#ezra fluff

[alwaysmicado]

incomplete

2.2k | Ezra x gn!reader | one-shot

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

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

- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He clenches his fist, and closes his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[thatredheadwriter]

Snowed In

ezra x f!reader

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

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

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

Content Includes (but is not limited to):

Set in canon universe

post-movie Ezra (aka one-arm Ezra)

No mention of Cee

Snowed in with Ezra

petnames  (Junebug, bug, sweetheart)

Swearing

Slight D/s dynamics

Threats of orgasm denial

Oral (f receiving)

Fingering (f receiving)

Anal sex (f receiving)

Aftercare

Cuddly Ezra

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He seems to be contemplating something for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[imtryingmybeskar]

Inspired by this week's @writer-wednesday

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

Ezra x OFC. Word count: 1,495

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

Starman

Earthlings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” she said. “Open them.”

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

“This…you did all this?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could she ever refuse an offer like that?

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

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[morallyinept]

Reverence - A Ezra x Limb Prosthesis F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

Summary: A mysterious, vagabond man comes to your aid, and in return you show him some kindness. And over the course of a stormy night, you discover you both have more in common than just outward appearances.

Pairing: Ezra x Limb Prosthesis F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity, Reader does have hair, however. Reader has a prosthetic limb. She was born with an underdeveloped limb below the left knee. Reader's age is not mentioned, so you can determine/imagine it's you, if you'd like to, bub. Ezra is in his early-to-mid 40's.)

Word Count: 12.1k - because Ezra won't shut up. 🙃

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Triggers & warnings: Mentions and descriptions of limb loss/use of a prosthetic limb/Ezra is missing his arm/Reader is missing her leg below the knee/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) fingering/oral M & F receiving/there is no fetishising of limb loss here, it's real love/sex with very real bodies/an imagined world created within the Prospect universe/Ezra comes with a thesaurus

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

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

Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The condition/disability mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

The Pug is a skiv of a planet that seems to have been forgotten by time itself.

Its once-gleaming skyscrapers now stand as towering monuments to a bygone era; their facades stained with the grime of countless rotations. The feculent streets below are a tangled web of concrete and steel, where the lurid neon glow of Vayok advertising signs cast flickering shadows on the faces of the downtrodden masses.

The air of Puggert Bench is thick with the acrid stench of industry, a noxious cocktail of pollutants and toxic fumes that hang heavy over Noki District like a thick shroud.

The sound of machinery echoes through the streets, a constant reminder of the ceaseless churn of production that drives the small planet's rototiller economy, despite being nothing more than a mechanical layover for most passing through on freighters. 

Despite the harshness of its environment, Puggert Bench is a livable place of vibrant contrasts. Here, lander pods zip past rusting hulks of abandoned ship corpses, their sleek orbs cutting through the smog with effortless grace.

The cloud stream, blocking out the sun in a haze of burnt umber that chokes you when it sticks to the back of your throat, carries on the breeze through the air into your nasal cavity as you breathe in. When you blow your nose later, black shit will present itself to you in your tissue, unless you wrap up with a mask or scarf whilst outside.

For every gleaming skyscraper and bustling marketplace, there are a dozen dark alleys and forgotten corners where the lawless thrive. In the shadows of the city's turgid underbelly, criminal syndicates and black-market traders ply their illicit loot prospected from alien moons; their activities hidden from the prying eyes of the less-than-honourable authorities.

Everyone is fair game in this place.

A place, where walking by yourself late at night probably isn’t a wise idea, but when left with little choice as your shift runs over - again - you brave it head on, picking up your often wonky steps with a hurried pace.

You’ve walked this grimy thoroughfare countless times, memorising the way with muscle memory. You wrap your fraying scarf round your face, cutting out the tar that burns on your tongue.

A slight drag on your gait, an itch surfaces where the buckles rub at your skin around your left knee joint. You stop, pinching and digging your fingers in over your pants to tug out the relief from the burn of the itch.

With each step, you’re reminded of the weight that bears down upon you - the prosthetic limb pressing back against your prickly marred skin with a relentless intensity. The artificial joint, no matter how seamlessly it's been integrated with your body, still causes a continual dull ache that reverberates through your bones with every movement.

You can switch it off sometimes, but the hard pavement beneath you seems to magnify every twinge of discomfort, every jolt that sends shockwaves of thudding pain coursing through your remaining upper limb with every step you take.

You’re still toying with the idea of trading it in for a bionic model, but the foreboding cost and invasive surgeries to wire it into your nerves - that come with their own horrific testimonials of those who’ve had it done, and done badly - far outweighs any desired practicality. Instead you navigate life with the callouses and blisters, used to them being part of your daily routine.  

Slipping your fingers between the buckles offers minimal, sweet respite for a few blissful moments as you scratch, when suddenly, a hand shoots out from the darkness, grabbing you roughly by the arm and yanking you into a secluded alcove; the brick walls slick with the sweat of the city.

Before you can react, a gruff voice growls in your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

"Your credits. Now!" The assailant demands, his putrid breath hot against your neck as he presses a sharp object against your side.

Panic surges through your veins as you fumble for your wallet, your hands trembling with fear as you forget momentarily which pocket it’s in.

He shoves his hand in the pocket closest to him, rooting around in there uncouthly as you protest and struggle.

You’re both disturbed when a shadowy figure emerges from the darkness, with a quiet determination.

The newcomer is a man of imposing stature, his features obscured by the billowy hood of his tattered coat, and a facial scarf of his own that covers his nose down to his chin.

But what catches your attention most is the sight of his empty right sleeve, the fabric of his coat pinned haphazardly against his shoulder where his arm should be. 

“I’d rethink that course of action, unless violence with a matched counterpart is what you're getting at.” The man warns in a steady, yet rich Southern drawl. 

Your mugger mouths some regurgitated insult in Vayok. You don‘t fully speak it, but you know enough to know he’s mocking the obvious disability of the man, who simply chortles in response to a jibe he’s probably heard before.

But you're left wondering in bewilderment at how your apparent saviour will pull this off. 

“You assume this handicap is to my detriment? Are you sure you wish to find out how inaccurate that misinformed assumption is?”

Undeterred by his physical limitation, the man squares his shoulders, his gaze locks on the attacker with unwavering resolve; a pair of dark eyes shining defiantly in the dim light of the alley.

In a matter of moments, fisticuffs ensue. It happens so fast, you're unsure who threw the first hook. Seizing the opportunity, you break free from the thief's grasp and stumble away; your heart pounding in your chest as you watch the scene unfold before you. 

You watch helplessly as the man’s coat is torn where it’s previously pinned as they kerfuffle and tussle - the tear in the dirty fabric is deep. The one-armed man subdues your attacker, his movements fluid and precise despite his apparent infirmity.

But a surprise blow to the sternum knocks him down with a winded oof. 

The bolt pistol is revealed; gleaming chromatic and pearly in the night air as it falls from the coat pocket of the man and skitters towards your feet. 

A single squeeze on the trigger renders your attacker incapacitated, growling as he clutches his shoulder and stares up at you taking careful aim again. 

The thief stumbles backward, his grip loosening on the man completely as he struggles to regain his balance. He’s all teeth and spittle as you watch the one-armed man take his hand - that’s still holding onto your wallet - and bends it back at a sickening angle.

The assailant yelps with the slow, deliberate cracking. 

“Drop it, or I can assure you I’ll make it a more painful process than necessary.” The man warns.

The wallet clatters to the ground.

“Excellent. I suggest you hasten with speed to get your wound tended to, lest I change my mind about absolving myself from further violence.”

As the thief slinks away into the darkness, nursing his wounds and cursing under his breath, you turn to your saviour, your eyes wide with gratitude and dumbfounded admiration.

But he slumps down the wall clutching under his ribs, chest heaving. 

“In Kevva’s name, woman!” He snarls when he sees you still taking aim.

Taking little risk, you keep a grip of the pistol, primed and ready.

“Yes,” he nods, breathing in raggedly. “Best to keep your wits about you, Birdie. There are all manner of beasties out here who would relish a chance to get you.” He sniffs deeply. “But tell me, do you treat all your saviours with the same warm welcome or am I the exception?”

“Can never be too certain.” You remark with a shaky hand. "It's like you say, all manner of beasties."

He looks at you like a dog sniffing out the other; sniffing out whether you’re a threat to him or not. Dark eyes preened on you and unrelenting.

“Keep it steady, pet.” He motions to the blaster with a subtle nod. “A weak grip makes an opportunity easy to exploit.” 

You look at him suspiciously, two dark tar eyes regarding you back as he pulls down his scarf to breathe, and to show you his face for reassurance you assume, although the swampy air makes him cough and hack.

“Just some friendly advice.” He explains with a dull shrug. He sucks in air with a deep snort and spits out a globule of phlegm on the pavement. 

“The mistake you make is assuming we’re friends.” You confirm confidently, although there's a tremor to your tone. Your body feels like jelly as you try to steady yourself. 

“An underestimation I won’t make again, duly noted.” The man confirms as he struggles to stand upright himself. 

“Do you need a hand?” You put to him as he struggles with balance. 

He glares up at you with a rather repugnant look through cinched in brows. The two deep pits of his nostrils flare at you like black holes opening across the vacant universe that’ll swallow you whole.

“Sorry. Poor choice of words.” You quip, as you step towards his sneer. You remain steadfast with the bolt pistol, holding out your other hand. 

He mutters fast under his breath, growling, and you don't catch it.

"What was that?" You query, suspiciously, arming the pistol again.

“Timid threats from a quashed maverick. I’m no harm to you, pet.” He holds his only palm out to you.

You take it and pull him upright to his feet. He passes your wallet to you with thick, grubby fingers and you surrender his bolt pistol in return, albeit reluctantly.

You shudder and gasp out, feeling the unrelenting burn around your prosthetic make itself known again; the adrenaline subsiding in your body.

“Quell your snivels. You remain unsullied. I'd garner that a win.” He says simply, noting your watery eyes. “He was nothing but a hungry brute.”

“Quite the hero, aren't you?” You remark with a scoff at his barbarous contempt towards you.

“Don’t mistake me for a gallant knight, I’m far from that. More of a superfluous hooligan, but I’m still a man with a mere iota of sympathy and respect for the superior species when they find themselves in trouble.” He eyes you carefully as you wibble about on your feet. “You're just a slip of a thing, why are you out so late wandering? Are you lost, little bird?”

“No. My shift… it ran over. This is my usual route home when there's no shuttle.”

“Do you often find yourself in trouble’s embrace?”

”Won’t be the first time, I'm sure.” You mutter. 

“Unfortunate. I hear a surge-five is well on the way. Best be homeward.” He remarks with a click of his lips as he looks up at the glowering sky. The heavy swell of a incoming storm predicted is approaching in from the horizon in a cluster of almost onyx clouds.

His scowl softens as he looks back at you still trying to process the whole incident and remaining a little unsteady on your legs. 

“I expect you to denounce the offer, but walking you back to your quarters would seem prudent, given the errant situation. I know I appear as a stranger to you, so I’ll respect your wishes if you decline.”

You don’t hear his words as you focus on remaining upright, trying to process the events. 

“Oi. Woman. What say you?” He questions again, bringing you back to him.

“I can mend your coat.” You offer, fuzzing back in and your eyes fall on the large gaping flap on his right shoulder. 

He looks down at the sleeve you nod to and a growl erupts from his lips at the tear. “That will be unnecessary.”

“Do you have another coat?”

“No.” He gruffs. 

“Then it’s necessary.” You assert. “The surge-five is predicted to be harsh.”

He simply nods and drops his hood, shaking his head fully out from under it. An aquiline nose cuts a sharp line across his face, accentuating the aura of strength and intensity that surrounds him. But oddly, a small, messy blonde coiffure sticks out against his hairline, stark amongst a sea of dark oil-slicked tufts.

“I'm not holding out much optimism at your skill. The hole is quite impossible to simply mend.” He observes. 

“You let me worry about my skill. I accept your offer of chivalry. It’s kind of you, thank you.” You say, with a pertinent nod. 

“I’m not kind, pet, but the assumption is appreciated nonetheless.”

“Kind enough to walk me home and save me from losing my wage.” You tuck your wallet back into your jacket. 

“I have enough on my conscience to reconcile with, let alone the thought of a woman of your calibre making it home in one piece.” He tucks the bolt pistol away inside his coat. 

“My calibre?” You baulk.

“I meant it as a compliment, of course. Pretty thing like you out here is bound to attract some attention.” He says, eyeing your stance.

"Why are you out here anyway?"

“Minding my own. What’s your name, friend?”

You tell him and he nods. “Ezra.” He introduces. “I’m perplexed by your intentions.” Ezra replies flatly. 

“All I offer is some tea and some respite from the incoming storm.” You say. 

“Do you open your home to every vagabond you meet?”

“Only the charming ones.” You remark with a snort. 

You’re convinced you see a grin turn up his lips. “No quid pro quo? Nothing is free, Birdie. Smart women like you, you know this.”

“I am smart. I offer you some food and drink and to patch up your coat, that’s all. I know very well you’re a stranger and could harbour ill intent despite this heroic facade you've presented.”  

“It’s no facade.” He says with a frown. 

“Good, because I have no qualms in putting a bolt in you should you try to turn on me, we clear?” You warn with a satisfied smirk. 

"Been there, done that." Ezra eyes his stump with a wry grin before he rolls his eyes dramatically at your stern look. "Clear."

“I have my own bolt pistol back at home.” You warn.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt. The fire in your belly serves warning well enough, Birdie. I wouldn’t dream of any chicanery.” 

“Then follow me, Ezra.” You say, with a brewing smile.

Your tiny, poorly provisioned apartment is nestled in a nondescript building on the outskirts of the city.

A walk there that has you both absorbed in a mutual silence that offers a strange comfort, akin to the satisfaction of picking at a scab. Ezra mostly keeps his hand in his pocket and side glances you occasionally with parted lips as though he’ll say something, but doesn’t. 

“Let me get you something for that.” You offer, as you note his knuckles when he takes them out of his pocket and pushes the rusted gate open for you.

“It’ll dry over soon enough.” He says, looking down at his bruised and bloodied fist.

“It’s cold and the winds are picking up.” You say, noting the ferocious sky churning overhead. “I’ll get the tea brewing. Come on up.”

“You’re not as frail as I first assumed. I must stop doing that.” Ezra mumbles as he looks you over.

“He took me by surprise. Had I been prepared, I might have thrown a hook or two.” You shrug. You note he hesitates behind you. 

“Pertaining to the circumstances of our meeting, perhaps you might want to be alone?” You can sense the trepidation hanging around him; he’s wary of you and it pulls at something inside your chest.

“Come up, Ezra.” You repeat, ignoring him. 

He lets go of the creaky gate behind him. “Far be it from me to deny a lady. Even if her taste is somewhat marred in misjudgement.”

“Something tells me I can trust you.”

“That would be your first mistake.” He assures. 

“Well, this evening might surprise us both.” You say, as he follows up the steps behind you.

You take your time, hand sliding up the railing as he walks beside you. With each step, you focus intently on the movements of your prosthetic limb, adjusting your gait to compensate for its artificial nature.

You weight bear on your right side, loading your foot and keep your momentum forward up the stairs. You wince as you feel it rub uncomfortably again. 

“Are you hurt?” Ezra asks as he examines your unhurried pace. 

“No.” You shake your head with a rueful smile as you carry on. 

The stairs, with their unforgiving surfaces and steep incline, pose a formidable obstacle, testing your resolve with each upward stride. The prosthetic, while marvellously engineered, lacks the finesse and flexibility of a natural limb, making each step a delicate balancing act between stability and control. The last thing you want to do is slip in front of him.

After you reach the eighth floor, slightly panting, he follows you round to the faded door of your apartment. 

“Cosy,” Ezra retorts as he's introduced to your small, cramped world. “It's not often I’m rendered without speech.” Stacks of clutter balance precariously in columns on every available surface.

“I like to collect things.” You say nonchalantly.

“I can see that.” He counters, blinking as he steps through cautiously. 

You hold your hand out expectantly for his coat and he hesitates. 

“I can’t patch it if you’re wearing it.” You sway.

He slips it off his shoulders and you try not to look at the long sleeve that flaps without a hand at the bottom of it on his right side. His sweatshirt is terribly frayed and holey, and his pants seem loose and ill-fitting.

