#touch starved ezra

[husband-steve-cortez]

MEN! Wear collars

[shadowworldwanderers]

Surprising Tenderness - Ezra Matheson/Matilda 'Tilly' Westwood

A/N: Part 4/4 for @jmathesonandsiblings prompts from the touch-starved prompt list. Ezra is theirs, Tilly is mine.

It comes almost out of nowhere, Ezra pulls her into the tightest hug she’s had in years and Tilly… Tilly freezes, her eyes closing as she fights down instinctive panic. Her touch is hesitant on his back, her smile softly shy when he pulls back a little to look at her. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” She’s quick to sooth him, her laugh softly shy, a little embarrassed. “I just…. I forgot how good it feels to be hugged and not just…. Pounced on.” His lips cover hers, soft, a brief, gentle kiss before he pulls back slightly. “You deserve more hugs, Tilly… you are… incredible.” Tilly’s laugh is soft, sweetly happy and she kisses him softly in return. “Guess you’ll just have to keep hugging me then.”

[tragically-jane-doe]

😺👗💔💝 for Jane/Penny for the ask game =P

😺 animal HC I have like 2 thoughts for this I'm sorry for the first one

she never had a pet in Elysium they just simply weren't allowed so she would ask (force) Ezra to play pretend with her that he was a dog or cat. Tbf she was a wonderful pet owner okay like amazing at it.

When she got older she found out she's allergic to cats and now has 13 cats that she loves deeply they're all rescues. I have HC bout all her cats but I won't bore you with them

👗clothes hc

So girlie lived on a Commune, so I definitely believed she didn't get many new clothes growing up. She had this pair of overalls by the time they ended up to her they were 2 sizes to big and long but this girlie hemmed them tf up and patched them and wore them for years until at some point they were a whole different pair of overalls

💝love languages hc

She's a toucher. Hugging, hand holding, head pats, even a fist bump she desperately wants to give contact to show how much she loves people. She was so happy when the choir started to do the same for her

💔 angsty HC for last cus I'm mean

Penny loves her parents, she feels guilt over everything that happened with Elysium, that all she wanted was to understand the outside world and in doing so it cost them everything. She writes letters and calls and trys to visit her parents. They won't respond to her. Her social worker tries to tell her that all of this was going to happen anyways, she doesn't listen. Because she loves her parents and it's her fault it has always been her fault

She's used to the silent treatment but God does she hate it

[fandoms-spamdom]

ezra iris fandomspamdom hru this lovely evening

I’m good

[morallyinept]

A list of all my favourite JOEL MILLER Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

PART 19

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.

Illicit Affairs - @toomanystoriessolittletime

Lover, Share Your Road Series - @chronically-ghosted

Interloper - @marisferasiop Featuring Ezra

Flower - @aurorawritestoescape DDNE

Mornings Like These - @joelsgreys

Honey Beekeeper!Joel, Closer Artist!Joel & Every Man Gets His Wish PornStar!Reader - @joelsmochi

Caught & Taught - @intoanotherworld23

Discipline - @pedge-page Sub!Joel

Too Much - @corazondebeskar-reads Dark

Got My Mind On Your Body - @thetriumphantpandanotifs

Captive - @joelsgreys Raider!Joel

Hard Pill To Swallow - @cerridwen007

Comfort In His Arms & Love Amidst The Blue Series - @mermaidgirl30

For You, For Me - @swiftispunk

The Duke's Illicit Affair - @hellishjoel Duke!Joel

Amateur - @ezrasbirdie

Spring Prompts - Day 5 - @nerdieforpedro

Untitled Drabble, Sweet Days Of Summer & Between Two Lungs Featuring Tess Servopoulos - @ozarkthedog

Please, Mister, Please - @grogusmum

Proper Education Series - @itsokbbygrl Saltburn AU Joel

Turtle Doves Series - @unseededtoast

Desert Dust - @katiexpunk

Nylon Lust - @decembermidnight

Mine - @secretelephanttattoo Featuring Tess Servopoulos

That Summer Seemed To Last Forever - @blueeyesatnight

En El Mar - @magpiepills

Cabin Fever - @gutsby DDNE

Light The Flame - @yeollie-plz

Wildflowers & The Rite Of Movement Series PornStar!Joel Featuring Tommy Miller - @tightjeansjavi

Piss Kink Series 1, 2, 3, & 4 - @pedge-page Sub!Joel

Dance Away Your Cowboy Blues - @kedsandtubesocks CountrySinger!Joel

Morning Bliss - @aurorawritestoescape

Falling For You - @fhatbhabie PlusSize!Reader

When You Call My Name, I won't Answer - @vivian-pascal Stranger!Joel

Him. He. Joel - @undercoverpena

Wings, Fire, Magic Series - @mountainsandmayhem Dragon Trainer Joel AU

All Good Things - @criticallyacclaimedstranger

Ask Nice For It - @thetriumphantpanda BostonQZ!Joel

3:00 Special - @toxicanonymity Slasher!Joel

Take Me - @getitoutofmymindwrites

Able - @ladamedusoif Disabled F!Reader

3 Hours - @milla-frenchy

A Happy Man - @psychedelic-ink No Outbreak!Joel

A Flower In February - @missredherring

The Warmth Of Your Gaze, The Lingering Of Your Touch - @beskarandblasters Disabled F!Reader

The One You Need Series - @loliwrites Neighbour!Joel

Starving - @palioom

Clot - @luxurychristmaspudding

Your Heart, A Sonnet - @kedsandtubesocks Author!Joel

Sunshine & Honeymoonin' - @princessanglophile

[tommysversion]

Request Status: Open (Selective)

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

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

Be My Future - Din x Reader (Breeding Kink)

Possessive!Din

Touch Starved Din

Teaching Din To Eat You Out

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

Over Eager, Inexperienced Din

Din Spanks You With His Belt

Din When You're Pregnant

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

Din As A Girl Dad (SFW)

Domestic!Din x Teacher!Reader (SFW)

"I'm Not Wearing Underwear" - Prompt

Headcanons

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

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

Joel's Kinks

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

Differences Between Game!Joel & Show!Joel

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

Mine - Possessive!Reader x Joel

DBF! Joel Catching You Staring At His Arms

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

DBF! Joel Has Enough Of Your Teasing

DBF! Joel With A Bratty Reader

Joel Sees Your Scars (SFW)

Seducing Joel

Joel Wants You In Sub Space

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

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

Pre Game - DBF!Joel x Confident!Reader

Plus Size Reader Is Reassured By Joel (SFW)

“We Have To Make This Quick” - Prompt

Joel When You’re Sick (Headcanons)

Heat - Ezra x F!Reader

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

Ache - Ezra x AFAB Reader (Sex Pollen Fic)

Jealousy, Jealousy (Alt Version)

Bedside Manner (TLOU2 Spoilers!)

Taboo

Part One (SFW)

Part Two (SFW)

Tennessee Nights (Part One)

Tennessee Nights (Part Two)

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

A Breath Of Fresh Air - (Dubcon Smut)

[netherfeildren]

Forfeiting My Mystique

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader

Summary: You're a girl made of golden gossamer, a work of art come to life, and Ezra, well he's dedicated his life to collecting beautiful things.

-OR-

An Ezra Art Collector AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: voyeurism; kind of objectifying? (not sure how to tag the strange shit going on here); ezra’s weird; mommy issues; references to past childhood abuse; touch aversion/touch starved (at the same time); sugar daddy vibes; size difference; oral sex (f! receiving); butt stuff lite; dom/sub undertones; power dynamics; self esteem issues x2; panty thieving; masturbation; obsessive behavior; possessive behavior; brief mention of recreational drug use; brief discussion of parent death

A/N: This is extremely self indulgent - basically I wrote it for me, but you guys can read it too. I know I took some liberties with Ezra's characterization but whatever.

Inspo (and some of the dialogue) pulled from Lenny Kravitz’s Paris town house Vogue tour, Jeremy Strong’s favorite things GQ interview, and “Marianne” from Delta of Venus by Anaïs Nin.

Title is from the poem by the same name by Kaveh Akbar.

Word Count: 12K

Read on AO3

Ezra has always loved beautiful things. Since he was a child, his mother taught him to instill an appreciation for beauty into all facets of his world. She herself, a gorgeously beautiful creature, was well versed in such a life. But beautiful as she was, she was also cruel, selfish, capricious to her very core, and she’d turned him into a strange amalgamation of a man by proxy. At once also cruel and selfish and capricious, but hurt and soft and gnarled, as well, so that he was also made gentle and aware and hopeful. That above all else, his greatest weakness, always hopeful. Perhaps, to the point of naivety, the point of peril. For he looked for beauty in all things, and to do that, he was forced to bestow his hopeful eye upon even the ugly and harsh things of the world. 

And so he’d dedicated his life to finding those beautiful things. An art collector by virtue, they called him. A vulture, a scavenger, a treasure hunter. A man full of greed and pride, demons and too much money. All he thought of himself as, was hungry. So yes, perhaps a scavenger, a morsel of greed within the marrow of his bones, always looking for the next sublime artifact, painting, statue – person. But he also liked to think of himself as a protector of those beautiful things, of historic things. Things that changed the very face of humanity, shifted the tide of the world. A collector – always in search of the next life changing sight. Always certain the world was filled with endless possibilities for beauty, for loveliness, for sensuality, for something to captivate, to overwhelm him.

-

The first thing he sees are your feet. Standing in the gallery over from the one you’re inhabiting, people he doesnt know or give a fuck about talking at him, schmoozing and preening and prostrating themselves. Probably hoping he’ll cough up a couple million euro for whatever cause they’re pretending to crusade behind at the moment. He can see only the quarter bottom half of the famed performance artist he’d heard so much about. The entire exhibit tonight had been built around you, and it had the whole of Paris raving and ravenous for a piece of the lovely morsel they so claimed you posed as. Shallow and vain creatures that the peers of his echelon were, they were easily amused and easily bored by the smallest passing fads. At once desperate to be the first to see or speak of a thing, and consequently, the first to discard it as dépassé. 

He’d made the trek all the way to the Left Bank from his townhouse in the 16th arrondissement, to see the performance of the woman whom his associate, Oruf, had said would change the way he thought of a living creature forevermore. Big words from a little man, Ezra had no real inclination to believe. 

The angle of the wall blocks most of you from his view – granting him the sight of only your knees down. Your feet are small, he can see the tiny square shape of your nails, the gleam of them under the soft warm overhead light – lying on your side, one slotted above the other. The fine architecture of your ankles – delicate, the blue hued veins crawling like vines up the top of your foot, lost to the pale of your skin. The smooth, glossy slope of your calf, up to the flat round of your patella. It’s all he can admire from where he stands. Pretty legs, but nothing to lose one’s head over so far. 

The person talking at him is interminably long winded. Ezra would like nothing more than to beg them to shut the fuck up and be on his way. He wants another drink. He wants to see you in full. He’d heard so much about the woman sitting for the live art exhibit. You’d been heralded into a creature of myth by the wagging tongues of Paris. He wanted to discern for himself the level of sanctity you deserved. He wanted to see your face. 

Finally, he’s able to demure from the conversation, the promise of ten million euro for the charity of the sycophant’s choice, promised off-handedly – any amount of money would’ve been too little to get the gaping, begging maw to quit it’s yapping. 

He slinks along the shadows of the walls, a vulture in its natural habitat. The lights brought down to a low warm hue, meant to shape itself along the contours of your skin, bring out the soft gleam within you. Surely the oldest trick in the book, that of light and shadows. He moves further into the room slowly, your back to him. The plush round of your bottom comes into view, two little dimples gracing the low of your back, the notches of your spine, up, up, to the heavy mantle of your hair. You’re resting on your hip, your torso twisted so your chest is pressed to the chaise you lounge on, your head laying cradled in the circle of your bent arms. There is a tiny, delicate outline of a sparrow tattooed at your shoulder. He watches the slow rise and fall of your back, the shadow of your ribs – he’d feed you more if you were his. The thought comes unbidden – a little shocking – a lovely bottom, beautiful, long hair, but for a man like Ezra – one who so wholly avoided any sort of ownership by another or over another, the thought of such intimacy, something to cause revulsion, not desire, coming from his own psyche, it’s almost distressing to acknowledge as his own. 

The crown of your head gleams like a halo in the soft overhead gallery light. The room is muted, voices hushed, and the patrons rove around your unmoving body, the rhythm of your breath the only discernible sign of life on your form from back here. Oruf had claimed that you did not move a single millimeter during the entirety of the three hour long performance. He sure as fuck didn’t believe that. He was having a quite, self proclaimed, contrary and bitter season, by his own choosing, and was prone to bouts of obstinance and general disagreement at anything and everything that presented itself to him. He was choosing, as of now, to not believe in your myth.

He moves further around the center where you lay in repose. He needs to see your face. That will give him the answer he’s come here for. 

There’s a large group standing right in front of you – rudely pointing, whispering, and he feels a surge of annoyance at the sight of them. You were here to be observed, appreciated, not fucking ogled like some cheap attraction, and he was here to see you – they needed to get the fuck out of his way. 

Finally, they shuffle off, leaving the space directly in front of you open. He makes the final round above your head, comes to stand before you. Oruf had said the only part of you that moved were your eyes.

They fall on Ezra now. 

It could have been as if, in that moment, you’d gotten up, naked as Venus, to shriek directly in his face. That powerful was the force behind your gaze – a punch to the gut, his mothers handbag swinging unexpectedly, purposefully into his stomach as he scurried meekly behind her as a child. 

He pulls his Jacques Marie Mage frames from his nose. He needs to look away from the searing power of your attention. He needs a moment to collect himself, taking deep breaths as he studies the glasses, runs the tip of his finger over the bridge. He’s held frozen in place by the feel of your gaze still upon him. 

He decides in that very instant he has to have you. 

When he looks back at you, your eyes flit away. He is dismissed – made ravenous. On the verge of tears, perhaps. Look back at me, look back at me, look back at me. What sort of reaction is this to a woman whose name he doesn’t even know? Nonsensical. Perhaps it’s the sleep deprivation – the edibles he’d downed before coming, maybe he’s having a bad reaction. 

But the gift of your slow, lazy gaze roves around the space he inhabits now, everywhere but directly at him, almost like a punishment for having looked away from you first – even for a second. 

He’s never considered the prospect of trying to buy a person. The moral question or dilemma of it. He decides he doesn’t necessarily care. Whatever he has to do to get you to leave this place with him, he’ll do. What he’ll be able to bring himself to let happen after that,  if he’ll even be able to touch you, be brave enough to let you touch him, remains to be seen. Inconsequential too, he finds. 

He circles the gallery for close to an hour before he can no longer help himself, can no longer feign casualness. The rest of the art here is pale and dull in the light of your luminescence. He finally comes to a stop in a corner diagonal from where you face, in the shadow of the sculpture of Paolo e Virginia. At this moment, he feels certain Puttinati prophecised your existence, to so depict the vision of reverence he’s feeling for you in this moment. 

The performance is three hours long. In that time you don’t move your body at all, Oruf was right – lying with the stillness of marble. The only thing that moves are your eyes, and you watch the patrons closely, examine them. Your gaze is part of the art, part of the power of it. 

The visage of you is shocking, not for your nudity, but because in a lifetime filled with unimaginably lovely things, you are, by far, the most magnificently gorgeous creature Ezra has ever laid eyes on. It is like a recurring bullet to the temple over and over again for the visceral shock you pull out of him. 

Finally, finally, your gaze falls on him again. The meeting of your eyes, like the strike of lightning against the earth. He can feel his cock thicken, grow heavy, just at the touch of your gaze. It’s voyeuristic – unexpected – he can’t remember the last time he got hard. He feels almost perverted, sporting an erection at the mere sight of you, surrounded by all these people in this crowded gallery.

He can’t see your breasts entirely, pressed to the chaise as they are, only the full, pale sides. He wonders desperately at the color of your nipples, the shade, the hue. He’d like to imprint it in his mind. Know the taste of them, as well, of all your skin – wonders if the color there matches that of the skin between your legs. The thought causes hunger to climb like fire up his chest into his throat, saliva pooling heavy in his mouth at the mere suggestion of your cunt in his mind.

His eyes leave you for a moment, to cast the wide net of his gaze around the room, at the other men. He wonders if they’re hard too, if only your naked skin, lying still in repose, has the power to make their blood rush, their muscles thicken. He is not pleased by the thought of that. And when he comes back to you, you’re still on him. Gaze roaming down his body, taking in the fine cashmere sweater, his perfectly tailored suit, built to hang in a precisely designed loose cut over his shoulders, down his long legs, the incongruous sneakers, back, back up to his face, the spot of blonde at the front of his hair. A single delicate eyebrow crooks in a minute arch at him. It is all the answer he needs

You are looking back at him. It’s all he needs to know. 

