#ezra x female reader

[morallyinept]

The Pit - An Ezra One Shot

^ Sound on 🔊

Summary: Ezra and you stumble into an ominous pit on a prospecting mission for coveted azure diamonds on the Narillan moon, and find more than you bargain for.

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

Word Count: 11.9k 👀 'Issa long one!

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

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

Explicit - DARK-ISH themes/kinks/smut. Possibly an attempt at macabre/gore type horror? Ezra being a roguish douche (but that’s why we love ‘im). Tentacles. Lots of tentacles. Sex/Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) Oral/insertion/pregnancy/birthing some weird stuff/alien life forms/interspecies intercourse/some mild dubcon/anal/slight hints of cannibalism, because at this point, why not? 🥴 And some other fucked up shit that my brain rot conjured up. Did I mention the abundance of tentacles?

Sci-Fi/Horror-esque. There’s some plot in there somewhere, I swear to Kevva.

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.

Author’s Note: Had this idea slithering around the ol’ noggin. Figured Ezra would be down because he’s fancy like that.

I am well aware that this won't be for everyone. If it's not for you, that's absolutely fine. Just quietly slip out. No need to make a fuss.

I'll have more Ezra that's coming soon, in different varieties/genres.

I'm pretty happy with the way Ezra talks in a manner befitting for him in this. I took my own advice. But I'll let you guys be the judge of that. Let me know if I captured him.

Enjoy! 🖤

MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST

“... Blasted, shit-eating things, channel rats. Did I regale you with the time my crew and I were subject to an unfettered infestation?”

Ezra prattles on ahead of you, further up the caverns, the light from his helmet casting an eerie glow about the dark boulder formations.

As far out as he is ahead of you, stepping oafishly over a knuckle of rocks, his voice is sound and droning inside your ear and there is no way to drown him out. Unless you garrotte him, of course.

Now, there’s a thought.

“Yes,” you sigh wearily. “I’ve heard all about the fucking channel rats.” Clubbing him to death with a rock sure sounded like a mighty fine idea about now.

You’re blinded by a small, white light flickering into the back of your retinas when he stops and turns to look back at you.

“Irritation becomes you, Birdie.” Ezra observes with a breathy gruff. It sounds like the crash of the ocean on Lau inside your ear. "Still captivating though."

You're beyond irritated having had the misfortune of listening to him rabble non-stop on this Kevva forsaken journey into the back end of the universe’s rectum it feels like. One that you’re beginning to regret inherently.

“We’re lost, Ezra. We’ve been lost for hours now. I thought you said you knew-”

“-Know these caves like the back of my right paw, yes. That is what I confirmed.” He offers a crooked smile as he waves his stump at you as you catch up to him. "Well, that's not at all disconcerting now is it?" He teases as the place where his right hand should be is filled with an obvious emptiness.

He frowns when you fail to laugh. “I may have offered you a partial truth. But I'm fairly certain I can navigate us to the root of our coveted gain unscathed.” He adds.

“Fairly?”

“It’s a diminutive guarantee.” Ezra affirms with a serious face. “Although, if I’m to be completely notwithstanding, Narilla is a place I’ve not set foot on before myself. But I've conversed greatly with those who have.”

“Fucking great.” You gripe as you reach him.

Your hair sticks to your face with sweat inside your helmet and it irks you that you can’t simply wipe it away as it catches on your lip tiresomely.

Traipsing around this dank, humid cave system on the forgotten moon of Narilla, with the wily and grossly unpredictable prospector as your guide, is not exactly the mission you'd envisioned when he’d lured you in over strong stout on Puggart Bench of such a daunting, yet rewarding charge.

You’d sat bemused, a few tables away with your scuff booted feet up eavesdropping, as you nursed your own beer, at vicarious tales of skulduggery and betrayal - his own included.

His aquiline face was well known around these putrid parts. As much as you’d love to avoid a feculent swamp like this on The Pug, populated with unsavoury characters in their swarms, it was a necessary evil to hear of good places to prospect now they’d closed up the Bakhroma route for good.

Kevva knows that prospectors could pilfer and loot better than anyone in The Fringe, and your own talents attested to this. Ezra too, had garnered himself an erudite reputation, even if marred in deceit, and a small fortune to retire from past ills that haunted the creases around his sullen eyes.

But yet he was still greedy for more as he bewitched you with promises of riches that would weigh down your pockets despite the preposterousness of it all. Such is the nature of a prospector; their greed knows no bounds. Cannot be satiated. And he could certainly talk the alluring talk, that was for sure.

Something more had drawn you in though; something about his Southern loquacious snap in which he weaved the threads of the fable about his eventful escape from the green moon of Bahkroma; an arm lost to it as well as some semblance of sanity it appeared.

He spoke through glassy, dark eyes, wide with tenacity, sluiced with the oncoming inertia from the hops and grains, and his story pulled a crowd of fellow miners and prospectors keen to hear the anecdotes pouring from his foam drenched moustache, as ludicrous as they were.

Most dismissed it as the drunken ramblings of a mad man quacking into his drink; scarred by his time on the haunting moon and her secrets, and perhaps it did drive him crazy to some extent.

However, Ezra rambled on animatedly about plentiful azure diamonds to anyone that would listen that were hidden in the caves under the frozen surface of Narilla. His story was backed up by those who had heard their own quips. Someone who knew someone who had garnered the moon's wealth for themselves, it was all the same spiel.

Like the twinkle in his eye, you simply couldn’t resist the temptation of their siren call and offered yourself up to accompany him on the collection of such rare, precious gems - Kevva knows the fortune was needed on your part - when a scant few turned away unconvinced. Gems that would fetch much more than Aurelac on the black market anyhow.

Whilst some of the gnarly men expressed their keen interest, Ezra denied them, setting his deep eyes on you.

I require a right-hand… woman, Ezra had stated, looking you up and down with something else inside of his vortex gaze as he supped at the foam from his weighty glass.

He’d shooed away the other potential partners in favour of you and your shapely form that he drank in as much as the beer.

You’d discussed with him the terms and your share of the haul, insisted on absolutely no impropriety, (for which you fell short on later that evening) and here you both were now, docked and stationed on the frozen moon and wandering around the intestines of the caves listening to him harp on about everything and nothing, and all that was gassy air in between.

Your teeth ache from all the grinding.

“Can you attach a slurry? I'm irrevocably parched, pet.” Ezra asks you, panting a little. There's condensation frosting around the rim of his helmet and sweat beads glistening on his forehead.

"I'm not your pet."

"Merely a term of endearment. An otherwise befitting compliment may be too fruitful to assume your acceptance into anything more than acquaintance." He shrugs.

"You assume much." Sighing, you busy yourself with the idle task as you attach the pack to the back of his cargo belt and cap it into the feeding tube for him.

“Do you have any idea where we are?” You query, checking your chronometer and scanning the vast dark abyss that presents itself to you.

The green icons and symbols are blurring faintly through the invisible static, fading like emerald apparitions.

Back on the lander, the static interfered with everything as soon as you entered the atmosphere, and it only unnerved you that, if things should go awry, you would be out here by yourselves.

“Shouldn’t be much further ahead, I’d wager.” Ezra breathes around his straw inside his helmet. He licks his lips as he watches your scornful look tossed back at him. He simply offers you a knowing smirk.

“Lead the way,” you instruct with a knitted brow.

You follow him further into the breach of the dark; the strobes from your mutual head lamps making eerie patterns on the rock walls that claw and silently growl as they come to life like shadow puppets.

A while later Ezra stops dead in his tracks, raising his singular left hand. You hadn’t noticed he’d stopped; too occupied with convincing yourself that you weren’t seeing ominous things slithering around in the shadows.

You walk right into the back of him; your helmet bonking against the back of his. You utter some annoyed profanity that fuzzes into his ear piece.

“Kevva! What's that smell?” You question, wrinkling your nose as it seeps through your respirator. It smells like tar, coating the back of your throat in its thickness like amber tobacco as you inhale.

Ezra studies the wall beside him carefully, noticing the ominous sheen and runs his gloved hand through the goop that coats it.

“The stench emanates from this peculiar secretion.” He pries apart his velvet fingers and the sticky substance is stringy between the fibres. He lances you a look with keening eyes.

Your mind is flooded with skewbald images of your cunt slick beading over his lips, making them shine up at you as your thighs cushion either side of his head. Your groans, his lavacious grunts, batter around the back of your skull and leave broken contusions.

The shiny strings snapping on his gloves serve as a harsh reminder, which you're certain he's recalling in all it's sordid vividity too. Your pussy certainly is as it clenches involuntarily.

“Gross.” You declare as he tries to stifle a wolfish grin at your reaction.

“We push on, Birdie.” Ezra announces, wiping the slime down on the thigh of his olive flight suit.

“Stop calling me that.” You mutter, following behind.

“Well, you won’t tell me your name so I have to call you something.”

“No names.” You remind him.

“I recounted mine freely.”

“No names.” You confirm.

"Kevva's sake, you are stubborn as you are loathsome, woman." He mutters.

“That’s not what you said the other night." You smirk.

"I divulged a lot of soundbites that eve." Ezra can still hear the sounds you made around him, not put off by his apparent incapacitation. “As did you. But yet a mere name seems implausible.”

"Do you ever shut up?"

Ezra thought for a moment then smirked brazenly. "Only when a succulent quim takes throne on my face."

You roll your eyes. "Look, we get the diamonds, we leave and I don’t have to suffer your intolerable, repetitive anecdotes ever again. My name is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things." You growl, sucking your bottom lip into your teeth.

You can hear him chuckling away in your ear piece with a wheezy rasp. “Desperate to be rid of me already? I might flirt with the offended.”

“Pfft. You’ll get over it.” You mirth.

Although a shifty flush creeps insidiously into your already overheated cheeks, as uninvited images of him grunting as you sat on his hawkish face invade your mind like knives at a target board.

He could certainly put that mouth to good use. The thoughts your mind still conjures makes the inside of your helmet stifling.

The smell gets stronger as you meander closer to wherever the heck it is that Ezra is leading you into. A wider cavern opens itself up and you climb upon its slope exercising caution at his instruction to follow.

“One slip and the void will take you,” he warns with a simper rolling around his dry lips.

“Don’t tempt me,” you reply sardonically. You both step slowly and carefully along the ledge as the vertigo sways you towards its jaws. Steadying yourself, you push on behind him.

The tar-like smell intensifies when Ezra announces you’ve both arrived. Although you're hardly impressed - it's just another cavern like the million you’ve already hiked through to get here. You watch as he unclips his helmet spokes and the hiss of his respirator sounds snakelike inside your ear.

“Can we breathe down here?” You question warily at his flippancy.

“Assist me, would you?” He asks as he inhales through a toothy grin, nodding.

Once your own helmet is off, the subtle breeze of clean oxygen hits your face, cooling it. It's incredibly warm down here, considering the moon is in the midst of a deep freeze on the surface.

You watch as Ezra steps forward to another ledge and looks down. “There,” he points.

You step forward yourself and shine a light and are aghast at what you see.

A writhing mass of black, wet tentacles, twisting and undulating in an eerie dance. The glistening surface of each tentacle reflecting an otherworldly sheen, while they move with an unsettling fluidity.

Unfathomable thrumming spirals are spilling out around the pit below the ledge, moving in a coordinated, yet unpredictable manner, in various girths and lengths. Slick as they writhe against one another, pulsing like a singular heartbeat.

“What is that?” You mouth incredulously.

Upon closer inspection, faint iridescent patterns shimmer along the length of the tentacles, creating an illusion of ethereal beauty amidst the stark darkness, like they almost glow in places. The patterns shift and change as the tentacles move.

As the mass undulates gently, it seems to emit a low hum, barely audible, but one that can be felt deep within your chest, resonating with a haunting melody. It's a sound that stirs emotions buried in your subconscious, eliciting a mix of awe and wonder, tinged with an underlying sense of unease as you feel prickles shoot down your spine.

“Our entrance. Hmm. Bigger than I was infromed. No bother. We'll go through it.” Ezra pulls down the zipper of his flight suit and begins shaking it off of his only arm clumsily.

“Wait, what? Through it? What the fuck is it?!” You query, wide-eyed.

The enigmatic display of black, wet tentacles in this mysterious mass is a surreal and haunting sight, one that leaves you captivated by its beauty, while your rational mind reminds you of the depths of the unknown that lie within.

All you can envision is teeth. Sharp, piercing teeth.

“Take your suit off, pet.” He instructs calmly.

“Ezra.” You shake your head concerned.

He rolls his suit over his stump and down to his thermals. “It protects the diamonds. We need to go through it. We’ll pass right through, out to the bottom when they see we're not a threat to them. No harm done.”

“Are you fucking insane?”

“That's yet to be determined officially.” Ezra responds nonchalantly. “Although, I’ve been reassured that this is-”

“Wait, you’re basing this off of hearsay? How do you know that thing won’t fucking eat us?” You're sweating again.

Ezra rolls his suit down to his ankles and begins pulling at the lace of his worn boot. “I don’t.” He simply retorts.

“No.” You shake your head adamantly. “You can go and die if you want. I’ll wait here.” You’d encountered many odd alien-like entities in your time prospecting, but this? This is something else entirely.

You peer carefully over the ledge, seemingly unable to look away at the mass of tentacles that are free of suckers. They're just smooth and slick in their perfection. Lost in the horrific beauty and mystique of the scene, you feel a magnetic pull, as if the mass of tentacles beckons you to join its dance.

A part of you yearns to step closer, to unravel the secrets it holds, and yet another part hesitates, fearing the unknown consequences of such a connection. In the midst of this ghastly display, a heavy feeling of dread envelops you, like an invisible hand tightening around your heart that crushes.

“Nu-uh, Birdie." Ezra warns, darkly. "We go together as agreed upon in our oath. You need to play your part and help me to retrieve the diamonds. Can’t embark on this without you, given my infernal impediment.” Ezra turns to look at you with those muddy eyes, and it's beguiling as it is dangerous.

You stare down at the pit unmoving.

"No harm will come to you under my watch." He reassures, but it fails.

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

He simply offers you a small smile. "Can but wait, Birdie. Let's get a leg on."

“I must be fucking insane…” You mutter, shaking your head. Sighing, you take off your own suit and strip down to your undergarments.

“Good girl,” you hear him say.

You catch Ezra glancing at your bare legs as you're dressed in nothing short of flimsy shorts and a thin camisole that barely covers your modesty under your thermals.

His own undergarments are a frayed t-shirt and some fusty long johns that sit awkwardly under the small paunch of his soft belly.

But he seems to pull them off as your own eyes sway towards the memory of his body on the fraying futon as it writhed and shuddered whilst you sucked down the swell of his cock, back in his dingy bunk apartment nestled in the Noki District on The Pug.

For a man of his advancing years, you think him to be attractive in a roguish kind of way; a scummy diamond in the rough. Scummy enough to have let him eat you out, anyway.

Breathing calmly - or at least trying to - you sit beside him on the edge of the pit staring down at the glistening appendages that swam in a hypnotic pulse against one another.

The sounds of their wet slick can be heard as they slide and pass over one another in heaving waves; a wet shine evident on their alien corium that glimmers at you.

You’re not sure why you're doing it, but you reach forward instinctively and feel the skin of one as you run your palm over it gently, awed by the sensation that leaves prickles flooding down your spinal cord.

The electricity creeps up each nodule and into the bottom of your neck. It feels comforting, soothing as the previous hesitation you felt is washed away in a calming opacity that soon melts your eyelids shut.

The tentacle arches up into your palm, bumping it benignly as its secretions coat your skin with a cooling, thin substance that feels miry as it greets you.

As you attempt to retreat, the allure of the scene grips you, holding you in a trance-like state, unable to tear your eyes away from the eldritch horror that unfolds before you. It's as if the entity, sensing your fear, seeks to draw you deeper into its realm, to become a part of its ancient enigma. To whisper it's secrets in your ear.

The luminescence now reveals disturbing images etched into the tentacles' surface - visions of cosmic terrors, nightmarish landscapes, and grotesque creatures. Each tentacle seems to bear the collective knowledge of the horrors of the universe, driving you to the edges of precarious sanity.

A cacophony of unnerving sounds emanates from the mass - the raspy whispers, unnerving wails, and an ominous heartbeat that seems to reverberate through your own veins. The dread within you intensifies, and an overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia engulfs you as it reaches its zenith; as if the darkness itself is closing in on you, and it has snapping jaws.

“Birdie,” you can hear Ezra bleed into your ominous tranquillity, but he sounds so far away. Like his voice is at the bottom of a metal wire, sounding tinny and ruptured.

The sudden panic in his voice shakes your foundations leaving you unsteady. But it's not him making you sway as you open your eyes to see yourself falling, face first.

You’re tethered by the tentacles wrapping around your ankles and wrists and pulling you forward into the mass of them.

“Ezra!” You gasp trying to repel them as they reach for you, but the combined strength of the slithering organs is undeniable.

You're both immobilised as you're dragged down into the pit. Ezra disappears first; the whites of his wide eyes are the last thing you see before you're blinded by the black.

The stickiness coats your face, your eyelids. It slicks through your hair; a clear, thin mucus that smells like musky, rich leather and allows you to move freely through the tentacles as you descend further.

"Birdie!" You hear Ezra call out to you and you call back frantically. "Just relax, it will pass you right through."

"Relax?!" You splutter when you feel the prevalent tightening around your waist. It's too tight as it starts to bind and crush against your pelvis.

"Trust me!" He calls again. Oh, if it were that simple, you snarl to yourself.

You try to calm yourself, relax as he so eloquently puts it. But it’s hard; the panic seeds and flowers in you and the coil only tightens under your rib cage in response. It knows your fear.

As it embraces you, tentacles wrapping around every limb and numbing them out, you feel the weightlessness of your body as it travels to the back of your cranium and ignites. You can't see anything, just the never ending void of black that hurts your eyes to try and strain them to reach beyond it.

A sense of foreboding lingers, as if a malevolent entity from the mass of tentacles watches from the shadows; its sinister presence ever-present in the periphery of your senses.

As you sink through the darkness, the very air seems heavy with an oppressive weight, and the pulsing surroundings of the tentacles appear distorted, as if the boundaries between reality and the unknown have blurred.

Each sound in the darkness makes you jump, fearing that some other force might be lurking too close.

A small glimmer fizzes somewhere in the distance, blink and you’d miss it. Purple, maybe blue flashes that spark through a plasma network of neuron pathways that fire and snap ahead. A brain that grows in size and expands. A dying star implodes and blinds you for a moment.

You gasp out in awe and are then fully weightless; floating in the violet nebula that’s haunting in its brilliance, its swirling tendrils stretching across the cosmic canvas like an ethereal tapestry.

As you gaze at the purple nebula, a sense of calm washes over you, momentarily easing the fear and tension that had consumed your senses previously.

The swirling clouds of gas and dust seem to dance with grace, performing an elegant ballet that holds you in rapt attention. You forget everything, you forget it all.

You can't feel your limbs, you can't feel the weight of your bones or the blood in your organs. You can't smell or taste. You're deafened by bubonic silence save for the heavy whooshes of your own breath inside your ear canal.

And then the nebula shrinks, collapsing upon itself into two tiny balls of light that morph and shape into eyeballs with irises the colour of those tasteless Bitz Bars you’d endured on lengthy missions.

The eyes stare at you, they see into you; unblinking and you can feel them rifle around inside the deepest trenches of your mind, picking and rummaging with spidery fingers. And you can only let them as they see all of your sordid secrets and lay them out like sharp medical instruments.

Then thin, wiry nerves root and track from behind them; a skull forms around the eyeballs. Muscles and viscera wrap and coil around a skeleton as the skin grows over it like fungi and tans in colour.

Ezra is before you; naked and plump in his lower belly fat and a thick, flaccid cock hangs between his legs. He’s staring back and floating like you are in this chaotically still space. His stump bears no scars, just perfectly smooth, taut skin around the missing bone like marble.

You can only watch as his cock stiffens and begins to drip mercury. You’re not sure where it comes from, maybe something in the stratosphere, maybe something in your core, but the overwhelming feeling of desire bubbles and courses through your veins making them burn under your skin.

You feel the tentacles again, pulsing and vibrating around you.

There is no other sensation except the feeling of his only arm pulling you towards him and then his lips are crushing against your own, smothering.

You're not repulsed as you taste him; his invading tongue filling your mouth and sliding down your throat that opens willingly for him.

You let him in, you want him to be inside you like this, even though somewhere inside of you, your voice is shrieking and howling at you to resist the ratty bastard. It’s a need that requires satiation.

Any resistance is smothered by the heat between your legs; the wetness that leaks from your swollen cunt lips and mashing into the meat of your thighs as you squeeze them together deliciously to equally appease and chase that desire.

You feel his ever-growing tongue reaching into the back of your oesophagus and expanding; sliding deep down into your guts as you choke and splutter around it as it restricts your airway.

Breathing through your nose is impossible as it fills with the sticky mucus that attaches to the fine cilia suffocating you further.

You try to resist now, to pull away but your limbs still won't work. Your fingers won’t cooperate. You can't feel them. All you can feel is Ezra invading your body through your mouth and licking out every crevice of it with his elongated tongue.

You can feel the cramping in your stomach as he prods around down in there, pushing against your muscles and fat; crushing your offals and lapping at your stomach acids.

You want to scream so badly, but all that comes out around his tongue is moans of abject satisfaction. Your own voice, your own sounds are so alien to your ears. You're enjoying this and you want more, so much more from him.

You feel your mouth fill from your gullet upwards; something warm rising up from the back of your throat from around his tongue as it floods you. Its viscosity bubbles and pools out the side of your lips and down your chin.

Ezra pulls back and you see it; his tongue now black and shiny and no longer pink and fleshy - or human. The flippering tentacle disappears back into his smiling mouth as you gasp for air.

You cough up a thick, white substance that projectiles from you, choking you as you heave it out down your chest.

Somewhere, you know this taste; familiar from your own experiences of swallowing unworthy men’s loads on your knees as they ejaculated into your eager mouth on lonely nights around The Pug.

Somewhere through the heady confusion, you know this is wrong on so many levels as you belch and splutter through bringing up the seminal pearl flow in droves.

A subtle yet unsettling change occurs. The glistening black, wet tentacles from the malevolent mass re-emerge in the scene, twisting and snaking their way into the cosmic display as you splutter.

At first, the juxtaposition of the tentacles against the cosmic backdrop seems incongruous, like an intrusion of darkness into the splendour of the nebula.

However, as you watch, you begin to sense a strange harmony between the two that bleeds into your skin.

The tentacles are back around your body, cinching and curling around your waist, clamping around your wrists. You feel the alluring tickle of something travelling up your thigh and your eyes widen.

“Ezra… It’s-it’s-” you stutter as you feel it snake up your inner thigh and under the hem of your shorts.

“Let us in, Birdie. It’ll feel so good.” Ezra drenches the promise inside your ear, licking and sucking the shell of it. His fingers skim your clit, furrowing inside your shorts and opening your lips for the tentacle to slip fully inside, filling you up. “We’ll make you feel so good.”

You cry out as it slides in, slippery and thick. It stretches you wide, a slight burn from the jarring friction that soon settles into undulating pleasure.

It shouldn’t feel like this, it shouldn’t feel so… good.

You feel a mix of emotions - fascination, fear, and an inexplicable sense of reverence - as you feel it penetrate you deeply. The tentacles, once harbingers of horror, now evoke a different kind of awe.

“Fuck, it feels so good...” You chime falling backwards into the universe.

“Mmm, there you go,” Ezra smiles and you feel his fingers slipping quicker over your engorged clit making you flinch and breathe out dust each time he flicks it. “Let us fuck you, little bird. We’re one now.”

You can hear Ezra; the haunting groans and gasps fill your ears like lead. It’s everywhere around you, echoing and you can’t escape the sounds of his pleasure on loop as you’re fucked by the rogue tentacle stretching you out the further it whelves inside of you.

You can see yourself, devoured by the coils slipping all over your skin; watching yourself get dicked by this entity that knows what you want, knows how to pleasure you like no man could.

Your pussy welcomes the deep thrusts it gives you and you writhe and moan, losing your eyesight. The features on your face dissolve away leaving you a faceless putty for them to remould and sculpt, and you twist and bend to their will.

You’re lost to it; succumbed fully by an invading desire and heat, and the sounds of Ezra’s grunting hammering inside your ears as it rocks through the nebula; a big bang of grunts and heady snarls that rip through the very seam of existence.

But when you finally open your eyes as they grow back into your sockets, he’s no longer there.

All you can see is the nebula again. All you can feel is the fullness between your thighs; the never-ending release it offers as it pumps you full of its seed. The nebula winks back at you and pulses around the edges.

You feel the bunching behind your stomach walls, the fluttering of your pussy spasming and squeezing as you’re pulled apart and smashed back together again, at one with the cosmos.

You cry out; you can see your voice as it shatters into metallic fragments and rains chrome glitter all over you that coats and nicks your throat.

Your gasps birth new stars from your mouth as they find their place in the dust and gases that swirl around your body, completely obliterating it.

And when it’s come and gone, the waves settling as you fall still from the exhausting aftermath, there’s nothing once more; just the never-ending expanse of black.

You breathe out through soaked trembles, and just as he advised, the grip falters and you descend again slowly through the pulsating coils that slide sticky against your face and gums.

You drop and land clumsily onto something solid; the hard, real ground. Your tailbone hits it first and you wince.

Your fingers shakily register the feel of something you recognise and yet it doesn’t seem entirely real as you scrape your brittle nails into the rock beneath your face to be sure.

But your cunt is still contracting; squeezing around a vacant space where you were sure you were penetrated and filled by something thick and binding, and oh so fucking good.

Something that felt indescribable and you mourn its loss irrevocably.

You eye him carefully as he looks back at you with a singular outstretched palm laced with blisters and callouses lanced towards your face.

Ezra helps you up onto jellified legs and above you the tentacles writhe a lowly metre or so above your heads in a hypnotic dance that seems to defy and mock gravity.

Ezra reaches up, his only hand brushing against the swell of the membranes that roll and curl tightly around one another.

"Curious…" He mumbles as the slick glides effortlessly through his calloused fingers; a cosmic ballet of twisting and pulsing.

“What is it?” You ask, dumbfounded and awed.

Your voice doesn't register as your own. You feel like you’ve been swamped in a heavy sleep, plagued by dreams of untold, lucid delights that you can still feel throbbing on your clit.

You’re unsure if it really happened or not and try to shake the delusion, yet you feel yourself pining for it.

You peer at Ezra carefully, looking for any sign that he endured a similar experience, and yet his face is as unreadable in its mischievousness and stoniness as usual.

Your skin feels wet and sticky, your mouth remembers the taste, and his body mirrors your own, coated in the shiny lacquer from passing through the tar coils. His hair is slicked back and darker, almost black, save for the white patch that is stark in its platinum yellow glow; a tiny sun being swallowed in a sea of putrid oily tufts.

The undergarments cling to his skin, saturated and binding and making no attempt to hide the swell of his cock inside of them.

As he glances at you with an astonished smirk, you feel something pull tight in your abdomen; a distant hunger gnawing at the edges of rationality and the sense that you’re unable to get a firm grip on reality anymore.

“A cephalopod of some origin, or many. I've heard tales of Krakens before, but not like this.” Ezra admires bewitchingly as he strokes above him. “It feels…” He closes his eyes and you watch him rise on his tiptoes with a small smile blooming over his mouth. “Sentient.” He concludes through a nasally breath lost inside his thick drawl.

He drops his hand slowly as a lone tentacle feeds down from the others in front of him. You watch rooted as it rubs itself across his broad chest and slithers around him. It runs between his thighs and he moans as it brushes against his cock.

"Uh, this one seems incredibly obliging," Ezra exclaims as he glances at you with astonished mirth bleeding into his ratchet peepers.

You watch it disappear down inside the back of his long johns.

He groans out, his body jars forward but he doesn’t fall; the tentacles have him secured by his arm and back as he becomes weightless in front of you.

“Ezra,” you start forward to assist him, but are stopped when he hisses out, baring his teeth.

He loses his eyes as they roll back into his skull.

“Fuh-uck,” he whines loosely as though his teeth are no longer in his mouth, and you realise you’ve heard this sound before; the sounds of pleasure bursting through the cavity of his chest into your ears.

The same noises he made under you on The Pug with mouthfuls of your seeping cunt.

The tentacle penetrates him and you're drawn into the vortex of his mouth pulling your eyes from their trenches to drink their jelly. You can only watch, body pulsing, skin fraying, as it fucks him right in front of you.

"Kevva, that's deep," he groans, with a blissed out smile.

Then you feel it; it's warm as it glides over your navel and across your skin leaving a moist, sluggish trail. The tentacles bring you together, cocooning you both as Ezra pulls you towards his chest.

And you're not resisting again, instead letting him welcome you into his one-armed embrace.

His body feels good against yours, too good. Like the slats in your rib cages were meant to interlock.

It seems as if he can hear your thoughts and you watch as he opens his chest from the centre; fingers ripping through flesh as he pries open his bony cage and welcomes you into the balloons of his lungs.

Your nose wanders and inhales through his papery bronchioles; they dust into your face like fluffy dandelion seeds and float into the ether.

"Need you inside of me," you groan to him as if in a trance as his sticky heart jostles against your lips as it beats.

You lick across it, sucking on a throbbing ventricle delicately as his blood coays your teeth, and he whines out louder as he ejaculates into his long johns.

“I already am,” Ezra grunts, eyes rolling to the back of his skull again like loose marbles as the crest of his hips buck forward.

You pull back to see him whole once more and glance at the huge, black shape filling you up, fucking into you.

His own cock is hard and weeping pearly globules of come as it rubs against the tentacle with fantastic friction. Your fingers peel him apart; stripping him down to the hard, muscled core of his dick, and he writhes and groans under your touch as you obliterate him.

You look back at his face and he’s swallowing down a thick tentacle inside of his plush mouth before yours is invaded again by the wet velvet.

He fills your holes, all of them. You can feel him stretch out your pussy, sliding in and out with his thick appendage that makes you buck uncontrollably. He feels so plentiful and thick. He slips into the tight crevice of your ass, filling and stretching you wholly and he's inside your mouth; feeling him graze at the back of your throat as he thrusts and chokes you.

He's everywhere, and yet Ezra pulls you close into his scarred chest again whilst he himself is filled in every orifice he possesses and it's still not enough.

He wants to climb inside your skin. You know it, because it's exactly what you want. It’s what you crave. To rest in the sponge of his brain.

You can hear him insipidly rambles to you all the ways in which he wants to devour you for eternity.

His whines set your skin alight; the oil burning you up as it sears and chokes you. That tar-like smell wafting around you both as it smokes you out and leaves you breathless.

“I can see it,” he mutters, but it doesn't come from his mouth, no that’s full of the pulsing thick membrane that fucks him like they fuck you.

Instead, you can see his voice, moving across the nebula as he sings on music scales, lighting up the treble clefs with supernovas.

“Can you see it, Birdie?” He asks you, each red giant twinkling with his din and tone before it dies, and you can. In their dance, the tentacles reveal a deeper truth - that even the most terrifying entities can be transformed by the beauty and wonder of the cosmos.

They are a reminder that in the vastness of the universe, there is a balance between darkness and light, chaos and order, horror and beauty and you understand that now as you approach another climax.