Boots that are at least a size too big for him clomp around his feet. His appearance, although broad and foreboding, also hints at the gaunt and destitute. There’s a peculiar smell emanating from him now he’s taken off his coat. Something sweetly rotten. 

You beckon him through, tossing his heavy coat over your arm, and he follows you through to the living quarters; a stalwart room that overlooks the grimy city.

The air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and lingering incense spices, mingling with the faint hum of electronic devices scattered throughout the cluttered space. 

You switch on an air purifier and remove your scarf revealing your face to him fully as you instruct him to make himself comfortable in the ragged recliner.

You busy yourself in the small kitchenette, chinking cups and getting out a tin of med supplies for his hand. You throw a couple of packets of freeze dry in the warmer and set a timer. 

On the splintered coffee table in the centre of the room, stacks of dog-eared books and half-empty mugs vie for space with an assortment of trinkets and knick-knacks thrown clumsily over it.

He leaves through the pages of a hefty book on mining. “Light reading material?” Ezra queries as he tosses the book down. 

“Call it a tempered curiosity.” You say, coming through with the cups and the tin shoved under your arm. 

“Curiosity killed the feline.”

“Yeah, but it has nine lives.” You state boldly to him and he smirks. 

“I could tell you all you need to know. Was my profession, a man’s work.” Ezra explains as he takes the mug from you. The heat immediately absorbs into his fingers. 

“You're a Prospector?” You ask, with raised eyebrows. 

“I was. Not much of anything now.” His lips downturn into the rim of the mug.

“Where are you from, Earth? You look the type.” You ask him, settling slowly and rigidly into a rickety chair opposite a sewing machine in the corner.

You lay out his coat on your lap and reach for a pin cushion. It smells musty and wild, like the outdoors. 

“From that suppurate shit-hole? No. Sorry to disappoint.” He smirks.

“Where then? Lau? Your accent hints at relations from a primitive Earth.” You probe.

“You seem well acquainted with it.” He says, reaching for the med tin and flipping it open. He tears at the packet of an antiseptic pad with his teeth, spitting the paper out that sticks to his lip. 

“I read.” You smile as you regard him.

A rugged moustache adorns his upper lip, its edges slightly frayed, combined with a shadow of facial hair, adding to an air of menace that might initially catch one's attention. His presence in the small, dimly lit room feels both enigmatic and imposing.

If you had to guess, you propose him to be within his early fortieth, to forty-third rotation, or thereabouts. His skin carries a layer of grime, a testament to the rigours of his endeavours. 

“The memory of my origin is hazy at best.” Ezra shrugs, as he presses his knuckles against the moist swab he lays out on the coffee table. He hisses with the sting. “Home hasn't been a concept that I’m all too familiar with. Although I’m informed it was blue like Earth was before it was ravaged. It's been a long time since I was stationed in permanence. My bones have always been restless.” He leans back in the recliner and sips at the fragrant tea. “This tea… it harbours memories.”

“Regale me.” You entice, as you thread the bobbin on your machine. 

He licks round his lips savouring the citrus taste. “Have you ever ventured to Kerulon?”

“No.” You shake your head.

“A pisser of a planet, why would you? I got waylaid there once, on my fuknugt ship. Stranded for a time, which seems to be the continual narrative for my story, but I digress. It’s a planet on the edge of The Fringe, known for its vast expanses of sand and scorching twin suns that never set. Not much there at all except for a slow, agonising death. But as luck would have it, amidst the dunes that stretched endlessly towards the horizon, I sought refuge in a humble desert oasis. A rare oasis of life amidst the harsh landscape, it was tended to by a group of nomadic travellers known as the Sand Dwellers. They offered me a generous cup of their signature orange tea - a brew infused with spices native to Kerulon's desert flora, I’ve come to suspect. Your tea reminds me of that cup of salvation.”

Ezra sips another mouthful loudly and hums with his eyes closed.

“I got it from the marketplace.” You chirp. 

“Really? How uncanny… And where exactly did you procure that?” His pointer finger, stubby and long points to the glassy jewel on your shelf by the grimy window. 

“I found it.” You shrug.

He scoffs as he approaches and reaches for it as though drawn under a spell. “Birdie, do you know what this is?”

“A pretty rock.” You say with a lazy mirth.

He stands and fondles the faceted cabochon inside his big palm, eyeing the blood amber middle. “Aurelac. You’re sitting on an abundance of riches.”

“I’m well aware of Aurelac and it’s worth on the black market.” You press on the pedal under the table, and the coat slides through your machine fluidly. 

Ezra blinks, bewildered. “You know it’s worth, and yet you’ve abdicated it as a paperweight?"

"Mhm."

"Such a curious creature, unable to be bribed by gems in abundance. You must be the only one not to be swayed by the allure. And that’s a rarity.”

“I don’t need riches. If it matters so much to you, you take it.” You simply say with earnest eyes. 

Ezra baulks and struggles to form words.

“You Prospectors are all the same. Vultures just picking at the sinew on the bone. I’ve yet to meet a Prospector who didn’t live up to the reputation of harbouring an unsatisfied greed. You’ve killed for that.” You look at the gem wrapped inside his whopping palm with disdain.

“I have, and indulged in deeds far worse.” Ezra nods with a sigh through his enrapturing verbosity. But also a drained voice that indicates he’s just plain sick of this shit now, sick of it all.

Ezra smirks, bearing teeth and a corrupt murmur slips out. “Your assumption is emphatically sound, little bird. It's like a disease, the siren song of Aurelac knows no bound or reason. A sane man would always be swayed to harvest and reap. I couldn't count on all of our combined digits the number of times I’ve made lewd choices in spite of my perseverance to merely covet the riches that the Kevva forsaken moon bequeaths under her ample bosom. I've spent a long time there suckling at the teat. It only pains me now to ponder my very justifications for it to begin with, purging the bowels of that fecund wood…” He trails off grinding his teeth and sighing as he examines the unspoiled gem shining in his hand. 

As you work, Ezra's voice pierces the silence once more, each syllable laden with a poignant blend of resignation and acceptance. 

“There was a time when spitting off the edge of the world was an arrogant riot; to pillage and plunder with luck and careless abandon, but now with spirited discourse, I’ve settled into a freefall back into the harsh shunt of The Fringe. Some of us have the proclivity for greatness, while most do not. I fear I’ve become the latter.”

You look up at him and his face bears the worn lines and creases of hard experience, etched deep by the sun and wind, giving him a weathered and world-weary appearance.

His prominent nose adds to the pastiche of mystery and arcane belligerence that hovers about his person. A scruffy beard adorns his jawline, adding to his rugged and no-nonsense demeanour.

Oily hair streaked with grey at the temples, falls in disarray around his forehead, but what catches the eye most is the striking patch of blonde amidst the darker strands at the roots.

It seems like the evidence of a possible birthmark born in the hair line, or could just be a fashion choice exalted in bad taste. You make a mental note to ask him later. But it adds a unique touch to his plotline in a twist of his devious character as you ponder him and his story.

“Such a beauty,” Ezra remarks, observing you as he twists the jewel around his thick, calloused fingers. “It’ll fetch you a good sum.” He simply returns the gem to the shelf, his eyes lingering on it long after it leaves his grip. 

Your eyes graze down to the missing appendage, trying to fill in the gaps on his pages, as you place pins in your teeth. 

“Ah.” He notices your lingering gaze. “Go on, ask away.” Articulating around his Southern inflection with deep flutters of his tongue, it scatters out of it like jagged diamonds from the mines of Ajaxia.

You smile. “Nothing to ask.”

“I’m not foul to you like this?” You sense that he loathes it. Wired bitter with the loss. 

Despite the initial challenges and the occasional stares from strangers when your limp overtakes you when your prosthetic becomes unbearable to bear full weight on, you refuse to be confined by societal expectations or limitations.

You throw yourself into mundane life with unparalleled gusto, pursuing your work with a fervour that could inspire those around you if they weren’t so ignorant and assuming. A trait that might only embolden Ezra too, the more time he spends with you, if he cares to.

The thought of revealing your commonality with him rests idle on your tongue however. 

Yet, beneath your fearless exterior, you can harbour moments of doubt and insecurity. There are days when the weight of your prosthetic feels heavier than usual, and the whispers of self-doubt threaten to overshadow your resolve. You recognise it too, in his dark eyes right now, fierce, but also harbouring that self-loathing and defeated eroding.

It’s different for you, you don’t miss what you’ve never had, you only know a life like this, but for him? To have had it and then lost it, you can feel the decayed emotion that it evokes pouring from him, even if he never says the words out loud.  

You stand, approaching him with his coat patched and he raises his eyebrows. “Far from it. We might have a common depth.” You mutter. 

“I fail to see anything we share in common. However, you have magic in you, no doubt.” He says, as he admires his mended coat. “Witchcraft.” He smirks, running his fingers over the neat stitches.

“You have a way with words.” You smile, reaching for your cup.  

“A flair, so I’m told. Thank you.” He says earnestly to you, eyes big and round. 

“I work in the textile factory, my job.” You explain as you disappear into the kitchen when the beeper from the warmer goes off. 

“I was good with both my hands too, once,” he surmises bleakly. “What meat is this?” Ezra enquires, chewing slowly to savour the peculiar tang from the heated freeze dry meal that you’ve thrust at him with a spoon.

“Trog. At least that's what I tell myself. Makes it go down easier.” You remark.

“Never look a gift trog in the mouth, I suppose that’s good counsel.” Ezra shrugs and shovels in more, steadying the packet in his crotch for support; the warmth of it seeping into his thigh muscles and warming him pleasantly. 

“I’ve some Bitz Bars if you'd prefer?” 

He shakes his head. “If I never see a Bitz Bar again it’ll be too soon.”

The brief silence between you is disturbed only by the battering swell outside that has increased in its voracity in the last hour, and the soft chews and gulps as you both devour your meal in ensconced silence. 

It’s a harmonious, off-key beat that serves as the background chime to your dining encounter. Discreet in your mutual voyeurism as you eat and steal curious, yet wary glances at one another. 

You’re sitting at the small table with your sewing machine, whilst Ezra masticates on the recliner, albeit much slower, and negotiates a spoon in a hand that’s not ambidextrous in the slightest. 

“Tell me where you learned your skill.” Ezra prompts around a spin cycle of meat. 

“I have many. You’ll need to be particular.” You finger a newly discovered hole on your kneecap idly and frown at it. You can see a peep of leather from the buckle tarnished underneath.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, pet.” Ezra smirks, as he chews through his mouthful and runs his tongue around his teeth dislodging pieces of meat; his dark eyes flashing to you briefly. “Specifically your skills with a needle,” he waggles his stump at you and his sleeve flaps about and knocks his pouch over. “Fucking tarnation!” He mutters, pissed. 

You get up pliantly to assist him as he gathers the packet with quick snaps of his fingers. He spoon-scoops the contents off of his thigh, plopping the mounded heaps back into it, feeling the juice and gravy soak into his pants in a small, irritating patch.

“My grandmother taught me.” You say, dabbing at his thigh with a cloth.

He nods at you whilst continuing to alternate between cleaning himself of the spilled grains and meat, and eating it with good measure.

“Commit to a deal with me.” Ezra prompts after he swallows down the gristle.

“What kind of a deal?” You question, narrowly.

“I’ll tell you my story in its entirety and you regale me with yours in equal measure. Omit no detail too small.” Ezra declares.

“There’s really not much to tell. My life has not been spent roaming the Interplanetary digging up sparkly gems.” You remark. 

“You sound bitter.”

“My hindrances keep me here.” You sigh. 

“What hindrances?” He cocks his head at you. 

“Tell me your story, Ezra.” You deflect as you settle back in the chair to eat. 

Ezra smiles exaltedly. He relaxes back into the recliner after discarding the packet, whilst you listen keenly as he recounts how he came to be on the wretched moon with a group of like-minded individuals - rapscallions, as he refers to them - who were an entourage of the roguish sort.

Ragtag acquaintances he’d collected during his time prospecting many planets and satellites across the Interplanetary, but seemingly coming up short until The Green was set in his sights during the heights of the Aurelac rush. 

Of course, man’s greed always complicates even the basics of well interpreted relations, and soon he found himself without his ship or his crew; most of them deciding to pick one another off over petty quarrels, whilst the successful of the rogues took to leaving the moon. And Ezra was stranded with nothing but a serious, yet mysterious being known only as Number Two, who filled the role of henchman to Ezra’s own smart, callous wit at genial leadership. 

He reiterates to you, several times, that Number Two was not much of a conversationalist, much to his imminent dismay, so when he happened upon Damon, he informs you of the relief he felt to copulate wildly in words exchanged with a stranger, even if they weren't pleasantries.

It’s apparent to you, before he’s started to share his whimsical story, that Ezra has a rapt knack in kinking the tendrils of censorious intelligence and a dry sagacity that often blurs the lines of sarcasm and menace. Flowery, Southern treble clefs dance off of his tongue in a verbal, bewitching thrall, playing their music around your head in kaleidoscopic wonder. 

The things he'd done, the things Ezra he'd lost, are all painted from his cracked lips for you to see and experience, unscathed in the most exquisite details and colour. Feeling as though you’re there with him by his side and witnessing the altered course into complete annihilation. He was sure he’d be abandoned by Cee in a warped juxtaposition that, even his attempts at atoning for his previous sins couldn’t seem to cleanse him of. He iterates wistfully that he should've seen it coming. 

Ezra finalises the story with her gallant return and bringing him home rather than being left there to perish.

He’s notably candid when he speaks of his love for women - plural. He shares vulgar trysts about his many lovers on Luxillion, mostly whores whom he paid good credits for before he settled off on his wanderings, but who won't even entertain him now that he;s no longer whole. He mentions he occasionally dabbled freely in the delights of flesh with a fellow Y chromosome too; a flouted omission that makes your pores saturate at the outlandish, yet scandalous thought of it. His laying partners are of no prejudice. 

Ezra is regimented in never speaking of an unrequited love nor a love that holds permanence inside of his beating organ of clogged ventricles. The closest Ezra has come to feeling an emotion akin to the desire to protect another is with the bolshie whippersnapper named Cee, who had saved him from his fate on The Green.

And then you, this very evening. 

“What happened to her?” You enquire. 

“Your guess is as good as mine. I woke up in a med bay and haven’t heard a whisper since. Skipped out with a sack full of gems. Good for her.” He remarks. 

You watch as he winces and scowls down at his stump.

“Are you alright?” You query.

“Just an irritation" You watch as his lips curl back over his teeth. "Sometimes it… it feels as if it’s still there. Sears. Feels like I can still wiggle my fingers, the most peculiar thing.”

Nursing the aggravation is made small, as Ezra stares out at the window with a watery look making his scleras shine and the cords in his neck tense. Trying to push it to the back of his mind to be recycled into some distorted relief.

“That’s quite the story you shared.” You say. 

“It’s but mine to keep. And now yours too, I guess.” Ezra sighs and winces again. “Do you happen to have anything for the burn?” He asks, feeling the pain grow and mutate from his wrangled nerves into his veins.

“I might have a tranq.”

“Bliss.” He says as you get up. He notices you take a moment to regain your balance, a slight limp to your gait as you make your way forward. 

A large explosion-like sound is heard outside and you turn towards the window as the lights go out in your dingy apartment.

“Kevva’s wrath!” You gasp, a silhouette lit up by the purple lightning that rips terribly across the sky.

“Did something calamitous occur?” Ezra asks, standing too.

Aggressive thunder is heard rolling in once more as the rain pelts harder until it’s a tiresome skirmish battering the panes.

“Looks like a strike hit the fuse box. Whole District is out.” You say, hovering by the window.

“Perhaps it was a good call, your invitation.” Ezra says, a small smile unfolding on his lips. 

“Mm. The rain is often acidic.” You retreat to the kitchen and find some medicine and some candles. Lighting a couple on the coffee table, you take a hold of Ezra’s sleeve after passing him the pill. 

“Not a tranq unfortunately, but it might take the edge off.” You begin to roll his sleeve upwards. 

“What are you doing?” He queries.

“Making it easier.” You say, softly. You pin it in place, and then fetch a spool and needle from your sewing table. 

He watches, eyelashes fanned across his cheekbones as he stares down at your fingers working around the new hem of his sleeve you've created.

