#ezra deserves move soft!ezra

[n1ght0f-nyx]

Moonbound

werewolf oc! Ezra x gn! reader

tags/warnings- monster fuckers, werewolf x human, transformation, full moon werewolfs, preexisting relationship, full moon ritual, mild body horror, restraint, shy werewolf boy

The moon was rising slowly over the horizon, casting an eerie glow that bathed the room in silvery light. You could feel the tension building in the air, the telltale sign that tonight was going to be rough. ezra sat at the edge of the bed, his hands trembling in his lap, eyes fixed on the floor. His breathing was uneven, shallow with anxiety, and you could see the subtle twitch in his muscles as he fought to keep control.

You stood beside him, your heart aching at the sight of him struggling. ezra had always been gentle and shy, a man whose words were few but meaningful when spoken. But when the full moon came, everything changed. He wasn’t himself — the beast within him took over, wild and dangerous. Tonight was no different, and as much as it hurt to do it, you both knew what had to be done.

"It's okay, ezra," you whispered softly, kneeling in front of him so you could look into his eyes. "I’m here."

He raised his gaze to meet yours, his soft brown eyes clouded with fear and shame. “I hate this part,” he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you. Or anyone.”

You reached out and took his hands in yours, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. His fingers twitched but he held onto you like a lifeline. “You won’t hurt me,” you said, your voice steady and calm. “I know you, ezra. You’re stronger than this.”

His jaw clenched as he shook his head. "I can feel it… it’s getting worse. I can’t control it when the change starts." His breath hitched, panic edging into his voice. "You should leave. You should—"

"ezra," you interrupted gently, squeezing his hands. "I’m not going anywhere. We’ve done this before, remember? We’ll get through it, just like always."

He looked at you, searching your face for any sign of doubt, but you knew he wouldn’t find any. You had been through this together enough times to know what was coming. The fear, the aggression, the need to lock him away until the worst of the night passed. But through it all, you never stopped loving him, never stopped seeing the kind man he was beneath the curse.

"I trust you," you continued, brushing a thumb over his knuckles. "And I’ll be here to make sure everything’s safe."

ezra swallowed hard, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I don’t deserve you," he whispered.

"Don’t say that," you replied, standing up and gently guiding him to his feet. "You deserve love, ezra. And I’m going to remind you of that, even when things get tough."

The chains were already prepared, hanging from the heavy metal loops embedded in the bedroom wall. You hated using them, hated the way they looked so out of place in the cozy room you both shared. But they were necessary, especially when ezra was on the verge of losing control. The full moon brought out the worst of his condition, and if the chains were what kept him and everyone else safe, then so be it.

As you led him to the wall, you could feel his body starting to tremble more violently. His breathing grew more ragged, and his skin was flushed with heat. The transformation was beginning.

"I’m sorry," he rasped, his voice breaking as the first wave of pain hit him. "I’m so sorry."

You moved quickly, fastening the chains around his wrists and ankles with practiced care, making sure they were secure but not too tight. He grunted, his muscles straining against the growing pressure of the change, but you kept whispering to him, soothing him with your words.

"You’re so strong, ez’," you murmured, brushing a hand through his dark, sweat-dampened hair. "You’ve got this. You’re not alone. I’m here."

His breaths came out in ragged gasps now, his body convulsing as the wolf fought to break free. You stepped back, giving him space, but you never stopped talking.

"You’re doing so well, love," you praised, your voice low and steady. "I know it hurts, but you’re not the monster you think you are. You’re my ezra. My kind, sweet ezra."

His head snapped back, his eyes glowing an unnatural yellow as the wolf took over, but even then, you saw the flicker of recognition in his gaze. The chains rattled as he strained against them, skin splitting to form thick hair, muscles bulging and teeth elongating into fangs. But through it all, you stayed calm, keeping your voice gentle.

"You’re still you," you whispered, staying just out of reach. "No matter what, I see you, ezra. I love you. I’m proud of you."

A deep, guttural growl ripped from his throat, but you weren’t afraid. You had seen this before, felt the raw power of the transformation. But you also knew that deep down, ezra was still in there, fighting to stay in control.

The hours passed slowly, the moon climbing higher into the sky as ezra’s form twisted and contorted, the beast taking full control. The chains held, and you stayed close, whispering soft reassurances into the night.

By the time dawn broke, the worst of it was over. ezra hung limp in the chains, his body battered and exhausted from the transformation. You moved quickly to release him, catching him as he slumped into your arms. He was weak, but he was himself again — the shy, soft-spoken ezra.

"how you holding up, love?" you whispered, holding him close as his breathing steadied. "You made it through."

He didn’t have the strength to reply, but the way he clung to you said enough. You kissed his temple softly, your heart swelling with love and pride. No matter how many full moons came and went, you would always be there for him.

And he would always be yours.

[psychedelic-ink]

a broken prince.

pairing: ezra x f!reader

genre: smut, angst, hurt/comfort

word count: 5.2k

summary: Coming to Venice was a one time opportunity, which was why you accepted the invite to join a work party of self assured academics. You meet a former pianist that's angry at the world and himself.

warnings: anger issues, drug use (weed), a very messy handjob, dirty talking, creampie, piv, riding, mentions of a car crash, talk of how he lost his arm, ptsd, outdoor s.ex, high s.ex

a/n: this idea has been plaguing me for the absolute LONGEST time. I think it's been like 2 months since I thought of it and it's finally done! this was actually supposed to be a simply thing where ezra and reader gets high but it turned into something more, hope you all enjoy it!

a special thanks to @fuckyeahdindjarin who beta'd this for me, I'm forever grateful 💜 also tagging the dearest @frannyzooey because way back you told me to tag you if I ever wrote ezra getting high and here it is, hope you like it 💕💕

MLISTS .  LIBRARY. TAGLIST

Gatherings were already not your thing, but a party thrown by self assured academics is much worse than anything you can think of. You would much rather continue writing your thesis in the comfort of your hotel room, but in the end, this party is the reason why you’re here. 

Cutting through the crowd, your skin crawls at the sound of fake laughter and the sight of fake smiles. Offended looks follow your steps when you accidentally brush upon them. You ignore the stares, and hold your breath until you reach the balcony. Luckily it’s somewhat less crowded. Only a couple holding each other as they embrace the sunset and a group of friends making a toast to their achievements. 

You look ahead. The view is breathtaking. The blue fading into the orange, the sun slowly dipping behind the small buildings, sunbeams reflecting off of the tiny windows, the warm summer breeze caressing your skin and lulling you into a sense of a movie like beauty. This right here. This is why you accepted to come, this is why when Cee asked you to attend, you said yes in a heartbeat. Venice is deserving of every poem, every film and art showcasing its elegance. The soft waves of water echo from the canals, Italian vocals reaching your ears. You focus on the song. Music is such a beautiful thing. You don’t understand a word, yet your body reacts to it. Goosebumps coat your skin as the tune envelopes you in the form of a soft wind becoming colder. With a smile, you gently start to sway from side to side but as you move, you hear something that didn’t come from the streets. Another song being played by someone above. 

Your body stills, ears perking up. The tune stops, then begins again and stops once more. Your eyes trail up, ghosting over the closed windows that show nothing but the fading light of orange sunbeams. 

Curiosity gets the better of you and you slip back inside. With the corner of your eye you notice Cee chatting with the bartender, a glass of red wine nestled between her fingers. She seems happy. Unlike you, she actually knew some Italian so it was easier for her to mingle with whomever she pleased. 

Her gaze flickers to meet yours, her smile widens upon seeing you and she waves, calling you over. You shake your head and motion that you’re heading up, despite seemingly confused, she doesn’t pry and shrugs, returning to her conversation. 

The chatter soon fades into the background, music of the band dwindles leaving only the sound of your steps and the soft tunes of what you can now clearly identify as a piano being played. The soft light of the setting sun seems to evade the walls you pass by, leaving them untouched. Every artwork your eyes lay upon seems darker, sorrowful, almost. Or maybe you feel like that because of the music. It’s louder now and you can tell that the notes come from a place of bitterness. The sharp stops after each press of a key becomes more prominent. Angry. You wonder what kind of person is behind the composition. You try to imagine but you can’t quite make up a face to go along with the song, you can only vision emotions.

When you’re done climbing the stairs, you come across a wide hall. The floor is made of checkered marble, leading all the way to a door slightly cracked open for anyone to sneak a peek. The sound of your steps bounce off of the walls. Every other door is shut tight. It’s as if life itself is leading you to a moment of no return. You read about moments like these. An inevitable moment of fate. You never felt so strongly about anything before, you don’t believe in fate, yet you’re positive that if you turn around right now, you’ll be climbing up those stairs again. Gently, you press your finger against the white wooden door with a touch so gentle that it doesn’t move. Your pulse quickens, mouth suddenly feeling dry with the thought of who might me on the other side.  

It’s wrong. You know better than to sneak up on people, but you can’t help it. The devil whispers in your ear; it’s charming, impossible to say no to. 

Holding your breath, you lean closer. The sun peering from the balcony of the room illuminates your eyes. The first thing to catch your gaze is the white tulle fluttering with the summer breeze, you follow the dance of the fabric. The cruel melody begins again. You see a man sitting on the piano stool. He’s tense. Jaw locked tight and muscles popping beneath the toned skin. His right leg bounces up and down, fingers hovering above the keys as if he’s trying to feel their soul. He swallows. His nostrils flare with a deep breath and he plays. 

His finger tentatively presses a key, then another one. You expect a third to follow but it doesn’t. Instead a string of curse words follows. His hand abruptly comes down onto the piano. A collaboration of notes rings into the air with the impact. You jump at the loud, curt sound. The door creaks wider. More light hits your face. 

The man gets up, his jacket following him like a tail. For a brief moment you get a decent enough glance at his face; He’s handsome, much to your surprise. He has a jaw that can cut diamonds and a piercing dark gaze that screams hatred for the world. Before he turns to face the balcony, you notice a patch of blond in his otherwise short dark hair. 

Stuffing a cigarette between his lips, he sighs. You really should go. 

Your legs take root in the marble. 

“I know you’re there, you can come out now. The shows over,” 

For a moment you contemplate whether you should run or not, but given the fact that you’re not a child and a grown-ass woman, you hold your breath and push the door fully open. Knees shaking (you might be a grown-ass woman but that doesn’t mean you don’t get nervous), you step inside, his back is still turned to you. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to– I just heard–” 

When he turns, you feel the air being knocked out of your lungs. He’s gorgeous. The unlit cigarette is still between his lips, a shadow falling over his face due to the light warming his back. He looks you up and down. The air between you two crackles with electricity. His gaze reaches the utmost depths of your soul, he raises a sole eyebrow, a glint of curiosity visible. You want to take a step back. Want to hide. But your mind screams at you to hold your ground. It’s just a man. A man looking at a nosy woman. 

“Curious little thing aren’t you?” there’s a hint of an accent beneath his words. A southern drawl. He’s not from here either. “You an archeologist like the rest down there?” 

You nod. He looks away, you sense a hint of sadness. 

“You should go downstairs, have a good time,” 

“What’s your name?” you ask, ignoring what he just said. 

Your legs take you to him. Before you know it, you’re standing next to him, both of you staring outside the balcony, yet still within the building, admiring the darkening view. 

“Ezra,” 

Silence follows but it’s not actually silent. If you know how to listen, you can hear the sound of summer; the sound of glass clinking, toasts being made, drunks laughing too hard, the voice of the party still going on downstairs– Summers are never silent, so it’s easier not to speak. You tear your gaze away from the view. He’s still tense. His black coat draped over his shoulders, his arms hidden. 

“Why are you alone?” 

He licks his lips, refusing to look at you. 

“What makes you think that little bird?” 

Your cheeks heat up at the nickname, heart slowly spreading from your gut towards your skin. The cigarette now loosely hangs between his lips, you wonder how it’s not falling. 

“I’m here with my goddaughter, she insisted that I come,” he chuckles. “She convinced me that this city might make me feel better about myself, that I might find my muse and get my mind off of things. I believed her, at the time– She’s quite convincing– but it seems all my muses have already fled, leaving me all alone,” 

“Being an artist must be hard,” you chew on your bottom lip, why are you anxious? “But maybe you’ll find your muse soon, going out might help? It’s a truly beautiful city,” 

“Just because something is beautiful doesn’t mean it always inspires– Art is born from pain, a smallest of light within the darkest of times. But sometimes it’s so dark that the muses refuse to entertain you, they fade with the light, burying you in complete bitterness,” 

His sentence had begun soft, but ended in a hiss, his tone venomous. 

For some reason, you want to understand him. He’s only a stranger with a name, nothing more. Yet, you can’t help but be drawn to him. 

Suddenly Ezra turns to you, his mood completely shifting. There’s light in his eyes.

He pulls the cigarette away from his lips and holds it to you. You shake your head which is accompanied by the wave of your hand.

“I don’t smoke,”

He raises an eyebrow, eyes full of condescending humor.

“It’s a blunt birdie. You smoke that?”

You blink heavily, mind seemingly scattered.

“Weed?” you ask. 

“Indeed,”

You shrug, “Sure,” 

The two of you finally step onto the balcony. It’s been long since the sun had disappeared, the blue night conquering the yellow. It smells fresh out, like frshly cut grass and wine, the stars wink down at you both.

When he places it back between his lips, you expect him to pull out a lighter with his left hand. But he doesn’t. Your brain whirs in your skull, his situation slowly starting to sink in. You’ve only seen him use his right hand, never his left. 

Ezra lights it between his lips, takes two quick puffs. The end turns red, a crackle reaching your ears. When he’s convinced that it’s lit properly, he extends the rolled up blunt to your lips. Heartbeat ringing in your ears, you lean down and wrap your lips around the end of it, it burns your lungs when you inhale. A pleasant thrum ringing in your veins as you take another deep breath, your body melting. 

He pulls it back, bringing it to his own lips. You notice the shade of your lipstick encircling the butt of it, he doesn’t mind. He dutifully wraps his lips around the mark and takes a deep breath, he closes his eyes, brows relaxing as a puff of enticing smoke curls out from between his lips. His head falls back, exposing more of his neck and the veins that trail across the column, you swallow, heat building between your legs. 