As the three hour mark comes to a head the lights dim even further until only a singular overhead spotlight falls upon your form. Your skin glows, seems to flare brighter for a single moment, and then a golden sheet of gossamer begins to slowly fall from the ceiling, and right before it lands upon your body, you finally move. Your body stretches, toes pointing and curling, long arms stretched in an arc over your head. The fine lines and slopes of your body coming into startling clarity for one moment, and then you turn over, away from him, where he can’t see your face anymore, and curl in on yourself. The golden gusset falls upon your coiled form, as if you’ve finally been put to rest. The lights dim until all that’s visible is the luminous gleam of the shroud over your curled body. 

You are a girl made of golden myth and gossamer, and he must have you. 

-

“Hello, Sparrow.” He steps into the small, warm space of your dressing room.

You turn to face him, you’ve been waiting for him. “Hello,” you say slowly. “You were watching me.”

“Everyone was watching you.”

“Not like you were–”

“No… not like I was.” His accent is some strange sort of concoction of eclectic European – at once French, but also slightly Germanic, with an inflection of deep American South at the end. The vowels and consonants rolling off his tongue, smooth and hypnotizing like the warm pour of honey, and then, suddenly, inflected with a bout of sharpness. Something that snaps you awake, forces you to come to attention, to pay attention to him. That was all it was really, you could tell, a forceful, demanding grab for attention at all times. He called it to himself, seduced the people around him into ardor. Whether they knowingly chose to be entranced or not, was not up to them.

“Ezra,” he gives an imitation of a little flourished bow. You give him your own name in return. “You were watching me back.” 

“I couldn’t help it.” He had demanded it of you, after all, no need to lie now. 

“I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me.” You turn back to continue packing your bag. 

“I’m not very hungry.” You feel him come closer, hear the subtle hint of pleading desperation in his sensual voice that has pleasure coiling deep in your belly. 

“A drink then.”

You’d like to be on clear ground with this man who you can see, even now, is an enigma not to be trifled with unconscionably. “Where? At your house?” you turn to crook a sardonic brow at him.

“Would you like me to take you to my house?”

“Yes. If that’s what you want too.” You’d already decided, didn’t see the point in prolonging the game. 

-

His security takes you out the back of the gallery, dark Maybach rolling smoothly up as soon as you reach the curb, and you feel the searing phantom  heat of his large palm hovering over the small of your back. 

He hasn’t touched you a single time yet, and everything within you is coiled tight, waiting for that first graze. 

He pulls the car door open for you himself, and then his driver is there, smoothly offering you his hand to help you step into the sleek interior. The leather beneath you is buttery chocolate brown and you press your thighs together. His security had taken your bag from you, and you felt bereft and listless without the protective clutch of it within your hands now. 

He follows after you, sliding gracefully onto the seat across. You can see he’s wearing two gold chains around his neck that rest in the dip of his collarbones, and your mouth waters at the sight. The car pulls quietly away from the curb and then you’re merging into the busy city traffic, ensconced in the quiet of this liminal space he’s stolen you into with him. 

He crosses one knee over the other, one thick arm thrown languidly over the back of the seat. You can see a small gold signet ring gracing his pinky – some sort of crest emblazoned on it. 

Fucking family crest kind of rich. God. You don’t know if you’re prepared for this. 

You cock your head to the side, the muscles in your neck are a little stiff and sore from holding your pose for so long, and you let your neck roll back on the head rest. 

He’s quiet, still observing, as if you’re still existing within the walls of the gallery, and not being spirited away to his home so that he might have his way with you. 

“Are you going to fuck me?” Might as well be blunt, you think, now that you’re here. He was so gorgeous in that room, watching you, circling you like a beast hunting in the wild. There was really no other way this night was destined to end, but with you beneath him, taking him into your cunt. 

“Would you like me to fuck you?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t respond, only gives you a melodic little non-committal hum, continues to look at you from the seat across with those deceptively guileless eyes. You want him to snatch you by the chin and spit in your mouth.

-

The drive ends in front of the grand façade of a pristine Parisian townhouse on a secluded street in the 16th arrondissement – flanked by national embassies, no less. 

You are very, very far from home. In a Paris you’ve not ventured into in all your years of living here. 

He helps you from the car, finally, finally, finally, thick palm wrapping entirely around the thin of your wrist. Everything within you coils and pulses, tight and wet. His skin is warm and dry, you can feel the pull of rough calluses on his palm. You’re sure he can feel the hammering staccato of your pulse through the thin membrane as you stare at the way his fingers overlap completely around the circumference of your limb.

He lets you step into the foyer ahead of him as one of his staff sweeps the door open for the two of you, ready and waiting for their master to return with a respectably quiet, monsieur, mademoiselle, in greeting. There’s a huge Basquiat in the entrance hall, across from the sweeping staircase.

“Lots of his art came my way,” he says at your obvious admiration, shock, desire to tuck tail and run back home. “We weren’t friends, but I was roommates with a guy he’d lived with. His last girlfriend was best friends with my girlfriend at the time, so when he died we had one of the first calls.”

“It’s wonderful–” Your voice is full of awe, eyes taking in a type of home you’ve never seen before up close like this. Something out of a picture book that sits on the coffee table of someone wishing for more. 

“How many bedrooms does it have?”

“Well… they get used for different things – so I’m not sure. Let’s call it eight.”

You huff a small laugh, run your finger along the keys of the opulent crystal Steinway. “Let’s call it eight, sure.”

Now that you’re here, that he hasn’t overtly said he’s brought you here for sex, you don’t really know what it is he wants from you. A bad thought, but an honest one. 

“Drink?”

“Yes, please.”

He leads you into an elegantly lush reception room, hovering hand again at the place above the small of your back. There’s a gargantuan crystal chandelier hanging at the center of the room, two enormous elephant tusks flank the elaborate mantelpiece. The room is a mix of eclectic eccentricities, both neutrally elegant and demure in its obvious wealth, but inflected with touches of vibrant color and idiosyncrasies to bring the room together in a way that you think must reflect the house’s owner. 

He moves to the bar, choosing the green bottle of twenty year Laphroaig and pours a knuckle into two crystal tumblers. He’s quiet, subdued, and the lack of small talk to fill the silence has the backs of your knees itching and sweating. 

There’s a glossy red panther sculpture prowling across a gold and ivory lacquered coffee table. He comes to hand your glass to you. “That’s a museum piece. I can’t remember where I got it, but it’s rare.” You can’t tell if he’s trying to boast, to impress you, or merely share his satisfaction at owning a piece of art worthy of a museum's gallery. You’d already discerned that at the Basquiat’s first glance, shit, at the first sight of the house. It was a veritable museum on its own. You were sure the number of museum pieces in every room were too many to count in a single night, nay week. 

You don’t sit as he goes to do, but start to slowly circle the room. An imitation of his slow roving of you earlier at the gallery. The peat whisky is bold and smoky, a surprising hint of something akin to seawater, but also mellowly sweet. You think that this must be what his skin tastes like, his come – an amalgamation of all the different flavors on the wheel. Saliva pools heavy on your tongue and you take a deeper sip, eyes flitting to him. 

“Three hours is a long time to lay so still,” he says. 

“It is. But I’m used to it by now.”

“You must be tired.”

“Not particularly – perhaps a bit stiff.”

“Have you been doing this for a long time?”

“Not so long, but not so short, either.”

“So just the right amount?”

“Yes.” He’s quiet for a moment then, still watching, watching, watching. His gaze upon you feels like the drag of a specter’s fingers along your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake. You wonder if this is how he felt while you watched him in the low light of the gallery. Hunted. But no, you imagine there isn’t anything that could make a man such as this feel like prey. 

“Can I draw you a bath?” You pause at this – firmer, more familiar ground, finally. This is what you’ve been waiting for. His request for you to get naked for him, to let him into your body. It’s what you want also. He’s not rushing this, and it’s making you feel unstable, unsure of the ground you’re treading here together. 

“Yes, I’d like that.”

-

He leads you upstairs, to one of the guest bedrooms. The en suite, one of his favorites in the house – dark marble tub in the center of the room under a low hanging crystal chandelier. The French windows let in the soft glow of the moon outside, and he draws the bath for you as you peer through the glass. The reflection of your face in the windows, eternally distracting. 

When the water is warm and ready, a splash of Neroli Portofino Body Oil poured under the stream, he turns to you. He’s hesitant – both of himself and you, equally. It’s been a long time since he’s touched a body not his own, and he feels the slight anxious tremor of his hands. Although he can’t be sure if that’s strictly attributed to nerves, or all the blood in his body pooling in his cock at the moment. 

“Can I take your clothes off?” said as gently as possible, so as not to spook you.

Your gaze is as direct as it was while you lay watching him, surrounded by half of Paris. “Yes.”

He starts at the tiny bow holding the front of your soft silk blouse together – the weave so fine, it’s almost translucent, and he can see the outline of your evasive nipples he’s been so desperate to see. He pulls on the string letting the neck of the blouse fall open, then down to the tiny pearl buttons holding the rest of it together. All without touching your skin. 

You’re panting, face already flushed, eyes bright, almost fevered. His balls are tight and heavy, ready to come, just with this. Just at the mere fucking vision of you ready and panting for him. His belly clenches and then he pushes the silk off the fine bones of your shoulders. The wings of your collarbones, the shadow of the dip in them the most tempting image he’s ever beheld in his entire life. He wants to dip his tongue into the tiny pool, fill them with ambrosia and drink directly from your skin. 

He feels his cock begin to leak. 

The zipper at the side of your skirt is next. He watches the rise and fall of your ribs, the tremble of your throat as he pulls it down slowly, revealing the rest of your skin to him. There’s a tiny lace thong around your hips, robin's egg blue. Oh, he will be stealing that for himself. 

He finally lets himself touch your skin as he pushes the scrap of lace down your legs, crouching smoothly to his knees to help you step out of it. He takes in the sight of your small feet up close now. The fine tendons of your musculature entirely too fucking beguiling. He ghosts the tip of a single finger over the top of your foot and you moan for him. So goddamn sweet and wanton. 

He unfolds to his full height and pockets your panties. To be inspected at a later time, pressed to his nose and mouth so that he might drink the scent of you down into himself. He tips his chin at the tub now, holding your wild gaze, breaths coming in short little gasps. Your cheeks are flushed the color of your nipples. The tiny wisps of hair at your neck and temples beginning to curl deliciously in the humidity of the bathroom. He could spill his seed just at the look in your eyes, he’s sure of it. 

“In,” he orders, crowds you towards the edge of the tub and grips the bend of your elbow between his thumb and index finger – as little contact as possible – to help you into the water. “Sit.”

You immediately obey, and that fills him with more pleasure than the sight of your naked skin. The control you’re granting him right now, allowing him the privilege of ordering you for the sake of his own comfort – he’s going to reward you very well for being so good for him.

He bends over the edge of the tub, hovering over your beseeching upturned face. He brushes his thumb softly over your full bottom lip. “Good girl.” Your eyes flutter shut, you look down into the water, a lovely pink blush blossoming over your cheeks. “Relax. Soak for a while.”

He can tell you want him. Badly. The flush of your cheeks down to your breasts, rosy little nipples peaked, your quick breath. That want, compounded doubly by his refusal so far to really touch you — his inability. The more he stays his hand, the more you want him, and the more you want him the harder his cock grows, the more frightened he becomes. He thinks it’s very true, that old adage, the harder you try to push a woman away from a man, the closer she will go to him by virtue of rebellion.

You sit in the warm bath for close to an hour, and he watches rapturously, hypnotized by the slick wet of the water rolling over your skin, from his seat on an ottoman at the center of the room. The weight of his gaze on your skin, almost violent in its intense desire. He wants to lick every single droplet from your body and then bite into the heavy lush weight of your tits until his teeth are imprinted in the soft flesh, bruises sucked into the pale globes. He hopes you’ll let him. He hopes he’ll let himself. 

Your returning look is equally wanton. He watches your gaze trained and hungry on the heft of his cock hiding beneath his trousers. You spread your legs for him beneath the water as you wash yourself, putting on another show, private, just for him. An unjustly jealous wrath stirs within him, coiled and hissing, at the thought of any other human on earth ever getting to see you the way he is now. Largely a passive man, the violence that surges within him has him surprised and not, in equal measures. For he thinks that no being ever having beheld you, could ever possibly be driven to feel any other way than obsessively possessive over such a creature as yourself. You’re like a siren in this moment, languishing in the warm water of his bath, in his house, where you agreed to come with him tonight. A nymph willingly slinking into the depth of Tartarus, knowing she’s in peril of being wholly devoured by the beasts that lay at its depths, and still going anyways. 

He helps you out after a while, tiny little fingers and toes soaked to wrinkles, elbow once again caught between his two fingers, and the heat rolling off your skin sears him. Has a violent tremble running jaggedly down his vertebrae. 

He wraps you in a plush white towel, pulled from the warming rack, helps you dry your long hair. Then goes to his room for one of his shirts to put you in. He pulls one he’d worn a few days ago off the pile from the chair in the corner. He wants to know you’re sleeping in something that’s already been on his skin, that smells like him, that you’re soaking now in his own scent. 

As he pulls the towel from around your body to once again reveal your bare form to him he presses a soft kiss to your naked waist – can’t help himself, the soft slope entirely too beguiling. Overtaking any apprehensions he may have, and his gut clenches with fear and desire. He can feel the weeping of his cock dribble down his thigh as he presses his lips to the warm, fragrant skin. 

You’re quiet, watching him, letting him do with you as he wants. His own little sentient doll, created for his pleasure only. “I have a farm in Brazil,” he says. He rounds your form, starts to braid the long strands of your hair into a single plait. You put up no protest – it feels like water, slipping through his hands.  “We grow organic fruit and vegetables and there’s cows, lots of cows. We never kill them, they just live there, graze.” One of his favorite places in the entire world, but perhaps, second to the place he resides now, staring at you, dressing you, touching your hair. “I love it there, I’ll take you.”

“Okay,” you say easily. “I’d like that,” the gift of the gentle curve of your smile. He wants to lick into your mouth, fuck you with his tongue, slap your pussy and watch the blood rush to the surface, feel the tight clench of your asshole as he fills you with his come. 

“Will you let me watch you play with your cunt?” he asks gently.

“Won’t you do it?”

“I’m scared to touch you yet – to find out if you’re actually real.” He feels an uncharacteristically self conscious blush mar his cheeks. “I–I’m not ready. I want to watch first.” He comes to kneel between your parted thighs that dangle off the high bed. “Pet your cunt for me – show me how you like it, sweet girl. Please.” He is not above begging. Not for this. Not for you – for the sight of you playing with your wet, pink pussy. 

You spread your legs wider, give him the tantalizing peak of your bare sex, your glistening folds. You’re already fucking wet for him. He feels an unrestrained growl claw up his throat like fire. His mouth goes dry, parched. The only way to sate himself, to drink straight from the source of your glossy slick. 

You press your fingers to the pearl of your clit, swollen and needy already, he can see. You start to swirl little circles over your slippery flesh, your wet mouth falling open in a gasp. “That’s it, yeah–” he whispers, bringing his face in closer to the apex of your thighs so he can smell you directly from the source. His eyes flutter as he breathes in the scent of you, the deep amber and citrus from the bath oil, but beneath that, entwined in the rich notes, the musky scent of you. Fucking mouthwatering. He hears himself moan, the sound pulled almost unconsciously from his body. 

“Inside– put your fingers inside. Let me see you fuck yourself.” You press a single finger in, all the way to the last knuckle, and start to rock your hips. He can feel your gaze on his face, the weight of it heavy and pleading.

“Ezra– p–please, please, you do it,” you beg, let your head roll back as you press another finger in and start to rock your clit against the mound of your palm in earnest.

“But you’re doing so well, sweet girl. About to make that little cunt come for me. Look–” He gives you the weight of a single palm on the bend of your knee and you moan deep and ragged at just that compact touch. He can’t help himself – he pulls the edge of the t-shirt up to bare your tits to him and holds it up against the base of your throat where he cradles the delicate column in his hand – the entire large span of him completely engulfing your smallness. “Your thighs are trembling, treasure. You’re going to do it just for me, aren’t you?.”

“Y–Yes, yes–” 

He pushes your knee in his grasp wider, opening you more for the fileting of gaze. “Make yourself come – I want to see it. Fucking come,” it’s a demand you answer, just the sound of it causing the heat of your skin to seemingly ricochet even higher. You start to come – he watches the clenching of the muscles in your stomach as you grind your fingers deep. He can hear how wet you are, the sopping wet squelch of your pulsing cunt, and he worries for one second that he’s about to come in his pants. 