“I think I’ve seen you before... Around the District, down by the river.” You begin, carefully as you start to sew the sleeve in place. "You live there, don't you?"

He immediately bristles. “I don’t require charity. I’ll take my leave.”

“Ezra. You have nowhere to go. We both know that. It’s a dangerous night with the surge-five. Drink your xanadu tea and stay. You can take my bed.”

He sighs as his eyes shy away. “My predicament since my return from the Green has rendered me… unlucky, it’s true. There isn’t a place or a sympathetic ear here for people like me, and so my place is with shelter under the bridge. But I won’t spoil your evening with my dreary plight.”

“We can share in the dreariness.” You smirk, looking around at the dim confines of your apartment gloaming with waxy candlelight. 

He sighs again as he watches you thread neat stitches to keep the sleeve in place. 

“I can’t force you to stay. But I’ll sleep better knowing you’re safe rather than outside in that. I’ll make do on the recliner. I insist.” You say as you glance at the lightning streaking across the sky.

“Kindness offered to a scoundrel. You are something, Birdie.” 

“It’s only gratitude for what you did in the alley. We’re even.” 

"If I were to take you up on your offer, I will sleep here. You won't be denied your bed."

"There's no argument, Ezra. You'll take the bed and we'll say no more about it." You confirm.

“You trust me fictitiously.” 

“No, I trust you.” You correct him. 

“You know nothing of me. I could take your treasure and run whilst you sleep.”

“So do it. I already told you I care not for it.” You say, as you thread the stitches carefully. 

“Why don't you cash it in? You could improve your living quarters.” He suggests. 

“My living quarters are fine as they are.” You reply with a frown. 

He looks at you curiously, deep eyes burning into you as you find them with your own. 

“I don’t care about the material things.” 

“Pet, your dwelling is stacked with material things.” He grins. “Look at all this treasured garbage.”

“It’s gotten a bit out of hand admittedly. But it's mostly worthless.” 

“What is worth it's weight to you?” He enquires, boldly. 

“Life. Connection…" You catch his eyes. "Love.”

He scoffs as he brings his cup back to his lips and swallows the pill. 

“Immaterial things.” You say, as you notice his gaze heading towards the Aurelac gem again. 

“Before I left for the Green, the only material possession I owned was my ship. A Testing Screamer.”

“Fancy.” You remark, unimpressed. 

“No, she was a patched up shit bucket of rust, with a channel rat infestation, but I worked her hard. She got the job done. As I recounted, words and metal flew amongst my crew and they left me there to seek my death without her. I came back with far less.” He says, glancing down at his missing arm. “So, I relish the importance of the immaterial, even if you assume otherwise of me.”

“I assume nothing, Ezra.” You confirm. “There. You’re all patched up. You’re free to go into the wily night if you're so adamant.” You wince at the chafing burn around your knee joint.

You’re keen to rid yourself of the prosthetic, but hesitate whilst he’s here. You don’t mean to be prickly, but it’s a burn that’s starting to irritate.

“I’ve offended you.”

“No.” You shake your head with a faint smile offered. “I’ve been really grateful for your company, actually. It's been nice to converse with someone.”

“Do you feel lonely, pet?” Ezra questions out of the blue. 

You turn to face him, your knee knocking against his and you wince. “All the time.” You answer honestly.

“I find it hard to accept that you cloister yourself here alone each cycle.” 

“Why?”

“Because you're indeed bewitching.”

His hand is felt on your waist, gently squeezing, and you stop him as he reaches your thigh. 

“Too fast?” Ezra queries, reading your eyes carefully. 

“No.” You smile. “But…” You sigh with a steady gulp and then take his hand, hesitating before you place it on your artificial calf just past your knee. 

He immediately raises his eyebrows with a crooked smirk as he feels not soft flesh under your pants when he squeezes, but a hard shell. He knocks against it, bewildered. 

“You come with secrets,” he hisses jovially. 

“Missing pieces.” You correct. 

“As do I.” He says as your eyes fall to his stump barely poking out of the rolled up sleeve now. “Tell me your story,” he murmurs hauntingly.

He begins inking soft kisses into your collarbone and you don’t stop his forwardness. Instead you close your eyes and relish the feel of the warm, tender contact offered.

“No story. I was simply born this way.” You sigh, feeling his lips burn on your skin. Your fingers run themselves through his oily nape and scritch into his scalp. 

“Then there’s no less of you to love, pet.” Ezra groans, looking up at you. “A simple man would be worthy of your affections, even if just for a night?” 

“Perhaps.” You smirk.

“Perhaps? Here you sit like Kevva pushed you out her womb for me, perfectly moulded from clay, and you say perhaps?” 

You simply smirk as he looks at you, trying to figure you out. 

“I’m not perfect.” You say, your eyes averting away. 

“I’ll be the judge of that. I’d like to see you bare.” He says, and you know immediately what he means. 

You sigh out deeply and nod. “You too.”

“Birdie-”

“You. Too.” You sway. “Let me see you, Ezra.”

He watches as you stand and unzip your pants. You notice his eyes lingering on your centre for a moment, hidden beneath your bland underwear, but then his eyes trail down your left thigh to your knee where the buckles meet your skin.

You unbuckle your prosthetic without any meekness at all, leaning on his shoulder for support as he wraps his only arm around you, offering balance.

“I've got you, pet.”

You let it clatter to the floor and sit down in his lap, straddling him as his fingers tentatively brush over your revealed skin.

He, however, gulps as his fingers linger on the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Can I help you?” You ask him, and he shakes his head, pulling the offending item off clumsily and revealing his stump to you as his sweatshirt plops beside him.  

“Beautiful,” he says, observing the smooth skin of your ungrown limb. You shudder as his fingers sweep delicately around and across it.  

“Likewise,” you say, stroking down his arm to where it stops into a knot of twisty scars.

“Two peas in a dreary pod,” Ezra says, hooked nose brushing over yours. 

“I don’t like peas.” You chuckle. 

“Another commonality,” he smirks.

He watches as you reach forward behind him and take a small jar from the shelf. You push it into his hand as you open the lid and begin to scoop out some of the waxy salve inside. 

The balm, infused with cooling agents and healing properties, provides instant relief to your inflamed skin with a comforting warmth; soothing the rawness that bears the brunt of the day's chafing from your prosthetic.

He inhales the scent, lifting the jar to his nose and hums at the fresh, earthy aroma. 

“Homemade.” You clarify. 

“More potions from my talented sorceress.” Ezra smirks. “May I?”

You nod, holding the jar for him as he scoops out a small dollop, and rubs it between his thick fingers until the consistency turns thin.

“Tingly,” he says in wonder.

He runs it gently around your skin, rounding the circumference and across the calloused welts and blisters, soothing and massaging gently. 

“That feel good?” He queries with a bewitching smile all of his own.

"So good, Ezra." You nod with a breathy hum and he watches as you lean forward and kiss his stump gently, mouthing over the fibrous knots and welts. 

“Your mouth is Kevva sent,” he groans as he watches you.

You run your tongue over it, kissing up his shoulder and tasting the salt of his neck. Tasting him there as he fondles and rubs your knee gently, fingers slick with the balm. 

“Your ministrations, although kind, are wasted.” He gasps. “I’m not a man that can be tamed. I fear it's been too long that I won’t be gentle.” Ezra warns. 

“Neither will I.” You growl as you pull him to you, teeth tugging on his lips.

He engulfs you wholly; his hand swamping your back for support as you crush him towards you. His tongue slithers into your mouth and you suck on it, gasping as you feel his blunt nails rake up your back over your shirt. 

“Here?” He pants around your succulent mouth. “Or the comfort of your chambers?”

“Here. There. I don’t care. I just want you, Ezra.” You groan, your body tingling and sweating.

You squeal in delight as he stands with you abruptly, his sole arm keeping you wound tight around his body as he steps into your bedroom.

“I may only have one arm, but you're safe in it.” He reassures you by gripping you tight. 

“Never doubted it.” You say, nuzzling into the salted musk of his neck as you cling on around it.

He twinkles as he smirks at you; those dark eyes regarding you with a controlled enthral, left to marinate spicily in your thoughts and on the fine hairs of your arms. 

Outside, the sky growls, bearing its teeth as Ezra lays you on the bed. He watches you unbutton your shirt and pull off your panties, revealing yourself fully bare in all your flesh and graces to him.  

His eyes roam over the contours of your body, taking in the shape of your tummy, your hips, the swell of your breasts. The way your right leg curls up and the way your left, stopping at the knee, moves with a seductive fluidness to it just like the other.

Your entire body is his to freely claim, to roam unbidden. Slick pussy to drown in, to worship at the altar.

He's never been a good man, undeserving of the fruit you bear freely to him now as he licks his salivating lips. But you make him feel good; a small, insidious voice convincing him he’s unworthy is quashed inside his mind, silenced blissfully as you beckon him forward and allow him to touch, to explore.

He’s marvelled by his own restraint, wanting nothing more than to tear into you - pull you apart and put you back together again. Yet he’s rendered docile, eager to draw long, haunting moans out of you as he tastes and feels each of them, taking his sweet, glorious time instead.

“You’re so…” He fails to find the right word in his mental thesaurus to do it justice. "I want nothing more than to whelve myself inside of your tight, hot cunt right now." Ezra sighs, staring at your slick centre, an obvious tent growing in his pants. “But first, we must discuss logistics."

You giggle looking up at him. “Fuck logistics, just get over here and fuck me.”

He shakes his head in disbelief at you, spread out before him and he swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

“Can you ride me?” He kneels on the bed, pink lacing his cheeks. “It’s easier if you can, my balance is often maligned. A chin to the nose might be an unpleasant douse to the fire.” 

“I can. I might need you to support me if we go hard.” You nod. 

“I can do whatever you need.” Ezra smirks crookedly. "Slow, fast... hard."

“What do you need?” You ask him, reaching for his face and planting kisses over it.

He smells wildly acrid, a build up of sweat and grime from the city has sunk into his flesh, but you’re undeterred as your mouth runs over his skin. Your cunt is so fucking wet just inhaling the stagnant, earthy hidrosis of him; beads of your slick running out of you in a delectable tickle.

“I need you to sit on my face, pet.” Ezra instructs you through a strained grunt, his lips curling up over his teeth as he helps position you above him. 

You lower yourself down onto his waiting tongue, holding onto the bed railings. His arm is firmly around you, as assured. 

He licks burning acid on your pussy, dissolving you down to the chalk of your bones as he tastes you; groaning into your folds hungrily. You grind on his mouth, chasing that blooming high that tingles and leaves you clawing in his hair desperately as he tongue fucks you gloriously.

You're basking in the pure pleasure of his mouth and tongue lapping at your pussy, all consuming and euphoric. Losing yourself to that dreamy build up of tension that arches your back and curls your toes.

And just when you think you can't take it anymore, suddenly all that tension is released and pulses throughout your body. You fall into a zen state of absolutely nothing - just white, hot pleasure coursing through your body.

You forget everything. Your name. The aches from your prosthetic. You even forget to breathe. He’s taken your body and mind to this exquisite place simply with his mouth and lets you fly and float around up in there until you come down, and then he’ll build you up again and again.

“I could lick you for turns, pet.” He snuffles through a satiated smile.

It makes you melt into him, crumpled like paper. Burnt up and falling ashy onto his skin. His stump rests against your thigh, prodding gently against it as his hand sweeps down your back and grips onto your ass, pushing your cunt further onto his mouth.

You move your hips, writhing against his tongue as he licks up onto your clit and you cry out in relief at how good it feels. 

“You taste divine,” he muffles around your sticky lips. 

He pushes his head up, lips squelching around to get right in as your thighs ripple and shake as he brings you to the edge once more. You're standing on the precipice of the universe and looking down into it's swamping, glittery depth.

You rest back on your hands, your fingers squeezing around the meat of his thighs as his one hand blazes a journey over your belly and towards your breasts where he squeezes and massages the left in his grip. His eyes stare up at you and you stare down, lips parting as your moans increase. 

His tongue is precisely erratic, licking, sucking and flicking in all the places he can get to to draw your orgasm out and make it last. A kaleidoscope of colours stream in the room, their waltz blinding you as they swirl and merge. You can feel it all over your body, the heat, the burning as you tense and coil. 

When you come again, it feels like you're floating once more; your body slack and wibbly as you gush into his waiting mouth. And as much as you could let him do this, for indeed many a turn, you want him in your mouth too.  

You move with ease, comfortable to slide across the sheets gracefully and with speed that makes him grin. Pulling his pants down, you see him in all of his thick, weeping glory. 

"Fuck, Ezra..." You murmur at the sight of him.

“This is how you make me feel.” Ezra pants as you stare at the hard swell of him almost lunging out his groin at you.

His cock feels imposing; heavy and smooth. A flushed pink head swollen and leaking profusely. You feel how hard he is, how he’s acutely dripping for you; strings of pre-cum coming away in your palm as he brings it up to his mouth and licks it away whilst eyeing you.

And you can’t explain what it does to your body, let alone your brain, at how wet he is for you. And hard, so fucking hard that it bulges angrily; a taut, thick vein popping off on the side.

“Take me to paradise, Birdie.” Ezra hums, as he watches you slither between his legs and take him in your mouth. 

Ezra's eyes roll into the back of his head and he bites his lip until it bleeds copper rust on his tongue. He makes some intangible sound as he looks down at his fat cock sucked slowly and deeply into your mouth.

He brushes your hair away with shaky fingers, unsure and unfamiliar with such a gentle movement that he orchestrates, thumb stroking over your cheek.

“You can take it deeper than that. I know you can. Let me slide all the way down in there. Feel me in your belly.” Ezra grunts. 

He bucks his hips as you swallow, your fingers scratching into the soft, wiry hairs in his groin and over his belly. He fills your throat and you feel him twitch when you suck harder. 

He pulls your head back and tells you to spit on it. Smirking, you do as he instructs, and he watches as the globule decorates him in crystal strings.

“More,” Ezra keens, as you spit and drool over his cock further.

You’re panting for it; desperate to have him inside of your mouth again as he keeps it close enough, but just out of reach from your lips - teasing with that crooked grin lacing down at you.

But then, he finally lets you have it again, and is enthralled as you take him in greedily like you’ve been starved.

Humming in satisfaction, you suck him down and swallow deep, feeling him prod at the back of your throat as he guides and controls you with his hand knotted in your hair.

His grunts are felt on the end of your clit, his satisfaction tingling all through your body and you get off on getting him off; grinding your hips against the comforter on the bed as you suck, chasing your own release. Groaning out around his cock when the sheet catches your clit deliciously.

You pull him out of your mouth in a wet slurp and begin kissing around his groin; each little kiss peppering him and absorbing into his skin, leaving further fiery brands as you go.

You haven’t lost interest in his dick, still grasping him in your hand and running it over him, but you’re interested in all of him now, want all of him.

He’s drawn into your eyes as they look up at him, as you work your way across his abdomen and leave his hand to weaken inside of your scalp. It drops to your jaw as he helps you slither up his body and kisses you.

He’s surprisingly gentle, explorative and leaves no part of you untouched by his lips as he’s only too willing to return the favour. He lays back, his body weakening as you sit on his cock; your hands running through his hair, massaging his scalp as his head lolls back and he loses himself to the feel of your nails scratching through it.

You’re squirming and pushing yourself down on his length.

“Oh, you want it all, huh? Take it. Fuck my cock, pet. It’s yours.” He husks.

“You feel so good.” You whine, pulling on his hips as you work. 

“I'm going to make a mess of you when I come.” He grunts.  

“I want you to fill me up, Ezra.”

“Flood you,” he groans. “Fuck, I want to ruin you, but I want you like this too. It’s confounding.” He pants.

"Plenty of time to ruin me," you groan.

The infinite kaleidoscope only intensifies, becoming more vivid. Bursts of colour explode from behind your eyelids and are felt warming you all over as his cock nudges against the deepest part inside of you. 

“Ezra!” 

You feel his mouth roaming your chest. Sucking your nipples between his teeth as he alternates, pulling on them, teasing them hard; the tiny spots around your areolas standing and tightening too. Little pleasurable bumps that each have their own nerve centre that make your pussy twinge and drip like a leaky faucet over his cock as you ride.

