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oonajaeadira · 3 years

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A Girl Walks Into a Bookshop: Interlude: Ezra’s Room.

Fandom: Prospect (film)

Pairing: Ezra x f!reader

Rating: ***Mature.*** It’s not overly graphic, but it’s still hella intimate.

Warnings: Kissing, stripping nekkid, unprotected P&V, hands doing a lot of the work, unfiltered word blarfing. Relentless. Like just thick and surypy as hell.

A/N: If you’ve come to the Bookshop for comfort and soft and want to just carry on and accept that sex happens and just skip this and wait for chapter 8, here’s your warning and my blessing. This little interlude doesn’t add to the story or the relationship other than the intimacy that comes with adding sex to the equation, so you won’t miss anything if you want to exclude mature material from the fic.

Srsly, this is maybe the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever written. Like all that soft was keeping the smut just barely contained and it’s come to a boil and this is the release valve. (*laughs* It feels a little like I just wrote fanfic of my own fic.) But. Ezra and Tinker find so much comfort in each other, they were always going to come together like this. It’s just that this isn’t a kiss that can happen in the public setting of the shop or a cuddle while reading in the sitting room. This is just for them, so it gets its own space. And I’m not sorry for just pouring my messy, yearning heart all over the page.

Summary: Tinker follows Ezra into his bedroom, immediately following Chapter 7.

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MASTERLIST - BOOKSHOP MASTERLIST

<--Chapter 7: Someone Who Handles You Gently

________________

Ezra’s room is tidy and simple; a clothing chest, a window, a nightstand stacked with books and a filament lamp burning low as it coats the room in a soft orange glow. The rug under your bare feet is plush and patterned in scrollwork, fitting in with the rest of the rugs in the shop, putting a stop to any echo the room might have without it. The bed, of course, is the prominent feature, simple blanket and pillow, comfort, but no unnecessary frills. It’s not quite big enough for two people to sleep without touching, although generous enough to support them if they were cuddled or stacked….

Other than the soft click of the door as it’s shut behind you, the room is quiet. Dim. Warm.

You close your eyes and wait, the exposed skin on the back of your neck feeling the minute changes in the air, your auditory distance perception understanding that lips are about to land at the crossroads of your neck and shoulder...and they do... just as a hand gently pulls your hip back into his. The thumb hooks under the hem of your sleep tank, effectively holding the door for the rest of his hand to snake in under the fabric and glide over the skin of your tummy, coming up around your breast, and pulling you back into a wall of warm Ezra.

A breath for both of you. How you’ve both wanted, waited for this.

“How quiet do you think you can be, glowfly?” He whispers into your neck, mustache and lips tickling, pulling a shiver and squirm from you, and a soundless chuckle out of him as he continues to stroke and squeeze you.

“You’re the chatty one,” you whisper back, turning your cheek to meet his forehead, “I should be asking you.”

“I’ll take that as a positive expectation,” and with a fluid motion he abruptly twists his hand to grab the inside of your shirt, pulling it up. You squeak in surprise, lifting your arms, allowing him to strip it from you. “Hmm. Maybe not as quiet as I’d advise, but one or two of those shouldn’t rouse the house.”

The shirt lands unceremoniously on the floor and you shiver, less from cold and more from anticipation. You begin to turn toward him, but his hand on your shoulder stills you.

The world stops a moment.

Then it pulls in like a dying star to become nothing but this glowing little room at night housing the feel of his eyes on you and his touch on your skin. Your breath pulls itself in.

That hand curls over your shoulder, runs lovingly down your arm, up again. It splays, big and warm over shoulder blades, melting them apart, runs softly over the skin of a flank, and traces over the tender spots on the side. Then it glides up your spine to fold around the back of your neck, holding you there, appreciating how well it fits, the thumb revisiting the territory where his mouth had so lately occupied. It’s a sort of study, but also a hesitation, a forceful savoring. He’s taking his time. His exhale is slow, pushed between pursed lips before he wets them in a gentle kind of hunger you can just barely hear.

Then two fingertips find the base of your neck. Run down your spine. Hook themselves into the waistband of your sleep shorts to pull, maneuvering them down around your body, and getting them to a place where you can step out yourself. He hums in something like gratitude as you’re fully revealed to him and it is only now that he allows you to turn. As much as you yearn to crash against him, you give the time for study from this angle as well. And he eagerly takes it.

“Oh, shillytern,” he sighs, he reaches out, the dim light on his aching face, his eyes appraising this beautiful new landscape put before him, “I hope that you don’t mind that I need to just get the lay of the land…” Without shame he feeds all his curiosities--a thumb dragged over a cupped breast, the lightest fingertip tracing your belly button, the scrape of a fingernail over the crease where your torso meets your thigh, and he trusts you not to back away as he finds your warmest region--looking up only when he feels you gasp.

You have often woken up in darkness and thought of his hand on you. Where it has been, where it has often traced over chin and shoulder, around hips and spine, threaded through your own fingers. And sometimes, in more shadowed moments, when your concentration was stolen by kisses, it has traveled up your side and around your breast or taken a palmful of your backside in a bruising squeeze. But here is where you’ve ached for him to touch you, when you have laid awake with your right hand clutched in a fist over your heart, your body tensing as you used your left in a dream of him…knowing full well that his would be much better. Thicker. Warmer.

And it is.

“I meant to take to my knees for you, but the story I’m reading here,” he whispers as he uses that glorious hand, “seems to me you need no prologue.” A dangerous smirk rises from him as he presses closer, continuing his exploration, “Although I am more than happy to provide any services you desir--”

You stop his words with a kiss, crowding him back against the door, dragging his face to yours and clawing in, your entire galaxy the binary stars of your mouth on him and his touch on you, both needy, both burning bright. It isn’t long before you have to gently urge his hand away, afraid he’ll cause a supernova before you’re ready.

It’s your turn now to explore him, but in your own way; running your mouth to his jaw and dragging your teeth lightly over his neck, feeling the shift of the cords as he throws back his head and swallows. He is giving of his patience, the hitch of his breath betraying his struggling restraint with every lick and nip and all you want to do is take your time, to feel him alive and thrumming beneath your lips and hands. The yoke of his collarbone, the wide expanse of his chest--his voice echoes there with just the distant cry of a moan--and your fingers slip softly down his sides to work his sleep pants from his hips, let them fall as you press yourself against him in all his beautiful rigidity.

“My tinker girl,” he breathes as you work, keeping as quiet a composure as he can, “it’s been...some time..it’s been...since before the time on the Green, certainly before the loss of half of all my grip and balance.... I am afraid that our evening may be spent in some experimentation…” He grunts as you softly grind up on him, meeting your hips to his.

“I think it’s gonna be fine, Ez. I know exactly what to do with you.”

The fine silver line on his cheek deepens its curve as his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Well then. I give myself over to your best laid plans. I admit I am curious to witness how you mean to use me to your satisfaction.”

White hot love flairs up bright in your chest and glows out in your shared, secret smile. You both know full well that satisfaction will most definitely be had.

Dragging him in for another kiss, you pull him with you, guiding him, urging him to the bed. You gently demand he sit and you follow him down, flowing onto him, straddling his lap, and he hisses a curse in some fringeling language as your sectors meet, wrapping his arm around you to press you in tighter.

The stretch of his neck. The V of his jaw as it cranes up to meet you above him. His lips open to let you inside as you tease him a little with a roll of your hips.

He’s so willing and wanting, but he’s not being greedy. Not yet. You can feel him holding back for you, allowing you to lead and set a pace that feels right. And everything in you wants to give him everything that he wants.

You can’t rock here for long. Just enough so you may both familiarize yourselves with the feeling of your weight on him, get used to your bodies being so close, sensing the way your skin slips together. Just long enough to make sure everything’s in balance.

Then it’s a lift of the hips. The wonder in his eyes as you reach through with a guiding hand. An assurance to you both that you were made to fit together as you very slowly surrender to the laws of gravity.