You let out a reed high mewl, like you’re singing just for him. “What a good, good girl you are,” he praises, and your eyes flutter shut, pulling your fingers away so that he’s left to admire the clenching of your stretched hole. He can see the glossy shine of your slick sliding down the crevice of your ass, and he wants to lick through your sticky arousal so fucking badly he bites down on his cheek until he tastes blood. He bends his head to press his brow to the edge of the bed between your spread thighs, tightening his grip around your knee until you whimper in pain. He loosens his hold immediately, thumb brushing soothingly over the bend before he stands, lets out a long breath. He stares down at your panting, flushed form. Wet and sated after your orgasm. Fuck all the art in the world. He’d set fire to every single masterpiece he owns in this very moment if he was granted the gift of getting to watch you come even one single time more. 

He passes his palm over his mouth, feeling the soft bristles of his scruff. He’d like to see the smooth insides of your thighs rubbed raw with it, he’d like to see the stretch of your cunt as he stuffs you full of himself, the milky white of his spend leaking from all your holes. 

“It’s time to put you to bed,” he says instead. 

Your brow creases in the sweetest little frown, red mouth puckering, still panting. “You’re not staying?” 

“No, sweet girl. I think it’s best if you sleep here tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“But–”

“It’s alright. There’s no rush.” He leans over you to press a lingering kiss to your brow, pulls his shirt down to cover your breasts. You give him a little whimper, and he allows your hand to come up to clutch the thick swell of his bicep, the heavy muscle there bunching at the feel of your grip. He moves to help you settle beneath the silk duvet, pleased beyond belief at the sight of you tucked into a bed in his home, wearing his clothes, flushed and wearing the sated look of a recent orgasm. 

“Goodnight, treasure.”

“Goodnight, Ezra.”

-

You find his room later. You can’t help yourself, following the glow of the soft light spilling between the crack of his slightly open door, like he’d left you a bread crumb trail to follow, like he knew you’d come searching. You can’t sleep knowing he’s so close, this dazzling creature come straight from a dream. Twisting and turning in the plush monstrosity of a bed he’d left you in. His shirt, butter soft, the dark, gray blue swimming around your much smaller frame. It smells like him, his cologne – you recognize the scent of Le Labo Another 13. Musky with the softest most subtle hint of jasmine, paired with something earthier – greener, and folded between all that: the soft saltiness of his sweat.  Why would you sleep when a figure from your very fantasies was right here in the flesh. Your cunt clenches, wet and aching, even after he’d watched you make yourself come. You need more, want to feel the press of his cock inside of you, the heavy weight of it. 

He’s sitting up in bed, reading something on an iPad, glasses propped low on his nose. He looks up at your small knock, not waiting for his permission to slip inside. 

“I promise, I’ll be good.” You hold your hands up in surrender. “I won’t touch you. We can put a pillow between us if you like.” You move towards the bed.

There’s a large stack of books sitting on his bedside table, flooded by the warm moss stained light of the antique Tiffany lamp. A single idiosyncrasy of old world charm in a room made stark by its bright modernity. The pile is made up of a book of paintings by Howard Hodgkin, the diaries of Alma Mahler, The Spectator Bird by Wallace Stegner, the fourth volume of In Search of Lost Time – you appreciate his excellent taste – and at the very top, laying open, facedown, as if he’d just put it down a moment ago, My Struggle by Karl Ove Knausgaard. You find it fascinating to see a book that spoke of life in such a granular way — realistic, simple, a normal man in a normal world, speaking in such extensive, caring detail on the small things in his life — on the bedside table of this enigma, this person who seemed to be, by far and large, a different species to all other men you’d ever met before. To see the spine so cracked and worn — as if he’d read it over and over again, in search of the equation for that simplicity, to thus inject into his own existence – a way to embalm his own world in such appreciation for the small but infinitely significant moments. You wonder if it’s taught him much— if he’s been able to find and implement whatever it was he’d searched for through so many reads. 

“Alright,” he says easily, but the look in his eyes is slightly wary. You recognize Glenn Gould’s rendition of the Goldberg Variations playing softly on the surround sound as you crawl into his bed – under the silk smooth sheets, bringing a pillow to blockade you from him, protect him. You don’t want him to be uncomfortable, but you desperately want to be close to him also. The two of you have barely talked tonight – too caught up in the observation of one another, like two animals circling in the wild. You want to talk to him. Want to hear the sound of his deep voice vibrate through your nerve endings. 

“Intimacy is… difficult for me,” he says slowly, swallowing. “It’s hard for me to get close to people… emotionally, physically. I need time to — I suppose, to warm up to them.”

“That’s — that’s okay. I understand,” you say, because you do, because you’re the same in many ways. 

“It’s why I love art,” he continues. “You can be close to something, feel its warmth, beauty – whatever feeling it is the artist intended to pull out of you, from a distance. Untouched – it’s untouchable. That comforts me for some reason.”

“I think – I think I understand that as well. Something, perhaps, about the idea of a thing remaining as it was initially conceived as, for all time, undisturbed by outside influences.”

“Yes – yes, exactly.” His eyes are alive with the fire of being understood.

You look down at his straining erection. You can’t help it. “You’re hard,” you say. You want to touch him so badly it’s a physical ache inside of you. 

“I’ve been hard since I first saw you.”

“Let me help.”

He shakes his head, “Not yet.”

“I was embarrassed that the other patrons would be able to tell how wet my pussy was lying there staring at you.” Shocking words. His eyes flutter shut, fuck, he murmurs under his breath, brings his hand up to rub at his jaw. You’ve noticed he does that a lot – a tell of sorts. He takes several deep breaths, the tension seeming to seep out of his body by sheer force of will. 

You take him in as he settles back into the pillows, relaxing, or at least pretending to. His face, smooth and serene, laying there watching you, despite his heavy erection, but the look in his eyes – it’s also slightly provoking. As if he wants you to challenge him, question him, but also afraid, perhaps, that you’ll force his hand, that he’ll be forced to give in to what you both want before he’s ready. You decide to choose mercy – change the subject. More curious to see how he chooses to play this out.

“Let’s play the question game.”

“The question game?”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” he turns to lay on his side, facing you. Both of your hands are tucked beneath your cheeks. He’s wearing a soft, worn sweater, a tiny hole at the collar, the sleeves stretched and overly long. Oh, this may just be too much for you to handle. 

“We’ll start with something easy – what’s your favorite color?”

“That’s easy?”

“Yes.” You roll your eyes at him, laughing.

“Depends on the day,” he says very seriously. His blinks are slow, his pupils huge and dilated in the warm light of the lamp. You wonder if he’s taken something. Every time he blinks the thick fringe of his lashes fans over his cheeks, the pause of his languor allows you a moment to appreciate them.

“That’s not an answer – you have to give a real answer.” You want to reach your finger out and brush along that thick fringe, through the patchy hair on his face, threaded through with the smallest hint of silver, stick your nose in his hair and smell him right at the source. 

“It’s the only real answer there is – no one’s favorite color stays their favorite color forever.”

“Do you do this a lot?”

“What’s that?”

“Make things purposely difficult.”

A flash of his brilliant white teeth, “Oh, always.” You want very badly for him to bite into your flesh. 

“Okay, fine. What’s your favorite color right now?”

Without hesitation: “The color of your eyes – they’re very strange,” you can tell it’s a compliment, and he finally touches you again. A single finger, just the tip, to the point of your chin, tilting your head back slightly for his inspection, as if you were one of the pieces in his collection. You think you may become one by the end of this. You think you’d like that very much. You can feel the slight edge of his fingernail dig into your soft skin. 

“I already agreed to fuck you. You don’t have to woo me,” you breathe. You realize that, as of yet, he’s not overtly asked you to have sex with him – you throw the words out anyways, hoping to provoke him. This is too much. This man is too much. You don’t know what it is about him, but you want him desperately, like no one you’ve ever wanted before. You want him to overwhelm you – to take you by force. To take all choice and will and autonomy from your hands. You don’t care what will come of this, what will become of you after he’s done with you, if he discards you, forgets you –  none of that matters. All you care about, in this moment, is that he finally decides to take you, that he gives you the opportunity to let go, to relinquish control. To unfold from the pose for just a moment. A slightly deranged spark fizzes in your belly. Your heart pinches a burning little pain at the thought that he hasn’t kissed you yet, that you still don’t know the taste of his mouth. 

“None of my answers satisfy you. And yes, I do need to woo you. I find it very necessary.”

You try and emulate an unaffected scoff, his finger is still on your chin, but you feel your brow unwittingly fold into a confused frown. There is a tight knot of want coiled at the very center of you, burning hot and smoldering, and you need him to pick it apart with these strong fingers. He takes his hand away. The look on his face is very telling. He can read everything going on in your mind, you can tell. He looks like the cat that ate the goddamn canary. You try and take a deep, calming breath. “Alright, now you have to ask me one?” you divert. 

“Me?”

“Yes, you – that’s how the game works. I do one, you do one.”

“Alright,” he’s quiet for a second, contemplating, “Do you have siblings?”

“No, I’m an only child. Do you?”

“I had a brother, Damon. He died when we were younger.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yes, well– it was a very long time ago. But thank you. His daughter, Cee, is my ward now. ” Not his niece, not someone mentioned in any capacity as his family. The connection, maintained as if at a distance — his ward — cold. But he gives himself away, his tender vulnerability made transparent, with the sudden flash of bright fondness in his eyes at her name, despite his trying to remain aloof. You are not so easily fooled. You see him despite his attempts to deflect from the true core of himself. 

His gaze is so mercurial – at once relaxed, uncaring, and then flaring into something bright hot like a flash fire. But remote, remote always. Like the very center of him, his true gaze is very far away, very deep within him, and this gaze, the one he presents to the world, is merely a farce, a mask. A shroud he pulls over himself to keep others out. His own golden gossamer. You’re shocked that he’s shared this with you. 

“My parents died when I was very young,” you offer, your own morsel of ragged soul in the face of his sudden vulnerability. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, as well.”

“It wasn’t so bad, after the fact. I went to live with my aunt – my mother’s sister. She was a dancer. My childhood was… unconventional, but wonderful.”

“What about it was unconventional?”

You laugh a little, looking up at the coffered ceiling above you, the thick beams a rich, glossy mahogany. You feel his gaze on your face like a brand. He has not stopped looking at you since he first started. In a sea of years being observed, his gaze is singular in the pleasure it brings you.

“She was a dancer. I mean—” you hum, “What wasn’t unconventional about it? We lived in New York for several years, then Budapest for a time, and then she brought us here, to Paris, where we stayed until her death – where I’ve stayed since. Her girlfriends were always around – fellow dancers, costumes and makeup, drinking and men. They taught me how to smoke when I was eight — Gauloises like a fucking chimney, at all hours of the day, after that — I forced myself to stop a few years ago. Now I only have one on special occasions, sometimes.” He looks at you like he knows you’re the sort to make a special occasion out of a trip to the market. “She had many lovers. Parties… disaster everywhere, but the riotous, happy sort – not the tragic kind.”

“No?”

“No. Perhaps, to the outside eye it may have appeared different… I don’t know. No life for a child, I think. But it was wonderful. She always protected me. But– but never like a mother. She was never like a mother – more like – a friend, or an older sister.” You laugh fondly at the memories, but also a little sadly. In the eyes of an adult now, you’d never want such a life for a child of your own, as exciting as it was at the time.

“One time someone told me I ended up as I did, naked for the world to ogle at, as a means to earn money, because of her. Because of how she was. And perhaps they were right, but… but not in the way they meant —  to insult me. She taught me what art was, gave me the means to turn myself into it.” 

“Who the fuck said that to you?” His tone makes you look back at him now. All the mystery in his gaze is gone, only fury burns now – very clearly. If he’d let you, you’d cup his cheek, soothe him. 

You can see he isn’t ready yet, though. So all you say is: no one that really mattered – the truth, but you can see that it does not soothe him. 

 “What about you? What was your mother like?” You can appreciate how easily distracted he pretends to be, the deception of it, merely another shroud. 

Another one of his long pauses, filled with his eyes on you. He gives you the gift of his touch again. Thick fingers picking up a strand of your hair, running it between his grasp. You feel the slight ghost-like tingle of the tug along your scalp, there but also not, and a jerking shiver moves through you. All the hair on your body standing on end. Fuck, this man. 

“She was very beautiful – very cruel,” he says slowly, mesmerized by your hair sliding through his fingers. 

“Cruel to you?”

“To the world.”

“Why?”

“But also me.” Succinct in its truth. The thought is a terrible one – for anyone to have been cruel to this magnificent dream of a man. The backs of your eyes pinch. Another long pause. “Hmm,” he tilts his head side to side, still sliding your hair through his fingers, twisting it gently around his hair. He gives it a tiny tug, and you want to scoot forward, even just the smallest bit, just to be a little closer to him, to feel the brush of his belly against yours with the movement of his breathing. “It’s difficult to say – unhappiness, bitterness, boredom. A great and complicated concoction of things that made her into the eternally complex creature she was.”

“She died?”

“Yes. She killed herself.”

“Ezra– I’m so sorry,” the words leave you choked and breathless. 

He says it so plainly, starkly, like a slap to the face, one not meant to cause pain or harm, but shock. One meant to cause fear, something to say, look at how fucked up I am, stay away or I’ll infect you with it too. You scoot closer now, you can’t help it, and he goes immediately still, frozen – eyes wide, hesitant, but you don’t touch him. Your hair is still clutched in his hand, and his eyes move back and forth between your own and his hold on you. You’re close enough now, though, that you can feel the heat rolling off his body. Your eyes flutter shut, you say again: “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“She was too vain to grow to old age.” You feel him relax, comforted by the indication that you’re not going to touch him just yet. “I think she felt it was the only recourse for her.”

You open your eyes again, and he’s still staring at you. You so badly want to know what he’s thinking, to feel the press of his mouth against yours, to know the taste of his tongue, the feel of his incisors pressing into your skin. 

You pivot three-sixty again: “Do you want kids?” He lets out a loud barking laugh at that, head thrown back so the tendons in his neck jump out starkly. Your cunt clenches around nothing. Wet and jealous. 

“This is a very difficult game,” he says, giving you a sly look. 

“We don’t have to play anymore, if you don’t want to.” A great lie – you never want to stop playing with him. 

“No, I want to keep going.” He slides his whole hand into your hair now, palm cupping the entire side of your head in its broad expanse, and you can’t help the desperate moan that claws out of your throat. His responding hum is all-knowing.  “I don’t know. But I love being… I like being able to imagine it.”

Your mind has been lost to a daze induced by the heat of his palm. “Children?” you murmur.

“Yes.”

Your fingers are twisted into the front of your shirt, clawing at yourself to maintain respect for his boundaries. “I want them. Lots of them. I hated being an only child. I always felt alone. I want to have lots of babies.” And his eyes flare with heat at that. The first blazing sign of lust in them tonight. Everything else before this, you realize, was merely a low simmering boil. The fist in your hair tightens so that your head tilts back slightly, the line of your throat exposed for his eyes to follow. 

“Lots of them?” You nod your head minutely, wide eyed, equally ensnared by that look in his gaze as you are by his hand. 

“Then you shall have them, Sparrow.” You let out a shuddering breath, turn your face into the pillow, enjoying the slight pull to your sensitive scalp as his hand follows, try to breathe deep, temper your racing heart. You’re so wet, you can feel it seeping out of you in a constant throbbing stream. The conversation serving as a more intense form of foreplay than anything else you’ve ever done with a man. 

“It’s my turn again. When was the last time you fucked someone?” Blunt – thrown at your face to throw you off kilter. Oh, he fucking loves this. A broken little whimper claws out of your throat at that. Your cheeks are flushed, you can feel them burning, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. The smug look in his eyes taunts you, tells you he knows just how soaked you are. But it is also wild, as wanting as you are. 

“Hmm?” he presses.

“Three years ago.” It’s his turn to be shocked now. You see the pause of surprise in that bright light within his gaze. 

“Three years? Why?”

“You’re not the only one who finds it difficult to be close to people.”

“And yet you agreed to come here with me?”

“And yet I agreed to come here with you.” You don’t return the question. You wouldn’t like to know, you don’t think. And you can tell he sees that in your gaze, for he doesn’t offer up the information either. You like the mystique of him. Like some eldritch beast, a deity of old, something amorphous, not to be contained or understood. The unknowable aspect of him is appealing to you for reasons you haven't quite figured out yet, despite this game of questions you’re flirting with. 

You go next: “Are you lonely?”

“Yes, very.” A pause, and then: “You are too.” This is no question. He can see it, recognizes the same scent of it that permeates the air around him, following you. “You seemed it, laying in the center of that crowded room, naked – bared for everyone to see.” It is not said cruelly. He is only telling you that which you already know about yourself, that which is plain for the whole world to see. “And then shrouded in gold, as if you wanted to hide that vein of aloneness that flows through you – it didn’t work very well.”

“Do you think everyone could see it?”

“No.” Good. You only wanted him. 

You take another turn, you can’t help but break the rules with him. “Have you ever been with someone who– who you didn’t really want to be with, but you were– you were so lonely and needed… something… or someone?” All the surety you’d posed your previous questions with is gone now. He’s already discerned so much of you, what’s a little more bared skin? “So you just– you just settled for being with that person even though you knew it was wrong, and the only thing on your mind was the other person you really wanted to be with?”