Soon you flop forward onto him, your breasts hitting the hardness of his chest. That delicious pull deep inside your belly makes itself known. That tight, knotting before you’ll snap back and release.

His pants increase and those growls start to haunt. He’s close. It’s in the way he grabs and paws at you more sloppy now, like he can barely hold on anymore.

All it takes is an enticing whisper from you, telling him to come, to let go, to fill you up, and his teeth sink into your shoulder.

He groans and grunts deeply, hips stuttering and candid whimpers leaving his breath. All the atoms of his being spilling into you, thick and warm as he drips out of your cunt over his thighs.

And Ezra doesn’t let you go. He keeps you there, kissing you, glued to his chest, fitted around him like a perfect puzzle piece. 

The surge-five still roars outside, but seemingly less consequential. 

The acidic rains have moved on and the window of the bedroom is speckled with only a few streaks of wayward drops that the wind blows in squiggly lines around it; the tail ends of shooting stars before they die out completely. 

A little snuffle beside your ear focuses your attention on Ezra, still asleep beside you in the middle of the night; his stumped arm poking out of the bobbled blanket, and his other still curled under your back and ending around your waist.

His fingers twitch occasionally, as he jostles and flinches in his sleep, still branding on the skin on your navel. You wonder what he dreams about to make him shudder so.

Your head tilts to examine his face in the darkness. The slow roaming from the blonde tuft so stark in his chocolate hairline, to the way in which his eyelids flutter restlessly as his eyeballs move under them as though something is alive. 

He pelts your face with light breaths that are warm and hardened, and yet it’s a scent that doesn’t putrefy as you allow yourself to be bathed in the warmth of them.

You refute anything that’ll disturb your peace right now, such as the dull urge to urinate, instead cocooning yourself further into this moment right here in Ezra’s sleep laden grip.

He’s unlike any other man you’ve ever met and it leaves you breathless as you examine his face whilst he sleeps beside you.

Thick eyelashes adorn his swollen, sealed lids and a wiry scar is a slapdash carving below his left eye socket, leaving your imagination to ponder how he obtained it.

A thick velvet slug, matted with sweat and the residue of your slick, clings to his top lip, whilst the rest of his chin and neck is garnished with unruly stubble that's in the throes of growing in length and sparsity in hodgepodge greying patches. 

His lips, pale pink and fuller on the bottom set, are chapped and sore, much like your own as you continue to gnaw on them whilst you mull the events over of how this enigma came to be in your sheets this night.

“See something you like, Birdie?” Those lips move with a small gruff tone.

“Merely spectating.” You reply back, softly. 

“Spectating? I think the term is voyeurism.” Ezra smiles with his eyes still closed, and the creases around them grow in number and folds. 

You smile and Ezra can hear the moisture in your mouth click around your teeth at such a close proximity.

“Your lament protests about sleeping on the recliner were just a bunch of who shot John, weren't they?” He croons into the skin of your neck, dipping his head as he stretches. You feel him inhale deeply against your skin.  

Ezra wonders briefly if he’s suffered another loss, for his left arm is numb with the weight of you resting on it. He wiggles his fingers bringing them back to life and feels your skin warm against it under the blanket.

“Your practicality has been lampshaded,” he whispers. “Tell me, did you plot this tryst into fruition?” He chuckles. 

“One would think this situation is amusing to you,” you say.

“It’s ah… something.” That brazen itch turns from ghastly mania into a settling excitement, an accepted wave of rapture that shakes his bones at your warmth and proximity; the blood in his body rushing towards the end of his cock at breakneck speeds.

“I fear I won’t be able to resist sordid temptation much longer.” Ezra repeats, a dirty grunt escaping through his strained voice.

“Then don’t. Defile me at your whim.”

The sound of his haughty chuckle is both harmonious and husky at the same time as it reverberates from somewhere deep in his chest cavity. Ezra is most attractive when he smiles and laughs, you think. It completely changes his stern, scowled face.

Perfect, puffy lips crooking up into his cheeks revealing a dimple that draws the eye in; a smile that could convince the sun into imploding. But his smile has dissipated and those dark eyes are prying into places they ought not to pry again.

"I'm going to annihilate you, pet." He whispers, grazing his lips against your own. "You think you can take it?"

You know you’re stupid to think you can do this; nudge him to the precipice and encourage as he jumps off it willingly. Coax him to show you the most depraved, abominable parts of himself and not have some repercussions come and bite you on the ass for it.

See him unleashed fully; the worlds across the Interplanetary cracking open and their suns splitting into two as he savages and ravages.

But you want him despite all the swill and misfortune; you want him to make you fall apart - to totally obliterate you. Use you as mere clay for his own twisted satisfactions as he leaves imprints and eternal marks on you that’ll blister and bleed.

The way he touches you, the way he doesn't shy away from your body leaves you wanting for the affection he drowns you in. He’s your missing piece making you whole. He dilutes your pain with his own making it bearable. 

You shudder at the feel of his fingers softly stroking over your half leg; a ghostly touch that you acutely zone into. His eyes are still brooding into yours. 

"Break me." You urge.

“I can smell your sweet stink all over me." Ezra grunts as his fingers slip down the between your ass cheeks, leaving a devastation of goose pimples in their wake.

You rest your clipped knee onto his hip, opening you up for him. You bite your lip, gnawing frantically on the bottom as the path takes a delectable turn towards your cunt. 

Your head swims; the hairs on your body and nipples coming alive. Feeling high and giddy, balanced on that precarious cusp of passing out, but not quite managing to do so.

You breathe out slowly as his fingers pause; the burn of them felt deep inside your core already as you clench around nothing, and the throb of your clit aches and prickles with a pang of eager want. 

Ezra’s gaging; reading your reactions and fine tuning into that solid will that you’ve been dismantling slowly over the course of the last turn spent with him.

He knows, for it’s ambushed his own impenetrable walls too. 

He feels your hand clamp around his cock as the tension in your body pulverises at any remaining restraint you have. He strokes over your mound towards your clit, and as soon as he touches it - that hard, pulsing nub - you both groan out in unison. His fingers push into your pussy, slow and thick as you gasp.

Your other hand fists inside his hair as your face draws nearer to his own, your eyes zoning in on his lips that are wet as he licks them.

“I will destroy you.” Ezra breathes, admitting defeat. “I have nothing to give you, pet.”

“I don’t want what credits can buy from you.” You moan as his fingers swipe over your clit. “You see me.” 

“I do. I see all of you. I like what I see.” He tongues at the skin at your neck. “You see me, too.”

“It’s kinda hard not to, you’re like a neutron star.” You smile. 

“You trying to woo me, pet?” He smirks, as he slides down your body, kissing over it as he goes, elbow pressed into the mattress for support. 

“Is it working?” You gasp as he abruptly buries his head between your centre, and lets his tongue go to work. 

Your head is thrown back in the pillows, your eyes greeted with that dark void of space; the stars turning in their spirals as time slows down and he pulls you out from the inside.

Marvelling at the true alchemy of his tongue as it laps at your wet folds and he slurps you up like water, dehydrated like he once was on Kerulon. Transcending above the highest point in infinity and still climbing as your eyes roll into the back of your skull. 

Your hand fists through his hair, drawing him closer; his nose dusting your clit as his tongue fucks deep and swallows all the sweet honey you have to give him.

“All I can do is take you to the stars.” He grunts. “Is that enough for you?”

“More than enough.” You whine as you come around his lips. 

Ezra then spends the rest of the night breaking you apart, piece by piece, and putting you back together again, just as he said he would.

His voice wakes you, but not from beside you where you expect him to be. 

“Consarn it, you fumbling bawheid!”

You quickly reach for a tattered robe and grab at your crutches, wooden and rickety beside the bed, and follow the infernal muttering to the kitchen where he’s standing around broken cups on the floor.  

Ezra glances up at you with razor wire for lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Were you making tea?” You enquire through heavy lids, and he turns bashfully from you, the broadest back presented and littered with constellations of freckles and moles. 

“Yes trying, but my cumber-world impairment-” he grits his teeth “-makes me sloppy. Fuck.” 

Your gaze lingers curiously over him, determining him not to be an apparition but real; half expecting him to have fled already. You glance behind you and the Aurelac gem is still there on the shelf by the window as he left it.

“I can make the tea.” You smile softly, a hand reaching out to touch the expanse of his back, and his hackles immediately soften. 

He steps to you, his singular hand finding the familiar shape of your waist as he pulls you close. 

You take in the detailing on his worn face again. The way the pores on the smooth bump of his nose are marred with oil, the thickness of his brow; the entice of his full bottom lip. 

Ezra wanders freely over your features too, from the shine in your eyes to the feel of your hair soft in his hand as he brushes his fingers through it like a comb.

He scratches up to your scalp massaging your skull as he steps closer into your personal space and your eyes close at the sensation of it, birthing millions of prickles across your skin; your nipples standing tall and hard beneath the slip of the gown you’d thrown on, like diamonds cutting through the thin fabric. 

“How good does that feel?” His breath is drenched in a stale warmth on your face and you breathe the notes in deep.

"Really good." You breathe, nuzzling into his ministrations.

"Is your body defeated, pet, or can you take more?" He whispers into your crown.

You smirk. "More."

"Greedy." He snickers. "You'd make a fine Prospector."

Something’s hanging around in the air between you; something that’s unspoken. You’ve noticed it growing between you as the eventful turn has worn on into the night and seeks the new light of the dawn glowering through the smog. 

It’s inside the delirious crookshank smile on his lips as he reveals it to you in between the comfortable silences when you talk. In his swampy brown eyes that take you in and feel as though he’s pulling you apart with them to see what’s really going on inside of your fibres and nerves. 

And it's here again now as you linger, watching Ezra watching you, sensing that when the time comes to part from the questionable consternation of his company, it'll leave ruptures somewhere inside of you.

The black lacquer thoughts slither up from your spine and germinate insipid sparks into your core; a groundless lust that dizzies you from the smooth tickle of his fingers brushing down your hip and across your thigh.

You gasp as his fingers stray too close to your swollen centre, still drenched warm with his copious spend and aching from the stretch of him. 

You’re weak for him; weak for those skilled fingers on his singular hand to be crawling inside of you and fucking you up, quite literally, as he weaves them in and out of your soaked pussy, curling them and wrapping you around them further.

“Ezra,” you gasp as he pumps them in and out, your balance swaying. 

“Hold onto me,” he says, as you rest your crutches against the counter and wrap your arms around his neck. 

He pulls your only leg around his waist once more, hard cock bobbing at your perineum, lifting you with ease; his only hand resting on your ass, and carries you back to bed. 

Ezra has you all over again, devouring, leaving his marks on your body. Revelling in the melodies of your panting chants of his name as he fucks deep and hard.

His lips part slowly as do yours, reacting to him. Drawn to him, drawn into him completely and controlled somehow like a puppet and he’s playing with your strings; plucking slowly and gently at you and you’ve no idea how.

No idea how you've gotten so willingly naked in front of a stranger, despite his strange appeal, and are allowing him to guide you like this. Thighs splayed open before him and showing him your most intimate self.

It doesn’t matter how, for it’s pure fucking bliss. 

You slide down on his cock and ride him slowly, gently as his arm wraps you up and holds you close to him, almost crushing the life out of you as both you exertions wane.

You gasp out, letting his lips go as he fills you up again, makes you detach and lose yourself in this moment inside of his arms - inside of him.

And that’s the crux of it, you want to give him this, make him see that he’s worthy of love and affection and tenderness. You know what it’s like not to have that.

Ezra smiles faintly at you, giving into the feel of you lavishing your love on him.

He reaches down to grope your knee gently, and you shudder at the feel of his fingers brushing against it. You run your hand equally down his stump, and you watch as his eyes glisten before he scrunches them shut and crushes you against his chest as he spills inside you once more. 

“The storm has quelled. I should take my leave.” He says distantly after, stroking over your smooth nub as it rests languidly across his torso. His gentle touch soothes better than the balm. 

“You should stay.” You murmur, hoping he hasn't heard the longing in it. But of course, the plucky sleeveen has. 

“We find ourselves in a quandary.” Ezra retorts as he draws circles over your skin with his fingers. 

“Dare I ask what stories these tell?” You put to him as your fingers trace the marred lines over his sternum. 

“Probably wise if you remain in the dark, Birdie. I was not a gentle man once upon a time.” His warning is stark, but his eyes are soft and velvety as you look at them.

“You know how to be gentle.” You sway. 

He nods. “To those who I feel so inclined.” He nudges his nose against yours.

The skin of your knee is so soft despite the roughness of the chafe. It’s a sensation that imbues you with warmth rather than discomfort; his thick fingers caressing gently, exchanging heat between your skin.

You’ve never let anyone feel it before, but he doesn't shy away. Neither do you as you kiss and flick your tongue tenderly over the stump of his arm. You let your tongue dip into the jagged welts and fleshy riverbeds of his scars.

He hums out with his eyes closed as you explore languidly and find your way eventually back to his bruised lips.

He makes you feel seen, he makes you feel whole for the first time. And it’s a feeling you don’t want to let willingly extinguish. You kiss him deeply, fearing it might be the last time. 

“Your hospitality has been most charitable, pet. The swell has dissipated satisfactorily.”

You sigh out. “This whole idea was just idiotic from the get go.” You’re already mourning the loss of him, another part failing to grow on your body, but he doesn’t move. 

“Something I specialise in.” Ezra muses. But his smirk downturns when he sees your face. “Is that sincere affection you possibly harbour?”

“You think this whole time I spent with you was a ruse?” You frown.

He shakes his head. “I hope not. Did I fall victim to a spell?”

“I want you to stay, Ezra.” You say, reaching for his hand. “But only if you want to. There’s a place for you here, with me, if you want it.”

He closes his eyes, your knuckles resting on his lips, his thumb stroking over the hilt.

“You definitely have me under a spell. There’s no other possible explanation.” He hums as his eyes find yours staring back, unwavering. “You and your magic tea.”

“No magic. Maybe you just want to stay with me.” You smile, knowingly. 

“Perhaps some things can’t be explained by the universe after all.” 

“Perhaps it’s the Aurelac.” You snort. “That Siren song you Prospectors can't resist.”

Ezra shakes his head vehemently. “Maybe it’s just you, Birdie.” He smiles as he leans in to kiss you. “Maybe I finally found my missing piece.”

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Ezra, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

BODIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

EZRA MASTERLIST

[ratpacman]

Pedro Pascal and this silly ass family photoshoot

[pedroshotwifey]

One Condition

This is actually a requested fic from the lovely @survivingandenduring! You can view the request here if you'd like!

Pairing: Marcus Pike x fem!reader x Ezra (Prospect)

Word count: 4.9k

Tags/warnings: unprotected piv sex, sex pollen trope, dubcon, unprotected anal sex, double penetration, oral sex, cum eating, so much cum like its kinda scary, Ezra being a nasty little freak, anal fingering, pain kink, big fat juicy plot twist, this is absolutely nasty shit, stuff I'm probably forgetting, I'm actually not sorry at all for this

Summary: You and your partner, Marcus Pike, get stranded on an inhabited planet and run into problem after problem. You find yourselves in a compromising position that requires help from a strange man, who comes to you with one condition.

A/N: Uhhh. don't look at me 🫣

*****

“Um, Marcus?” 

You look at your partner, who has the same worried expression on his face as you. 

“Yup.” 

It’s not a question. You’re both thinking the same thing; you’re in the wrong place. 

It looks similar to the planet you were supposed to be landing on, but most of the scenery here is a lush green instead of the blue hues you’d been expecting. It’d looked the exact same from above the atmosphere, but there is a clear difference now that you’re on the surface. 

Marcus mutters a curse under his breath but begins the landing sequence anyway. That’s probably for the best; that way the two of you can figure out where you really were, and then where you actually need to be going. 

Dust comes up around your shuttle as you touch ground, the greenery around you rustling a bit as the jets power down. You get up from your seat when you feel the craft settle enough for the floor to be stable. 

Marcus follows, shutting everything down and then unbuckling himself from the pilot’s chair. You’re already on the other side of the small contraption, looking through the maps you have stored in the tiny compartment of the far wall. He comes up next to you and pulls up the planet encyclopedias, trying to find a description that matches the world you’ve landed in. 

You spend the next few minutes flipping through various books and maps until Marcus comes across a planet that matches. He hands the book over and points at the section. 