Ezra turns and gestures towards the wall behind you. 

“Wanna take a seat, birdie?”

Your shoulder presses into his when you sit. He’s warm, muscles firm. After taking another puff, the smell of cannabis encircling your both, he offers it to you and shrugs off the jacket. 

Despite the pleasant haze of your mind, your eyes widen. His arm. It’s not there. 

Fuck– you shouldn’t be staring but your body is slow. You blink, it feels as if seconds stretch out into hours till your lashes touch the skin underneath. When your gaze gains focus, he’s staring at you. Eyes misty, dazed, but yet he’s watching you so clearly, like you’re the only thing in the world. You just met this man. Your heart shouldn’t be beating this fast. 

“It happened two years ago,” minutes pass between each word. “It’s cliche really, a car accident. And I don’t even have anyone to blame. ‘Drank the whole damned bar and drove myself into a wall of a church– I was either gonna die or lose an arm, fucking paramadic decided to save me, cut my arm clean off,”

It’s jarring to hear him swear. The back of your neck tingles as he reaches forward to pull out the joint from between your lips. His own puckers around it for a long pull, he blows out the smoke in one long breath. Tongue feeling swollen in your mouth, you lazily watch as the gray swirls up into the night sky. 

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” you stutter out. “I can’t even imagine how that must’ve been like,” 

He grins, extending the joint back to you. Before smoking, you hold it between your fingers, waiting for him to finish. 

“It’s shit,” he lays his head against the cold bricks. “Every morning I’m in pain. I go to rub it away but there’s nothing, just air, but it still hurts. An imaginary feeling I’m forced to live everyday again and again, like Prometheus– You know who that is?”

“Of course I do,” you didn’t intend it, but you sound offended, you’re talking too fast. “He was cursed to get his liver eaten out every morning by an eagle. It absolutely sucks,” 

“It does,” he laughs, chest trembling with the sound. “Sometimes I feel like I’m him reincarnated,” 

“You believe in that kind of stuff?”

“Hmm, sometimes. You don’t?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, the but of the cigarette finds your lips and you take two quick puffs. The tips of your fingers heat up. “If I had a life before I feel like I should be able to remember it at one point. In a dream, in a sudden flashback or some crap like that– Brains are powerful, it should send me a signal or something,” 

“What makes you think that it's not?” 

His head is on your shoulder. Ezra looks up to you with doe eyes, he parts his lips and you place the blunt in between. You feel like jello but sparks fly across your body when the soft skin brushes against the length of your fingers. He inhales, long and deep, you can see his lungs expanding. You pull it back, immediately placing it between your lips. The heat of his mouth still surrounds it. His eyes follow the movement, your own flutter closed, relishing in the feeling of the smoke going down your throat. You’re numb. 

Your eyes slowly open when you feel his thumb at the corner of your lips. He smiles, chin pressing into the curve of your shoulder. 

“Or maybe you don’t feel like you’ve lived a life before because you’re brand new, darlin’” his words slur, he laughs again. You smile back. “Or you’re just shit at reading the signals, one of the two,” 

“What signals have you received?”

“Many– but the one most memorable one is that it didn’t surprise me when I woke up with a limb short. I was in pain, I was sad, bitter, angry. But not surprised. It felt like it had already happened before. It felt–” you take another drag and blow the smoke towards his face, he sighs. “It felt like fate. Destiny. I was meant to lose an arm, but I ain’t happy about it.” 

“Who would be?” you’re buzzing, a smile tugs at your lips without actually feeling joy. “I doubt your destiny was to lose an arm. You think too much,” 

His smile is tender. 

“Perhaps I do. But when the worst has happened you tend to think about it,” 

“That’s not the worst,” 

“What do you reckon the worst would be then?”

“Dying,” 

“Death would be a blessing,” his hand extends to the sky, an attempt to touch the stars. You won’t be surprised if he actually does. Again, you place the joint between his lips. He inhales and when you’re about to pull away, he grabs your wrist and keeps it there. He takes another drag, then let’s go. You feel a searing circle around your wrist, his fingertips engraved into your skin. “You’re forgetting that I’m Prometheus. Would you say that to him? Along with my arm, I lost everything. I foolishly believed I was meant for greatness– To take my place between the stars and be a part of something great. Now I can’t even play two notes,” 

He’s a pianist. 

“You’re a pianist,” 

“I’m a pianist,” he chuckles, eyebrows raised. “You didn’t figure that one out while you were spying on me?”

You’re dumbfounded. It shouldn’t have taken you so long to put the pieces together, you kind of just assumed he might be playing as a hobby. He peels himself away from your shoulder, leaning against the bricks once more. Your shoulder feels unbearably cold now, with the feeling, a shudder climbs up your spine. You want him close. You want him to hold you. When he licks his lips, dried from the smoke, heat builds between your legs. By the time you place the cigarette back between your lips, you notice that there isn’t anything left to smoke. Sticking your bottom lip out, you pout. He grins, eyes skimming across your lips and bare neck. 

“I have another one if you want to,” he hums. 

You shake your head, all you can think about is how wet you feel. 

You want to kiss him. It feels like one of those moments where you get the urge to jump on the tracks or dip your finger into boiling water. In those moments your brain tells you to stop. But the same mechanics of your mind don't work with him. You want to jump into the fire and feel the burn of his cock deep inside of you. You want him to make you scream and for the whole world to hear. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Normally, you would be embarrassed about being so forward. But with the pleasant hum still ringing in your ears, and the buzz within your head, you only smile and lean closer. His grin is wide, dark eyes full of amusement. He inches closer and slowly brushes your lips together, the sound of your heart joins the hum that’s already loud in your eardrums. 

“You want to kiss me?” he asks, already knowing the answer. “If you want to you can,” 

You want to, so you do. 

He tastes like cannabis and bitter coffee. He inhales you like smoke, hand making its way into your hair, he pulls you closer, the curve of his nose pressed snug against your cheek. You melt into him. Everything you feel, you feel tenfold. His tongue swipes against the seam of your lips, you open wide, the soft muscle sneaking into your mouth to have a taste. His fingernails gently scratches your scalp, you would purr if you could, the same hand travels down and cups you from above your dress, thumb pressing into your nipple. You moan into his mouth, not a care in the world as another cool summer breeze blows over you both. 

You lick his bottom lip as you pull away, Ezra’s mouth skims down to your throat, nibbling the sensitive skin. 

Desire bubbles inside you. His lips are pure sin. Enticing like the stars above. Your hand finds his clothed erection, you squeeze playfully, grinning wide as he groans. His thumb brushes your bottom lip. 

“You wanna suck my cock pretty bird?” 

Another gush of arousal drips from your thighs. Your lips find his, pressing against them briefly before traveling down his body. You press a soft kiss into the juncture of his neck, a swipe of your tongue following while you unbutton his pants. Your breathing quickens. Slowly, your fingers wrap around the length of his cock, he feels hot and heavy within your hand. He hisses out a breath, the veins in his neck popping. You suck on the skin, you could stay buried in his neck for hours if you had the time. It smells and feels like something more, something you can’t bear to move away from. 

Your hand moves quickly. Sliding up and down his length, the heel of your hand briefly swipes against the head, the precum making it easier for you to move. The sounds that come off of you both are lewd, dirty. He must’ve been just as worked up as you were. His cock is drooling all over your fingers, making everything messy and wet.  Your hand glides up and down with ease, little whimpers leaving his lips whenever you suck on his neck. You don’t want to leave the comfort of his skin but you know it’s inevitable. 

When you take him between your lips, heat scalds your skin. He feels glorious on top of your tongue. So wet. A thick layer of precum coats the inside of your mouth, you suck at the tip and take him in deeper. His hand gingerly pushes you down. 

“That’s it,” he rasps, voice hoarse. “Take it all, little bird…I know you can– Such a good girl for me,” 

You moan at his praise, dark curls tickling your nose. Before taking him deep into your throat, you hadn’t realized how thick this man was. Your chin strains with the pressure but you still manage to swirl your tongue around his cock, swallowing around him. Ezra continues to spit out filth as you begin to move your head up and down. 

“You’re quite a sight to behold, lips barely wrapped around my cock– You’re making a mess, look at you…so dirty for me, don’t you care at all that anyone might see you?”

His cock throbs, gushing out precum, you swallow; your own hands slid up his thighs, fingers digging into the flesh. 

With an idea shaping in your mind, you pull away from his cock. Your gaze never leaves his as you stick your tongue out, a string of saliva dripping down and sliding down his length. He takes a sharp breath, you can almost hear his heart beating fast in his chest. You stroke him before wrapping your lips around him again, taking him in whole with a swift slide down. His fingers tighten in your hair, a groan follows. 

“Shit– Birdie– I need to fuck you– ‘ need to fuck you right now,” 

You’re head spins, however you’re sure it’s caused by him and him only. He tugs at your hair but instead of pulling away, you keep the tip of his cock between your lips and suck as you flutter your eyelashes at him. With a small smile, you tilt your head and slide your mouth sideways down his length. He’s so warm. 

“You want me?” you whisper, the air ghosting across his sensitive, wet skin him shiver. 

“I do– I do, I do– It’s been so long– Need to bury myself in the heat of your pussy right now or I’m gonna cum all over that pretty face of yours,” 

He sounds desperate, you believe him when he says it’s been a while. You lay a kiss at the head, grinning as you look up to him. 

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” you say, crawling into his lap. You roll the skirt of your dress all the way up to your waist, his hand grips your ass, squeezing anxiously. “I like the idea of you making a mess of me,” 

“You really shouldn’t say stuff like that to me, birdie,” Ezra breathes out through his nostrils. It feels like it takes him forever to speak again. “I’m not one to just fuck you full of my cum to turn around and fall asleep– If it’s a mess you want I’ll give it to you. I’ll cum deep inside this cunt, I’ll cum all over your face, tits, ass– Do you really think I’ll be satisfied by only coming once?”

You might cum from his words alone. Without even realizing, you began to touch yourself, rubbing your aching clit from over your panties. His eyes follow, a mischievous grin spreading across his lips. He pushes himself off of the wall, crashing his lips into you as he forces you down to his cock with one hand. He guides the sloppy roll of your hips, swallows your moans as the damp patch grows across the cloth. He smiles into the kiss. 

“Where on earth did you come from?” he whispers against your lips. “Am I imagining this? Are you actually here?”

“I am,” your voice is silent, all the confidence sucked out of you. You lay your hands on both sides of his face, holding his head tenderly between your palms. “But are you?”

There’s something freeing about fucking outiside. You feel hot and cold at the same time. The wind that caresses your skin forcing out goosebumps. Ezra draws a stiff nipple into his mouth, sucking eagerly as he slams his cock deeper inside. You look up to the sky, relishing in the feeling of him. You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing more of your abused tit into his mouth, he growls, eyes fluttering closed; he opens his mouth wider, teeth nipping the sensitive skin.

You’re not sure how loud your moans are, or if the party downstairs is over or not– The only thing you’re sure of is that you don’t want this to end. The pleasure, the sadness, the conversations that don't make a lick of sense. You don’t want to give up the buzz in your veins, the pleasant feeling of relaxation tickling your muscles– But you know you have to. The night will end and morning will come, taking him with it. 

Tears bite the corner of your eyes. Your chest feels tight and heavy. It’s going to end– 

“Hey hey,” 

Ezra looks up to you, eyes moving across your face and lingering on where you’re biting into your bottom lip. It’s already swollen. He hooks his thumb into your mouth, pulling you down so that his lips meet yours. He cups your cheek, grinding his hips up deep into your cunt. Your insides squeezes him tight, fluttering around the girth of him. He moves away, chest heaving, Ezra lays his forehead against yours, it’s damp with sweat. 

“Focus on me. Don’t think. You said that before, right? That I think too much– Don’t be like me, birdie– Just feel– Not everything needs to be a story with a start and finish,” 

You don’t remember saying that but you trust him. It’s eerie how he can see right through you. 

His thumb draws rough circles around your clit, your head falls back at the pleasure. You’re slicker. The sound of the way your bodies connect bleeds into the foreign city. Somewhere in your mind you take notice how silent it became, you soon forget it. Ezra’s head lays between your breasts, kissing every patch of skin his mouth finds, hips canting up into yours at a brutal pace. You feel as if you’re free falling. Scared, yet twitching with excitement. Your chest swells, desire building, forcibly tensing your lower abdomen. Absent-mindedly, you realize that he’s muttering into your skin, the words barely reaching your ears. 

“That’s it…you’re taking my cock so well out in the open like this, letting people know who you belong to– fuck– FUCK– how are you here– how are you–” 

Ezra grunts when you tighten around his cock, his balls feel tight and heavy, ready to burst. He’s ignoring the ghost of an ache his missing arm causes. He only wants you. He doesn’t want to think about how his dreams are buried seven feet under, how he’s been all alone with only Cee checking in on him– How he can’t even play fucking twinkle twinkle little star– He only wants to think of you. He only sees you. The way your back arches so beautifully, the way your tits bounce with the force of his thrusts, they way small hairs spread across the softness of your stomach– Ezra reaches out and squeezes the tender muscle, your lips part with a gasp, the way you move on top of his cock is uncoordinated, luckily he’s there to help. He crowds your personal space, whatever was left of it anyway, and mouths the underside of your jaw. 

“You wanted me to make a mess–” he says between pants, voice trembling. “Did you actually mean that little bird? If you didn’t you need to tell me now before I fill this tight pussy up,” 

“I-I meant it,” your thighs tremble, a needy moan escaping your lips. “Cum inside– I need you Ezra,” 

He’s not sure how many thrusts it took, might’ve been one might’ve been a hundred, but before he knows it  he’s spilling into you, pelvis flush against the curve of your ass. Ezra starts to play with your clit again, murmuring how he wants to feel you cum around his cock. You do as you’re told while he continues to pour into you. Your moans collide, making the most beautiful symphony he’s ever heard. Your body tenses, then coils down into him; your bodies pressed against one another as you both try to capture your breaths. 

