#little spoon!Ezra

[bittercoldbrew]

old habits

A/N: Sometimes you sit down to write, and you’ve got a plot, and ideas, and you know exactly where things are headed. And sometimes you sit down to write and you think you have those things, and your characters tap you on the shoulder and shake their heads no, and then they take things over from there. This was decidedly the latter. Which is also how it managed to sprawl out to just shy of 4k words whoops.

Set sometime between chapters 6 and 7 of my larger story, To Build Something New—so we’ve got some established relationship fluff, and a heaping helping of angst, but I like to think it’s worth it.

Rated T for a brief drug mention, some mental health concerns (anxiety, depression, night terrors, insomnia some day these two are gonna get a good night’s sleep and then it’s over for you hoes), an excess of commas I refuse to edit out, and Ezra being Ezra.

Tess sits hunched over the little metal table on her balcony, drumming cold fingers against the cooling mug in her hands, trying her best to ignore the clock hovering at the edge of her vision and not count the seconds as they tick by.

It had rained all day and well into the evening in New Amphora, clearing out about an hour or so ago, a little while after Cee had headed off to bed and just shortly before Tess had sauntered out here alone to wait. Something about the cool, cloudy night, and the trickle of music occasionally making its way to her ears from some neighbor’s open window, and the wet, green smells drifting to her on the breeze from the little park down the street, keeps reminding her of her college days.

More than that, it’s making her crave a smoke like nobody's business. A cigarette, or a joint, or, Kevva, two sticks to rub together at this point. Anything to fill her lungs and take the edge off.

It’s been a long tenday, and a quiet one, even with work giving her grief and Cee taking up residence in the guest room and Niamh taking pity on eir gloomy friends and dropping by for an impromptu movie night two nights ago.

It was all due to the increased solar radiation on Stenno, the extra shielding they’d outfitted the shuttle with to compensate, the reason no comms could get through. He’d managed to send a handful of pings from the embassy, short bursts of text confirming that everything was going alright and he was safe and still on schedule—two days out, a standard week planetside, then one day to get back to Aphelia—and that he missed the sound of her voice at least as much as she’d been missing his.

Good money, he’d said. And no one else willing to go. And he’d been gone for longer before, gone for times when she was overloaded with patients or their schedules just didn’t match up or life just got in the way and they’d been unable to chat for nearly as long as this.

It turns out there’s a difference between not having the time to talk to her partner, and not having the option to.

She lifts the mug to her lips and takes a slow sip of lukewarm tea, holding the rooibos in her mouth for a moment and letting the flavor go bitter on her tongue in hopes of it drowning out her more unsavory of cravings.

It’s then that her ears pick up the telltale scuff of heavy boots on the metal flooring downstairs. She gulps, sets the mug down, hops to her feet and leans over the railing, trying to see. “Ezra?”

The footsteps still.

“...Baby?” The surprise in his voice makes her laugh, and when he leans out from below, twisting at the waist to peer up at her, he’s grinning, too.

The new billboard across the street has been a growing annoyance for weeks now, casting a glare through her front windows and polluting her view of the night sky above, but she’s blissfully grateful for its light right now, illuminating her Ezra in green and gold. Tired and haggard and scruffy, but beaming up at her with delight.

“For half an instant there, I thought that was Kevva callin’ me home,” he drawls, tossing his bag to the ground and reaching up to hook his fingers on the edge of the floor beneath her.

“Just me,” she assures, resting her chin on the railing and letting her arms drape over the edge, not remotely close enough to reach him but worth the stretch. “They can’t have you yet.”

“No, ma’am.”

“You coming up? Just gonna stay down there all night?”

His grin melts into a slow and easy smile. “Just allow me a moment longer, darling Tess, to let these weary eyes drink their fill of you.”

“If you get up here,” she reminds, waggling her fingers at him, “I can get my hands on you.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise like he hadn’t even thought of this, head canting to the side, considering. “A compelling argument, as always,” he declares—and then he’s gone from her line of sight, brisk footsteps ringing from below.

With another bright laugh, she whirls from the railing and hurries over to the rampway. He’s already halfway up, dropping his poor bag to the floor once more as he rushes into her arms. His body is warm and solid and as whole as he comes, leaning into her heavily, hand cupping the back of her head and holding her tight against him as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. He smells like ozone and camphor and the clean sweat of a decent walk from the closest late-night shuttle station, and she wishes she could bottle up this part of him and carry it with her always.

“Aw, Tess...” he sighs, smoothing his hand over her hair. “Was I gone too long?”

“No,” she murmurs, peeling herself away to meet his pretty, dark eyes, relinquishing her hold just enough to lift a hand to his cheek and trace the curving scar there with her thumb. “I’m just glad you’re home.”

He smiles and sags into her, kissing her slow and unhurried, reacquainting his mouth with hers, familiar and cherished and so, so good. Ezra’s home. Everything’s okay.

“Missed you, pretty girl,” he groans, peppering her face with light kisses while she catches her breath and drags her fingers through his hair. “Thought I’d be alright without the tether of your voice to hold me steady, what with the ambassador keepin’ me busy and all. But it was...a lonesome affair without you.”