“Here,” he points. “It looks like we're on a sister planet to the one we’re supposed to be on.” 

You hum in agreement, reading the small passage provided next to the picture.

“Alright, well, let’s get her powered back up.” 

Your partner sighs, running a hand over his face. You furrow your brows. His face has paled a bit and he seems a bit reluctant to follow your request. 

“Is there a problem?” 

“Yeah, actually. We’re out of fuel,” he admits, trying and failing miserably to maintain eye contact. 

You gape at him. 

“Marcus! You were supposed to fill her up before we fucking left! It says here that there’s no civilization!” 

He nods along as you scold him, knowing it’s well deserved. 

“Yeah, I know. I forgot until we were halfway here, but I knew it would take just enough to get us on planet, and we could get more from there. It’s not like I knew that we would be landing on the wrong planet” He spews it out, not defensive exactly, but regretful. 

You groan and walk back to the front of the ship, checking the fuel gauge. 

“We’re running on fumes right now, I don’t know if it’s going to be enough to get us to the neighboring planet.” 

You look at him, trying to keep your anger from showing up because you know that it was genuinely an accident, and Marcus isn’t usually one to mess up like this. But of course when he does, you get stranded on an unknown planet.  

Rubbing your eyes, you walk in a circle around the floor, trying to think of a plan. You can feel Marcus’s guilty eyes following you until you come to a stop. 

“Okay,” you start. “The book said that this planet is typically only used for mining aurelac, right?” 

Marcus nods slowly, obviously confused as to where you’re going with this. 

“Well then there should be at least a few miners on planet in that case, right?” 

He nods again, furrowing his brows in thought. 

“So we should go out and try to find someone to borrow some fuel from?” he asks. 

“Yes. Either that or see if there’s someone who can hitch us a ride.” 

He sighs and puts his hands on his hips, his gaze downcast to the floor as he thinks through the options.

“Yeah, seems like our best bet,” he agrees after a minute. 

Within a few minutes, you both pack small bags and suit up to withstand the harsh environment of the planet. According to the book, the air is extremely thin and can sometimes hold toxic chemicals depending on other factors. You follow Marcus out of the craft and watch as he makes sure everything’s sealed correctly, before you both start walking into the woods. 

“Do you know where you’re going?” you ask after you’ve been walking for a while.” 

Marcus looks at you, his expression still holding hints of guilt. 

“Not exactly. I think most of the mines are located in the forest though, so we’ll just have to keep walking and hope we come across—” 

“Shit, Marcus!” 

You yell for him as he stumbles across a root and tumbles down into a pit. It’s not super deep, but just enough so that he could have seriously hurt himself with that fall. You carefully slide down the side of it to join him. 

“Are you okay?”

He looks up at you from where he’s planted on his back and groans a bit. He opens his mouth to reply and that’s when you see that his mask is on the ground next to him, crushed into several pieces. 

“Shit,” he croaks, already feeling the effects of the thin air. 

You crouch down beside him, feeling him up for any injuries. 

“Does anything hurt?” 

“Just my head. It’s fucking pounding.” 

You sigh. “Probably from lack of airflow.” 

“C’mon,” you grunt, threading your arms under his. “Let’s get you back and hope that you don’t die.” 

He glares at you but allows you to help him into a sitting position.

“Well, isn’t this unfortunate? Two little birds trapped in a cage.” 

You both jolt at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. You peer up to the top of the pit and find a man standing near the ledge, a blaster aimed directly at your head. He wears a shabby, brown suit with a bulbous helmet that would be almost funny looking if not for the imminent threat he poses. You slowly raise your hands and start to stand back up, a rush of fear creeping up your spine. 

“We’re not armed,” you start. “My friend’s mask just broke; we need help.” You try not to sound too panicked as you explain your situation to the stranger, praying to whoever may be listening that he’s not planning to shoot both of you.

“Don’t worry gem, I don’t want to kill you. I simply would like to assure myself that neither of you had plans of my own execution.” 

You furrow your brows at his choice of wording, his strange drawl only adding to your confusion. 

“I, uh. No.” What else can you really say to that?

You glance down at Marcus and see the same befuddled expression on his face. 

“I will warn you that your…friend”—he cocks a brow at you as he says it—”has chosen a rather unfortunate time to lose his filtration system. Assuming, of course,  you haven’t already discovered the effects of the tainted oxygen.” 

You shake your head as your mouth goes dry. 

“Is—is he going to be okay?” 

The stranger pauses for a moment as if in thought. He cocks his head and then looks back at you. 

“He should be as long as he receives the assistance he should require.” 

“What do you mean by that?” This comes from Marcus. 

The stranger frowns and lowers his gun, which he seems to have just remembered he was still holding up. 

“Are you not familiar with this planet’s cycles?” 

You both shake your heads.

The man sighs and kneels on the ledge extending a hand. You stare at it, neither of you making a move toward him. 

“Do you want to stay in this pit? I think it would be rather unsanitary to do so under your current circumstance.” 

You flash another glance at Marcus, who nods slightly toward you, encouraging you to take the other man’s hand. You step forward and place your palm in his, allowing him to pull you up, and then you kneel to help him hoist Marcus up as well. 

“I’m Ezra,” the man says once the three of you are standing. You introduce the two of you as well, figuring at this point that the stranger has to be at least mostly harmless. 

“Alright, well tell me, little bird; are you and Marcus of the romantic type?” 

You just stare at him, unsure of how to answer that, nor of why he would feel the need to ask in the first place. You can feel Marcus’s eyes on you as your cheeks begin to burn. 

“I–uh…” 

You let your eyes meet your partner’s, a silent conversation transpiring. You’ve engaged in some less than appropriate activities throughout your travels, but it’s always been strictly for stress release or simply a product of boredom. The last few months, it’s been more of an unspoken thing. 

The two of you care for each other and behave as most couples would, but you’ve never actually given each other the labels. You definitely never thought that the deciding conversation would be in the presence of a strange man who seems to be about to deliver some bad news. You’re about to answer when Marcus gives you a short nod, lifting the burden off of your shoulders. 

“Yeah, we are.” 

The man nods, though he’s clearly amused. You’re sure he can see what just happened and must have used context clues to figure the rest out out. 

“That’s fortunate for you. What’s circulating in the air currently is what could be described as an aphrodisiac. I’m sure you’re familiar with such?” 

You and Marcus exchange yet another glance. 

“Yes, we’ve heard of them,” you say. 

“Do you have a craft nearby?” Ezra asks, peering behind you as if he could spot one he missed before. 

You hesitate before answering. Even if he’s seemed to be helpful so far, can you really be sure it isn’t a trap? 

“We have a shuttle,” you decide on just to be on the safe side. “We’re out of fuel though. That’s why we're out here in the first place,” you add just in case the man has some extra laying around for some miraculous reason.

Just then, you near a heavy thud and a groan. You spin on your heel to find Marcus keeled over, his hands over his groin and his exposed skin covered in a layer of sweat more intense than what’s normal for this climate. You’re on your knees beside him within a second, your hands running over him until he flinches away as if you’d burned him. 

“Marcus! What’s happening?” You aim your question at Ezra, who’s still standing above the two of you with an almost pitying expression. 

“The effects are getting to him, little dove. I’m afraid you’re going to need to help him in a timely manner.” 

You think for a moment, knowing getting your partner all the way back to your shuttle is going to be a difficult task in the state that he’s in. 

“I have a camp not too far from our current location, I’m willing to offer up the space on one condition. And before you protest, we both know it’s not safe to engage in life saving activities out here in the open.” 

You stiffen at this. Of course there’s a catch; it’s not common to receive help from a random stranger without them expecting anything in return. You glance down to make sure his gun is still in its holster before narrowing your eyes at his face, not liking the way his smile has turned a bit wolfish. 

“What do you want? We don’t have any coin.” 

“Oh, no, gem. I don’t want your profits. I simply desire to join you and your handsome partner. It’s been a long time since I had something other than my own fist to keep me company.” 

“What?” you bark, slightly humiliated that he would suggest something like that, regardless of how handsome he may be. “No, I’m sleeping with a stranger in exchange for shelter!” 

“Now don’t get feisty, dove. I didn’t say it had to be you,” he says, watching Marcus with a newfound hunger. “Though it would probably be fortunate for your friend here that it was, assuming he is of the hetero kind.” 

“Don’t,” Marcus croaks, looking up at you the best he’s able to. 

You’re torn, knowing that Marcus needs help quick, but not wanting to give either of you up to this man. When it comes down to it though, you’re always going to choose what’s best for your partner. You look up at the man with disdain, knowing that you’re not going to have much of a choice here. 

“Fine. But not him.” 

Ezra’s smile broadens. 

“Very well, gem. Right this way.” 

He turns around and waits for you to get a near-delirious Marcus about halfway up so he’s propped by one of your shoulders. Noticing your struggle, Ezra comes to his other side and mirrors your position, one hand supporting around his waist. 

As you walk, Marcus’s temperature keeps rising and his groans get worse. Fortunately, the man wasn’t lying when he said he had a camp nearby; you only have to walk for about a minute before coming across it. 

He opens up the flap as you get closer, taking the zipper all the way down and helping you ease Marcus in. As you lay him down, you can see the bulge in his flight suit; almost twice what is normal. You hear Ezra zip the opening back up and then step in behind you. 

“F-fuck, I’m sorry, I can’t–” 

Marcus cuts himself off as he shakily pulls down the zipper on his suit, revealing his undershirt and boxers. His hand goes down the latter not a second later, a pornographic moan coming from him as his hand makes contact with his engorged cock. He starts stroking himself under the fabric, panting heavily, and it makes your mouth go dry despite the circumstances. 

“Shit, I-it’s not enough,” he grits out, pumping furiously. There are tears in his eyes as he looks at you, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 

“Better help him quick, little bird,” Ezra quips from behind you, already removing his attire as well. You comply, though for which man you’re not sure. 

You strip quickly, the three of you tearing your own clothes off at the same time, each of you stark naked at the end. You feel so exposed between the two of them, especially with Ezra, who doesn’t help at all by giving a lewd whistle at the sight of your bare body. 

You give him a look so nasty that you’re surprised he doesn’t drop dead. He raises his hands in defense. 

“Woah, little bird, I meant it only as a praise.” 

You ignore him and turn to Marcus, who’s just now shoving his boxers off. You gasp when his dick springs up, heavy, red, throbbing, and leaking an obscene amount of precum. It’s swollen to a point that looks almost painful. 

You swallow your nerves and try your best to ignore Ezra as you instruct Marcus to lay down on the cot. He tugs you with him, feral to get to you at this point. You fall over him and he immediately starts sucking and licking all the skin he can get to, his hips thrusting up into nothing. 

You see Ezra move out of the corner of your eye, taking a seat in the single chair inside the small tent. You lift your head as much as you can to make sure he’s not going to try anything. 

“Carry on, gem. I’m a patient man; I can wait my turn.” 

If you’re being honest, he looks a little too smug.

Suddenly Marcus is flipping you over, shoving you down to the bed on your back, whispering something you can’t quite catch. He doesn’t wait another second before you feel his cock at your underprepared cunt, and your eyes barely have a chance to go wide before he’s forcing himself into you, groaning wildly as he tugs you down onto him. 

It’s only then that you realize he had been whispering “sorry”. 

You scream and your hands come up to reflexively try to get him off. There are tears as he keeps shoving himself in, stretching you to your limit. Through your blurry vision, you can see tears in his as well, more of shame than of pleasure by his sympathetic expression. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“N-no,” you squeak even as your hands claw at his back from the discomfort. “It’s okay. Don’t stop. Even if I beg you to.”

You close your eyes and try not to focus on the uncomfortable feeling between your legs as Marcus begins to unrelentingly slam his hip into yours. You hear a sound coming from beside you, and turn to see Ezra pumping himself through your blurry vision. It’s a sight that really shouldn't turn you on as much as it does.

You moan despite yourself as the pain coming from your sore cunt turns into pleasure. You’re getting wetter and wetter as the seconds tick by, the glide of your partner’s cock becoming easier and more toe-curling. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he starts to punch that spot deep inside you. You’re getting hot fast, sweat building up in every crease and crevice as your pussy seems to get more hungry for what Marcus is feeding it. 

Each thrust sends you up the bed, but Marcus holds onto you so that you don’t go too far. He’s grunting like a feral animal, his body maneuvering every which way until he finds the position that provides him with the most momentum.  

“Ohh that feels so fucking good, baby,” he hisses through his teeth. “Gods, you always take me so f-fucking well.”

You’ve never heard him talk like this before—with this level of vulgarity. You whimper, making eye contact with Ezra as Marcus nails something even more delicious within you. His gaze is heavy and on your face rather than on your body, which surprises you as much as it flatters you. 

“Does she suck cock just as well?” Ezra’s deepened voice comes from the chair, his eyes still on you as he asks the question. 

Marcus looks down at you, albeit with heavy lids, for your consent. You nod, already fucked out beyond thinking clearly. 

“Better,” comes Marcus’s reply, his stare just as heavy as Ezra’s. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?” 

You moan at the thought of being taken from both ends, one of the domineering men on each side. This is going much better than anticipated, both your mind and body opening to the stranger despite your earlier protest. 

Ezra doesn’t have to be asked twice, already getting up to hover his thick cock over your face, slapping it gently against your lips. The cot is the perfect height for him to stick it into your mouth, though he waits. 

“You want this, gem?” 

You almost find it funny that he’s asking, considering he didn’t give you much of a choice earlier. You nod anyway, because you honestly do, your gaze is trained on it as your mouth waters. He threads one hand through your hair, pulling you into the right position, and then uses his tip to part your lips. 

He moans as he sinks in, his eyes fluttering shut as you immediately wrap your tongue around him. You find yourself groaning at his salty taste, savoring the weight of him as you start to pull him in. Your cunt throbs as he and Marcus both moan out at the same time, Marcus doubling over while Ezra bottoms out. 

Marcus brings one hand to your clit and begins rubbing up and down at a furious pace that would have made you scream if not for the other man’s cock in the way. Tears leak from your eyes as Ezra begins to pump in and out of you, his hips thrusting as he uses the hand in your hair to hold you where he wants. 

“Oh you feel devine, little gem,” he moans, his eyes still closed and his lips parted as he picks up the pace. You can feel him hitting deep inside your throat, making you resist the urge to choke. It’s overwhelming but in the best way. 

“Oh, fuck!” Marcus nearly shouts the curse as his hips stutter. “Come with me baby, come on,” he urges, moving his hand quicker. 

Your back arches up at the feeling, though you’re still pinned by both men. Suddenly, everything flashes white, your hearing going dull as your entire body convulses with the power of your orgasm. You have just enough brain capacity to think that this has got to be the highest level of pleasure attainable. 

It goes on forever, your pussy pulsing as you sob and moan around Ezra’s cock. You faintly hear Marcus’s own moans and feel his dick twitch and throb within you, coating your walls in his creamy white spend.

You don’t even realize you had closed your eyes until you open them again upon feeling your own drool dribbling down your cheeks to mix with your tears. Ezra coos down at you, wiping away the saliva though he doesn’t dare slow his pace. 

“M-messy little bird,” he laughs.

You glance back down at Marcus the best you can just to realize that he’s still hard as a fucking rock. He’s still riding out his own high, rocking slowly to prolong it as much as possible. His eyes flick back up to yours after a moment, and then to Ezra’s who watches him intently as he continues to defile your throat. 

The gurgling sounds coming from you should be downright disgusting, but they only add to the eroticness of what the three of you are doing right now. The tent seems to have filled with the thick scent and humidity of sex, making your head even more foggy than provided by your orgasm. 

Ezra’s not far after the two of you, grunting heavily and pulling on your hair to a painful level. He pulls out and strokes himself over your face, letting his cum splatter across your features right after you close your eyes. His thumb comes to your lips, making you open your mouth as he moans aloud. 

Some of his seed falls on your tongue, and you swallow it down as Ezra finishes the last few spurts. You open your eyes when you’re sure he’s done, panting and gasping despite your sore throat. 

It’s at the same time that the two men pull away from you, and you’re extremely confused until you see that they’re maintaining eye contact, seeming to have had a silent conversation while you’d been distracted. 

Suddenly, you’re being lifted by the both of them, your body being rearranged to their preference. You’re so fucking tired, but you do your best to comply with their actions. You’re being lifted onto Ezra’s lap when you finally understand their plan. 