As you come to rest on his lap again, satisfyingly filled with him, his face is a portrait of prayer--steepled brows over closed eyes, lips parted, coming together only when his tongue needs to deliver quick relief from his drying breath. He’s so vulnerable and beautiful like this; your hands can’t help but reach out and rake his hair.

Your own heavier breath lowly teases, “Now that we’re here, you have nothing to say?”

He shakes his head, eyes still closed and aching, “Just hold on, just...one...just give me a trice...”

A moment is given. A slight slowing of heartbeats. A number of breaths. You need it too.

When his moment is over, and his eyes open to reveal his yearning heart, he leans in to give you a slow, gentle nip on the chin, utterly and completely in thrall.

And you reward him by clenching.

That brings him around. A sharp gasp and grunt, a buck of his hips. His eyes flash in warning. And his low growl is underlined with a clamp of his hand as buries his fingers into your flank, his arm locking you against him. You belong to him now, no turning back.

Now. Now he is greedy.

It is that hand that clamors for you as you collide together over and again. Keeping you close. Gripping your hip in guidance. Pulling down on your shoulder for leverage. Furiously covering your mouth to remind you to be quiet for him, clawing at your jaw and wrapping around the base of your skull to hold you into breathless kisses. It is that hand that desperately digs into the skin between your shoulder blades when your moment nears, causing you to arch back, to open a wide field of your chest and neck for him to graze with teeth, rolling you up to him with each thrust, all the while rambling on in whispers the thoughts he’s had about every inch of your velvet body, your infinite perfections, the cataclysmic toll you’ve taken on his daily concentration...

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit slow down slow slow slow” he groans in frenzy, “you’ve got to retreat, glowfly, I’m...I’m--”

“Shhh, no. I want you to. Go ahead, let go, it’s okay--”

And something in his strangled agony sets you off, something in his tortured upward momentum surprises you, causes you to contract, to latch, to violently sync with him and yank the fucking stars down around you both together in a clashing, clattering, breaking of heavens. There is not enough air for both of you in this room, never enough and yet all you need, tormenting yourselves with silent cries and clutching fingers, aching throats and hands.

First, labored breathing.

Then, complete loss of tension.

His head collapses into your neck.

You cradle it there, fingering his curls, unapologetically breathing him in.

“How--?”

“Shhh.”

And the room is dim and quiet and warm.

At one point you shift, making a motion to get up. But his grip tightens, just enough to tell you no. You’re not going anywhere for a while yet.

“I am not a devout man,” his sighs bathe your shoulder, “but I’ll be damned if I don’t fall asleep whispering the names of my goddess and my dream, tangled up in some kind of grateful worship of you both.”

Your lips curl against his temple--damp and pulsing--as you shake in sweet adoration and silent amusement. “That good, huh?”

The happy, breathless mischief he brings to meet your gaze blows life into your still glowing embers. “Mmmhmm. But maybe we can do even better. We go again.”

This is what you want too. It’s what you realize you will always want.

Without breaking apart, the second time is slower and steadier, not better, but just as good, more kissing, a lazier pace.

The third is trying something different that works for him, but perhaps not new--hands and knees--and that’s also good.

But better comes on the next go. After he’s spent time caring for you, cleaning and caressing and marveling. After you’ve drifted off to sleep tangled in each other, a woven tapestry of limbs and affection. After waking just before dawn, wrapped up in his broad, warm, spooning body. He only needs to drag your leg back over his to make room for himself, only needs all the time in the world to let the sun come up and bathe you both in morning light.

The world can wait while he takes the lead now, while he demonstrates that he knows exactly what to do with you as well.

Ezra’s room is simple. And quiet. And warm.

And now, it’s quite possibly your favorite room in the whole of the bookshop that you call home.

________________

Chapter 8: Whose Heart is a Home for Keeps -->

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#prospect fanfic #a girl walks into a bookshop #ezra x f!reader

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the-queen-of-fools · 3 years

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Good Vibes Only

Word count: 1445 Pairing: Dave York x gn!reader (no y/n, no descriptions of reader, no pronouns) Rating: 18+ Warnings: smut, D/s, sub!Dave, swearing, ass play, butt plug use, vibrator use, remote control toy, edging, orgasm delay, handjob, public play, explicit descriptions, AU (no Carol or kids), soft!Dave.

A/N: sub!Dave York lives in my brain, and heart, rent free. All BDSM activities should be safe, sane, and consensual between 2 (or more) adults. I have written this as if it were a real situation, within a long term relationship where non verbal cues are known and are recognised. Please note: A Dominant has a responsibility to look after a submissive, including paying attention to signs that something in play is too much, even when a sub does not use their safe words. I also wrote and rewrote the debrief section multiple times, and in reality it would be more in depth. I feel it’s a little bit clunky, but it’s important to be there, which is why it’s left in even with me not being perfectly happy with it. Don’t take this fic as a guide or gospel. However, if someone ignores your limits and/or use of a safe word, that is always abuse.

And, of course, don’t steal my work, repost it, or claim it as your own.

— — —

@silverwolf319, @caesaryoulater, @anxiousandboujee, @wyn-dixie, @aliengxrl, @rav3n-pascal22, @green-socks, @dragcn-queen, @buttercup–bee, @chasingdreamer, @amneris21, @sugarontherims, @kesskirata, @ravensmutty, @dindjarinneedsahug, @allmahfeels, @phoenix-of-loki, @cookiecat22, @rrtxcmt, @mouthymandalorian, @danniburgh, @alleycat5135, @callsigncatfish, @djarinsbeskar, @asta-lily, @the-ginger-hedge-witch, @agentalpha, @disgruntledspacedad

— — —

Dave squirms in his seat. He frowns, and clenches his fist, the tension turning his knuckles pale. You turn the toy down, and watch him relax again...

...

“You like it Dave? I got it just for you.” He stares at it. It looks like a plug, albeit a slightly different shape than the ones you already have, but it has an extra curved part to it that leaves him wondering. “I... it’s a plug, but. What is this part?” He asks, pointing. “Oh. So, you’re right, this goes inside you, and this,” you run a finger over the part he pointed at, “this sits against the taint. The very base of your balls.” He nods, humming to himself in understanding. “But if you don’t like it, we don’t have to use it-” “No. No, I do.” He blushes. You lift yourself up onto your toes, lean close to his ear and whisper. “It vibrates.” You see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. You continue, “I can control it from my phone. I don’t even have to touch you to make you cum.” His eyes widen before squeezing shut, the blush dusting his cheeks deepening in colour, and letting out a small whimper.

You move yourself back down, feet flattening onto the floor again. One of your hands raise to jaw, your thumb stroking his cheekbone. “I was wondering, and you can say no, if you might want to have some fun with it out...” His eyes open suddenly, brows pulling together, creasing in the middle. “Out, like out in public?” You nod in reply, trying to decide if it’s a little too far. You love each other, trust each other absolutely, but Dave is usually the one that asks to take things further. You worry if you ask too much of him, it’ll push him away. It wasn’t a limit for either of you. Public play had been a curiosity of his from the start of your relationship, even before he told you his submissive desires. You’d tease each other in public, he once made you cum on his fingers in a cafe. But this? Was it too much? You were so in your thoughts you almost missed him say “okay. Where? When?” Shit. You hadn’t figured that out yet, you’d only thought of it within the house. Dave wearing nothing but this in bed. Dave wearing it under clothes watching a movie on the sofa. “I haven’t thought about that. Maybe we can talk about it together?”

...

You’re sat in a booth at the back of the restaurant with Dave. You haven’t turned the vibration on yet, letting him get used to the fullness first. His hand is on your knee, rubbing circles with his thumb. You’re looking at the menu, deciding on what you’re each going to have when you place your chin on his shoulder. “You ready, baby?” You ask him, placing your phone on the table. “Remember what we talked about?” He nods, and squeezes your knee once to signal he’s ready. You smile, raise a brow, and kiss his cheek. A quick wink, and you reach for your phone, turning it on to the lowest level. He sucks a breath in, and your smile spreads further across your face. “I love you, honey,” you tell him as you look back at the menu.