There’s an edge of sorrow to his voice, a hint of the dark depression that sometimes overtakes him, and she grips his shoulder tight and holds him closer. “I missed you too, Ez. Can you...stay a couple days? I don’t work tomorrow or the day after. I’d like to have you here. Make up for lost time.”

“I will gladly stay for as long as you’ll have me, Kyrie.”

“Then you’ll never be free of me.”

He closes his eyes, leaning his head a little heavily against her hand. “I can envision no finer thing.”

The words are sweet but his attitude is worrisome, and though she regrets the distance as soon as she steps back from him, it feels important to look him over, check for any sign of injury, any pain her skill could soothe away. But there’s nothing new that she can see. It’s just Ezra, a little faded but not much worse for wear, watching her with a half-hearted smile and a strange tension around his eyes that she doesn’t much care for.

She steps close again, lifting her hands to his cheeks and cradling his face between them. “Was Stenno as bad as all that?”

His breath leaves him in a long, low sigh, and he drops the smile and his gaze alike—doesn’t wanna talk about it, but he’s never dishonest with her. “It was...hot,” he huffs. “Couldn’t leave my suit. Couldn’t talk to you. Plenty work to be done, but also, somehow...too much downtime, just rattlin’ around in my own skull. Locals were an odd bunch, I don’t mind tellin’ you, and not very favorably inclined toward us offworlders. I get why we were there, but... Well, I get why no one else was jumpin’ at the chance, neither.”

She hums softly, rubbing the pads of her fingers against his warm skin. “Do you have to go back?”

“I could. Offer’s still on the table.”

“Do you want to?”

He lifts his eyes to her again, tells her evenly, “No.”

“Then don’t go,” she says. “MT’s orders.”

A corner of his mouth twitches up. He turns his head, nips lightly at the skin at the base of her thumb then immediately soothes it with a soft kiss. “Yes, ma'am.”

She snorts a laugh. The man is easily as stubborn as she is; if he decides later on that he wants to go back there’s hardly a thing she could say to sway him, and for all that he calls her bossy she really has no desire to tell him how to live his life or stop him from going where he pleases. But usually when he comes home from these long routes, he comes home happy to be here but also energized and sparkling, eager to share tales about his journey and reminisce about the things he saw there. She doesn’t like him coming home so quiet and overburdened; she hopes, at least this once, that he’ll do as she says.

He lifts his own hand to her cheek, now, and closes the distance between them for another kiss, deep and lingering, his mouth taking its time with her, his breath filling her with a sense of calm, of certainty. Ezra’s home. Everything will be okay.

“How’s the kid?” he asks a moment later, panting against her skin, and Tess coughs on a laugh at the sudden change of pace.

“She’s—good,” she gasps, shaking her head against the force of his teasing grin. “She’ll be glad to have you back. Tried to wait up with me, but she couldn’t quite make it.”

He hmms thoughtfully, nodding his head and dropping his hand to her hip. “School night, ain’t it?”

“It is.”

Another hmm.

“It’s been raining a lot, while you were gone,” she tells him, not sure what more he’s looking for. “I think we’ve both been going a little stir crazy.”

“Ahh... Is that so?” Oh, there it is, the wicked gleam in his eye that she’s missed so much. “We’ll need to find something to do, to keep you occupied.”

She drapes her arms around his neck and leans into him. “I can think of a few things.”

“Can you now, clever girl?” he asks, slipping his hand beneath the hem of her shirt, skimming along her skin up to her waist, making her shiver. “Why don’t we head inside, and you can tell me all about these ideas of yours, hm?”

Hours later, she isn’t sure what wakes her—movement of the mattress, maybe, or the cessation of Ezra’s steady, raspy snores. He never cries out in his night terrors, and it isn’t until she hears his sharp gasp and feels the thump of his hand against her back that she realizes that’s what this is.

She grins up at him, cocks her head, bites her lip. “I was thinking I could show you.”

That’s when the epinephrine kicks in; she flings off the covers and bolts upright and turns to find him thrashing in the bed beside her, jaw clenched, muscles straining. She strips him of the sheet he’s tangled up in and catches his flailing hand and straddles his waist, pinning him with her weight and her free hand planted on his right shoulder. “Ezra. Ezra.”

The whine that scrapes past his gritted teeth is a torment, the sort of sound that haunts her own bad dreams of late.

“Ezra, baby, you’re dreaming. Come on, wake up for me, Ez.” His eyes open, wide and wild and searching. “That’s it, honey. Ezra, sweetheart, wake up.”

He pries his jaw open and drags in a ragged breath, chest heaving as his body finally goes limp beneath her, and he croaks out, “Tess..?”

“That’s right,” she gasps, easing her tight hold on his hand and prying his fingers loose to slip her own between them; he grips her back, desperate. “I’m here, Ezra. You’re alright.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, not at all.” It’s the same question he asks every time, and it never fails to make her still-pounding heart throb with affection—even disoriented and little more than half awake, it is always his first concern.