Without hesitation: “Yes.”

“I think that’s the only type of relationship I’ve ever had. Although, the other person hasn’t really existed – just – just something I’ve thought up in my own head.”

“I accidentally called her by the other person’s name. She never spoke to me again. It was terrible– terrible of me.”

“I want to touch you so badly,” you plead suddenly. Unable to hold it in anymore in the light of all he’s shared with you. Your voice cracking and begging. “I want you to touch me, so badly.”

“I know.” Yes, he does. “You want me to fuck you.” All you can do is let your eyes flutter shut, try to continue to breathe, nod your head. 

“Why was your mother cruel to you? What did she do?” You feel like crying now. 

“Many things… I had terrible night terrors as a child. Scared her half to death. I’d scream and cry and sleep walk. For years. She didn’t know what to make of me. Some sort of demon come from her very womb to possess and haunt her house. She hated me – would lock me in a closet furthest from her bedroom to keep my howling away from her.” 

The blazing heat of anger floods your cheeks, your eyes filled with tears, and he clicks his tongue, smoothes his thumb over the slope of your cheek. “None of that, sweet girl.”

“You were just a little boy – she should have– she should have comforted you. Helped you.”

“It wasn’t in her nature. You cannot fault a thing for not being what it was never made to be. She was a killer of soft things – within herself, within me too, I think. Or she tried, at least. She tried to kill everything soft she came into contact with. But she did love me. In her own way – a wrong way, but she did. That comforts me immensely.”

“That she loved you even if it was the wrong way?”

He nods, “And that I loved her – despite all her flaws.”

“Why?”

“I… I appreciate the idea of being a bad person, and still being able to find someone to love you.”

“You’re a killer.” It is not a question for you already know the answer – you can see it in his eyes, it is his inheritance. You know that either way, it won’t make a difference to you. 

“I am, indeed. But, are you?.” The soft curve of his cunning smile is so incredibly beguiling. The most tempting thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life. You shake your head, you’re not, you never have been. You think it must be very obvious at first glance, for the patronizing look he gives you as he asks anyways. 

“Sometimes I can be very bad,” he whispers slowly, drags the tip of his finger over your shoulder, down the swell of your breast, stopping just shy of your peaked nipple, circling the point. 

“What do you do?” your voice is breathless, beseeching. 

He smooths his thumb over your bottom lip, pushes between to get inside, presses down on the hard edge of your bottom teeth to inspect the wet gleam of your tongue. “I steal beautiful things for myself–” His voice is like smoke – his confession fortuitous, on the verge of disappearing. His mystique enshrouds the both of you. You hope you disappear alongside him. 

“Is that what you’re doing now? Stealing me?”

“Yes.”

“I think I like being stolen.”

-

He wakes, very late into the night, or very early in the morning, the confounding blue hue of the outside world seeping in through the heavy drapes over the tall windows. Shielding the two of you from the real world.

Your body is entirely draped over his own. You’ve invaded him in your sleep, taken over all the space and air and thought he’s ever possessed. The soft weight of your breasts presses into his chest, your head tucked in the hollow of his clavicle so that he can feel each pass of your damp breath wash over his throat and chin. He expects to feel overwhelmed, uncomfortable, perhaps even disgusted, so much skin, so much heat, your legs intertwined with his – but all he can focus on is the fullness of your tits pressed up against him, the hot wet apex of your cunt against his thigh. You’re wet in your sleep for him – he can feel your dampness seeping through the silk of your extra panties. 

One of your hands is curled over his shoulder and he brings it to his mouth, presses a kiss to the soft, small palm. His hand dwarfs yours, swallows it whole. He sucks each one of the tips of your fingers into his mouth, bites down as gently as he can. Your hips start to shift over him, needy cunt trying to unconsciously rub up against his thigh. 

He’s going to fuck you now. His cock is hard, aching, leaking, balls heavy – has been for ages, but finally, finally his mind has caught up. Thank fuck. 

He passes his palm down the smooth line of your back, pushes his t-shirt you’re wearing up your back to get to your skin. This lovely smooth back he’d spent almost an hour staring at in that gallery. He feels a terrible, unfounded curl of jealousy, once again, that anyone else in the world has ever gazed upon the magnificence that is your skin. He wants it to be only for him, he wants you to be only for him – to own you.

His hand moves down to clutch the full swell of your bottom, pushes under your panties to take a handful of your bare flesh. He bends his knee slightly to put more pressure on your core and starts to roll your hips over him. You let out a soft little moan, sleepy, so sweet. 

“It’s time to wake up, Sparrow. I’m going to fuck you now.”

“Ezra–” you murmur, coming to. Your body seems to take stock of the situation before your mind does, little cunt suddenly grinding down more firmly onto his thigh. You let out a moan that goes straight to his cock. He grips your hips and flips you over, settling between the spread of your thighs, slotting his length into your wet cleft, he starts a slow rock that has his head pressing up and into your clit. 

“Tell me how you want to be fucked.”

Your eyes are glassy, dazed and confused. He says again, “Tell me how you want to be fucked, or I will decide for you.”

And then your soft little voice, grabbing him by the balls and showing him that as sleepy or drowsy or small as you may appear, you’re still aware of the power you hold over him: “I think I’d like you to decide for me, please.”

Fuck– he deepens the pressure of his thrusts so that his tip presses into your opening over your panties. Your jaw is hinged open, panting wet breaths as you moan for him. 

He sits back on his heels then, pulls his t-shirt up over your head and then slides your panties over your hips and down your legs, grips your knees to spread your legs wide for him. 

He was right, your cunt is the same color as your nipples. Beautiful. 

It’s drooling, begging for him, and oh, how that fills him with pleasure – for such a beautiful thing to desire him, as much as he desires it. He ghosts the back of his knuckles over your slit, using his thumbs to spread your lips wide – he bends for a taste, moans deep and long from his chest. 

“Fuck, you’re so sweet. Do you want me to feed your cunt, baby?”

“Ezra, please – yes – I want it so bad.”

“I know, I could see – all night, I could see how hungry you were. I’m going to eat you now.”

Please, please. 

He settles between your thighs. Soft little licks to your swollen clit, then down to thrust his tongue into your hole. He grips the back of one thigh to press it up and back into your chest, uses his other hand to press down low on your pelvis, gives you more pressure as he sucks your clit back into his mouth. He can feel the clench of your pussy around his tongue, the shake in your thighs. Your keening moans move through him, have him grinding his aching cock into the mattress. You’re going to come in his mouth, he can feel it, taste it, your slick running from you, sweet and musky, all for him. 

Your hands clutch at his curls, pulling and tugging hard as you arch your back and start to orgasm. Ezra, Ezra, Ezra. It’s a litany, a benediction. You are a work of art come to life to sing into his ear. 

He gentles his mouth over your quivering sex, laps slowly at your pulsing entrance. He wipes his mouth over the tender slope of your inner thigh and goes back to his knees, licks his palm of your wet as he watches your gaze on him. 

He cradles your small foot in his hold. He likes the thought that he can grasp that which has carried you through your life, in his hand. For some reason, it fills him with immense pleasure, the feel of your soft foot, the thought of you walking through life, walking through the world, towards him, to find him. Always him, only him. 

There is a wound in him, dark, and putrid, overwhelming his existence always. It was only through the cathartic fulfillment of holding a beautiful thing in his hands that he felt reprieved of the terrible thing. He feels that reprieve in this moment, with the delicate weight of your small foot cradled within his palm. 

He brings it to his mouth and digs his thumb harshly into the elegant arch, forcing a moan out of you, deepening the curve of your spine, then drags his teeth along the instep, presses a soft kiss to your first toe. He can see the clench of your little hole at his ministrations, the flush of your skin from the peaks of your breasts to your cheeks. 

Your breath is hitching, breasts quivering with your gasps. He bends to lick into your mouth, thin ankle still held in his grasp, finally, finally taking the taste of your tongue onto his own and you moan, wanton and desperate, your legs wrapping around his waist to bring him closer. 

“I’m going to give you my cock now,” he presses into your skin, open mouthed kisses to your throat, your neck, your breasts. He nips a gentle bite to one swollen little nipple. 

He grasps the base of his cock, passes his hand slowly from root to tip once, twice, and then presses the flushed head to your clit, grinds there for a moment, you jerk, then moves down to your hole, feeds you just the tip. You cant your hips, try and take him deeper, but he holds back, pulls out and moves back up to circle your clit again, and then back down again to press inside. “No, no, no, Ezra, please – I need it so badly – so badly.” He watches a tiny tear, track down your temple and back into your hair, and he gives you the entire thick length of him at that, fucks inside, all the way to the end of you. 

“There? How’s that?” He presses a kiss to your breast, sucks it into his mouth. The taste of you is godly. “Is that better, needy thing?”

“So good – so good,” you sigh. Stretching your arms high above your head, arching your back to let him in deeper. 

“Fuck, yes–” he groans. He sits back on his heels, grips your hips and starts to give it to you hard. The strong swing of his hips causing the soft jiggle of your tits with every thrust. Your eyes are closed, lashes fluttering, soft mouth open and wet. So fucking beautiful. 

“Will you let me fuck your ass too?” Your head is already nodding, all rational thought currently being fucked out of you. “You will, won’t you?”

“Yes, yes – anything you want.”

“Good girl.”

He changes the angle, fucks up into that spongy devastating part of you he plans to own after this is done, and he starts to feel the tight pull of your inner muscles working to suck him deeper. “That’s it, beautiful, just like that. Taking me so wonderfully.” 

“God– I– I’m–” you press your palms to his belly and he brings one of your ankles up to his shoulder, presses a kiss to the bone. 

“God isn’t here right now – just me–” He grits his teeth, gives it to you harder. He can feel his orgasm start to pool, hot and liquid, at the base of his spine, balls drawing up tight. 

“Give me another, Sparrow, one more. Need to feel it around my cock,” spit through clenched teeth. 

“Oh, fuck – that’s so good,” you moan, and then you’re milking him, pulling his come out of him with the tight wet clutch of your muscles. 

“Fucking perfect, yes – just like that.” He lets his head roll back on his neck, hand grasping your ankle as he fills you. 

-

He watches you eat your pain au chocolat. Sitting in the warm morning sun of the observatory. Tiny bites of the flaky sweet bread, dollop of chocolate sitting at the corner of your mouth that he plans to lick off in a second. He is mesmerized. He knows, empirically, he probably looks like a fucking creep, staring you down as he is, but he can also see the subtle preen in your gaze when you glance up at him every so often. You enjoy this part of your play as much as he does, so it seems. The watching. 

“Will you let me take you somewhere today?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Brazil? I’d show you the farm.”

You swallow, the most guileless eyes he’s ever beheld, shining in the light. “Brazil? Really?”

“Of course, treasure. Or anywhere you want. Your happiness is mine to watch over now. I would do anything for you.” As he says it, he can tell, you did not lie when you said you’d like to be stolen. 

[nerdieforpedro]

Weekend Update 03/10/2024

Made it another week Nerdie.

That I did. I believe today is Sunday. Too much time in this chair. I think I slept in it before. Too many times.

Nerdie, don't you have a bed?

I do, I don't always make it there. I've usually zoned out and nodded off, the wake up when my neck hurts. 👀 I'm not always writing either, just thinking sometimes.

Couldn't you think in bed Nerdie?

I could, but I don't. That sounds like a good idea. My ideas aren't always great. But I did have a few this week.

My March Spring Prompts continue. I was able to do ten of them without repeating a character! 🤗 This upcoming week we'll see some Pedro peeps come back. Key words: gas station sushi, angst, oil and bath. Remember this is Nerdie 😎, it could be any and everything, but my prompts are mature and not explicit. I do write about some heavy subjects, fluff, a few giggles, and have some innuendos, but my main masterlist is 78% smut so just go there.

The WIP I’d been mentioning for the last few weeks or months (could be either) is finished and posted : Diddle your Dieter to Disco. My first Dieter smut actually which is hilarious at least to me. 🤣 The rest of his Masterlist is fairly fluffy. I would check the warnings on it, I put a lot in it. 👀

Part Two of my series The Lake Between Us is up. Make sure to read the warnings. Ezra introduction has a lot going on. It's an AU so he has both arms but that doesn't mean I didn't torture him other ways. 👀 I do love that ya'll love the taglist name "Taste-testers of Ezra's gumbo." 😆

I finally wrote the follow up to He told me his name called She made me feel. I think I enjoy mentally torturing Pedro characters at this point. Poor Din is so anxious and touch-starved. As always with Din = HANDS. A Nerdie staple. This is The Way.

Now for everyone's favorite (and mine): Fic recommendations!!! (Yes I did type and do a little yell, fanfics are serious. Pfft.) 😄

Confetti by @secretelephanttattoo (Marcus Pike x f reader) The Quiet Moments Collection

Adrift with you by @morallyinept (Frankie Morales x Jude OFC) The Prologue “I’m behind”’😭

A Real Man by @pedroshotwifey (Frankie Morales x female plus size reader) my request - stay self indulgent everyone! 🥰

Tick by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (Frankie Morales x wife reader) The Mistress of Angst!

A Bronx Tale: Part Deux - A Chicago Tale by @justabovewater20 (SydCarmy)

Love’s a weed:  just ripe by @tinytinymenace (Frankie Morales x ofc - Ruby) Fruits are essential.

Second Chances part 2 by @pedroscurls (Marcus Pike x fem reader) Such a cute series 💕

Cigarettes After Sex by @immarocketman (Awesome artist I follow. 💜)

Promise by @criticallyacclaimedstranger (Ezra - dragon x fem reader) The only Pedro character that can pull off being a dragon. 🐉

Please Mister Please by @grogusmum (Joel Miller x fem reader) The fluff 🥹💕

Unconventional Location by @winniethewife (Abel Morales x fem reader)

Personal Shopper by @huntingingoodwill (Dieter Bravo x reader)

Enjoy the Silence by @strang3lov3 (Joel Miller x fem reader)

Spicy Ask #68 by @kewwrites (Din Djarin x reader) Say it with me: HANDS 🙌🏼!!!!

Reminder by @criticallyacclaimedstranger (Tim Rockford x fem reader) Sometimes good things happen in Tim’s office.

Forever Starts With You Masterlist (Frankie Morales x chubby fem reader) @criticallyacclaimedstranger I loved all three parts I read 🥰🥰 (A Good Start, A Strong Finish and A New Beginning). It looks like there more to their story so much more reading for me. ❤️

some good friend by @covetyou (Tim Rockford x fem reader) TIM DESERVED THIS ❤️ That is all.

Sanctuary by @thefrogdalorian (Din Djarin x GN reader) Din fluff forever. 🤗

We got your back chapter 1 by @softpascalito (Javier Peña x fem reader)

The Sweetest Melody by @noisynaia (Din Djarin x afab reader)

Rise by @sp00kymulderr (Joel Miller x afab reader) ALL THE FEELS 😭

Falling for you by @fhatbhabie (Joel Miller x plus size reader) Part One - The drama!

Just look at You by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (Poe Dameron x fem reader) The Poe Dameron smut we deserve. 🍆

Chapter 3 - Here’s a health to the company… and one to my Boss… by @inept-the-magnificent (Tim Rockford x ofc Jane Nebbie) I just think about this series and I start giggling. Sunshine Nebbie and grump Tim - he is a super grump. But he is also me. 🤣

To the Flame chapter 6.5 by @pedroshotwifey (Dark Javier Peña x fem reader) So sweet out of context.

To the Flame chapter 9 by @pedroshotwifey (Dark Javier Peña x fem reader) The slow decent begins...we're just at the start of the ride. 😈

Between the Sheets by @saturn-rings-writes (William Tell x fem reader) Reminded me of an Isley Brothers song. I feel like we're headed toward that song. Please with this direction.

Hiccup by @morallyinept (Javier Gutierrez x fem reader) A whimpering Javi G. What an evening. 😘

A New Home by @charethcutestory02 (Frankie Morales x Benny Miller) Budding feelings. 🤗

Special shout out to Ms. Payday - Le Poet and lover of da words: @maggiemayhemnj They seek her out, have brunches and nightcaps. It's what all writers long for. She checked in on me along with @megamindsecretlair @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @magpiepills @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @lady-bess

I've been not as active - mainly due to work, school, and the insomnia. But still writing. 😄 priorities. lol

New appreciation for Javier Pena. well not new, re-newed. Maybe am working on a few things. None are good, none are final. Still need polishing. Also need to give Javi G's outline another look. I might...👀 have a chapter for him this week. I hope. @goodwithcheese was pleased with this. @undercoverpena was Luke-warm. I think she thought I was taking something, but if Javi P has shown us anything, sharing is caring. 😘

Stay well, sleep in your bed (unless you're planning not to) and be hydrated,

Love Nerdie 💕

[x-reader-things]

Omg hi!