You had talked it all through, once he’d expressed his interest in wearing it in public. Discussed where was or wasn’t suitable, how many people he’d be okay with being around, who exactly were no-gos. You already knew you would never embarrass or humiliate him, and you wouldn’t do anything that may affect his work in any way. The two of you had agreed that you’d use your judgement for levels once you knew how loud it was, or how affected Dave would be. That if he got hard, you’d stop and allow him to soften again before restarting, and as always, safe words could be used by either of you, if needed. You’d shown him the plug’s different vibration levels (5 in total) and the ease which you could move from high to low, or stop it completely if necessary.

While looking through the menu, you turn up the level a step. He blinks, moving a little before relaxing again. It can’t be heard over the chattering of everyone. Once you see that your waiter is about to come over, you stop it. The waiter comes, takes your orders, and as he goes, you return the vibration straight back to level 2. Dave bites his lip to prevent a moan, and you kiss his cheek again, whispering words of praise and encouragement to him. You lower it as your drinks arrive, checking in on how he’s feeling before increasing it back up again. He moans softly, and you rub up and down his thigh. “You sound like you’re having fun, Dave. Such a good boy, making such sweet sounds.” He nods his head softly, whimpering, and gives you a small smile.

The level is reduced again when the food arrives. Once it’s just you and Dave again, you increase it again for a while you eat and chat. Next, you start to alternate back and forth between 2 and 3, before settling at the latter. Dave sighs, but continues eating, though a little slower. You move the plug’s level up to 4. Dave squirms in his seat. He frowns, and clenches his fist, the tension turning his knuckles pale. You turn the toy back down to level 2, and watch him relax again in his seat. “David, is this still fun?” He nods, but you’re not sure, “do you want me to stop until after dinner?” He doesn’t nod, but doesn’t shake his head either. “David, baby.” He looks up, and meets your gaze. “I’m going to turn it back to the lowest level and keep it there until we leave.” He frowns again, but nods without protest. “Thank you, honey,” he whispers, lifting your hand to his mouth and kissing it softly.

...

The vibration stays at the lowest level while you both eat dinner, and continue the date. Once the bill is paid, and walk through the restaurant doors, you put the level up. Dave grabs your hand and squeezes, pulling you back close to him. You smile, walk to the car, opening the passenger door for him, and then get into the drivers seat yourself. The second you pull the door to, he leans across to you, holding your face firmly as he kisses you. “David. Sit back.” You say when you part, and he does so immediately. “Poor baby.” You unbuckle his belt, undo the button and unzip his trousers, “was it too difficult?” You reach your hand into his underwear, pull his hardened cock out, and grip it. You arch a brow, and whisper with a smile, “was I too mean?” You lick a stripe up his neck, and he bucks his hips upwards as his eyes squeeze shut and he groans deeply. “Oh, baby. You did so well, David. You deserve a reward.” You turn the level up again, and stroke his cock slowly. Eyes still closed, Dave whimpers, breathing out your name like a prayer. “Please, honey. Shit, shit.” Speeding your strokes and raising the vibration level one final time makes Dave cry out “please, fuck, please?” The moment he is given permission, he cums over your hand, panting hard, clenching his fists tightly. You turn the plug off, still stroking his cock until his high is over, and his breath begins to even out and slow. He pants out, “thank you, honey, fuck.” He takes your cum-covered hand and cleans it with his pocket square before resting his forehead on yours, “thank you.”

Once the two of you got home, Dave pulls you to him, wraps his arms around you, holding your back to his chest, and walks you upstairs to bed. You get ready for bed and spend the night content in each other’s arms.

…

You talked it through with Dave the next morning. He assured you he had been having fun, it wasn’t too much. But concentrating on not moaning loudly had taken up more of his thought processes than he had imagined, and so trying to answer questions became difficult at the higher levels. He really loved it in the car though, when he didn’t have to hold back, and explained how eager he was to fuck you wearing it, or be tied up and edged over and over with it. Just not in public again until after a bit more training…

#sub!dave york #dave york #dave york pit #Martha writes #equalizer 2 #the equalizer 2 #Suburban murder husband #suburban murder dad #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #dave york x reader #dave york x you

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allmahfeels · 1 year

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There For You (Joel Miller x f!Reader)

Summary: You have a bad day at work and your husband Joel makes you feel better. Set in a universe where the outbreak never happened, this is just a little fic for anyone whose had a rough day and wishes they had their own Joel Miller to make them feel better :) Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem Reader Rating: Explicit. Minors kindly, GTFO. Word Count: 1.5k Masterlist | Read on A03! As far as days went, yours had been pretty damn miserable. You couldn’t pinpoint one thing exactly, it was just a series of little things that when built up left you so drained that even the short walk to your car had you feeling exhausted.

Now at home, you were freshly showered, a true victory that you even had the strength to complete that simple task. Dimming your bedside lamp, you let out a contented sigh as you were finally able to do what you had dreamed of the entire day: crawling into the safety and comfort of your bed. Just one thing was missing for you to be able to completely relax but you knew he’d be home soon. So, you wrapped your soft blanket around you and tried to forget about your day.

>>Later<<

You’re not sure when you dozed off, but you must have because you were being roused gently from sleep by a warm hand caressing your cheek. You leaned into the touch before slowly opening your eyes, smiling up at your husband, Joel Miller.

He had changed from his work clothes into his favorite grey sweatpants and soft white t-shirt, stretched over his broad frame. You noticed that the tips of his hair were damp and beginning to curl, probably from a shower. The look was finished with his boyish grin, making him look far younger than he had the right to, especially with his salt and pepper locks.

Tapping your blanket covered shoulder he asked playfully, “This is quite the blanket burrito you’ve made, got any room for one more in there?”

“Of course,” you replied, opening up the comforter and allowing him to slide in next to you.

Once nestled inside, Joel repositioned you so you were laying mostly on top of his chest, your head tucked right under his chin. You felt him press his lips to your forehead in a reassuring kiss before he reached one of his big hands underneath your night shirt so he could rub your bare back.

“My baby had a rough day, huh? You’re so tense, lets take this off so I can make you feel better,” he said, tugging at your sleep shirt.

You nodded and he made quick work of removing it, leaving you in just your panties. Resuming your previous position, you snuggled right back into his chest.

You stayed like that for a long while, Joel’s large, warm hands caressing your back over and over. Sometimes he’d let one hand slide up to the back of your neck and using his thumb and forefinger he’d massage there, undoing the knots you had unknowingly created throughout the day. After he had managed to loosen a particularly tight knot, you couldn’t help the purr you released.

“There’s my kitten, how you feelin’ baby?” Joel asked.

You nudged your nose into neck, loving the scent of a freshly showered Joel, a mixture of sandalwood and amber from his body wash and that certain little something that was just him.

“Better,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

You felt Joel huff against your chest, “Just ‘better’? Well now that isn’t nearly good enough for my baby girl.”

You let out a small laugh while you rested a hand against his cheek, caressing his patchy beard. You tipped your head back a bit so you’d be able to meet his eyes, “I feel good, honest.”

Joel let out an exaggerated sigh, “Just ‘good’? That’s even worse!”

You giggled again and let your hand slide up the back of his neck, running your fingers through the soft tufts of hair you felt there, “You know what I mean, you always make me feel good, baby.”

He hummed and was about to say something else when he looked into your eyes and saw the sincerity there. He cupped your cheek before gently brushing his lips against yours in a delicate kiss.

“You know that’s all I ever want to do, don’t ya? Make you feel amazing,” he said quietly, kissing you again.

You nodded as he kissed you once more, this time more urgently. Slowly he changed your positions so your back was to the bed and he was on top of you, your arms wrapped around his neck as your kisses grew more and more passionate.

Breaking away, Joel pressed his forehead against yours, “I wanna make you forget about your awful day, darlin’. Will you let me?”

You nodded, slightly breathless, “Yeah, yes.”

With that he started kissing and sucking down your neck, no doubt leaving little marks that you’d have to cover up tomorrow but it didn’t bother you. You loved the little reminders of what Joel did to you. When he reached one of your breasts he gave it a gentle nuzzle with his beard and you moaned, loving the sensation against your sensitive skin. He smiled up at you before taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking on it in a way that sent heat directly to your core.