“It’s so fucking beautiful.” You gasp, tears filling your eyes.

You arch your back; your spine cracks through each vertebrae as they pulverise into dust and you collapse in on yourself, boneless and spent once more.

You can feel it and it feels exhilarating to die and be reborn over and over.

You gush around the tentacle and onto Ezra’s soft stomach swell as you come unrestrained, and for what feels like for infinity.

You’ve never fully understood the meaning of the word euphoria until now.

Soon Ezra lets go of you; his own body arching grotesquely and crushing inwardly. His mouth opens as the tentacle ejects, spewing out thick, creamy liquid in a silent scream as he rolls back into the mass of pulsing coils to be devoured all over again.

He twists and turns and you see his left hand come down his shoulder, tugging at the skin below his blade that houses his clipped stump.

Then another hand, and another; more human hands that are his own with the thumb on the left side and all with the tiny bullseye tattoo inked and faded on the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger.

His various left hands are pulling the skin open so you can see his spine through the tears. Small, onyx tendrils move under the bones and he bleeds out that thick, seminal fluid between his contracting muscles.

Ezra removes his skin like removing a sweater and you scream into the void.

Birdie.

You hear him through the sludgy goop inside your ears; a faint rumble of your body as you are gently shaken awake by thick fingers pulling you out of inertia.

You're on the ground again and the pit of writhing tentacles is still a dark swarm threatening to rain upon your heads. You stare at it, watching it pulse and simper. Trying to understand its secrets, its desires.

Trying to detest it with every fibre of your being but not quite managing to.

There's a chasm where that feeling should be.

Ezra's worrisome face pulls your senses towards him and you clutch onto his arm, reassuring yourself that he's real. Real muscle and bone.

You flinch when you think you see something move under his skin, but it’s just his vein as he tenses.

"What did you see?" He asks you darkly. His eyes are as black as the darkest corners of the universe.

"See?" You ponder it dumbly for a moment as it all floods back to you.

“You were screaming.” He explains.

"I... I'm not sure." You mumble.

"I've deduced that this creature can telepathically link itself to our minds in a mere quest of bewitchment. It can show us our wildest, unarmed desires, or toss us into a gully of the most sordid nightmares." His eyes have shifted into something that you’ve never seen on his face since meeting him - fear.

"What did you see?” You prompt him instead, sitting up. Your head feels like it’s been split into two and neither of your brains can comprehend this scenario fully.

His eyes drop to you and he helps you to your feet clamping his singular hand around your elbow as he yanks.

"Felt so real," he utters through a clenched mouth. Or surreal. You're not quite sure what he says as your face draws up to his.

He glances at you and touches your cheek, cupping it gently. You feel the thick pad of his thumb pull on your bottom lip as he admires the wet, pink flesh of your gums with some irreverent hunger.

"So real." He repeats with darker, hooded eyes.

"Ezra," you steer, peeling his fingers delicately from your skin, despite them soldering into your flesh, and he seems to snap out of it.

He recoils back as though he has been stung. "We need to find a way to leverage our exit." He announces flatly.

"What about the diamonds?" You rub at your arms and they don’t feel like they are attached to you anymore. Neither do your legs and it takes you a moment to realise you are standing freely on them.

"They don't appear to be harbouring any gems down here. I fear we may have been taken in by a ruse." He scowls bitterly.

"You mean you were." You mutter. “I just stupidly came along.”

Ezra sighs loudly and sharply and steps forward craning his head up to the tentacles. He mutters something that you don’t quite catch.

"You're expecting them to give us a ride?" You scoff at him.

"Do you have a more eloquent stratagem? I'm all ears."

"Yes. I'm not going in there again." You say with an inherent coldness prickling at your skin. But yet it’s still hot and dense between your legs.

"Tell me woman, what's rattled you with the visions they gave you?"

"It doesn't matter," you say, turning away from him.

Although you’re not entirely sure if they were just visions. You search along the sharp rocky walls and follow them round with your eyes and there is no obvious sign for escape.

The only way out is back up through them. If they will allow you to leave, that is. The thought makes you cold.

“Birdie, I…” Ezra starts and pauses for a moment. “I know this outcome isn’t what we forecast when this expedition matriculated between us.”

“You think?”

“But I must riposte, that we need to find a way out and the only one presented to us is from whence we came. So if you would find it in you to trust me, then I believe I can lead us out of here fully intact.”

“Trust you, you say?” You snort flippantly.

“Yes. A big ask, I am well aware of its weight.” He scowls at you this time.

“We did things.” You breathe. "You and I, we... copulated."

The words roll off your tongue and you want to shove them back into your mouth and suck the fat from them, but he’s already heard them and is mentally clipping them apart in his bank of memories to keep the best of them - the most sordid.

“I remember vividly our foreplay on The Pug, but you insisted on no penetration and I kept my word. I may not be a gentleman, but I'm no cavalier scoundrel."

"Yes, I know-"

"-Was a satisfaction garnered for us both as I recall. No-one has ever... ” His head snaps towards you with intrigue. "Are you keen to indulge the liasion?"

“No. I mean... Here. That’s what I saw. We didn't just play this time. Us. It’s what I-”

“Felt.” Ezra finishes for you and you nod as you realise that’s what he felt too. His cock, still tenting against his undergarments, reassures you of that.

“And then we were apart. Like, pulled apart from the insides. I watched you remove your skin. Was it real or did we dream it or…? Kevva, I have no idea what is fucking real or not right now.” You mutter, running your hand through your damp, disgusting hair.

“Did you hit your peaks of satisfaction?” Ezra asks.

"What?"

"Did you come, pet?"

Your cheeks feel hot and you fold your arms sighing. “Yes.” Your stomach pulls tight and it makes you grit your teeth.

“As did I.” He admits freely. "Felt like I couldn't stop. It was kinda nice. Tingly."

He closes his eyes and you watch as his free hand drifts down his sternum and palms his cock over the wet fabric with a soft squeeze, clearly not deterred by your presence.

“It wasn’t you. I mean you weren’t inside me, but you were all the same. It’s confusing. What does it want?” You ask looking up at the swell that seems to hum again. Your palm is running gentle circles against your gut that feels hot.

“I don’t believe it wants anything insidious. It just feels and thrives like we do. It has cravings.” Ezra explains, wandering closer under the centre of it.

You shudder and ponder the creation of such an organism, that you summarise mentally and agree, is not too dissimilar from yourself or Ezra. It exists in the most basic of forms, to feed, to fornicate, to-

You feel a sharp twinge in your lower belly and groan.

“You creamy?” Ezra asks.

“Yeah just… Aaargh!” You hiss and double over clutching your stomach. Horrific cramping churns inside of you and you watch aghast as watery blood trickles down your thighs and legs.

“Ezra!” You shriek hysterically, but he’s wrenched away from your aid as the tentacles swoop down and grab you up in their clutches.

His frantic voice is drowned out as the black takes you again.

This place is too bright.

It glitters and glares at you in a striking cobalt like you’ve never seen before. It takes a while for your eyes to adjust but when they do, you find yourself sprawled on a never-ending bed of sharp diamond pieces.

Millions of them are scattered over the ground, around your feet; cutting into your buttocks and back as you’re spread over them like you’ve been dumped in here carelessly.

They’re protruding out of the rock walls and you can see them sparkle above you, twinkling like distant stars through a kaleidoscopic blue galaxy.

Your fingers rifle through them and clutch them, squeezing the shards. You watch as your skin is pierced and bleeds, yet you feel no physical pain.

The beauty stuns you for a moment and you forget your predicament for a while as you just marvel in the perplexity.

But you’re soon shoved back into it when you feel the cramps twist up your cervix and you scream out in agony.

“Ssh, it’ll soon be over, dove.” You hear Ezra’s soothing drawl and see a million of his hawkish faces in every facet gleaming at you.

He crunches over the diamonds as he walks, bare feet bleeding and he’s naked. Cock lithe and hard, dripping with a pearly secretion you long to drink from.

He no longer has a stump where his right arm should be, but a long thick tentacle that pulses and squirms excitedly as he strides towards you.

He crouches down at your feet, parting your thighs and runs his tongue up the sweaty streaks of them.

“Ezra, what the fuck is happening?” You gasp and grunt through a fierce contraction. Your insides feel like they’re ripping open and your cervix tightens in a way you’ve never felt before.

“Hush now. You give it what it wants and we can have what we want.” He runs his tongue over the bubbly seam of your dilated cunt and sucks upon your clit hungrily for a beat, pulling a convulsion out of you. “Play your part, Birdie.”

You hum out, head lolling backwards as you can’t help but succumb to the intense sucking on your bud from his lips.

“We knew you’d taste so good.” He whines and the thick black of his arm scales your throat and wraps itself around you, choking you as you gasp.

You cry out as another contraction bears down on your uterus and you can feel a heavy rush followed by a saturated squelch.

Ezra draws back and watches keenly as you birth the pupate azure eggs planted inside you. You scream through it; the agony makes your cunt and womb feel like they’re on fire and he coaxes you through it, lapping up the amniotic fluid each time you disembogue it out.

Sparkling diamonds fall from your hole and Ezra leads you into a jubilant climax as he sucks on your clit and furrows his fingers inside to help pull them out.

The diamonds shatter as the tiny organisms inside birth and slither away into the walls; the glittery shells they leave behind are your trophy.

You watch, astonished and soaked in sweat, as they vacate the discarded diamonds to join the mass of tentacles where they’ll grow and eventually breed another like you who should be so gluttonous as to seek their treasure.

You give it what it wants and we can have what we want.

An exchange. A life cycle. A quid pro quo.

Play your part, Birdie.

“Mmmaaaah!”

Your attention is diverted by Ezra pulling another orgasm from you into his mouth. Then, he’s climbing up your body like an arachnid. His tentacle arm slithers behind you and he spreads you open with his thick cock.

He brutally fucks your spent, stretched hole; his seed soothes the pain, numbs it out almost like a leeches bite.

You cling onto him as he grunts and wheezes inside of your ear.

“You did so good for us, Birdie.” He praises and you can’t help but smile and welcome him in fully as he drills so deep inside of you that you can feel the tip slither out of your mouth between your teeth and into his as he kisses you; becoming an entwined ouroboros of unrelenting pleasure.

It feels like it will never stop as his hips crack and hammer into yours, and you pass out, weighted down by exhaustion of all extremes.

Puggart Bench, 4 cycles ago...

“I feel some convival attraction to you, despite my infructuous emancipation of it.” Ezra says as he sups at his glass of golden suds. "Your pluckiness appeals to my better nature, Birdie."

"That's the beer talking." You smirk.

He eyes you with a slightly arched brow and wet pink lips. The foam of his beer drags along his moustache and you watch him lick it clean with a quick flick of his tongue. "A siren, no doubt... I'll willingly drown in you."

"Stop with the sweet talk, prospector and get to the point." You mirth. Although his carnal wooing leaves sweat beading on your skin.

“You understand the objective?”

You nod. “Seems simple enough.”

You’d discussed it at length despite the slight buzz you’d gotten from the beer intake, and yet the plan came together without as much input from yourself. He knew the route, he knew the place. He knew where the diamonds were.

And he did all the damn talking.

All you had to do was assist him with the manual labour of it all, as he put it. Mine and prospect. Fly you both in and out too. An extra pair of hands where he only had half.

But it seemed a little too good to be true and you went to question him further when you felt someone knock into your chair from behind.

A wayward hand was felt trying to cup your breast and you grabbed it and squeezed it in a tight crush.

“I’d rethink that, friend. Unless you still want this hand to jerk you off tonight?” You spoke over your shoulder to the drunk assailant trying to grab at you.

He dribbled something shy of an apology onto your shoulder and you let him go, not before removing the ring on his middle finger that encased a shiny, expensive looking gem. Might fetch some credits for your inconvenience.

“Fiery one, aren’t you?” Ezra mused as he observed the whole thing.

“Just another night in this squalor. I can hold my own.” You replied, stuffing the ring in your pocket.

"Good. I require you strong. You play your part, Birdie. I'll see that you're rewarded handsomely for it."

"You speak as if mining diamonds is a dangerous art. It isn’t. I’m fairly astute in the work of dirty hands."

"These aren't just ordinary diamonds to cut your teeth on." He leaned in, placing the glass down on the table with a heavy thud.

You could smell the stink of the alcohol on his breath and that putrid musk of sweat wafting from him, mixed in with something else sweet and foreboding.

He smelled like death - sweet, alluring death.

His scruff was oily and scattered across his ageing, tan skin and throat, and his dark brown eyes bore into your own for a few moments, contemplating.

Ezra ran his hand around his grazed chin, rubbing at the stubble there now peppered with scabs and grey whiskers as he mulled over the thoughts about you accompanying him in his mind.

Black gunk was embedded in his nail beds. His hand was large for his frame, like a great big shovel for a palm; one that could crush a human skull with little effort, you thought. Once armed with two, you could only speculate as to what vile menace those hands could have caused.

“Where do you come from?” You ask him curiously as you sup. That stark blonde streak at his hairline catches the light and looks like it shimmers at you with tempting promises and false conviction.

Ezra looks up at you from his position at the table and smirks. “Where do you come from?” He challenges back.

He looks at you with a haggard expression that is unchanging. It begins to creep you out a little bit the more you see it, making prickles rise on the back of your neck. He suddenly has a way of making you feel nervous for no reason at all.

And men usually don’t make you feel nervous.

You draw back with a contemplative hiss. “The less we know about each other, the better.” You taunt. “No names, for instance.”

He's already haunting your blood as you feel it warm under your skin, and the slick bubble of sweat upon the back of your neck makes its presence known.

“Why the ambiguity?” He questions with a glass stare. "My name is Ezra." He casually tosses his name in front of you on the table, expecting you to return.

But you don't.

You're feeling prickles run all over your skin. You just want to wash him away with the grime and murk that coats his breath.

A spooky, amaranthine being regarding you from opposite the table and he smirks crookedly again through those swollen lips, pursed out, yet remains tight-lipped. You wonder what they taste like.

You wonder whether his foreskin his clipped, what his come tastes like.

“Getting cosy isn’t my style, Ezra.” You mutter, gulping back more foam and blinking the wanton haze away.

“Well regardless, what a delightful romp it would be to charter to Narilla with you, pet. I’m in if you’re in.” Ezra says after some time of eyeing you.

“I’m in,” you agree, sealing your fate. “Although, wouldn’t you rather have some strong muscle to offer us some leverage in case things go awry? There’s plenty of dick-for-brains to choose from.” You glance around the bar at the crass prospectors and miners in all their lunkhead glory.

“Nothing will go awry.” Ezra shakes his head. He clears his throat. “You’ll do just fine. You're Kevva sent for it.”

You feel his eyes drink you in as they wander over your body and you consider for a moment if you’ll end up back at his place tonight riding his face.

The idea isn’t as heinous as you’d like.

“A quick expedition then.” You confirm.

“That it is. We needn’t linger on the moon in the throes of a harsh winter.” His eyes dart away as though recalling something execrable as he struggles to swallow his beer. “In and out.” Ezra clarifies. "It'll be over quickly."

You nod once in agreement.

“There is a price for what you seek, prospectors. Especially you, girlie.” A foreign voice comes from beside you on the adjacent table.

A man with one eye glares under the shroud of his hood at you. A horrific scar as deep as a magenta trench replaces his other eye. Encrusted with old yellow skin like scales that were in various decays of flaking.

“Balderdash and frivolous superstition.” Ezra simply rebuts and knocks back the remnants of the amber beer down his throat.

“What do you mean, a price?” You query with a lazy smirk over your own numb lips to the creepy eavesdropper.

“He means nothing. Just trying to rile you, Birdie, is all. Come on now, we’ll drink some more. I insist. Celebrate our impending agreement.”

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" You muse.

"Why? Is it working? Am I attractive enough to you yet that you'll let me…" he looks up and down your body and licks his lips. "Indulge?"

"You're so presumptuous, Ezra" You smirk. "Maybe I'll be the one to indulge."

Ezra sways you up towards the bar with him and you think no more of it.

Later, you do indeed indulge, and ride hard on his hawkish face as he makes you come hard through juddery breaths as he fucks you with his serpent tongue relentlessly.

You can feel that heady pull on your clit as he sucks out your pleasure greedily in droves whilst you fist through his greasy hair in rapture as you grind your cunt against the furry graze of his chin.

As you suspected you would.

But now, that odd stranger is here, in the diamond pit with you; staring you down with his singular ragged eye watching as the glory of Ezra buries himself inside of you, and that man is whispering to you and now you know.

He was right, there was a price for Narilla’s diamonds.

You know everything now.

“You knew, didn’t you?” You question Ezra as his silhouette fuzzes into clarity.

The look on his face tells you all you need to know.

Of course he did. It all makes sense now.

“It’s why you favoured me over the other miners to accompany you; because I have a fucking womb!” You spit. "This was my part to play, wasn't it?"

You throw the diamonds you’d been holding at him, and he flinches as they pelt at his feet; his coveted prize.

“Birdie-” He holds up his palm, open in surrender.

“Don’t. Fucking. Call. Me. That!” You launch yourself at him and you both clatter to the stony ground.

You claw at him, aiming for his bastard face, but his free hand captures your fist. He clamps his legs around you to stop you gaining height over him and rolls, pinning you beneath him with ease.

For a man with one arm, he's still incredibly strong and slippery.

“No harm done.” Ezra sneers as you falter; his grip on your wrist flexing it backward a little until you feel a subtle crack and you hiss. “You fulfilled your part, yes. That is true. You got yourself remunerated. We’re free to depart now. It’s how this arrangement works.” He says, darkly.

“I should kill you, you piece of shit!" You seethe at him.

He looks offended. “Now, now. You weren’t saying that earlier when I was buried deep in the hilt of you.” He smirks sinisterly.

“You weren’t,” you shake him off and he rolls onto his back and snickers though rasps. “It wasn’t real.” You affirm, sitting up and flexing your wrist.

"Are you sure?" He questions you smugly.

"No. It was just-" You shake your head.

“Real enough for you to gestate and birth its offspring in droves.” Ezra reminds you.

“You want to lose your other fucking arm?” You warn through a snarl.

He sighs, the smirk dying. “You can’t simply procure the diamonds; you have to replenish your fill. They won’t let you leave if you just take from them. You have to have something to offer in return.” His eyes fall on your body, hungrily. “As I man, I can’t replenish. But you can.”

“You're not a man, you’re a fucking insect!” You rile.

“If I had delineated you the truth, you would never have accompanied me on this treacherous quest.” Ezra mutters, annoyed with clicked lips. “You were an unwitting comrade in my mournful web of deceit, I admit. I'm the arachnid, and you the fly..."

"Fuck you."

He snickers breathily. "I harbour no ill will towards you. You’re quite amiable despite your folly. I would have never let any permanent detriment come to you, Bir-.” He stops short of the moniker as he witnesses your stony glare.

“That’s fucking noble of you.” You growl.

“You’re still alive, yes? All supple appendages intact?”

You glare at him some more.

“Then we completed our charge fully unscathed and significantly richer for it.” Ezra simply says with a casual shrug of indifference.

You really want to punch him and feel his large nose shatter under your knuckles.

“What we possess now is incredibly rare. So few venture here because of the down payment required. You'll be a queen among mere men. You should think yourself fortunate.” He puts, examining one of the diamond shards carefully.

“Tell that to my insides!" You snap. You can still feel the ache; the rawness from the unexpected birth.

"It's what your glorious body was made for. To bear the fruit of life, is it not?"

"That," you point towards the swarming cluster "is not fucking fruit, Ezra!"

Ezra sighs and reaches for you gingerly. "I am burdened with my part in this. I am a host to belligerent shame. Honesty is a skill I do not possess in its entirety. But you and I, we make a damn hoot of a team."

"The prospector and her pimp!" You scoff.

"I'll make it right, if you’ll permit me?"

His deep, brown eyes bore into you and you feel something wobble inside you.

“I meant it when I said I liked you, pet. That clandestine night on The Pug with you? Kevva, it replays in my mind and won't let me have no peace. Your cunt stink is still all up in my sheets." He licks his lips, sucking on the bottom and recalling your taste for a beat with a satisfied murmur - a groan that your skin ignites to in response.

"Who would desire me like this now aside from the whores on Luxillion who take my credits and don't remember my name? They just remember this..." Ezra glances down at his missing appendage.

"I ponder if it was pity on your part, and I would not linger in offense if it was, but regardless, it was something. To me. And I do not take the pleasure you offered me so freely, and with an inkling of that desire for yours truly returned, lightly and with regret." He finishes.

You sigh and shake your head, unable to ignore fully the fizzing inside your veins as he says it, how earnest he suddenly appears.

Despite yourself, that night with him was indeed... something.

There was something so deliciously unkempt about him. Frivolous around the seedy murk. Something that your better nature repelled against, and yet caved to all the same.

“How the fuck do we get out of here?” You groan, looking up at the swarm of tentacles engulfing the only means of escape.

You're not sure if you can take another mind fucking, or a physical one. But your pussy clenches and it zaps on your clit regardless.

“The way we came in, I have already iterated that escape route to you, despite your reluctance to partake. It seems appeased, I think. Satiated. Might pass us up without further incident.”

"Well, I guess we have no choice." You utter.

Ezra gathers the diamonds and shoves them into his wet pockets until they bulge. He looks at you forlornly. “Thank you,” he notes.

You soften despite yourself. “Hold my hand this time. I don’t want to be separated from you and left behind now you’ve gotten what you wanted. I would expect no less from you.”

You can feel it on your skin. The dread. The desire the pit had for you. The fact that, despite his slimy betrayal, you still feel it burn in your core when he smiles crookedly at you.

"I would gladly leave these treasures here, if it meant not taking you with me." He says through molten brown eyes.

"You're so full of shit." You sigh, smirking.

Ezra reaches out with a timid grin of his own and you step forward, interlocking your fingers tightly in his.

“That's as may be, but I won’t let go.” He promises and you believe him as his thumb strokes over the ridge of your knuckles.

You feel his sincerity crush the bones in your hand.

“Once we get out of here, I think I never want to see your face again.” You warn him, but you can feel that your resolve already has cracks in it as you offer him a small, twinkly smile.

“That might be difficult…” Ezra holds up your interlocked hands and they are no longer hands in a muscled knot.

Instead, they are a singular arm that starts from your shoulder and ends at the ball joint on his. The skin is perfectly smooth and there is no separation on where you begin and Ezra ends.

“What the fuck?” You gasp.

“Embrace it, Birdie. It’s the only way we’re getting out.” Ezra smirks. "One last hurrah." He laughs and his breath suddenly smells like the dead Trogs on Ajaxia, as you inhale it into your stomach where it soils and grows roots.

You feel your toes leave the ground as the tentacles lift you upwards. Your joint appendage with Ezra stretches as you feel them try to separate you both.

Somewhere under the muscles and sinew, you grip onto him and he grips you back just as hard.

The nebula rises above you both and you cover your eyes with your free arm as it swells in intensity and size.

Your hand is pulled out of his from under the skin, like taking off a glove and Ezra desperately pulls you into his lap. You wrap your legs around his waist tightly locking you in and he grunts at the welcome intrusion from the crest of your pelvis crushed against his own.

"Not letting you go," he assures. Or warns. They sound one in the same.

His free fingers now push into your skull, sinking into the soft jellied mass of your brain and your own hands grip onto his shoulders, sinking into the bone beneath his flesh.

They slide in so easily, like fluid and you gasp out as he fills your cunt; that pulsing cock free from his undergarments and pumping his spend liberally into you and doesn’t stop. It floods your pussy, leaking out around his fat shaft and dripping down your thighs in thick globules.

“You taste so good, Birdie.” Ezra rasps and his voice is sulfuric. “We could devour you for eternity.”

He pulls back and his mouth is full of your milky flesh; your blood pooling from the corner of his lips and you hear his molars crunch through your bone fragments.

“Stay,” he wheezes. “Stay with us here and let us live inside you.” He pleads as he takes another bite, consuming you whole; his cock thrusting deeper into you and you groan and wail as he drowns you.

You can feel it filling you, that thick seminal fluid pouring from your ears, your nostrils and your eyes.

You're slipping, fading.

You want to stay but you know you should be somewhere else. Somewhere you’re not sure is real and you only dreamed of it.

But the nebula… it’s so fucking beautiful.

To never see it again wrenches your heart. You pluck it from your chest; a mass of sloppy ventricles and offer it out to the amethyst abyss.

You watch as it disintegrates into ash in your palm. You can still feel Ezra filling you, drowning you and you know this is where you belong.

You belong with them; this mass of tentacles that feeds you everything you could only ever imagine and crave. At one with the universe and home inside of the purple nebula that speaks the same language as you and shares a brainstem and-

“Birdie!”

You’re wrenched and you surface; spluttering as your grapple for the ledge with slippery fingers.

Ezra pulls you over, groaning with the strain as you topple onto him and gasp out. The diamonds spill from his pockets around you both and he pants into your face, his own reddening from the exertion.

“I got you,” he says, his face shiny and wet. "Easy now."

Your shaky fingers around the familiarity of his brackish features as you realise you're back on solid ground and out of the pit.

You can feel his chest heave against yours as you're crushed to him; his arm tight against your back.

“You didn’t leave me in there.” You marvel at him with those pink cheeks around his scruff.

“Do you think me completely unscrupulous, woman?” He frowns.

You lean in and kiss him, planting a deep relieved smooch onto his chapped lips and he’s taken by surprise.

You suck on his tongue and your kiss erupts into something unfinished. He groans back into your mouth as you can still feel how hard he is, how he pulses under you with need and it spreads into you.

“So, I assume by this mere token of affection, you no longer wish to gut me?” He gasps around your mouth.

“No, I still very much wish to,” you smile. “But right now, I just want you inside of me, Ezra. Fuck me.”

His grip on you strengthens. “I can certainly oblige to that,” he gruffs. "Seeing as we almost perished today."

"Almost," you growl.

He pushes his head up to kiss you again. He wastes no time and reaches down as you both fumble around your sticky, cloying undergarments.

He shimmies his long johns down his thighs as best as he can, pulling out his turgid cock that's pulsing with need and slippery with pre-cum.

You pull your shorts to the side as you sit down on him, sinking all the way down to his swollen balls.

“Fuck, Birdie... Better than the visions,” he whines, the cords in his neck straining and pupils blown wide. “So tight..." He gasps as you start rocking on him. "Oh, forgive me, pet. I won't last.”

"I don't care." You grunt wanting him and taking him, as you grind your hips back and forth sloppily.

He feels fucking divine; packing you out and stretching you through this frantic, clumsy fuck you’ve instigated, and you deduce you’re probably still out of your mind on whatever it was that had you feverish and delusional in the pit.

But it's of no matter; you’re too riled up to give a damn about anything else other than your release. And you want nothing more than to soak him.

It’s fast approaching as you grind down harder on him. You can feel him in the places where you’re still raw and tight, but you push through it; the pleasure is your driving force and it bubbles under your abdomen muscles and makes your toes spark.

"In Kevva's name, I swear you're magnificent," he rambles, reaching up with his free hand to grope and palm your breast over your camisole. He watches as you slide up and down on his cock, bewildered and in awe as your slick oils up the dark hairs around the base of him.

"Oh shit," he cants.

You suck on his deceitful tongue as you ride him and milk his cock for all it’s worth. Your peak is so close, quick and bursting like colourful strobes under your eyelids as your clit rubs deliciously against his fuzzy groin curls.

Your walls tighten and flutter around his girthy muscle buried to the hilt in you.

“Mmm fuck, Ezra, I’m going to-” You pant.

“Me too, come for me. All over my cock.” He hisses. “Now! Gah, sweet mother of Kevva,” he groans. “Ohshitohshitohshit… oh-oh shit!"

You tense and shake over him like an earthquake; eyes rolling back into your head and fingers digging into his chest meat.

Your thighs smack against the soft paunch of his stomach as you slow your pace and ride it out until the stars dissipate and that purple nebula fades into the black for good.

A small part of you is sad to see it go.

You feel Ezra pulse and fill you with his own warm heat and it spills out of you as you collapse onto his sternum, your cheek sticking to his wet clothed nipple, satiated and exhausted.

You glance at your discarded flight suits, after what feels like an eternity later of just laying stuck to him and listening to his heartbeat ebb, before you’d entered the creature's pit and realise this was all so very warped and that you actually made it out unscathed, like he had said.

Like he'd promised.

You’re still unsure if it all really happened or if your mind is playing tricks on you. All you can remember is the violet beauty and the feeling of being filled so deeply.

You feel his thick fingers run through the oil of your hair gently rousing your focus. "As much as I'd enjoy staying here with you on this idle precipice, it appears we should make haste to depart before anything else untoward occurs."

You nod and glance up at him, placing a gentle kiss on the scarred skin of his stump poking out under his t-shirt, which makes his eyes glisten at you.

You shuffle off of him and reach for your suit, careful not to eye him and a small part of you wanting to forget it all.

But you can’t forget a man like Ezra so easily - he’s furrowed in too deep already; got those grubby, thick fingers embedded deep into your skin and poisoning you with the dirt that constantly lives under his nails.

He bore witness to your ruining down in the pit, your undoing.

He was there with you as your skin was flayed down to the bone. The complete annihilation of your soul as it tarnished before him. He sought to devour the nerves under your flesh, the depraved delights that the pit drew out of you and into his waiting and willing mouth.

He didn't choke on you like you wanted.

Ezra regards you with a shine in his dark, beady eyes and offers you a small, creeping smile which you can’t help but return as you both dress and reattach your helmets.

The diamonds glitter all around your feet and the euphoria of knowing they’re yours is a little overwhelming.

"I would kill for a shower right now." You say as you follow him back the way you came through the internalised cave systems. Your body stills feels sticky and wet under your flight suit.

You hear him guffaw inside your ear. "Is there not a sanitation pod housed on your lander?"

"No," you frown. "Was too expensive to rent one with luxurious amenities."

"A shame." He concurs. "Although, we can bathe in the waters with the nymphs on Luxillion now if we wish."

"Luxillion?" You snort. "Burning a hole in your pocket already?"

"A man can but dream." Ezra husks inside your ear. "What of your ambition, Birdie?"

You shrug. "Haven't really thought about it."

"You can afford to mull it over some." He crackles.

"Yes I can," you smile, realising that both Ezra and you can simply afford anything you want right now. No matter how ludicrous a thing it is that you desire.

Back in the confines of the lander, you take the controls as Ezra tucks your share of the diamonds into your knapsack.

“If you’ve short changed me, I’ll hunt you down, prospector.” You warn him though a short side glare.

“Perhaps I should recount if you make tempting promises such as those, Birdie.” Ezra quips and smiles at you like a dim light bulb before it runs out of juice.

The thrusters roar into life and the lander pod launches into a frosty orbit. The static still blocks everything out as you fly blind up into the ether. The radio comms crackling and tinny in their off-beat drones.

“Don’t call me that,” you simply say; a small smirk of your own breeding across your lips that you lick away.

“Then what do I call you? I wish to let it roll off my tongue when I fuck you some more back on The Pug.” He simply croons.

You scoff. “You’re so presumptuous, Ezra.” You shake your head with a breathy snuffle of a laugh. “Perhaps, I’ll be the one to fuck you."

And the thought makes your clit throb excitedly, despite it's over-stimulated ache.

