too pure of intent. Evil sours the blood, and his is… Almost painfully clean.

Carefully, nearly afraid of what you’ll find, you pierce his wrist with one fang. He winces at the breaking skin but doesn't flinch.

His blood tastes– like blood. But gamey, almost. Old. Aged in jungle wood, with all manner of inclusions from the forest floor. You can pick out mushrooms, moss, fresh rain, bark. The drop you suckled out of the pinprick you made dissolves on your tongue. Nothing happens. The empty, aching burn in your chest grows from a single crackling log into a furnace, if anything.

He’s delicious.

Nothing negative seems to happen to you. Aside from the raging burn of your hunger, you feel fine. Your eyes flick up to his, and he nods, tipping his wrist back to your lips.

“Continue, sweet thing. Take your fill.”

_______________

Ezra has spent a long time alone. After his village aged on and he didn't; after the Spanish came and genocide sunk it's claws in. After the strange pox - sickness claimed those survivors. After he learned a new tongue and traveled across the mountains in search of anything- anywhere he could settle into, and only found more of the same. He kept trekking north, slowly and soundly. And never found anything that suited for long.

He has worn many hats. He has been a shaman, a translator, a guide. He has robbed graves and dug them, lived off the forest alone and killed countless Spanish conquistadores. He has been a cowboy, a stagecoach driver, a highwayman, a smuggler. Mostly a con artist. He has aided those he considered friends and killed those that he considered enemies.

And in all those endless lives, he has never felt wanted. Not since his chachay and papay and his brothers passed. He stayed with them, watched them age while he only made it to adulthood and never further. He cared for them, and comforted them when they went on. And every step since has been to find something he can feel in his blood but cannot find with his eyes.

He thinks, now- perhaps too poetically for his own foolish heart - that it has been you.

You like him. You will talk to him for hours, or curl into him on the sofa for a movie. Life has a painful domesticity now, with you and Cee. You don’t live with him, but you come by most days.

Cee likes you, talks to you amicably when you're there and asks after you when you’re not. Ezra likes that you two get along. His girls, and he always grins so wide when he says it.

Ezra wonders, if after a dozen lifetimes of being forgotten, questioned, reviled, exiled, othered– if he can finally have … This.

You, under him, your soft thighs parted around his shifting hips. His weight, on you; your breasts mashed on the rise of his pecs, your mouth, open and panting. He licks into you, thieving over your palate, making your fangs tingle. You pull back and drop them, nipping his lip and then soothing the sting with your wicked tongue. Without both arms to balance, he relies on you for some movement. You undulate against his hips, rising to meet each thrust, skimming your nails down his spine to dig at the meat of his narrow ass.

“Touch yourself, sweet thing. I would gladly bury my face down there for hours, strum that sweet little clit with my fingertips til you break apart if I could.”

“Roll us,” you pant against his mouth, and he is helpless but to comply.

You settle on his hips, his full weight and girth in the vice of your slick cunt. You squeeze him internally and he hisses, grappling with your waist to get you to move.

You have been coming to his little country house for months now. You and Cee still get along well; you often help her or talk to her about her studies, and then in the night, you take your fill of him, in whatever means you see fit.

He is happy to provide. To be of use.

To be wanted.

“You want it, sweet thing?” He pants, arching his neck up into your mouth, rutting his hips up in the tiny space you’ve left him. He’s quite effectively pinned. You have his one hand in your iron grip and the other closing around his throat.

“I want all of you, Ezra. You’re mine, yes?” your throat, lined with his blood, is claggy; your eyes glint like gems in the dark when they meet his.

His eyes dilate, and he goes still and pliant under your hands. Your teeth.

“I am, my sweet. You have me. All of me.”

He explodes moments later, with your hips snapping against his, his cock rooted deep in your core, and your hands still pinning him at wrist and throat. He fills you, at your sucking mouth and your clenching cunt, and you greedily take it all.

Later, when you’ve fed him and he rolls you over and makes you spread your tacky thighs for him, he licks the deep jungle- taste of his spend out of you, luring you steadily into a rolling orgasm that steals your breath.

He’s yours. And you’re his.