I saw that you wrote for star wars rebels and thought that this was my shot!

Could i get an imagine of where Ezra has a partner(non binary reader) and they get captured after a big fight, and when they come to save them they are EXTREMELY hurt, like, burn scars, black eyes, cuts littered everywhere on their body, and how he would react along with the other ghost crew and a week or so after ish?

The ghost crew is platonic btw, but i don't know if i want Ezra romantic? Just fluff and cuddles and a really worried Ezra :)

Feel free to ignore this and remember to take care of yourself!

This one got carried away from me ty for requesting this, oml-

It was really fun to write it- I literally stayed up until 4 : 30 something or 4 : 40 something writing most of it, got 3 hours of sleep, and began to write it again I love this piece sm-

Sorry for the long wait too, and I hope you remember to take care of yourself as well!! And if this isn’t exactly how you imagined it I apologize as well, but still, I hope you enjoy!!

“—Builds character, apparently.”

The Ghost Crew x Reader [Platonic], Ezra Bridger x Reader [Romantic, mostly - recently established relationship]

Summary ; In which you get captured and tortured after a… lovely argument with your partner. Only to be found and brought back home a week later. Fun times.

Requested? ; Yes

Warnings ; reader get’s tortured, descriptions of violence [not too graphic], injuries, anxiety - typical canon violence for Star Wars Rebels and Star Wars in general. Also not much of a warning but touch starved Ezra!! I love him sm- also hurt comfort things too-

Word Count ; 6.6 k [my longest one so far- :00]

——————————————————————

Thinking back on it now, the argument was so small. So trivial.

So… Minimal.

Compared to now, that is. It was just a stupid thing blown out of proportions. A stupid little spat that you got in with your partner, Ezra.

Well, it’s not that stupid.

It was about him using the damn Sith holocron to get stronger. You didn’t mind that he was using it at first, sure. It helped him. Especially after what happened to Kanan. Kept him calm. Kept him strong. Kept him believing in the Force.

After all, in your minds eye, Sith and Jedi were really just two sides of the same coin.

It didn’t make too much of a difference to you, besides in methods of how each group manipulated their abilities they got from the Force, respectively.

But now, a couple years since then - and about a few months into… whatever your relationship turned out to be - he was depending on it too much. He was taking it’s teachings to the next level, which in turn made him more powerful. Which was a good thing, in some cases. It saved your asses more times than you could count, recently.

But Ezra was… much, much angrier than before.

Power hungry, almost.

And after Kanan found out he was using it - all because Ezra was dumb enough not to hide it quickly or put it away, and too oblivious at that point to even sense that Kanan was literally at his cabin door - Ezra rounded at you.

Blamed you for Kanan figuring it out. Blamed you for spilling his secrets. Blamed you for Kanan getting angry at him for his decision.

And you knew he wouldn’t actually say those things if he was really himself. You knew that he was beginning to get corrupted by that red pyramid of a holocron. You knew he was literally losing nights sleep due to nightmares, which made him more paranoid and skeptical about everything.

But damn, if it didn’t hurt like hell and make you even angrier than he was at that point.

You snapped at him. Told him you kept his secret from everyone. Told him you’d never, ever, spill any secrets of his or anyone else’s, even if you were being tortured for the truth. And you told him that you couldn’t believe he’d even accuse you for such a thing as that. You blamed the holocron, even took Kanan’s side for it - something you rarely ever did when it came down to Ezra unless of it was something serious - saying that Ezra’s gotten angry.

Too angry.

And you honestly didn’t really think you could handle it anymore. Or him in general, for that moment. So you left. Before he had anything else to say, and before he snapped out of that stunned daze that stared right into your eyes, almost completely disbelieving into the very depths of your soul. It was a heat of the moment kind of anger that made you do such a thing.

You offhandedly mumbled something about a mission you had to get to anyways, just as you quickly walked away from him, glare set on your face, hardening any kind of other emotion that threatened to come pouring out of your eyes (stars, you hated angry tears).

All of which happened about a week prior to where you were now.

Starving in a jail cell.

An imperial jail cell, locked away from everyone and everything.

—————————————

Another cough racked out of you, a wheeze accompanying it. You must have a cracked rib or something. Karabast, everything burned.

The mission you went on was supposed to take a couple days. And Hera gave it to you as a solo-operation. You needed it anyways, to cool off from the heated and stinging argument you had with Ezra before leaving.

It was simply get a few supply crates for medical purposes for the fleet. With how big the supply crates were, it should last the fleet about half a year at most - a few months at the very least. And honestly, the fleet could take anything it can get, at this point.

The crates were located in between the planets of Batonn and Denash, two planets in the Batonn sector.

You were warned to be careful. Earlier that year all three planets in that sector were taken back over by Grand Admiral Thrawn - some guy you’ve only recently heard of through transmissions from Fulcrum in the past few months - during the Batonn sector insurgency. You would be able to cloak one of the Phoenix squadron ships (since the Phantom would be in use for another mission at the time) so you wouldn’t be able to be detected by any of the imperials, or any of the imperial fleet, there.

Once cloaked, a secret message would be transmitted to you via a comm channel that only you and the disguised transporter would know about, in order to make the exchange for the medical crates. All hidden behind a few of the moons that orbited between both Batonn and Denash.

And you were careful.

At least, you were.

Clearly, the other disguised transporter wasn’t, and the plan was found out a little too late for you to realize that - especially a good few minutes after being bombarded by heavy blaster fire from the imperial fleet’s artillery. You’d think you’d realize that the moment you didn’t see the medical crates outside and connected to the transporter for an easy attachment pick-up, but no. You just had to give them the benefit of the doubt, didn’t you?

And now, here you were.

A week later.

Severely burned, bruised, and dehydrated.

And yet still somehow keeping a level head.

At least. You think.

“I told you, I have nothing to tell you.”, you spat between ragged breaths, another stick of something electric being shoved into your side again. You grit yourself teeth and strained, keeping your groaning and screaming to a minimum. You learned pretty quickly that running your vocal cords raw weren’t going to do you any good like that. Despite having to repeat yourself over and over to the imperial scum in front of you that you literally didn’t know a damn thing about what they wanted to hear from you.

Something something, plans for Lothal and it’s liberation (terrorist attack, which is what the Empire called it), and other boring stuff like where was the other rebels.

Now obviously, you weren’t going to just hand over the second part of their questions on a silver platter that easily. You never would. Not even if someone tried using the Force to get you to spit it out. You wouldn’t reveal that integral part of information, no. That’s where your friends were, that’s where your family lived, that’s where Ezra was.

You sure as hell weren’t going to give them that information for their satisfaction.

As for the first part of their questions, however, you legitimately didn’t know anything about it.

Sure, you’ve heard talks of it. Plans of getting together to actually plan it out, once the fleet was big enough. But you didn’t know specifics. After those couple of things, your knowledge of the subject was dwindled down to just some things you heard in passing conversations back at Chopper base. That was it.

And clearly, for the past longest week ever, the imperials didn’t believe you when you told them that truth.

That it wasn’t even fully planned. That they had nothing to worry about (yet). That you didn’t know anything.

A gloved hand lurched up and roughly grabbed your jaw, digging into the ever worsening bruises that littered your jaw and cheeks, forcing you to look at whoever it was. Through the swelling of your black eye that’s been getting worse for the past couple of days, all you could see was the blurry outline of the same soldier that always questioned you, looked at you and hurt you like you were the scum of the galaxy.

“The more you lie, the worse this gets”, he sneered, another jabs of burning and electricity stinging through you at his words. He shoved your face to the side as he let go of you, your head smacking into the metal slab that held you up and kept you captive in this horrific torture machine.

Another strained noise tickled the back of your throat. Another whimper of pain that you stifled to keep your sanity. At the very least, you could do whatever Ezra taught you to do best.

Annoy the hell out of these bucket heads.

“What’s that saying about insanity? Oh right”, you coughed before wheezing out a bit of forced laughter, a smirk forming over your mouth, irritating the cut lower lip that was beginning to scab over. “If - if you do something over and over again, and continuously get the same results, that makes you insane. And uh - buddy it’s been about a week, hasn’t it? You haven’t gotten anywhere—“

The restraints were unclipped from your wrists and ankles. Confusion wracked your mind before a hand grabbed at your neck and forced you back harshly on the metal slab. That time, you couldn’t stop the loud shout that sprang out from you at the sudden movements.

“Wha—“, you grunted before you can even squeeze out a sentence, a strong fist connected with your abdomen, making all the airbrush out of you at the action. You couldn’t even begin to process the pain you were in besides the electrical burns. The adrenaline and the numbness to it at that point was still ringing true in every nerve in your body.

Before the imperial soldier could even land another hit on you, or another burn, the hilt of a Lasan Bo-rifle hit the back of them at a pressure point, instantly knocking them out.

Wait.

Bo-rifle from Lasan?

You coughed and wheezed for more air the moment the soldier let go of your reddening neck and smacked onto the ground, and you were even firmly planted on the ground yet, or strapped down onto anything. So you were about to smack onto the ground yourself when you found no energy within you to keep yourself there. Gravity acted too fast on you.

“Woah, easy there kid—“, a rough voice sounded, almost distant in your ears, until a couple of purple furred hands caught you before you fell, steadying you on your shaky feet. “You alright there?”

“Zeb?”, you croaked out, looking up and squinting at who caught you. Purple fur, blurry yellow eyes, some semblance of a scowl - yep that was Zeb.

Once Zeb got a proper look at you, he grimaced with a flinch. “Oh - Karabast, kid, what did they do to you?!”

Burn marks everywhere, bruises everywhere, scratches everywhere, rips in clothing, tattered, messy hair, more sunken eyes than usual, looking dryer and skinnier. Karabast, you look worse for wear.

“Oh, yknow”, you chucked wryly, still keeping up the act of being as calm as you could. “A bit of torture, a bit of starvation and dehydration - builds character, apparently.” Zeb rolled his eyes, brow furrowed in something a lot less like annoyance and much more like worry.

Odd, you think. It’s only been a week since you were kidnapped. How worried could they have gotten?

“Spectre-4 to Spectre-2, come in.”, Zeb said immediately into the comm.

“Specter-2 to Spectre-4, Whaddya got for me, Zeb?”, answered the crackling voice of Hera on the other end, a faint sound of blaster fire behind her somewhere.

“I found them, I found Spectre-7”, Zeb said immediately into the comm.

“YOU FOUND THEM?” , came a chorus of four other voices loudly into the comms, along with the surprisingly relieved beeps of Chopper. You and Zeb flinched at the sound. Your ears weren’t as sensitive as the Lasat’s were, but damn if that sudden noise didn’t make you flinch.

Your’s and Zeb’s shared reaction caused him to look back at you as opposed to the comm in his other hand. One arm was held onto one of your biceps, which was one of the only thing keeping you from falling next to the puffer-pig dung heap on the floor. You were so much lighter than before. That was not a good sign.

“They’re not lookin’ so good.”, he said honestly, swiveling his head around just in case of any stray stormtrooper coming your guys’ way. No one answered back right away. At least, that’s why you and Zeb thought.

Comms shorted for a second.

Imperials know they’re there, trying to get you back, trying to cut off communications with one another.

“Zeb”, came another voice. Younger than Hera’s, definitely not either of the other guys. Sabine, you guessed, mind still swirling from the burning feeling of the metal, electrifying rods being stabbed into your sides, just enough to cause burns rather than cuts in the skin. “ZEB!”

Zeb exclaimed in irritation at the loud and sudden noise of the comms crackling back, deciding best that it probably wasn’t a good idea to just sit and wait for the others to find you two while under blaster fire. “WHAT!? What is it—!?”

“Talk to me, Orrelios, how bad are they??”, urged Sabine, seemingly referring to your injuries.

You grunted at the sudden lurch of being pulled into the hallway by Zeb, stumbling over your shaking feet as he didn’t stop for a second, even at the sounds of your own discomfort, the ones you wanted to keep at bay for a while now.

The lasat pulled you aside into an empty corridor once the blaster fire began to reach you guys. With a sigh of irritation, he picked you up from your knees and held you up - almost like a kid, which you still kind of were to some degree to him - and spoke into the comms once again. You laid your head on his shoulder with a groan and a wheeze, earning another concerned side-eyed glance from Zeb.

“Look, you’ll see them when we get back to the rendezvous point, just get there, got it!?” He said sharply into the comm, shoving it back into its place on his belt.

After that, conversations on the comms were just crackles and buzzes of the other members quickly trying to communicate with one another, blaster fire covering the most of it up, along with your hands at your ears. It was all just a blur at that point, really.

—————————————

Just before reaching the rendezvous point that was agreed upon, Zeb let you down to your feet again, still keeping a stabilized hand on your shoulder as you walked - hobbled, really - over to where the rendezvous was. He figured you didn’t want anyone to see that he carried you here like a child all the way there from that corridor. Karabast, you even vocalized that.

“Tell anyone you carried me like a kid and I will steal all of your snack rations from the extra food we found, got it?”, you slurred out, arm loosely wrapped around your middle as you heave a coarse cough afterwards, still trying to recover from being tortured just before Zeb found you.

“Got it.”, Zeb said to you with a small, relived chuckle. Although, that relief was short. How the hell are you still acting normal after all of that? Your normal, sarcastic-like-you-spend-way-too-much-time-with-Ezra self? Although, the sarcasm seems to be the only remaining constant with how you were from a week before, at that moment, so the Lasat can take what he can get. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all.

You arrived at the rendezvous point not a minute later, being met with a very worried sick Sabine and Hera. Hera immediately took you from Zeb’s side, an arm wrapping under one of yours as she led you back onto the Ghost. Sabine held onto your bicep of the other arm wrapped around your abdomen and stomach, keeping close by, and Zeb hovered close behind as the four of you quickly boarded the ghost.

Ezra, Kanan and Chopper were the ones in charge of the escape.

Once you were confirmed to be MIA, with chatter around the imperial gossip chain leading to fulcrum about six days into your stay at that imperial facility before it got to Chopper base, the plan was made almost in record time.

It was agreed upon that the two Jedi’s were to help escape, not fight. Not after the whole debacle with the old Clone Wars Y-Wings mission days prior to that, when Ezra’s use of the dark side got into his confidence and a little out of control during that mission - which lead to the unfortunate destruction of the Phantom.

Ezra was wholeheartedly against it, and so was Kanan.

But to Hera and the other two, it was their best bet. The moment Kanan and Ezra would’ve been found in that imperial facility would’ve made things a whole lot harder to get you out of there.

The Jedi staying behind on the Ghost was their best bet to get you out of there with as minimal attention as possible.

Well, as much as they could despite being rebels, of course.

No sooner than the doors to the Ghost closed once you were all loaded onto the ship, the freighter was immediately put into hyperdrive. Not directly to Atollan, of course - just somewhere away from that cursed place around Batonn and Denash.

The four of you all breathed a sigh of relief, you still wheezing and coughing from everything and trying to catch your breath. At this point, though, you’re pretty sure you have a cracked rib somewhere. Breathing hurt. Not just around your neck, but your sides too.

“Well, that was something”, you strained out with a forced chuckle, earning some pained looks from Sabine and Hera once they looked at the state of you.

Stars, you looked like hell.

Beeping and warbling from Chopper joined you soon afterwards, the Astro-mech flying towards you, around the loading dock that everyone who wasn’t a Jedi was in. Chopper nudged onto your leg, moving its head from side to side, almost like a nuzzling manner that your would see from a loth-cat. Zeb chuckled at the sight a bit, earning a quick zap from Chopper, and what could’ve been a curious catering of curse words and what you picked up to be “don’t tell anyone about this”, in droid language. You moved your arm from around your waist, giving Chopper a quick pat on the head, taking your hand back as he rolled away, the sounds of two sets of footsteps bounding closer on the metal of the ground scaring him off to the side.

You looked up slowly, eyes barely meeting Kanan’s, nor Ezra’s.

Well, it’s not like Kanan could actually see you. But he could hear and sense you. And the pain you’re in, despite you not being able to feel it all just yet. And he could tell you were fighting the whole time. Not giving up even the slightest bit of actual information that could help the empire. He was both equal parts relieved and absolutely horrified at that.

Force knows what kind of injuries littered the skin of your body.

Ezra, on the other hand, could see you. He couldn’t even begin to fathom what he saw.

A gulp and a shaky, quiet breath followed after he finally got to see you. A week after that stupid, stupid argument. His eyes were wide, cerulean blues scanning over each and every injury and bruise that came with your battered appearance.

You were his partner.

What did those damned imperial asshats do to his partner!?

“Hey, there’s my favorite Jedi’s!”, you forced out, your voice cutting through Ezra’s thoughts, another smile cutting through the scab on your lip even more.

Kanan gave Ezra a small pat on the back in encouragement, and Ezra wasted no time on jumping over the railing of the top deck, feet firmly planting on the lower deck of the loading dock before he enraptured you into a tight hug that almost knocked you back down onto the ground.