His cock is only half-hard after his orgasm, but he begins rutting himself against you regardless as Marcus disappears from your line of sight. You half-collapse on Ezra, moaning as your clit gets stimulated thanks to his thrusts. 

“Second drawer, pretty boy,” he pants. You hear shuffling and then Marcus returning behind you before you get the chance to ask what he was doing. There’s a pop from behind you, and then a cold substance at your ass. 

You yelp at the unexpected feeling, only to be shushed by Ezra. 

“Hush now, gem. I’ve heard you have experience in this area.” 

He smirks at you as your cheeks heat. 

You moan suddenly as Marcus slips a finger past your tight ring of muscle, pumping a good few times before adding a second. He leans close and whispers praise into your ear, telling you how good you’re being for them, how well you’re taking it all. 

He works you up to three fingers before he pulls his hand from you and helps lift you up, propping you up enough for Ezra to notch his tip at your thoroughly soaked cunt. You help the slow descent down his shaft, your lips parting and eyes pinching shut at the sensation. 

Ezra chokes on a groan, squeezing both of your ass cheeks as you bottom out. 

“Fuck, little birdy, your heavenly cunt should be reserved for those of immortal status.” 

You don’t even have the energy to cringe at his wording, instead savoring the way he fills you so nicely, not as long as Marcus, but a good bit thicker. The coarse hairs above his cock rub against your oversensitive clit nicely, making you want to rut against him. Just then, you feel Marcus settle in behind you again, dragging you partially onto his lap so you’re over his cock. 

“Ready, sweetheart?” He asks, clearly having regained some of his gentlemanly status after quelling his lust a bit. You whimper and nod at him, and he starts to push inside of you. 

“Oh, Gods,” you moan, wrapping your arms around Ezra’s back and digging your nails in for stability. He hisses and increases his grip on your ass, keeping you spread for Marcus as his hips come flush against you. 

You’re already so full it’s dizzying, so when the two men start to move, you think you may come on the spot. Ezra goes first, pulling out a bit and then sinking back in, which is when Marcus makes his move, repeating the other man’s actions. Your knees are planted on the cot, giving you the opportunity to move with them. 

The three of you are panting, moaning messes, hot breaths fanning across each other’s skin as you nuzzle together. The pace starts out slow, but quickly picks up, increasing your combined noises. Both of the men start to grab at you, moving their hands and groping anything and everything they’re able to. 

You can feel their cocks rubbing against your middle wall, creating an intoxicating feeling that you know you’ll miss when this is over. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, being so full you can feel them in your stomach. 

Small whimpers begin to spill from your mouth, but are quickly caught by Ezra, who captures your lips in a sloppy kiss, his spend from earlier mixed between your tongues. It’s difficult to keep it up with how much you’re being jostled, so he gives up after a moment and instead opts to lick his cum off of your sweaty cheek. You’re pleasantly surprised when you feel Marcus’s hand come up to grasp at your chin, tilting your face so that he’s able to do the same on the opposite side. 

The two of you clean your face with their tongues as they thrust into you at a punishing pace, somehow hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. You let out a raspy groan, your hands scrambling over both of their bodies for purchase. 

A heat is beginning to build once again in your abdomen, pleasure licking up your spine. It only takes a few more alternating thrusts before you’re coming around their cocks with a scream. You tighten around both of their throbbing cocks, getting them closer to their own ends. 

Marcus comes first once again, still slightly affected by the drug from earlier. He bites onto your shoulder as he busts inside of you, slamming his hips up and locking in place, his hands coming up to squeeze your tits as his balls empty into your ass. 

Ezra follows right after, seemingly liking Marcus’s idea of a gag, and biting into your other shoulder. You scream again at the pressure of both men’s teeth, your arms raising so you can grasp both of their hair, holding them close. 

Your orgasm lingers for as long as theirs do, the three of you coming completely down at the same time. You stay in a sweaty heap for a long time, just trying to catch your breath and make sense of what’s real and what’s not. 

You all fall apart after a few minutes, exhaustion officially taking over you. You can feel both of the men’s cum leaking from your holes as they pull out and help you lay comfortable on the cot. They get situated next to you, and you’re all out like lights within the next minute. 

The next morning, Ezra’s waiting for the two of you with a portable can of fuel and an extra mask. Your departure is swift and unawkward, Ezra walking with the two of you back to your ship like you’ve known each other for years. It takes a bit longer than it should due to your body being practically fucking wrecked from last night, but both of the men help you get along. 

When you reach your craft, you all say your goodbyes, knowing this will more than likely be the last time you’ll come across this strange man. To be frank, you’re still a bit confused about what exactly transpired last night, but you choose to ignore it. Your head is pounding with what feels like the worst hangover you’ve ever had, and you’re just eager to get off of this nightmare planet. 

Ezra watches you fuel up your craft and then take off, smiling and honestly quite satisfied with himself. Neither of you even figured it out that he was the one who planted the trap and laced the dirt pit with the drug, nor that he may have let a bit more slip inside his tent.

***** I mean really, do we really expect anything less from Ezra?

Please consider interacting if you enjoyed this fic!!

[cryingspiritsofheart]

could you do neuvillette hcs with a school teacher s/o like pre-school or elementary? im currently studying to be one <3

:0 omg yes! Thank you for the request and my sincere apologies for such a late response! I've been working on some stuff hope you/ (all of you) understand and aren't mad!

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝗡𝗲𝘂𝘃𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲 ᥊ 𝗣𝗿𝗲-𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗹 𝗧𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽?: 𝒀𝒆𝒔 / 𝑵𝒐

𝑻𝒚𝒑𝒆?: 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 !!

𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 ✦•✦

𝑨𝒖?: 𝒴𝑒𝓈 / 𝒩𝑜 = 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧!𝐀𝐮

𝗖𝗪\𝗧𝗪: 𝑵𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚

��𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅!𝑵𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 who always brings your lunch whenever you forget it because your either to busy packing snakes for your "children" or running a bit late.

𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅!𝑵𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 who often comes by to see you cause he misses your angelic presence.

𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅!𝑵𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 who plays with the kids and tries to help you take care of them (even though he's afraid he'll hurt them in some way)

𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅!𝑵𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 who let's your "children" play and style his hair in any way holding they won't tangle or rip out some or pieces of his hair.

𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅!𝑵𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 who never knew how gentle and caring you were with kids, you understood that since they were kids they couldn't really do much or what's expected.

𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅!𝑵𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 who takes over and helps you whenever you look or seem really stressed/tired with the kids and makes you a nice cup of coffee.

𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅!𝑵𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 who cuddles you when you put the kids to rest for awhile, when you fall asleep he brings all the kids together and sleep in a big ball/hug together.

𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅!𝑵𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 who notices how the kids called you "Mother/Father" , "Sister/Brother" anything along the lines of that.

𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅!𝑵𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 who helps you keep the kids in line, you aren't the type for discipline since these kids were like baby angel but when they needed discipline you were that harsh no physical activity was needed nor will it ever be.

𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅!𝑵𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 who is a clingy boy so whenever you sit down and read to the kids he sits right beside you and puts his head on your lap and takes a nap until your finished.

𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅!𝑵𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 who often is jealous of how much attention and care you give to your "children" so you nudging you or clears his throat loudly or even makes it clear that he wants attention.

𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅!𝑵𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 who sometimes does the kids hair but does your all the time, he puts your hair into French braids or just one depending on what he feels like doing.

𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅!𝑵𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 who literally tried to teach the kids French once which ended up in them saying random words that weren't French nor English.

𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅!𝑵𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 who helps you get the kids packed and ready to leave he even helps you even when you said you got it on your own.

𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅!𝑵𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 who makes your lunch even when you already ate yours or you forget because you love kids and taking care of them.

𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅!𝑵𝒆𝒖𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 who took pictures of you while you were taking care of kids and even got your best angles which is everywhere.

Ay yes another request done and finish with like 3 other ones? Don't know but I hope you enjoyed anon! And I hope you all had a good read!!

[pimosworld]

I’m coming in late @swiftiscruff but I didn’t want to miss an opportunity to say how much I Love the people I’ve met on this blog because of this man.

This is the way I’m eating up all your fics because I love you so much. If I didn’t tag you please don’t be offended, I would tag my whole follow list if I could.

Taglist- @swiftispunk @joelscruff @joelsgreys @goodwithcheese @punkshort @survivingandenduring @for-a-longlongtime @connectioneverywhere @mountainsandmayhem @mermaidgirl30 @morallyinept @modernperplexity @pedge-page @gasolinerainbowpuddles @beefrobeefcal @ghostslillady @the-fox-den @syd-djarin @sawymredfox @tightjeansjavi @javierpena-inatacvest @ohforficsake @endlessthxxghts @romanarose @casa-boiardi @netherfeildren @luxurychristmaspudding @auteurdelabre @fuckyeahdindjarin @secretelephanttattoo @undercoverpena @underwood0723 @joelsgreys @pedgito @milla-frenchy @oliveksmoked @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @thetriumphantpanda @kiwisbell @stargirlfics @beardedjoel

[tightjeansjavi]

party trick

A/N: this silly little fic is directly inspired by this hilarious post by @pedge-page 😝 this fic is meant to be silly, a little unrealistic, and fun! If that ain’t your thing, no worries! Just scroll on by, gem. Also, big thanks to @itsokbbygrl for betaing and @morallyinept for encouraging me with my shenanigans! hehe.

~word count: 1.9k~

Summary: your boyfriend Dieter wants to show you his new party trick that he learned from a pornstar named Ezra

Pairing | Dieter Bravo x pornstar!Ezra x f!reader

Warnings: fluff, smut, established relationship, mentions of drugs and eating, dieter and the reader are openly bi, implied open relationship (not described) Ezra is a bi male pornstar (definition of bi panic) (very light dubious consent as reader and dieter smoke before fucking but it is not described) male masturbation, self sucking??, reader is able bodied with no physical descriptions, readers nickname is gumdrop, no age gap, +18, minors dni!

Your first date with the ever-so eccentric, Dieter Bravo, was a success! Sure, he was a bit clumsy, and maybe even a bit of a blubbering idiot, but you had an incredible time. Did you kiss? Well—maybe! There’s a tell-tale sign when he admires the color of your lipstick against the heart shaped patch in his beard.

After that first date, he washes his face, but is careful to not remove the residue of your lipstick. Not even a week goes by and he’s asking you out on a second date.

Two dates turns to ten and somewhere down the line…you’re Dieter Bravo’s girlfriend, and you couldn’t be happier. (And neither could he)

-

Dieters plan for the evening was to throw a party with some of his friends: not necessarily a rager, per se, just an intimate get-together. Pop a few bottles, skinny dip in his inground pool, and dance under the California night sky.

He canceled his plans last minute because the only person he wanted to spend his evening with was you, his gumdrop.

Hiya, gumdrop baby! 💗

Dee! Hey, baby boy 🥰 having fun at your party?

He cheeses a smile down at his phone, dimples on display, fingers typing fast on the tiny screen, little tap tap taps echoing through the cooling evening air.

Good golly, I’m blushing 🤭 actually…I canceled the party! Just wasn’t feeling the vibes for it! Wanna come over?

Yes! I’d love to! I was just about to order some takeout. Want me to pick something up on the way?

Yes! How about veggie grill? I was just about to smoke, want me to wait up for ya? Oh! Also, I got something I wanna show you later 😉

Being in a relationship with Dieter meant that nothing he could possibly say or do surprised you anymore, but his vibrance, care-free, goofy, eccentric attitude, made him even more attractive to you. That and the fact that he was the literal definition of a trash panda. Your trash panda specifically.

Sounds good to me! 💗 did you want your usual or something different? You don’t have to wait for me, Dee! I’ll have some when I come over. Oh? What is it that you want to show me? 👀

Okie doke! Hey, how about you just order the whole menu? My treat! See ya soon, gumdrop xx. And you’ll see! It’s a surprise. Hehe.

God, Bravo. You sure know how to spoil a gal rotten! Looking forward to the surprise!

He hearted your messages before he reached behind his ear and grabbed his perfectly rolled joint and reached for his lighter that was resting on the table next to the poolside chair he was spread out on.

He couldn’t wait to see you and show you his new party trick.

-

Hours earlier in the day, Dieter found himself in his bed, boxers discarded on the floor and his fist languidly wrapped around his half-hard cock.

His freehand was scrolling through Pornhub, trying to find something to get off to. Usually it didn’t take him very long to settle on a video, but today he was finding it to be a bit of an annoying struggle.

He scrolled and scrolled till he stumbled upon something he had never seen before, self sucking?

He spit into his palm, using his saliva as a natural lubricant because he was too lazy to reach across his nightstand to grab his favorite bottle of lotion (ain’t nobody got time for that!).

Holy shit! He’s sucking himself off??

Christ, his cock is taking up the entire screen!

Dieter's private thoughts ran rabid as he watched the pornstar, Ezra, easily bend over and suck the head of his cock (which was massive, by the way) into his mouth.

“Holy fuck! How is that even possible?!” Dieter announced in disbelief.

He paused the video, and went to Ezra’s page and scrolled till he found the contact button and a direct link to Ezra’s instagram. He sent him a message:

Hey! I hope this doesn’t come off as weird or creepy (feel free to ignore) but I watched one of your videos just now…the self sucking one and DUDE, nice cock! How the hell do I do that? 🫣

Ezra responds seconds later after hearting the message,

HOLY SHIT! THEE DIETER BRAVO GOT OFF TO MY COCK? 🥵 (sorry, huge fan!) anyway, gem, I’d be happy to show you the art of self sucking, and then you too can be a pro like me. xx

Dudeee you’re a fan of me?? I’m blushing! 😉 okay, okay, I have to ask…is it all natural?

I am, indeed! You have quite the eccentric presence, gem. Oh, it’s natural alright. The gods have certainly laid their blessing upon my loins x.

Ohhh, I get it! You’re like Shakespeare? 🤣 damn, you sure know how to swing that thing around! Anyway, I will take you up on that offer! Here’s my number:

Lawl. You’re a funny one huh, gem? I suppose I am a bit like Shakespeare both with my verbiage, and my cock. You free right now?

The funniest guy around! Well, Romeo, got my cock out and everything, let’s boogie?

Boogie we shall.

And so that’s how Dieter ended up FaceTiming with Ezra: who coincidentally, also had his cock out.

“Not to be a total massive fucking flirt, but you’re gorgeous, and my girlfriend would probably eat you right up!” Dieter preened, leaning in close so he could get a better look at Ezra’s third limb, er, cock.

“Oh?” Ezra smirks, “would she now? Well, gem, perhaps the three of us should get together sometime?”

“Yes! You can be like the skunk to my raccoon!” Dieter said with a giggle.

“I beg your finest pardon? Your—what?”

“Oh! Sorry, sorry. Probably should have provided some context, huh?” Dieter blushes.

“Naturally, gem. Go on.” Ezra sits back on his elbows, listening,

“So, my girlfriend calls me a trash panda! It’s endearing, really. And well, you got that blonde streak in your hair…so you can be the skunk?”

Ezra chuckles in pure amusement, eyebrows raising, heavy cock bobbing between his thighs.

“A skunk, huh? You’re lucky I think you’re cute, gem.”

Dieter fanned his face like the little slut that he was, and giggling, “You think I’m cute?”

“Cute as a button, gem. Now, let’s see what we’re working with so that you can show your girlfriend what I taught you.”

“Yes sir.”

Ezra is a wonderful teacher and by the end of it, Dieter is almost able to suck the head of his cock into his mouth. There’s a slight strain in his lower back, but fuck it! You only live once.

“Well, gem, I think you just have to remember to relax your muscles. Pretend you’re floating on a babbling brook, or napping on a fluffy cloud, and then you’ll be sucking yourself off in no time. I gotta run, but let me know how it goes!”

“Ahh! Okay, I think I can manage that! Thanks for all the help, Ezra.”

“Anytime, gem. Anytime.”

-

After passing the joint back and forth together, fucking (a few times) and devouring the veggie grill you brought over, Dieter brings you upstairs to his bedroom, nearly stumbling over his two feet because he’s so excited to show you his new party trick!

“Sit that cute ass on the bed, gumdrop.” He’s not being domineering at all, quite the opposite actually.