He did it again and again, switching breasts, slowly driving you insane. All the while you kept your hands in his hair, playing with his silky strands as he teased you. Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, you felt one of his hands slip into your panties and cup your mound, making you gasp.

Nudging your thighs apart, you felt him part your folds, dipping his fingers to collect your wetness so he could circle your swollen clit. He lazily drew circles around it again and again, slowly building you up. At the same time his lips found one of your breasts and he began sucking your nipple in earnest.

You were lost in sensation, only able to focus on the exquisite pleasure Joel was bringing you as you felt your orgasm build and build. At least you thought you did. Suddenly, Joel released your nipple with a loud pop and pulled his hand away from your aching clit. Your eyes flew open, unsure what was happening, “Joel?”

“I wanna taste you, baby,” he said while sliding off your panties.

As good as you knew he’d make you feel, suddenly the thought of him not being right next to you was too much. You knew you weren’t being rational but after the day you had, what you really needed more than anything was his closeness.

“No, don’t go, stay with me,” you pleaded, your hands reaching out to him.

Joel sat up and searched your eyes, “Are you sure?”

You nodded, “Yes, just, do what you were doing before but come up here so I can be with you. I, I need it like this.”

At once Joel laid down next to you, turning his body on his side and slipping one arm behind your head. He pressed his forehead to yours before leaning in and kissing the tip of your nose, your cheeks and finally your lips. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world and slowly you felt yourself melt into him. You loved the contrast of his soft lips against his prickly mustache. When you felt his tongue lick against the seam of your lips, you granted him entrance, sucking it into your mouth.

When you finally parted, gasping for air he gave you a cheeky grin, “Now, is my girl ready to come?”

You smiled and shook your head yes, spreading your legs as you felt his hand travel down your body to find your pussy, his thick fingers already rubbing your drenched clit again.

The brief break made the sensations only feel stronger and you pressed your forehead against Joel’s again, beginning to pant.

“Ok, angel, just like this tonight?” he whispered hotly against your mouth.

“Yes, please, Joel, just like this,” you said in between moans.

You wrapped an arm around his neck, bringing him even closer and he crashed his mouth onto yours, swallowing your moans as he continued to wreck you with his fingers.

You felt your orgasm build, the tightness pooling in your belly. You felt two of his fingers dip inside of you, your slick making it easy for him to pump them in and out. Suddenly, he found that spot that made you see stars and you gasped, tearing your lips away from his as you screamed, your orgasm finally washing over you. Joel kept caressing you until you covered his hands with yours, stopping him before you became overstimulated.

Still not able to catch your breath, all you could do was smile at him as your ran a hand through his hair.

“You look so damn beautiful when you come, you know that?” Joel said, while he brought his fingers up to his lips and slowly licked them cleaned. “You’re delicious too,” he added huskily.

Feeling bashful from all his compliments, you attempted to duck when Joel gently lifted your chin so he could look into your eyes, “Now don’t be gettin’ all shy on me. I’ll rub this sweet little pussy all night long if that’s what it takes to make you feel better, you understand?”

"I do, I love you so much, Joel," you replied, smiling.

He returned your grin, “And I love you, baby girl. Now, how about you let me kiss you a little bit more before you give me another one? I think you’ve started to forget about your day, now I wanna see if I can get you to forget your name.”

And you let him do just that.

#allmahfeels #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #the last of us #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic

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littlemisspascal · 2 years

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New Writers added to The Pedro Library 🐼

Catching up on my reading. Fingers crossed this coming week isn’t quite so hectic 🤞

New Works Added ✨

@phandoz Frankie Morning Debrief

@green-socks Frankie V Hot V-Neck

@hopeamarsu Frankie Keep Her Safe

@insomniamamma Frankie Over Easy

@allmahfeels Frankie Feelin’ Needy

@skvatnavle Frankie Under the Stars

@the-blind-assassin-12 Dieter A Bad Idea

@heyhilana Dieter Welcome Home / Javi G Show Off

@pedrosbrat Dieter His Little Brat

@softpedropascal Dieter You Come in Handy + The Day You Said Yes / Javi G Hidden Pleasures

@agentwhiskeysdarlin Javi G Make Love By the Fire

@toomanystoriessolittletime Marcus P Unfaithful

@radiowallet Din In Knots

@queenofthefaceless Din How Deep Is Your Love?

@queridopascal Dave Louder, I Want Them to Hear You

@absurdthirst @storiesofthefandomlovers Max Sugartits

@starwarslove16 Whiskey Just Like You

@writeforfandoms Whiskey Come Hell or High Water

@supernaturalgirl20 Pero Forever Yours

@albertasunrise Javier Stepping Up

@coastielaceispunk Ezra A Wondrous Treat

Many fics aren’t appearing in the tags when searching. If I miss yours, please let me know 💗 Or add me to your taglist cuz I love being tagged 😊

As always, if you would like me to remove your work from the rec list, please let me know and I’ll remove them asap 😊

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #my library

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mando-abs · 2 years

Note

1, 3 and 38 for the star wars asks!!

Anything for you Maia 🥰🥰🥰🥰

1) Jedi or Sith

Ugh… I guess Jedi since they are relaxing a bit on their rules now, but Clone Wars era Jedi are on THIN ICE the bootlickers

3) Favorite Prequels Character

Does Ahsoka count? Bc if we’re counting Clone Wars/Rebels then it’s definitely her. But if it’s solely the movies, it’s Anakin. Yeah 😬 I know. But he’s such a compelling character! And despite being a God awful boyfriend and not keeping his temper in check, the dude knows what’s goin on and shouldn’t have been manipulated into being a Jedi or Sith weapon.

38) Fic Reccomendations

Well, all my fic recommendations are all Din related. And that is a very loaded task to pick my favorites bc I’ve read soooooo many.

The first ones that really got me hooked were @asta-lily ‘s Shakespeare in the Crest and @allmahfeels ‘s Finding Out Who We Are (I think that’s the title, it’s at least close). Another Star Wars-y one is @novemberrain221 ‘s Din and Fennec fics, those are good.

I mainly read a lot of au fics like your Darkroom Din. I’ve learned a lot about photography. @silksaddle ‘s Potter Din is really sweet. @fandom-blackhole has a Merman Din fic, very nice. @mandocrasis ‘s Sessions college Din. So many

There’s one fic where reader finds Din injured in the woods and she takes him back to her isolated cabin to heal him. They find love, but then he has to leave. But he keeps coming back to her. Things get steamy. It’s a very lovely fic! I just can’t remember it.

Ask me Star Wars Questions!

#thank u Maia 😘#abs answers asks #I used to REALLY sympathize with anakin as a kid #probably the most problematic Star Wars opinion I had back in the day

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oonajaeadira · 3 years

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A Girl Walks Into A Bookshop: Chapter 6: A Damn Fine Fit

Fandom: Prospect (film)

Pairing: Ezra x f!reader

Rating: T for now. Soooooooft.

Warnings: Excessive worry.

A/N: Not much happens this time around, kids. It’s a bridge chapter getting us from one beat to the next, and just solidifies this family’s fondness for each other.

Summary: Ezra’s off to find Trev and put an end to his ability to hurt you.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST - BOOKSHOP MASTERLIST

<–Chapter 5: Been Waiting For You ________________

You stand blinking up at the sign in the door of The Queen’s Lair, Closed Today on Family Business. Family business? Is that what he’s calling it? This isn’t good. Not good at all. Your heart falls straight through your diaphragm, losing itself into your stomach, brining itself in the acid there. You could knock? Was there a back door or stairway you didn’t notice? Shit. Breathe. If he’s not here, there’s not much you can say or do. If you had the time, you’d camp out on the doorstep and wait until you know he’s home. But there’s a hopper going out today and you have some items to deliver, and recent events have you on a tight schedule. So you reluctantly turn away and head down the street, market bag bouncing at your hip.