The ache he always feels in his arm is back. He wants to hold you properly, press your head into the crook of his neck as his other arms snakes around your waist, but he can’t. Instead he compromises by just doing the first one, you purse your lips against his skin, kissing it gently while the harsh waves of your orgasm slowly fades. He softens inside of you, but both of you refuse to move away from the other. 

“I don’t want to go back down there,” you finally break the silence, murmuring into his neck. “I like it here.” 

“Hmm, sadly, little bird, I don’t think we can stay in this balcony half naked forever. However tempting that might be,” he feels you smile, an airy chuckle leaves his own chapped lips. “Besides, I’m sure your friends are wondering about you,” 

You pull away to shake your head, he raises an eyebrow. 

“It’s kind of like a work party. If that makes sense. I have one friend here but she’s used to me wandering away from crowded places so she won’t be worried. She’ll be fine as long as I shoot her a quick text,” 

Ezra grins at the way you, for some reason, sound so proud of your friend. He wonders what kind of people you’re friends with, wonders about your life outside of this balcony. He imagines that it’s beautiful, just like you. 

He parts his lips to speak but you beat him to it. 

“You want to walk around?” your body feels heated, you begin to stammer, the loose tongue the weed provided must be wearing off. “I-I know it’s kinda late so I understand if you don’t want to. I just thought it might be fun to walk around the streets when it’s not super hot and empty,” 

“That sounds great, birdie,” 

Ezra closes the distance, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. This time you both melt into each other, emotions running high as he swipes his tongue across your lips. 

Even if it's only for a night, it feels good not to be alone. 

[rebelsofshield]

Star Wars: The Bad Batch: "A Different Approach"

With Omega and Crosshair now free of Mount Tantiss, The Bad Batch takes a moment to shine a light on one of its most under explored character dynamics.

With their escape ship damaged and the Empire hot on their tail, Omega, Crosshair, and their newly adopted lurca hound, Batcher, have to rely on their wits and skills to survive and reunite with their former squad. However, Crosshair and Omega approach their predicament with profoundly different skillsets and philosophies and must learn to trust one another if they are to evade Doctor Hemlock's grip.

One of the most intriguing narrative promises that The Bad Batch's season two finale set up was the potential for an Omega/Crosshair team-up. Despite their shared history and family, neither clone has spent much time together free of their imprisonment on Mount Tantiss. In fact, pretty much their entire prior relationship was defined by Crosshair attempting to capture Omega and her brothers for the Empire. Even if Crosshair has now fully forsaken his former masters and is willing to look at Omega as less of a threat and more of a sometimes irritating little sister, the two have never really learned to work alongside one another in any real capacity.

This set up is ultimately what makes Ezra Nachman's script so entertaining and even fulfilling. This is a story that The Bad Batch needed to tell. Even if comparatively little happens in terms of the series' larger narrative arc, viewers deserve to see what kind of dynamic these two very different siblings have when they are forced to work together. And look, I'll always have a soft spot for villains/antagonists that slowly learn to open up and trust other people. Few things bring me more joy than seeing these kinds of character scenarios play out. So yes, "A Different Approach" may not be the most explosive, consequential, or thrilling episode The Bad Batch has produced, but I had a damn good time watching it all the same.

I love seeing Crosshair's frustrations with Omega's tendency for improvised schemes, especially since he'd much rather solve most of his problems with a few strategically placed blaster bolts. I loved even more getting to see Crosshair learn to appreciate his younger sisters very different approach to conflict, but also that there may still be a time and place for his particular set of skills. For a series that struggled so much with establishing character dynamics in its first season, "A Different Approach" showcases a much more narratively and emotionally confident approach to its storytelling.

That all being said, I do think that Omega's (and Crosshair's) reunion with the Hunter and Wrecker maybe comes too soon. Yes, I was undeniably moved and a little teary eyed at Omega and Wrecker's big happy, hug filled meeting at the episode's end, but it does feel like there was potential for more interesting storylines in the dynamics set up here. For all its risk taking, The Bad Batch seems to have a terminal need to return to something resembling its original status quo. Sure, this may be the most shaken up the squad has ever been in the series, but I'd love to see Jennifer Corbett and Brad Rau try and let different character dynamics exist for a bit longer than a few episodes at a time.

Score: B+

[skoulsons]

Eye To Eye Is All We Can See

• gif by @azertyrobaz

Pairing: Ezra & Cee (Prospect 2018)

Word count: ~2900

Summary: Ezra says something stupid and Cee tries to convince him that he’s wrong

A/N: Nothing except I wrote this until sunrise , so I apologize if it is absolutely terrible, downright ooc, or horribly grammatically. I have not rewatched the movie quite yet 💀 Just a bit of fluff and a tiny hurt/comfort?? Don’t ship them!!

Tagging my favorite people who I get to talk about this movie with: @sotvtaughtmehowtofeel @not-so-mundane-after-all @orangechickenpillow @jessahmewren @alternatewriter @starchild0985

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you,” she said.

They’ve been together a few cycles, the Green Moon left far behind them.

The cycles have been nothing short of eventful in a small spacecraft and two strangers in a very complicated relationship. Cee has had to keep an extra keen eye on Ezra. Not because of distrust, but to make sure his arm is healing well. Or, as well as a cut-off limb could heal with limited medical supplies and a kid, though capable, having done the operation.

Also because Ezra keeps forgetting he’s lost an arm and continuously reaches out for support along the walls of the ship when he moved from their sleeping quarters to the cockpit and he has fallen every single time. He fell out of his bed the first night they were in it; Cee spent five minutes trying to pull him back into the bed and then another fifteen having a verbal battle with him to try and convince him to get back in bed.

There have been moments of frustration where things catch up with Cee, her irritations coming out verbally to Ezra. He never fights back. He always sits, patient and understanding as Cee rehashes the things she’s kept bottled up and taped down for years with all the strength of scotch tape that’s lost all its grip.

They were also navigating their route off the Green to somewhere safe and figuring out… what exactly they were. Strangers? Partners? Friends? Family? Ezra has treated Cee as a real person, a girl with agency and deserving of a fruitful life since the second he met her; it’d be difficult to walk away from someone who gave you something you missed out on all your life. In that same way, it’d be hard to walk away from a kid that saved your life—twice.

Cee also had nightmares about the Green. The Saters, the mercs, the music, even her own father. Ones of Ezra, too. Him dying, abandoning her. Him using her, just like Damon seemed to do. On the worst night, the night when Damon and Ezra’s lifeless eyes were all she could see and their cold, torn open skin were all she could feel, she woke up crying.

Ezra was at her side before she even woke, unsure what exactly to do. He waited, and when she finally did wake, with a tear-stained face and a burning throat, Ezra’s compassion was overwhelming. His eyes were gentle, concerned. He kept his only arm hovering over her shoulder, waiting for permission. She let him hold it, for both their sakes, wishing she’d hugged him instead. Wishing she met him on the floor, their legs a conglomeration of limbs as he held her tight against his side. Instead, he stayed beside her until she calmed, quiet and reserved affirmations in It’s okay, little bird and You’re safe, Cee. Damon's cold, almost robotic responses to her harsher dreams were always Quit your crying or It’s a dream, calm down, so when Ezra keeps a firm, reassuring hold on her shoulder, talks her through it, and wears a soft smile Cee thinks she got to see even before Kevva knew of it—one that is only heightened when the stars of the Black shine enough light in to highlight his strands, making him look less intimidating than he makes himself out to be—Cee relaxes. How a stranger, of all people, can sit beside her and walk her through something so small compared to what all the Black has to offer is beyond her. How Ezra, literally, stooped down to her level to comfort her.

It doesn’t make sense. Nothing that has happened the last seven cycles makes sense. The Green and the people, if they could even be called such a thing, that the pair encountered still seemed so far away from Cee. That they were things that seemed only to be written in fictional novels and included in stories of old.

Except for one thing. One thing that makes sense. One thing that Cee is becoming more clear on with each passing cycle. Perhaps the clearest thing to come out of their time together.

He cares.

She cares, too.

And now they were in the Black, and had been for six cycles. The vastness and eternity of the growing darkness offered a strange comfort to both of them. Despite their care for each other, freedom was out there. Freedom awaited the both of them out there. Separate freedom.

Cee was always confined to Damon. She was always just another pair of hands to mine or hold something Damon couldn’t. An extra pair of eyes to search for Aurelac or an extra pair of ears to listen for any harm or to protect him, completely selfishly. Damon never acted selflessly, not even for his own daughter.

She hadn’t much freedom apart from him. She was always tied to him and his work. She was never given opportunities away from him. No chances for her to explore on her own. To see what was so great about this life that Kevva gifted her. She never had the chance to meet other people and form lasting friendships. She wasn’t given time to… live.

The Black offered that to her—Opportunities. Planets to stop at, to lay low on. Places to settle down. A life to live.

Ezra had freedom ever since he was a kid. He was free, encouraged even, to explore. To get to know the world around him. The vastness of the growing creation. He had the freedom, the opportunities, to explore all of it. But as he grew, there was a hunger for earning. A hunger for points and mining. Anything that could offer him a more than satisfactory life. Aurelac, specifically. An attachment to the work, the hunt, also selfishly. He did what he had to to get what he wanted, similar to Damon. Only Ezra, despite being on his own for most of his adulthood and being separated from his family for longer, cared. He cared enough to listen and pay attention to a little girl he didn’t even know.

He cared enough to be fair. Even split.

Being free from his work wasn’t too far-fetched for Ezra, but it happening because of a child was definitely not his expectation.

Especially someone like Cee. She had a fire in her. She was capable, he knew first hand she was. She was strong, threatening when she needed to be. She was skilled, intelligent, able.

But she was just a kid. He saw how scared she was, even with Damon. But in their time on the Green, he’s gotten to know her. Cee was kind, careful. Ezra noticed the way the inflection in her voice changed when she got excited about Streamer Girl. She cared and she protected. Her heart was big, willing to risk her life to go back for him, even after he specifically told her to go.

Cee was good. All she did was help. Love. She wasn’t a killer. She wasn’t selfish. She wasn’t ruthless or hungry for points. She wasn’t bad.

Ezra believed himself to be. He killed. He was willing, ready, to kill. Someone who has that reputation isn’t good, especially when killing a little girl’s dad gets added to the list, despite what he thought of the man.

He doesn’t believe he’s worthy to be thanked. That anything he’s done, especially to her, is any reason for thanks.

“Oh, no, nothing to thank me for, birdie. I have left you barren and deem your gratitude inappropriate for such a time. Ever since you touched down on the Green Moon, your conditions have been less than unacceptable…”

“Ezra…”

“...and I have been present in all the things that have troubled you so greatly these last few cycles. You have been burdened with dragging my weakened bag of bones across the Green.” “Even as we venture into the Black, you have continually endured my long-winded communication and idle, though I believe fascinating, narrative.”

“Ezra-”

“I am a bit crestfallen that you’ve been subjected to a multitude of predicaments in the time we’ve been together and that I have imparted insignificant salutary to your current expedition.”

“Ezra.”

“The Saters, the mercenaries… I’ve only brought you hindrance after hindrance, little bird. Allow me to implement points in to your care so that you may persevere in your journey and-”

“Ezra!” she shouted, grabbing at his face. Her hands reached his neck first, fingers stretching to the back of his neck, tickling his hairline.

She doesn’t know what this is like. Damon was never really gentle with her. Not physically, at least. She thinks, maybe, he was gentle with her when she was born. Holding her in the crook of his arm, her small, fragile head resting in the safety of his hold. Her skin held against his, breathing in tune with his, eyes fluttering open to catch her first glimpse of the world; her father, a tight-lipped smile strung across his face as tears well in his eyes, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth over the blanket she’s wrapped tightly in, occasionally bringing his thumb up to her red cheeks, a quiet hi to greet her.

Something she thinks Ezra could’ve done.

Something she suspects Damon didn’t do.

Something she knows Ezra would’ve done.

Cee pulled her hands away from his neck and brought them to his face instead, her palms too small to hold him the way she wanted to. She tried, letting them rest against his cheeks and feeling the scratch of his beard beneath her fingers. She kept her fingers outstretched, her pointer and middle threading lightly through the hair above his ears as her last two sit beneath his ear. She kept her thumbs in place on both his cheeks.

If there’s something to say, Cee can't say it.

She’s used to apologizing. She’s used to apologizing over taking up too much space. She’s used to apologizing over getting excited over Streamer Girl. She’s used to apologizing for eating too much of their rations, even when it was the amount she and Damon agreed on. She’s used to apologizing over resting, even when there was nothing to do. She’s used to apologizing over… being around him. Her breath was enough to apologize for.

But this wasn’t for apologizing. Ezra said something stupid and she needs to convince him that he’s wrong.

But the words can’t come to her. They don't. A contrast to how Ezra seemingly has an eleven page research paper of words on hand at all times, no matter the situation, Cee comes up short on correcting him. On affirming him that he’s wrong. On reassuring him that he has helped her.

He’s a grown man. A grown man who killed her father doesn’t need affirmation. Doesn’t need reassurance. And he surely does not need his face held because some kid thought he said something stupid.

Definitely not.

She holds his face firmly, the skin of his cheeks forming at her hold. “Don’t… say that, please. You’ve…” she pauses, inhaling and exhaling through her nose, forcing herself to catch his eyes and to make sure he hears her. “You’ve done a lot. You have. I know it’s… it’s only been a few cycles, but…”

You saved me. You protected me. You kept me. You came after me. You encouraged me. You made me feel safe. You tried to sacrifice yourself for me. You killed for me, more than once.

You loved me. You love me.

Her mind races with all of it, every word holding an unimaginable weight she had never experienced prior. Every word holding truth and passion behind them. Honesty covered every single one, Cee knowing in her soul that that was the man Ezra is. Those things he has done for her, how he’s treated her—that is who he is.