Hera, Sabine, and Zeb were smart enough to back away once Ezra had landed on the lower deck.

You grunted from the force, a pained wheeze accompanying it. ”Easy, Ez, pretty sure you cracked my ribs even more”, you say, sarcasm and a joking lilt covering whatever kind of fears you were feeling right then. Ezra just barely loosened his grip on you, a hand coming up to gently hold onto the back of your head as the other clutched you close around your shoulders.

His eyes were screwed shut, brows furrowed downwards as his chin pressed onto your shoulder, for another reminder that you were there. You were with him. You were in the Ghost.

You were safe.

He was still reeling at hearing the sound of your voice after not hearing it for about a week. Perhaps the longest week ever.

To say that he freaked out the moment he realized you missed your check-in time with Hera was an absolute understatement. He was already antsy during the first two days of your mission. Especially since you guys both said nothing to each other after the argument, you having left not too long afterwards. He already got a bad feeling that wouldn’t stop coursing through him - no matter how hard he tried to will it away - the moment you left him alone after you offhandedly mentioned your task once the argument ended.

And when you missed the check-in time? And the days after that?

He couldn’t sleep at all.

Went through one too many scenarios through his head that made him anxious to no end in sight. Not even Hera or Kanan could help him through that one.

He grew irritable when he was told to wait for further instructions on the matter of your disappearance. He wanted to go out and find you - maybe pay a visit to whoever the hell kept you away from the base for so long. Man, even Sabine and Zeb were willing to join him on that endeavor before the transmission from Fulcrum came through. Once Fulcrum said your name and stated the now-debunked-as-true rumors of you being captured in an imperial facility for questioning, all thoughts of his previous idea flew out the window.

He remembers how the air left his lungs when Zeb’s voice crackled through the comms to speak to Hera about finding you, Kanan and him being tapped into the frequency just incase anything else happened while they were on the Ghost, waiting for the rest of the Spectres to come home with you in tow with them for the escape. It was difficult to breathe for a few seconds.

Zeb found you.

And then, of course, he remembers the fear and anger that rushed in at what Zeb said about your state of being. What he wouldn’t give to have beat up whoever thought was a good idea to torture people for information - especially whoever thought it was a good idea to do that to you. Everyone knew immediately what Zeb was referring to when he said you didn’t look too good. You were injured. And from Zeb’s tone of voice, the injuries were bad.

And now, here you were. Held in his arms, safe back on the home you called the Ghost, with him being absolutely unable to bring himself out of the hug. He can breath easier now, now that you’re at home.

“Ez, ‘m fine”, you said with a laugh. Still trying to remain calm. “You can let go of me, y’know?”

Ezra shook his head no stubbornly, eyebrows furrowing inwards a bit more for just a second at the idea, knowing damn well he got a roll from the eyes from you. That wasn’t going to change his mind about holding you at all.

“Ezra seriously my ribs are starting to hurt—“

He loosened his grip enough to pull away from you, not before pulling a surprising move and lifting you up into his arms. One arm still clung around your shoulders, and the other hooked underneath your knees. You gasped in surprise at the action, but the gasp was a little to sharp for your body’s reaction, so immediately afterwards you coughed away from him and into your elbow, trying to catch your breath, your other arm slung around Ezra’s neck instinctively.

After a bit more of you catching your breath after a few seconds, Ezra sighs shortly in relief, and makes his way towards the ladders with you, still in his arms. The adrenaline was still there for you, just slowly waning, enough for you to get tired enough not to protest Ezra’s actions.

“What are you doing?”, Hera asked him once he started climbing out the ladder to the deck above the loading dock. The arm around your shoulders was helping him climb, your arm strong enough to hold yourself up, while his other arm stayed hooked underneath your legs.

“Gonna help with their injuries.”, he told Hera curtly.

“We have a team of medics at the base to—“

“I know.”

Ezra’s voice was sharp at that answer, even just the slightest bit of annoyed, stunning a bit of silence out of Hera at his reaction. The rest of the crew watched as he disappeared back into the Ghost with you wrapped up in his arms.

For a second, Hera took a step towards the ladders, having half a mind to follow the two of you, before Kanan’s voice called out to her from the balcony.

“Let him help. They’ll be fine with him. Think they both need some time together after the past week we just had.” He explained to her calmly. Hera only stared at him for a long minute, before looking at a random part of the Ghost below them both, sighing at his words.

He was right.

You both needed this.

—————————————

“You really said that to the guy?”, Ezra asked incredulously, voice the softest it’s ever been around you. He was busy cleaning off the dried blood from your visible cuts, having already just cleaned, bandaged, and put burn salve on the electrical burns all over your middle and sides. The burn salve was long over due for them, and you visibly relaxed when the burns were finally covered in the soothing, cooling substance. That should take away the sting that ebbed away at your nerves.

“Hey, it really was the definition of insanity in there!”, you said with a chuckle as you defended your word choices. Which, granted, prompted you to get choked by the guy before Zeb stepped in, so it probably wasn’t the best word choice, but still. It was better than nothing. “Couldn’t help it, Ezra. I spend too much time with you to not say something, yknow.”

That comment coaxed a small smile out of Ezra, a gentle hum of a chuckle already being pushed through him. But it still wasn’t enough to make him laugh all the way. At least it got him to smile, though, even for a little bit.

He was cleaning off a couple of the cuts on one of your hands, attention staying on that hand as he let the small smile turn the corners of his mouth upwards.

“There’s the smile I missed for the past week”, you said, your other hand coming up to cup the left side of his cheek. Your thumb lightly grazed over the two shallow indents of scars left by the inquisitors a couple years prior, and he leaned into the feeling of your hand on his cheek, stopping his small mission of getting you patched up himself, and relishing in your touch. Even if it’s for a few seconds before he got back to work.

One week without any knowledge of how you were doing was enough to make him realize how much he really, really missed you during the longer missions. He missed your hugs, your talks, the banter. He’d give anything to prevent another week like this one from happening again.

One week without him around was enough to make you worry. What kind of lengths he’d go through to get anyone back. To get you back. That is, if he fully turned to the darkside of the Force. Sure, two sides of the same coin with the light side of the Force and everything, but it still harbored some level of fear in you. Luckily, though, it seemed like Kanan knocked some sense in him. That or your disappearance and subsequent torturing - but honestly you’re hoping it’s not the latter. You’re just glad he’s ok. That he isn’t hurt. That he’s here and he’s safe, and that you protected the secrets of the Ghost and Chopper Base without breaking to anything the imperial facility threw at you. That was an accomplishment in its own right. And you were glad that you were able to keep those secrets safe.

And that you were able to keep Ezra safe.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when a thumb swiped over the split cut that was on your lower lip. Ezra just barely grazed it, but it still hurt, and made you wince a little bit at the touch. Only by a smidge.

To cover that up, however, you decided to joke around a bit.

“If you wanted a kiss you could’ve just asked”, you said, snickering a little at Ezra’s eye roll, and the red that began to tinge his ears. He closed his eyes and shook his head with a chuckle, and your smile grew. That got him to laugh.

His hand moved to hold the side of your neck, just below your jawline. Part of his hand still rested on it, more so at the corner, and just underneath the skin of your ear. The touch was careful, and his thumb lightly brushed against the bruising on your jaw. He gently pulled your head closer, and his forehead lightly bumped against yours, his nose lightly nudging against the side of your own, all in an attempt to get more calm and comfortable.

And it worked.

He took in a breath, and let out a sigh, the tension in his shoulders finally leaving after a couple seconds of the breath.

“Sorry about the argument”, he mumbled the apology, eyes tilted downwards, focus on the ground. “I shouldn’t have—“

“Hey”, you cut him off, knuckle from your free hand coming up, gently nudging his chin up so he could look at you, eyes that swirled with the power of the Force onto yours, that only caught the reflection of the light in the room, and the reflection of Ezra in front of you. “That was just a stupid argument. That doesn’t matter now.”

“But it does!”, he exclaimed in a whisper, irises boring into yours. You swear, you could see your own soul reflected through them. ”I went out of line and blamed you for being careless and—“

“You really think that argument has any affect on me right now?”, you ask, raising a brow. “Karabast, I was literally tortured, I would love to go back to when that argument was the most of my worries.”

That was only last week that that argument happened. So trivial, compared to the events that unfurled.

So trivial compared to the burns on your sides, the ache in your ribs, the twinges of pain from your bruises and the black eye that plagued your left eye.

It hurt emotionally, sure.

But what you wouldn’t give to go back to that being the only kind of pain that swirled in your mind.

Before even you realized what was happening, through the haze of the loud thoughts that made up your mind at the moment, Ezra’s other hand disconnected from the rag that cleaned up your dried blood, and reconnected with your other cheek on the other side of your face, away from the black eye. He nudged away a stray tear with one of his knuckles, and brushed his thumb over the swell of your cheek once more began to slowly tumble out. Mainly from the one eye you could actually see out of properly, the one eye that went wide after you mentioned the torture you endured, the one eye that let that tear go loose, providing other tears with enough confidence to start falling as well.

“I was tortured, Ezra.” Your voice went quiet, strained.

It was only then that you realized just how horrified you were.

Strange, how some feelings of anxiety didn’t pop up until way later, once you were actually processing whatever kind of traumatic event you just went through. Other times the anxiety bubbles up pretty quickly, during whatever you were going through - even if it was just a normal, calm situation that somehow made your anxiety act up. But this time, it took you a week to actually feel the damned fear that wouldn’t actually allow you to sleep very much throughout the time you were being held at the facility.

Then again, you were also doing your best to keep a level head the whole time. To keep yourself from spilling anything. To keep yourself sane.

Maybe it was the fact that you were finally in the comfort of your own home, in front of your partner no less, that made you feel comfortable enough to grab onto the bad feelings again, rather than to just force them down until they were too much for you.

Your eyes blurred Ezra out of focus due to the burning tears that bubbled up behind your eyelids. You screwed them both shut, and gulp with a shaky breath. Ezra furrowed his brow again - this time, however, they were pointed more upwards than downwards.

Still keeping his hands in the same places on your neck and cheek, he lifted his head from resting against yours and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, staying there for a couple seconds, just to linger. Mainly for his own comfort, to remind himself you were physically there with him, and also to remind you of that as well.

After that he wrapped you up in another hug, gentler this time. One you leaned into, your forehead coming to rest on his shoulder, near the crook of his neck. The hand on your cheek moved to the back of your head, lightly pressed into your hair, and his other hand on the side of your neck, just under your jawline and ear, moved to your back, pulling you forward for the hug that you graciously accepted.

He nudged his nose onto the crown of your head, placing another soft and comforting kiss there. “Took you that long to figure it out, huh?”, he murmured, voice soft with an air of humor. Just the slightest lilt to make things much less strenuous than they seemed.

“Shut up, Bridger”, you sniffed, lightly punching his arm, a chuckle spilling out between the both of you. The hug tightened just a little bit, the hand you punched Ezra’s arm with holding onto the sleeve of his orange jacket he always wore.

“Sorry, sorry”, he apologized, laying his cheek down on the top of your head. “Had to joke about this somehow, right?”

You let out a breathy laugh, followed by a sigh, quiet and exhausted. “Right…”

A silence fell over the two of you. Ezra let out a sigh through his nose a couple minutes into it. “You’re safe now, ok? You know that, right?”

The message was quiet, a soft mumble only meant for your ears. The tension in your own shoulders began to ease a little, much like his minutes beforehand.

Your arm moved from his jacket to around his neck again, pulling the hug even closer, just to be nearer to him. Just for more comfort. For your peace of mind to remind yourself that you’re home.

You’re safe.

You’re with Ezra.

Things are fine for now.

Everything will be alright for now.

Just for right now. Which is all you could ask for at that moment.

“I know.”, you mumbled back. You sigh out of relief, of being there with Ezra, in the comforting arms of home, in the surprisingly comforting metal rooms of home, deciding against breaking the hug for the time being.

Until Ezra broke it himself.

“Oh c’mon, Ez!”, you complained. “I was just getting comfortable, dude!”

“You were falling asleep on me”, he responded back, grabbing the rag he was using to clean off the dried blood from your injuries strewn about your skin. He stood up to get more water for it, along with a cooler ice-pack for the nasty bruise on your eye.

“Like I said, I was just getting comfortable!”

“You can get comfortable and sleep on my shoulder after I’m done taking care of your injuries - and after we’re sure you don’t have a concussion.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t have a concussion.”

“I’m not convinced.”

You groan, leaning back on your arms as Ezra gathers the supplies you need from one of the medical kits that came from the medical crates you were supposed to get from your mission beforehand. “Stars, you’re just as stubborn as Chopper - like friend like droid, y’know?”, you say with a playful scoff.

Ezra laughed. It was less of a chuckle now, more genuine. Good. You liked it when he laughed. “I could say the same thing about you, y’know—“ you interrupted him with a indignant noise, absolutely appalled that he would ever compare your stubbornness to the astro-mech. You were the only one allowed to do that, how dare he?

“I’m not that stubborn—“

Another laugh bubbled out from Ezra, and you couldn’t help but smile at it. It was a noise that never failed to brighten your day, even in the darkest of hours.

A chuckle made it’s way out of your throat again as a smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, and you shook your head a little, the banter between you both continuing. Just like normal.

Just like home.

Maybe some things were definitely worth getting tortured over.

If you could keep the base safe, the Ghost safe, and Ezra safe, you’d do it all over again, no matter what.

You’d always protect your home from the Empire.

Even if your home wasn’t always protecting you.

[aliorsboxostuff]

MALE!READER WRITING REQUESTS (TEMP) CLOSED !

Come check out my works bellow!

I've seen how devastatingly little male!reader fics are in my big fandoms, and as a gay man i feel like i should provide us with said fics! Which is why I'm opening my ask box for any and all male!readers and gn!readers requests! (Including anon requests!)

RULES:

I WON'T ACCEPT FEMALE!READER FICS REQUESTS. I’m a trans-masc genderfluid, so male!Readers or gn!Readers are the ones that I usually write and am comfortable with. It’s hard looking for male!reader fics, especially in female-dominated fandoms, that's why I'm opening requests for any and all sad and touch-starved dudes out there! If these don't fit your preferences then you are free to leave, and if you're a female user/reader entering my blog, I hope you remain respectful about the fics I write or get requests for, thank you.

NOTE: I NEVER USE ANY FORM OF Y/N IN MY FICS. I find them kind of weird for me to write so my fics are mostly 1st Person POV. I write most of my fics based off on Fixations that may last a couple weeks, months, years. If you've requested something but havent seen the fic, that might be because i've lost interest!

What i will write:

male!reader

gender-neutral reader

Ftm! Reader

Smut 

Platonic or Romantic relationships

angst

fluff

comfort

headcanons

nsfw alphabets

drabbles

Series

Age gap (CHARACTERS MUST BE OVER THE AGE OF 19)

What I Won't write:

female!reader

underage characters (anyone under 17)

necrophilia

real people

pedophilia

Omorashi

age play

rape/non-con

incest

offensive/harmful things

THE CHARACTER LIST! Or, characters I will definitely write about if requested!

PEDRO PASCAL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE

Ezra (prospect)

Joel Miller

Javi Gutierrez

Javier Peña

Frankie Morales

Whiskey (Kingsman)

Tim Rockford (yes from the Ad)

TOP GUN 86’ & TOP GUN: MAVERICK

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

MARVEL & XMCU

Miguel O'hara (ATSV)

Hobie Brown (Platonic/fluff only)

Pavitr Prabhakar (Platonic/fluff only)

Kurt Wagner (xmcu)

Loki Laufeyson

Bucky Barnes

Moon Knight System

Deadpool

Daredevil

Eddie and Venom (They come as a pair)

BULLET TRAIN

Tangerine

Ladybug

Jujutsu Kaisen

Satoru Gojo

Nanami Kento

Higuruma Hiromi

Ryoumen Sukuna

Yuuji Itadori (Fluff)

Toge Inumaki (Fluff)

DETROIT: BECOME HUMAN

Connor (RK800)

Nines (RK900)

COD MODERN WARFARE II

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

John 'Soap' Mactavish

König

HONORABLE MENTIONS

Chris Knight (Real Genius)

Hannibal (NBC)

The Corinthian (Netflix Sandman)

Leon S. Kennedy (RE4 Remake)

Luis Serra (RE4 Remake)

Understand that these are all works of fiction; I am perfectly fine with writing for topics including mafias, mobs, murder, organized crime, war, mental illness, abuse, etc.; but please do not romanticize them in any way. Reading it is fine; please don't romanticize them in your head.

If any of this provided information may seem confusing or have any questions, feel free to drop a DM and I will explain further! I will try to post fic requests as regularly and as fast as I can!

For refrence, these are fics i've written and uploaded to my AO3!