You’re both naked, naturally because in Dieter’s home, clothes are always optional!

You wrap your arms around him from behind, kissing his jawline, pecking at the heart patch in his beard. “Are you gonna show me the surprise now, Dieter?”

He leans back into your embrace with a pleasant sigh, “Yes, gumdrop. But c’mon, bed. Now.”

You press one last kiss to his face before detaching yourself from around him, walking over to the bed and plopping down with a soft, oof.

He joins you moments later, laying on his elbow facing you while you reach across and card your fingers through the soft curly hairs on his chest.

“So I was watching this porno earlier, right? I did a deep scroll, and stumbled across this video of this dude…with literally the biggest fucking cock that my two eyes have ever seen!” He speaks animatedly, throwing his hands up as he leans in.

“It literally took up the entire fucking screen, gumdrop! Anyway, that wasn’t the craziest part! His cock was so big, and long, that the motherfucker was able to suck himself off! Dude barely even had to bend over, just popped that sucker right in and got to suckin’!”

You twirl a strand of his chest hair between your fingers, giggling as you listen to his dramatic retelling of the massive cock he saw.

“Shit, it really took up the whole screen? That’s insane, Dee!”

“YEAH! Like…the guy was packing a literal BAZOOKA down there!” He chuckles, leaning in so he can nuzzle his face against yours.

“Anyway, I found the guy's instagram and sent him a message because I thought to myself, ‘Damn! Imagine if I could also suck my own cock?’”

“Let me guess, you asked this pornstar fellow how you can suck your own cock like him?”

“Yes! How did you know?” He chuckled and stole a quick kiss, melting against you like the soft man that he was.

“Lucky guess?” You tease, dragging your finger down lower, skating it across one of his nipples. “So, was it a success? Did he teach you how to properly suck your own cock, Dee?”

“Well, I was actually able to barely get the tip in my mouth! Wanna see, gumdrop? S’gonna be my new party trick!”

“Show me, Dee.” You giggle, encouraging him as he quickly sits up, remembering how Ezra told him the way to curve his spine, and relax his muscles so that he can bend over just enough—

Dieter is hunched over, using one hand to hold the base of his cock, and the other is resting against his lower back for support. He’s so fucking close to wrapping his lips around the head of his cock when–pinch!

He yelps in surprise, immediately rolling over and yowling like a cat.

Ow. Ow. Ow! Fuck! Fuck me! Ow!

You're at his side in an instant, comforting him and reaching for your phone to either call 911, or look up an immediate remedy for his pain.

“Fucking pulled a goddamn muscle!” He whimpers, burying his face into your chest.

“Dee, it’s okay! You’re not dying, baby. Okay? Look! Google says that we have to treat the area with ice and then a heating pad!”

“I’M DYING, GUMDROP! I SEE THE LIGHT!” Your boyfriend dramatically groans, “I'M FADING FAST!”

After icing Dieter’s lower back for a good hour or so, you placed a heating pad against the sore spot while spooning him for extra body heat.

He was typing a message to Ezra, a deep frown set between his eyebrows because he really just wanted to know what it was like to suck himself off! (Who wouldn’t)

Hey, Ez. I pulled a fucking muscle in my back!

☹ gf is spooning me with a heating pad now, but I was really hoping that I would be able to suck myself off!

From Ezra: (Shakespeare-BAZOOKA 🍆)

Aw, I’m terribly broken to hear that, gem. Better luck next time, Birdie!

-

The next time Dieter announced to you that he wanted to try and suck his cock again, you came prepared with two yoga mats and a beginner yoga flow video (thrifted, of course).

He gives you a funny look as you set the yoga mats down in the sunroom.

“What?” You laugh, placing your hands on your hips. “It would be a cool party trick, Dee! Just gotta get you a little more flexible and bendy before we try again.”

Ohhh. He grins, dimples peeking out, “Well, let’s yogi, gumdrop.”

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[imtryingmybeskar]

Happy happy 1K!!! 🥳🎇💕 How about some Starman Ezra (I mean, it's me, duh, I'll never be over him) and either of these which jumped out at me: "This feels better than I could have ever imagined," or "This is better than I've ever imagined" or something similar. Or literally anything you feel inspired to write with him! ♥️♥️

My loveeee thank you so much for the chance to revisit Starman. You know I always love to write for these two, especially when it's the fluffier kind of fluff!

Starman - Midnight

Word count: 448

The moon dazzles white upon the blackness of the ocean, touching the top of the gentle waves and causing shattered shards of broken light to glint softly upon it. Ezra inhales softly. Cool, clean air fills his lungs and passes gently over his skin, goosepimples breaking out on his arms. She shifts closer behind him, her legs bracketing his and her chest pressed against his back until there is not a breath between them. She had wisely thought to bring her cardigan on this impromptu midnight excursion, and she holds him close, caging his arms with her own and sharing the warmth of her body. He feels her nose against the nape of his neck, eschewing the sea air for the comfort of his scent and she nuzzles her face against his skin, bestowing kisses in a trail until her chin hooks over his shoulder. He presses the side of his head against her, now and at every moment wanting to be as close to her as he could possibly be.

She huffs a soft laugh as she resumes the featherlight touches of her lips against the scruffy hair at his jaw.

“What amuses you, my love?” he asks.

“I just don’t think I’ll ever get over this. Seeing what happens to your markings when our skin touches.”

He glances down, not wanting to move his head too much lest she take it as an invitation to stop what she was doing. The markings on his arm are writhing, colours rippling across them and looking all the more bright for being bathed in moonlight.

“I love them,” she confesses. “And I love you.”

This time he does turn his head, unable to resist the lure of his lips upon her any longer. But she is pressed so tight against him that he can only brush the tip of her nose. She giggles again at his attempts and he grins at the sound, the love he feels for her swelling from his heart and cascading warmly throughout his whole body.

“I am eternally thankful that I found you,” he whispers. “All the times I indulged my sorrow, wondering what was so wrong with me that I could not find what others seemed to so readily. And now I know that it was merely a question of time. Of waiting, so I could be with you. Vive. And it feels better than I could have ever imagined, even in my wildest dreamings.”

She wraps her arms around him tighter, clasping her hands around his middle, her thumb stroking softly over his midriff. Cheek to cheek they sit on the beach in a silence borne of joyful serentity – warm, complete, whole.

[penvisions]

plumage {ezra x reader drabble}

Fandom: Prospect

Pairing: Ezra x F! Reader

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

Word Count: 520

Warnings: allusions to adult content, allusions to smut

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, hey there, pretty bird.”

[liatorii]

Dragon Ezra everyone? :3

[morallyinept]

Silver - An Ezra One Shot ☔

Written for @undercoverpena 's April Showers Challenge ☔ April Showers Challenge Masterlist Thanks Jojobean for putting this together! 🥰 This is Helianthus Ezra <- You may want to read that story first for context, but you can read this as a stand alone. 🌻

Summary: A heavy rainfall gives Ezra some time for some cleansing contemplation.

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity. It’s you, bub. However, Reader has hair and is pregnant.)

Word Count: 3k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️ “Don't hurt me, cadejo."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.  

Warnings/Triggers: Brief mention of genitals and unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/some heavy petting/it's mostly fluff - you're pretty safe.

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

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

Author’s Note: Ezra in the rain. 'Nuff said. ☔

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

As Ezra works diligently outside the weathered homestead, his singular arm deftly manoeuvring rustic tools and materials spread out before him, he can't help but notice the subtle shifts in the atmosphere around him. 

A change that sends a ghostly shiver down the back of his bronzed, sweat-damp neck. The once clear sky, so often dominated by the relentless blaze of the imposing sun, now bears the telltale signs of an impending storm.

The air, previously heavy with the oppressive heat of a stifling midday, now crackles with a newfound electricity - a palpable energy that seems to dance upon the incoming breeze. The usual azure canopy giving way to ominous, dark clouds, heavy with the promise of rain, swirl and gather on the horizon, their billowing forms casting shadows upon the vast sunflower field below at the bottom of the rugged slope. 

With a sense of anticipation tingling in the air, Ezra pauses in his work, his keen gaze scanning the horizon. 

He can feel the distant rumble of thunder, a low and steady drumbeat that heralds the storm's advance.

"It appears that nature, in its infinite wisdom, deems fit to grace us with the spectacle of a storm," he continues over his shoulder, a hint of anticipation colouring his words. "After enduring the relentless ardour of the sun's embrace for so long, the prospect of rainfall is a welcome respite indeed, eh?"

"Ah, Birdie, do you perceive the portent of the tempest that approaches?"

Ezra's voice, rich with the cadence of his Southern prose, carries through the weathered homestead as he steps across the creaky veranda admiring the view.

Perched atop a gentle hill, overlooking the vast expanse of the sunflower field, stands a weather-beaten homestead - a relic of a forgotten era, its timeworn facade bearing the scars of countless seasons.

Ezra's left hand, calloused from turns spent toiling under the unrelenting sun, moves with purpose over his glistening forehead as he speaks.

His eyes attend to the final details of the homestead's restoration, alight with a quiet fervour, flickering with a mixture of determination and contentment as he surveys his handiwork.

With its timbers bleached to a mottled gray hue and its roof adorned with moss and spackled patches of alien lichen, it seems to blend seamlessly into the landscape, as if it’s grown organically from the turf itself.

When you’d both happened upon it, your excitement unable to be quelled by your rambunctious ramblings about making it a permanent home, Ezra was only amiably ambivalent to give it to you. 

The homestead's walls, once painted a cheerful hue, now bear the faded remnants of its former glory, peeling and flaking with age. The windows, their panes cloudy and streaked with grime, offer glimpses of the world of endless golden sunflowers swaying gently in the breeze.

Outside, a sagging veranda extends from the front of the homestead, its wooden planks warped by years of exposure to the elements. A rusted metal railing, twisted and bent with age, offers a precarious perch from which to survey the surrounding countryside.

A rusted wood-burning stove stands in one corner, its flue choked with soot and ash, an artefact of a time when warmth and comfort were still to be found within these walls.

Inside bears the unmistakable signs from rotations of neglect and disrepair left by its previous occupants. The floorboards are worn smooth by years of use and groaning underfoot, their once-lustrous finish now dulled by layers of dust and dirt.

Cobwebs hang from the rafters like ghostly draperies, their delicate strands shimmering in the dim light that filters through the cracks in the walls.

It’s a far cry from any modern amenity found back on The Pug. But that’s what makes it perfect, timeless. A piece of history tucked away in quiet surroundings where nature can provide any shortfall. 

Ezra can clearly see the sunflower field stretching out before him; a sea of golden blooms swaying gently in the breeze. And he remembers that night you both made love amongst them on, what was supposed to be, a pitstop, but has now become an extended stay, possibly for the remainder of your lives, he suspects.

He recalls, with a smile, sleeping within the cradle of their thick stalks as you both watched the cosmos glitter above you, stars pirouetting in a nebulous sea of gases and mesmeric twinkles. 

And as he stands here, taking a beat and surrounded by the weather-aged remnants of the homestead, Ezra feels a sense of determination welling up within him. For in this forgotten curio overlooking the sunflower field on the cosy planet you’re now passing off as a dwelling, he sees not just a crumbling ruin, but a blank canvas upon which to paint a brighter future - a restful sanctuary amidst the lonely ruins, surrounded amongst the golden helianthus.

"Oi." He calls out when he notices you haven’t crept out to his call, a note of concern carving into his twang. “Do you heed, Birdie?”

There’s no response, no indication that you’ve heard his words. 

Ezra turns his back on the encroaching swell, stepping inside to find you nestled amongst a tangle of faded quilts and worn blankets; your hand resting gently upon your swollen belly, cradling the precious life growing within as you sleep.

It’s only then, as he watches your peaceful expression and listens to the steady rhythm of your breathing, that he realises the truth - you’ve been asleep all along, lost in dreams far away from his excitement amidst the gathering storm.

He reaches out to stroke your hair, and Ezra's gaze falls upon the empty space where his arm should be. A peculiar feeling as he swears he can feel his fingers brush against your skin before the obvious realisation settles in.

It’s a stark reminder of the sacrifice he’d made back on the Green Moon, a price in exchange for an extension of his grubby mortality. One, he pertains, was worth the occasional bouts of twisting nerve pain and the sensation of a phantom limb, for it led him back home to you. 

Ezra feels a surge of protectiveness wash over him. He vows to keep you safe here, to shelter you from the storms that’ll rage outside, to provide for you and his unborn child with all the strength and courage he can muster. But with only one arm, that could well prove a difficult task to fulfil in its entirety. 

Frowning, Ezra soon finds himself grappling with an ugly companion of unwelcome trepidation - a fear that gnaws at the edges of his bolshie consciousness, threatening to consume him with its insidious whispers of doubt.

How would you both manage, he wonders, in a world devoid of modern medicine and the reassuring presence of skilled healers?

But your stubbornness always stunts practicality, and ordinarily he revels in it, encouraging it to some degree with a lust for zealous menace. But now there’s more than just the pair of you and your reckless abandon.

He determines he’ll visit The Pug again soon to stock up on further supplies - trade some of the pilfered loot of Aurelac he'd hidden in the floorboards - and obtain another book amongst the necessities.

Most evenings, after his work on the repairs are completed, Ezra finds himself pouring over the instructional text, swotting up and absorbing its teachings with a fierce intensity.

He reads of the stages of labour, of the signs to watch for and the actions to take in the event of complications, often reading them aloud to you in fascination at how the vestige of your womb works. 

And each day that time draws nearer, the opportunity for flight back to The Pug to the birthing pools snipped down to the fraying edges. You’re determined to have the babe here, in the sanctuary of your new home together; your confidence in him resolute, despite his own, insipid questioning of it. 

Each word is a reassuring lifeline as he prepares himself for the role he’ll inevitably play in the birth of his child. But even as he immerses himself in the knowledge contained within the pages of the book, a persistent sense of doubt lingers on the fringe of Ezra's consciousness, refusing to be dispelled.

What if he isn't up to the task? What if he fails you in your time of need?

The fingers on his remaining hand brush over your brow line gently, and Ezra smiles. 

“Dream irreverently of me, Pet.” He smirks.

His thoughts are dispelled by a rumbling crack across the sky, and the heavy fall of the rain that soon succeeds it. An ember of longing ignites within Ezra's chest, drawing him inexorably towards the siren song outside. 

He steps back out onto the creaking veranda, bewitched by the ethereal allure of the cooling rain. The heavens weep, Kevva’s tears of liquid silver cascade from the graphite velvet sky. Raindrops, like crystalline jewels, dance upon the lackadaisical frame of the shelter, their gentle pitter-patter a soothing to his weary heart.

Ezra is soon greeted by the primal fury of the storm as it breaks fully, the rain cascading down in torrents; a deluge of liquid life upon the parched soil. Yet amidst the chaos, there’s a profound serenity - a tranquil beauty about it that transcends the tumultuous cacophony of the wild elements.

With measured steps, Ezra ventures forth into the heart of the spate, his senses awash with the intoxicating scent of petrichor and misty ozone.

He stands fully exposed to the ire of the rainfall, his face upturned towards the heavens; a lone figure bathed in the pewter glow of the downpour.

With eyes closed, allowing the cool rivulets to trace delicate paths down his, sweaty, parched skin, their touch is akin to the tender brush of silk against his flesh.

Ezra feels the weight of the world fall away, replaced by a profound sense of liberation. The rain washes over him like a baptismal benediction, cleansing out the hollows of his bones from doubt and despair.

He snorts, a light awed chuckle escaping him only to be swallowed up by the splinters ripping across the sky.

The rain whispers rejuvenating secrets in his ears, its symphony filling the void left by the silence of space. The lightning strobes blind him, leaving him with a flux of glittery phosphenes to die out behind the thin membrane of his eyelids.

He’s a neutron star imploding, leaving shattered stellar remnants that incapacitate and crack through the universe.

As the rain descends into a softened cascade upon the sunflower field, each golden bloom bows gracefully beneath the weight of the droplets, their vibrant petals glistening with moisture that refract the skewbald light piercing through the clouds in small, bullion slithers.

As he stands amidst the silver downpour, Ezra feels as though he's been reborn - a creature of pure sensation, unbound by the constraints of mortal flesh.

The rain soaks through his tattered clothes, plastering them to his skin in a sodden embrace, rinsing off the cares and worries of the world like so many whispered secrets carried away on the wind.