_______________

The sun does not kill you, but it is stifling and uncomfortable. You wear layers and hats if you have to go out. Working from home makes your life easier. Ezra often comes if you don't come to his for days. He wants to make sure you are fed, and well.

You catch him snoozing on your couch in a sun spot most of the time. Sometimes you curl against him, take a break from corporate bullshit to breathe in your own personal little forest clearing. Your job is a careful balance of keeping up appearances and giving yourself a task each day so you don’t let the ennui suffocate you again.

He bands his arm around your ribs in his sleep and hums, happy to have you close. It still strikes you at times, how close he allows you to rest. As if you’re not a threat to his very existence. As if you’re not a literal blood-sucking monster.

He has let you know, in brief spurts, how lonely he has been. You suppose that is part of why he has kept Cee. But she will be gone in a year, off to college and her own life. He has already ensured her success by way of a trust with his vast and quiet wealth. And when she is gone, he will only have… you.

You worry, sometimes, that you will be enough. That a few meals and fucks each week will satiate the gaping void in his chest left after eons of walking the earth alone.

But then he holds you tighter, and begs you to drink deeper, and take more from him, and softens into such languid peace when you declare him yours, with his blood on your lips and his cum dripping from you.

He is yours.

You have lived a few lifetimes to his dozens, and you have known him for the blink of an eye by comparison, but you would cheerfully prefer to starve to death, staked out in the sun, than taste anyone else’s blood again.

You are his. He found you, and lured you to his den. And fed you, filled you. He is under your skin, in your very veins, and you only want to crawl inside him and tear him to shreds with your affection. It’s an all-consuming thing, this untapped well of love you have for the first time in decades. You want to drown him in it.

You know he will sink willingly under your waters.

You tuck your nose under his scruffy chin and skirt your arm around the fading sun-spot, and allow sleep to draw you under.

[penvisions]

plumage {ezra x reader drabble}

Fandom: Prospect

Pairing: Ezra x F! Reader

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

Word Count: 520

Warnings: allusions to adult content, allusions to smut

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, hey there, pretty bird.”

[thekawaiifruitworld]

🌌

[jessahmewren]

🌿Back in the Green🌿, a work I commissioned from @lights-on-the-ridge to compliment this part of my Cee and Ezra series but, really is for everyone. Enjoy, Prospectors!

[orangechickenpillow]

Just noticed that when Ezra is negotiating with the mercs he presents himself as a collective with Cee. His language is predominantly "we" and "us" which leaves no doubt that he and Cee are doing this together.

He speaks this way until Inumon directly threatens Cee.

As soon as Inumon has Cee on the ground, suddenly it's "I am the gatekeeper to more wealth than any of us has ever seen." Not only does his tone understandably switch from cordial to threatening (since Ezra is good at mirroring the people he's doing business with) but he also shifts from "It's the two of us making this deal with you" to "I'm holding this potential wealth over your heads."

The second Cee is put in immediate danger, Ezra splits their partnership up momentarily. When they're safe, she's his equal -- when they're in danger, she is still a child and he reacts accordingly. And that's the difference between Ezra and Damon. Ezra can regonize when it should be "we" and when it should be "I"

[noxturnalpascal]

🚨‼️Please send me all your Ezra fic recs. This is not a drill!! I am in love... (It's a problem)‼️🚨

💚💚💚

[tommysversion]

Ache: Ezra x AFAB!Reader

Summary: you and Ezra get hit by something mysterious in the atmosphere, and it has... interesting... results.

CWs: dubcon (sex pollen) / breeding kink / Ezra's filthy mouth / unsafe PIV sex / squirting / established relationship (kind of).

Word Count: 1.8k

Masterlist

Tagging: @serenaxpedro , @ezras--moon & @bearsbeetsbeskar

You think you’re used to everything The Green has to offer; the toxic air, the asshole mercenaries, the long days. Think you can handle everything it has to give you, especially now you have a somewhat established situationship with your companion.

Hell, it’s almost nice, the routine you’ve established. Go out prospecting, make it back to the lander, decontaminate, eat, curl up together in a tangle of sweat and satisfaction, Ezra whispering poetry into your ear.