But you’re not going to be easy all day. You waited too long. You should have held him there last night, really made him understand. It was done and dusted and you could be finished with all of this if he’d just let it go. Why did you let him read that notice on your door???

“This is unfathomable,” He gravelled, his eyes dark, his tone darker. The paper laid between you on your workbench, crumpled from Ezra’s rough handling. “What does he think to gain from this dubious practice?”

You shrugged, slightly numb, a little surprised that you weren’t surprised, and maybe touched that Ezra was taking it worse than you. “Welcome to Trev. He will always want to have the last word. Just...let him have it and maybe he’ll finally feel he’s won and leave me alone.”

Leaning over your workbench, Ezra locked his gaze into you, his pointed jaw set, assessing, making decisions. “Hmm.” His fingers drummed on the surface of the bench, restless, his brow cast dark shadows over his eyes, making him look serious--dangerous even. This was more than just Ezra surprised. This was Ezra angry. You knew it wasn’t for you, but you made a note of never wanting to be on the receiving end of that look. “You feel safe here tonight?”

“Sure.” When his lips press together, you up your conviction. “Yes. Yes. I really don’t think he’s going to come here and threaten me physically. Not his style. Too scared. This,” the paper crinkled in your hand, “is very much his style. He doesn’t use his hands to hurt. He’s a coward.”

“Hmm.” He searched you, challenged you with his gaze, held you caged in with his eyes until he was confident that you were telling the truth. Those dark, sable eyes, usually so full of light when he looked at you, now dilated wide in quiet rage. You nearly went to him then, nearly put your lips to his and asked him to let it go, but jumped as he slapped the bench and pushed himself up like a rocket, turning to leave. “I’m gonna put this to rights.” He flung the door open and stalked out into the night.

“What? No. Wait, Ezra. This isn’t your fight. Just let him win and then it’s done--”

“Glowfly.” He rounded on you, shaking his head in a slow, negating way, pushing breath out through his nostrils in frustration and measuring his speech as if you were the one that needed calming. “The man was abashed by my censure, stripped of his pleasure in causing you pain. This is far from just and right and by all the laws of the liberations he will find himself a new torment or we’ll have to play by the Fringeling rules of which I am sure he is well aware.”

And then he was gone. And in your shock at hearing him revert to prospector terms--confused as to what it meant--you let him go. And you hardly slept, you’d finally worked out what he might mean, and wondered in the middle of the night if you shouldn’t go and knock on the door of the shop and reason with him. But talking yourself out of it, compromising, you planned to go first thing in the morning, convincing yourself all tempers would be cooled by then.

Wrong. And too late now.

You should have stopped him. You should have just held him and told him that this was always going to happen, that it wasn’t his fault--

“Hey!” Footfalls pound up from behind and slow down to match your march towards market. “Wait up!” Cee’s shoulder connects with yours as you stop short and she nearly collides with you.

“Hey! Hi! Are you okay? I saw that the shop was closed and thought maybe someone was sick? Or…” Hope beyond hopes….

“Oh. No.” Breathing hard, she twists to look back over her shoulder toward the shop and then shrugs as she swings back to you. “Ezra just said he had something to do today and took the day off. I saw you out the window and ran up to catch you. You going to the market?”

“Yeah. I have some deliveries to make.”

“Do you mind if I come? I’ve been inside all week and I’m boooooored.”

“Ah..sure. Of course. I wish you would. This way.” She follows with a skip in her stride as you round a corner. “Actually, if you really need some distraction, I might put you to work.”

“Ugh.” The smile belies her dramatic wail. “Why is the solution to boredom always work with you growns?”

Oh bless this girl. This is the happy diversion you needed. “Haven’t you heard? Once you get to a certain age, all the fun leaks out of your life and you have no wants or desires anymore. You hollow out and all is work and toil. You become a soulless husk just trying to survive and look back in longing to the days when you were young and full of acne and making all the worst decisions--”

“Or you go the other way and just get really weird.” The communal giggles send your shoulders bumping into each other, a comfortable camaraderie over an unspoken understanding. There can only be one person she’s talking about.

“Speaking of. Did he tell you where he was going today? What it was he had to do?”

“No. But he’ll probably be out most of the day. If he closes the shop it means he’ll be out more than in.”

“Fair enough.”

Smiles or no, your worry gnaws you like a channel rat in the wires. That hopper doesn’t leave until later today and that gives Ezra plenty of time to find Trev and… And what. You know what he’s capable of, but that was a whole lifetime before, that’s not the man you know now, right? Surely he wouldn’t do anything dangerous…

“Cee...do you mind me asking...you trust Ezra so much….but…” How to ask this. Thankfully, she doesn’t help you out here, just patiently lets you find the words, her stoic face more serious than she lets on, her springing steps a dead giveaway to the energetic teenager within. “He killed your father, didn’t he?”

Walking beside you in silence for quite a few steps, her jaw twitches to the side. Maybe that was too much. Maybe you should apologize--

“I mean, technically yes. The other guy shot him and he was gonna die anyway. Ezra just finished the job. But. You have to understand that my dad and I…” she squints into the late morning sun, looking for the right words, perhaps looking for forgiveness for what she was about to say, her face bouncing back its brightness, its freshness, its blinding warmth. “Let’s just say Ez made up for it. Dad didn’t deserve to die, but it happened, and it’s like something said, ‘you need a better dad, here’s one.’ And it’s just been that way since. I mean, of course I trust him. He saved my life.”

“By killing more people.”

“Well, yeah, but in other ways too. That’s just what happens in the Fringe. It’s hard to explain if you haven’t been there.” Her eyes flick to you, worried that she’s going to bring your judgment down on both of them. “You must think we’re pretty strange.”

“No. No. I was just wondering if…” the words are sticking to your teeth. Hard to ask this about someone you both care about. You don’t want to twist hearts. And you don’t want to hear what you don’t want to hear about someone you’re falling in love with. “If he’s prone to violence. When he’s angry.”

If Cee’s eyes could go any wider, they’d obliterate her face. Then her gut clenches as an involuntary laugh rockets out of her. “Ezra?” An agonized grin twists her mouth, scrunches her nose as she holds back another puff of laughter and tries to imagine this unlikely scenario. “Not when he’s angry. Maybe if he had to survive. I mean, I watched him kill someone pretty brutally with a prospecting scalpel, but she also had her bayonet stuck in his stomach so….” She must catch sight of your horrified face because her tone downshifts into a more reassuring and cavalier mode. “But really. When he gets mad at me he just calls me insufferable or throws down some Vayok swears and stomps off. If he gets mad at a customer he’ll just smile his face off and insult them in a way they actually think they’re being complimented. He’s really good at that. Why do you ask?”

“Oh. Well. I got some bad news last night and he seemed less than pleased about it. I just didn’t want him to...act out.”

Before she can ask any questions or spin any more assurances, you’re plunging into the edge of the market and she has to give up her place beside you to walk behind. Making a line for the scrap bin, you match Kincaid’s hail and slip into his stall.

“Hey, ‘Caid.” Tossing out introductions, you dig in your bag. “This is Cee. Cee, Kincaid.”

Kincaid wipes a dusty hand on his trousers and offers it to the girl, mumbling out from behind his beard. “Cee was my grandmother’s name. Good name.”

The girl gives him a lopsided grin and a shy handshake. “Thanks.”

“So here’s your assignment.” You push a brown parcel and an empty bag into her hands. “Take this package to the veg seller five stalls that way. Can’t miss her, she’s got purple hair, big teeth. Tell her I sent you, and that this is her transmitter, and I’m cashing in. She’ll let you fill that bag up. Pick out a head of greens and a couple of roots for me, but then fill the rest up with whatever you want for supper. Yeah?”

“Oh. When you said ‘work’ I thought you were being serious.”

“I am serious. That’s a delivery and you’re picking up payment. Didn’t say it would require skill. Get.”

Cee heads off with a smirk and a salute, eyes in a hundred places at once, taking in the world under the tarps of the lively old market.

“She’s not a Windings gal.” Kincaid leans back on his stool with an old contented groan. “That one’s squeaky. She fall out of town?”