"I'll ensure you're held to that bold proposition, pet." Ezra simply clicks his tongue around his teeth, the taste of you still in his gum meat somewhere.

"I would expect no less from you." You quip.

You feel his singular hand creep onto your thigh and give it a good gentle squeeze. Instead of being disgusted, you smile and enjoy the pleasure it evokes through your bloodstream as he warms you.

You then surprise him by caving and finally revealing your name, casually letting it flow from your lips as you release the landing gear.

"Well, it's nice to finally meet you." He grins slickly at you in some deft accomplishment. "Wasn't such a hard endeavor now, was it?"

Ezra sits back in the nav seat smirking as you launch fully into The Fringe, leaving the delectable nightmares of Narilla behind you both.

MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST

I really hope you enjoyed reading this Ezra story of mine. I had a lot of fun writing this and really wanted to challenge myself with this genre. Please let me know your thoughts. I'll be writing more Ezra for sure. 🖤

[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.”

[ohforficsake]

Talk Refined

main masterlist

Summary: Orpheus and Eurydice. A Blacksmith and a Warrior. A Lawyer and the Lady He Meets at a Bar. Two souls fated to find each other across lifetimes. Here are just a few of those stories.

Pairing: Ezra x f!Reader. Reader is able-bodied and takes many forms. Described as having hair that can be pinned back in one instance, generally open description in others.

This is my submission for @wannab-urs Hozier Drabble Challenge! My character was Ezra, and my prompt was "Talk" off of Wasteland, Baby!. This was such a fun challenge, thank you so much for organizing it, Gin!

Word Count: ~5.8K (I blew past drabble, I'm so sorry)

Rating: Explicit 18+ / brief fingering / brief handjob / unprotected piv / language / main character death / Minors DNI

A/N: This was so incredibly fun to write and I actually had a huge smile on my face when I finished it that I'm pretty sure is still there. I'm incredibly happy with how this turned out. I've never written for Ezra before, so this was a really interesting exercise in finding the voice of a character that I found quite challenging to get to the heart of. Ezra folks, I really hope I did your boy justice.

Notes on literary references and the source of Orpheus' speech (not written by me) included at the end.

I'm also kind of just launching this super hot off the press, so please forgive any typos you may find and definitely message me about them once you're done reading.

Massive thank you to @beskarandblasters for the beautiful cover art for this story! 💚 Go hit Kel up if you're looking for a lovely header for your work!

Dividers by @cafekitsune!

Part I: The Darkness of the Night

He’s called Orpheus in this lifetime. Blessed with his mother’s tongue. 

No way of knowing he forever will be.  

A twist of phrase. A glint in the eye. 

A white patch at his hairline is the only mark of his father. As if licked there by the rays of Apollo’s creation.

And he is his mother’s boy, plucking at lyre strings and humming low, branches bending to his ambit as he harmonizes with the rush of Zephyrus’ wings through tall grasses.

But you are a rich distraction indeed.

A distraction perhaps of the West Wind’s own making, for the god has always been a soft touch. 

The breeze toys with your chiton as you drift in and out of dreams. 

Molding gossamer to your form.

A promise of something just for him.

Orpheus reaches to run his knuckles down your arm, awaiting your stirring before he takes fingers over your shoulder, up to cup your cheek.

You turn to press against the warmth of his hand. The pad of his thumb softly skimming your bottom lip.

It sends sparks racing across your skin.

He hums a laugh and fits closer to you, warmer now than the midday sun. You slant your eyes up at him, greeted with a smile before he bends to press a long kiss to your mouth.

His lyre is discarded in the grass now, wildflowers poking up through its strings.

The hand on your cheek moves to pull at his red linen handkerchief around your neck. Tied there in the morn to guard the late-hour transgressions of his lips from judgmental stares. 

Again revealed to him now.

He tucks the cloth into his zoster before his fingers dip under the gauze of your robes, cupping one breast before his lips replace fabric.

“The dryads, my darling,” you whisper a warning into the heated hollow of his mouth.

“Fret not, my love,” he chides with a whisper.

And you whimper a wanton, insincere protest as his hand adjusts to move lower still, nimble fingers inching your hemline up until your thighs are bared to him.

“Surely such creatures would sympathize. Look favorably on newlywed dalliance.”

“For they understand pleasures such as these,” he murmurs as his fingers slip over your core.

"The nymphs haven’t our flesh," you gasp against his curls as he bends to nip at the lush of your breast.

"They have our desires."

"The nymphs know fertile things in ways we never shall, my darling Eurydice," ghosts hot against your skin. 

"And surely they know what comes of something flush with want."

The press of his length against you causes your hips to tilt into his hand as your languid knees fall open.

"To deny that nature is to deny the nymphs themselves, little dove."

He tips his face to brush petal-soft lips against your frantic pulse as he shifts over you.

"For you see, they don’t care."

And the breach of him causes your back to arch, nails digging into the corded muscle of his arms.

You bend enough for your eyes to land on the grove of oak trees.

Unsure if begging forgiveness. 

Or reveling in their jealousy.

But there are other eyes on you this day. Watching the deft way your husband wrings pleasure from your form. 

The way he rolls you over on a bed of meadowsweet to press deeper still.

Holding your body to his as he pulls music from your throat.

Other eyes, indiscreet in their desire and relentless in their pursuit.

Other eyes that lead to your journey across the Styx.

Lead to Orpheus’ torment.

They say there are ways to speak with the dead.

But words will not pacify the poet when the possibility exists to feel you beneath him again.

A body that writhes under his own. Skin soft against the way his burns.

The way you welcome the thick weight of him.

All of him.

Into the warm clutch of your wet cunt.

And Orpheus, driven by his desire and blessed with his mother’s gift, marches boldly into the depths of grief.

“You powers divine of the subterranean kingdom, where all of mortal creation must one day sink to our doom, if you will give me permission to tell you the truth unvarnished by shifty pretenses…”

“I’d hoped to be able to bear my loss and confess that I tried.”

And the dance of his fingers over gut string pricks the ears of the damned as he gives verse to his flesh’s torment.

“In the name of these confines of fear, in the name of this vast abyss and your realm of infinite silence, I, Orpheus, implore you, unravel the web of my dear Eurydice’s early passing.”

A prayer for relief.

“This is the place that we all are bound for, our final dwelling, and yours is the longest reign that the human race must endure.”

Through vulpine teeth.

“Eurydice too, when her due of years has been ripely completed, shall own your sway. Till then, I beg you to let me enjoy her.”

And it moves the hound to cease its lashing. 

Moves the one eternally punished to rest upon his stone. 

Moves the dead of Winter to cave to the tender brush of Spring’s hand.

And you are called forth by a voice between what should be your ears. 

And Orpheus begins to move.

Daring to hope for your sweet clutch again as your footsteps grow louder against stone.

As you take the form he knows, more corporeal with every footfall.

The tenderness in your ankle made manifest with flesh.

And his cock throbs with the thought of you.

His wife.

His muse.

But there’s a pause in the lilting cadence of your step.

Where you’ve stopped to grab for the fallen handkerchief that slipped from his belt.

And the panic flooding his breast moves him against all hope.

And he turns.

And you reach for him.

Before disappearing for the final time.

With forgiveness swimming in your eyes.

Part II: Pilgrim, Stranger, Wanderer

He’s called Doran in this lifetime.

A name you learn upon ducking into the blacksmith’s workshop with another man’s name on your lips. 

“Callum!” You call, greeted instead by a shock of white hair where blonde should be.

Round brown eyes where you expected green.

“Apologies,” you offer, “I am looking for the smith.”

“Callum was called away to his family in the north country.”

His answering voice like honey just starting to crystalize. 

“I’m called Doran,” he bends his head in customary greeting.

And you note the broad spread of his hand against his chest.

“I apprenticed under Callum, in what feels like a lifetime ago now, I admit.” He offers a small smirk. “He asked that I mind the forge in his absence.”

And you give him your name but not your full belief in this story.

“May I help you with something, dove?”  

You straighten against the rake of his eyes. “My horse requires particular shoes. She is of a larger breed and nothing standard will suit.”

And you turn your back to him leading the way outside.

Doran whistles low at the sight of your mare, a sturdy Friesian glossed blue in the morning sun.

“She is a stunning creature,” he purrs, gently taking his fingers over her strong neck.

Pausing to thumb the iris stamped into the leather of her bridle.

“She’s no delicate thing,” you watch as he circles the horse. “Her grandsire was a draft who pulled the High King’s carriage.”

He fits one massive hoof between his knees, gently brushing away the feathers at her ankle before she starts fighting his touch. 

He adjusts her gently, inspecting her irons before she protests in earnest.

“It’s apparent,” he says, quickly dropping the horse’s foot and jumping aside before she stamps and shakes her head, “that her blood runs hot.”

“She does not favor the touch of men,” you answer, soothing a hand over her hindquarters. “I should have forewarned you.”

“A fair lady is entitled to her opinions when she is that beautiful,” Doran gives her a wide berth.

And takes his eyes over you instead. 

“You are the nobleman’s daughter.” He squints against the sun. “The warrior?” 

“I am.”

“Now,” he pulls a rag from his pocket and rubs at his hands, “I know well the dangers of feminine beauty but a warrioress is altogether new to me. You are not riding into battle soon, I pray?”

“One in my position exists in a constant state of preparation. But there is no rumble of battle on the horizon.” 

His smirk dimples one cheek now.

“I shall have the shoes for your láir within the week. And I shall pray you need not fly away before then, little dove.”

“May I make half the payment now for your services? This was the custom with the old smith.”

“The only payment for my services I can insist upon is merely the chance to sit in your presence a moment longer. Would a fair lady allow a humble blacksmith that much?”

And you see straight through him. Through to the tools on the wall. 

But the broad set of his shoulders under ash-smudged linen. The way he moves, lithe and light on his feet as he dances between his stock of iron bars and his cache of hammers. The bright wideness of his eyes that betray sincerity or something of its kin.

A humble one no. But this one, perhaps.

You drop a pouch of coins onto his anvil. “Where?”

“Meet me here. In the morrow?”

And you tell him “maybe” in the moment as you climb into your saddle.

But you arrive on foot the next morning. 

_____

You meet him three mornings in the week it takes him to forge your mare’s irons. 

On the first day he tells you of his travels through Spain and France. Of scrambling up the masts of the ship that brought him to your shore. 

On the third, he recites The Bard’s work with such nuance that you’re not entirely sure he isn’t the man himself.  

On the fifth day he leads you out to the ruins of an old monastery, up a winding staircase until you’re forced to stand so close on the crumbling parapet that you can feel the heat of him at your back.

Your head spins from something other than the height.

On the seventh day he places four horseshoes, lovingly wrapped in burlap and bound with hemp cord, into the hand he has cradled in his own. 

Warm and worn.

“Can I see you again?” He murmurs, barely a foot between you.

“Is that wise?”

“I have been mistaken for many things, little dove.” He brushes two knuckles over your cheekbone. “Nary a man has included wise among them.”

And you scoff but press into his touch all the same. 

“Forgive me my boldness,” he takes his fingers under your chin, “but I must pose the question.”

“Your mare does not favor the touch of men.”

“But,” he purrs, “do you?”

And your lips form the word “goodnight” but you don’t dare move.

Your eyes flash with a want that does not go neglected. 

“Must you take your leave?” He thumbs your bottom lip.

“I must.”

“But what of my payment,” he hums.

“As I recall you beseeched me pay with my time,” you tilt your head, reveling in the brush of warm breath against your skin, “I dare say I’ve tendered more than my share.”

“And yet I am in debt every time you take your presence from me,” he smirks. “There is something of you, little dove, that I fear has a hold on—”

You steal the words from his lips with your own.

And the unabashed delight dancing over his features when you part makes you kiss him again.

You fling your arm to rest the irons on the first surface you can find, desperate to wind your hands in his hair as his fit to your waist.

He urges your mouth open with the soft slip of his tongue. Humming when you let him inside.

“Little bird,” he pants when he tears his lips from you, forehead thumping hard against yours. “I confess if you stay past this moment I shall not be able to exercise any measure of restraint.”

“Is restraint what you desire?” You angle heavy-lidded eyes up at him. 

“Not in the slightest,” he swallows hard, fist still gripping at your hair. “But you are a gentle lady with a good name, and I—”

“I want you, Doran,” you murmur. “This.”

And his head falls back on his shoulders with a tight, pained hiss.

“I confess I have given in to the fantasy of hearing that fall from this lush mouth many nights since first we met.”

And he expects heat to rise to your cheeks at his admission. But the hand that cradles your neck finds no such warmth.

“Do you know how it works?” He hums low, running his palm down your sleeve to lace thick fingers with yours. “Pleasure?” He brings your knuckles to his lips, eyes glinting in hearthlight. 

And there is sincerity evident in his gaze.

For you are a gentle lady with a good name. 

“Mmm, have you felt this?” He takes your hand, gliding it over the rough wool of his trousers.

To the hard line of his length underneath them. 

Your breath skips.

You are no stranger to amusement of the flesh. But never before have you felt so—much. 

“Feel me, birdie,” he hums, rolling his forehead against yours, “what you do to me. I fear there isn’t any blood left for the rest of me.” He kisses you again. “Only for you. This. Just for you.”

“Your bed, Doran,” you murmur against his mouth.

The hand over yours encircles your wrist and he leads you through to his chambers.

He pulls you tight to his body again, mouths locked as his hands roam your form, unable to settle upon what features his fingers must traverse first. 

You push the braces from his shoulders and he helps you with the buttons of his shirt, your hands skating up the smooth expanse of tanned skin before tugging at your own shirttails.

Your lips find his neck as he unbuttons his trousers. You’ve already stepped out of yours.

“So eager, birdie,” he wraps you in his arms, and your skin burns with his touch. “Surely you’ve seen it with beasts, yes?” He salts your neck with kisses. “It’s quick with them, you see. It doesn’t have to be. Doesn’t have to—”

A moan cuts off his babbling from where you’ve taken him in hand. 

“Although I may yet need to beg your forgiveness,” his hips buck into your hand, “my stamina may yet waiver, upon this first time.”

His tongue slips into your mouth again and finally he finds himself enough to back you up until your thighs meet his bed. 

“It’s been so long. So long, birdie, since I have held a woman.” He leans you back with his body as your hands fly to his hair. “Longer still since I have held one as soft. Supple and pliant as you.” His lips map your collarbone, nose skimming the valley of your breasts as he takes one in hand.

“Never before is a long time indeed.”

He sucks at tender, pebbled skin, drawing an arch in your spine as he shifts to settle between your legs.

“I give you my word that I will indeed take my time with you but I offer a preemptive apology in the instance that I fail upon this first time.” His fingers slip down to toy with your folds, groaning against your ribs at the wetness that he finds there. “Perhaps we are no different than animals indeed.” 

You hear only half of his babbling. 

The static of anticipation under your skin crackles in your ears as your hips tip into his hand. His thumb slides over your clit and you cry out. 

“You see, sometimes a man just needs to bury himself deep.”

He slings your legs over his hips and sits up on his knees, stroking his length with your borrowed wetness as your hands find his thighs.

There’s a dark edge to his voice now. Heavy-lidded eyes locked on the core of you.

“This need. It’s far stronger than I ever will be.”

“Now, Doran, I need—”

He doesn’t make you wait.

And he keeps his word in the moments it matters. Slowly rocking his hips to stretch you open on his cock before your body begs him deeper.

Large palms settle around your waist as he builds in pace, alternating slow with fast. Tenderness with force that drives the bedframe to knock against the wall. When his thumb winds circles against your clit you cry into the night as pleasure rips through you. Greedy lips crash against yours as his weight blankets your reeling form. Fevered moans in his chest thrum through you as he savors the way your walls pulse around him. 

He buries his face against your neck and you feel the bite of his teeth as he snarls, drawing closer and closer to the edge.

He cants his hips just so at the last minute, pulling himself from your heat a moment before his seed streams hot over your thigh.

You soothe a hand over the nape of his neck as his hips spasm with the last of it, wide hand cradling your jaw and tipping your face to his.

Kisses softer now. 

Grateful.

“You are a rare bird indeed,” he murmurs against your ear, lips ghosting over your neck. 

He finds himself enough to rise from bed and kneel on the floor, searching for his handkerchief amongst the tangle of his clothes. 

Yours peeks from the pocket of your trousers, red against brown wool, and you lazily twirl a corner of it around your finger and draw it out.

Doran catches it from your hand, gently cleaning your thigh of his spend before pressing a kiss there. 

“I shall return this to you clean,” he holds it up briefly before craning to press a kiss to your lips. “Don’t trouble a hair on your head with moving, birdie,” he bids you before disappearing to the kitchen.

You trouble the hair on your head all the same as you pull the jostled pins from it, tousling it out of the style your nurse had so meticulously placed it in this morning. 

Doran returns with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He fills them as you prop yourself up on your side and he settles on the floor. One arm slung up on the mattress.

Adoration in his eyes as he tips his glass against yours.

“You didn’t tell me this was not your first time. Although I do find it rather a pleasant surprise,” he rubs a hand over the curve of your waist with lust-hazed eyes.

“I could scarcely utter a word amidst your chatter,” you tease with a grin as you take another sip of your whiskey.

His smile dimples his cheek. 

“Are you—”

For once he hesitates to speak.

“Are you promised to anyone?”

You catch his hand and bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his palm before he thumbs your cheekbone.

“None but myself. And my duty.”

He hums in acknowledgment. 

You finger the white patch at his hairline, twirling a clinging curl. 

“Angered a horse as a child and she made it known with her hooves,” he offers. “Frightened the color from that spot, I’m afraid.”

“There’s character in it. I’m quite fond.”

He turns in and rests his chin on the bed, hand back to trailing over your curves. 

“Dove?”

And you frown at the nickname.

“I am nothing so delicate, Doran.”

“A shrike then, perhaps,” he smirks, knuckles ghosting over your stomach. 

And something about it makes your heart preen.

“Has a man ever,” his fingers dip lower over your abdomen, “put his mouth on you?” 

It sends a fresh jolt of pleasure racing up your spine. You turn onto your back without thought, basking in his touch as fingers trail over your mound.

“Right here?” The pads of his middle and ring fingers wind softly against your clit.

“No,” you gasp.

“Then may I have the pleasure of being the first?”

And he is the first in a way that has you wishing for him to be the last. 

The only.

_____

Your handmaid was sympathetic to your cause, having been driven from her own house for true love. They share a small cottage on your father’s land now.

Your mother, though she did not know the intricacies of your continued dalliances with the blacksmith, knew the shift in your demeanor was a man’s doing. And she always was a soft touch for love.

Your father.

Was your mother’s concern. 

And so your nurse covers your footsteps with a tickle in her throat that needs clearing.

Ushers you back into your chambers before morning light with a knowing smile.

“I always thought you would make a pass for the stable hand,” she confesses one day as she pours heated water over your hair. “The blacksmith is a surprise.”

“An unpleasant one?”

“Not in the slightest. He’s handsome.”

You can tell there is more to the sentiment. 

“Yes, and?” You ask with a raised brow.

“Rakish.”

“Perhaps rakish is what I need,” as you rub water from your eyes. 

“No lady with sense needs rakish, my darling girl,” she chides as she rubs soap at your scalp. “But a lady with sense should indulge in it from time to time.” 

This draws a smile across your lips.

“He treats you well?”

“He treats me to pleasure the likes of which I have never known. If I offer this kingdom the breath in my breast every time I leave its gates, the least I may be permitted is the choice of a lover.” 

And so she fixes you bitter tea every morning that you return from your rakish man.

_____

The pair of you take to late night meetings at the old groundskeeper’s shack on your parents’ land. 

Where the splashing of the brook over rocks and the churn of the water wheel stifle the way he makes you cry out in pleasure.

And for one so verbose, he does excel at discretion. Raking ashes from the forge through the patch of white in his hair. Bending shadows around himself as he slips from town and into the forest at the edge of the estate. 

The pair of you carry on for months. Until summer sun yields to the darkening blanket of fall. 

A welcome change that lengthens your stolen hours.

“I’d wager that we were lovers in lives past,” he muses one night, lips pressing kisses against a scar on your shoulder. “You know me, little bird. The very depths of me.”

“Perhaps,” you roll over in a luxuriant stretch, “you are easy to know.”

“The Townsfolk would perhaps beg to differ, my darling.” He rests his hand on your cheek as you curl into him.

“Must you go in the morrow?” He asks softly.

“I’m afraid I must. For it is my duty. To ensure the safety—”

“—of the kingdom,” you both finish.

“In that case, I have made you a gift.” He reaches over your form down to the pocket of his cloak, and produces a small canvas pouch.

He sits up with you, pulling your back to his chest, arms around your middle as he watches you. 

A small silver disk threaded on a chain falls into your palm. An iris stamped into the pendant.

“Doran, it’s beautiful. You made this?”

“It is perhaps more crude than a silversmith’s work,” he helps you fasten it around your neck, “but I wanted you to have something to remember my touch in the absence of it.”

You turn towards him such that he can see you in the firelight. Ash on your jaw from where you held him to your neck, perched atop his hips while he ground deep. 

Silver pendant hanging just above the valley of your breasts. 

“Beautiful,” he smiles, pressing a kiss against your lips, thumbing at the smudge on your chin. “I have always thought there to be something undeniably sensual in the furl of iris petals,” he rumbles, “how fitting for them to be your favorite.”

“Your imagination is swift, Doran.”

“You have not beheld what I have, dearheart,” he pulls you down against the bed linens once more.

Holding you against his heart. 

And he is quiet for a long while, fingers running softly over your stomach, nose buried in your hair.

“What of my safety?” He asks. 

A plea to keep you here. 

“What shall I do?”

“I have no doubt you will find another iris that unfurls for you in the meanwhile,” you hum. Eyes slipping closed. 

“There is only one, my love. I shall wait for your return.”

_____

A grand crowd lines the streets as you and the men of your battalion ride towards the village gates the next morning. Full of cheers and blessings.

And you offer the customary wave and nod.

But your heart hammers against chainmail. 

Eyes darting through the crowd.

Willing a shock a white to appear. 

And as you near the gates he greets you.

Warm brown eyes and a grin of pride. He rushes to push through the crowd as you approach on your mare, eyes never leaving each other. 

You slip one foot from your stirrup and he jams one of his into it and stands, briefly.

Long enough to cup the base of your skull and lay a parting kiss against your lips.

You hurriedly pull your red handkerchief from behind your breastplate, pressing it into his palm as he drops away.

Crushing the cloth to his heart as you slip through the gates. 

And it will yield the ire of your father and the warm, joyous tears of your mother.

But they matter not.

For you do not return home under your own power. 

You return home under a shroud. 

Your nurse slips into the night, treading your path with your necklace in hand.

“She was found with her hand over her heart. And this underneath it.”

And the blacksmith. 

Wrought with grief.

Is never seen again.

Part III: The Helper. The Protector.

He’s called Ezra in this lifetime. 

Brought to this bar by a group of associates keen on celebrating his win in federal court this afternoon. 

And he knows it’s an excuse to drink on the firm’s dime.

He was an associate once too. 

But they helped draft the brief that saved their client $44 million. A few drinks is a small thanks. 

Ezra sticks to the corners, entertaining chatter only when approached. Kindly redirecting the advances of a first year who’s too young to realize flirting with a partner is career suicide.

He’s content tonight to sip his bourbon and observe.

“Okay, but I told you that Bismark case was horseshit and the judge was going to see that!” One associate who is two drinks too deep roars.

“That was so fucking risky, I still can’t believe you put so much weight on that,” another chides.

“Fucking WORKED though!” And the first man spreads his arms wide.

Knocking you into the sip of red wine you were about to take from your seat at the bar. 

“Jesus, fuckin’—” you start before taking a deep breath and glancing down at the patch of deep burgundy beginning to spread on your white blouse. 

Fuck.

“Boys, boys, this lovely lady didn’t consent to hearing your opinions on bullshit 4th Circuit rulings, okay?” Ezra appears, stretching an arm between you and the men. “Let’s be a little more careful, take it to a booth, yeah?”

“Miss, I apologize on their behalf,” he starts and you take another centering breath because you really are not here for some hotshot lawyer’s apologies. This is your spot, and they’re fucking with your Thursday night nightcap.

But the brown eyes you’re met with are wide and sincere.

And something at the very core of you thrums momentarily with something you can’t name. 

“Please, allow me to replace your wine and cover your tab for the night.” He’s already calling the barman over before you can assure him that’s really not necessary because they’ve fucked up your night already and you just want to go home. 

“Could you please arrange a fresh glass of wine for this lovely lady, place her tab on the card I gave you, and may I have a shot glass of white wine. I need the white wine as quickly as you can, please. Thanks very much.”

And you’re still staring at those brown eyes.

Bristling and dumbstruck at the same time. 

“Ezra,” he holds out a hand in belated introduction, and you offer a firm shake and your name in exchange.

“Sorry, a shot glass of white wine?” You quip as the bartender places it in front of Ezra.

He slips a red pocket square from his jacket and dips a corner into the shot glass.

“Apologies, may I?”

And inexplicably you turn in towards him on your bar stool as he dabs at the stain on your shirt. 

Just over your heart. 

“White wine will keep the stain from setting,” he proffers.

You crane your neck to the side, trying to settle your focus on cut glass bottles and not the stranger tending to the fine layer of cotton just above your left breast. 

He’s gentle though. Respectful in a way you perhaps didn’t anticipate. 

He smells of hinoki wood and worn leather.

“Right as rain,” he announces and takes half a step back before offering you the handkerchief. “If you want to hold that there to blot some of the excess.”

“Um, yeah, thank you. Thanks,” you hold the cloth over your heart as the bartender returns with your fresh glass of wine. 

Ezra settles on the barstool next to you.

“How…did you know that?” 

“About the wine?” He swallows a sip of bourbon. “Must’ve read it at some point and it just stuck.”

“Seems you’re a good man to have around in a crisis then,” you smile and tip your glass in his direction. He gently touches the side of his against it, before tapping the heavy base against the bar and taking another sip. 

Everything he does is briefly fascinating. 

“I apologize again for these kids,” he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, producing a business card which he slides over to you face-down. “You should be all good with that,” he gestures at the handkerchief, “but I insist on you sending me the dry cleaning bill. If I’ve recalled incorrectly and it does stain, I will procure a replacement for you, you have my word.”

“That’s really not necessary,” you start and yet find yourself unable to stop, “and I’m not even sure it’s possible this is vintage—”

“Alexander McQueen, I know.”

You turn all the way towards him on your barstool now. 

And his eyes glitter with your fascination as he runs his hand through the patch of white at his hairline.

“What are you reading,” he tips his head to the side as if to glimpse the cover of your book but he doesn’t break your gaze. Cheek dimpled with a half smile. 

“Ovid. Metamorphoses.”

“For fun?” There’s a hint of surprise in his voice but it’s far from belittling. 

“It’s…” you start before a smile splits your face, “yeah. For fun.”

And he echoes your grin.

“I re-read it for fun last year. I think the passage about Orpheus’ death is my favorite.”

“Fascinating,” you swallow a sip of your tempranillo. “Why that one?” 

“Well, I believe it’s a commentary on both the unbridled rage of passion and a testament to the obstinate nature of true love.”

“Obstinate?” You incline your head incredulously. “That’s quite a choice.”

“And yet it holds true, does it not? Orpheus, arguably one of the most talented figures in Greek mythology,” and he’s gesturing broadly now, “able to enchant the very souls of feral beasts and move trees to bend their limbs just to be nearer his music.”

He jabs his finger into the bartop between you, “he moved Hades, both the realm and the deity himself, let’s not forget, correct?”

And you nod, amusement playing across your features. 

“The earth and the underworld fell at his feet. And he shunned it all out of love for Eurydice.”

“And so what moral value do you place on obstinacy?” You ask.

“Obstinacy in love is the only way to experience it. To feel it so completely that you forsake everything else. Defy the world. For love. Fidelity to the wife that you betrayed by turning back.” Brown eyes are wide with his conviction.

He adds, “even Shakespeare said let it be virtuous to be obstinate.”

“Okay, in a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT context!” Your turn to erupt now, with arms thrown in the air where you’re met by his wide smile. “You cannot cherry pick that out of Coriolanus choosing to abandon his family out of sheer stubbornness, and frankly, contempt for his own people, to extol the virtues of love! Let it be virtuous to FORSAKE that love, is the whole point of that line.”

And this is the moment.

That Ezra falls in love.

And you’re not far behind.

Time slips from this point on. Patrons file in and out. More wine and whiskey is poured. Associates drunkenly clap him on the back as they make their way home, but none of it registers.

The world spins around the pair of you.

Until finally the bartender insists that he close his tab. 

And you both step out onto a city street wet with the aftermath of a brief summer downpour. 

“Thank you,” Ezra starts, “for the absolute pleasure of your company.”

He holds a tentative hand out, which you shake with a heartfelt “likewise.”

“Oh, your handkerchief,” you pull it from your pocket and hold it out to him. 

“Keep it.” He smiles. 

And you both spin on your heels. Proceeding in opposite directions.

But the warp and weft of the red cotton square that you keep rubbing between your fingers forces you to stop in your tracks. 

You turn around.

And look back. 

Meeting Ezra’s gaze from where he hasn’t moved a step.

He thumbs the corner of his lips, brown eyes locked on yours.

And you both move. 

Urgent steps pulled by Fates’ string.

Colliding as you throw your arms around his neck and he locks you against him with biceps around your ribs.

Lips crashing together with the relief of a thousand lifetimes. 

Lifetimes that you’ve known each other.

Lifetimes that you’ve lost each other. 

And this lifetime. Having found each other again.

Taglist of folks who may be interested, as always, please do let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged, or if you'd like to be added!

@morallyinept @iamskyereads @tinytinymenace @for-a-longlongtime @legendary-pink-dot

@oliveksmoked @nerdieforpedro @julesonrecord

Subpart headings are the meaning of Ezra's name in that section.

Orpheus' monologue included herein in italics is quoted from David Raeburn's 2004 translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, published by Penguin Classics. The text of this translation just felt so Ezra that I had to include it in that form. If you'd like to hear it read by Hozier himself, head on over to his instagram circa summer 2020's Poetry Fridays for this and some other wonderful work.

This story references the version of Eurydice's death as precipitated by Aristaeus.

Láir means mare in Irish Gaelic.

"Let it be virtuous to be obstinate" is quoted from Coriolanus by William Shakespeare.

[jksprincess10]

Puppet || Sub!Ezra x reader

A/N: First time writing Ezra so please be kind. Let’s say the thesaurus was hella handy.

CWs: sub!Ezra, voyeurism, dubcon, non consensual situation (but both parties are into it later on),  drugging, f masturbation, degradation, Ezra finally shuts the fuck up for a bit, bondage, begging, teasing, bj, rough sex.  

When your ship crashed on this unexplored moon, you thought you’d be alone, and honestly, dead. But this strange man took you under his wing. He was well equipped for this hostile environment and he, in his words, meant no harm, little bird.

Cycles came and left as you stayed with the man. He was… hot 

and particularly annoying. 

You thought of more ways than one to shut him up.

One of them was to put a special herb that you could find on the Green Moon that caused every drowsiness. You collected some, to “help with your sleep”. But, in reality you put a small dose in the man’s water he always drank before bed.