Steven Grant/Male Reader fluff

XMEN Family Pride Fic

Steven Grant/Male Reader Smut #1

Steven Grant/Male Reader Smut #2

Deadpool/Male Reader Fluff Confession

Deadpool/Ftm Reader Smut

Robert 'Bob' Floyd/Male Reader Fluff

Robert 'Bob' Floyd/Male Reader sunshine x grumpy

Tangerine/Male Reader Fluff/Angst Mature

Tangerine/Male Reader Mature

Tangerine/Male Reader (Escort Fic) Mature

Tangerine/NB Reader Teen&Up

Tangerine/Gender-Fluid Reader (Coming out fic)

Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Husband Reader

Joel Miller/Ftm Reader & Ellie Fluff

Joel Miller & Kid Reader

Joel Miller/Ftm Reader & Tess Fluff a bit Angst

Miguel O'hara/Male Reader Fluff

Miguel O'hara/Male Reader Spicy Fluff

Miguel O'hara/Male&GN Reader Spicy Fluff

Miguel O'hara/Male&GN Reader Fluff slight Angst

Din Djarin/Boyfriend Reader Smut

And the Short Fics/Drabbles on Tumblr!

Pulse (Tangerine/M!reader)

Deep Dive (Namor/M!reader)

Hold Tight (Tangerine/gn Reader)

Ner Mesh'la (Din Djarin/Male Reader)

Trinkets (Kurt Wagner/Gender-fluid Reader)

"Anythin' you wanna be." (Hobie Brown & Ftm Reader)

Little Nap! (Meows Morales Drabble)

Anyone that starts an argument about me writing exclusively for men and gender neutrals alike will get a very passive-aggressive and sarcastic reply to your request. There is an abundance of female!readers fics and writers who provide them; I am just here for people that takes a whole day searching for good male!reader fics. IF you do start an unnecessary rant about my fics or my writing preferences at a given moment; I’ve been in fandom spaces for the last 7 years of my life and run on pure manic adrenaline, I will throw hands. 

Without further ado, REBLOG TO TELL ALL DUDES! I OPEN MY FLOOD GATES! WELCOME ALL MALE!READER REQUESTS!

[wannab-urs]

Pedro Pascal Character Fanfiction Recs | Vol 34

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy folks!

Welcome to the Spreadsheet Digest, my weekly(ish) fic rec post. This is everything I read in the last two weeks. I was on a bit of a Din kick, but fear not, there are other boys here too.

All info provided by the author unless it was blank, in which case I filled it in.

Fic Recs Below!

lost, found

Dieter one shot by @sp00kymulderr

When Dieter is hurt by the words of someone else, he turns to his art to help him. What he really needs is you.

homophobia, unsupportive family, bad family relationships, drug use, alcohol use, implied poly relationship, sex mentions, angst angst angst. There is an ezra in this, whether he is our ezra or not is up to you. writer projecting their emotions on to their favourite character.

Well it's love, make it hurt

Din series by @corazondebeskar-reads

After The Mandalorian begrudgingly teamed up with you for a big-ticket bounty, you find you work surprisingly well together, and you propose a short-term partnership. Weeks become months, and your hunting partnership becomes muddled as you explore a new dynamic onboard the Razor Crest.

BDSM, d/s dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, s/m dynamics, sadism, masochism, bondage, bounty hunting, canon-typical violence, descriptions of injury, p in v unprotected sex, oral sex (m&f receiving), anal, toys, impact play, spanking, use of "sir," no y/n, all chapter titles are taking back sunday lyrics, explicit consent, aftercare, big meat Mando, soft dom din, din djarin removes the helmet but does not reveal his face

you've been a bad girl

Din one shot by @beskarandblasters

You’ve been a bad girl and Din decides to punish you by keeping you on a collar and leash

canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), dom/sub, degradation, pet names (good girl, cyar’ika), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, praising, no use of y/n

sorgan girls are easy

Din one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Din gets off to a pretty girl he met in the past

male masturbation, PIV (past), infidelity (past), hair pulling (past)

Rescue Me

Din series by @charnelhouse

Mando rescues a girl and develops a life-ruining crush.

Innocence kink. Age Gap. Smut. Screwing someone to get the other out of their head trope. Loss of Virginity (a tad bit of blood). Fluids. Dirty talk. Angst. Smut. semi-public sex. language. ptsd. fluff.

sweaty hands, reluctant hearts

Din one shot by 221bshrlocked (AO3)

He never thought the day would come when he’d hear you saying you wanted to leave (him). Yes there was an understanding between the two of you that you were hired to help him care for the Child and to somehow keep the Razor Crest alive and working. And he knew it made sense for you to find work elsewhere now that the Razor Crest was destroyed and the Child was with his own kind. But he just assumed you weren’t going to leave considering it’s been a couple of months since he’d given the kid to the Jedi and you never brought it up. It hurt hearing you say those words, especially when he realized he wasn’t meant to hear them and that you were confiding in Cobb Vanth of all people. Turns out, all Mando needed was to see the Marshal eye-fucking you as you fixed the new ship and overshared your thoughts for him to snap and finally make a move. Hopefully he can change your mind…

angst, smut, jealous mando, the helmet comes off, rough sex, penetrative sex, oral sex, breeding kink, slight exhibitionism, sweaty sex, overstimulation, squirting, dirty talk, sweet talk, mando’a, shy/fluffy mando, touch starved, post season 2 - no grogu, some non con elements due to overstimulation, but everyone is consenting.

i wonder if you stopped his world like you stopped mine

Frankie one shot by @chronically-ghosted

watching the woman he loves be with someone else is killing him, but for your sake, he manages. But when Benny's birthday loosens him up, he can't help but bear his soul over a phone call. Too bad you don't pick up and he's forced to leave the evidence in a voicemail.

pining, light angst, idiots in love, country music as a catalyst, romance, tw alcohol, tw drinking, hangovers, ultimately very fluffy

ruthless

Joel one shot by @whatsnewalycat

Joel is essentially your step dad and he catches you sneaking out instead of manning the radio like you're supposed to... so he punishes you.

DDDNE, literally just a fucked up stepdad/mom's bf fantasy, could read "mom" as tess but I don't name her or assign physical features to her or reader, post-outbreak, reader is def over 18 but not by much so yeah age gap, NON-CONSENSUAL, power imbalance, unethical d/s dynamic, slapping, spanking, punishment, orgasm delay/denial, humiliation, degradation, face fucking, anal sex, little to no aftercare

the warmth of your gaze, the lingering of your touch

Joel one shot by @beskarandblasters

After an evening out with Joel you come home to go to bed together, leading to some other activities before the night ends.

reader is disabled and uses a wheelchair, no outbreak AU, Joel can lift reader, fingering, oral sex, praising, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (darlin’, pretty girl, baby, angel), fluff, no use of y/n

undercover

Tim Rockford series by @secretelephanttattoo

It's been 20 years since you left LAPD and stopped answering his calls. What happens when you partner up again after all this time?

Idiots who won't admit their feelings. Or if we're being polite: friends to ex-friends to work partners to lovers. Miscommunication. Slow burn romance with eventual explicit smut. The holsters come with their own warning. the dressDave Yorkseries@janaispunkYou’re having an affair with Dave York. When he takes you on a week-long vacation, you realize that you have deeper feelings for him than you should. explicit smut (18+ only, mdni), angst, infidelity, fluff, somewhat questionable relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, dom!dave, sub!reader, able-bodied reader, dave pulls her hair, no use of y/n, idiots in love, more specific warnings at the start of each chapter

the dress

Dave York series by @janaispunk

You’re having an affair with Dave York. When he takes you on a week-long vacation, you realize that you have deeper feelings for him than you should.

explicit smut (18+ only, mdni), angst, infidelity, fluff, somewhat questionable relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, dom!dave, sub!reader, able-bodied reader, dave pulls her hair, no use of y/n, idiots in love, more specific warnings at the start of each chapter

My Recent Fics

Trust - Din Djarin x gn!reader - season 2 finale drabble (prompt fill)

Ravage - Ezra x f!Reader - saltburn AU, vampire scene

Only Good Girls - Dave x f!reader - D/s, punishment, mirror sex

Happy Reading!

[freakrenaissance]

FANFIC REC MASTERLIST!!!!!!!

It's gonna be quite the undertaking....it'll probably take me a few weeks...but I thought I'd use the remainder of Valentine's Day for a true labor of love.

Still plugging away!!! Thanks so much to all who have liked & reblogged this monster of a list! I won't stop til all my faves are saved here...these masterpieces deserve it! (Check the bottom of the post for the date/time of latest update)

I'm gonna start categorizing alllll the juicy fanfic I'm collecting, so it's easier for me & my tribe to finds what we needs.

The artistry. My goodness. The hellsite we're all addicted to doesn't always show us the goods (tags, searches...you're still left wanting), so, it's high time i created my own card catalogue

I'm going to tag all my lovelies, my faves, & try to categorize them accordingly. Bear in mind, I'm NOT Tumblr savvy, even though i've been on this site for YEARS, so if you take issue with anything, please, POLITELY let me know. Also, if you don't wanna be a part of my lists, feel free to shoot me a message, & I'll remove ya, np ;)

Enjoy!!! & Please, like, share & REBLOG!!!!!!!! & remember: HEED ALL WARNINGS! ALL FICS ARE RATED E, UNLESS OTHERWISE INDICATED

THERE BE BOTH SMUT & FLUFF AHEAD....IF YOU'RE HERE, YOU SHOULD BE OVER 18!!!!!!

Pedro Pascal Characters

Pedro is my love. Has been since before that dark day In King's Landing ...These are the fics that I can't live without:

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin

Fic Rec Lists:

Din - @amorevolousfaith

First Class to Tatooine - @mandosmistress

multi part fic that has made the wait for season 3 an absolute JOY! Fills in every gap in the most delicious ways

Look - @omgreally

one shot - Touch-starved din, making me weak

Dosed - @absurdthirst

one of my all time favorite sex pollen fics!!! sooo delish

Hard Candy - @ezrasbirdie

possessive, bodyguard Din. Need i say more?

You became all the things I wished for, all the things I hoped - @charnelhouse

This entire series! Domestic din at his FINEST

Shared (ft. Paz Vizsla) - @javier-pena

delicously depraved, & exactly where i wanna be. lil dark...mind your warnings. but, omg, what a fave,,,,i've read this so many times! lol

Tattoo My Heart - @mandosmistress

I loooove this fic! our favorite bounty hunter, getting all tatted up & being sexy...I've read this countless times...definitely a fave

i’ve flown too close to the sun - @charnelhouse

One of my all time favorite Din series! That's it. That's the rec. Go check it out immediately!!!

Tie Me Up, Hold Me Down - @mandosmistress

younger din, showing off his knot-tying skills. Dominant & delish

Ner Yaim (My Home) - @dindjarindiaries (G)

A rare bit of fluff. Domestic DIn is my jam...this is adorbs

Carry Me To Safety - @221bshrlocked

More of Din & a lil lactation. this is a series, & I highly recommend going back & reading the whole thing (I'm about to start it all over again) this gem has it ALL

Lord Mandalore - @babybugwrites

Teasing the king in public...ill advised :) Smut ensues. Sign me up!!!

Chemical Feelings - @absurdthirst

One of my all time favorite sex pollen fics! (I should probably just make a whole sex pollen list lol)

Bred - @absurdthirst

One of the best Alpha Din fics in the galaxy. Including shenanigans from our favorite lil baby green bean.

Stuck - @omgreally

Trapped in a small space with our bounty hunter. What's the opposite of claustrophobia? This is one of my faves to reread right here

Marcus Moreno

Frankie "Catfish" Morales

Take Care of You - @whiskeynwriting

Edging Frankie. Sooo perfect

View - @say-al0e

Long distance lovin with Frankie

Ezra (Prospect)

A Girl Walks Into a Bookshop (T) - @oonajaeadira

Bookshop owner Ezra. I think thats nuff said <3

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels

Oberyn Martell

Marcus Pike

Pizza Comes Third - @whataperfectwasteoftime

Marcus finds your nipple clamps at work...then dreams come true lol,,,i love everything about this gem

Good to Know - @221bshrlocked

New Boyfriend Marcus. Size & age difference kink...sooo sweet!

Javier Pena

Dieter Bravo

A Little Like Strip Poker - @mandosmistress

DIrty, & delicious Dieter at his FINEST! The first Dieter fic I ever read, & still one of my faves

Hubris - @javier-pena

A lil hate sex with asshole Dieter. I adore this (every) version of him

In The Script - @the-fic-baker

Running lines with cocky, asshole Dieter. Love this! lol

Measurements - @boliv-jenta

Working on set with asshole Dieter...Gotta go reread every part of this!

Mr. Ben / SNL Pedro

Maxwell Lord

Joel Miller

"The Thief"

Pero Tovar

David York

'Aw, why are you shy now?' - @danidrabbles

I think this was the first time I ever read a Dave fic, & Omg, i was instantly hooked. So intense & delish

Javier Gutierrez

Chris Evans Characters

Oh, Chris. Yes, captain, my captain. It truly is America's ass :) These fics vary in their intensity...be forewarned. There's something very saucy about seeing the golden boy all tarnished ;)

Steve Rogers (AU)

Silent Whispers (i) - @bonky-n-steeb

Lumberjack Alpha!Steve. I need him to be real :P Completed trilogy!

Captain America

Curtis Everett

Ransom Drysdale

Ari Levinson

Lloyd Hansen

Andy Barber

Chris Evans RPF

Sebastian Stan Characters

The winter soldier is the part of a lifetime...but i'm still salty that the mcu stole him from once upon a time. He was a sexy ass mad hatter. gotta find all the jefferson fics!!!

Bucky Barnes / The Winter Soldier

honey, there is no right way (i) - @bonky-n-steeb

Sugar daddy, mob AU Bucky. This has so many layers of awesomeness, I can't even begin. Just go read it :)

nothing holding me back - @bonky-n-steeb

Alpha Bucky being sooo sweet & sexy! Roomies in Love!!!

A Proper Welcome - @navybrat817

More Alpha Bucky, with a special guest...this is one of my faves!

no sweeter innocence - @bonky-n-steeb

Another fave! Dom Bucky corrupting Tony's daughter....sooo yum!

Dinner and Diatribes - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

A dark, regency AU for your pleasure..this is a stunning series!

Whiteout - @dilemmaontwolegs

Oh, to get stuck in a storm with Bucky Barnes...Let it snow, baby!!!

Make You Mine - @bonky-n-steeb

Alpha Bucky, all emotionally wounded...until he takes what he deserves. omg, I love this fic!

None Like You - @bonky-n-steeb

Football (soccer) player bucky, being all dominant in the locker room. this baby is delish. & i love his character in this!! It's a series...settle in :)

I'm a Fiend & You're All I Need - @bonky-n-steeb

Getting hubby Bucky to go harder...an embarrassment of riches lol Dominant Bucky deliciousness

Nick Fowler

Trust Me - @navybrat817

A lil Dominant Nick, with a sprinkle of feels. SO delish

Jefferson / The Mad Hatter

Oscar Isaac Characters

Mercy. I fell in love with this marvelous actor before i even knew what he looked like! I still can't believe he was apocalypse in x-men. & then you get a look at him?! Good gravy. Him & my hubby pedro together. My dreams have come true.

Poe Dameron

Santiago Garcia

Tom Hiddleston Characters

This one was a sleeper lol...out of nowhere he attacked me with those cheekbones & that accent....very friggin Loki

Loki

Jurassic Park Characters

One of my first fandoms EVER! I cut my teeth on dinosaurs, just like a normal kid....then things got nastay! lol Sometimes i'm in the mood for the OG, sometimes i want Owen & Claire. Here's a collection of my faves.

Owen Grady & Claire Dearing

Maisie Lockwood

Alan Grant & Ellie Satler

Ian Malcolm

Bridgerton

Doctor Who (These will mostly involve my river)

Right Person, Wrong Time - 11 x River Song - @mnemosyne-musing

Sugar Baby with Your Champagne Eyes - 12 x River Song @mygalfriday

Miscellaneous Characters:

My Love is Vengeance - Bruce Wayne- @charnelhouse

(more coming sooooooon. gtg back to orders, & i'm very tired. stay tuned for more updates!!!)

4:59am est 02/15/23 - started

10:00am est 04/06/23 - last updated

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Pascal characters' fave sex positions

It's probably been done before, but let's have fun. Doing (heh) the ones I've written.

Frankie. My boy wants eye contact. Would be into tantric sex, if he only knew what it was. Favourite position is lotus. You on top, but both of you doing the work. Slow and intimate, both hands free to roam and caress. Kissing, or foreheads together as you rock gently in rhythm. Plenty of opportunity to go harder, if need be. You gorgeous tits near his face. He's in heaven.