It would be almost romantic if nine times out of ten, you weren’t dripping his cum onto the sheets. Or maybe that’s what makes it so. You don’t want to think too hard about what you are; putting labels on it just complicates things. You’re his, as much as he’s yours, and that’s all there is to it. Anything else makes it too difficult, too real, and once it becomes real, it means you have something to lose.

Anyway.

You’re not sure what’s happened; it’s usually cool in the lander at night, but you’re sweating, overheating, and it has nothing to do with your lover’s hands on you.

Part of you wonders if the air filters have gone faulty again, but you aren’t exactly thinking about the science of the situation right now, far too consumed with need and heat that won’t go away, no matter how desperate you are as you pull him to you, rub your soaked cunt along his cock.

Normally he’d comment on how needy you are, taunt you for it, but whatever is coursing through you has hit him, too, and hit him hard. He’s just as needy as you are, which is saying something.

Usually, he’s the one in control, perfectly composed and whispering filth into your ear as he steadily fucks into you. Not now. He’s clawing at you, spreading your thighs roughly, as though the only thing that matters to him right now is getting your legs wide enough for him to fit between.

It’s a fair assessment; you completely understand it, just as desperate, dragging your dripping pussy along his length as he lifts you into his arms, into his lap, guides himself to your entrance and pulls you, unceremoniously, downwards.

You cry out, making absolutely zero attempt at muffling the sound as you sink onto him, impale your tight cunt on the perfect thickness of him, wriggle your hips to settle, but it’s not enough. He’s as deep inside you as he can get, hips flush to yours, but you still need more, and so does he.

He draws himself out half way before dragging you back down by the hips, drawing a desperate moan from you that jolts straight to his cock. You’re so tight around him, he can feel himself pulse and throb inside you, swears he can feel every drop of pre cum that you milk from his cock as it drips into your eager, welcoming cunt.

“Fuck, please, I need-“ you aren’t even entirely sure what you need; he’s already as deep inside you as he can get, rocking his hips steadily, hitting that sweet spot inside you with each deep stroke.

“I know, sweet thing, I know…” Ezra moans it into your shoulder, even though he doesn’t know either, can’t put into words what you both so desperately need, even though he feels it too. Maybe there’s no words for it, just an overwhelming desire and need to be intimate like this, as though he might actually combust into flames if he doesn’t fuck himself as deep into you as possible.

A tiny part of his brain registers, dimly, that that isn’t scientifically possible, but then again, what does he know? As far as he was aware, whatever the fuck you’ve both been hit by in the atmosphere isn’t scientifically possible, either. The bigger part of his brain - and, arguably, the part thinking with his achingly hard cock - doesn’t care about science right now. All that matters is the steady rhythm of pulling half out of you, slamming back in, over and over, drawing those sweet, unrestrained moans from your lips.

You’ve never been this loud before, this confident; Ezra supposes it’s something to do with the drugs, rather than anything else; it doesn’t hurt his ego, because either way it’s still him causing this reaction, causing you to drag your nails up his chest, leaving claw marks in your wake. He’ll wear those like badges of honour, he thinks, as he leans in and sinks his teeth into your shoulder, sucks a deep purple mark into the soft skin.

You claw at him again, bear down onto him, your voice a wordless symphony of moans and pleas, even if there’s no actual words coming out; he can tell, knows what you want from him. Harder, faster, deeper if he can get there. He does, doesn’t care about the ache he’ll feel later, just as much as you don’t care about the subtle pain as he slams into you. All that matters is this.

You lean in, have to lean up, even in this position, and steal a hungry, demanding kiss, one hand knitting into his hair to keep him close as you take what you need from him, uncaring that when you pull away, your lips are still connected by a faint string of saliva. Maybe any other time, you’d find that disgusting. Not now. Now all that matters is leaving as much of each other on the other as possible.

“Starving, aren’t you?” There’s that vicious glint in his dark eyes again as he nuzzles his face between your tits, pulls you down onto his cock particularly hard. “Can’t blame you.”