“I feel peculiarly slumberous, little bird. I will lay down now.” Ezra said as he yawned and stretched. You looked at him indifferently as he laid down on his cot, and as you pretended to clean your suit filter.

Minutes later, you could hear his soft snores. Your tent companion never snored, except when he was in a very deep sleep. It worked. You’d finally have some fucking peace and quiet. You engaged in various activities that you couldn’t do with Ezra’s constant chitchatting. Only his snores and the life of the Green Moon were your background noises.

After a few hours, your eyes were closing by themselves. So, you hopped in the “shower”, that was a series of pipes put clumsily together that connected to a limited supply of water – and it was always lukewarm. Under this shower, you of course had a direct view of Ezra sleeping peacefully – usually, he would turn around and do something else while you were showering. But now, you could look at him: perfectly still, t-shirt pulled over his abdomen as his strong arm was over his forehead, mouth slightly open. In this dimly lit room by a lantern, you could distinguish a trail of dark hair under his bellybutton.

You found him attractive, yes. But you never truly looked at him, like this, vulnerable, almost… adorable.

“Fuck.” You cursed under your breath, and you felt wrong for doing it, but you had needs. Your hand traveled south.

Until he started moving more. Fuck fuck fuck. Your hand stopped over your mound.

You knew when he woke up, he would probably be mad at you for drugging him. He could really hurt you. The man had very grey morals. You turned the water off and dried rapidly, tying a towel around you as you rummaged around in a panic. You found various straps Ezra used to fix different things.

Before he could move more, you straddled his hips, shivering at the rub of fabric on your naked thighs. You solidly and carefully tied his wrists together. He barely moved, barely made a sound. For good measure, you also wrapped a strap around his head, trapping his mouth. You went to your own cot and finished what you started.

Minutes later, you heard a muffled voice and trashing sounds. You turned to the side, and his wide eyes met with your naked figure.

“Slept well?” You asked. “Oh wait, you can’t talk.” You got down from your cot and approached him. “I should’ve given you a bigger dose, so you’d sleep better, hm?” You sat on the bed beside him, your hand caressing his dark hair with an unsettling softness. “Any undesired effects?” You looked down at him to inspect his skin, until your eyes met with the thick tent in his pajama’s pants. “Oh, interesting.”

He tried talking again, so you slowly undid the gag, but kept it close in case he annoyed you.

“Now, have I gone astray, little bird? Why am I restrained?” He didn’t seem bothered now that his mouth was free. He even looked like… he was enjoying himself, a devilish tint in the dark eyes that were absorbing your bare figure.

“Frankly? I was tired of your constant chitchatting. I wanted some peace.”

“I cannot really blame you, I am quite chatty.”

“I might keep you like this for a little while, though.” You said, thinking.

“I am afraid we might have a little complication that I need to tend to.” He said as he looked down to his clothed, clearly erected cock.

“I can help. On one condition.”

“Yes.”

“If you don’t talk.”

“I will put on my best… silent, performance.”

“Good, I don’t mind gagging you again.”

Your hands pushed on his arms, so he’d keep them over his head in a slightly uncomfortable position. He looked up at you with hungry eyes.

“I must say you look quite… appealing.”

“Shh.” Your lips met in a rough kiss, mostly dominated by you. You held him down with firm hands on his chest. Your tongue met his, your teeth teased his bottom lip. He moaned in your open mouth without any shame, and you felt him move under you for friction. You pulled away and looked down at him.

“Don’t move.” You saw the way his mouth opened to talk, but he bit back his words, remembering your conditions.

You slid down on his body like a snake and pulled on his shirt to reveal skin that hadn’t been really exposed to the sun. Your lips traced his throat, tasting the salty taste of sweat there, and you kept going down, until you found a raised nipple. You took the pinkish skin between your lips, sucking and grazing it with your teeth. His hips bucked up on instinct. You were also starved for human touch, but you wanted him to deserve it.

“Fucking pest, be still.” You grunted.

“I just… really wish you would…” One of your hands covered his mouth so he didn’t finish his sentence. Meanwhile, your lips kept exploring his chest. He was lean, muscles mostly concentrated in his flexed arms. You kissed the skin over his belly button, then traced his dark happy tail with the tip of your tongue. Ezra’s moans vibrated against your hand.

You freed him so you could use your hands to take off his bottoms. You could see the obscene prominence of his cock in his thin, grey briefs.

“Such a pretty boy, aren’t you?” You murmured to yourself, as you leaned down over his thighs. You sucked on the skin there, avoiding any contact with his aching cock. A colorful bruise formed on his pale skin. Ezra squirmed, biting back a moan as he pulled on his ties.

 “I implore you, little bird…”

You pulled down his briefs, his red and angry cock sprung out. You kissed the skin over it, avoiding his erection.

“Please, it’s excruciating.”

He sighed of relief when you licked from the base to the tip, but then, you moved away again. You straightened up, kneeling between his opened thighs to look at his pained expression. In the corner of his eyes, you could see the slight sparkle of fresh tears. Amused, you leaned down again to take the tip of his cock between your lips, sucking on it, tasting his salty precum. You let his cock fall from your mouth and you cupped his balls in your hand.

“Poor baby.” You mocked him. “You wanna cum, Ezra? It hurts?”

“Y-Yes.”

“If I let you cum, will you be good?”

Ezra nodded enthusiastically.

“How do you wanna cum, dirty pest?”

“I want to…fuck you, I beg of you, little bird.”

Hearing him being so crude dissolved every bit of resolve that you had left.

“Sit up. Good boy.” Ezra’s hands were still tied together, and he extended them with puppy-dog eyes. You sighed and cut the ties with a strong pull of your teeth. The man moved his tired bones, then lifted his hands in a defeated manner.

“I will not attempt anything. I swear.”

“Hmhm. You better not.” Your pelvis hovered over his as you bent your knees. You were still aroused from your solitary caresses performed earlier, so the head of his cock slid in pretty easily. You let out a long, relieved sigh as you felt him completely filling you up.

“In my years of living… I don’t think I have ever felt anything so divine.”

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips, and you grabbed the back of his head, tugging on the dark curls there to bring his face closer. Your lips ravaged his as you started moving up and down at a slow pace. Ezra’s moans died against your lips. You stopped moving for a few seconds, just taking the time to feel him filling you up.

“Please –” You bit on his bottom lip to shut him up, and you started moving again, but instead of moving up and down, you rolled your hips. You guessed he was pleased by the look on his face ; eyes rolled to the back of his skull, mouth opened – where you could see a bit of blood on his bottom lip - in a silent moan. You kept going at a steady rhythm, until he got tired of waiting. He pushed you away from him, and your back laid on his cot. You tried protesting, but he was stronger. The drugs had worn off by now – he felt less and less tired.

“I apologize, little bird.” Ezra held your wrists above your head with the use of one big hand, and he reinvaded your walls in one quick movement, thrusting almost immediately, setting a rough pace. You were left a moaning mess under him. “I will partake in your little games at later date.”

He was grunting like an animal and twitched between your tight walls, shooting ropes of cum inside you. Your body felt limp and you watched as he guided his dick out of your hole, the man’s gaze absorbed by the mixture of your juices.

“I’m sorry I drugged you.” You finally said.

“I am afraid apologizes won’t do this time, little bird.”

He slid an arm under you and turned you around, holding up your ass against his pelvis. He rummaged around to find the strap you used to tie his mouth shut with and tied your wrists against your back. You groaned, but you were too tired to fight him.

His half-hard cock slid between your folds, making you wince with how oversensitive you were.

“Ezra, please…”

“How did you call me? Pest? We’ll see about that.”  

[bits-and-babs]

𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐀 — 𝐄𝐙𝐑𝐀 (𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓)

↳ summary: Abandoned by your prospecting crew, you team up with a fellow castaway to survive the hostile environment of Bakhroma.

↳ pairing: ezra (prospect) x f!reader

↳ [6.7k words] content: 18+ MDNI. Violence, injury, use of the name 'Little Bird' (canon), medical scenes. Fingering, riding, p in v sex, unprotected sex (ain't no condoms on a moon, girlie, but you better wrap up!), oral (f receiving). This is a @beskarbabs remaster — original post date 2021.

Ezra masterlist I| main masterlist |I join the taglist here

On your journey to Bakhroma, you'd heard an old wives' tale. Somewhat of a ghost story passed around the three-member crew during drunk nights while the long-haul space freighter floated in endless space. The unit said that other Prospectors that had survived the trip to the moon claimed that anyone who stepped foot in The Green was consumed with greed. How they were overcome with voracity upon the sight of the first Aurelac gem obtained, how Prospectors would literally kill for more of the obscure crystals, for the money that came from selling them, even just to be able to possess them for themselves. You had laughed.

How you wish you had taken them seriously.

Clutching your right arm in distress, you stumble through the foliage surrounding you on shaky legs. There's no denying the agony crawling up your arm in tendrils. You also lack oxygen, food, water and a weapon to protect yourself. Yet, you aren't as afraid of this as you are of the likelihood of other Prospectors wandering the forests. Given the traumatic event you managed to survive only hours ago, you could happily live the rest of your life without seeing another Prospector again, even if that shortened your life by force of circumstance.

Your crew, many of which you had grown up with, had stranded you on a hostile moon, of which its air was unbreathable, with little to no chance of survival. Despite the ache in the soles of your feet and the searing pain that shot through your arm with each step, this irrevocable fact left you numb: there was no accident. They'd abandoned you.

You didn't even observe when the atmosphere amongst the crew changed; it had all happened so fast. Having landed in the Drop Pod without incident and safely navigating The Green without needing to fire a single shot from the two Frontiersman guns you shared between the three of you, it had all gone so smoothly. Even the first Aurelac extraction had been successful.

If you were to pinpoint a moment you could pin the blame on for your fellow prospectors' change in attitude, it was when they first set their eyes on the crystal that they extracted from the hideous organism's membrane.

There was no way around it; everyone had become greedy. Their ridiculous ghost tale had manifested itself. They had harvested as many as was needed and then some more, and some more. The storage cases were overflowing and impossible to close without bursting at the seams. Some Aurelac gems were too big to fit into the case and had to be carried by hand.

When the time for harvesting was up, the group wandered back to the Pod. Maybe if you had been more observant and taken heed of the muted conversation, you could have avoided this mess entirely.

Upon returning to the Pod, the atmosphere had curdled. Stasya and Devi had control of the weapons since the very start of the mission, and you now found the barrels aimed at you. Stasya, the self-appointed leader of this expedition and all-around pretentious air-head, had decided upon leaving you on Bakhroma, initially claiming there wasn't enough weight capacity to take all three of you back home on the Pod.

"That is nonsensical, and you know it!" You'd insisted, wondering whether or not Stasya had secured her helmet correctly. She had to be going insane. Surely the toxic air had seeped into a crack in her armour-

"We have at least 140 pounds in Aurelac gems," she'd replied abruptly, her stance aggressive, "We need to leave you." You were in shock, bewildered by her statement. No matter how hard you tried to interpret her logic, it wasn't making sense...

"But we were cautious that we didn't pack too much equipment to ensure we had capacity for the harvest- I don't see how we could have breached the volume that we can't all make our way back safely," you contend, incredulous at her insinuation. When she didn't respond and instead aimed her Frontiersman Gun up between your eyebrows, your attention flitted to her overly-protective grip of the handle to the storage case in her free hand. Finally putting two and two together, you scoff, looking between Stasya and her power-grabbing number two, Devi.

"You are being ridiculous! We have an even split of the money we'll make from the gems-" You'd tried to plead for your life, well aware that abandonment on The Green was a definite death sentence. Devi interrupted.

"We get a much bigger cut if you're not involved," he pointed out rather callously. These two crew members, your friends, had been tainted by the very same greed they had forewarned in their ghost stories, passed on by other Prospectors, and were willing to sacrifice you for a shot at blood money.

Maybe it was the pressure of the situation, the rising panic in your stomach, but time seemed to slow down as the gravity of their plan for you began to set in. That same alarm sent you into fight mode.

It had all happened in what felt like a microsecond. Charging at Devi, you grabbed the gun in his hand with both of your own in a reckless attempt to foil their plan and turn the tables. You grit your teeth, straining at the exertion it took to try to pry his fingers from the weapon. Devi panicked, the gun slipping from his grip, and he began screaming at Stasya to do something.

She did.

She shot you in the arm, causing you to drop to your knees with a cry as you pawed at your wound with your palm. It burned white-hot, and you almost doubled over at how the pain pulsed from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Your vision had begun to blacken around the edges through the blurriness of the pained tears that welled in your eyes. Yet, despite your obvious distress, your agonising cries fell on deaf ears. Aiming his now secured gun at your head, Devi breathed heavily as he attempted to ease the shudder that wracked his body.

Adrenaline had coursed through you in your body's subconscious effort to numb the pain, and you rocked your torso backwards and forwards, battling the onset of unconsciousness. Through your astounding agony and the way your jaw throbbed from the strain of gritting your teeth as an anchor to ground you to reality, you'd managed to make sense of Stasya's final address to you.

"You should be grateful. We're allowing you to live. It's up to you whether or not you make an effort." She muses before turning on her heel and leaving you on the muddied floor of The Green, Devi following quickly behind her.

✰

You can't recall how long you've been staggering through the forests by yourself in your endeavour to find water. It's already hot in The Green, and your adrenaline spikes have caused you to sweat even more and edge you further towards dehydration, to the point your throat feels like sandpaper whenever you swallow. Whatever liquids you had drunk before leaving the Pod have now seeped through your pores, making your undersuit stick uncomfortably to your hot skin and your wound burns from the salt of your sweat.

Having lost all sense of direction some time ago, whether that was due to the ever-changing forest line or the pit of emptiness that sat in your stomach that growled in protest at the lack of nutrition in return for your bodies labour to trek across this forsaken moon, you are entirely disoriented.

You can't go on much longer like this. Not only are your vitals appearing utterly grim, but breathing has become much more challenging. You're running out of oxygen, and your lungs are beginning to ache. It begins crossing the threshold of uncomfortable, morphing into something akin to pain. You clutch at the fabric at the chest of your environment suit, struggling to maintain a calm disposition while also supporting the drive of a survival instinct.

You're so tired.

Despite your best efforts, anxiety and dread rip through your body and inundate your logical brain. You can feel your chest heave, the onset of a panic attack. You lurch forward in your hysteria, rushing in your despair to find something that could help. You aren't even sure what you are looking for, only that you're looking for something that would enable you to survive.

You see the fallen tree log at your feet, but the blind panic is so overwhelming that you don't have time to react. Pain racks up your ankle and calf as you trip over the damned thing, falling forward and rolling down a muddy hill. You're falling so fast that the trees and grass look like a green and brown smudge through the glass visor of your helmet, like some arcane painting. You hold your hands out to brace yourself, to stop yourself, but the mud is slippery, and there's nothing to grab onto until you reach the very bottom and come to a stop, groaning weakly at your arm's complaints.

You sit up slowly, hands braced on either side of your hips to keep balanced as you move in the soaking, sticky mud. Checking your oxygen supply, you have enough to last at least another 5 minutes. Then you'd have to rely on the air in The Green's atmosphere. A few hours of that would kill you. By your estimations, you had an hour to find shelter and breathable ai...

The view when you look up and take in your surroundings is breathtaking. Having landed in some kind of wide open valley, you have an uninterrupted view of the horizon the forest had once concealed. You're enclosed from behind with bright yellow wildflowers, the remnants of the flora in the woods you had quite literally tumbled out of, but what lays before you now is a beige-coloured wasteland surrounded by mountains. With no camouflage to hide behind, the skyline is perfectly clear. Suspended in the sky, much to your astonishment, is a colossal moon, similarly toned neutrals to the floor beneath you, but with brilliant splashes of rusty oranges and reds.

You're not sure whether it was the inevitable feeling of your life slipping away with each passing second or whether the sight before you is washing away all of your fear, but when you finally hear the hiss of your oxygen tank running out, you don't feel frightened. Pulling the latch on your helmet, you slowly remove it, noting the sting of the spores in your throat, the tickling in your lungs that reminded you the air on this globe was toxic. If this was how you were to die, at least you had a beautiful view.

So you sit back in the grass and mud, taking in the stunning view, and let time slip away. The absence of hope wasn't as petrifying as you had imagined; it was calming. So serene. In your moment of peace, you can't feel the pain in your arm despite it worsening over the hours of wandering aimlessly. It's a simple resignation, one that doesn't take much thought at all. You would return to the stars here and become a part of this ecosystem. While hostile, it's certainly gorgeous.

You tilt your head back, observing how the celestial bodies twinkle and frame the gargantuan moon in the sky. The breeze picks up slowly, tickling the skin of your exposed face and neck while the sun soothes and warms it.

When you cast your eyes behind you, taking in the expanse of your surroundings over your shoulder, you're jolted from the tranquillity and suddenly reminded of your dire situation. Not only is there an Aurelac cluster nestled in the grass to the left of you that you had narrowly avoided hitting during your fall, but there's also a person beside it dressed in an environment suit. They're staring, Boscelot Frontiersman gun aimed straight at you. Terror rips through your veins as you attempt to scramble to your feet.

"Wait, wait!" You gasp out, eyes wide as you put your hands out to show you aren't a threat. The sun reflects from the glass visor covering their head, preventing you from seeing the person's face. The suit is old. Keeping the gun aimed at you, they point to their radio, asking you to turn it on. You crouch slowly, pointing to your helmet to alert him that you must reach for it. He seems to understand, as he has no quarrel with you picking it up and slipping it onto your head. The rustling of the trees and gentle blow of the breeze cuts out when you're sealed in, and as you connect the radio, their voice echoes in the plastic chasm.

"You won't endure much longer if you persist without oxygen." It's a man. The voice is unexpected. It's low and laced with an attractively smoky tone. So smooth, it almost flows and ebbs with each word. You've never quite heard an accent like his, the twang new to your ears.

"I won't endure if you decide to shoot me either," you point out bitterly, mocking his extravagant phraseology. You've had enough of this planet having it out for you. Your lack of luck today was becoming almost humorous, but your limited patience certainly wasn't. Did it have to torment you like this? Why couldn't it finish you off quickly and not at the hands of another Prospector, considering you had already had enough of them too?

You hear a throaty chuckle at your mocking comment, though there's no humour to that either. The stranger keeps aiming his gun at you, taking a few steps forward. The sun, still reflecting from his visor, causes you to squint when it targets your eyes, hoping to see his face before he kills you.

"It appears that your words hold venom," he begins. You sneer slightly, already past the point of no return as far as you are concerned. He lowers the barrel of his weapon ever so slightly then, and you assume he's studying you.

"It has been quite some time since I heard the sound of a fellow human's voice," he laments, taking another step forward, "How nice it is to exchange utterances with someone who understands me." Had he not stepped out of the sun and revealed his face, you would have made some snotty remark about how you can't understand him anyway, his flamboyant verbiage creating a difficulty of comprehension. However, the sun's rays don't extend this far, and the moment his face is revealed, you find yourself stunned into a shocked silence.

Given the age and weathering his environment suit shows, he's younger than you would have expected. A beige-green colour with notes of black, he had been completely hidden among the leafage. His jaw is square, covered with dark brown stubble and a moustache on his upper lip that he's miraculously maintained well, given his situation. After all, you could safely assume there wasn't an endless supply of razors on the moon.

From what you can gather from his face, his skin tone is honeyed, and his aquiline nose is subtle though the bridge does arch enough to be noticeable from this distance. He's rather handsome.

You're so focused on his face that you almost wholly overlook that his right sleeve is knotted just below his shoulder, indicating he has lost his right arm. So many questions cross your mind, but the predominant query is... How had he survived even a second in this environment with only one arm?

"Though," he continues, disrupting your evident surprise, "It would also appear you have been impaired. What happened, Little Bird?"

Discounting his name for you, you consider your answer carefully. How would he react to knowing that you had come to harvest Aurelac? Is that what he's here for too? The likelihood of him seeing you as a threat to his harvest and killing you was more feasible than letting you go. But you're running out of time, and your lungs are screaming from the intake of a toxic atmosphere. So you decide upon the truth.

"My crew-mates shot me," you admit stiffly, coughing from the strain the spores are putting your body through, "We came to harvest Aurelac, but they left me behind. Wanted to split the harvest between the two of them."

The man standing before you considers your words, his expression unreadable. You're sure he's about to shoot you. A second bout of coughs breaks the tense air, making him relax a little.

"So the other Little Birds flew the nest and left you behind," he muses, watching you struggle with a quirk of his lips. He seems to take a moment to think about something before asking you another question.

"Are you..." A pause. "Are you out of oxygen?" He asks, nodding his head to your helmet. Despite what you think is a pretty obvious answer, you nod weakly. He lowers his gun.

"Will you be able to walk? You took quite the tumble." He fucking saw that?! Just how long had he been watching you?

Again, you nod, wondering where he plans to take you, given his miniature inquisition. He slings his gun over his shoulder and holds his only palm out to you.

"Hand me your oxygen tube," He orders, curling his fingers in and out for emphasis. You stumble awkwardly on your injured ankle, grabbing the tubing and making your way over to him. Despite your better judgement, you are willing to trust him. Your urgency for aid outweighs any wariness you have for him. The man takes the tube from your palm, feeding it into his oxygen tank with ease. The surge of fresh air into your lungs and the instant relief from the burning brings you solace.

"We need to revert to my Pod. Can you make the journey?" He asks of you, commanding the situation flawlessly. You nod again, at a loss for words at this man's generosity. Finally, he turns his back to you, leading the way back up the hill you fell from. It's a struggle, especially given the slickness of the mud, but the stranger manages to help you up with little effort despite his handicap.

"You can't keep the lesion exposed to the air like that. The spores contaminate it," he continues to make conversation. You're not sure if you're thankful for the silence being broken or want him to remain quiet, but you listen to him regardless. "It will make you feel bilious, and then it poisons the tissue in the arm... Resulting in necrosis." He's far too knowledgeable in the effect of Bakhroma's spores on the limbs for you not to think that is what caused the lack of his own. It spills from your lips before you even have the chance to stop it.

"Is that what happened to yours?" You blab. He doesn't stop walking. In fact, he doesn't answer your question at all.

"I'm Ezra," is all he states, his way of an answer, you suppose. The silence following is arduous and highly discomforting, considering Ezra just told you there was a likelihood of your arm turning black and dying due to the exposure to spores. It's now that you make the decision that you wish he hadn't spoken at all.

Without a response, Ezra answers instead, amusement in his tone ringing throughout the tense atmosphere.

"You're innominate? I guess I'll stick to calling you Little Bird then," he muses, once again leaving you stunned by his use of vocabulary. He's like a walking thesaurus, spouting words you've never heard before and blindsiding you with his knowledge of language. You are so blinded that you miss his asking for your name.

At this point, the blissful feeling of reassurance hits you like a tonne of bricks. The Pod is just ahead of you now, and you have to chew on the inside of your cheeks to prevent the sting of tears of consolation from devolving into full-fledged sobs. Not five minutes ago, you had truly convinced yourself that you would die. Now safety is just within your reach.

Ezra moves forward and opens the hatch for you, helping you inside. It's not large, but it's just spacious enough for you not to feel claustrophobic. The first thing you notice is that it has been kept very neat, almost to the detriment of a homely feel, as the steel-grey walls, floor and ceiling give off an almost hospital feel. There are few of his things on display, and you just assume he keeps most of his possessions in storage.

There is one thing that catches your eye, though. Despite the almost solitary cleanliness of the Pod, there are two cot beds. One is neatly made, pillows put into place, and covers smoothed out so there are little to no wrinkles. The other is messy, with pillows askew and covers pushed into a crumpled mess in the left-hand corner of the mattress. You glance back at Ezra, who's entering the Pod from behind you.

"We need to execute the procedure to preclude infection, Little Bird. Sit down. You may remove your helmet in here too." He orders, pointing to the neatly made bed as your seat. You do as he says without question, sitting down cautiously and taking off the crash helmet as he makes his way over to storage, riffling through whatever was in the containers. You need to fight the urge to cry again with the relief of the strain of your body weight on your feet, having been wandering for hours amongst harsh terrain.

Ezra returns to you, med kit in hand. He lays it down next to you on the bed, removing his helmet now that his hand is free. Of course, you had seen his brown hair back in the valley, but you hadn't noticed the little blonde tuft at the front of his hairline. It's cute and gives him somewhat of a boyish charm. He takes this moment to give a weak smile.

"I need you to disrobe from the environment suit. Do you require my assistance?" He asks you, tilting his chin to your arm. You're so taken aback, probably overwhelmed and exhausted from the extremity of the events that had unfolded so quickly that you find yourself at a loss for words. Once again, you merely nod, accepting his offer of help gratefully.

You use the hand of your healthy left arm to pull down the zipper on the front of your environment suit, while Ezra works to pull down the shoulder from your right. He's vigilant in ensuring the collar doesn't catch on your wound on its way down. Then, working together, you unpeel the suit from your torso until it hangs around your hips, your sleeveless body glove exposing the blast to the outside of your bicep.

You decide not to look at it.

"Will it hurt?" You finally speak to him, and Ezra's eyes move to your face momentarily. He seems to consider his answer carefully while he raises his wrist to his mouth, ripping the velcro of his gloves and pulling them off with his teeth. He takes the item of clothing, laying it neatly on the bed beside the med kit.

"I'll do my utmost to keep your discomfort to a minimum," is his reply. While it does nothing to quell your initial fears, you appreciate his honesty and consideration. You look around the room, trying to find something to focus on as Ezra works through the med kit, taking out whatever he needs to start the procedure.

"Remember to breathe," he murmurs, his voice suddenly very soft. It causes chills to break out across your skin, even though the fear of pain is causing you to sweat. Inhaling slowly, you feel your lungs expand in your ribcage to the point it grows tight before exhaling again, fixating on the sensation to distract yourself from the pain.

"Hey," he whispers softly, pulling your focus back. You glance up at him through your lashes and find him gazing back at you. His expression is tense and cautious. He doesn't want to hurt you, yet the inevitability traps a sense of trepidation between you. Deep-rooted panic settles in the pit of your stomach, making your blood rush through your veins quicker.

"Look me in the eyes," he takes your chin now, holding it a little tighter with his fingertips to ground you. Your eyes probably gave away your internal panic.

You nod weakly, looking to catch his eyes and-

And time just stops.

It's humiliating; you know you would be blushing if you said it aloud. His irises are a deep and warm earthy-brown, as though Ezra had spent so much time amidst the rich soils and thick mud here that it had almost become a part of him. Looking into those eyes, you felt like you were orbiting around him. Maybe the spores had left you with irreversible brain damage from the very little time that you had your helmet off in the valley, or perhaps he was quite possibly the most handsome man you had ever seen.

Once he notes that you're holding his gaze and breathing steadily, he sets to work. You hear him pick up something from the kit, a top popping from it. He hesitates for a moment but holds your gaze still.

"This will sting," he admits. There's a splash of a lukewarm liquid before the burning starts. You grit your teeth, straining against the scorching sensation. It prickles, an intense itching following that is so bad you feel your toes curl in your leather boots. Yet, you maintain eye contact. You cling to the empathy that's there and appreciate his understanding.

He lays down the tube, eyes flicking down for just a moment to pick up an item. A Patch Gun. Ezra stares back at you, pulling the stopper with his teeth and lining up the nosel with the wound.

"Breathe in," he commands, and you do. You breathe so hard and fast that your sternum aches with the strain. The sound of medicated foam being released from the Patch Gun reaches your ears before the pain does. When it hits you, you release the air in your lungs with a strained whine, squeezing your eyes shut as the agony rips through you. Like the initial wound, it seers white hot, spiralling down your arm to your fingertips and up your neck muscles. Your jaw is tight, tears springing to your eyes.

"Good girl," Ezra soothes you, pulling the patch gun away from your arm. Leaning back into the searing torment, you moan as he helps you to lay back against the mattress to ride out the peak. It's not long until the intensity slowly ebbs away until you're blinking your eyes open to find he's putting the stuff back into the kit box to lay back into the storage containers. You can see the peripherals of your vision pulsing rapidly, skin buzzing all over as you come down from the tense and excruciating high.

Time seems to both slow and accelerate in this mid-conscious state. What feels like hours passing by is probably only a few seconds, but you're exhausted. That fatigue catches up with you so fast that you barely have the chance to catch it before your eyelids droop. Sheets pull up to your shoulders, and their comfort is enough to finally push you to slumber.

✰.

There's a suspended moment when you ease back into consciousness. You are aware that you're awake, but keep your eyes closed in an attempt to fall back into unconsciousness. A dim thrumming in your bicep pulses with each beat of your heart inside your chest. It's not painful, just unpleasant. You pull your eyebrows together slightly, your other senses finally beginning to awaken with you.

You can hear Ezra moving around in the Pod, searching for something in the storage containers. You blink your eyes open slowly, still curled up on your side. He's just ahead of you. Having shucked his environment suit, he's dressed in a deep camo-green, long-sleeved shirt tied just beneath his amputation and a pair of grey sweatpants. You can't help but feel like you're imposing on his privacy, seeing him dressed so casually and watching him walk around his own space.

"Ezra?" You croak his name. He glances up quickly from what he's doing, eyes settling on you. He looks relieved, eyes crinkling around the edges as he smiles at you.

"You awoke! Do you need liquids?" He asks, pacing his way over to you. He leans over the bed, placing the back of his palm on your forehead to feel your temperature— though you're certain he gets a reasonably inaccurate reading. The moment his honeyed skin touches yours, your cheeks heat up as your heart hammers in your chest. You're not sure why his presence is suddenly so debilitating for you, but when he looks expectantly into your eyes for an answer to his question, you swear your brain short-circuits.

"Yes, please," your voice is raspy from the lack of use, and your throat aches as the words pass your lips. He smiles that same smile again, rendering your heart almost completely useless before he turns on his heel to grab you a glass of water.

You know exactly where this is coming from. Your very sudden attraction to him comes from months of loneliness. While your abandonment by your crew had come as a shock, it certainly wasn't a surprise. They had always been much closer and would go days without acknowledging your existence if you didn't make an effort to talk to them. Maybe this had been the plan all along?

Regardless, despite being in the presence of other people, your isolation had made you utterly starved of touch, needy for attention. Along came Ezra, coming to your aid and focusing all his consideration on you.

Stars above, you were desperate. Shockingly so.

You look up, seeing him stroll over with a cup of water in tow. He settles himself down on the bed, laying the cup on the bedside table to hold your waist as he helps you to sit up in bed. You're almost sure he doesn't mean to, but his fingertips brush the slither of skin exposed between your undershirt and your bottoms. It sends a tremor up your spine. It's so intense you swear you can feel it on the crown of your head.

"You had me concerned, Little Bird," He smiles, passing the water over to you, "But you're out of the woods now." Ezra sounds almost as relieved as you feel. He keeps his gaze on your bicep for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he plans his following few sentences. Nothing acceptable seems to come to mind, so he remains silent, the unspoken words hanging in the air and causing a thick tension between you as you sip at the water.

You cast your own gaze upon his arm, or lack thereof. The questions in the valley swarm your mind again, much louder in the silence than they had been at that moment.

"Did you amputate it yourself?" You work up the courage to break the stillness with a whisper, and once again, he casts his eyes upon your face. You'd known him less than thirty waking minutes, yet you had already reconciled multiple things you admired in him. His smile, his hair, his use of vocabulary.

