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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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fireinmoonshot · 7 years

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Take Me Home.

Requested by chatterbean : “A Merlin x Reader where Merlin is just fluffy and pure and maybe upset, could include Scotch, KFC and Country Roads.” Pairing: Merlin x Reader. Fandom: Kingsman. Warnings: Drinking. Word Count: 585.

You walked into the room, holding a bag full of KFC in one hand and a bottle of Merlin’s favourite scotch in the other hand. He chuckled as he saw you and patted the spot on the couch beside him. You grinned at him and happily took the seat.

He served the scotch while you set the KFC out on the coffee table in front of the two of you. You knew that Merlin had had a pretty bad day at work when Eggsy had almost got himself killed on a mission. He was clearly stressed out and you couldn’t help but treat him.

He was such a hard worker that you knew he was still worried about Eggsy, who was resting up in the infirmary back at Kingsman HQ. So, the only way that you could help him out was to bring him a few of his favourite things.

You’d turned John Denver on quietly through your speakers as the two of you served yourself up your fried chicken. You took a sip of the scotch and smiled at Merlin. “Is this good?”

He chuckled and nodded at you. “This is perfect, love. There’s no way I’d rather spend tonight. You’re here, and you brought me KFC, scotch and John Denver. I’ve got it all.”

The two of you were silent for a few moments as you ate and listened to John Denver. You could hear Merlin humming along quietly whenever he wasn’t eating or drinking his scotch.

You were leant up against his side, your feet resting on the end of the couch when Merlin spoke. “Thank you for this, love,” he muttered, finding one of your hands and entwining your fingers. “I really appreciate you doing this for me.”

You smiled, looking up at him. “You deserve it,” you said. “You worked so hard today, I know you did. And I know you’re worried about Eggsy. But he’s going to be fine. You did all that you could and that’s enough. You deserve a few hours to just shut off and calm down.”

He nodded at you. “You’re right,” he agreed, taking another sip of his scotch.

As you finished up eating the KFC, the two of you were silent. You didn’t mind the silence. You knew that Merlin had probably been talking and listening all day and didn’t mind the quiet. All you wanted was for Merlin to be happy and to take a bit of a break.

Merlin squeezed your hand as he sat up, putting his now empty glass of scotch on the table in front of you. “You’ve made my day, love,” he smiled over at you, regretfully letting go of your hand as he set to packing up the boxes.

You immediately set to helping him, taking them into kitchen to throw them away. You were just about to turn around to go back into the living room when you felt Merlin’s arms wrap around your waist and pull you close.

“I’m lucky t’ have you,” he muttered quietly. You smiled and relaxed back into his arms.

“I’m lucky to have you too, Hamish,” you replied.

He chuckled softly in your ear and turned you around before pressing a kiss to your lips. You smiled into the kiss, resting your arms over his shoulders as he kissed you passionately. “We should do this more often,” he murmured.

“Kiss?” You joked, grinning a little. “Or KFC and scotch?”

Merlin smirked at you and pecked your lips again. “Both.”

#merlin #kingsman #merlin kingsman #merlin x reader #merlin kingsman x reader #kingsman x reader #merlin imagine #merlin kingsman imagine #kingsman imagine #merlin reader insert #merlin kingsman reader insert #kingsman reader insert #imagine

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