He sucks a hardened nipple into his mouth, moans at the taste of sweat and salt on your skin, holds you in place as your back arches. He isn’t gentle, teeth scraping, lips greedy; in his frenzied state he almost wishes you had something to give, would gladly lap at any liquid that he could draw from your body, especially when he’s commented before on how much he fucking loves your tits.

Maybe he should just do as you’ve begged of him before, as he’s considered, and fuck you so full of his spend that it takes, claim you as his, spend his nights worshipping at the altar of your body as it grows new life.

His cock throbs inside you at the thought as he pulls away to demand another kiss, moaning into it as his hips buck up against yours; you can only hold on, breathing ragged and desperate, no relief in sight no matter how many times you come for him. At least, not yet.

“C’mon, little dove, I know you can come for me, I can feel how close you are...”

You gasp out, half at the words, half because he finds your sweet spot, the thick head of his cock caressing it almost lovingly with each deep thrust.

“Fuck -“ you whine it out, drawn out and needy, “right there…”

He takes the hint, doesn’t change up the way he’s moving, keeps rutting into you like a man possessed, his hands holding you steady, stroking up and down your back as he urges you closer and closer, until you’re tightening painfully around him, back arching, aching cunt gushing over his cock, soaking him, you, his lap, the thin sheets.

It’s almost instant relief, like a fog in your head is cleared, but all you can do is cling to him; you have no idea how long you’ve been out of it, how long he’s been fucking you, but you’re aching and exhausted and yet still so desperate and determined that he’ll find pleasure too.

Whatever has hit you both clearly still has him in its grasp; part of you wonders if you should stop, now that you’re clear headed, but the way he’s holding onto you like you’re the last tether to life makes it impossible, even if you truly wanted to.

He nuzzles into your shoulder again, presses open mouthed kisses to every inch of skin he can reach, like he can’t get enough of your scent, your taste, all while keeping himself pressed deep inside you, grinding his hips up into yours.

“Fuck… fuck…” he’s more moaning than speaking; you’ve never heard him sound so desperate, so needy. It must do something to you, because he groans again, nips at the junction of throat and collarbone.

“So wet for me, little dove, so fucking wet, I could find nirvana in this sweet little cunt, fuck-“

Normally, Ezra is a little more restrained; a little more eloquent in his words, making even the most sinful thoughts sound like poetry. Hearing him like this, completely unrestrained, almost feral, sends you over the edge again, drugged or not. You don’t need to be hit with some weird shit in the atmosphere to come again for him, and you do, clinging to him, gasping and sobbing his name as he fucks you through it, trailing more bites and kisses in his wake.

“Gonna come soon, birdie.” His voice is soft in your ear as he kisses just below it. “Gonna stuff you so full of me you’ll be dripping for days…”

You whimper softly at the thought; so far you’ve only been held in his arms, half riding him, half being pulled down onto him. He takes advantage of your distraction to flip you, press you into the bunk so he can fuck deeper into you, harder and faster as he chases his own release, entirely blind to anything but pleasure.

You’re more than happy to be used, to feel the comforting weight of him pressing your body down, your legs hooked tightly around his waist. It’s as if your bodies were made for each other, and you know it, staring up at him through half lidded eyes, lips parted as you study him, that single blonde streak in his hair falling into his face as already dark eyes become depthless with lust as he slams into you one final time, holds himself there.

You can feel him pulsing inside you, feel every hot, thick rope of his spend that fills you as he finally collapses on top of you, panting into your shoulder.

“Fuck… fuck…” he breathes it out between deep breaths, sounding more and more like himself with each passing moment.

You reach up one shaky hand to stroke his hair, just wanting to touch him, to reassure him that you’re there with him.

Silence fills the lander for a few moments before he finally speaks again.

“Hey, birdie?”

“Yeah?” Your voice is still a little ragged, too.

“Think we need to change out the filters in our suits.”

He lifts his head to give you a little smirk; you stare at him for a moment before you laugh.

“Yeah. Yeah I think we do, too.”

Neither of you make any attempt to move; you can change the filters out before you go out again. For now, you just stay wrapped up in each other, enjoying the afterglow and the ache that comes with it.

[mjpens]

Ezra chatting Cee’s ear off. This is THE best Cee I’ve drawn.