“She’s Ezra’s ward. She’s a good kid.”

“Ezra. That’s…”

If you could punch with a glance, he’d be falling off that stool. “Do you listen to anything I say? Ezra. He’s all you’ve been asking about for weeks and you can’t even remember his name--nevermind. Look. This happened last night.”

Kincaid takes the crumpled paper you pull out of your pocket and unfold for him. Pulling at a chain around his neck, he reels up a reading glass out of his shirt and examines the notice, his brow knitting so far together you’re worried it might meet up with his beard.

“You’re being evicted. Four days?? Phalen Aggregation? Ain’t that--”

“Trev.” You jab at the paper, highlighting more details. “Bought the building. And he’s not just kicking me out. He’s tearing it down. Just salting my whole damn earth, Kincaid.”

“Well I’ll be crusted. That sinkless turd.” His beard bristles. “You made him angry.”

“I guess so. He knew what he was doing and he got the last blow in. Made it a big one. Fine. He wins. You said he came poking around here. Did you talk to him? Do you know anyone who did?”

Kincaid sighs and hands the paper back. “Can’t say that I do, and I certainly wouldn’t tell him where you are. He knew enough to stay clear of my little kingdom here.” His big gnarled hands sweep around him, indicating his stall before they swing in to take one of yours in his. Big blue eyes, always so bright and welcoming, soft now in sympathy. “Oh, little one. I’m sorry. What are you going to do now?”

“What can I do? I’m going to have to move. And there’s nowhere in the Windings or close by I’m going to be able to take this late in the cycle. I could barely afford that place, and that’s just because I offered to fix it up. I might have to sell a few things and move into a room or an outbuilding if I want to stay nearby. I'll probably go further afield. But for sure I’ll have to give up work for a few days to find a place and that’s going to cut into my resources.”

“I’m so sorry, my little friend. This is a hell of a mess. You need to bed down in the stall for a while? What can Kincaid do for you?”

You grip on his hands is all appreciation, but you shake your head. “You’re doing it, ‘Caid. I’m shaken and I’m stressed, but I’ll be okay. I’ll land on my feet. I just wanted to know if you’d heard anything. Have you seen Trev since then? Is he still in town?”

“Haven’t seen him, but that doesn’t mean we can’t run him down and turn him into stew meat. Should we go hunting?”

The joke is tempered by the thought that worries a hole in the back of your mind, but you push it down and play along. “He’d make a terrible stew.”

It’s here that Cee returns to the stall, the bag overflowing with greens and veg tops which she drops at her feet to have both hands free. “The lady said she owed you more than a bag. She sent these along.” The girl pulls a box from under her arm, opening it to reveal six enormous eggs. “They’re crowntails. And I got sweetplant. Thought we could make a souffle bake!” ________________

After the rest of the deliveries, it’s a pleasant walk back to the bookshop; sun’s out, breeze is up, Cee tells you about the conversation she had with the veg vendor and the old Earth things she saw at the adjoining junk stall. But it’s hard to appreciate it, hard to concentrate on her story. You’re just anxious to get to the shop and hope that Ezra’s returned.

No luck. The store is dark, the sign still in the window. It does little to alleviate your slowly rising tide of dread.

You should get going on. You should use the afternoon to scour the Windings and knock on doors and see if there are any empty spaces for occupation. You should take a walk into town and check the notice boards. But Cee entices you to stay, asks you to mash the veg so she can concentrate on grating the cheese and whipping the eggs just right.

And if you stay, you might catch Ezra when he comes home.

It ends up being the right choice for your heart. You both open up the widows and agree on a bouncy pop radio station. Cee tells you about the novella she’s working on, asks your opinion about the plot and a particularly sticky point she’s trying to work out. It’s a truly engaging tale set on a desert planet and two lovers who are given a choice to stay together to fight impossible odds or to separate themselves to save one of their lives. When she cracks open someof the eggs, you both stop for a minute to admire them--rich orange yolks the size of your fist--before launching back into the saga as she slowly begins to whisk.

“So I’m not sure how to force the separation. They need to be found by the enemy, but I don’t know how that happens.”

You smile down into the sweetplant bulbs you’re turning into a dense mash. “I wish I could help, but I’m no good at stories. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Seems like you have a good head for plotting and sidewinding.”

“Until I don’t. Writing is haaaaaaarrrrd. Sometimes I think I could just dump it all and run the bookstore with Ez.”

“If you do that,” you warn as you dust the root with salt, “the shop will be fully staffed and I’ll have no reason to come around and help out anymore. What if I forget about you? What if I forget about him? It’ll break his heart. And all because you couldn’t decide on an inciting incident in a desert adventure plotline. Tsk.”

“He’ll waste away and I’ll have to run the store on my own.”

“And become an embittered, dried up old woman in a bookshop, work and toil, toil and work, talking to her cats and spiders, dreaming of the time when you could have become a famous author, traipsing the galaxy on glamorous book tours--”

The story trades back and forth between you, imagining Cee living an increasingly gothic life full of sorrows and overblown tragedies until you’re both giggling messes and the souffle is ready to go into the hotbox. She says a little prayer to the gods of bakery and asks the mixutre nicely to turn out edible. You crouch beside her to take turns looking through the peephole at the batter, as if watching it will force it to behave.

“But really,” you study her round cheek as she squeezes an eye shut to use the other at the peephole, “I can’t wait to read it when you’ve finally figured it out.”

There’s a moment when she isn’t truly looking into the hotbox anymore but into the liminal space in between, a few seconds lost in thought before she turns to you with her shy, crooked smile. Then she’s up and padding down the hallway to her bedroom, returning a few seconds later with something pressed to her chest.

“Here. If nothing else, after this, everything else I write will make me look like a genius.” The notebook she hands you is dirty and ragged, the cover has a little doodle of an aurelac stone on it, and when you open to the first page, you see the title of the book Cee tried to replicate on her trip to the Green. Something in your throat begins to swell. “It’s not finished. I only got through chapter 15. There’s an extra chapter between 7 and 8. I just wanted to write Clo’s reaction to the training session--”

Her words come to a slow halt as a large tear splashes down onto the page which you quickly try to wipe away. You’re suddenly at a loss, struggling to understand what triggered this emotional wave. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…I...thank you...I really want to read it...I’m sorry…” It’s all you can get out before you’re choked with a flash flood of sobs.

This small gesture of trust--of family--at a time when your tumultuous past has clashed with a future that promised to be so comforting, knowing that there are people in your life that care for you, but also the pent up worry, the waiting for the other shoe to drop…. If you move, Trev can just hound you, find you again, repeat his nonsense. And everyone around you will have to deal with it too. You can’t see a way that you’ll ever be completely free from the possibility of senseless torment just because he’s a vengeful shit other than...other than...Trev just not being around to do any more damage. And that’s not a sin you want to consider, but it just keeps screaming in your skull.

Oh Kevva, where is he.

“Hey.” Cee’s hand squeezes your shoulder. “It’s okay. Are you alright?”

No, of course you’re not, but you nod, drying your eyes on your sleeve, gasping out an unconvincing laugh. “I...had a rough night. Didn’t get much sleep. I--”

“Birdie.” Ezra’s voice rumbles softly from the top stair.

The world stops spinning for just a brief second.

He’s windblown, hair wild, a look of tired concern on his face as his focus shifts between you and the girl. “Cordially requesting your presence downstairs. Mandatory family congress. If you’ll excuse us, tinker girl, I’ve got some things to discuss with the bane of my existence here.”

“Where were you?” You wish you had more patience. The desperation in your voice is only very thinly masked and you cringe inwardly at how needy you sound.

He simply holds up his hand. “In time, dear one. I only beg a moment to confer with my partner here and then I’ll tell you my rather distasteful tale.”

Oh Kevva. What….does that mean?

Cee pushes the thermal mitt onto your hand as you stand in shock, tears still drying on your face. “Watch the souffle. If it gets too brown or starts to overflow take it out before it burns or it’ll stink up the whole house.”