She watches him, wondering if, somehow, the look in her eyes could say the words for her. And if the glimmer in his eye is any indication, she thinks the burning it has left in her heart has found its way to his, too.

She could never say any of that about Damon. He wasn’t an encouragement and any dreams she had and wanted to pursue were shut down by him. She didn’t feel safe with him—not the kind of safe where she’d hide behind him if they were approached. There wasn’t any confidence that he’d care to protect her with his life. And if it came down to the Saters, Damon wouldn’t have kept her.

Ezra was different. Ezra was new, fresh. Real. He showed her more in seven cycles than Damon showed her in sixteen years.

That, to Cee, was enough.

She was wanted now. She could tell. Ezra’s attempt at telling her he was no good for her and saying he offered her nothing was the furthest thing from the truth.

Cee has sought connections all her life and was always denied or taken too soon to form a new one. It was always just Damon. Ezra went through so many partners in his life that he became numb to anyone who would stick around permanently. Numb to anyone who would ever be with him—his other half. And when a child entered his life and created and filled the hole in his heart that wasn’t there before, it became something supernatural. A longing he had immediately, and also a resisting. He was dangerous and he managed to put Cee in some of the most risky situations in under a day.

But Cee didn’t focus on that. She saw through that. She saw his passion and interest in the things he talked about. While it has only been with her, she’s seen the way he cares. The way he went to walk her through the operation on his arm. How he smiled at her and had an immediate pet name off hand to call her by, which, surprisingly, has stuck around—not that she would ask for him to stop using it. How he indulged her interest in Streamer Girl, saying he must now read it after hearing her praise it so well. She’s seen his gentleness in how he’s treated her, spoken to her, but also his violence in how he’d protected her from the mercenaries.

He’s done more than enough, as much as he may try and convince her, or himself, that he has not.

She smiles at him, her hands still on the sides of his face. Before she has a moment to really think, she brought her hands around his neck more, tilting his head down and his forehead towards her. She goes to the side a bit, kissing the skin right at the hairline of his blonde section of hair. She takes a moment to breathe in while her lips are still pressed to his forehead and her fingers lay by his ears, gently holding his head in place.

If she can’t find words, she hopes this works in their place.

She pulls away from him, keeping her hands still on his face as she settles their glances back. Ezra smiles as he shyly drops his head, breathing out a light laugh. Cee smiles, too. A wide, happy smile. One almost unfit after all she’s been dealt.

Cee drops her left hand to his shoulder and takes her right hand away from his face and brings it to the blonde section of his hair. “So…” she starts, rubbing some strands back and forth between her thumb and pointer finger, “how did this even happen?”

Ezra lifts his head, trying to move his head out of Cee’s grasp, but she just laughs, continuing to rub the strands together. He stops moving his head and looks back at her, a more serious expression on his face. “Quite the story there, little bird.”

She makes a face. “...And? We’re not in a rush.”

“That we aren’t, birdie. That we aren’t. Still, it’s a bit of a lengthy tale that I don’t believe to be worthwhile taking up any cherished time we have on our trek-”

“Ezra.”

“Yes?”

“Are you avoiding my question because it’s an embarrassing story?”

Ezra looks offended and starts backing up his claim with no’s and some long and winding explanation as to how, after inhaling alarming amounts of Dust in the Green, he was brought to Central to be fixed up. A few cycles in, Ezra, prematurely, got out of bed and tripped over himself, hitting the small guard rail on the other side of the bed, knocking himself unconscious. The incident gave him nine extra cycles at medical bay and, within a few weeks, after his wound had healed, his hair was growing back blonde.

They laugh together in the ship, the joyous noise echoing off the walls as they continue to pile on jokes and more stories as the conversation flows. By the end of it, Cee’s face is red and Ezra is breathing heavily, both of them slumped against separate walls, holding their stomachs.