However, it was how he looked at you when he spoke to you; how he gave his full attention and hung on every word was your favoured attribute. It may be that those spores *had* caused some form of irreversible damage to your brain chemistry...

"No," he chuckles, fingertips moving to brush at the stump of his arm underneath the fabric, "No, it was my companion who dismembered it." You sense almost a fragility hidden deep beneath his extravagant persona. It doesn't take a genius, a person with Ezra's knowledge of dialect, to see that the unspoken words indicated the partner he spoke of was no longer with him.

You try to steer away from what appears to be an emotional subject for him, deciding upon another question to ask.

"What made you decide to help me?" The query falls from your lips so easily. Ezra's own quirk up slightly.

"Your candid account of what you had experienced touched me deeply. Had you told me a differing narrative, I wouldn't have been so lenient," he admits to you, those earthy orbs finding flitting between your own once more. You swear he's doing it on purpose now.

"But I empathise with you. Many moons ago, I found myself in your state of affairs, my own crew deserting me. Words and metal were exchanged, and I found myself alone on this very same celestial body with no help." His hand takes your own, brushing his thumb along your knuckles as he speaks.

"I was hoping I could be of service to you, help you in your moment of need... You might help me in mine." You pause, taking in those words with surprise. Help him? What could a man who had survived an extended time in such a hostile environment, alone and with only one arm, possibly need your help with?

Ezra turns his hand slowly, his knuckles brushing up your forearm absentmindedly as he talks. Yet, for a man so equipped to be savage and cruel, he also managed to maintain a very soft, gentle side.

"I lost my partner," he confirms. There's a tender, mournful look in his gaze. "I met her not unlike I met you in the valley. She was heedful but intrepid. An astonishing companion..." He trails off slowly, that pain finally reaching his expression as he gathers himself.

"I miss having a partner. I'm half the man I once was and can no longer defend myself adequately. I require a confidante and associate." He looks expectantly at you.

"You're asking me to stay?" You question, your surprise reaching your voice. Was he always this trusting? Or was it simply because you were both stuck here regardless?

"Yes. Truth be told, I miss the company. Besides, how could I turn down your companionship when you are as bewitching as you appear?" He muses, a smirk spreading across his lips as you let out a bemused laugh.

"Are you saying I'm pretty?" you grin, unable to hold your overwhelming attraction to his charms. He just nods slowly, tracing his palm up your bicep and over your neck until he's teasing at the skin stretching across your jaw's bone with his thumb. He's methodical in his strokes, almost contemplative.

"After all, it's not as though you could leave without oxygen," he points out teasingly, but the smile slides from his face almost as quickly as it pulls up. The air is charged around you, a pull so strong you're convinced that Ezra can feel it too.

You begin to wonder if Ezra was as desperate, as touch starved and deprived of affection and care as you are.

"How long have you been alone?" You manage to force through the quiet between you. His thumb trails beneath your jaw again, the pad tenderly outlining the column of your throat. You swear your heart is beating hard enough for him to feel it beneath your skin, but you do your best not to draw attention to it.

"Some six to eight months. I lost track after the fourth," he admits his voice a murmur. Those deep globes flick back up to yours, considering the expression they hold, reading your sympathetic gaze. His lips curve into a small, meek smile, very unlike the personality he'd displayed to you. But Ezra was such an open book; you felt you knew everything you needed to know about him already.

In a universe, so advanced and technological, science had been able to explain away every form of mystery and coincidence that humanity had ever thought up. But there was something about Ezra, the way he had stumbled into your life and saved your own, that made you feel like this was some sort of fate. Destiny. He was meant to find you.

You're bold with your next move, moving your unhindered arm up to place your palm over Ezra's wrist, forcing him to take you by the throat. He looks surprised at first, looking between where he held you and your expression. You can see the number of questions running through his mind slip away as you lean forward.

There's this moment of suspense between the two of you, your chest so tight as you find your breath escaping your lungs a little heavier than a moment ago. Your lips are so close, millimetres away. You can taste him on your tongue, can smell a citrusy scent. It's oddly like oranges, sweet and tangy. Those lips you're so needy for tilt upwards, smirking at the drawn-out wait of you psyching yourself up to make a move.

"I wouldn't leave even if I had oxygen," you sound hushedly. It wipes that grin off of Ezra's face, the implication of your words not having time to sink in before you're pressing your lips to his in a desperate kiss, so full of tender and agonising need that wholly consumes the both of you.

He squeezes his palm around your throat, not enough to choke you but enough to apply light pressure, and uses the leverage to pull you into a deeper kiss. His lips are soft, barely exposed to fresh air due to the ventilation in the Pod and the constant covering of his helmet. It's intoxicating, and you find yourself slipping so fast into this heated embrace that you forget to breathe entirely.

Ezra leans you against the mattress slowly, trailing his palm down your side ever so gently despite the heated frenzy of your lips. He's highly aware of the bruising you sustained during your fall in the valley, and in any other moment, you would have been overwhelmed by his consideration, but he tastes so sweet on your tongue that you cannot help but lose yourself to him. You're certain Ezra can feel you melt into his touch as his tongue traces the plush of your lips, groaning softly as he allows his hands to explore the heat of your skin.

He begins with feather-light touches on your hip, squeezing gently to test for sore spots before he adds pressure to his grip. You hum in appreciation into his mouth, your fingers trailing through the dishevelled brunette curls at the side of Ezra's temple before working their way to the nape of his neck and taking root there.

Brushing his palm up your abdomen slowly, Ezra's fingerprints map the ridges and bumps of your muscles and the bones of your ribs. He moulds his lips against yours in a softer kiss before pulling away, smirking as he feels your ribcage expand with a sudden gulp of air.

"You need to respire in order to survive, Little Bird." he mutters, the pad of his thumb brushing the underside of your breast, "Don't say I've restricted your ability to perform a basic human function." You giggle breathlessly, appreciating him trying to break down the intensity of the situation as he presses a delicate kiss to the tip of your nose, between your brows while he waits for you to catch your breath again.

"May I touch?" He asks you, ensuring that it's what you want. You nod feebly, finding yourself at a loss for all words apart from those that sounded like you were pathetically begging. Your skin buzzes as his palm cups your breast, squeezing gently.

"You are just heavenly," he murmurs into your ear as you tilt your head back with a soft moan. It's been so long since you were last touched by someone else that every skim of his skin against yours sparks embers of heat beneath it. He groans softly as he feels your nipples harden under the fabric of your undershirt. Only then do you notice the strain his body is under, having only his elbow to balance.

"I can-" you pause to consider how you want to put this, "I could get on top." There's a break in his purposeful movements, almost as though his brain has buffered at your words. Swallowing a moan that he manages to catch in his throat, Ezra nods quickly and turns to lie on his back.

The dynamic changes almost instantly as you straddle his hips. You can feel the atmosphere change around you, as though the ambience shifts and clicks into place. When Ezra's hand finds your hip, you feel empowered. So you lean over, kissing him with a hunger that allows him to experience your breathlessness.

A soft whine escapes you as you feel his hips shift, the stiff bulge in his sweats brushing against your clit through the pants of your environment suit that he had left on you when you fell asleep. The friction, mixed with the tension in the air, seems to unlock a primal side to Ezra. He leans up suddenly, pressing open and sloppy kisses to your throat. He's nipping and sucking on your skin as you fumble with the waistband of your environment suit to push it over your hips.

Quickly pulling your legs out of your clothes, you're left in only your undershirt and underwear. Ezra pulls you back over his hips, grinding up against you and letting out a groan that almost reverberates in his chest. You're both grabbing at each other in your desperation, months of pent-up frustration and lack of intimacy fuelling the both of you with little thought.

As he continues his ministrations to your neck, you pull down his sweats, easing them over his hips. You can't help but pause as you reveal his cock, Ezra having decided not to wear underwear beneath his sweatpants. He presses another open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, teeth brushing your skin with the smug smirk that spreads across his face.

"What's the hold u- oh fuck-" he chokes out as you brush your clothed cunt over his exposed crotch. He grips your hip hard, pupils expanding until the earthy brown of his iris' are almost entirely swallowed by them at the feeling of your slick leaking through your cotton underwear and streaking across the length of his dick.

"My sweet... Let me..." He trails off, his thumb hooking underneath your underwear and pushing them to the side. You can feel him brush against your pussy lips, your thighs shaking at the heat that settled between them. Then, before you even have the chance to beg for his touch, he's brushing his fingers through your folds and spreading your slick up to your clit.

You jolt at the sudden pleasure that arcs up your spine, head lolling back as the feeling practically liquifies you. Ezra is rubbing your clit with his print in small, tight circles, and you swear you could cum right there. But, almost as quickly as he starts, you must stop him, grabbing his hand and pinning it to his side.

"Little Bird, why can't I touch y-?" He cuts off as you lift yourself, sinking down onto his cock slowly. He squeezes his eyes shut, throwing his head back against the pillows and practically tearing up as he feels your cunt flutter around him at the stretch.

"E-Ezra," you splutter his name, bracing your hand on his chest and digging your nails into the sun-kissed skin to the point pink blooms underneath. He's stretching you so wide it's almost like he's splitting you in half, enough for you to need to spread your legs wider in order for you to feel like you can take him all.

"Good Girl— so good. Just a little more," he coos, kneading the tips of his fingers against your hip to ease you. Sucking in a deep breath, you sink yourself down to the hilt, whimpering at the intense stretch and the delightful sparks of pleasure that come with it. His cockhead is spearing up against something that makes your thighs tremble.

"Hah, ah..." You try to steady yourself against his hips, only rocking them slightly as you adjust to his size. He's gazing up at you like you're the most dazzling gem he'd ever seen, pupils tinged with enough awe and reverence to make you feel like you are some kind of goddess.

You begin to grind into him, a chorus of moans and gasps falling from your mouths as bliss spreads through you. You can already hear your blood rushing in your ears, your heart pounding in your chest so hard you swear you can feel your ribs crack. He's filling you up so well, hitting that spot in you with each bounce of your hips.

"Brighter than the stars, Little Bird- Fuck, you're so beautiful," Ezra growls, using his grip on your hip to rock them harder against his. Meanwhile, you're speechless. Your mouth is agape, panting out with a squeak every time he fills you up to the hilt repeatedly. It's all happening so fast and building so much that you could scream.

That's when Ezra switches his position, hoisting you up slightly as he plants the heels of his feet into the mattress. You sob loudly, tears of excruciating ecstasy slipping down your face. They drip from your chin as he grabs your ass, kneading it and using its leverage to bounce you on his cock. He's pounding into you, his dick hitting your cervix with each thrust.

"Ezra- Ezra, that's hah- that's-!" You wail, eyelids slipping shut as you focus on chasing your pleasure with each sway of your hips, making sure the head of his cock hits that mind-numbing spot inside you that just makes your toes curl.

Your focus is broken when Ezra grabs your chin, dragging your face forward so your noses bump together. Your eyes fly open in surprise.

"You're going to look at me when you cum," he orders, voice indicating this wasn't up for negotiation. You couldn't find it in you to argue anyway, completely cockdumb from the way he fucks you. When he sees that you're pliant, he resumes absolutely destroying you, relying on the relaxation of your body to allow him to thrust his hips into you without using his hand on your hips. He keeps his fingers under your chin but slips his thumb past your kiss-swollen lips and into your mouth, ordering you to suck.

You hollow your cheeks around his digit, running your tongue over the ridges of his thumb print as you keep eye contact with him. He growls out, losing himself in the fervency.

Abandoning that thought, he rushes to remove his hand from your face and press it to your abdomen. He moans out, delighting in feeling his cock slip in and out of your cunt. He can feel the rippling of your muscles and skin with the force he's using to pound into you. Every ridge of his cock adds to the overwhelming feeling as he moves in and out of you, the pressure he's applying to your pubic bone enough to launch you to your orgasm, but then he begins ruinous thrusts that knock your cervix and that sweet spot inside that have your legs turning to jelly with a scream.

You cum so hard that white blooms across your eyes, splitting you down the middle and pulsing devastatingly between your thighs. It sends heat from the bottom of your feet to the top of your head in gentle waves. Tilting your head back, you sob as he continues to thrust in and out, to ruin you completely.

He's babbling, voicing gorgeous and heartwarming compliments, but you're unable to discern them, still in the peak of your orgasm as it just builds and almost reaches a point of rapture that has you in pain. It's when you slam your fist against Ezra's sternum in an attempt to pull yourself from the earth-shattering orgasm that you hear him yell out, painting your fluttering walls with his cum. His thighs tremble, and you fall against his chest, fighting to drag air into your lungs to rid your eyes of the black spotting in your vision.

You lay there for a while, feeling like you're spinning despite your head securely resting on Ezra's shoulder. Your muscles were so tense from your orgasm that it now feels like they're melting into the mattress, seeping through and dripping out of the bottom and onto the floor of the Pod. You feel entirely liquified.

Then he's turning you both over gently, using his hand to brace the back of your head before it hits the mattress and gently laying it down with your body. You whine from the loss of contact, assuming he's getting out of bed or going to redress.

So when he dips his head between your thighs, brushing his tongue through your folds to taste the mix of your cum together, you can't help the moan of shock, overstimulation seeping down your thighs and pools in the base of your spine. He focuses his assault there, swirling the tip of his tongue around your clit until you're sobbing once more.

On your journey to Bakhroma, you'd heard an old wives' tale. Somewhat of a ghost story passed around the three-member crew during drunk nights while the long-haul space freighter floated in endless space. The team said it had been passed down from other Prospectors who had survived the moon trip. They claimed that anyone who stepped foot in The Green was subjugated by greed. While Aurelac gems definitely pleased Ezra, it appeared he found the treasure between your legs much more valuable...

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[writer-darling]

Are You Ever Dreaming of Me?

Chapter 8: Out of the Woods | Read Chapter 7: Style!

I NEVER USE Y/N OR ANYTHING LIKE IT THANK YOU SO MUCH :)

Rating: M - Mature (THE TIME HAS COME) (18+ MINORS DNI)

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect, 2018) x F!Reader

Warnings: Good old enemies-to-lovers trope. age gap (10 years). Nothing super descriptive for Reader but they are described as having hair. Tension, OF ALL KINDS, reaches an all-time high. Adult language. A LOT of feelings and things of that nature. Banter. Flirting. It’s E-to-L, you know where this is going. Feral Ezra (he starts at an 83.5% but ends up at about a 90.79% in this chapter). Mentions of smoking and cigarettes. Crude language. If there are any that I missed, please inbox me to let me know and I will add them in :)

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary!: Things are different, changed after last night. As you and Ezra both try to comes to terms with what's happened, there's a disruption.

******

“Are we in the clear yet?

In the clear yet, good

(Are we out of the woods?)”

Ezra sees the change in you instantly. You’ve always been hyperfocused, even when not on the job. It’s one of the first things he ever admired about you… before he admired everything else, of course. But today is not like any other day. No… it most certainly is not. You’re avoiding him, as he suspected, but you don’t seem upset about what happened. No, rather you seem… out of it. Like your mind is miles away… or perhaps more accurately: hours in the past. Your distraction is obvious as you try to go about your day, but your eyes have a dazed, glassiness to them and you curse under your breath repeatedly every time you almost drop the clean laundry you’re trying to remove from the clothesline, which is becoming a frequent occurrence this morning. 

He watches as he sits outside of his tent, spending the morning sitting on a stool shining his boots to perfection, and chainsmoking like he’s never smoked before. He’s meticulously changed the laces, wiped the leather clean, and buffed and conditioned them until he can practically see his reflection. He’s heard your frustrated mumbling all morning and it has worried him. While he wishes to help, his guilt stops him. 

He doesn’t regret what happened, not one damn bit. It was the catalyst of all the fantasies he’s had these last few months. No, he doesn’t regret it at all. The guilt comes from how he handled everything else that happened yesterday. The petty bickering, his stubbornness, how the catalyst started, and the fact that he practically ran out of your tent like a bat out of hell just to fuck his fist before he took things much, much further than either one of you would’ve been comfortable with.

He should’ve stayed. He should’ve finally told you everything he wanted to tell you. He should have held you and apologized for his earlier behavior and then he should have had that amazing dinner with you tonight where he would finally tell you what he really wanted. That catalyst should have come from a place of understanding, of harmony, of love - maybe. But, Kevva-be-damned, he just couldn’t help himself last night. He loved seeing that fire in your eyes, hearing that venom in your voice. It drove him damn near crazy, it always did. Which, admittedly, wasn't the healthiest thing. But, Ezra could admit he wasn’t perfect, and he had never claimed to be. Still, he can’t help the slight anxiety that rises in him each time that crinkle between your brows deepens. Like now,

“Kevvasake!” You whisper angrily to yourself, your gloved palm on your thigh as you yank a particularly stubborn shirt. He can almost picture the whites of your knuckles under the leather of your glove. You sigh once it finally falls, tossing it into the laundry basket with the rest of the clean clothes, which you then lean against your hip. You straighten up and meet his gaze as if you sensed his eyes on you. Your eyes meet his for only a microsecond before you look away and head into your tent, not even giving Ezra a chance to offer you a smile or a wave. 

He sighs as he exhales his latest drag, and debates with himself to call after you, but ultimately makes the decision not to. It’s clear he pushed you too far, and you deserve some modicum of respectful distance from him. Even if it stings like carrom acid in his chest. Denver’s voice interrupts his internal debate, and Ezra realizes he didn’t even hear him walk up. Denver’d also been keeping an eye on you, and on Ezra.

“The hell’s going on with you two?” Ezra cracks a smile, a brief one. His brow furrows as he thinks of how best to word this, throwing the bud on the ground and crushing it with his boot before he answers Denver.

“We had a bit of a situation last night, boss.”

“And I’m guessing you screwed everything up?” It’s not really a question. Ezra sighs before answering, setting his boots aside with a sharp nod,

“...Your assumption would be a fairly adequate estimate.” 

“Hm… how bad?” The question makes Ezra pause for a moment as he meets Denver’s green eyes.

“That remains to be seen.” Both men go silent for a few minutes. Denver looks pensively at the forest floor. Finally, he speaks,

“Fix it.” Ezra raises his eyes to Denver’s, who’s already looking right at him again. Ezra simply salutes and trudges off to find you. When he pauses at the entrance of your tent, he realizes you’re not inside after his call for you goes unanswered. 

You’re not anywhere in the camp. But eventually, he finds you, knowing where you’ve headed.

You sit by the pool's edge, staring into the dark but tranquil water, your gaze unfocused. It’s only upon seeing the area that he remembers. He remembers what you told him about the apprentice camp. Shit. He clears his throat and you turn to face him.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” He starts cautiously.

“I’m guessing you’re gonna ask either way.” You respond, but your tone isn’t harsh at all, which floods him with relief.

“Did last night… Did it trigger anythin’ for you?” Your brow furrows at the way he says that. He’s thrown you for a loop with that question.

“What do you mean?” You ask. He sighs, the guilt suddenly back and threatening to swallow him whole. He approaches but keeps his distance, a good ten feet away from you. He removes his helmet and runs a gloved hand through his hair.

“I mean… about your… previous experience with prospectors.” He says. “Is that why you’ve been off all mornin’?” You blink at him a few times. That was not at all what was on your mind. Now Ezra’s really tearing himself up inside. It all spills out in a rush now. “I’m so sorry, rook, I didn’t even think. I was such a goddamn, horned-up fuckmonger that I completely forgot about that and I never meant to cause you any further trauma. If you no longer wish to speak to me, I fully understand, please believe that. I’m such a damned idiot that I-”

“Ezra.” Your voice is firm and clear, but again not as harsh as he expected. He shuts up instantly and focuses all of his attention on what you say next. You wait until his undivided attention is on you before you continue with your response, “No. It didn’t. I reciprocated. I’m only… confused. That’s all.” You say. For a second it seems like he doesn’t believe you, but he nods anyway.

“That’s fair then.” He says. You sigh and run a hand through your hair next.

“Truth is, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. But I know what we agreed on, and so I’m gonna let it go.” You conclude.

“Let it go?” He asks. You nod and smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes for long.

“Mhm, just pretend it never happened. Easier that way. I mean that’s what we agreed to do, right?” You ask, your tone far too nonchalant for this conversation. And even as Ezra’s brow furrows and he mumbles a quiet confirmation, you both know that’s the last thing either of you want.

Especially Ezra. It’s like your words have an effect on him. As he averts his eyes, all he can see, hear, feel, and think is last night. The way you looked at him with starry-eyed haziness. The soft whine of your voice as you begged him for more. The heat of you as he touched you over and over again. His trousers are suddenly uncomfortably tight and he turns his body away from you for a full minute as he tries his damned hardest to get himself under control.

“Look, I’m fine.” You insist, making him turn towards you again. “I was just… overreacting. We’re friends.” You say, your lie does little to convince either of you. But you don’t let that stop you. “C’mon,” You brighten up and smile again. “We gotta get back to camp.” You walk ahead without turning to see if he’s followed.

You’re committed to this ‘friends’ bit, Ezra will give you that. He gives you your space but it’s like you insist on proving his concern for you wrong. You smile and joke with him and are suddenly hyperfocused as usual, going from one extreme to another. And Ezra isn’t quite sure how to feel about it, but he plays along. As lunch rolls around, you invite him back to your tent for a round of cards. He agrees, even if his heart skips in his chest and a light flush takes his face. 

You stop by the dining hall and have a difficult time maneuvering your way around. You’re still distracted, painfully so, but you try your best to just power through it. Still, the hall seems stuffier than usual. Like there’s suddenly every prospecter on camp inside it. As you look around for Ezra, you realize it is packed to the brim. Damn, were there always this many men in here? 

“Rook,” Ezra’s voice catches your attention and you notice he has his pack on his shoulders. He smiles and leads you two out with ease. You both make light conversation as you walk back to your tent for the moment, but your mind is still on trying to let last night go. It’s not healthy for you to be so focused on the vents of last night. Ezra’s not acting any different, so why are you? 

That all flies out the window as you two enter the tent and the tension almost threatens to paralyze the both of you as you’re alone now, with not even the distractions of nature as a buffer. But, you smile and walk over to your ice chest, acting like nothing’s off.

“Want anything?” You ask as you grab a water bottle from inside. He grabs a chair and shakes his head.

"I'm absolutely fine, I brought my own snacks from the mess hall." He says with a chuckle, "You got any other fun ideas for today? Other than playin’ cards and me havin’ to serve you once again?" he asks. He’s well aware he’s pushing his luck with that little flirtation at the end, but he wants to know how you’ll react anyway. Hell, he needs to know. He’s tempted to ask if you two are still on for dinner but he has a feeling that if he even remotely brings it up, you’ll go running for the hills. So, for once, he wisely holds his tongue.

“Serve me, huh?” You ask, opening up your bottle and taking a big gulp. You smile a little as you sit on your cot, in front of him. “Now there’s an idea.” You say with a twinkle. “I could use a personal servant.” You laugh softly, clearly joking.

Ezra laughs a bit louder as his eyes light up at your words, and he can't help but smile as you speak. "Is that so?" He asks, taking an apple out from his pack and taking a big bite from it before he tosses you one. "That... actually sounds nice, don’t it? Me as your personal servant..." he says with playful sarcasm, enjoying every second of the teasing between you, even with this added tension from the last 24 hours still looming over your heads. "Just imagine all the fun things I could do for you. You could have me at your beck and call… completely at your mercy…" he suggests with a sly grin.

You can’t help it as you go red as red as the apple in your hands at that. Having him at your beck and call. You clear your throat after a moment, hiding your embarrassment as best you can as you take another sip of your water, suddenly feeling hot. Ezra notices your sudden blush as soon as he makes his joke, and he decides to play into it. 

"Does that sound nice to you?" he asks, and there’s almost a tinge of desperation in his voice, leaning in closer and playing along. He can't help but feel a bit of pride at the little red tinge that comes to your cheeks, and he's enjoying every moment of it. His teasing is obvious, but it's clear he's having a good time being able to be around you and be himself, even with this uncertainty.

You recover quickly with a light scoff, even as your blush deepens again. “Pfft, in your wildest dreams.” You say, pushing his chest playfully.

He leans back in his chair with an amused expression on his face, even as every ounce of his will wants to drop to his knees in front of you. "Well look at that, I almost had you there," he teases, his smile still bright. "I was beginnin’ to think you might enjoy that," he muses. "But, I do have to know... if you could have me at your beck and call, wouldya?" he asks, still playful but wanting to get a legitimate answer. He just needs to hear it from your own lips. He knows the answer already, but goddess above, he’s dying to hear you say it. All he needs is one confirmation and he can finally relax, finally breathe without feeling like he’s got Bakhroma spores in his lungs.

Your mind immediately fills with images that are not at all PG, but you clear your throat again, swallowing hard but you recover quickly, blinking a few times to dispel them from your mind before you answer. “Yeah totally… I could use the forced manual labor to help me carry those damn packs full of gems.” You try to joke but it doesn’t come across as easily as it did before. You’re still feeling very overheated as you tuck your hair behind your ear.

Ezra laughs at your words despite their sarcastic tone. His whole face lights up at your words and he enjoys this little game you're playing. The little slight nervous glance away just makes it all the better for him. 

"Well okay then, let's test it..." he continues, "Tell me somethin’... what do you need me to do right this moment for you? Just give me a task that you feel is worthy of having me at your disposal," he asks, the smirk returning to his face as his voice takes on a slightly playful tone. "Come on. Test me."

You see that he’s serious. He wants you to test him. “Alright, I’m game. If you really want me to ‘test you’,” you make sure to add air quotes to that. “You can um…” You glance around and spot your pack. “Oh, you can count my earnings for yesterday.”

That was... not what Ezra had expected, and he can't help but grin as you speak and give him his task. "You know what? Sure, why not?" he says with a shrug and an approving nod. He reaches under your cot and grabs the pack, bringing it out between you two as he counts the four suitcases full of gems. "I'll count it all up and tell you the final tally," he says with a smile, "let's get this test underway. Ya got a notebook?” You crack a small smile and lay a notebook and pen out in front of him. He removes the button-up he’s wearing, leaving him in a sleeveless shirt, similar to the one from last night. He wants the most freedom available to him to work. 

He gets to counting the earnings, and he's actually quite the little perfectionist when it comes to these things. He takes it seriously, even just a test such as this. He wants to make sure you're impressed.

You 100% are as you watch him work. At first, that’s all it is, you feeling greatly impressed as he suddenly shifts his playful demeanor and hyper focuses on the task before him, his grin dropping into a neutral expression. Only a slight furrow of his dark brows reveals his concentration. It’s sort of endearing how earnestly he’s approaching this. And that makes you unable to tear your eyes away from him. But then… 

You can’t help it as your mind is suddenly elsewhere as you watch him with his head bowed over his task. The way he takes each case and carefully opens it up, counting each gem and making a rough estimate based on size and quality, then recounting them for good measure. Your focus goes from what he’s doing to the way he looks while he’s doing it. There’s that same furrow that creased his brow last night. And then, your eyes focus on the muscles of his arms as they flex and shift when he brings out each case. Reminding you of what those same muscles looked like half-hidden in shadow and moonlight. His long, thick fingers hold each gem he inspects like they’re the most precious material on terra firma. Those same fingers that maintained such a good rhythm that you fell apart faster than you ever have with your own touch. His dark hair hangs in his eyes as he slightly hunches over the cases of aurelac. The same hair you ached to tug on last night.

 Fuckssake. You’re pretty much gawking at him by the end of it.

Ezra's not even realizing that you're watching. He's so focused on his test - in his eyes, every single gem counts. He's very careful and thorough as he lays out all the gems and counts them, making sure to not make even a single mistake as he writes it all down in the notebook in front of him, the pen cap between his teeth. There's just something incredibly attractive about the way he's so focused and determined to do this task. And the fact that you see him this way is just... well, you've just become totally infatuated.

As he finishes, Ezra looks up at you and smiles, "Alright, well the final tally is 142 gems, with the most valuable one bein’ worth 400 hecaton grade. How does that compare to your initial estimate?" He asks, looking over at you with a smile. His eyes are still bright and his tone is warm, the playful nature of your previous interaction having now faded as you two had gotten deep into this little test. His expression is a little confused when you don’t answer right away. "Did I pass?"

You’re very impressed and also suddenly very aroused. He did it. He managed to impress the hell out of you. And Kevvasake, did it all while looking attractive as hell. You clear your throat as what he asks snaps you out of your reverie.

“You-You’re right on the money.” You say.

Ezra smiles and he chuckles as he stands, his eyes sparkling. "Well good," he says with a playful smile, still seemingly unaware of the effect he's having on you. "How's that for a first test?" he says with a wink, and he crosses his arms, giving a little chuckle as his whole face lights up in happiness. "And if you don't want me to be your personal servant... well, how about we just keep bein’ friends?" he suggests with a small smile, "Sound reasonable?"

You nod, your eyes still fixated on his arms and the way they move. Again some very not parent-friendly images come to your mind. You can’t even say anything, just watching the way his shoulders move with each breath he takes.

Ezra finally realizes the full effect that he's having on you, and he seems to just take it all in for a moment before he steps a little closer to you. He's right in front of you and he has what appears to be a gentle, caring expression on his face. He speaks in a whisper when he talks next, his head lowered so he's speaking down slightly towards you, right at eye level. "Hey... can ask you somethin’?" he asks softly, the playfulness completely faded.

You’re taken aback as he approaches and force yourself to focus on what he’s saying. You blink a few times, his dark eyes making you dizzy. “Y-Yeah, what’s uh, what’s up… buddy?” You internally slap yourself for saying that. It sounds so inorganic, just further revealing your nervousness. But he still smiles a little, understanding. You clear your throat, trying very hard to seem nonchalant and failing miserably.

Ezra's face turns soft as you refer to him as your ‘buddy,’ and his whole demeanor becomes more gentle the closer he is to you. He reaches out and brushes your hair away from your face. His eyes lock with yours as he looks down at you. "I really like you, and I want you to be honest with me, yeah?" he says with a soft smile, his voice quiet and gentle. You can see the serious, honest emotion in his eyes and he looks so... peaceful? It's hard to explain. The playful nature is gone from his voice, and you can tell what he's about to say is really important to him.

“I-I like you too, Ezra.” You say, your eyes briefly glancing at the movement of his fingers as he brushes your hair back before meeting his eyes again. You offer him a small smile, still visibly nervous. “Why?”

The sigh he releases sounds troubled and his brows furrow. Your own brow furrows too. “Ezra, tell me.” You add when he hesitates to say what’s on his mind.

“Last night was… fuckin’ incredible.” He breathes suddenly and your heart stutters at the intensity in his eyes. “I just want to make sure I didn’t bring up any bad memories for you. I want to make sure you don’t regret it.”

“Ezra, we-”

“I know what we agreed.” He says firmly, cutting off your attempt to deflect. “But, please… I need to know how you feel about it.” His voice is so desperate. You feel a lump in your throat as you feel frozen in place by his gaze. There’s an electric moment, tense and charged as you think.

“It was amazing.” You finally say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ezra’s smile is like the suns breaking through dark storm clouds. His shoulders almost sag with relief and he holds your gaze for a moment before pulling you into his arms and hugging you. 