Ezra holds your gaze until he disappears down the stairs. It’s a struggle not to run after him, to ask him what’s going on. But. There’s a finicky dinner on the line and someone you care about has asked you to watch it. So you do.

How much time passes? Fractions? Hours? Half a rotation? Or just a partial bake session of a single souffle?

Distasteful tale. What’s distasteful about it? What does he have to warn Cee about?

Soon enough and lifetimes later the bookcase door is opening and there are two sets of footfalls on the stairs, one steadily plodding, one skipping lightly. Cee emerges first, rosy and knowing, and comes for the mitt. “I’ll take it from here.”

When Ezra comes into the kitchen he doesn’t stop, just moves on through the hallway, waving behind him for you to follow. “Come on, glowfly. Got something for you.”

You’ve only been down this hallway far enough to duck into the first door--the washing closet--and you know the next door is Cee’s room because you’ve seen her come and go there. There’s one more door on the row but Ezra walks past it to the final door at the end of the hall, the one that opens to the front of the second floor.

The room beyond is about a third of the size of the large living area at the back and is clearly being used for storage. Boxes and piles of old books crowd the space, the two large, vaulted windows in the front and one on either side wall are filmed with dust and there’s more than one cobweb in each corner that you can see.

“Now. Bear in mind this all goes; it’s all expendable. New homes and hovels can be procured for the detritus herein. And I won’t lie, the sun screams here first thing. But there’s room enough here,” he waves his hand loosely at one side of the room, “for a station twice what you have and we can tuck your bed cozy in the far corner. Washing closet is shared, but you’ve seen we keep our spaces pressed for good. I know it’s not ideal, and it’ll take some shining up, but it’s yours if you want it.”

You’ve already cried once today. It really wouldn’t do to have another round, but you can feel yourself welling as he searches your eyes expectantly, leaning in, most definitely waiting for a yes.

“Ezra. I can’t ask you--”

“Market’s closer. Shop gets foot traffic. We could put a sign up advertising services. Take commissions at the front desk…”

“I don’t want you to be my landlord--”

He shakes his head widely to emphasize his point, curling his bottom lip in protest. “You already help me here time to time. That’s your fee, forepaid. And if after a while you find it isn’t to your liking, we can find you something more comfortable, with no egregious feelings and more than the four day window we find ourselves in now. Think of it as trial to total if you like. Comes with all the books you can devour.”

“Ez. This is your home.”

“That it is.” Stepping up to you, he slips his hand into yours, chuckling to try to lighten the mood, even though his eyes are desperate, begging you now. “And it’s clear for you to land. Maybe a little snug, but otherwise a damn fine fit. Cee wants you here, said as much. Her room is her own, but all else is open to you, tinker girl.”

Your head is spinning a little, whirring like a drill needle. Living above the bookshop. With Ezra and Cee. Behind a hidden bookshelf door. A bright little room all your own. Given willingly. In a better part of town. No more trudging through the Windings in commute to the market. No more scraping the worst jobs just to pay board; you can take the jobs you want even if they pay a little less, you can spend more time helping Ezra in the shop when you need to take a break from sewing and soldering. No more ends to evenings with your new family...just a good-night and a walk down the hall.

And it’s not lost on you that his own room was included in the spaces you’re invited to call your own.

But.

“If I live here,” you whisper, squeezing his hand, “you can’t walk me home.”

He leans in, dragging his nose against yours, “To be certain I can, and I will. If that is the only remaining barrier, I would implore you trust me to invent a way to clear it.” His lips seal to yours momentarily throwing your heart out of rhythm. “Impress upon me your last hesitancies and let me find a way to entice you.”

Even if you wanted to back away, Ezra's grip would keep you there, pressed into him, kissing up into his mouth and giving your whole consent. But why would you ever want to back away? Unless...

“Tell me your distasteful tale.”

He pulls his greedy lips from yours, humming and nipping instead into your neck, his breath warming your ear. “Doesn’t matter now, shillytern. Moment’s passed. All is well.”

“Ez.” You try to slither out of his grip but he holds you tight, backing you into the wall, laughing into your neck. “Ezra. Please. Where were you today?” It’s the one time your two hands are at an advantage as you’re able to gently pry his mouth from your earlobe. “I was worried.”

“Whatever for?”

“I thought you might...I don’t know. I thought you might go to try to find him and...I don’t know what ‘Fringeling rules” are. I thought the worst I guess.”

“I see.” He gives a dangerous scoop of his hip into yours. “Thought I’d live up to the title of town murderer, did you.”

“You know about that?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Who do you think started the rumor, tinker girl? Early days of the shop helped to have a bit of intrigue.”

“Except it’s not just a rumor.”

This brings him out of his playful mood, knowing you seek reassurance, punctuating his answer with kisses along your cheek. “Not to worry. My intention was only to bargain, to make a bolder offer.”

“So you did go to find him. To bargain? You mean you were going to buy my workshop?”

He digs his forehead into yours with a sigh. “Man is stubborn and smug as a tardigrade. I am sorry to admit I tried and failed with miserable results. No shots fired.”

“Ezra. You weren’t responsible for this.”

“If you say so. But even if that were true, I still cannot throw a killswitch on my care of you.”

“Obviously! Kevva’s heart, you’re so good. Shit. How do I deserve you???”

As you reward him, he moans into your mouth, whispering his reply between your kisses, finding the moments between your administrations and filling them with a mouthful of his own. “Why would you believe you don’t? I am not a paragon by any means. But if in comparison you think me deserving of you, then by all calculations, you are the one that’s owed a significant balance.”

Still not completely believing your luck, unable to stop his mouth with his own, you sigh miserably against him. “Ugh. What am I going to do with you?”

He leans back so he can answer you adoringly, poetically, full of his quirky glee, pulling you up to bring your face to his smile as he quotes. “‘Come live with me and be my love!’” The squeeze of his arm shakes you a little with every word. “Come on, shillytern. Let’s make a home for you here, hmm?”

There’s an exasperated groan from the kitchen. “Just say yes already and get out here and dish up! Souffle’s on and you’re gonna eat it before it gets cold and mushy!”

“Do not rush me, girl!” Ezra shouts back. “I’ll powder you pink and leave you out on the Green!”

You shush him through your laughter, covering his mouth with your hands. “She did work really hard on it.”

He mumbles out through your fingers, turning his head in a futile attempt to escape them. “That’s just eggs! And listen to how surly she is! Imagine how she’s going sputter when we tell her tomorrow she’s on packing duty with you!”

“I can hear you,” Cee’s sarcastic tone penetrates the hallway as she leans in to scold. “I’m regretting this already, you ninnies.” ________________

After a last walk home--this time all three of you--loaded down with flattened boxes, emptied of books but still chalky with dust, you take a long look around your workshop in the filament light. It has been your respite for so long, a little place all your own, even if it took all the time and effort you had to afford it. Still. It’s run its course, served its purpose. There’s no time to mourn and there’s no choice but to go. In an orbit of living and working here, you’ve found your own way, picked up your pieces and hung them all from Kevva’s Grove, letting them twinkle and chime, content to have found a little corner of the world where you could hover.

But now. Now you’ll always be home when you’re at the bookshop. Your workspace will be warm and sunny with a family dinner down the hall. You’ll tuck yourself into its embrace and read quietly at night. You’ll trade in your view of the street for one of rooftops. You’ll come out of the shadow and into the light.

And there will be an Ezra there. And, for a little longer, a Cee.

He’s right. That odd, beautiful man is always right.