It’s true, there are opportunities out there in the Black. Places to settle down and figure things out. And with each new passing cycle, their decision becomes more clear: they’re figuring it out together.

~~~~~~~~~

post-fic note: I can’t remember exactly, but Ezra’s hair growing back blonde after an incident I think comes from another prospect fic out there, I think we violent ones, but I’m 100% sure if it was that one or another one. All that to say it is not an original idea and I don’t take credit for using it for Ezra’s character. I liked the idea of it when I first read it and wanted to use it similarly

[melanie-ohara]

It's a Long Way to Peridea

Part II - Bait

Smut warning - it gets real spicy!

Read it on AO3 here!

Sabine wasn't sure how long it took Shin to come crawling back to her door. Meditation made it difficult to keep track of time, and the featureless cell didn't help. With the ship in hyperspace, even the rumble of the engines was a constant. Eventually, the day's events caught up to her and she felt the wave of exhaustion sweep her away. The bed barely deserved the name: a single slab of flat metal with no pillow or covers that offered so little comfort she might as well sleep on the floor. Sabine stretched out on it anyway. She missed the loth-cat - even if it didn't curl up with her, its snuffles and purring was a lot more comforting than the unbroken silence of the brig.

Sabine slept, but wasn't sure for how long. It wasn't the soft click of the slats on the window sliding partially open that woke her, but the certainty she was being watched. She didn't need to look to know she'd see wide, pale-blue eyes watching her. Sabine was lying on her back and stretched lazily, like she was still sleeping. She didn't need her eyes to see Shin - she would be standing a step back from the door, leaning forwards to spy on her with that oh-so-enticing lost animal expression on her face. Shin knew that, much like Ahsoka, her Master would not approve of this… fascination. The idea made Sabine smile, but she quickly hid it. Shin thought she was spying, and this would be much more fun if she didn't know Sabine was aware of her presence.

She wished they'd at least taken the cuffs off so she could sleep, it made unclipping her trousers much more difficult. Clearly, someone was aware of the Ghost crew's proclivity for daring escapes, even if that had been Ezra's field more than hers. Sabine thought about pushing her trousers down her thighs, to give her admirer a look at her skin, but quickly decided that if Shin wasn't going to make a move then she wasn't going to reward her. She had to open her legs a little more to work the chunky imperial cuffs into her waistband and the angle left one hand dangling uselessly, but it was worth it to hear the barely perceptible hitching of breath across the room. She disguised her self-satisfied chuckle with a mumble of pleasure as she touched one finger against herself through her underwear. The sensation was dulled by the fabric, but she was planning on taking her time while she was being watched. Slowly, she started to rub her middle finger back and forth, pressing down just enough to feel a tingle of arousal grind through her senses. She wished Shin could see how her wetness made her underwear cling, indistinctly outlining her pussy. She wondered if she was blushing yet, and the idea of Shin's sharp face glowing with embarrassment and excitement only served to turn her on more. Sabine remembered how Shin had looked at her neck like she wanted to bite her, and pressed her head back against the metal to expose her throat for her.

Sabine imagined Shin opening the door and storming inside. She wouldn't stop. Her fingers moved faster, and she pressed a second digit against her pussy through the fabric. Her hips lifted into the sensation, and she overextended the motion for Shin's benefit. Sabine worried it might be too much, that Shin wouldn't believe she was that excited already, but she heard nothing from the other side of the door. That made her wonder if Shin even touched herself, and then her head was filled with the idea of teaching her how. She could sit behind her on her bed, arms and legs wrapped around her slim, athletic frame, taking her hands and gently guiding them down her body and introducing her carefully to all the places that enhanced the feeling - from her throat to her tits and then down over that taut stomach and between her thighs.

Impatient for more feeling, Sabine rushed to get her hand inside her underwear. The elastic waistband of her briefs pushed down on the cuffs but the discomfort of the metal digging into her waist was enticing in its own way, and Sabine let out a soft moan. She didn't exaggerate it for Shin this time. She wanted her to hear what real pleasure sounded like from her lips - and now that she could touch herself properly, she could give her voyeur all she could want. The stupid restraints meant she couldn't use the heel of her hand against her clit the way she normally preferred, but she could show Shin that another time. Instead, she ran two fingers up and down along her slick folds and humped her hips into them. With her eyes closed, she imagined her fingers were Shin's tongue as she inexpertly but eagerly tasted her. If she had a hand free she could take her by the hair - roughly, of course, she could tell Shin didn't want to learn gently - and teach her some technique, but for now she would have to be content with the mental image of her surprisingly soft blue eyes looking up at her as she licked.

Sabine wished she could get out of her underarmour. Focusing all her attention on her pussy was infuriating when more than anything she wanted Shin's hands and mouth and teeth elsewhere on her body. Or maybe, she thought, she could use the Force. She imagined Shin focusing until she felt her throat constrict, and let out an involuntary gasp of excitement. Her mind wandered, exploring the erotic potential of the Force, and almost absent-mindedly she felt the tip of one finger press inside her. The ideas she had made her more determined than ever to fully connect with the Force - if only so she could pin Shin in place so she couldn't even wriggle as Sabine gave her orgasm after orgasm with her fingers and tongue until she was an overstimulated mess.

Sabine moaned again at the image of her enemy sprawled out on ruined bedsheets, her pussy raw and red from cumming too many times to count, and pushed a second finger inside herself. The hard, almost painful stretch made her cry out until she bit her lip to stifle the sound. It was too much too soon, but given what Sabine was imagining doing to Shin she thought she deserved to see her suffer a little discomfort too. She slowed her pace a little to adjust, but soon sped up again until the sound of her slick fingers pumping in and out of her pussy started to fill the tiny cell. Sabine knew Shin would be able to hear it, and the thought only spurred her on. Fighting in the Alliance had got her used to masturbating quick and quiet in crowded starships, and the illicit thrill of getting to put on a show only intensified the pleasure and within seconds she was close.

So much for taking it slow, she thought, surprised how quickly she had brought herself to the edge. Picturing Shin defeated and begging for more - for her - had really had an effect on her. She could pull back, slow her fingers, and show Shin how to edge herself for when she relived this guilty peep show back in her bunk, but self-control had never been a skill she possessed and instead she sped up. Her back arched and she lifted her ass off the metal, twisting slightly to angle her hips towards the door. She wanted Shin to have the best view possible when the thought of her finally made Sabine cum.

The wave hit and Sabine clenched, her muscles squeezing down and gripping hard onto her fingers. Her eyes fluttered closed and she let out a couple of short, hard breaths as the electric pulse of a hard orgasm shot through her nerves.

"Oh, Shin…" she heard herself gasp. She hadn't meant to: the orgasm had overwhelmed her senses and she could barely think - at least, not about anything other than the girl on the other side of that door, watching her grind on her fingers. Her muscles gave out and she fell flat again on the bed as her eyes snapped open and immediately found Shin. They locked eyes for a half-second as Sabine panted with satisfaction, and then she was gone. Sabine heard a thud and in her still-dazed state hoped she'd made Shin fall over in shock, and then quick footsteps as she rushed away down the hall. Sabine held back her laughter until she was sure the other woman was out of earshot, and then finally rolled onto her back and allowed herself a giggle. Perhaps it was cruel, she thought as she freed her hands from her restrictive underwear and wiped her wet fingers on her trousers, but Shin had started it. If she hadn't stabbed her on Lothal the way she did, maybe neither of them would be so intrigued by the other.

-

Shin ran from the brig with a desperate ache between her legs. She had felt it before, but never this strong and never this demanding. Sabine had felt it too, but rather than push it down the way Shin instinctively believed was right she had… attended to it. Shin knew she shouldn't have watched, but found herself rooted to the spot until Sabine had broken the spell by crying out her name like a lover would.

She made herself stop running. Her head hurt from where the shock of eye contact had made her slip forwards and bang her forehead on the door, and she rubbed it distractedly. The Mandalorian had been thinking about her while she touched herself, Shin had felt it through the Force. She couldn't read her mind, only sense her intent, but what she got from her was frightening: there was a possessiveness Shin couldn't understand from an enemy, a desire to have her in a way that didn't involve lightsabers or those irritating blasters Wren waved around. It was carnal, and vicious, and alien, and she felt it too. When she saw Sabine's neck she wanted to feel skin against her teeth, hard enough to bruise - not to hurt her, just to mark her. To mark her as hers. While she had been watching her writhe and gasp and think about stripping Shin's clothes, she had wondered where else she could sink her teeth, what other parts of Sabine's body she could claim. The urge had frightened her then, but now it made her want to rush back to the brig and let herself in.

Meditation wouldn't be enough tonight. Shin palmed the door release button and called her lightsaber to her hand before it had even closed behind her, and the projectors had started up by the time it was ignited. There were scans of Mandalorians in the archives, and now she had Wren's armour it wasn't long before the holo in front of her was the spitting image of the prisoner she couldn't stop thinking about. She would practice all night if that's what it took - as long as she needed to be able to beat the infuriating, smirking devil and quell her inexplicable need to be close to her, to feel her hands grip her and tangle in her hair and touch their lips together and -

Shin struck out with raw howl, and felt the force feedback of holographic beskar under her blade.

[allergic-to-four-leaf-clovers]

"I'm gonna make you wish you were never born."

OKAY OKAY SHUT UP whump thing inspired by a lil thing I did a long time ago with @paranoia-exe featuring the man, the myth, the absolute legend, Vantè fucking Ramirez. the boys are never allowed to be happy-

CW!!!!!: immortal whumpee (kind of- I'll- I'll have to explain things but I'll do that actually at the end-*), murder, violence, I guess a sadistic whumper kind of??? I dunno vee's fucked up ig, forced consumption of a body part, uh- I think that's it. I don't know please view with caution-

—> —> —> —> —> —> —>

—> —> —> —> —> —> —>

The press of ropes digging into Rayan's skin was impossible to ignore at this point, wincing as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position on the chair. In front of him was the basement wall he knew so well already. The tools. The weapons. He all knew them like the back of his hand.

Rayan's gaze moved and he stared up at Vantè - his ex, his victim - as Ezra shut and locked the door to the basement with a grin, the latter's unwavering gaze boring into Rayan's. Vantè's smile dropped in an instant.

"Oh, I'm gonna make you wish you were never born, motherfucker."

Vantè relished in the raw fear in his previous torturer's eyes, his grin returning as he picked up a scalpel and strode up to the restrained man. "How about I give you a taste of what you did to me, hm?"

"N-no, please—"

"That wasn't a question."

Just at that moment, Rayan felt a piercing, nearly throbbing sensation in his wrist, which caused him to yelp in pain. Vantè's grin grew at the sound, digging the scalpel into the man's limp wrist. Rayan sobbed. "Please, please, I'm- I'm so sorry."

He saw Vantè's body shiver as he twisted the weapon inside the wound. It caused another yelp to rip its way out of Rayan's throat, Vantè's satisfied growl overlapping with the noise. "God, I fucking missed that sound." Rayan's sobs and whimpers only escalated, tugging on the restraints and writhing uselessly. "Please..." He whined in protest, but Vantè was too far in to stop now. Not when he was getting the sweet revenge he deserved.

Vantè's groan mingled with Rayan's agonized scream as the former dragged the scalpel up the latter's bare arm; a long line of red against pale skin, nearly unnaturally so. Rayan's head tipped back and rested against the wall as he sobbed shamelessly, breaths coming in shaky gasps and whines. Vantè's body shuddered, licking his lips. "God, I fucking love the sounds you make, they're intoxicating..." He purred, twisting the scalpel once more before pulling it out of the wound, blood already beginning to drip down Rayan's arm. Almost akin to the blood, his tears flowed over freely, his voice a soft whimper. "Please, please just- just stop..."

But his begging was useless. Vantè hummed in thought, before pouting sarcastically; theatrically, even. "Hmm, that needs to stay open. Can't have it healing over, can we?" Vantè's teeth locked around the bloodied scalpel, using his spare hand as he summoned a small retractor out of thin air. Rayan's eyes widened in alarm. "D-Don't- don't, p-please—"

Rayan screamed again as the retractor practically ripped open the wound, Vantè smiling as he locked it in place. "Ah, that's much better."

"I'm- I'm sorry, f-fuck..."

"Ah, what came next?" Vantè mused, grabbing the scalpel out of his mouth. "...Oh, right, cutting your fucking tongue off." He forced Rayan's mouth open with his other hand, beginning to slice his tongue off. Rayan screamed and sobbed and squirmed, but his attempts were futile.

The process was agonizingly slow — quite literally, too — and Vantè soon hummed the tune Rayan would use when torturing his own victims. Rayan's stomach dropped.

Vantè soon finished slicing his tongue off, and with a sickening grin, shoved it down Rayan's throat. Rayan resisted this, shaking his head which only caused his nausea and fatigue to worsen. Vantè's grin faltered for a fraction of a second.

"Swallow, boy." He ordered, his voice threateningly calm. Still, Rayan persisted. Vantè's voice became more smooth; not reassuring, but hypnotic, in a way.

"Oh, come on, don't be shy. It's almost over, anyway, I might consider making it quick if you do as you're told."

At that, Rayan reluctantly swallowed. He whimpered, which caused a flare of pain in his mouth, but he didn't care. Everything hurt, and his vision was blurred from tears he daren't shed.

Vantè smiled. "Good boy," he purred, lifting the scalpel up to the tattoo on Rayan's neck: a dotted line, with the text: "cut here". It was simply poking fun at Rayan's only weak spot due to his immortality, which made this moment all the more better.

Vantè slit Rayan's throat without so much as batting an eye.

—> —> —> —> —> —> —>

—> —> —> —> —> —> —>

*I discussed this with Wynter whilst actually writing this!! when we originally came up with this concept, Rayan was mortal, and I wanted to incorporate the whole immortal malarkey even though Vantè slit his throat. so, we came up with a compromise: Rayan has only one weak spot that causes him to die: being slit in the throat. his tattoo is there to basically highlight that ig- but yeah :3

[jaggedwolf]

pll rewatch 1x19

you get a date, and you get a date, and everybody gets a date, oh, and spencer has a bad time (but also a date).

we start with the girls at the police station with their parents. none of the girls mentioned spencer's thing with ian in their interviews, and the parents mostly seem to believe the girls have been pranked

garrett reynolds is introduced as a former neighbour of emily, and I have no memory whether him being a neighbour is important.

like, important neighbours: emily-toby, spencer-alison. vaguely implied neighbours but it doesn't really matter: hanna-aria.

Aria: Whoever said the truth will set you free never met A. Emily: Jesus. The girls: -give Emily confused looks- Emily: It's from the Bible; Jesus said it.

Is Emily religious? The Fields do seem the most likely family of the Liars to go to church, though even then my take is that Pam tried the local churches when they first moved to Rosewood, occasionally goes/volunteers to one of them, but doesn't really gel with any of them.

Paige is such a bad liar, her saying she "had to visit her aunt. She's old." has made me doubt that she even has an aunt. She has apparently been swimming nights to avoid seeing Emily - this suggests that normally they do their outside-of-practice swims at the same time at school

Toby is so scared of Jenna that he will go spend money on a motel room just to get away from her being mad at him, and then starts suspecting she's at the motel too. ...I can't really make fun of him for this, given his entire history with Jenna

Ezra bugging Aria with a dozen questions on Jenna really annoyed me. If you are going to date your student, can you at least consider not getting information about your other students out of her? No?

Caleb is so :D :D :D now that he's dating Hanna that he forgets to put down the toilet seat in the house, leading to Ashley finding him and kicking him out. Caleb slinks off wordlessly while Hanna makes references to Ashley's own difficult youth.

Paige leaves Emily a note, which my friends initially think is an A-note, unlike me and my unnecessarily thorough memory of all Paige-related scenes. She 100% could have texted Emily, they have each other's numbers, but I enjoy that her instinct is note in locker. Huh, hold that thought for later.

The karaoke bar is called "Hungry Owl Tavern". Good name.

I like their little conversation here and that Emily for no reason offers that she was in love with Alison. I mean, once your unreciprocated crush got outed by a dickbag cop to your friends, just start telling it to your dates I guess.

Paige's response to this fun fact is "She seemed like a very dynamic person" which is an incredibly diplomatic way to describe Alison Dilaurentis. I must give her credit for this, she is not someone who is naturally tactful.

Paige is much more relaxed here, and the one upside of this season's terrible haircut is that we get to see it become more casual as she does too. Karaoke ensues after Paige goads Emily into it.

Hanna gets laaaaid after Caleb learns she went to fat camp and Hanna learns his mom walked out on him. Good for her, she does deserve to be the first liar to get laid given how much she wanted it at the beginning of this season