With each passing moment, the weight of his burdens seem to lift entirely for a few moments, mind blank with the rhythmic patter of raindrops falling against the earth, becoming a symphony of release, a melody of liberation that echoes in the depths of his soul.

With a smile playing at the corners of his lips, imbued with restoration, he hears his name emerge from the veranda, and turns to see you standing on it with a bemused expression lighting up your sleepy features. 

His raggedy moustache is now adorned with tiny droplets of rain, glimmering at you as they catch the dim light, like coveted, precious gems taunting you with their expense. The stark blonde patch in his hair is stuck to his forehead; his crown of usual oil-slick waves soaked and pressed flat against his temples.

His outline seems to blur and shift with the movement of the rain, casting an amaranthine aura around him; his usually sharp features softened by the gentle glow of the storm.

His dark eyes, usually filled with a quiet determination, now sparkle with a sense of wonder and joy, reflecting the beauty of the moment back to you.

But it’s more than just his appearance that captivates you, leaving your breath floundering in your throat - it’s the way he stands there, amidst the storm, with an air of quiet confidence and strength.

“Majestic, isn’t it, Pet?” He simply calls to you as your smile grows. “Come on,” he sways, his fingers beckoning you with a simple flicker. "Come kiss me in the rain!"

It’s a beguiling command, one that carries the weight of swampy desire, pulling you towards him with an irresistible force. 

Your bare feet squelch into the soil as you start forward, the rain soaking you instantly as you make your way towards him, all recesses of your sleep left in the warmth of the cosy homestead.

You laugh out, cackling and cooing as it pelts you, and he wraps his arm around you as raindrops blind you momentarily. Insidious, thick fingers roam over your lower back, pushing you closer to him.

The rain continues to fall around you both as Ezra pulls you in, its cool touch mingling with the warmth of your embrace. With a gentle yet firm grasp, he tucks you tight, his hand sliding down to rest against the small of your back, the globe of your tummy pressed into his.

Your lips meet in a haunting, tender kiss, each movement slow and deliberate as you savour the enticing sweetness of the moment. His lips are soft against yours, slanting with a gentle rhythm that seems to echo the pelt of raindrops all around.

His hand is still there, tethering you with his gravity, and you feel yourself relax, the hunch in your back and tension in your shoulders start to drop as you focus on his thumb moving up across your hip bone.

A little, tantalising circle or two before you feel his hand slowly make its way up around your back, and it leaves goose pimples flooding over your body, streaming towards your nipples as they harden.

The cold tingling wakes them up and they ache with the heavy pull inside them as his fingers trail up the back of your neck against your slick skin, groping and melding to the skin in your nape.

Feasting on his inflected tongue, gorging on loquacious groans that hit the back of your oesophagus, you clutch onto him tighter; your own hands roaming the map of broad shoulders, pudgy hips and finding a hard, swollen cock between his legs as you squeeze gently. 

His fingers are then felt running down your back again a few seconds later, and once more the pull on your nipples is tightening as they strain, begging to be touched, licked, sucked...

Your gasped breaths mingle in the cool air, warm and inviting, as you both lose yourselves in the explorative intimacy of the kiss.

Then he stops touching you, denying you of any more contact, and you let out a barely audible whimper as you mourn the loss. Of course it's swallowed up by his mouth, but it doesn't stop it from coming out of you.

You then feel Ezra squeeze your ass, and you can't help but let a smirk erupt into freedom as he clamps a hold of it and massages it inside his hand as he dips his hips, making you feel him press against your centre.

He grunts as he nips on your lip and slips his tongue further around your mouth. You stay locked at the lips until you shudder as the cold starts to nip at your bones.

“We’ve lingered long enough in this spectacle.” He breathes, eyes dark and as foreboding as the storm. “Let’s shed our soaked garments in the warmth.” Ezra smiles, leading you back towards the homestead. 

With a playful glint in his eyes, Ezra can't resist flashing you a mischievous grin as you make your way back inside from the rain-soaked veranda.

"You know," he begins, his voice low and teasing in its tincture, "they say sharing the abundance of body heat is the best way to stay warm."

He waggles his arched eyebrows suggestively, his gaze dancing with amusement as he watches your reaction. "What do you say, Birdie? Shall we put that theory to the test?" 

He pulls you back towards him, peeling you out of the saturated layers clinging to your skin.

"You just want an excuse to cuddle." You smirk, completely naked before him.

Ezra chuckles, wrapping his arm around your bare shoulders and pulling you close. 

“You know how to charm the pants off of me.” You smirk.

"Guilty as charged," he admits with a serpent-like grin, pressing a kiss to the top of your wet head. "But who can resist the chance to snuggle up with someone as lovely as you? I can't help but be drawn to you.”

He looks down at your body, the shapely swell of your belly, eyes trailing over the fullness of your breasts, hungrily. “You have this... glow about you, like moon bugs on a summer's night.”

He runs his palm along the expanse of your belly, stroking across it gently.

“Quite literally,” he agrees, nodding to them on the floor with cocksure mirth. 

You pull his sodden clothes off into squelchy piles on the floorboards as you step backwards, pulling him with you until the backs of your calves hit the bed frame. 

He sniffs in deep and smiles. “I love the scent of petrichor, don’t you?”

“It smells almost as good as you.” You say. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Pet.” He confirms with a crooked grin as he places your hand on his cock, groaning as your fingers curl around his throbbing length. 

Ezra pulls you on top of him, explorative fingers knotting in the wet stands of your hair as he sinks into you. Exhales a deep, satisfied grunt pushed into your lips as he breaches the warm depths of your soaked cunt. 

You both spend the remainder of the storm tangled up in skins and blankets, stopping intermittently to watch the thrashing spectacle refresh the land and sunflowers outside the homestead.

Thanks so much for reading - I have more Helianthus Ezra to come in the future. If you enjoyed this fic, please consider re-blogging and leave a comment telling me your thoughts. Thankies! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST

[uwingdispatch]

From the Very First Night

From the Very First Night

Notes: Ezra Bridger/Reader, established relationship, gender neutral reader, post-rebellion/post-war, hurt/comfort, chronically ill/disabled reader

CW: light discussion of past traumas/implied PTSD

Ao3 Link

★★★★★★★★

The day you met Ezra Bridger you laughed when he told you his name. 

“Forgive me,” you told him, “but you’re not the first man on Lothal to try and pick me up while claiming to be the guy in the mural on the wall outside.”

“Well that’s new,” he said. “I tell you my full government name and you think it’s a ruse. Maybe I should have used one of my old aliases.”  

You’d been finishing up some work in what had come to be your favorite caf bar in town, a few blocks from your home on Lothal. And you were thinking about leaving when a man approached with a look in his eyes that, on another day, might have prompted you to pick up your comms and fake an emergency call from a friend.

But now he was reaching for his wallet, pulling out an ID. “You can check my chain code if you want. I didn’t realize I had so many doppelgängers.”  

You quirked an eyebrow. None of the other “Ezras” you’d met had offered ID but, as soon as you saw it, you felt heat rush to your cheeks. “Okay,” you said. “This is embarrassing. ”

He smiled warmly as he put his wallet away. “To be fair, most of the stuff in town depicts me as a kid, and I didn’t have this handsome beard back then. But I can appreciate a skeptic.”

You put away your datapad, your instincts still split between staying where you were and running out the side door. Surprising yourself, you say, “But I’m not hearing you say that you're not trying to pick me up.”

“Well…maybe. That depends, I guess, on whether you mind if I join you.”

You nodded, and he sat opposite you, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling when he smiled. Up close, you could almost see the teenage boy from the mural. But his hair was longer, dark curls falling soft around his face, and he had a short beard that he did wear quite well.

You wondered if his nerves had caught up with him as he ran a hand through his hair, the late afternoon light coming in through the window catching a streak of silver at his temple.

“Sometimes it feels like I know everyone in this city. Or at least that everyone in this city feels like they know me.” he said. “But you’re new, aren’t you?”

“What gave me away?” you asked.

“Well, I could never forget such a lovely face.” 

“Are you serious right now?”

“I really am.”

There was something sincere about him, despite the flirtations. Something about the way he moved was honest. Welcoming. A server brought him a cup of caf and Ezra exchanged a few words with him in Rodian. 

“So how long have you been in town?” He asked.

“About eight months,” you said. “I just hit this point where I felt like a fresh start might be nice. I don’t usually abandon ship when things get rough, but I thought maybe this one time…I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

He winked. “I used a Jedi mind trick.” 

“Right,” you said, fairly certain he was kidding.

He shrugged. “And somehow you landed on Lothal.”

“I narrowed it down to the places where I’d be able to have my astromech serviced.”

“Must be a special astromech.”

“She’s a therapy droid.”

“Ah,” he said. “There are several mechanics in Capital City who work with that program.”

You were a bit taken aback at how unfazed he was at the mention of your therapy droid—issued by the New Republic. Similar programs had been available to injured veterans before, but the civilian program was newer. And he not only knew about the program, but didn’t seem bothered by the fact that you had a condition that required this kind of aid.

“We had a lot of options,” you said. “But Ceetoo and I decided Lothal seemed nice. So…I’m here.” 

“Glad you are,” he said, both hands cupping his caf mug.

“You just met me and the first thing I did was call you a liar.”

“That’s what I like about you.”

A day would come when you’d realize what he meant then. That when you saw him you weren’t thinking about all the war stories, about the way Lothal had memorialized him when they’d thought he was dead. That he had a chance, at least for a moment, to show someone who he was without the burden of their assumptions and expectations. 

You would also come to realize that from the first time Ezra smiled at you, there was no coming back. He had you, melting like chocolate in the palm of his hand. Because he saw you too, like no one else ever had before.

***

It’s late afternoon when C2-B35 comes in from the garage bleeping about the line at the pharmacy. She’d gone with Ezra to pick up your medication after getting your doctor to call in something new for your joint pain. Ezra could have gone by himself but, because of an incident early in your dating history when there’d been a mix-up, Ceetoo almost always insists on going with him—and he learned a long time ago not to fight a stubborn astromech.

Ezra finds you on the sofa where you’ve been trying to relax, the pain in your back making it hard to even lie still. He knows better by now than to tell you that you’ve been working too hard, that you should take more breaks. He knows to help you up, taking you gently into his arms and kissing your hair. By the time he hands you the tablets, you’re already feeling a bit of relief.

You take the medicine and let out a heavy sigh, resting your head on Ezra’s chest before whispering a thank you. 

“I wish I could heal,” he says.

“We still don’t know if that kind of healing would help me,” you say. “Genetic condition.”

It’s a dance you dance every time you have a flare like this, bad enough that Ceetoo insists on contacting your doctor. 

“I met a kid once who could do it. His dad said he could nullify the effects of a neurotoxin. Close a wound like it had never been there at all.”

“What did the kid say about it?”

“The kid doesn’t talk much. Still working through some things, I think.”

He gets quiet, and from the look in his eyes you know that he’s gone somewhere in his mind lost you can’t follow. It’s been 25 years since he last saw his adoptive father, the man who’d trained him in the Force, and there are some wounds that time never quite heals. Ezra is still working through some things, too.

“Hey,” you say. “Come back to me.”

He smiles, his eyes bright as he gently squeezes your arm. “I’m right here, sunshine.” 

The medication starts to hit, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You reach for his face, the sharp line of his bearded jaw, the parallel scars on his left cheek. “Just as you are, you’re enough, Ezra. I don’t need a Jedi. I just need you.”

C2-B35 beeps irritably before retiring to her room, reminding you that you haven’t eaten since breakfast. 

“Thank you, Ceetoo,” you call, with a promise that you’ll have a proper dinner.

“Is it helping?” Ezra asks. “The medicine?”

“It is,” you say. “Finally.”

“Have you really not eaten all day?”

Your face tells him everything. 

“Right,” he says. “Dinner. I could make some quick dumplings? I think I froze some last time to fry later…I’d just have to make the sauce, really.”

He’s up and in the kitchen, pulling jars of spices out of the pantry, and you know he can already taste this comfort dish, and so can you.

So much of his life had been unstable after Ezra’s parents disappeared. He was on his own at such a young age, and then after a few short years in the Rebellion he ended up in exile on Peridea. Now, everything he had felt like a luxury to him: a permanent home, a pair of naughty indoor loth-cats, soft clothes he wore without consideration for armor. He’d told you about learning to cook when he came back to Lothal and, now that he has access to just about any ingredient for any dinner in the galaxy, he has every intention of not only enjoying the luxury of any hot meal he can dream up, but to make sure you enjoy food as well. When Ezra offers to cook, you never say no.

“Ezra?”

“What do you need, love?”

“I need you to kiss me.”

And he does, pulling you up from the sofa, taking your face in his hands as he presses his lips to yours, his neatly trimmed beard soft against your skin. You’re lacing your fingers through his dark curls when he pulls away to look right into your eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whisper.

And he replies, “I can’t imagine being anywhere else.” 

***

It was night before you left the caf bar and, at this realization, Ezra insisted on walking you home. “Unless you don’t feel comfortable with that,” he’d said. “I would understand. It’s just dark out and…”

And something about being with Ezra just made you feel safe. Even on that first night. You’d never let a strange man walk you home before—it was on its face a bad idea. But you’d stayed out much later than you normally would, and the idea of being alone felt far more unsafe than being with this charming man.

“I don’t normally do things like this,” you told him, the words coming out way too fast, just a block from your building.

“I figured,” he said. “For what it’s worth…I haven’t done anything like this in quite a while.

This did surprise you. “Walked someone home?”

There was a playful tone to his voice when he replied, “Approached a beautiful stranger in a caf bar.” 

“You sure are bold for someone who doesn’t regularly…do whatever this is.”

“I just…” he started and paused, taking a breath. “This is going to sound like a line, but I just felt so drawn to you.”

“In the Force?”

“Maybe.”

“It does sound like a line,” you said. “But somehow I believe you. Jedi mind trick?”

“I’d never actually—”

“I know.”

You were both standing outside your door, a cool evening breeze in the air. You took all of him in—his firm chest beneath the deep v of his tunic, his dark hair catching on the wind, those blue eyes that seemed to see right past all of your walls. You’d met this man just a few hours ago but, beyond all reason, you so wanted to—

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, the words falling from his lips as if he hadn’t considered the consequences.

You nodded and he took a step closer, cupping your face in his hands, his nose brushing yours as he leaned in to press the most delicate kiss to your lips. And you felt his smile just as you felt that joy in yourself—a spark of something unlike anything you’d felt before. Maybe it was the Force, but every inch of your being wanted to be close to this man as you reached for his face, drawing him nearer, slipping a hand into his hair as the kiss deepened.

“I should go,” Ezra said, breathless into your ear.

“Why?” you asked.

“I have an appointment.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Then stay.”

Nervously you fumbled with your keys, dropping them not once but twice as you tried to open your door, Ezra eventually placing them steadily into your hand, and just the touch of his fingertips against your palm sent a pleasant shiver through you. Quickly you shooed an alarmed Ceetoo away as you entered. Unlike you, her memories included files from the war, and she recognized Ezra as soon as she saw him. Beeped out something along the lines of this one’s mostly trustworthy and I’m going to charge.

“Mostly?” Ezra said, almost in a whisper. “I wonder what she’s heard.”

You bite back a laugh. “I just need you to know I don’t normally do this either.”

“Okay.”

“I could make some tea.”

“Sure.”

But his arms were around you again and you both stumbled toward the sofa, falling into the cushions wrapped in each other like teenagers, wholly unworried about anything else in the galaxy.

That tea didn’t get made for hours. And it was nearly dawn when you retired to your bedroom and Ezra fell asleep on your sofa, your loth-cat sitting at his feet. When you woke, he was gone, a note left on your kitchen counter: Had to work this morning, but I hope you’ll call me. You traced your finger over the comms code left in scratchy handwriting below, wondering for a split second if this could be real. But if you closed your eyes you could still feel the sensation of his fingertips ghosting over your cheek when you’d handed him a blanket the night before. His voice when he’d whispered in your ear, “Sleep well, sunshine.” 

★★★★★★★★

Thank you so much for reading! They really gave us Hot!Ezra in the Ahsoka series and I'm just here to be a gremlin about it. I hope this fic made you feel seen and loved.

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