It's the most gentle embrace, and you can feel his momentary hesitation, but it's the first time he's actually hugged you. He lets out a content sigh as he holds you tight for a moment before he looks back at you with the same soft, almost... dreamy expression from before. His hands come up to the side of your face before his thumb brushes against your cheek. "You can tell me anythin’, no matter how big or small, and I will be there for you. You got me, rook?"

You’re taken aback by the sudden hug, realizing it is indeed the first time you’ve ever hugged each other. If you’re honest, you were expecting a completely different reaction but you’re not mad about it at all. You hug him back slowly, your arms wrapping around him as you lay your head against his shoulder for a short moment, breathing in the scent of his cigarettes. His sigh makes you melt a little and when he brushes his thumb along your cheekbone you almost want to lean into his touch as soft thrills run down your spine.

You nod, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the shift at the moment. There’s a vulnerability, an intimacy here you weren’t expecting.

“I got you.” You respond, growing a little misty-eyed. “And I hope you know I feel the same way. You can count on me for anything, Ez.” You say softly, sincerely. “I know things between us are… weird right now but I do trust you.”

Ezra's smile grows as you speak, and he puts his forehead against yours for a moment as his other hand rests against your lower back. You never expected this moment to come, but this feeling - this... connection - you two have formed is something special. He can tell you mean what you say... he can see it in your eyes and feel it when he embraces you once again. 

There’s something else in his eyes too, something that wasn’t there moments ago. Something you only saw a glimpse of last night. But then it’s gone as he smiles and lets you go, giving you your space again.

"Well then, partner," he says softly once again, the playfulness returning to his voice, "I guess we're friends now. Official, official friends. How's that sound?"

“Official, official friends.” You say softly, nodding and laughing gently at his cute terminology. But then your mind once again fills with the image of his obsidian eyes as he made you come on his fingers and your chest feels hollow.

It seems he’s about to say something else when suddenly you both notice a commotion outside; there’s the sudden sound of gunfire outside and screaming from your fellow prospectors.

Your eyes flash to Ezra with concern as you both drop immediately to crouched positions, the sounds of combat now in your ears as your adrenaline spikes.

******

Finally after 5 months, here is Chapter 8! Yes it's a cliffhanger BUT I WILL BE UPDATING CHAPTER 9 NEXT WEEK!! Happy holidays AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! <3

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Read Chapter 9: The Great War!

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Open When...

FEBRUARY FICLETS #1

A/N: Happy February, everyone! (Yes, it' true, January is finally over!) For me, has historically been a month of writing slumps and creative blocks. In an effort to try to fight that this year, I am choosing a few prompts from this list and writing something short for them. I have no idea how many I’ll get to, but for now here’s a little Ezra to get things started. This is part of the Angelfish universe.

Prompt: love letter

Warnings: brief mention of accident and injury

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Long distance relationships are always tough, especially when the distance spans different planetary systems. But you still find a way to be there for Ezra without ever leaving your post on Lau.

The relentless hum and buzz of life at Bahkroma base was silenced as Ezra reached his bunk and slid the door shut.

What a day. He sighed, bringing his right hand up to the back of his neck. The smallest tilt of his head released an audible pop of tension that he felt beneath his fingers. What a Kevva-fucked day.

Though the potential for danger on the Green Moon was always high, most dig shifts went smoothly. Trek out to the site, fill the day’s aurelac quota, secure the gems and trek back to base. The terrain was rough, the chemicals used to coax the gems from the fleshy roots was caustic, and without a filter the air would kill a person in just a handful of cycles. But when protocol was followed and equipment maintained - as it always was when Ezra was leading an expedition - the job could be done with relative safety.

Of course, there were still plenty of ways that a dig could go awry.

That day, it happened to be an expired vial of chem left behind by some drifter whose body had long since been consumed by the mossy forest floor. Flesh decays, and the Green is always hungry for carrion. But inorganic material remains for far longer - roto scalpels and extraction forceps left to rust, containers of phaser becoming covered by growth, laying in wait like landmines to be struck open by a drill head or pickaxe. Unlike some of the substances used in filtration and cleaning that lost potency over time, phaser solution only became more volatile. More dangerous.

Which was why Frontier Mining Company had invested in top of the line scanning equipment that checked the ground for evidence of abandoned dig sites before crews were cleared to begin.

The scans came up clean, though. Ezra stepped away from the door and crossed the small space that somehow felt smaller since you’d left for your posting on Big Blue. Choosing what had always been your side, he sat on the edge of the bed and gripped the mattress. They were clean. We were cleared, and then-

He screwed his eyes shut against the memory of what happened next - the distinct sound of metal finding glass, the hiss and bubble of the leaked fluid reacting to the water in the plantlife it spilled onto, the stillness in the half second before the explosion, and the anguished screams that came through the comms in his helmet.

In the end, it could have been worse. No one was killed. Everyone had been knocked to the ground, a few people had been banged up a bit. But Danelo, one of the crewmen Ezra had known for as long as he’d known you, had been the unlucky bastard whose ax had hit the vial. He lost a hand to the blast. Ezra had responded quickly, grabbing a field kit and loading the foam gun to cream up the wound as best as he could until the team was able to get the injured man back to base for proper medical treatment, and that had likely saved him from the worst of the infection.

It was still a grizzly sight. He opened his eyes and they landed on the photo he kept tacked up on the wall - one of you in his arms on the covered porch of your floating apartment out on the Skiffs, the shockingly blue water shimmering in the sunlight and your smile directed at him and not the camera. The picture instantly helped to put him at ease if only just a little. I’m glad you weren’t here for that, Angelfish.

He was glad, even though his missing you ran deeper than the ocean you were stationed beneath, that you were no longer at risk of falling prey to any of the Green Moon’s hidden perils. Glad that what happened to Danelo would never happen to you. Glad that your day to day operations on The Dive were far more stable than the wild nature of Aurelac mining. Even though he ached to hold you, especially on days when just a tiny shift in circumstance could have made it impossible for him to hold you ever again, Ezra was beyond relieved that your days on the Green were through. And that my own up here are numbered.

But days like that - and several others - were exactly what you had prepared for the last time you were both on leave together. Because you think of everything, don’t you?

Reaching up to the shelf that was built into the wall above the bed, Ezra pulled down a string-wrapped bundle of letters. There were fifteen in total, each of them meant for different occasions. You’d sealed each letter with a drop of wax and labeled them with their intended purposes. Open when you score a big pull. Open when your stand is halfway through. Open when it’s your birthday. Some of them were still sealed, awaiting the right time as per your instructions. Others were already opened, their pages folded and refolded along creases made by your hands so he could read and reread them as needed. Open when you can’t sleep. Open when you need a laugh. He thumbed through the semi-wrinkled paper, fingers finding the one he was looking for and pulling it from the stack.

Open when it’s been a hard day.

That one was still crisp and unopened. Slipping the shoes from his feet, Ezra swung his legs up onto the bed and leaned back against the wall, and then he slipped his finger between the edges and tore them apart. So far, every single one of your letters had perfectly matched whatever reason he’d had for opening them. Each one was a reminder of exactly what he needed to hear, as though you were right there. And each one only proved what he’d known for years - that you loved him just as much as he loved you. Let’s see what you’ve got to say this time.

Like always, as he read he could hear the words in your voice, as close and clear as though you were there tucked against his chest.

Oh, my Ezra,

A hard day, prospector? I’m sorry, love. These are the days that I wish I was with you the most. Even if just to put my arms around you to give you a few minutes of relief. You make all my worst days more bearable and the fact that I'm so far away on one of yours is something that I would change in a heartbeat if I could. But since I can’t, this will have to do.

Do you remember that day on H4, back at the training facility, when you asked me to partner up with you for the Vezna excursion? I’m sure you do. It was our first experience on a fire planet and we were both nervous about it. What I never told you, though, was that earlier that day I was very seriously considering leaving the Frontier program altogether. I’d blown my Sector Six practice exam that morning and even though the field assessment was still a week away, I could already hear the gossip. I knew most of the other trainees didn’t want me there, didn’t think I could hack it. None of them were eager to be put on a crew with me, and I was really starting to doubt myself. Doubt my dreams. It was my hardest day of the 582 that we spent there.

But then you came along and you had that smile on your face and you said “Angelfish, there’s no one I’d rather walk through the flames with.” And even though you didn’t know it, that was exactly what I needed to hear. That you saw me as someone who was strong enough to do hard things, even things that made you nervous, too. You saw me as someone to depend on, even when I couldn’t see it for myself.

Ezra, I don’t know what happened today to make you open this letter in particular. But I do know that what you said to me that day? I feel the same. There is no one in this or any universe that I would rather walk through flames with, because I know that you can. I know that whatever struggles the day brought you won’t keep you down, because you’re stronger than anything that might try to stop you.

And do you remember what happened after the Vezna excursion? After we got back to H4 and passed Sector Six? Those ten days we spent in The Ephrate during semester break? I do. And I know you do, too.

I love you, Ezra. You’ll get through this hard time, and we’ll be together again soon. So soon.

He read your letter three times that night, running his fingers over the indentations made by your pen, tracing the lines and curves of the letters where you signed your name. You always ended each letter the same way - Your Angelfish - and each time he read those two words they filled him with a warmth he’d only ever felt when you were there beside him. You were his, and he was more yours than his own.

Flattening the letter over the center of his chest, Ezra turned his head to glance at the photo again. “You always know what to say, Angelfish.”

The reassurance that you believed in him - believed that he was capable of doing what was necessary to get through the hard days, whatever they bring - was the reason he was able to fall asleep that night.

But your mention of that long ago trip to The Ephrate? That was the reason for the things he dreamed about. And he couldn’t wait to be back on the Skiffs with you to tell you and show you that yes, he absolutely remembered those ten days.

.

.

.

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[jessahmewren]

Trial

4.6k / Ezra x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni. Dystopian society, noncon/dubcon, rape, forced breeding, breeding kink, innocence kink, inexperienced reader, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, come play, oral (f receiving), pussy slapping, sexual slavery/bondage, brief mention of su*cidal thoughts, implied squirting, nicknames (darlin', pretty girl, sweet girl, sweetheart, etc), no use of y/n.

Summary: You are one of the last fertile women on a desolate world, subjected to an endless cycle of abuse in the name of the greater good. All of the men are nameless, faceless brutes. Until you meet Ezra.

Also on AO3

All thanks to @two-birds-alone-together for the excellent beta!

You crane your neck up to look toward the door. A tall, broad man in blue scrubs walks toward you. He is tan, his eyes a deep brown. There’s a curious white patch at the front of his hair, and it’s brushed downward, making him appear boyish. But he is no boy. He has strong shoulders and large hands…a well-defined nose. He approaches your head where you lay against the table and looks down at you.

-0-0-0-

You’re little more than breeding stock. You know that now. On this planet, to this endless parade of doctors and scientists, your entire worth has dwindled down to your fertility…what you can grow in your womb to repopulate a planet devastated by civil war.

You never thought you would long for the mining colony you’d been kidnapped from…for the hardships of your life before. You’d spent cycles in the mines without rest or food, scrabbling to make points from what you could unearth from the gas-ridden caves. But you were free. Your body was your own, until one day a routine blood test changed your life forever.

You’ve been in the same room for so many cycles you’ve lost count. You’re intimately familiar with the tiles on the ceiling, the harsh fluorescent lighting, the low couch by the window that looks comfortable, but that you’ve never been allowed to sit on. You’re strapped to a table, legs spread and cunt on display. It horrified you at first…the clinical exams, the blatant disregard for your comfort. Your cheeks burn with the memory of your first “trial.” You had kicked and screamed until they’d sedated you. You woke up sore with cum dripping out of you, no question as to what had happened.

Now they don’t bother with sedatives. You no longer fight. The punishing march of cycles has sapped your will. You’re never getting out, not unless you give them what they want. Unless your belly becomes round with new life, your life, as far as you can see, is over.

Tears are dried on your face from the last trial. It’s your fertile time, they’ve informed you, so the trials are daily now. The next man, one of the institute’s finest specimens of virility, no doubt, fucks you with a bored expression on his face. You look at the ceiling. You can feel his cock twitch after about a minute, feel his precious seed fill you to overflowing. He snarls as he comes, digging his blunt nails into your thigh.

The only mercy is that it never lasts long.

He backs up from where you are laid bare to him and puts himself away. “Did you come?” he asks perfunctorily. “The doctors say it’s more likely to take if you do.”

You say nothing. Of course you didn’t come. You never have. You were a virgin when they brought you here. You’ve never even touched yourself. Daily rape is not going to change that.

He shakes his head at your silence. You can feel his seed running out of you. A single tear tracks down your face, and you hear the door shut behind him.

A nurse comes in once a day to clean you up. It’s not enough. You have at least three trials a day, different men each time, and multiple blood tests. Your menses comes when you’re due, without fail. No pregnancy. No hope of ever escaping this hell you’re trapped in.

You’ve thought about killing yourself, but there’s no way to do it. Your arms are tied down away from your body. Your feet are secured and your legs forced apart. You’re never given sharp objects; your meals are liquid. Every cycle the sun rises and you wish again that you were dead.

It’s another early morning when you hear a soft knock at the door. That’s new, you think. No one ever knocks. They come in, use your body for tests or trials, and leave, usually without a word. If you don’t die from the abuse they are putting you through, then maybe you will die from loneliness. It would be a mercy.

Another knock on the door, and it piques your interest like nothing has in a long time. “Come in,” you say in a raspy voice. It’s been so many cycles since last you spoke, your lips can barely find the words. The door opens, and you brace yourself for what comes next.

You crane your neck up to look toward the door. A tall, broad man in blue scrubs walks toward you. He is tan, his eyes a deep brown. There’s a curious white patch at the front of his hair, and it’s brushed downward, making him appear boyish.

But he is no boy. He has strong shoulders and large hands…a well-defined nose. He approaches your head where you lay against the table and looks down at you.

That also, is new. Most men who come in go straight between your legs. You almost never see them up close. Sometimes you never see them at all.

“Hi darlin’,” he says, his peculiar drawl thick and syrupy. He’s smiling down at you a little lopsided, his head cocked slightly. “Let’s get you all undone, now. Let you stretch your legs a bit.”

You blink up at him, trying to comprehend this radical change in protocol. He’s already working on the restraints binding your arms, then the large one across your middle. He moves down to your feet, and your gaze immediately finds the ceiling, expecting the worst.

Instead, he loosens those restraints as well. When he sees the reddened skin around your ankles, he tuts, taking one of your feet and gently massaging it. You say nothing, wondering if this is some sort of cruel joke. You’ve never been unrestrained during a fertile time before, not since you first arrived.

The man returns to your head. He takes one of your hands in his, thumb making little sweeps over your skin. It’s the first time someone has touched you with any sort of kindness in a long time, and tears spring to your eyes. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he says softly. “My name’s Ezra.”

You look up at him and reflexively draw your hand away. You marvel at being able to move your arms. They’re stiff and tingly from being bound, but you relish the sensation. You whisper your name and he smiles.

“That’s beautiful darlin’,” he says pleasantly. He holds out his hand again while his other hovers near your shoulder. “Need some help sitting up?”

The first thing you do is close your legs, wincing at the pain in your atrophied muscles. Your modesty intact for the first time in a long time, you let Ezra gently pull you to a sitting position. The hospital gown covers you, finally, and you let your legs dangle over the side of the table.

You still avoid his gaze, though you can feel it burn you where it lands. You chance a glance at him and his eyes are soft, thoughtful.

“I bet a shower would do you a world of good,” he says, still congenial…still seemingly kind. You’re unused to it. It makes you immediately suspicious.

“Are you…are you a nurse?” You ask him. The only time you’ve been cleaned up (and those were hasty wipe downs with a cold basin of water) was by nurses during your scant few bathroom breaks. A shower, as unbelievable as that sounds, still feels like a trick.

He chuckles at that. “Not a nurse, sweetheart. Here to take care of you, though. Here to make you feel good.”

You frown. How could you possibly feel good in a place like this? After all that’s been done to you? You shake your head in refusal.

He sighs, leaving you sitting on the side of the table. “Let me start the shower for you, darlin’. You think you can manage by yourself?” His brow is furrowed, his eyes sympathetic. “I know it’s been a while since you stood.”

Suddenly you see the adjacent bathroom. You watch Ezra as he walks into it; you listen as the water turns on. Hot steam wafts from the open door, and you close your eyes.

Then you remember…the door to your room. It’s probably open. You can get away, or try to. This is the first time you’ve had any actual hope of escape, and you’re drunk off of it.

You bolt toward the door, but your numb legs betray you. You fall on your face, crying out, the hard floor jarring your bones. Ezra is by your side in moments.

“Ah, now,” he soothes, taking you up by your shoulders. “Can’t be running off like that. I’m trying to help ya honey. Nothing more.”

You look up at him where he holds you in his arms. He’s handsome, you think distantly, but the realization has no physical effect on you. You lost any sexual desire you had a long time ago, when these people weaponized reproductive organs as a means to an end, a tool to be used for the greater good.

Ezra helps you to your feet. His hands are big and calloused, but they’re warm. You’re not used to gentleness. It makes you wary, but you find yourself craving it all the same.

He leads you into the bathroom…stands you up by the sink. He offers you his arm, looking away as you step out of your hospital gown.

The steam feels so good on your skin; you’ve been cold for so long that your very pores starve for warmth. Ezra leaves you and you step under the hot spray. A wanton little sound of relief, the nearest sound you’ve ever made to pleasure escapes your lips, and you snap your mouth shut.

You spend the next few minutes washing your body, your hair, letting the suds run over your skin and down the drain. You clean the dried semen from your folds, scrubbing just a little too roughly. You stand there swaying under the water. You haven’t had a hot shower since your youth, since before you were sent to the mines. You huff a disbelieving laugh at how good it feels. You forget about Ezra and stay there until the water runs cold.

When you step out of the bathroom, there’s a fresh gown waiting for you on the counter. You towel off, slipping it on over your head. Feeling the cool, threadbare cotton against you just reminds you of where you are, what your purpose is, and the previous contentment from the shower, scant as it was, immediately evaporates.

You pad out of the bathroom and onto the cold tile. Your legs are still wobbly. You’re lightheaded from the hot shower, and before you know it the entire room tilts.

But you never hit the floor. Ezra catches you under the arms, sweeping you up to cradle against his chest like you weigh nothing. He murmurs something, his voice a low and pleasant rumble, but your ears are still ringing. He sits you down beside him…not on the cruel examination table, but on the couch.

You come back to yourself, and Ezra is tucking your wet hair behind your ear. He lets his hand linger by your cheek in a soft caress. You blink up at him, not understanding.

“Why am I on the couch?” you ask. Ezra looks confused, then his face transforms into a wide smile.

“Well, it seemed a mite more comfortable than where you were,” he says softly. He ducks his head, trying to catch your furtive gaze. “You feel better?”

The question catches you off guard. You do a quick, basic self-assessment and realize that you do feel a tiny bit better. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Thank you for the shower.”

Ezra preens, seemingly pleased by your gratitude. He tracks his thumb back and forth across the soft skin of your cheek, humming to himself. After a moment, he leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead.

You instantly recoil, pressing your back to the end of the couch. He scoots forward, crowding you a bit. Your heart picks up.

“Mmm,” he hums, that low rumble coming from deep in his chest. “Y’ smell good.”

You bite your lip, refusing to meet his eyes. “I smell like hospital body wash,” you say, still trying to parse what’s actually going on.

He drags his knuckles up your bare leg, and you look at him. His eyes are dark, his strong nose scenting the air. “Wasn’t talking about the soap,” he says, grin lopsided, and then you realize.

He’s here for a trial.

You swallow hard. He’s got his arms braced on either side of you; it unfurls a strange warmth in your belly. It feels like fear…anticipation, but you’re not really afraid of him.

“If you’re gonna fuck me then just fuck me.” You look up, your mouth a firm line. “Why play all of these games?”

He tuts again, eyes bright and looking at you softly. He floats his hand down the column of your neck, settling at your shoulder.

“Such harsh words, sweet thing.” He gives your shoulder a little squeeze, and your skin burns with his touch. “I’m going to make it so good for you. You have my word.”

A little thrill goes through you, and you shiver. Without a word he pulls you to him, wrapping you up in a warm embrace. He’s speaking, but you don’t register much of it. It’s soft nonsense, words you would use to calm a frightened child or animal. You close your eyes against the white noise, and your nose catches his scent.

It’s uniquely masculine, something earthy and rich. Saliva pools in your mouth.

He holds you there for a long time, whispering soothing words into the shell of your ear. He trails his hands down your arms, smoothing the gooseflesh he finds there.

“You cold baby? You need a blanket?”

He leaves you on the couch, going to a closet and withdrawing a blanket. In all your cycles here, it’s a comfort you’ve never been offered. He wraps it around your shoulders, rubbing his hands over it like he can stoke warmth into your bones.

“Th-thanks,” you say, your teeth chattering. You realize it’s not entirely from cold.

Once you’re wrapped up, Ezra leans in again and you stiffen but do not pull away. You realize this is a foregone conclusion. Ezra is here for a trial, and nothing you do is going to change that.

He noses the skin beneath your ear, and you exhale. He presses his lips in a trail down your neck, gentle little pecks. When he reaches the fluttering pulse there, he seals his mouth over it and sucks.

You gasp softly and arch against him, feeling the warmth in your belly from before travel lower and settle between your legs. You feel your heartbeat throb in your center. That’s never happened before, and it makes you want to squeeze your thighs together to make it stop.

You reach up between you and press a hand against his chest.

“I won’t fight you,” you say. Your voice is thready and soft, and you hate how demure it sounds. “Just do what you have to do.”

He ignores you, letting his tongue wet your skin where his mouth is still sealed over your neck, then he teases it with his teeth. You tremble again, from nerves or cold you know not. “Ezra,” you whisper breathily, and he groans.

“You got me so worked up, darlin’,” he breathes against your neck. He kisses down to where your collarbone juts out of the wide neck of the hospital gown and closes his lips over it. He pulls away, observing the flush of your cheek, your shallow breath.

“Gonna take care of you,” he murmurs. “Gonna put a baby in you. Maybe two. Right here.”

You look down and he has his large hand splayed over your stomach. Your pulse quickens. Your gown is hitched up, and your legs are on display.

You shake your head. “Can’t get pregnant,” you say, “no matter what the blood tests say.” You turn your head, cheeks blooming red. “Been through many trials. Nothing’s ever worked.”

Ezra pouts, pecking at the line of your jaw. “Bet no one’s ever made you feel good though,” he says, his hand sliding from your stomach down your thigh to catch the edge of your gown. “Bet no one’s ever fingered this pretty little pussy before.”

Your mouth pops open, and he uses it as an excuse to claim your lips. His are full and soft, and your eyes slip shut. You’ve never kissed anyone before, so you have no comparison, but you like the way it makes you feel…warm, wanted. His whiskers tickle your chin. He slips his tongue in your mouth and your eyes fly open, a little noise purring deep in your throat.

He moans into the kiss, probing your mouth with his slick tongue. Tentatively you kiss him back, unsure of exactly how, so you simply touch your tongue to his and hope it’s enough.

His hand slips up your thigh and you feel a gush of liquid between your legs. You pull away, mortified, and move to stand. “I think I need to go to the bathroom,” you stammer. You feel strangely off balance. Your skin’s on fire, and there’s a steady ache between your legs.

You’ve never felt this way before. Something’s wrong…Ezra has done something to you and you don’t understand what.

Your legs are shaking, and you look down at the wet spot on the couch. “Oh no,” you murmur, face red. You feel the sudden need to hide, but there’s nowhere to go, and Ezra has both hands on your arms.

“Sit down, sweet girl.” There’s color to his cheeks, too, and you can see his hard cock tenting the front of his scrub pants. He pulls you back down and gently kisses your cheek. “It’s normal, honey,” he says sweetly. “It’s what’s ‘sposed to happen. That little pussy just needs a cock is all. It’s crying for one.”

Your core throbs, and you feel even wetter at his crass words. The dull pulsating sensation is now more urgent, sharp and unceasing. You want to touch, thinking that would make it go away, but you’re not sure how or where.

Ezra places his hand back on the inside of your leg, slowly dragging it upwards. He kisses you again, gentler this time. His hand reaches the humid juncture of your leg and pelvis, and he pets through your damp curls with the back of his hand.

“Unngh,” he moans into your mouth, then pulls away. He withdraws his hand, and his knuckles shine in the sunlight coming through the window. “Haven’t even got my hands on you properly and you’re already soaked. Kevva’s sake, girl.”

You’re trembling again, gripping Ezra’s upper arms. He slips beneath your gown once more, parting your seam with two big fingers.

“Oh shit,” he breathes, scooting up some on the couch. “You’re dripping, babygirl.” He locks eyes with you, and his are impossibly dark. “This all for me?”

You bite your lip and tell him the truth. “I don’t understand,” you say, trying to keep the tremor from your voice. “This has never happened before.”

He smiles, his eyes sparkling. “Good,” he says around a smirk. “You mean you’ve never touched this pretty thing, not once?”

He pulls your gown up, exposing your soaked cunt to the cold air. You shiver. “Kevva be damned, you’re beautiful darlin’.”

He drags through your folds with those same two fingers, groaning at the wet heat. He finds your clit, giving it an experimental little tap, then circling it with his thumb. Your legs quiver and your head falls back.

Your panting now, chest heaving, arms braced against the couch. You unconsciously widen your legs and feel yourself leak onto the cushion.

“Goddamn,” Ezra groans. “You’re unbelievable baby.” He makes another gentle circle over your clit, and you can scarcely believe the sound you make.

You can feel your body tightening. Your muscles go rigid and your toes curl. The warmth in your belly returns, spreading out to your limbs. “Ezra…,” you say, tears in your eyes. He continues his ministrations, shushing you gently. “You’re just aroused, sweet girl.” He dips into your folds, bringing more of your essence to your swollen clit. Something’s about to happen…you can feel it. Your heart beats faster…your skin feels tight. Ezra presses one of his fingers against your entrance and locks eyes with you. “Gonna give you one finger, my good girl. Just one. Give you something to clench around.”

You nod, not sure what you’re agreeing too. It’s all so much so quickly. Ezra smiles and looks down to where his finger enters your body.

You cry out, and he’s barely a knuckle deep when your walls close around him. He pumps his finger in an out, hooking it just so. You see stars. Your vision goes black at the edges, and your legs shake. He coos, laying you back onto the couch. He’s still working you through it until you start to whine, overstimulated.

He’s showering your face with kisses when he finally stops circling your clit. He withdraws his finger, giving your pussy a slap. His palm falls wetly against your folds, causing a pleasurable little sting.

You’re still catching your breath when he’s opening your thighs again. “You were so good for me, sweet girl, taking that finger. Did I hurt your little clit, rubbing it so hard?” He’s trailing his hand over your abdomen. It tickles, and the skin there quivers. You shake your head.

“Uh huh.” His hand slips down between your legs, cupping your pussy. You groan, arousal stirring again. “I’m gonna kiss it better all the same.”

He slides down the couch, kissing his way over your belly, to the top of your mound. “Ezra,” you moan, and he has to palm himself. “Ezra, please.”

He noses your curls, chin bumping against your folds. You groan louder, feeling the pressure build inside of you. He seals his lips over that tender bud and sucks.

You arch off the couch, crying out. Your heels dig into the cushions and your hands drop to his hair. He nips your clit with his teeth, stealing your breath, and still travels lower.

He looks up at you, eyes hooded. Your slick paints his mustache and patchy beard. You feel a fresh gush of it coat your thighs at the sight.

He probes your entrance with his tongue, and you twist under him. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. There’s pain in the pleasure, but you also need more. He licks a stripe up your seam, and it makes you shake. “You taste so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs against you, and the vibrations of his voice against you almost send you spiraling. “Could stay here all cycle.”

His lips return to your clit, swirling his tongue around the little bundle of nerves. Two fingers probe your entrance, and he slides them in without warning. It’s a stretch; your walls flutter around him to accommodate the intrusion. Then he starts to move.

“Goddamn pretty girl. I think you can take another.” He slides in his ring finger aside the other two after just two pumps, and you groan at the stretch.

“So full,” you murmur, already cock drunk and you haven’t even had it yet. He pumps his fingers in and out of you while eating you out, feeling your cunt tighten and clench around him.

“Gonna give me another sweet girl? One more before you take this cock?”

You find yourself nodding…anything just so he doesn’t stop. He crooks his fingers and presses into that spongey spot inside you, and you keen.

It hits you like a lightning bolt. The tension in your belly unspools, and before you can stop yourself you’re riding his face, hands clenched in his hair. You know it must hurt, but you can’t be bothered to care.

He coaxes you back down with soothing words, his soaked hand rubbing little circles on your inner thigh. “That’s my good girl,” he says to you over and over. “Gonna take this cock so well.”

When you finally come down he’s holding himself, languidly stroking your juices over his shaft.

Your eyes immediately go to the cock in his hand. It’s big…you’re not entirely sure it will fit. Your mouth goes dry as you notice the little bead of precum clinging to the tip.

“It’ll fit, darlin,” he says, reading your mind. “Gonna fill you up good. Like nobody else.”

His cock twitches, and he gives it a squeeze. “Gonna put a baby in me,” you murmur, and he smiles, cock lined up at your entrance. “That’s right, sweetheart. That’s what I said.”

The fat head of his cock breaches your entrance and you gasp. It’s a stretch, and once you’ve adjusted he eases a few inches inside you.

You both groan in unison. You can feel yourself relaxing around him, the initial twinge and stretch all but gone. It’s always hurt before. It’s never felt like this.

He’s got both elbows planted on either side of your head. He bends down to kiss you, and sinks his cock to the hilt.

You moan into the kiss. For a few moments neither of you move. His breath is coming in warm puffs. His hips are moving in little thrusts; he’s not fully fucking you yet…it’s like he’s settling in.

“Knew this pussy would take me,” he grits out. “So perfect. So tight.” He pulls out and then slams back in. It takes your breath. He finds a rhythm, pulling all the way out before thrusting back into your tight heat. His pelvis grinds against your clit. He balances on one arm, pulling up your hospital gown and exposing your chest.

You blush. He looks at you in awe, then bends and licks a stripe up your sternum. “Knew these tits would be perfect, too,” he says before taking one his mouth.

Your mouth drops open. He’s fucking you hard, and you’re so full you wonder briefly if they’ll be any room for his seed. You wrap your legs around him, the wet squelch of your bodies joining and your harsh breathing the only sounds in the room.

He pulls off your breast, a string of saliva dragging from his lips. “I’d come on these pretty titties if it wouldn’t be a waste of seed,” he stammers out. His hips are stuttering…there’s high color to his cheeks, and his hair is soaked in sweat. He flicks one of your hard nipples and it goes white at the sting. “Maybe next time.”

You clench around him at the thought of a next time. He pulls out suddenly and flips you on your belly. He slaps your thigh. “On your knees for me, sweet girl. Gonna pound you deep.” You’ve barely processed what he’s saying before he’s slipped inside you again, fucking you at a furious pace. He is hitting you deeper at this angle, you marvel, and a blooming warmth starts unfurling in your body even more rapidly than before.

Ezra reaches for your clit with his free hand, and it sends you over the edge. You soak his cock, and he groans, pulling you up and grabbing your hips in a bruising grip. A few more thrusts and he’s spilling inside you; his hot release branding your insides.

He collapses against you. You’re both breathing heavily, your body slicked in sweat. Ezra stays there for a long time, pressing sloppy kisses into your shoulder.