Enjoyed Hanna being a whiz at camp set-up and city boy Caleb being spooked at every sound in the woods.

Spencer is very cute when hopped up on caffeine talking about spy apps on her phone, and when miffed at losing Scrabble

Toby's abs are so defined they are starkly visible in the night-time, I'm scared. This is why Spencer loses her mind at seeing him in the bathroom.

Emily and Aria hang out in Emily's room not not talking about their dates, a scene I'd forgotten about. I am slightly tempted to track scene counts of the liar subsets to see how big the actual imbalance is vs fandom's perception of it.

Anyway, I do have a soft spot for Emily and Aria hanging out, they have a much quieter energy to their scenes.

Picnic time! I forgot that the karaoke and the picnic were in the same episode, let alone on sequential days.

Emily is very good in her conversation with Paige here - Paige's panic makes sense here, given everything we know about her dad, and it is a real thing that if you are known to be gay it puts people of the same gender who are close to you under suspicion, even for innocent interactions

And Emily makes an excellent choice for herself here going nah, I feel good about who I am now, I remember when I didn't and the act of pretending or hiding would make me feel bad again.

I think S1!Emily doesn't get enough credit, honestly, even at the start she's got more of a backbone than the freshman year version of her does

My unasked for opinions on how much the liars change between Alison's disappearance and the start of canon: Emily looks the same but is different personality-wise, Aria looks different but is the same personality-wise, Hanna has changed in both regards, and Spencer Hastings Will Never Change She Is Eternal.

Also eternal is Spencer's parents being dickbags, because their response to finding out their daughter is a person of interest and that their grown son-in-law macked on their 14/15-year old daughter is to go "Spencer!! How dare you not tell us!!!!" instead of "Ian! Get the fuck off our property before I sock you in the jaw!"

Ashley invites Caleb to stay permanently and asks him to call her Ashley instead of Mrs Marin - I'm not sure we ever see him do so. Caleb goes off to make a mysterious call where he says he's not helping anymore...

Best A message: A leaving a bag of ice with the message YOU'RE GETTING COLDER. Literally just knew they were getting obsessed with 214 and decided to drive Spencer nuts about it. Classic.

[catholicdaredevil]

we don't have any grapes || soap & shine

here is your first blurb of the soap and shine series!!! this is just me and soap being menaces!!!

words: 678

gif: @shadow0-1

ao3 link

-

ghost pushes open the front door to the shared apartment he has with soap to see them sitting on the floor of the living room together. soap and ezra mirror each other on the soft beige carpet, legs tucked up under them as they stare each other down.

it isn’t until he’s closed the door and locked it, starts walking into the room with heavy tired footsteps, that ghost notices the small pile of ammo that is laid out between the two. they’re so focused in on each other he isn't even sure if they've noticed he’s home.

it shouldn't surprise him, in fact by this point nothing the two of them do should. but despite the many times he’s learned the lesson not to– the hard way, always the hard way– ghost asks for clarification.

“what in fucking hell are the two of you doing?” he grumbles, kicking his shoes back towards the door behind him as he glares down at them both.

ezra looks up with a sparkle in their eyes that couldn't possibly be a good thing, their mouth turning up at the sides and ghost can feel the headache coming on before they even begin to speak.

“you know that game where you try to fit more grapes in your mouth than the other person?” their voice lilts with the anticipatory question. meanwhile soap is refusing to look away from them, digging down into his weak attempt at intimidation.

“i already regret asking and i know i’ll regret answering this too, but yes.” ghost towers over the smaller two, silently wondering what he did in a past life to deserve the kind of stress the duo puts him through.

there isn't a knife in the house that hasn't been put into a wall, table, or person. most of them even have all three on their scorecard. ghost longs for the days when soap was a little scared of him, the days before ezra came along and took one look up at the man a foot taller than them and decided to make his life hell with the accompaniment of his best friend.

simpler calmer times.

“yeah, well, we don't have any grapes.” ezra explains, nose scrunching under the strain of holding in their laughter. 

ghost can feel his sigh move the entirety of his body and he allows himself one moment of concern before remembering that he has the misfortune of you both being the most unkillable bastards alive.

“tal in the room?” he questions ezra before they turn back to their partner and unnecessarily dangerous yet childish bet.

ezra nods quickly, “he said he didn't want to watch us get lead poisoning.”

ghost groans, reaching a hand up to pinch the top of his nose before turning on his heel and stomping towards his bedroom to join his boyfriend. the boyfriend who clearly is the smarter of them as ghost already knows tal didn't let himself get roped into any questions or associative guilt.

“johnny, my love, you’re going fucking down and when you do, you're gonna do the dishes for a month you stupid bastard.”

he hears ezra's voice one last time before pulling open his door and laying eyes on tal. the stress of his day and the insane couple having a mental showdown in his living room melting away at the domestic sight of his partner curled up under the blankets and leaning back against the headboard with a book in his lap.

it isn't until the next day that ghost even allows himself to think about the previous nights actions and it doesn't take long to find out the results without falling into the trap of asking.

it’s certainly not hard when he steps into the kitchen and soap is standing in front of the sink with a maid apron on and a dejected pout pulling his lips down.

as wild as soap is, there's only one person in the world who can match his feral and untamed energy, if not surpass it entirely. 

so unsurprisingly, ezra had won.

[sevlawless]

i was tagged by @masonscig and @veeples to do this oc thing! LMFAO i'm tagging @syfynjvall @cadetzarneki and @farahhauville pls tell me abt ur oc's <3

FAVORITE OC: you already know i fear ... LMFAO it's ara fucken bella love of my LIFE she is so precious to me even tho i know if she was real she would hate me

NEWEST OC: i think it's alyssa ! i made her for twc .. crickets i just wanted a dummy to romance a because only a dummy would put up with their delusional ass and because the dynamic of "of all people to fall in love with and im in love with the dumbass" LMFAO i eat it up!

OLDEST OC: it definitely has to be amy (from choices, bloodbound) she was just the one mc where i was like i HAVE to flesh her out and make up little scenarios abt her in my head <3 her and adrian are out there somewhere thriving but if i start thinking abt them too much i'll start spiraling so moving on!

MEANEST OC: has GOT to be arabella! she will tell you abt yourself quickly if you annoy her and she won't ever apologize for hurting your feelings because that's on you for getting upset!

SOFTEST OC: felicity most definitely 🥺 my sweet sensitive babygirl she is so kind and caring to everyone even if they've wronged her and she is absolutely better than me! hopeless romantic too .. she's just the epitome of softness

MOST ALOOF MC: i would say ezra (from choices, crimes of passion) it's canon that they don't really let people in and only really focus on doing their job which isn't healthy but oh well! LMAO trystan has definitely helped in making them not as cold and distant so progress! it's giving growth 🤩 (crimes of passion 2 comes out in 2 days im gonna go insane can i get an AMEN)

DUMBEST OC: alyssa 😭 poor girlie .. she joined the police bc she thought it'd be easy .. never passes her stat checks .. always on the brink of death.. she deserves better than the universe she's stuck in currently

SMARTEST OC: violet! she's my super smart science girlie in twc <3 i would love to stick her in another if where she can be all science-y and show off her brain so if anyone has recs 👀

OC I'D BE FRIENDS WITH: i think me and felicity would be besties just bc we are so alike <3 honestly i would get along with any of my oc's except arabella LMFAO she would break my heart and i would never recover

[sketchy-rosewitch]

A Raven and Pigeon: Ezra x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, sleep Drugs, needles, reader has scar on their nose, little angst. Happy ending tho.

Masterlist

A light shift is found in the bed. Your eyes tiredly open, you smile sadly.

“Leaving already.” You rasp, staring at the figure in the dark sitting at the edge of the bed, the stars illuminating around him.

“Unfortunately… You know I’ll be back in three cycles little pigeon.” The man gets up and begins gathering his belongings. You sigh dramatically as if that would ever change his mind about leaving.

You adjust yourself so you’re in the middle of the bed, as if the bed always hosted one person. He stares down at you, you smile. “You have it right?”

“Always.”

It sits on the bedside table, your side, the right side. A syringe filled with a sleep inducing drug. He bought it before he came here. He always does. Makes you sleep for three cycles. You’ll wake and he’ll be here, like he never left.

“Can you put it in, you know I hate doing it myself.” You slowly blink.

“Of course.”

You fold your arm over so the palm is facing up, he takes the syringe and sticks the needle in your fossa. You stare at it the entire time, watching the liquid drain out of it. He does too.

He dumps it in the trash once he’s done and crouches down at your level, caressing the side of your face with his calloused hands. You sigh dreamily.

“I love you pigeon.”

“I know raven.”

Your eyes flutter shut, you try to keep them open to get another look at the beautiful man, it’s hard. So you no longer fight it.

“I’ll see you in three cycles.”

Silence.

-

You look around you. It’s a bright and beautiful day. You’re sitting on a bench in the park. You wait for him. Ezra. Your love, your raven. He’s supposed to be here, you two will walk around and then get some food.

He walks towards you, the little blond hair shining in the sun, the rest of his hair highlights in the sun. You look at him lovingly and stand up, he practically runs the rest of the way, his boots lightly tapping the concrete. He lifts you and spins you around.

“Ezra! How was work?” You laugh, he kisses your scar and smiles down at you.

“Better than it has been. I got a raise!”

You give him a deep kiss. “Well I think that deserves some ice cream!”

You take his hand and you two walk down the sidewalk. Cars honk, birds chirp, but you’re only focus is Ezra. Everything Ezra. He’s a divine creature in your eyes. You’d never ever let him go.

-

“Ezra!” You laugh. He grazes his lips over your neck and tickles your sides as you lay on the couch. You wiggle uncontrollably and nudge him trying to tickle him back. He chuckled and pecks his lips all over your neck and face.

“My darling pigeon.” He mumbles. You hum.

“My beautiful raven.” You run your hands through his soft hair, then down his face, then to his chest. “Isn’t it nice having the week off..”

“Extraordinary… especially with you.”

-

“Ezra?” Your eyebrows knit together.

His body stumbles in, he falls and lets out a groan. You rush over and turn him over, his right arm is gone. You gasp. “Ezra?!”

“It’s nothing.” He mumbles. A girl walks through the door. She looks about 10-12 years younger than you.

You’re confused.

“I’m Cee.”

Ezra gets up as if nothing had happened.

-

Your eyes flutter open. You sigh softly and look around. “Ezra?”

The room is dimly lit, you can see him though. His arm is missing too. You gasp. “Ezra!” You scramble out of bed, and towards him. “What happened?” You sigh sadly.

“I was shot… had to be amputated pidge.”

“Is Cee here?”

Ezra furrows his brows. “Yes.. but.. how did you know about her?” His head tilts. You look down, then back up.

“I had a dream… about your arm, about her. You two came back to me.” You explain softly, your thumbs run across his cheekbones.

“I see, she’s here, but I have to tell you something.” You feel his heart pick up speed. He guides you two your bed and you two sit. “The aurulec… we found a plentiful amount! We can sell it. We’ll move off of this atrocious freighter pidge. I can find a better job. I’ll only have to be gone for a few hours instead of cycles!”

Your eyes go wide. No more sleeping, no more waiting. A reality is being made from your dreams. You stare at your raven with his blond speck of hair. “And the girl?”

“Yes, come meet her. Would you be okay with us being her guardians?” Ezra asks, guiding you towards your unused small livingroom. She sits on the couch.

“Of course.” You walk up to her and kneel down to her. You introduce yourself, she looks at you and smiles shyly.

“Your name is beautiful. Come on let’s go get some dinner.” You take her hand.

-

You take your clothes of and throw them in a hamper, Ezra doing the same as you, then guiding you backwards into your small bathroom connected to your bedroom. He kisses around your neck and shoulders. Then your scar.

“I missed you Ezra.”

“I missed you more little pigeon.”

You start the shower. “That would probably unfortunately be true.. you had to stay awake thinking about me. I got to dream all day and night about us being together.” You kiss his lips and step into the shower, pulling him in with you. You kiss him roughly, licking his lip, he opens his mouth. You sigh into his and he starts kissing your skin, he grabs shampoo and hands it to you to open. You do just that and squirt some into your hands and his. You scrub out the dirt and grime in his hair, he does the same to yours. You take your body wash and rub his shoulders, arm then down his stomach. It tenses lightly, you smile softly and look up at him.

He does a similar pattern, everything washes out and he feels up and down your body. You pant a little. Ezra turns you around and makes you bend down, you hold onto the wall and soap dish. Water runs down your body, he licks up your folds. Your breath shakes and you moan lightly. His hand grips your thigh and he licks roughly, hitting your clit. “Ezra.. fuck Ezra that feels so good.” You whine out. Your words encourage him to suck. Your body can’t help but back into him begging for more. It feels so good.

“Ezra… Ezra! I’m gonna cum. Fuck Ezra..”

He quickens his tongue and your eyes roll to the back of your head. You let out a whine as your body shakes.

You pant, he stands up. “Come on pigeon. I’m not done yet.” He whispers into your ear. You nod and get out, he turns off the water behind him and grabs your towel and his. You dry off and quickly make your way to your bed.

Your upper body hovers over Ezra’s, legs on either side of his hips. You grind down and mumble into his neck. He starts to pant and moan. “Pidge please.”

You smile into his neck and sit up, holding his cock he pushes up into your cunt. You cry out, a tear going down your face. It felt so good to be stretched out. You start to ride him.

He feels you up and down and moans. Everything about this was amazing. “You feel so good. So good little pidge.” Your heart swells and your cunt clenches making Ezra moan louder. “I’m gonna cum. Fuck…”

“Please cum in me.” You beg, he nods. You start riding faster, and he pushes against you. His back arches as he groans, digging his nails into you. You feel your walls being coated with cum. You continue riding, he moves his middle finger to your clit and you cry out. You legs shake and eyes again roll to the back of your head.

He pulls out and you fall gently next to him.

“Pigeon…”

“Raven..”

He takes your face and gently kisses your nose scar. You kiss his lips. “You’re here to stay.”

“Always, I never wanna leave you again.”

[trentshaw]

( timothy olyphant/aaron taylor johnson, cis male, he/him) — Look who it is! If you take a look at our database, you’ll find that TRENT JOHN SHAW is a FORTY-SEVEN/THIRTY year old CRIME SCENE CLEANER that’s been in Chicago for SIX MONTHS. According to the file, they’re a mutant on LEVEL 3 with the power of AGE SHIFTING. That must be why they’re COMPELLING and COCKY. If you ask me, they remind me of worn leather jackets with patches, bandaids covering bruised knuckles, the scent of cedarwood and spices. They are affiliated with NOBODY. 

basics;

FULL NAME: trent john shaw NICKNAMES: tj GENDER: male BIRTHDATE: november 25th SPECIES: mutant  AFFILIATION: neutral

personality;

ALIGNMENT: chaotic neutral  ZODIAC: sagittarius MBTI: entp  POSITIVE TRAITS: optimistic, funny, honest, confident NEGATIVE TRAITS: disorganised, painfully blunt, short-tempered, arrogant

backstory;

CHILDHOOD/TEENAGE YEARS:

trent was born and raised in ireland with his mother, jolene, and father, dickhead shaw. 

he grew up in an abusive household which wasn’t easy, but jolene loved him fiercely. she tried to protect him as best she could, but that meant being on the receiving end of his father’s temper rather than trent.

he was a good kid who was more like his mother than his father. soft, kind, generous, and loving — all traits his father beat out of him.

school wasn’t easy for trent. he had bruises that he had to explain away to his teachers. he was lying from a very young age to protect his family. it was a lot of pressure to put on a kid’s shoulders. he did it for his mom. 

as if the stress at home wasn’t bad enough, dickhead dad cheated on his mom and got another woman pregnant. trent was pissed.

baby ezra is born and trent is suddenly a big brother. he swaps between homes to spend time with his dad, even though he doesn’t want to. he loves ezra, though, and wants to bond with him. he likes his dad’s new girlfriend, too. she’s too good for him. 

trent discovers his powers randomly. when he was a teenager, he had a dream about being an old man. when he woke up, he was 70 years old and looked like captain america joe biden. he kevin mcallister screamed and ran downstairs. his mom smacked the shit out of him with a broom and called the police. ezra was visiting that weekend and found it hilarious.

his mom found him someone to help control and understand his mutation. she was always doing her best to help him. she tried to get help for ezra, too. trent had a feeling there was no helping that little chaos kid, though. 

trent beat up dickhead dad one day for yelling at ezra. he went into protective big brother mode. jolene had never been more proud.

he graduated from school at 16. he passed his gcse’s (barely) and went on to work at a local butchers shop. life was smooth sailing, if you didn’t count the things ezra got up to, and the trouble he caused within the family.

ADULTHOOD:

as he grew older, trent developed a taste for violence. the effect his father had on him growing up was starting to show.

killed his first man at 20. used the butchers shop where he worked to dispose of the body. 

jolene died from a stroke when trent was 22. it broke him. he grew angry and vengeful. started fights for no reason whenever he was at bars. looked for trouble wherever he went. never got caught because he could change his age and look completely different to the man on cctv.

dad died. he didn’t give a damn. in fact, he celebrated.