It’s a damn fine fit. ________________ Chapter 7: Someone Who Handles You Gently -->

Tag list: @14mcmd1122 @cannedsoupsucks @extraterrestrialdork @goblinsimp @grogusmum @pedro4ever @thisshipwillsail316 @adriiibell @feralhotmess @kotemorons @kirsteng42 @princessxkenobi @justreadingthings @ohlawdthebirds @javierpinme @heavenseed76 @blackmarketmummy @writeforfandoms @janebby @grumpymuffinmama @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @toomanystoriessolittletime @amb-bam @bruschi3 @ezrasleftarm @gingib @green-socks @madsvano4 @melobee @missminkylove @leias-rebelion @kiizhikehn-cedar @allmahfeels @maydayfigment @something-tofightfor @the-feckless-wonder @honestly-shite @im-like-reallythirsty @insomniamamma @winter-fox-queen @annathewitch @beautyagegoodnesssize @kaysh-meg-miitgaana-oyacyi @maydayfigment @librariantothejedi @the-finalfrontiier @mando-abs

#soft ezra #ezra prospect #ezra x you #ezra x reader #prospect fanfiction #a girl walks into a bookshop

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thefloorisbalaclava · 3 years

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hi lovie how r u? I dunno if u r taking requests, but maybe... I was thinking something where Javier starts to get a little bit cold towards y/n cos he saw horrible things that the narcos, pablo sicarios, did to some woman's relative to some other guys, including to Connie's cat and he's scared as hell they do something to y/n but when he realizes she's so sad and down, peña stars to show little acts of love in secrecy, like a note, one flower, a ring, just I don't know some angst and fluffy sorry for this long ass ask. thank you for your good posts ♡

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of violence, flashbacks, trauma, mentions of sex

A/N: My friend and I have been talking about Javi a lot lately so you sent this at the perfect time! Thanks!

[Javier Peña masterlist]

“Are you coming to see me today?” you asked Javier over the phone. He looked around the office then lowered his voice.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He regretted it almost immediately.

“I haven’t seen you in a week, Javi,” you reminded him. It was becoming plainly obvious that he was trying to avoid you or at least distance himself from you. What had you done wrong?

“I’ve been...busy,” he said. It wasn’t exactly a lie but just a few weeks ago, he had made time to see you almost every day.

“Right,” you sighed. You looked at the bags of groceries you bought to make dinner for you and him tonight. “Whatever.”

Javier sighed loudly. “I’ll call you later. I-” You hung up before he could finish whatever it was he was going to say. He slammed the phone down on the receiver and put his head in his hands. “Fuck,” he whispered.

He knew getting involved with you was a bad idea and not because you weren’t good or anything like that. If anything, you were too good. Fucking perfect. You were his safe haven, his softness, his saving grace. And that was the problem. You saved him but what if he couldn’t save you? He had seen what could happen to you. If anyone wanted to hurt him, you’re the first person they would go after and he couldn’t have that. He experienced firsthand with someone he loved and, God, he couldn’t live through that again. So he had to leave you.

Because he loved you.

You stared at him in awe as he stood in front of you and told you this. Then you scoffed and turned away. It was all you could do to stop yourself from slapping him in his stupid, beautiful face.

“To protect me?” you repeated bitterly. “Just say that you don’t wanna be with me and stop using work as an excuse.”

“I’m not here to argue with you,” he said calmly.

“No, you’re only here to break my heart,” you snapped. “Well...you can go.”

“Okay but-”

“No! Just go...please.” You couldn’t look at him mostly because you were so angry but also because you didn’t want him to see the tears in your eyes. “I’m sure there’s a woman out there who will happily welcome you back into her bed.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he said and finally you whipped around to look at him.

“Fuck you, Javier.” You didn’t care if he saw the tears now. “If you’re being cold and indifferent to try and make this easier...fine. It worked. Get out. I never want to see you again.” You stormed away only to grab the pack of cigarettes he left on your table for when he came over. “Don’t forget these.” You threw the pack, hitting him directly in the face.

He scoffed and picked the cigarettes up then turned to the door. He stopped as if he was going to say something but then you heard the door close behind you and he was gone. Only when he was back in his car did he let his emotions show. His eyes filled with tears and he hit the steering wheel over and over again before putting his head against it. He tried lighting a cigarette but his hands shook so badly that it was impossible. Another burst of anger as he threw his lighter somewhere in his car.

He had to do it. Right? He had to. He couldn’t stand having another one of those dreams about finding Helena only for her to change into you when he got close enough.

There were plenty of nights where he would sit outside your place in his car just to make sure you got home okay. He was dreading the day he saw a man following you inside. He also wondered if you got any of the notes and gifts he left for you. This was the safest thing for now.

You sighed and rolled your eyes when you found another note from Javier slipped under your door, another little gift for you on the table, and a bottle of your favorite wine. The first time it happened you could only laugh to yourself when you remembered that he still had a key to your place.

As always, you threw everything in the garbage.

Except for the notes. For some reason you couldn’t part with them. Maybe because they smelled like him--that faint smell of his soap mixed with the smell of his cigarettes. Maybe because when you read them you did so in his voice. That goddamn voice of his and how it could change so quickly. Sometimes it was sweet and welcoming with just enough rasp to give him that air of that bad boy type. Other times it was low and growly which was usually reserved for when he was inside you, talking dirty to you, calling you a bad girl but how you were so good for taking him so well.

You closed your eyes and bit your lip at the thought.

“Enough,” you said quietly, walking over to grab that unopened bottle of wine from the top of the trash.

Some nights you felt like you were being watched when you walked home from work but not in a threatening way. If Javier was watching you he kept himself hidden well because you could never find his car when you stopped to look for it.

You touched the necklace you wore as you turned the corner to your apartment and Javier watched. It made him sit up a bit when he noticed you were wearing it. He waited until he was sure you were settled down--he knew you had to ear dinner, shower, then watch a little television before you really got ready for bed.

Then he called.

“Hello.” You answered on the third ring like you always did. He didn’t know what to say. Hey, I’m sorry I was an idiot? Hey, I’ve been watching you come home every night like some creep? “Hello?” He could hear the slight annoyance in your tone.

“I-It’s me. It’s Javi,” he finally said.

“Oh...”

“Don’t hang up!” He added quickly.

“I want my key back,” you said.

“So you’ve been getting them?” he asked.

“Getting what?” You looked down at the necklace then touched it.

“The gifts I’ve been leaving you.” He looked up at your window and could see your silhouette through the curtains.

“I throw them all away,” you lied.

“I don’t blame you.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I miss you.”

You were quiet for a long time--afraid to speak because you knew what would happen if you did. “I miss you too,” you cried, sniffling quietly. Javier’s heart ached. He wanted nothing more than to run up those stairs and into your arms. But as soon as he closed his eyes he could only see you lying there, beaten and bloody, all because he couldn’t leave you alone.

“I’m gonna hold you again one day,” he said. “I promise. We’re both gonna get the fuck outta here...so far away. No one will be able to find us.” His throat tightened as his own tears threatened to spill over. “Look out the window...”

“What?”

“Just look out the window.” He looked up at your window just in time to see you carefully pull the curtains back slightly. “Hey hermosa.”

“Hey handsome,” you said tearfully.

“No llores,” he said although there was a tear rolling down his cheek now. “Please, don’t cry.”

“Promise me you’ll hold me again, you’ll kiss me again, you’ll make love to me again,” you cried.

“I promise. I swear to you.” He looked up and saw that you put your hand against the window so he put his against the car window. “I love you.”

“I love you too...you asshole.” You laughed through your tears and it made him smile.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, not wanting to let you go.

“Goodnight, Javi.” You hung up and walked away from the window. It would hurt too much to watch him drive away.

javi taglist: @allthingsnarcos @josepedropascal @oof-dindjarin @xjustmenobodyelse @rach7 @limenlimon @windfallss @findhimfives @the-bird-suit @oldstuffnewstuff @hoodedbirdie @fakenoods @nathan-bateman @helga1031 @triggerhappyflygirl @master-obi-wan-kenboneme @ladybeediva @heythere80sbaby @16boyfriends-and-me @laymegentlytorest @jeeperky @dee-rosemary @stanfordscrush @panda-angela @dindjstarin @simsiddy @deserttastesbitter @lightan117 @terrormonster55 @darnitdraco @dindjarinneedsahug @queenbbarnes @hells-bells-x @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @dodgerandevans @slugbuggie @allmahfeels @nemo-my-name-forevermore @marvelousmermaid @queridopascal

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#javier peña #headcanon #narcos #carstwirs

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