You feel sleepy, fucked out. Your eyes slip closed as Ezra slips out of you. He presses what seed escapes back into your loose hole, holding it inside with his fingers.

“Gonna take, pretty girl. We’re gonna populate the new world, you and me. Gonna be a regular Adam and Eve.”

You moan into the couch cushion. You’re pleasantly sore, and your mind is blissfully blank. Ezra’s fingers wiggle within, and you clench around him, trying to keep him inside.

You never wanted to help repopulate the world, you can’t help but think. But if Ezra was by your side, maybe a baby wouldn’t be so bad.

-0-0-0-

[fromthedeskoftheraven]

A forgotten scene

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect) x female reader

Content: 100% pure domestic fluff

Note: I brought the energy from a marathon housecleaning session to my drafts today, found this little abandoned snippet from ages ago and hated to see it go to waste. Lost my taglist. Hope somebody finds this and enjoys it.

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

He’s stretched out in bed when you come back from the kitchen, golden skin burnished by the glow of the lamp perched on his night table.

He has a book propped on his bare chest, practiced fingers deftly turning the page and supporting its weathered spine at the same time. You smile at the concentrated furrow of his brow, the almost imperceptible movement of his lips that he's not even aware of.

Ezra’s eyes stray from the book to find you in the doorway, warming with the spark of unguarded delight that tells you plainly he’s still a little in awe that you’re here, that he’s not going to wake up from a happy dream and find himself in an aurelac pit on some Kevva-forsaken moon.

“My angel of mercy appears.”

“So dramatic,” you tease, crossing to the bed to offer him one of the steaming mugs you carry as he closes the book on the night table.

He only grins, carefully cradling the mug in his hand before sipping the hot tea inside.

Balancing your own cup, you slide between the sheets on the right side of the bed.

Your side.

It had been his only request, the first time you’d shared a narrow, rickety cot in a wretched prospector’s tent, to leave his lone left arm free to reach for you — To lie frustrated in my desire to hold you is a fate too cruel to bear contemplation, dear heart. Now it’s second nature, a steady, silent reminder of your care in the nightly ritual of seeking his embrace.

“How’s the book?” you ask, blowing on your tea.

“Welcoming, as an old friend should be.” His smile is a little sheepish, and you crane your neck to look at the well-worn copy of The Streamer Girl.

You press a gentle kiss to his bare shoulder. “You’re missing her.”

“I do sometimes feel her absence keenly,” he admits. “But her letters, however brief, assure me that my bright little bird is thriving in her studies.” He sets aside the half-empty cup and slouches into the covers, shifting to turn toward you. His warm, calloused hand settles on your thigh with an appreciative stroke. “And I am likewise thriving here in our little haven, with you.”

The apartment isn’t much more spacious than the pod you’d sold to buy it, but no place has ever felt more like home. The cheerful curtains you made from a remnant of fabric Ezra had seen you coveting screen out the city’s glaring lights to shelter you in your cozy cocoon. Ezra’s precious books, annotated in his spidery left-handed script, are stacked neatly on the tiny table in the main room. Clippings of plants from your travels put out delicate roots in recycled jam pots and medicine bottles, and the scent of fresh bread you’d baked that afternoon lingers in the air.

The rich can have their mansions. You only need this warm bed and the man in it.

You smile and comb a silky tuft of blond hair away from his temple with your fingers, watching the corners of his dark eyes crinkle with affection.

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” you say, and mean it.

[pedroshotwifey]

Ezra One Shots

Creampie  Ezra x f!reader - You can’t sleep so you decide to occupy yourself with a project in the kitchen. Ezra is quick to distract you ;) (5.4k)

Requested Ezra Fics

One Condition Marcus Pike x fem!reader x Ezra (Prospect) - 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. (4.9k)

Better Ezra x f!reader - You join Ezra on his unscheduled break, not knowing you're in for the ride of your lifetime. (2k)

Wifey's Christmas Countdown Ezra Fics (Not all Christmas related)

Vulnerable Ezra x vine/tentacle creature thingy? - Ezra falls into a pit and is taken by a pleasurable creature. (1.2k)

[morallyinept]

A list of all my favourite EZRA Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Ezra Fic Recs - Part 1

Ezra Fic Recs - Part 2

Ezra Fic Recs - Part 3

Ezra Fic Recs - Part 4

Ezra Fic Recs - Part 5

Ezra Fic Recs - Part 6

Ezra Fic Recs - Part 7

Ezra Fic Recs - Part 8

Will be added to as I find more...

Jett's Pedro Character Favourite Fic Recs

[write-and-buried]

Trinkets

Ezra x F!Reader

Summary; You hate him. Content | Warnings; explicit sexual content, hate fucking, spitting, hair pulling, unprotected sex, cumplay, general feralness. A/N; I can't say I wasn't warned about this movie. I can say I wasn't adequately warned and therefore feel completely justified in blaming @the-ginger-hedge-witch & @astroboots unbeta'd and yeeted into the void.

He comes home different. The missing limb, the softer edges, the creases deeper in the corner of his eyes. The scrap of a girl he buys a room for pays extra to be sure she’s left alone as he nods at her as she closes the door in his face. 

“Stray?” you ask, pulling your robe tighter around yourself as he turns to the side, slipping between the frame and your not quite open door. Ezra never did like to ask for permission. 

“Don’ look at her, look at me,” he says, fingers beneath your chin as he kicks the door shut. Not a new injury then. He’s confident enough in the movement, in the absence of weight on his right side that you can tell he’s used to balancing, the untethered weight matching his crooked smile. 

You bite back the question, swallowing it like lead as he walks the perimeter of the room. It hasn't changed since he was last here, months ago, maybe. You’re wearing the same threadbare robe, the metal of your floor is just as cold, the sheets and blankets the same faded floral patterns, something you once thought pretty, now looking sad and grim. 

He studies just enough to make you uncomfortable, the silence and clink of worthless trinkets enough to throw you off-kilter, make an uncomfortable shiver appear on your skin. He likes you like this, unprepared and disarmed by the hunt of his gaze, the cool indifference of his stare as he traces your bare legs, the frayed edges of your robe. He rearranges the decor on your shelf, picking up and putting down the pretty worthless gemstones until you shift uncomfortable, crossing at the ankles.

“Take it off” he gives you barely a nod, a shake of the head as he unzips his clothing, chest with mottled bruises and sparse hair appearing as he throws it on your clean floor. Defiance slithers in your stomach, your chest expanding with refusal, a quip, an eye roll. It dies with his thumb tracing his bottom lip. He wants to fuck it out of you, he always likes a little fight. 

He wants your teeth, your nails, his blood on your fingers. The only thing he can give you, little tactile pieces of himself in place of promises he doesn't intend to keep. He gives you keepsakes. Rings of teeth on your thigh that take weeks to fade, a mottled bruise you can count the days with, pain in the shape of his palm print, affection something his whispers as you fall asleep. 

You thought he was seeking softness, the first time you saw him. Something warm and safe to sink into, lose himself in as he shed the weight off his shoulders, stripped himself bare. He’s made of sharp edges. Glass and broken things, puncture wounds in waiting. He has no place for softness, no need to sift through the pieces of what he breaks, find the seam and mend them. He leaves the fallen in his wake. 

You turned him to a girl whose heart he broke in darkness, who pined for a love she never had with a sweet face and an uplifted spirit. Slashed to pretty ribbons as he left with the heart he never promised her. You went after him next, physical revenge for the psychic damage, for the girl whose laughter he stole in a single night. 

He’d put you against the wall as if you weighed nothing, pressing a thick thigh between your legs, pausing enough in his questions to sniff your throat, close enough to brush the sweat on your unwashed skin. 

He had laughed at your reasons, at the weapon you thought to use on him, an annoyance rather than a threat. The low roll of his voice a foreign lullaby, an apology that tasted of bitter poison, settling under your skin. 

“Said nothin’ bout stayin” he murmured. “I promised her she could have me for one night and have me she did, however she wanted, squealing on my tongue and fingers til the sunrise. My fault? That she tried to take more than was offered? That she wanted more than I was willing to so graciously share?” 

His lips had grazed your pulse then, enough to taste its speed, scent the layered coats of fear and sticky arousal of the press of him, the steel on your back giving you nowhere to run. 

“Because I am gracious,” he said, trailing a finger across your jaw. “Even to those with weapons they don't know how to use” 

He kissed you like an attack, licking inside the cavern of your mouth with a hand fixed around your jaw, the weapon hanging useless at your side as you tasted the groan that rumbled through his lungs. 

“Off” 

You strayed too long in the past, the memory of his teeth, tugging your bottom lip, turning you in the darkened corner you’d chosen for your assassination, tearing just enough of your clothing to smear his slick fingers through your folds, cover your mouth and snarl, a command for you to come on his fingers. 

“You hate me girl?” he had asked, pulling his hand from your underwear, subtly adjusting himself as your knees shook. 

“Yes,” you spat, bracing your hands against the wall as you met his eyes. 

You’d watched him walk away, half a smirk as he wiped the shine of you on his lips, left your knees weak and your mind foggy. He showed up at your door later. You never gave him your address. 

He yanks the robe from your body, pulling stitches loose with thick fingers as you let him. You always let him in, the door open just enough for him to slip through, the defiance just enough to wear like armour, to save yourself from being shattered like the pretty gemstones on your shelf. 

He pulls you to your bed, your feet following willingly as he sits, your knees straddling his lap as you brush the patch of blonde that seems to glow in the grimy light. 

“I want to eat your cunt” He grabs your jaw to force eye contact, he keeps still as frozen water waiting for your agreement. He always waits for your agreement. He likes to win. When you nod he lays back, a clumsy heap of muscle as he falls, no arm to catch him as he waits, wanting to watch you shuffle, gently perch your naked body over his shoulders. 

His hand circles your waist, a delicate pattern in a language you don't speak drawn on your spine as he watches, the shape of you as you feel your slick lips peel open for him, a petal waiting to bloom.

He spits on you, holding his mouth open to catch the drips of saliva and your own wetness on his tongue, the taste of you a hint as he breathes you in, loud and obscene, a groan rumbling through his shoulders as his hand anchors to your hip, holding you still. 

“Taste like sunshine on the green” is all he gives, his breath hot over you as your hips jerk without permission, a pulse between your legs like a drumbeat of anticipation, waiting for the soft touch of his mouth. 

He savours you, the final ration in his pack, lazy slow and seeking, snaking his tongue gently through your folds. He juts his chin, his nose into the wet heat of your cunt, scraping his beard against your clit. He’ll ask you to lick it off later, tell you he only wants to share. Your clit throbs in his mouth, the fluttering gentle suction making your thighs shake, the effort of not crushing him, the acknowledgement that it may not be as easy for him to signal distress. 

His teeth sink into your thigh, enough to make you yelp, the zing of pain through your system pouring ice in your veins as you try to jerk away, held in place by his hand, his mouth, the fire in his stare.

“Don’ hold back on me.” he snarls, rage vibrating through his system, a hand cracking across your backside. “Pulling away like drowning in the sweetest honey would be a terrible way to go.” 

“I-” 

“Didn’ ask for your opinion, I asked for your cunt on my mouth” 

Defiance pulls like a tide, your hips rolling into his waiting face, you feel a smirk on his lips as you rest your weight on him. He likes to fuck it out of you. A groan like salvation rolls through his chest, puffs of warm air and slick lips as he mouths at your folds, chases your clit as you grind on his face, holds you still enough to suck, anchor a nip of teeth around the berry of your clit and encourage the aching throb. The scratch of his beard scraping through your spine as his fingers dig hard enough to bruise. 

Your hand twists in his hair as he laps at you, a starving beast, spitting and smearing as his groans increase in volume, matched by the broken whines you don't realise you're releasing, he pulls at you, tugging your hips harder into his face, mouthing through your dripping folds as you squirm, writhe against the iron grip he has on your hip, the barest scrape of his teeth. 

He holds you still to watch your orgasm, wrench his lips from the swollen berry of your clit and stare unashamed at the way you flutter and clench for him, those same soothing patterns are drawn on your hot skin, half a groan, half a laugh erupting from his chest. You want to hit him, you want to fight. He likes it, the twist of your anger with arousal, burning hot in your belly as he shifts under your shaking form, pulls himself up your threadbare bed, his pants straining tight beneath you as he reaches to snarl a hand in the base of your hair, pull you close enough to smell your own release on his mouth. 

“You still hate me, girl?” he asks, brushing his nose against yours as you reach for the fastening of his pants, shoving them down over his hips. 

“Yes,” you whisper, lining yourself up to sink on him slowly, watching the curl of his lip, the feral snarl as he stretches you, the way his hand tightens in your hair. He asks you every time. You’re not sure when you started lying.

“You should” he smiles, pulling you to his mouth for a fervent kiss. It’s all teeth and soft lips, the snapping of his hips sudden and ferocious as he plants his feet to fuck into you, heavy breath ghosting across your cheeks as your hands screw into the sheets, grasping for purchase as his arm snakes around your back, the sound of wet squelching skin filling the room. 

“Should bring you with me next time. Take it out on you instead, come back to a tent and find you just like this for me, wet and swollen open, just waiting for me to fill you up, hm?” 

He pulls your hair, exposing the column of your throat to lick the salt from your skin, bite into the hammering of your pulse, and leave a mark that you’ll cover with clothing, but trace in a mirror with heated cheeks. 

“Keep you safe and warm and well-fucked, would you like that girl?” He doesn't want an answer, his eyes straying to the shaking muscle of your arms, holding you over him, trembling as he savagely fucks up into you, hearing your whine of pleasure is enough. 

It almost hurts. Straddling the fine line between too much and not enough as you shake above him, coming apart at the seams. You want to shout at him, for more, for less, for something as he takes and takes from you, his teeth moving in tandem with the empty promises from his lips. 

“Another, I want another” he groans, with a sharp slap across your ass, pulling you into the motion with him, forcing you to rock and bounce on his length, grind your clit into the hard plane of his pelvis, the corded muscle pushing you over the edge with a soft cry. 

“Good, that’s good girl,” he says, giving you the barest hint of a smile as he pulls you to him for another messy kiss. He pushes the hair from your forehead, sticky and warm as his movements turn slow, a lazy steady rhythm as he chases his own release on the whitewash of your own. 

When he cums, it's slow. Long and thick pulses you feel deep inside you, sliding around his length to coat you both, puddle messy in the weak lamplight of your room. The sounds he makes are gorgeous, hymns from another world as they fall into the shell of your ear.

You feel him soften, slipping from you with a drip of release. He nudges your nose again, angling for a softer meeting of your mouths, an almost lazy kiss. An indulgence for him you know. It distracts you enough that you jolt when you feel his fingers, thick and strong between your legs, swiping through your combined release with a satisfied hum. 

He pulls it to his mouth, sucking his fingers clean as you roll off him, breathless and biting your lip, trapping questions between your teeth. They're the same ones you always swallow, the unfamiliar cracks in your ribcage reopening, yawning raw and exposed. 

“I’m going to wash” is all you say, standing to grab your robe from the floor, not giving him the grace of a look before you leave the room. He’ll be gone before you come back, he always is. 

You scrub your skin pink, hopeful that he hasn't sunk deep below the tissue this time, that you can wash his effect on you down the drain and ignore the clawing in your stomach. This wretched sadness threatens you whenever you return to change the sheets, treat him as the anomaly he is, rather than the fixture you've begun to want. 

He’s asleep when you return, curled beneath your threadbare filthy sheets, his missing arm raised as if the ghost of a limb was behind his head. You watch his features, the softened corners of his mouth, the smoothness of his brow and feel it burrow deeper. 

With a shaky breath, you shed your robe to join him, careful not to touch as you climb beneath the sheets, feeling the heat radiating from his body as you settle facing away from him. He snatches at you like a weapon, a gun drawn from a holster as he pulls you back into him, burying his face in your hair. 

“Meant it girl. Come with me, I’ll keep you safe” is all he says. 

In the silence, you look at the trinkets on your shelf, the worthless gems that glint pretty in the weak light. He’s added three more. Fat glowing shards of blues and greens, mixed the new with the old so maybe you wouldn't notice. 

He always leaves you with pretty things.

[ezras--moon]

C'mere

named after and partly inspired by this Interpol song (one of my favorite bands) - this one's a continuation of Red Smoke.

It's real fluffy, with some angst, and some soft smut. Soooo soft, y'all.

I dedicate this to @sneetsnootyoit @dreamsofmandalore and @serenaxpedro who share my love for Ezra.

Ezra is back from The Green, and he's brought somebody with him - a teenage girl. He's lost something, too. You figure he's changing.

18+ Minors do not interact

word count: 3167

Warnings: slight angst, domestic fluff, soft smut, oral (m&f receiving), unprotected PiV sex.

Puggart Bench was mostly quiet at night, but ever since Ezra had left, you couldn’t sleep. Every day was a struggle with anxiety, a nasty fear stabbing your insides and twisting the metaphorical knife. What if he was dead out there? What if there was no way to recover his body? What if you had to figure out what to do with your life, alone? Ezra had been a powerful force creating a strong current in your life - he had an internal compass and an exact map of what he wanted to do and where he wanted to go, a list to cross off. 

He’d always wanted you around for his journey to any one of the pit stops along the way ever since you’d met, and now you couldn’t be with him, and you were filled with regret. Maybe you should have gone with him. You could have even stayed in the lander, made it homely and warm for him to come back to every night. But you didn’t.

That day when his crew returned without him and another missing guy was the worst day of your life. You didn’t know them, but still pressed them for answers, and one of them physically pushed you away, had you fall on your ass with tears in your eyes and desperation in your voice - and he made fun of you for it. 

They left you sitting there and you went home feeling like someone just dug their fingers into your chest cavity and ripped your heart out in a single motion. You couldn’t feel your legs. They said he started it, he brought it upon himself, and if he was lucky he might find a way to come back, but told you not to wait for him hoping. It was fucked up, the way there was nothing you could do, because everybody knew you could easily perish on The Green. The risk was so great that there was very little the galactic forces could do to intervene. It was so great that crews returning incomplete was a regular occurrence. 

The argument from before Ezra left came back to you then, and you wished you’d been more assertive. You wished you’d somehow convinced him to stay. These three cycles until he miraculously showed up in the middle of the night were the worst days of your life.

~~~

Eyes still puffy from crying, half asleep, you jolted upright in bed when you heard the door code being punched in and the lock snapping open. Hushed voices were audible in the hallway, one of them clearly Ezra, and you were running to the door. The silhouette of him made your heart drop to your knees again - he was missing an arm.

There was another thing; he was leading a small blonde teenage girl into your apartment, she was carrying a pack almost as tall as his own on her back and set it down in the kitchen before Ezra noticed you standing in the shadows near the door. “Little bird-” he said softly, holding out his remaining hand, beckoning for you to come closer.

Then, nothing could hold you back and you rushed to pull him into your arms. He smelled like he’d just been in the shower, and there was a professionally done bandage around the stump of his arm - he must have gone to the medic station before he’d come home. “What the fuck, Ezra.” you said, indiscernible tone. “Please, sit. I have a lot to tell you.” he said, motioning for all three of you to sit around the kitchen table. The strange girl kept her curious eyes locked on you, watching every movement, but giving you a shy smile when you caught her staring.

“This is Cee” Ezra introduced the girl, who gave you a wordless nod. She looked terrified. He introduced you to her and she nodded again. 

“Her father unfortunately passed on The Green-” “You killed him.” Cee interrupted, brows knitted together in a frown that said a thousand words. “You killed her father?!” “Now, hang on a minute there, that is simply not the whole unadulterated truth, Birdie. First of all, he was going to steal my Aurelac, and given that I promised you it’d be my last venture on the godforsaken Moon and had just spent a considerable chunk of time harvesting it, you can imagine that I wasn’t all too pleased with that development.” Cee rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. Seemed like this wasn’t the first time they talked, and disagreed, about it.

“And I didn’t intend to end his life. My partner however seemed too eager to take the first opportunity to do so, and in a subsequent exchange of projectiles - they killed each other.” he explained, and that made more sense. Ezra wouldn’t kill a girl’s father for no reason. Not the Ezra you knew. “By the time Cee here had taken off with her thrower, her dearly departed Daddy Damon was still breathin’, more or less. I ended his sufferin’.” Cee was fuming, boiling furiously, and it was clearly visible in her eyes even in the dim lighting.

You opened your mouth for a reply, but nothing came to mind. All of this was overwhelming and convoluted. Ezra pointed at his shoulder. “Now this, this… situation, that is Cee’s doing. I had it comin’, encroached on her space, you know? She was hidin’ out in her piece of junk lander, thought I’d come to exercise revenge on a little girl. Shot me right in the bicep, fierce little creature she is. Ain’t that right, Cee?” Cee stared at him, wide eyes, a layer of disgust beneath the surface.

Wordlessly you tilted your head, expecting him to elaborate further. He took a deep breath and shot you an apologetic smile which you didn’t reciprocate. “Well, then the two of us made our way to where Damon was leading her, to aid some Mercenaries in diggin’ up more Aurelac. The Queen’s Lair was real, little bird. I saw it” he said, as if you’d care.

“But on our path there, due to inadequate treatment, my arm was beginning to fester, and some Sater attempted to buy this little firecracker off my hands like cattle. Both of us narrowly escaped in different directions, found each other again soon after, and she made quick work of my arm. Got the incision down so clean you wouldn’t believe.” he said proudly with a big grin at Cee, who finally relaxed her shoulders and smiled at him.

“And by Kevva if I hadn’t had her with me, I would not be sittin’ pretty on my behind in our kitchen on Puggart Bench at this moment.” he concluded, and you were confused - was he expecting you to not be filled with rage right now? “Ezra, I thought you were dead. Your crew came back without you three god damn days ago. I’ve got all of your paperwork right here, I was ready to have them pronounce you dead, like officially, and I was going to have a funeral service with an empty urn!” you almost yelled, hands shaking and tears spilling over, running down your face salty and hot.

Ezra’s expression fell and he suddenly looked lost, sad puppy dog eyes as he reached out to wipe away your tears, but you swatted his hand away. His usual persistence gone, he lowered it into his lap instead. The scar on his cheek was shimmering silvery and he began crying too, voice and lip trembling. “I’m truly sorry, sparrow… I wish I could make right by you with something other than the money I made on this trip” You wiped your tears with the sleeve of your hoodie, sniffling and leaning back in the chair. After a beat of silence, you collected yourself. “How much did you make?” you asked, interest piqued. The mischievous grin growing on his face was a thing of beauty - and you couldn’t deny it was exciting to think about the possibility of home ownership on any planet you felt like settling down on. 

“It’s in the millions, I-” he said and you cut him off with a shriek, throwing your hands over your mouth in shock then, and his grin got even wider. Even Cee smiled as you looked back and forth between them both. “Where do you wanna go, pretty girl? Take your pick, the galaxy’s your oyster” Ezra said in a low voice, leaning towards you. 

~~~

Cee decided to stay. She had no family left, she’d grown attached to Ezra despite their short and rocky history, and you liked her, liked what she had to say. She was intelligent and witty, eager to help you both around the house, and excited to dig into the collection of books you kept stowed away in the spare room she now inhabited. Making the place her own, she’d put up photos of her parents on the wall above her bed and spread her own knitted blanket over the sheets.

The teenager also had no small part in picking a planet to settle down on - you unanimously decided on Camrea. Finding a house with some land there wasn’t so hard either. 

You were sitting on the living room floor with them, Ezra’s head in your lap while you read through postings of property for sale and rides to Camrea you could take that would allow for heavy luggage. Cee’s music was playing softly in the background and she was wrapped in a blanket to your left. “Here, look” she said, holding up her tablet to show you an ad for a cottage that looked like something straight from a fairy tale. 