life for the next few years was violence, alcohol, drugs, killing assholes he’d read about online and in newspapers. some people simply deserved to die. if the law wasn’t going to rid the world of scum, trent would.

he had his fair share of girlfriends and boyfriends over the years. none of them really meant anything to him. he was looking for company rather than someone to settle down with.

he moved around england. from ireland to london, from london to manchester, from manchester to kent. he worked various jobs to keep himself afloat. 

met meghan when he was 37, had a steady relationship with her for years. she announced she was pregnant a few years later, then came their bundle of joy, dotty.

things were great for the first couple of years. they were a happy family and trent really did try to a better man. it wasn’t good enough, though. meghan left him for someone else. she left dotty, too. she hadn’t really ever wanted to be a mother, preferring late nights and partying. 

it was trent and dotty against the world, and that’s the way it will always be. she’s everything to him. the only thing that matters. he worked his ass off to provide for her.

when dotty turned four, trent moved to the states. he knows that ezra was sent away by the family and is living somewhere in the states, but he thinks the likelihood of bumping into him is zero. besides, he loves his brother. it’s just his behaviour he hates. he can’t have that around dotty.

america can provide more opportunities for both him and dotty. he also had a friend living in florida who gave him work. trent worked as an alligator farm worker. it was great until he had a bust up with his friend and got fired.

moved to chicago six months ago with dotty. there was a job available as a crime scene cleaner and it pretty much called out to him. there’s nothing that can turn his stomach, and it’s great to have access to all the cleaning stuff when he goes on one of his rampages.

[heavenseed76]

The Sweater

Ezra/Prospect & Female OC (can be read as reader)

Summary: I made something for Ezra’s birthday - he deserves a gift

Just a fluffy thought I had.

Rating: T (mentions of heterosexual intercourse, nothing explicit)

It was difficult to hide, having only so much space and so much privacy, but I managed. I gave up a whole set of blacks to fit it on our next job on the Green Moon. This time it would just be Ezra and I, and I was thankful. We’d been on so many jobs together since we’d met, working with other prospectors, sometimes parties as big as six. We never had any time or privacy until this job.

We had thirty cycles before we were meant to catch the slingback. Thirty cycles to pull as many gems as possible from the belly of the Green before we took to the black again. Ezra’s name day fell in those thirty cycles, and I had already started on his gift. I swore to Kevva I would finish it. When Ezra told me he’d never been given a gift, I knew I had to rectify such a travesty.

“There is no greater gift than that of your heart, sweet thing.” He’d said with a smile. He was so humble.

But when my name day came, he woke me with his warm lips against my temple, stubble tickling my ear, a hot cup of real coffee in hand. “Happy name day, sweet thing.” He held a little origami box made of real paper in his other hand and he was blushing. “In all my years in the Green I have never found so rare a gem as you. It’s not much, but I fashioned it with my own hands. It is a trinket made from the pod where we first met.”

The tiny bulb from the dashboard of that pod still sits at the hollow of my throat, a constant reminder of Ezra’s eyes watching me pull apart the origami to find the trinket inside, sparkling with mischief and mirth, and not a small amount of trepidation. The thin leather cord holding it about my neck echoes his large, deft fingers tying it so it lay just right, admiring it where it rests on my skin. It wasn’t until later that I realized it’s placement was intentional as I caught his stare, half-lidded in desire as I keened above him, my gift dangling, and my coffee grown cold.

I’ve worked on it when he’s out of the pod. I’ve been able to get a few rows in when he’s entirely spent, rolling away from his hold and pulling it out from beneath our shared cot. I watch him sleep while my hands work. Years of prospecting, muscle memory kicks in and I can watch his broad chest rise and fall, never dropping a stitch. I wait until he’s showering to compare my work to his compression shirts to determine how long it needs to be, nearly ruining the surprise in the process.

He deserves this and more. This gift of time, my devotion to detail, just for him. No one has ever taken the time to give that to to Ezra. When he cares for something he shines it, cares for it like a precious gem. He holds me, loves me with reverence, delicate and fragile. I have never felt as precious and wanted as I do under his honeyed gaze. And the prose he whispers into my skin when he’s inside me… perhaps a tale for another day.

Being lovers and partners isn’t always easy. We argue. As verbose as he is, Ezra goes quiet when we’re at odds. We walk amongst the trees and vegetation in humid silence, stewing in our anger, hauling our tools back to camp. I want to talk.

“Ez. I’m sorry. I should have let you take the lead on this one. But I need you to trust my judgement. That’s all I want.” I say, leaving it be and starting to strip down to my base layers. I’ve said my piece.

Ezra just stands inside the tent, hands on his hips. He watches me. I can see the fight leave his body as he sees that I’ve moved on. I’m taking apart my air filter, taking off my boots, digging through the ration packs. He finally relents. When we both have hot food in front of us, he breaks.

“I’m sorry too, sweet thing.” He doesn’t meet my eye. “It was not like me to have raised my voice and I apologize. You deserve better from me. I vow to give you the courtesy of my time and attention if you’ll do the same. Our partnership can only work if our communication is clear. Agreed?” He looks up. He looks scared.

My smile always seems to soften him, to give him strength. “Yes, Ez. Agreed.” I reach for him and he reaches back. We hold on. He’s all I have on this Kevva forsaken moon.

Three days before his name day, he catches me marking off the days in my notebook. The sneaky bastard wraps those big arms around me and tucks his face into my neck from behind. He loves making me laugh. He can envelop me completely, I’m so much shorter and smaller than him. It makes harvesting in small spaces that much easier for me. “What in Kevva’s name are you doin’ with that, woman?”

“Just keepin track of the cycles.” I try to be nonchalant. It doesn’t work.

He spins me, face stern and worried. “What for?”

All manner of panicked thoughts go through my mind. And his.

“Please tell me your implant’s still creamy. I have no designs on parenthood, Sweet Thing. And, no offense, but I thought we were on the same page on this.” He’s dead serious, thinking I’m tracking my menstrual cycle, worried I’m pregnant.

I laugh until I cry, until my knees give out and Ezra has to bear my weight while I cough out the real reason. “Kevva, no! I’m counting down until your name day, Ez!”

“Thank fuck!” Ezra laughs. Then he thanked me right there on the floor of the tent for good measure.

I work on his gift until the night before his name day.

On his name day, I let him sleep in and wake him up by pressing my entire body against his from behind. He’s my safe, warm place and I can feel his heartbeat against my palm where I try to press him closer to me, wrapping an arm around his broad chest. I know he’s awake when he reaches back and grabs my thigh, knowing that what I want is friction and warmth. I place a soft kiss at his hairline, the top of his spine and watch the shiver as it moves down his body.

“To what do I owe this delectable wake-up call?” He asks, turning to me. I love when he pulls me closer and tangles our legs, like aurelac veins in the soil. His voice is raspy and low, still full of sleep. I can’t help but nibble that little patch of skin on his chin where his stubble never grows in. It makes him purr like an over fed cat.

“It’s your name day.”

He sighs dramatically. “Another day older, another day wiser.” He smiles tiredly and lets me play with that curious patch of blonde hair.

“I made you something.” I can’t hide my nervous pride. He pulls away to really look at me properly.

“A gift? What’s a more precious gift than having you at my side? I want for nothing now that I have you, sweet thing.” He’s deflecting; he’s nervous too. He’s blushing.

I bring my gift from under the cot, wrapped in a foil heat blanket and tied with a length of the brown yarn I used, the last few yards left, in fact.

“I didn’t have a box.”

Ezra sits up on the cot and regards the package with a raised eyebrow. He slowly opens it, the lump of brown falling unceremoniously into his lap. He holds it up between us. I can’t see his reaction.

“You made this with your own two hands?” His voice is reverent, a near whisper.

“I hope it fits. I had to guess the size and compare it -”

He jumps off the cot and tugs it on, his broad chest disappearing behind the intricate cables and stitches, the sleeves wrapping his biceps in wool and time and patience. He looks down at himself, wearing only the sweater and his boxer briefs, then up at me, his eyes sparkling, smiling like a goon. “I think it fits perfect.” He says.

And it does.

[lowlights]

Quarantine with Javi G

This is for my friend @ezras-channel-rat, who deserves some soft Javi G. This is all fluff. Reader is female and short.

-

There were worse places to quarantine, you suppose. You were still getting used to the idea of Javi’s mansion also being your home, but you were settling in nicely.

You had been exposed at a work function, and although you were experiencing no symptoms you were still upset. This was the fourth time this has happened, and you were beyond over it.

“Just quit, mi alma,” Javi begs you when you tell him again that you had been exposed and by extension, so had he. He had insisted that you work remotely as much as possible, but some things you just couldn’t get out of.

“I don’t want to quit, Javi. I just want people to take it seriously.” You look down at your hands, thumbs twirling as they do when you’re anxious. Javi recognizes the action immediately and leans across the couch to take your hands in his.

His face is concerned as he looks at you. “Please, do not be sad. If anything happens, I will get the best doctors in the world here. You will want for nothing, I swear it.”

You smile sadly and look up at him. “I know you’ll take care of me. That’s not it. I’m sorry that I exposed you. Again. Dammit.” Javi moves over to you, wrapping his arms around you fully. You feel him tug on you and let him pull you into his lap, where you comfortably curl up. He holds you against him as he gently peppers kisses all over your face, from your forehead to your cheeks to your lips. All the while, he is murmuring to you in Spanish.

“I do not worry for myself, mi alma. I only care about your health.” He kisses the tip of your nose, which makes you smile. “Are you sure you won’t quit? You could work on your own here, I will get you everything you need.” Javi has always supported that you wanted to work, he just didn’t want you to have to work during the pandemic.

You stopped to consider this. Maybe you should just work from home, at least until all of this was finally over. You went back and forth with yourself: there was a way that you could do what you loved and work independently, but you never wanted to make Javi feel as though you were using him for his money.

“Mi alma, you would not be taking advantage of me. You must know by now that I live to take care of you. You can work! You can do whatever you like! Just please, let it be here where we can be safe together,” Javi begged, holding you tightly to his body. “Please, mi alma pequeña.”

You were powerless when Javi looked at you like he was right now, eyes wide and pleading. Javi loved with his entire being, something you had figured out very soon into your relationship. He wasn’t being controlling or promising sweet lies to you when he offered these things.

He just wanted to take care of the most precious thing in his life.

You nod your head yes, and Javi leans down to kiss you in between his excited smiles. He is already rambling about converting an entire wing of the house to be your workspace. You just lean your head against his should and listen to his animated chatter. You feel warm, but you know it’s not a fever. It’s your love for him.

Yeah, there were definitely worse places to quarantine.

-

A/N: Can we all go quarantine with Javi G?

[pitaparka]

when he’s sick headcanons

note — can you tell i was in a francisco morales mood when i wrote this? also, i’m incredibly soft. i just wanna hold them :’( also also send me your  own headcanons!! i wanna hear ‘em!! big love <3 - nat

MANDO

- he doesn’t know how he survived all those bouts of sickness alone when you step in to help him for the first time

- his body aches, and not the usual after-bounty-capture either

- his head is foggy, he can feel the sweat in his helmet, and his breathing is hard

- he can’t tell if it’s coming through the modulator, but when you bring soup up to the cockpit for him, he knows you know

- he takes it gratefully, knowing that if there was nobody else here he would have just gone to bed to sleep it off, dinner vetoed for the night

- your cold fingers wrap around the back of his neck, moving his cape as you do so, and he melts into you

- he doesn’t know that he lets out the smallest whimper when you do this, and it makes you want to tear off his helmet, pull him into your arms, and hold him until he’s better

- but you can’t, so you settle for a hand on his neck, and the tilt of a helmet when he drinks the soup in front of you, as requested

- he definitely has a fever, and maker knows what else

- so you tell him to get some rest, that you’d watch the ship and get him if anything went wrong

- you supervise him down the ladder, just in case, which he finds funny and sweet

- you wish you could squish into his bunk with him, but you don’t want to invade on his personal space, especially while he’s hot and sick

- you you settle into the cockpit, the ship on cruise control, and you check on him every once in a while, keeping grogu occupied and quiet while he gets some well deserved rest

EZRA

- you knew he would get it

- right after you recovered from your illness, he started displaying symptoms of the same one you had just gotten over

- shortness of breath, fever, aches, lethargy

- he had taken such good care of you, so it was only fair that you’d do the same in return

- resources were sparse and quarters were cramped on the green, but you did what you could to make him as comfortable as possible

- his feverish back was pressed up against your chest in a cot designed for one after he’d stripped down to his underwear to avoid overheating

- he really enjoyed you being the big spoon sometimes, and now was one of those times

- when he got too hot from your shared body heat though, you would sit on the floor next to the cot and stroke right behind his ear to get him to fall asleep

- you made sure he ate as much as he could keep down, and you gave him all the fluids you could spare for his speedy recovery

- it broke your heart to see your usually verbose boy so quiet and in pain

- he muttered fever nonsense to no one and whimpered in his sleep

- you moved your cot directly next to his in order to keep a close eye on him

- but you knew that with time he would heal, and that as soon as he started talking to you again he was getting better

FRANKIE

- he sweats through the sheets next to you in the early hours of the night

- you’re the one who wakes up first, and you honestly thought one of you had wet the bed because of how much liquid there was

- but you realize that it’s frankie, back drenched and sweating out whatever flu he had acquired from whoever he had gotten it from

- you wake him from what seemed to be a not great dream anyway, and when he realizes what happened, he apologizes, groggy from sleep and illness

- “no, no! i’m not mad, frankie, you just can’t sleep in this sweetheart. you’ll get more sick. how are you feeling?”

- he curls up deeper under the covers and you get out of bed to kneel next to him

- your hands card through his matted, sweat soaked hair, and you wipe the drops from his jaw

- “do you want a cool shower, baby? you’re soaked.” you suggest, but frankie is so out of it

- he was fine last night, you remember

- sure he didn’t eat dinner, and went to bed early, but you thought maybe he had a late lunch and a long day

- now, helping him out of bed to the shower, you understand that it was early onset symptoms of whatever he was battling

- he pressed heavily to your side and you’re nervous as you strip him down and get him into the tub

- he sways, and you’re not sure what you’ll do if he passes out, or hits his head, so you sit him down, take off the shower head, make sure the water coming out is room temperature, and you run she showerhead over his overheating body

- you’re careful not to get any water in his face and ears, and you don’t wash his hair, just his body with a gentle soap

- you figure this is one of the only times frankie will let you take care of him like this, so you milk it for all it’s worth

- you blow dry his hair on a low setting, just in case he has a headache, you change the sheets of your bed, you lay him down on his side and you bring him close to your chest

- which is how he falls asleep for the next few nights until his illness eventually subsides

WHISKEY

- he curls up in your lap on the couch as soon as he gets home from work, which is how you know something’s wrong

- but you ask him anyway

- “i don’t feel so great, sugar,”

- which scares you, because did he get drugged? is this just a regular illness? is this like a biowarfare mission gone wrong?

- you leave him to get the thermometer, and when you come back, he’s got sad eyes looking up at you that just break your heart

- turns out, it’s not biowarfare. just a fever of 100.4

- you slip your hands up the back of his shirt and it’s so warm, along with his forehead

- he moans weakly at your touch, worn and tired from his extensive mission that day

- he’s definitely been overexerting himself

- as you settle back onto the couch, he settles into your lap again

- you let him rest for a while, but not after long, you realize he’s fallen asleep, and you’re stuck there for god knows how long

- you turn the volume down on the tv just in case, and you stroke behind his ears and you play with his fingers

- it’s best to just let him sleep it off, and you're not opposed to letting him do it on your lap

- you imagine there are statesman resources you can use to help him, but if he’s feeling better after he’s slept it off, then maybe you won’t need to misuse them

JAVIER PEÑA

- you scared the shit out of him, knocking on his door like that

- in your blinding rage, filled with thoughts like “how dare he take the day off to bang hookers, to recover from his hangover, to generally be a hindrance to the fucking DEA,” you had not pondered the possibility that THE javier peña, was sick

- he’s pulling on a t-shirt just as he opens the door, wearing pajama pants, and it startles you to see him so disarmed and casual

- his eyes and nose are red, his hair is disheveled, and he looks... exhausted

- “wow, you look like shit."

- “i feel like shit,” he says, walking away from the door, sniffling

- you take this as an invitation in, and close the door behind you