Javi P. From behind. Duh. He wants it hard and fast. Even when it's serious, and he's opened up to you, is devoted to you, and has started to heal from all the shit that happened in Colombia, he needs to lose himself in the grip of your cunt, the sweat running down his body, your wails of pleasure, the way your pretty ass bounces with each thrust. The messed up lad has some issues but knows what he likes, ok?

Ezra. Anything goes as long as your legs are on his shoulders and you're holding on to something for dear life.

Dieter. Amazon. Hoo boy does this babygirl love to be fucked by you in that position! Legs akimbo in the air, you bouncing on his dick like he's nothing but a sex toy to you. That's the good shit. He's gonna marry the fuck outta you.

Mando. One day he wants to be able to remove his helmet and have really intimate missionary sex with you, but he's not there yet, poor guy. Until then, the touch-starved little critter has to make do with the next best thing: your soft, round ass. God, it drives him wild to see that ass bounce. His favourite, therefore, is you reverse riding him. He mourns the fact that he can't gaze into your eyes and bask in the pleasure that he sees in them, but he is a patient man. He'll get there, eventually. For now, he enjoys the fuck out of your slow ride or energetic bouncing, your beautiful butt there for him to grab. Tin can man needs softness in his life, okay?

Marcus M. This is a man who will lie next to you and kiss and caress you for three hours straight before he slides into you and fucks you slowly on your side. It's not the most practical position but he wants both of you to be comfortably reclined, and in full body contact. At some point you're just sharing limbs and there is no telling where you end and he begins. It's really nice.

Joel. This middle-aged, broken piece of sweet, competent garbage fucks hard and fast because death lurks around every corner and this time could be his last. He'll dig so deep into you in missionary that you're sure he'll reemerge with gold or something. You always walk funny after. His knees always hurt. It's worth it.

Pero. He will have his dick sucked, thank you. The women he gets involved with are unsanitary and he doesn't need a new itch down there. Learn that the hard way. (Feral lil shit never stops to think about how often he washes his dick, though.) He will fuck a pair of nice big titties, too. No woman ever got knocked up from having her face painted white, if you catch my drift.

Dave. To suburban murder daddy it's not so much the position as it is the location. He loves danger, and lives for any kind of risky fornication he can think of: Walmart's parking lot, in the backseat with tinted windows, restaurant bathroom, his home office during a phone conference, the cinema, Thanksgiving dinner at his parents' house... you get it. He is the fingering king who can get you off with the crook of one of his fingers faster than any vibrator, before he presses you up against the wall or bends you over to fuck you fast and hard, before people start to wonder what's going on.

Oberyn. Hanging upside down in a trapeze or some shit. King is an athlete. Don't let the constant eating and lazy cat-in-a-sunny-spot manners fool you. He's just fuelling up.

[morallyinept]

Pedro Boys & Kinks 🥴

Today we're getting kinky with the Pedro Boys...

NSFW due to the nature of the smutty talk.

Check out more of my Pedro Boys Rambles here.

I make no apologies for this. Well, maybe some...

Enjoy! 🖤

Joel Miller - Nylons. 

This rugged old man with the bad knees loves to tear through your pantyhose like a rabid madman in the throes of a Cordyceps freak out! Le freak, c'est chic. He's drooling, darlin'. He loves to lick your pussy through them, watching the wet patch bloom into the silky mesh of your oozy camel toe. Feel the smooth slide of them against his morose face as he runs his scruff up your legs and into your parted thighs. Those thick, calloused fingers are soon tearing them open as he literally dives face first into your sopping cunt. I mean, he's been starving for a while now. Chef Boyardee ain't cutting it. Joel's a hungry man and it's not long after that, that he's planting his crimson capped mushroom deep inside you; fisting at the shredded hosiery around your thighs. In the days before the outbreak, Joel was an absolute sucker for a pair of black hold ups with a lacy top. And if they had little satin bows on? Well, that's a sure fire way to finish him off. And Joel Miller is fucking indestructible, right? 

Well, mostly. Abby Anderson might have something to do with that… Sssh! 🤫

Francisco Morales - Gagging. 

The best way to hook this Catfish line and sinker, is to take him right back deep into your throat and watch as he loses all his shit. Frankie's gonna start killing people! Lots of spit, sucking, drooling and if you cry those mascara tears from the strain down your cheeks? Even better, hermosa. You can bet that Frankie will bust more than just his nuts as you chow down at the all-you-can-eat dick buffet and swallowing all of that Fish yoghurt. (Urm, eww?) You'll have this handsome pilot flying high, and without the use of nose powder. Standard Heating Oil cap stays on. The whole damn time.

Ezra - Urophilia & Squirting. 

Ezra is a kinky scoundrel deep down. We all know it. Don't be fooled by that doe-eyed, self-redemption of our ramblin' man. Even with one arm he can still get his freak on with vigour. And don't let the fact he has one arm hold him back either. Oh no, little bird. He'll fingerbang you so hard until you're gushing all over his arm and he's licking it all up greedily. S'better than mining for Aurelac. Ezra's biggest kink is railing you when you really need to pee. And you can bet he'll press down on your bladder so you let it out all over him as you cum wildly. Time for a golden shower for our sweaty prospector. Panties down, Birdie.

Dieter Bravo - Abrasion (Touch Sensations)

This trashy floof-panda loves to touch things, always feeling things up when he's high off his tits. Rubbing his face against the wall, fingering through the shag, even licking it on occasion. And don't give him bubble wrap when he's fucked up twelve ways to Sunday n' tripping balls. You'll never get it back. The same applies when you're fucking; your body is a touch soaked candyland for him to explore, mount and peak. And dribble over. He'll take his sweet time doing it all too with awed bloodshot-eyes and then indulge in a post-coital KitKat for a munchies treat. Dieter won't share it though; he's never giving this up. 

Agent Whiskey - Impact Play 

Ol' handsome Jack has an adept arsenal of kinky whips and lassos. Of course he's gonna use them on ya, sugar. We all know how good Jack is with a whip. He loves it when the skin breaks and you bleed a little too. Those thick, red welts criss-crossing over your pert booty that he'll slap whilst he fucks you like a bucking bronco get him staying hard for the duration, ma'am. But he likes spending time soothing you afterwards by rubbing cool and nourishing salves and lotions into your cheeks and kissing all over them like succulent peaches. Cowboy Jack is all about the aftercare, doll. A true Southern dandy indeedy. 

Javier Peña - Quirofilia (Hands/Nails) 

Javier always notices when you've had your nails done. Complimenting you on the colour, the shape; the glitzy gems on your pointer finger that twinkle at him as he fucks your fist in the file room tucked away amongst boxes of Escobar's reciepts and spurts down your skirt. Yeah, thanks, Javi. He loves it even more when they're raking down his back leaving pink claw marks in his tan skin that make him growl and bear his teeth, as he ploughs you deeper into the mattress, cariño. 

Oberyn Martell - Wax Play

Oberyn loves making patterns on your skin as he drips the hot wax onto it and watches you sizzle. Peeling it off when it dries is the best part to reveal succulent pink nipples he sucks on and soothes from the heated burn they've endured. Fucking by candlelight will almost guarantee that the Red Viper will sink his fangs into your flesh to poison you all over again after he sets you aflame. Is it getting hot in here? 

Marcus Pike - Cuckolding 

Well cuck-a-doodle-do-me. Marcus loves watching you get taken by another, far more superior, person, and your pleasure at that suggestion only fuels his own further. He loves hearing how weak and pathetic he is and how he's never made you cum (even if it's a playful lie, I mean it's Marcus-fucking-Pike, come on. The man spends hours pulling them big O's out of you.) And if you poke fun at the size of his cock, (even if it is a whopper) he'll ruin himself right there fuelling your laughter as he watches you get railed without being able to touch. Guarantee it. 

Dave York - Knife Play

Murder Daddy Dave loves to watch you squirm as he runs the whisper of a cool, sharp blade against your milky skin. A gentle nick or a subtle graze into the skin where the blood bubbles up, makes his cock harder than the thought of Carol's Sunday casserole. Holding it to your throat as he dicks you down is even better. Play victim for Daddy, Princess. And when you beg him to use the handle in place of his cock, well Daddy Dave is only too obliging for his good little cum slut. Good girl. 

Pero Tovar - Sploshing. 

I mean it's food, d'uh. Sit on a cake and let this hungry Spainard feast off of you like his enjoying his last meal. Fruit, honey, cream… okra. You name it, he'll eat from the serving platter of your tasty flesh, and will then eat you out afterwards. Either way Pero will be getting his fill one way or another. Better have some Pepto handy.  

Din Djarin - Shibari 

The Mandalorian can either bring you in warm or bring you in roped up. Taking his sweet, agonising time in tying the silk fibres of the Shibari rope around your limbs, Din prolongs both of your anticipation through adept fingers akin to wizardry. But it's worth it to see the pretty and intricate knots and weaves that leave their patterns indented into your flesh long after he's untied you. And it'll be hours and hours before he does, Mesh'la. With your back to him, he'll subtly push up his helmet to kiss his artistic handiwork and leave deeper marks etched on you still. This is the kinky way. 

Marcus Moreno - Suspension.

Marcus loves nothing more than twisting your body into shapes whilst you're suspended in the air, manipulating you into all sorts of heroic poses. Pulling you back onto him as he pummels deep and hard, and you've no way to escape him. You can only float there, suspended in mid air and take what this sweet hero gives when he lets out his dark villainous side to play. 

Max Phillips - Humiliation & Degradation.

Max loves the power of claiming his victims; a Vampire's hard-on. But this bloodsucker also loves it when a human gets one up on him and shows him who's the real boss by reducing him to nothing but a naked, quivering pale mess on the floor at your feet to walk all over, spit on or do anything else that you feel he's deserving of. Threaten him with an open window. Sharpen a 2B pencil. Well, he did bite you, babe. Time to get your revenge. Make him crawl naked to the staff room to fetch your lunch then use him as a footstool whilst you eat it. Just don't be surprised later when the dynamic shifts again and Max makes you his lunch. Nom.

Silva - Feet 

This handsome Wrangler has travelled a long way to lay at your feet worshipping them. Stroking, nuzzling, kissing; sucking on that big toe you loathe, licking up the arch and groping the ball of your foot. He'll suck on your pinky toes whilst you suck on his cock. He'll be jerking his own gently and lost in the sensations of your intimacy as he fawns over your feet. Silva's in pedi heaven. Lord knows he'll need one himself after wearing them boots all that way, mind. 

Comandante Veracruz - Voyeurism.

Veracruz has no qualms in fucking you infront of his men, claiming you and reminding you all that you're his plaything that he's kept hostage. Or instructing and watching his men take turns to fuck you when you misbehave whilst he lays back on the cot, dick in hand and blowing up. Both are equally pleasing scenarios to the eye for the Comandante. And the Comandante always gets what he wants. 

Maxwell Lord - Electrostimulation 

Attach the clamps on his nipples, on his balls and then charge up the juice and watch this man squeal and grunt like a Red Wattle hog. He also likes a shock wand when he's been a very bad man. And Maxwell is in dire need of a whole lotta punishment, considering he tried to take over the world. Charge him up like a battery and watch the sparks shoot out of the end of his cock. Better than fireworks.

Javi Gutierrez - Furries 

I mean, sweet Javi G dressed up in an oversized, fuzzy teddy bear suit and pawing at you? I'll just leave you with that image to do with as you wish… 

[ohforficsake]

ohforficsake masterlist

The Margay (Frankie Morales/Sniper!OFC, POC OFC, no age gap)

Rating: Explicit 18+ / Minors DNI

Series Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert government agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. Two frayed things toe the line between the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. And maybe, just maybe, they make it out alive. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions. WIP - Undetermined amount of chapters.

You Brought Me Poison Flowers (Joel Miller/Herbalist!OFC, POC OFC, age-appropriate age gap) (on hiatus)

Rating: Explicit 18+ / Minors DNI

Series Summary: Joel and Ellie settle into life in Jackson, one more easily than the other, until Joel is reminded of what normal feels like. A series of one-shot glimpses into a relationship (no real plot here, people.) Soft!Joel. Two touch-starved babes. Slow-ish burn. WIP - Undetermined amount of chapters.

Misc. Other Works

Talk Refined - Ezra x f!Reader 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. Woodsmoke - Frankie Morales x gn!Reader Life has been running you ragged lately, but someone is waiting for you when you get home. For a moment, you don't have to be strong. Content warnings: Mentions of difficult family life, attending therapy, absent parents, wounded inner child, loneliness as a general theme.

Old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted here to Ohforficsake.

Shoot me a message or comment under this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for anything herein! Thanks so much for reading.

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

Eden part six

Masterlist in my pinned

TW: Stockholm Syndrome, referenced drugging, referenced kidnapping, referenced noncon piercings, referenced transphobia, referenced Christianity, conditioned whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, pet whumpee

Ezra's bedroom door creaked open, letting light in from the hallway. He stayed huddled under his blankets, warm and falsely secure.

It had been hours since he had laid down to rest, and he still didn't feel tired. Too many thoughts bothered him, repeating in circles and running themselves ragged.

"Ezra?" Christopher whispered. "Are you still awake?"

"Yes sir." Ezra didn't move. "What is it?"

"Oh, just a bit of insomnia." Christopher hesitated. "Would you mind keeping me company for a while?"

"Not at all sir." Ezra tossed his blankets off and stood up, giving Christopher his best smile.

He followed Christopher back to his own bedroom, finding it nearly as simple as his own.

A large bed covered in blue blankets sat with its headboard against the far wall, a nightstand on its left. A beechwood wardrobe and reclining chair stood against the right hand wall.

From the walls hung framed photos of people and art of plants. An essential oil dissfuser sat on the nightstand, releasing still more lavender into the air.

"I'll talk with you about whatever you like," Christopher offered, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Ezra sat down next to him. "Will you be angry with me if I'm honest sir?"

"I want you to be honest, but in a respectful manner. I would never be angry with you my darling Ezra."

"I'm homesick sir," Ezra blurted out. "I miss my family. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it."

"Dear Ezra," Christopher said gently, "you have not spoken to any of your relatives in over two years. Why the sudden change of heart?"

"I just didn't realize what I was missing sir. I'd give anything to see them again."

"Why do you think they still want you?"

"I-" Ezra floundered.

Why would they still want him? Their prodigal son, so uncaring as to abandon them for years.

"And even if they did," Christopher continued gently. "Do you really want to play the good Christian girl, wearing a pretty white dress to Sunday morning services? Or maybe you would like to be a punchline of family members who find attack helicopter jokes funny?"

"No, I-"

"Or," Christopher interupted, "have you forgotten why you found the courage to leave in the first place?"

Ezra burst into tears.

"Oh, I didn't mean to upset you so."

Christopher hugged Ezra, drawing him onto his lap. Ezra buried his face in Christopher's cotton night shirt.

"I love you," Christopher continued. "I just don't want to see you hurt."

"I had forgotten sir." Ezra wiped tears from his eyes. "But there are other things. Other people. I want to go home so badly."

"So you can do what? Work an abusive retail job? Room with people who disrespect your very existence? Watch the twenty four hour news cycle and doomscroll instead of sleeping? Starve yourself just to see if anyone will care, and become all the more depressed when they never do? I can't fathom you missing all of that."

Ezra couldn't help but think that Christopher was right.

His customers screamed at him daily, frequently reducing him to tears which he was the further harassed by management for. But Christopher never raised his voice.

His roommates wouldn't notice him missing until rent was due. Harry was a stoner who stashed his weed in the couch. And Shelly was an idiot who thought herself the nicest person ever born.

Christopher, on the other hand, had done so much to show Ezra his love. He cooked him good food, kept him safe, and reminded him of how loved he finally was, never expected any sort of repayment.

In his regular life people called Ezra a trannie mutt, not viewing him as worthy of respect, or even fully human. Christopher called him dear and darling and favorite.

No one ever touched him. He hadn't been so much as hugged in months, or had it been years? But not with Christopher, who constantly showed Ezra unbridled affection despite his sour attitude.

Other than being drugged and kidnapped, Ezra couldn't find anything wrong with his situation. Even the piercings had been a measured disciplinary reaction, not violent or sadistic.

Why couldn't he just be grateful?

Ezra clung to Christopher, needing his embrace as he needed air. Tears wetted Christopher's night clothes, but he cared not.

"I love you," Ezra sobbed. "More than anything. Please sir, don't leave me."

"And I love you." Christopher ran his fingers through Ezra's curly hair. "I won't ever let you go. You're mine, forever and always."

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Ezra asked, before regretting his phrasing. "I'm sorry sir, nothing like that. I'm just lonely."

"Of course you may. I would like nothing more."

Christopher gently nudged Ezra off his lap, and pulled back the blankets. Ezra laid facing away from him so they could cuddle nicely.

Christopher covered them both in the warm fuzzy blankets. He wrapped his arms around his pet, pressing their bodies closely together.

A sense of true comfort and safety overcame Ezra. And for the first time since waking up in Christopher's living room, he didn't feel trapped.

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