The cobblestone pavement, lush greenery, a moss covered half-globe shaped house and the surrounding land was photographed expertly. There were some kind of furry animals grazing within a fenced area to the side, tall concave windows allowing for an unobstructed view of the sky from inside and gorgeous hardwood floors in every room; it even had a fireplace - it was perfect. You nodded and Ezra turned his head to get a look too. “Bookmark that, girlie!” he said with a smile.

~~~

Two nights after Ezra had come home, you could finally sleep through the night again. He was still learning to do everything with his left hand, though he was looking forward to seeing a doctor and commissioning a prosthetic arm as well. The waiting lists were long and it was expensive these days - not that he had to worry about that last part. 

He was cooking something when you woke up, talking to Cee and laughing a lot; it made you smile into the crook of your arm. This would be easy to get used to. 

It took him a while to get comfortable with having only one arm, his dominant hand missing in his day-to-day as well as your time with him alone in the bedroom, when Cee was asleep just one door down.

You missed the feeling of him being able to loop his arms around your waist and lift you off the floor to throw you onto the bed, you missed his ability to hold himself up and touch you at the same time, and you missed his practiced snaps of his right wrist delivering sharp smacks to your ass. He was getting better at doing that with his left though.

He had you on your back, his big hand splayed on your mound and abdomen, fingertips tracing patterns into your skin there as he buried his face in your cunt. Moaning into you, he devoured you so hungrily, lapping and sucking and taking what you gave him. It was soft and sweet and slow, such a stark contrast to the last time he’d had you before he left. You thought maybe that side of him was gone for good now, deleted by the trauma he endured on The Green. Maybe having a child in the house made him want to be quieter and more careful with you, hesitant to leave bruises.

Whatever it was, you decided to just accept it and ride it out, like surfing a wave. 

His kisses lingered on your skin, wet and warm, trailing all along your sides, your back, your chest and your tummy. His hand was eager to touch all of you and while he explored the expanse of your skin, you were almost certain he was touching spots he’d never touched before. 

He was quieter too, and when he spoke to you, the words weren’t half as filthy. Maybe he was just savoring every second he got to have you all to himself, every moment he wasn’t parted from you.

“Scoot down here” he breathed, moving away and kneeling off the foot end of the bed, and you shuffled down until your legs hung over the edge, on his shoulders. His palm, his fingertips, his knuckles all stroked along your right thigh, slowly up and down as he kissed the inside of your left, and you sighed as you fell back into the mattress.

Fingers in his hair playing with the little blond streak at his temple, you watched him intently as he dipped down below and spread your slick on his tongue, swirling it around your clit just the way you liked. With your mouth agape, you shuddered when he held eye contact from between your thighs and pushed two of his thick fingers inside your cunt. You gasped when he curled them inside you, prodding into your front wall, where you were most sensitive to stimulation of all kinds.

You were in heaven with him then, the deep look into each other’s eyes, brows knitted together. He was full on making out with your pussy and had you unraveling, whimpering and arching your back for him within minutes. “Cum for be, beautiful girl” he coaxed, “wanna feel you squeeze my fingers before I have you ride me to completion-” “Shut up, Ezra.” He laughed and returned his mouth to have his tongue dip back between your folds.

You came with a soft whine you half bit down, he groaned into your heat and closed his eyes for just a moment - you couldn’t wait to find out how hard he was for you in his sweatpants.

He was shirtless already, a fresh bandage patched up the knife wound in his belly; he wiped his mouth on the inside of your thigh after he’d guided you through your orgasm, standing up helped by his palm steadying him on your knee. You could see the outline of his impressive manhood through the fabric of the gray sweats as you watched him come up to your side, standing there and palming himself for a moment just looking at your naked blissed out form in his bed.

You got on your knees and followed him to where he stood, whispering and wetting your lips with a swipe of your tongue, reaching out for him, “C’mere.” He smiled, calm breaths in his rib cage inflating and deflating evenly. You hooked two fingers into the waistband of his pants and pulled him flush against the side of the mattress, pulling them down far enough so his cock was free and right in front of your face.

“You look radiant, you’re a goddess, little bird- fuck, you’re gorgeous like this” he praised as you curled your fingers around him and sucked the head of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around him. He smoothed your hair behind your ear and you helped him gather it all in his hand to hold on to and guide your head as you began to move along his length.

A soft gasp fell from his lips and he was being so careful with you - before he’d left this was rather rare for him, but now he was like this every night you had sex and you didn’t know if you wanted him to stop. Your eyes fluttered shut as he hit the back of your throat and you got him nice and wet, spitting on him and spreading your saliva with your fist.

He stepped out of his sweatpants and crawled past you, leaning back against the headboard as you straddled him. You handed him a pillow and you worked in tandem as he positioned it behind his head and you lined yourself up with his cock. Slowly sinking down, feeding him into you, you both moaned quietly; the delicious stretch of your walls taking him whole made you feel so full of him.

But you were filled with him in other ways too; his homely, earthy scent in your nose mixing with the smell of sex between your bodies, his lips against yours and brushing the side of your neck, his moans and sweet nothings in your ear and his hand squeezing your ass and helping you sink down on his cock in a slow, sensual rhythm -  these all made everything else fade into the background. 

“Baby, you feel so good” you huffed, feeling every inch of him squeezed so tightly in your center “I fucking love your cock inside me.” “I know, birdie, I know.” 

He kissed you. 

He kissed you on your mouth, sighing, rutting his hips upward to meet you halfway as you rode him. “I missed you so much when I was up there, baby, you have no idea” he whispered, “it wasn’t the same without your precious company.”

He kissed you along your jaw, tongue darting out hot against your skin with little bites he left there, quiet, low humming groans in his chest growing more needy and urgent with every set of thrusts in his lap.

He kissed your neck and pressed his lips all over your collarbone too, reaching out to tenderly squeeze your breast. 

Rolling the nipple between his thumb and pointer, stroking the knuckle of his finger reverentially along the curve around the underside as he watched you bounce in awe, he kissed you some more.

You came together, in the midst of a deep, open-mouthed kiss that left you breathless and full of wonder. Ezra was so beautiful then, beneath you with your tits in his face, his deep dark eyes peeking up into yours with so much love, so many words left unsaid - for now. You were sure he was going to find a way to say them soon, as were you.

This time, you took care of him after - sneaking to the bathroom and listening for signs of Cee being awake, finding her snoring in her bed. You cleaned yourself up with a warm washcloth, taking another one with you, along with a fresh bottle of water, for your lover waiting for you in your bed.

Ezra kissed you again as you helped him wipe the sweat off his brow and your combined juices off his still half hard length. He cupped your cheek in his palm and you’d never seen him so calm and content.

[0celesteisthebest0]

celeste!! I am so curious to know about your wip that has these vibes - would you be willing to tell us? 💖💕 hope you’re having a good week, sweet friend!!

AAAAA oh my goodness J! I love you! Truly thank you for asking!!! I always love answering questions so I appreciate it! I do apologize for the ramblings tho lol, this is a can of worms I haven’t touched yet. But I just have so much vibes for the fic!! I have had these wip thoughts bubbling since last summer and AAAAA it’s a bunch of yearning!

The basic premise is it’s a supernatural/mystery and it is a Ezra from prospect x female reader fic. You travel to a very small town after a friend of a friend passed away. Confusion and despair are in the air and it seems to cloud this town. But what is most notable is the fear of what lurks in the forest…

I have small snippets I can share and I do plan on writing smut for this series? I just haven’t gotten around to it or have written an outline sooo

But here is the snippet and a little canva poster? For the fic :)

“Fucking shit,” you yelped in surprise and held your weight through the stair railing. Without your hands to protect your face, the raven continued to swoop at you and try to peck you in the process.

[bits-and-babs]

🐺 - not all who wonder are lost (also congratulations on 6k! your writing is so lovely and I can’t put into words how much I appreciate you sharing it with us 🤍)

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓

pairing: ezra (prospect) x f!reader

warnings: no warnings other than the fact that this is far more depressing than I intended it to be! I hope you enjoy either way!

ezra masterlist | main masterlist | follower celebration | taglist

The silence hangs heavy in the air, like the humidity that sticks to Ezra’s skin. It shines under the dim lighting of the Pod, concentrated and glistening across his brow. Seeping into the forest-green canvas of his lifesuit, the sweat causes the fabric to cling to his body, highlighting the heavy heaves of his chest as he sucks in desperate, fearful breaths. 

A deep, maroon split below his eye continues to weep blood down the apple of his cheek. It doesn’t get very far, Ezra consistently swipes his muddy sleeve across his face to halt its journey to the hollow of his throat, wincing slightly when he catches the cut on the rough material. 

“Ezra,” you whisper to him, brows furrowed as he reaches across the pod and digs inside the storage boxes. You assume, at last, that he’s reaching for the first aid kit. Instead, he hauls out a bottle of whiskey that he had stashed away for the trip to Bahkroma. ‘Just in case’, he had said. 

“Remember when we boarded the vessel?” He begins to talk, his thick, accented voice straining with the dryness in his throat. Ezra casts his oaky irises to the ceiling, swimming with a resentment for the four walls he had been trapped in for days now, the planet you were stuck on, himself. “You were struck with an air of trepidation, were you not? Foretold a danger that I dismissed in my infinite wisdom.” 

The sarcasm that drips from his lips turns your stomach over, and you swallow thickly as he falls into a pit of despair and self-hatred. You had worried this would happen, that Ezra would blame himself for your dire situation. In reality, it didn’t matter anymore. 

“I should have been more attentive,” he whispers, all emotion removed from the tone of his admission and leaving only a vessel, confessing in a monotone drone, “I escorted you into a mouse trap, craving the wealth and the validation that Aurelac gems promised - how foolish of me.” 

A weak chuckle rumbles in his ribcage, his head shaking slowly. “Only one person's judgement mattered, didn’t it? And I squandered her affections, dismissed your eternal affections and belief in me for ridiculous stones that are not worth the labour.”

“Ezra,” you speak up with more force, and his head lolls forward, settling his eyes on you. “What’s done is done. We’ll-... We’ll make it work. We can survive here. Surely there is a way to get off world, or contact somebody back home– don’t give up on me yet. Please?” 

Carefully, slowly, you inch towards him. You’re grateful that Ezra doesn’t deny your affections, that he doesn’t push you away. Instead, he allows you to settle between his legs and rest your head on his chest. Instead of the pushback you expect, the outright denial of your survival chances, you only hear the thumping of his heart against your ear, and the glug of the whiskey as he drinks from the bottle, wallowing for just a little while longer.

[writer-darling]

Are You Ever Dreaming of Me?

Chapter 9: The Great War | Read Chapter 8: Out of the Woods!

I NEVER USE Y/N OR ANYTHING LIKE IT THANK YOU SO MUCH :)

Rating: M - Mature ((for now, but there WILL BE explicit stuff later sooo (18+ MINORS DNI)

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect, 2018) x F!Reader

Warnings: Good old enemies-to-lovers trope. age gap (10 years). Nothing super descriptive for Reader but they are described as having hair. Tension, ofc, especially sexual tension out the wahzoo. Adult language. Alotta feelings and things of that nature. Banter. Flirting. It’s E-to-L, you know where this is going. Feral Ezra (he starts at a 75% but ends up at about a 76.9% in this chapter). Mentions/descriptions of violence, blood, injuries. If there are any that I missed, please inbox me to let me know and I will add them in :)

Word Count: 6.1k

Summary!: A battle breaks out between your crew and a rival group. It's up to you and Ezra to get things under control. Can you two make it out alive?

******

“All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, sweet dream was over

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War…”

He goes from being completely relaxed and peaceful to tense and stressed instantly as you both drop down to the floor. Ezra looks at you for a moment, watching you put on your radio and helmet and zipping up your suit. Before he turns then grabs his thrower... but he can't just leave you when he’s not certain where the gunshots are coming from. He turns back around to speak to you, his voice now hushed, almost to a whisper.

"I've got my weapon charged, but I gotta get to my tent to suit up. Then I’ll deal with the commotion outside. Meanwhile, you need to go and get away from the camp. Deal? If anythin’ happens, promise me that."

“What?” You’re shaking your head as you crawl on all fours over to your own weapon, charging it up in record time as the combat outside continues. “No way, I’m not leaving you.” You hear the sound of someone yelling, 

“Ambush!” 

Clearly requesting backup. Ezra’s eyes are like steel now as they look towards the tent entrance as if trying to see beyond the zip. But his attention is back on you as you speak again, your rifle now cocked and ready at your side.

“Either we go together or we both leave.” You say, knowing damn well he won’t leave his fellow crew, just like you won’t.

Ezra sighs and he nods once to show he understands, much to his chagrin. You're a stubborn thing, that's for sure. His heart races at your response and he’s not sure if it’s from the determination in your eyes to stay with him, or out of pure fear and concern for your safety. Regardless, he pushes it aside for now. He needs to focus on getting you both out of this alive. "Well, I guess that means we both go," he says, trying to keep the resignation out of his voice, "but you need to stay close. I mean close. If I tell you to move or take cover, you do it immediately. You're here to help, not to be a hero. Deal?”

You don’t need to be told twice, nodding sternly as the adrenaline takes over. “Deal.” You respond. There’s another round of gunfire and a brief look of fear flashes across your face but you force it away. “Let’s get out there.”

Ezra gives you the firmest nod he can give as you prepare yourself, and then he moves over to the tent’s entrance, both of you standing completely upright only once you’re both in position. "Alright. Follow my lead." He's looking at you once more before he readies himself to step forward, his hand on the zipper of the tent. "On three. One... two... three," he says, and then he's already moving through the opening. You don't even have time to breathe - he's already in the middle of this. You'll need to stick close to him.

You do as he says and stay behind him closely. The sight before you two is awful, bloody. An acrid mix of blood and gunpowder hits your nostrils as soon as you step out of your tent. The sight of gunsmoke is still fogging up the area. There are a few bodies already littering the dig site, maybe about 7. Some you recognize, some you don’t; the latter likely those that ambushed you. Cases of gems belonging to the rest of the crew are scattered all over the site, most of them broken open with some gems accompanying them. Crushed gems are scattered all along the terrain, the fragments glittering brightly amongst the soil.

Ezra's grip is tense as he moves closer to the bodies, his thrower trained and ready to fire at a moment's notice. He's trying to get a good idea of the situation... How many of them are there? Have they already left, or are there more waiting out on the edges of camp? He stops for a moment and looks back at you, still keeping his rifle out. "You okay?" he asks quietly, his tone gentle, but tense and filled with concern as he meets your eyes briefly before making another sweep of the area. There's just... no way he can lose you out here. He won’t.

“Fine.” You respond with a small assuring smile, though your eyes are also tense and narrow as they do their own sweep of the grounds. The gunfire’s stopped but that doesn’t mean the danger is gone. There’s an eerie silence as you two move across the camp. Like trouble is just hiding amongst the trees, waiting to make itself known. You walk as close to Ezra as you can, the two of you getting back to back to cover each other as you both survey the campsite for the smallest sign of harm.

It’s a quick, but tense walk to Ezra’s tent, only a few feet away. Before he heads inside he speaks:

“Any trouble, you run.” His tone is clear: he’s not asking. You nod and do another sweep as you keep your thrower raised, watching him head inside for only a second before your eyes are on the lookout again. 

He suits up faster than you thought physically possible, his helmet and radio in place when he rejoins you outside. His eyes are darting all over the place as he keeps his thrower up and pointed at any potential threat. He really, really doesn't like this situation at all. He was so happy two minutes ago, and now he's in the middle of a firefight. He sighs softly and speaks in a low voice, tuning his radio to your channel as you both reposition back-to-back once more. 

"This is no good," he says quietly, his face tight with tension. "We’re still in danger - please, be on the lookout. There's absolutely no point in us gettin’ hurt, or worse, over this."

“Yeah, tell me about it.” You say, your eyes fixated and razor-sharp as you two begin to move again. It all seems so still, too still.

Ezra moves over to the two nearest bodies and starts searching them for anything of value. Any clues on which group they could be, any sign of why they chose to attack. He continues to scan the area, keeping watch while he searches... "You notice anythin’ about these rivals?" Something in his voice makes you inspect the corpses just a little bit more.

“They’re dressed like us.” You say. “I know some of these faces but the others I know damn well I’ve never seen before.” You add, keeping your voice hushed. “This was a planned ambush. But which of the groups around us was it?”

“Take a look at their boots,” he points out, using his boot to gesture to the nearest body’s shoes. You do as he says and focus your eyes on the boots. There’s nothing particularly special about the boots themselves but,

“They’ve got clay on them.” You remark, taking note of what Ezra pointed out. The bottom of the boots are caked with mud, but bright red-orange chunks of clay pieces are lodged amongst the dirt. Your gaze flits to the next assailant and you see that the bottom of their shoes are in a similar state. “That means it's the group near the river.” Your eyes go to Ezra as he nods grimly. Both of your radio signals suddenly go off and you look at each other before taking quick shelter behind the watchtower. You both press the button on your radios to switch over to channel 3.

Ezra presses his headset up closer to his ear. He listens for a few seconds, his expression serious as he switches the safety on his thrower. He doesn't want to take any more risks in this moment, and he holds his breath while you both wait in the short silence,

A voice crackles through the signal,

“Ezra, colt, what are your positions?” Denver’s voice floods both your earpieces and you let out a sigh of relief. 

“We’re on site; Ezra and I found each other once the ambush began.” You lie, not telling him you two were together the whole time, knowing that’ll only worsen the rumors. If you two don’t die out here first.

Ezra's eyes light up and he lets his shoulders relax ever so slightly. He listens carefully for a moment and then he speaks into his own radio next, his voice firm and clear. "We're safe, but we need some help. We've already got various crewmembers down. I'm requestin’ assistance and evacuation from camp. How's it lookin’ on your end, boss?"

“Affirmative. Sending backup now. Negative on the evacuation; we can't afford to leave the site right now, there are too many of our crew scattered.” You can hear the sounds of gunfire and Denver yells out a few commands to the crewmembers with him. Ezra closes his eyes in frustration, his jaw tensing for a moment,

“If we linger, we’ll be killed.” He insists and you both wait for a response.

“We’re staying, Ezra. That’s an order.” Denver responds. Your eyes flit to Ezra as he clicks his teeth, still frustrated but he nods.

“Yes, sir… How are y’all holdin’ up?” He asks. 

“We’re still in battle here,” Another round of gunfire in the background complements his words. “A good portion of us are managing to hold the fort in the dining tent. Most of the rivals are gone, and a few ran off towards your area. They scattered once the gunfire began, and probably couldn’t handle the bloodshed. You two hang tight and try to find survivors from our crew. Backup will be there soon.”

Ezra lets out a deep sigh as this is clearly the most positive piece of radio chatter he's had since he started this conversation. He gives another affirmative before signing off, and then he turns back to you. "We need to find survivors and bring them back." He's talking as if he's your superior in both his tone and his attitude. He expects you to listen. "Are you up for that? Are you with me?"

Usually, you’d argue with him, bicker, and be difficult. But now, he’s your friend, your partner in battle. And you know you have to obey if you want the both of you to get out of this mess alive. You nod clear determination in your eyes. 

“I am; I’m with you.” You say firmly and check that your thrower is charged again as you two come out from your temporary shelter slowly.

He nods once and looks around carefully before he speaks again. "Alright," he says, his voice quiet and his eyes moving around constantly, "we need to check the rest of this site. Let's stick close, and be ready to run if things go bad. If you even get the slightest inklin’ that this is about to turn into a situation, you need to warn me immediately. Just say the word and I'll start makin’ a dash for it. We can keep an eye out for others as we move, but safety always comes first. Deal?"

“Deal.” You nod and follow him. You two find a few injured crewmembers and take them to the nearest tent on the far left of the camp. They’re all too hurt to fight, leaving you and Ezra as the only strongholds.

In the distance, you hear another commotion and turn. Your eyes widen as you see more members of that rival group running towards you both, their guns aimed. But you’re outnumbered 5 to 2 and you turn to Ezra.

“Run!” You yell and wait for him to move before you do. Gunfire begins to rain down on you both.

Ezra's eyes go wide as you yell out your command, and in the next moment, he's already turned and sprinting away as fast as he can, making good time. He briefly glances back for you as he suddenly makes a hard right, taking a tight turn around a large rock formation. Just as he's going around, he yells back to you over his radio, "I'm going to lead them away from here. When I do, I want you to get the hell outta here! Understood?!"

“What?? No!” You yell back as you run, the sound of gunfire no longer following you, but following to where you saw Ezra last. “Are you crazy?? You’re outnumbered, they’ll kill you or catch up to you!”

"It's not a choice, rook!" Ezra calls back as he begins to run again, in zigzags as the gunfire rains down on him once more. There's a burst of gunfire off to your right, and then the sound of Ezra yelling out in pain... but then it all goes quiet.

Everything's so quiet, and you can't see where he went after he rounded the corner. You don’t hesitate even as your body goes cold and your heart drops into your stomach. 

“Ezra!” You yell. A sudden zip brushing your suit shoulder makes you look up and you spot one of the enemies from the group that has now followed you. You’re quick as you both get into a shootout, one of your strikes finally hitting their shoulder and knocking them down, you don’t hesitate as you shoot again, this one piercing their helmet and hitting them square between the eyes.

Before you can dwell on that much, you watch as the group of enemies that went after Ezra suddenly walk back into view calmly. But they’re not looking at you, so you drop down into the tall grass. At that moment, you hear more shouting and more gunfire behind you.

Turning, you spot the backup you requested coming in hot. There are 7 members of your crew and you smile despite your concern for Ezra. You watch as they run towards the group of 4 rivals, and let them handle things as your attention is now solely focused on finding him.

“Ezra, come in! Ezra, answer me!” You yell into your radio, deep dread filling every cell in your body, threatening to paralyze you but you force your legs to keep moving.

As the gunfire behind you continues, you can hear the radio signal cut in and out while you yell for him. Your crew members don't even hesitate when they see what's going on - they all start to fire back at the attackers, and they manage to take out two of them. The other two run for cover as the situation changes dramatically in the next few seconds...

There's silence for a few more moments and you feel like they could be hours. And then Ezra's radio signal finally kicks on. His ragged breathing is the first thing you hear and the relief you feel is instant. He speaks next and while his voice is strained, obviously in pain... he's alive, and that’s what matters most to you.

"Are you okay?" He groans, his voice a rough pant.

“Are you??” You ask, still running and looking for him with your weapon at the ready. “Where in Kevva’s name are you??” You ask.

"I'm alive," he says, his voice grim, and there's a slight grunt as he speaks. "Those bastards shot me good... I can't keep up like this. You need to go back." Another bullet rips through the bushes nearby at the same time he's talking, but you only glance back once before you run faster, not knowing or caring if that bullet was meant for you or not. Then he adds, "There's no way they came here randomly. They're lookin’ for somethin’, and I think we've already made a mess of their plans. You need to leave, okay?"

“Like hell!” You respond. “Absolutely not, I either leave here with you or I die here, Ezra. Now tell me where you are!” You say.

"I'm at the caves, alright?" he says, letting out another grunt of pain, "Please, go!"

He doesn't waste any time explaining the situation to you. And you don’t waste time trying to convince him, all your focus is on finding him. Just then, a burst of gunfire erupts from the direction of the caves. Ezra isn't kidding... this situation is about to get very bad, very quickly. You can't leave him.

"Please!"

“No!” You yell back and cut the radio, even as you hear him start to protest. Your legs burn as you push your speed to its limits, but after another few seconds, the caves finally come into view.

You can hear the sounds of a struggle. Your eyes narrow slightly as you go in through the nearest entrance, turning on the light atop your gun. The near-darkness is cut as you make your way into the cave, your body tense. Your eyes go to where the sound is coming from and you almost freeze when you see that he’s in the middle of a scuffle with an enemy, his gun a good distance away. But Ezra’s got the upper hand from the looks of it as he straddles his assailant, punching him. The man’s glass helmet is shattered and as you hear bones breaking, you don’t know if the helmet’s shattered from the force of the punches or from so many attempts at breaking it. 

But then the situation shifts when the man punches Ezra on his right side and Ezra yells in pain, falling. The man moves and is quick to crawl on top of him. 

A scream lodges in your throat as a knife appears in the man’s hand suddenly as he raises it, aiming to stab it into Ezra’s chest. Your heart clenches almost painfully at the look of fear in Ezra’s eyes. A bullet zips from your weapon and hits the man square through the jaw, making him yell and Ezra freeze. You hadn’t even realized you’d taken a shot until his panicked eyes glance up. When Ezra sees that the bullet wasn’t meant for him, he relaxes, moving out from under his assailant. 

You move next as you hear the enemy gurgling blood and approach them both, using a final bullet to put the man out of his misery. You drop down to Ezra’s side as you take cover. He quickly crawls over to where his gun lies and grabs it before rejoining you and getting into position beside you. His eyes meet yours just as you both hear more men coming through, both of you once again aiming your guns forward.

The relief that fills you is immediate even as you see that he’s clearly injured. As an unrecognizable group of 4 comes in, you and Ezra immediately begin to shoot. Ezra grunts with effort and pain after every shot, but you’re too focused on the firefight to take a good look at him.

“Miss me?” You ask your eyes forward.

He lets out a quiet chuckle as a shot zips dangerously close to your left shoulder, and another brushes over Ezra’s hair. "Ah, you're somethin’ else." He remarks as he hits the man who took a shot at you square in the heart, while you hit the man who went after him in the leg. "Thank you," he adds. You only nod and keep it up, the adrenaline making this fight seem like it lasts 5 seconds and 5 hours all at once.

After a few minutes, the gunfire stops... but only because all four of your attackers are dead. You can see all four of them on the ground. You and Ezra slowly rise from hiding. "Are you hurt?" He asks, breathing roughly as he limps closer to you, his eyes scanning your body.

“No, but you are.” You say, straightening up and feeling the relief of the fight’s end wash over you. “Where are you hit?” You ask him, your attention is now undivided as you zero in on his injury.

"My right side," Ezra says, lifting his arm up to reveal a fairly large wound that's now bleeding out onto his suit. 

“Was it a clean break? Straight through?” You ask, and he nods.

“Yeah… think so.” He grits his teeth in pain as he talks, and he keeps his right arm down at his side. "I'll be alright," he says in an attempt to reassure you, even though he's in a lot of pain. "We need to treat this, though."

“Goddamnit. We need to get you back to camp, fast. Can you walk?” You ask him, your eyes scanning him for any other injuries.

Ezra nods once as he lets out a sigh, "Yeah... I can walk. It's gonna hurt pretty bad, though."

He winces at the pain of having his right arm up at his side. He looks over at you and nods. "I'll be fine. We'll get through this... just like we've always done. Okay?" he says with a faint smile. You nod in response, the worry clear in your eyes as they flicker between his face and the large bloodstain on his suit. "Now let's get going. We've got med kits waiting back at camp."

You nod and immediately fall into his left side, slinging his left arm over your shoulders and letting him lean his weight on you as you two walk back to camp together. You’re trying to be as gentle as possible but you’re also trying to rush, knowing he needs medical attention as soon as he can get it.

You send a signal to Denver and his voice floods your radio.

“Colt. where are you?”

“Exiting the caves, sir. Ezra’s hurt. I’m walking him back to camp now.”

“Sending two men your way. How bad is the injury?” He asks. You glance over at Ezra as he winces, almost tripping on the uneven soil again.

“One gunshot, straight through, on his right side. Below his ribcage. I can’t tell yet if it hit any major organs.” 

“Alright. Keep walking you two, help is on the way.” 

“Clear.” The signal goes quiet and you don’t speak again as you and Ezra continue walking.

Ezra leans on you the entire way, moving as quickly as he's able. Occasionally, he makes a sound of pain through his teeth or yells if he trips or moves too quickly... but he's pushing forward despite that. 

You can see the camp up ahead - just a minute or two more. It seems like everything has been shifted over to the dining tent. There are men outside already, all of them helping tend to injured survivors... and a few of them rush over to meet you as you get closer. 

They take Ezra from you and carefully guide him into the tent. You follow close behind them, your eyes not leaving Ezra until you’re inside, where the dining tables have been shoved to the far edges to make space for cots and medical equipment. They place him on the nearest empty cot, where you see two more men already waiting. Few prospectors have medical training other than the basics. Yourself included. You remove Ezra’s helmet and radio for him, setting them aside on the floor.

Ezra's wincing in pain as he's moved onto the cot, and you notice that he's clutching at his side and looking up at you with a grim expression on his face. The two men who brought Ezra in leave to go help elsewhere, while the other two get to work right away. They're wearing gloves and sterile attire and you watch as they cut away at the immediate cloth covering his injury.

“How can I help?” You ask; you’d rather be put to work somehow and offer assistance than just sit around worrying about him. If you can help stop his pain somehow, you’ll feel better and so will he.

The man working as the primary attendant looks over at you. You briefly recall his name is Terrant. “You can help hold him down."

You remove your own helmet and radio, along with your gloves, tossing everything aside next to Ezra’s gear. You wash up quickly before you get onto the cot, near Ezra’s head. He lets out a moan as Terrant begins to dig into the wound, but he grits his teeth and keeps his mouth shut. As you start pressing down on Ezra's shoulder, his face contorts, his face pale and sweaty.

“Hey, look at me.” You say softly, speaking to him in a low soothing tone. “How are you holding up?” You ask, trying to get him to keep his eyes on you and not on what they’re doing to him.

Ezra lets out a long breath of air, but he manages to keep his eyes on you. "I'm not doin’ so hot," He says in a whisper - but he's staying calm and controlling his breathing to keep his pain under control. When he speaks again, he's still quiet, but he manages a soft smile for you. "How are you?" he asks, "You okay?" He looks at you for a moment before he closes his eyes, knowing what's being done is for the greater good.

“I’m fine.” You say, and the shock in your voice is evident. You’ve barely got a scratch on you. “You’re a goddamn lunatic, you know that??” You ask with a soft laugh. “You ran off by yourself, chased by a crew of four. Do you have a death wish??” You ask him, your tone light but it’s clear that you’re very concerned about him.

Ezra chuckles as you call him a goddamn lunatic, but his laugh is cut off as he's suddenly hit with another wave of pain. His eyes shoot open, and you see his eyebrows clench. He takes another long, slow breath, and after a few seconds, it passes. "...I've survived worse," he says, finally looking back up at you with a faint smile. "Besides, I knew you'd come to rescue me, starflower."

That pet name again. You smile and shake your head, even as a light blush creeps into your cheeks. “You’re lucky I’m stubborn and don’t like following your orders.” You say. “Besides… you saved not only my ass but the asses of those injured. What happened to ‘not being the hero’?” You tease softly, quoting him from earlier.

Ezra laughs as you quote himself back to him, and he shakes his head once. "How could I not try to save that perfect smile of yours?" he asks playfully, and then he looks away... even now, he's flirting with you. Even in a situation like this, he still has it in him to make you feel special... but now isn't the time for that. For now, there are more important things happening here, so Ezra takes another deep breath. "How’s it lookin’? Any hope?" he asks, sounding genuinely nervous.

You nod and refocus, looking over at the crewmembers tending to him. It’s looking a lot better already. They’ve cleaned away the blood, and start applying some sort of antiseptic to the wound. This makes Ezra grit his teeth even more... but he knows how important it is that they properly treat him. With less viscera, it’s not as terrifying, making you relax further. You grab a rag from the medkit and clean the sweat away from his face and hair.

“They’re almost done with one side.” You say softly. “Just keep looking at me.” You instruct, leaning a little closer to him.

Ezra looks back at you as you lean in. "I don't have any intention of lookin’ anywhere else, sweetheart," he says softly, and for once he's not trying to be flirtatious. You can hear the sincerity in his voice as he's doing so. You reach your hand up and take his, gently squeezing it, and he smiles at you... maybe not as deeply as he normally does, but his eyes convey more than any words could. "Can you stay here with me ‘til the healing's done?" he asks, his voice soft. You smile softly. 

“Oh, what, you thought you could get rid of me that, easy, huh?” You ask. “Absolutely I’m staying.” You say, squeezing his hand gently in comfort. His grin widens and the relief in him is palpable. Your lips brush his temple before you can stop yourself.

His hand goes limp in your grip as you do - he flinches in his cot, mostly from surprise, and his eyes seem to go wide for a brief moment as if his entire world stops for a second... But then he's got a smile on his face, and he looks at you with a raised brow. "Now, why'd you have to go and do that?" he asks playfully. "Just couldn't resist, huh?"

“Fuck you.” You say, even with a wide smile. “It’s called being grateful, jackass. Maybe you should try it sometime.” You respond with a good-natured eye roll.

Ezra laughs at your response and smiles as he squeezes your hand back, a hint of playfulness to his tone. "Fair enough," he says, returning the eye roll. “For the record, you did save me back. So I suppose you just owe me one ass-savin’.” He says playfully. You grin in response. 

“Oh, I do, huh?” You ask, smirking. “I mean you’re the one saving someone you said is only ‘tolerable,’” You quote him with a knowing smile.

Ezra lets out a long breath of air, and he laughs softly. “Well, I think we’re long past that, rook. Wouldn’t you say?” He asks, and then he smirks a little bit before he speaks again. "Besides, I’m a hurtin’ man right now, clearly on my deathbed! Are ya really gonna tease me about my ego some more?" His eyes twinkle with amusement and the sight is a relief to you. You look around for a moment and spot Denver directing two more injured crew into the tent.

“Maybe just a little. You gotta admit, your ego’s bigger than most.” You don’t realize how insinuating that sounds until you look over and see the look on Ezra’s face. You roll your eyes. “Kevvasake, you really are 14 years old.” You mutter with a grin.

His eyes light up, a short laugh escaping him even as he’s in pain. He blushes, and then he tries to think of something to say, but he comes up empty. You roll your eyes at him, blushing yourself. 

“Listen, I didn’t realize what I said until after I said it, alright?” You say with a grin, backtracking.

“Right..." he says playfully, "Sure you didn't." He smirks and rolls his eyes at you, but he's still laughing a little bit. "I'm the 'kid' here, right?" he asks, and when he sees you're blushing and getting flustered, he can't help but smile going quiet for a minute or so before he speaks again. 

"And, since you didn’t leave me for dead I guess that means you really like me, yeah?" he asks, a little smirk touching his face. His voice is still low and soft, but it's impossible for you not to smile at it. 

“No, of course not, this entire friendship was all a ruse to let your guard down and get shot, as was my plan all along.” You respond sarcastically before your tone softens, becoming more sincere. Your eyes bore into his as the atmosphere shifts between you both. 

“Yes, I do.” You respond honestly. You can tell he’s surprised by your sincerity but he doesn’t let it faze him too much, blushing and smiling instead. 

“Well… I can admit that I really like you too." There's a slight smirk on his face as he says that, a more rogueish twinkle in his eyes as he leans in a little bit closer. You grin and kiss his temple again before the other prospector next to Terrant speaks while Terrant cleans off the tools he’s been using,

“Okay, we’re done with the entrance wound, now we gotta do the exit wound.” The man says. “Can you help me get him on his stomach?” He asks you and you nod immediately.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Ok, on three.” You two carefully flip Ezra over on the cot and he shouts in pain, making your heart break a little.

“Easy, Ezra, easy.” You say softly as the two others begin working. Ezra nods even as his face is contorted in pain, his eyes shutting for a moment. “Hey,” You say softly and tilt his chin up to find you. “Uh-uh, keep looking at me.” You say, boring your eyes into his. He nods and does as you ask, his face red and a sweat on his brow. You clean it away with the rag. He moans in pain but he stays still, his gaze locked on yours. “Really rethinking saving my ass now, huh?” You joke.

“Oh, never.” He responds with a breathless laugh as he tenses every muscle in his body to keep himself still. “I’ll take this any day as long as you’re still here to look at me with those pretty eyes.” You roll your eyes at him but grin, kissing his forehead again. You smile and keep him distracted until Terrant’s wrapping up.

“Ok, we’re just about done here.” He says, giving Ezra’s wound a final rub down of antiseptic. You smile, relieved, and kiss Ezra’s temple once more.

Ezra's eyes go wide again when you kiss him on the temple for a third time, a tingle shooting through him as he holds his breath again. He quickly gets his composure back, though - but he's still blushing. He looks at Terrant, then he raises an eyebrow and speaks in a grim tone. "Is that right?" he asks, "All patched up then?"

“Yeah, looks like the bastards missed your liver by about 3 inches. We’re gonna give you something for the pain; a good amount of morphine. It’ll probably put you to sleep, let your body heal and rest.” Terrant says as the prospector assisting him prepares the injection. Your eyes go wide and you quickly look away, hiding your face, even though you’re not the one receiving the shot.

Ezra grimaces as he sees the needle come out, but he doesn't flinch when it punctures his skin. He holds himself very still for a moment, letting out an occasional grunt of pain as the medication flows into his vein... but he just keeps holding your hand, and he squeezes it gently before the drugs fully kick in. He looks up at you with a slight smile, and then he closes his eyes. "I'm here... I'm here," he says quietly, breathing deeply. "I'm not goin’ anywhere, okay?" he says, his voice soft and gentle.

You look at him in surprise. “Are you comforting me??” You ask him incredulously. “You’re the one getting injected!”

Ezra laughs for a moment before the morphine starts to take effect, and his laugh quickly becomes muted and muffled. "I can do both, can't I?" he asks softly, his voice trailing off slowly before the drugs start to affect his voice. As his breathing goes shallow and his body starts to relax, he just smiles at you. "I'm here... promise..." he says one last time, his eyes closing and his breathing now very soft. You watch him and your heart stutters as the last thing he does is whisper your name before he finally falls asleep.

You laugh at him softly as tears sting the corners of your eyes, a myriad of emotions running through you. “Blessed Kevva, you really are a lunatic.” You mumble, but he’s already fully asleep. You kiss his forehead once more and brush his hair out of his eyes. You’re just watching him as he sleeps and petting his hair.

Terrant clears his throat to grab your attention and you focus on him.

“He’s really lucky, but he’s not in the clear yet. This next 72-hour period is important to ensure that his injury isn’t infected. I know a lot of the groups like to poison their shots to damage enemies further. He’ll need to be monitored around the clock for the next few nights.”

“I can do that.” You respond immediately. “Whatever it takes.” Terrant nods.

“Ok. I’m gonna go help out, but if he wakes up again, you call me.” He says, You respond with another nod and he leaves with his assistant after you’ve thanked them for all they’ve done. Your eyes go to Ezra and the worry still settles in your heart as you go back to caressing his hair.

You realize then that you don’t hate Ezra, you don’t like Ezra… you love him. You truly love him.

******

I have to say I was especially excited to upload this chapter. It's the chapter that inspired this whole series in the first place. I had to reread the battle scenes so many damn times to make sure I got it all and it made some sort of sense. Hopefully it worked, haha. Next chapter will be up next week! Thanks a million and see you in the next one!

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