- he collapses back onto his couch, where you assume he’s been all day, and wraps himself up in a thick afghan blanket

- his hands shake the slightest bit as he opens his lighter to ignite his cigarette

- you take a seat next to him and help him with his lighter, and he nods his thanks to you

- “you’re gonna be late,” he mutters, taking the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out smoke into his apartment, coughing it out halfway

- “i’ll call out,” you offer, eyes wandering up his blanket clad body

- he closes his eyes and lets his head rest on the back of the couch

- “go in. i’m just gonna sleep it off anyway,”

- you lean in close to him and press your hand against his forehead and he freezes, staring at you

- you run your hand down his neck and feel his warmth, and he melts into your touch just a little bit

- you offer to only call out for a few hours to get him settled and make sure he doesn’t die or something, and he lets you, simply because he knows his illness will only get worse

- when your time is up and you have to go back to work, javi’s eaten, gotten some fluids in him, and taken some pain meds

- you let him know that he can call you if he needs anything, and before you even walk out the door is sleeping contently on the couch

MARCUS MORENO

- you find out he’s sick when he calls you, and asks for a favor

- “hey, can you do me the biggest favor ever?”

- he’s super congested. at first you think it might not be him because of how grainy his voice is

- “i hate to do this to you on such short notice, but would you be able to pick up missy? i’m not feeling too hot right now.”

- when you make it back to their home, it's very clear why he thought he wouldn't be able to make it

- he's curled up in bed, tissues piled on his nightstand, trying to get some sleep, but clearly failing

- he notices the two of you come in, and you quietly usher missy away to her own room to entertain herself while her dad tries to get some rest

- he thanks you for picking up missy, and you tell him you'd be there for him whenever he needed you to be

- you make a special phone call as you care for marcus, keeping his curtains closed and running your cool hands up and down his back and shoulders until he felt like he could fall asleep

- you let him know that you'll be right back, that you were going to pick up a few things for him and that if he needed anything at all, just call

- knowing your chicken noodle soup skills were rusty, your special phone call had been to marcus' mother's house, where she had tupperware containers full of soup waiting for you to pick up for him

- when you get back to his house with pain meds, gatorade, and the soup, marcus is passed out in bed

- you don't want to wake him up, but you have a hunch that he hasn't eaten all day, so you whisper his name softly and lightly shake him awake

- he's so grateful and only eats a portion of what he normally does, but anything is better than nothing

- and you don't want him feeling even more sick as a result

- you end up eating the incredibly nostalgic and rich soup with missy at the table and talk to her about your day while marcus gets some sleep

MARCUS PIKE

- it's only when you get home from work that you realize something's wrong with marcus

- he's asleep on the couch

- which would have been fine, if you had worked overtime, or had gotten out late, but it was only four thirty

- plus, you two had planned on going to see a movie you he was excited about tonight in theatres and maybe grab dinner after

- the tv plays lowly in the background, and he hasn’t changed out of his work clothes yet

- he startles when you close and lock the door, and rubs his temples, eyes squeezed shut in pain

- "marcus, are you okay?"

- "yeah, i'm fine." he tells you, and when you mention the date, he looks shocked that he forgot about it

- "oh my god, you're right. i can’t believe i forgot, i’m so sorry babe, i'll get ready right now."

- you tell him it's no biggie, but he insists

- after you've taken off your work clothes and showered quickly for your date, you realize the two of you are most definitely staying in

- he's promptly fallen back asleep on the couch, and he looks adorable

- you put on your pajamas and he does too, and you settle into the couch behind marcus, flipping through channels with him

- he says he doesn't care what you watch, as long as it's not too bright or loud

- so you choose some old black and white movie with the subtitles on

- normally you're the one between his legs, as he rubs your shoulders and plays with your hair

- but this time, he's curled up into you, his back pressed up against your chest, his head tucked into your shoulder using it as a pillow

- you figure you didn't really want to see the new movie anyway, and decide takeout and casablanca was a better way to spend your time with your sick boyfriend

MAX PHILLIPS

- a big baby

- but he IS a vampire and DOES NOT get sick, which slips your mind completely when you come home after some overtime and find him paler than usual on the couch, his head in his hands

- you try to get him to tell you what’s wrong, and he refuses, but he caves when you sit down next to him and start stroking his head, and playing with the hair at the base of his neck

- he tells you that after the whole vampire fiasco with the company, he was set for a while, and has been feeling great, but he hasn’t had human blood in so long that it’s made him weak

- he gives you a sad puppy dog look, and you know he’s being an asshole about it, but you hate to see the dark circles under his eyes or the color his skin turns when he’s like this

- so you oblige, but you give him STRICT instructions to follow, otherwise you won’t do it again

- don’t take more than a pint, don’t leave unnecessary bruises, if you use your safe word he has to stop immediately, and he has to make it as quick and painless as he possibly can

- he nods enthusiastically, and pulls you into his lap

- he nuzzles into your neck, and grabs your chin, anchoring himself to you

- he blows softly on your skin, and presses hard kisses to the area to get your blood flowing and disarm you

- which isn’t fair because he knows your neck is so sensitive

- it’s a sharp prick when he ejects his fangs into your body and you stop moving completely, your hand fisting at his shirt, just listening to your breathing and his soft moans echoed against your skin

- out of habit your rub soothing circles into his back, more to sooth yourself then anything

- minutes pass, and you start to feel light headed and are about to tell him to stop when he pulls away, grinning ear to ear at you

- he’s back on your neck in seconds though, licking and sucking the leaking blood from the small holes he’s left in your skin

- now that, that feels much better than the bloodsucking that was going on originally

- you jump when he presses soft kisses to the sensitive area along your throat and dives a hand between your legs

- looks like someone’s feeling better already

MAX LORD

- tries to power through it as much as he can with pain killers and cough syrups, but after he almost passes out at dinner after a week of symptoms, you beg him to take at least a day off to recover

- that morning, his hair is a mess, he missed a button on his shirt, and his tie was uneven

- he was about to put on two different colored socks when he begrudgingly obliges

- you unbutton his shirt and help him take off his tie

- it’s easy to bring him back to bed after that, and you let him hold you from behind like a teddy bear, no matter how uncomfortable his arm is shoved under your neck

- usually he likes to be held, but he can feel his own back burning up, so he decides to hold you instead

- he whimpers in his sleep, plagued by fever dreams and his traumatic past

- so when he wakes you up in the middle of the night, something he so very rarely does, you’re concerned

- “i’m sorry, for waking you, i just... i just need... you... i want—“

- it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he needs a hug

- you hold him and rub his back until he falls back asleep again, in your arms

- when he wakes up with a killer headache, you fight to keep him in bed again, rubbing his temples and pressing kisses to his forehead

- he falls back asleep in less than five minutes

- needless to say, one more day off couldn’t hurt

OBERYN MARTELL

- it’s not often than he gets sick, surprisingly, considering how close he gets to so many different people

- when you arrive at his chambers that morning, the guards seem keen on not letting you in

- you argue with them, but they insist oberyn didn’t want anyone in there

- you call them out, obviously upset and visibly frustrated when his doors creak open and you see him, in a robe, hair messy and pressed down to his forehead

- he quietly tells the guard to let you in, and you’re a little confused

- he sits down on his bed and looks up at you with guilty eyes

- “apologies, my love, but I don't want you to see me like this”

- you scoff and roll your eyes at him, moving in front of him

- you take his head in your hands, and he stares up at you

- “apology accepted, but i’m offended, my prince.”

- he scrunches his eyebrows and presses his chin to your stomach

- you run your hands through his hair and he brings his hands to your waist

- “you think mere illness could keep me away? keep me away from you?”

- his confusion melts into a small smile, and he lets his head rest against your belly as you pull him into you

- “can i get you anything, oberyn? wine, medicine?”

- “no, my love. just you is enough for me.”

PERO TOVAR

- wants to be left alone for the most part

- grumpy in general, and it doesn't get better when he's sick

- he'll let you wipe a cool cloth over his forehead and neck, and doesn't complain

- he says he doesn’t want you there because he doesn’t want you to catch what he has

- you know, survival rates are low for things like this at this point in history

- but really, like oberyn, he doesn’t want you to see him weak

- he’s afraid it’ll ruin your image of him in your mind

- william asks you to get some rest, as they can’t afford to risk more days at the campsite with sick travelers

- so you oblige, keeping your distance from pero, but you stay vigilant

- you stand guard for him for most of the night, listening to him breathe, watching his chest rise and fall, until you eventually fall asleep too

- but you’re up early, with the rest of the men, except pero, who sleeps well into daylight

- the rest of them take off, desperate to find something for dinner, but you stay back with him, stroking his forehead, a gentleness that’s rarely ever been afforded to him, listening to him ramble half in english, half in spanish, but he has your full attention

- it would be a rough few days until he recovered, but his muttered thanks and appreciation for you was more than enough for you to do it all over again if he ever needed you to

[fromthedeskoftheraven]

The way I’m holding you

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect) x female reader

Content: Kissing, morning cuddles, pure cavity-inducing fluff, Ezra getting the love (and the break) he deserves

Word count: ~870

Note: I finished something! Hope you enjoy! (also massive thanks to my beloved @keeper0fthestars without whom this wouldn’t exist, because encouragement is the best writing fuel)

Taglist (I only tag people who’ve asked, so if you’d like to be added or removed just say the word): @pedropascalito @songsformonkeys @emesispo @yespolkadotkitty @flightlessangelwings @keeper0fthestars @writemessystarwars @bestintheparsec @wille-zarr @maxiarapamaya @lv7867

------------------------------------

“I love you, Ezra.”

He’s stretched out on his back beside you, as contented as a cat in the thin rays of sunshine that stream through gauzy curtains. Broad shoulders test the limits of the narrow bed you share every night, tangled up in each other like a pair of climbing vines, unsure where one ends and the other begins.

Ezra turns to look at you with dark eyes gone soft, almost solemn. His fingertips trace a meandering path on your leg where it rests folded across his sturdy thighs.

His voice is a sleep-roughened rasp. “Petal, I must crave your indulgence to repeat that for me.”

You smile, move over him in a warm press of bare skin that makes the breath hitch in his throat.

“I love you.” It’s punctuated with a brush of your mouth over his own that finds his lips plush and yielding.

One strong hand finds the back of your neck, holds you as he surges up into the kiss, the corded muscles of his shoulders taut with the motion. It’s only when you’re breathless that he lets his head drop back to the pillow, the ghost of a smile dimpling his cheek.

“That a wastrel like myself should claim such a treasure,” he muses, calloused thumb stroking over your lower lip. “More precious than all the gems with which this fickle galaxy tempts a man’s soul.”

You shake your head, mock-scolding. “Call my lover a wastrel again, and I’ll fight you.”

His face lights up with a laugh, the sun coming out from behind the clouds when teasing twinkles in his eyes. “Consider me put in my place, pretty flower. Never let it be said that I should kindle the spark of righteous violence in our little haven.”

His chest is warm against your cheek when you lay your head over his thrumming heart to smile into his skin, press a kiss to his bereft right shoulder.

The apartment isn’t much, but it’s home and it’s yours. You’ve filled it with books and potted plants and the harmonies of your laughter and Ezra’s honeyed drawl, and after rootless years of scrabbling in the dirt to make other people rich, it might as well be heaven.

Ezra sighs heavily, a comfortable sound. His lone hand trails over your back, deft fingertips finding every pearl of your spine from neck to hips and back again.

You prop yourself up to sit, looking your fill of him.

His hair is tousled by his pillow into a mess of wayward, curling tufts, that little patch of spun gold a beacon in the chocolate brown. Fathomless eyes study you with quiet keenness, framed by lines born of smiles more than weariness, these days.

A strong arm and a broad chest speak to the manual labor of his life’s work, but there’s a new softness at his middle that warms your heart, means rest and home-cooked meals instead of too few rations for too many hours.

Your fingers stroke over the patchy beard that covers his jaw. Giving in to the usual impulse, you bend to drop kisses on the two spots, one on either side of his chin, where hair stubbornly refuses to grow. Beneath your lips, his cheeks plump with a smile.

“I cannot claim to understand your fascination with the unfruitful ground of my face, Petal,” he says, though his expression betrays his pleasure with it.

Stubble tickles your lips as you repeat the action. “Well...that’s where Kevva kissed you.” Kiss. Kiss. "After she weaved you together from stardust and stories, and wanted to show off her best creation.”

His smile widens, and is it the light, or has a flush crept over his neck?

“Now, that is a poetic notion.” His hand catches one of yours, brings it to his lips, trails a lingering kiss over your palm to where the blood sings in the delicate veins of your wrist. A flick of his tongue over the soft skin makes your pulse trip over itself. “My flower has quite a way with words.”

Warmth blooms in your cheeks with his caresses and his praise. “You would know.”

Ezra's hand slides up your arm to cradle the back of your head in his big, work-worn palm, coaxing you back to him to capture your mouth with his. He’s patient now, even leisurely, no edge of urgent desire flavoring his kiss even as his fingers move to skim feather-light over your skin. Lips meet, separate, come together again like the tide with the shore, tirelessly, eagerly, blissfully.

“I love you.” He breathes it into the air you share, hawkish nose nuzzling at your own. “Body and soul, Petal.”

Perfect happiness flutters in your chest, tingles in your limbs. Ezra is all the beauty you’ve ever craved, and he’s yours and you’re his.

You’re seized by a foolish wish to write a thank-you note to the crew leader who took one disparaging look at you and shuffled you off to team up with the one-armed prospector with a roguish grin and silver tongue.

Instead, you press a smile to his mouth, and another.

“And I love you, Ezra.”

[catholicdaredevil]

Ezra, I haven’t been taking care of myself and if you write me a fic of Foggy taking care of me, I’ll give you a big ole kith. Pretty please

bestie it is truly like this sometimes and no matter how hard it might be it is very important to take care of yourself to please take a quick break, drink some water, eat some food, and take your meds before carrying on

-

foggy steps into your shared bedroom, pressing a kiss to your forehead on his walk past the bed. "did you take your meds today?"

he can't hear your mumbled response from the closet, just the big sigh that racks your small frame. which is answer enough.

"i know it sucks, but if you take them everyday they'll work better babe." foggy talks through his usual routine of getting out of his work clothes, getting home and changing into sweats and a t-shirt almost immediately.

he comes back into the bedroom to see you staring down at your hands with a frown painted across your features. rifling through your bedside table he pulls out the necessary pill bottles and grabs the glass of water you keep next to the bed. he sits next to you, letting you lean up against his shoulder for comfort while he silently doles out your medication for you.

sometimes that's the hardest part, that first step of getting everything out and ready. you know you could ask him for help with it more often, but you already feel bad about being a burden on him and his time it feels wrong to as for even more.

if you ever voiced these feeling, he'd fight. argue. anything to convince you that there is never anything that he would rather be doing more than taking care of you. that he loves every moment he gets with you, adores being able to help and provide even the smallest of things. especially when it comes to your health, he's never so much as gotten frustrated at you cancelling plans no matter how last minute.

"here you go baby, take these." his voice is soft and gentle, coaxing you by degrees. you nod, taking the pills and glass from his hand and downing them in that order while he cleans the few things he'd grabbed up and puts them aside. "c'mere baby."

foggy lays down, pulling you with him into the comfort of fuzzy blankets and fluffy pillows that generously cover your bed. you're the one with the thing for lots and lots of pillows, using different ones in different seasons or with different moods.

meanwhile foggy's the one who wants every single blanket he's ever laid eyes on, twice if they're soft. so your shared apartment is scattered with an obscene amount of them; on your bed, on the couch, in the closets and cupboards. you've found one in the cabinets in the bathroom a couple times, not sure when it would ever be necessary but you neither have the heart to ask or move it.

foggy nelson loves to wrap you up, in the cozy fabric of clothes and blankets, in the warm arms of himself. so this is what he does, curls you around him with his hands at the bottom of your spine holding you to him. its a love and care you frequently don't think you deserve, certainly more than you've ever given yourself. and maybe that's why he gives it. because he knows you won't do it yourself.

but maybe it's just because foggy nelson loves you more with each breath he takes.