Almost always followed by this next one; he swallows hard, neck flexing, and cocks his jaw a tick to the right. “Arm still gone?”

“Yeah, baby.”

“...Okay,” he sighs, eyes drifting closed again, his accent stretching the word into something strangely sweet despite the pain etched into every line of his face. “You promise I didn’t hurt you?”

She aches to kiss him, but knows that isn’t what he needs right now. “I promise,” she says instead, gliding her hand along his shoulder and up his neck, caressing his cheek for a moment before slipping up to brush his hair back from his forehead. He’s overheated, coated in sweat, dark and light and graying curls sticking to his skin alike.

He licks his lips and blinks his eyes open and looks up at her, watching her watch him, still gripping her hand tight in his as they both wait out their nervous systems, breaths lengthening, heart rates slowing, metabolizing the rush of hormones. Long moments pass in the dark bedroom with nothing to measure them by but their shared panting, and the occasional hiccup from Ezra.

Even like this—brow creased, hair mussed, sweaty and ragged with deep lines and dark shadows beneath his eyes—he is beautiful. She wonders if she should tell him so, wonders if it would be inappropriate to say at a time like this; and then his teeth chatter, the sudden shiver taking them both by surprise.

They’d ticked the thermostat a couple degrees lower than she prefers it, after his time on Stenno, and now that his skin is starting to cool, it’s catching up to him. “I, uh—” he croaks, and clears his throat, his grip on her hand suddenly releasing. “I should shower.”

“Okay,” she says, and eases off of him, back to her side of the bed.

It takes him a moment, and several deep breaths, and she knows he won’t want her help but still it hurts not to offer as he rolls away from her and heaves himself up to standing. His gait’s a little unsteady as he moves around the bed, but he takes a detour anyway on his route to the bathroom to come up beside her and lean in and press a kiss to her temple.

“Thank you for waking me, Kyrie,” he murmurs against her skin, and she closes her eyes and leans into him for the span of a breath, heart aching too much to let her speak.

Another feather-light kiss, and then he straightens and turns and heads for the shower, peeling his thin sleep shirt away from clammy skin as he goes.

She waits until she hears water running, then sighs and stands up, too. A glance at the clock in the corner of her eye confirms that it’s still nowhere near morning, so she clicks on the nightlight on her bedside table. Usually it’s for the nights when he’s not here and her own anxiety is keeping her awake, but she’s sure he won’t mind it now. Reaching across the bed confirms that his side is damp with sweat; she strips the sheets and his pillowcase with practiced ease and swiftness, one of the more mundane of strange skills her day job has saddled her with.

Still, despite her best efforts, she’s scarcely able to get the sheets dumped in the hamper, grab a fresh set from the closet, get the bed remade and herself settling back in it before the water switches off again. He’s always damnably quick in the shower, the result of many years spent rationing clean water down to the spoonful, whereas the necessity of her work and the hygiene it requires has long afforded her a surplus. Even with Cee’s additional showers over the past tenday while he was gone, he could stay in there till morning if he needed to without putting much of a dent in her supply.

But she understands, perhaps better than most, how hard old habits are to break.

He steps out of the bathroom stark naked, toweling off his hair, and she sits up in bed and watches as he crosses the room to retrieve a pair of underwear from his drawers in her dresser. His breathing seems even again, his balance steady as he steps into the boxer briefs, showing little sign of the distress that woke them both tonight. But he scrubs the towel through his hair once more and moves to drop it in the hamper, and she catches the way his shoulders slump with a sigh at the sheets already bunched inside it.

Even so, he doesn't speak as he comes to rejoin her in bed, so neither does she as she lays down too, turning on her side to keep her eyes on him. He settles on his back, eyes closing with another sigh, hand coming to rest on his bare chest, fingers tracing the faint scar at its center. It is her favorite of his scars, a mark of her proudest achievement, the small part she’d played in keeping him alive long enough to find in him the love of her life. But she never knows what he thinks of when he fusses with it—whether it reminds him of her, or of the events that produced it, or some combination of both—she’s never been brave enough to ask.

Seemingly of its own volition, her hand drifts across to span the narrow gap between them. She has no desire to intrude on his space or his thoughts while he’s busy processing whatever’s going on inside his head, but she only has so much willpower and she hopes he won’t fault her for brushing the pads of her fingers through the thicker patch of scruff at the very corner of his jaw.

Ezra’s eyes open again and his gaze is soft as he turns to look at her, head lolling enough for her to spread her fingers open and let him nestle his jaw in the cradle of her palm. The smile he offers her tugs at only one corner of his mouth, obviously a strain, and all the sweeter for it. “Hi, you,” he whispers.

“Hi, you,” she answers, and even though her heart aches for him and all he’s been through, she can’t suppress her own smile in return. She just...likes him, so much. It still manages to take her by surprise, at the oddest of moments.

His eyes search her face, thoughtful and uncertain—backlit as she is by the nightlight, she’s not sure what he sees—then his glance skitters away. But he doesn’t turn his face from her, doesn’t pull back, even as he admits, in a voice no more than a breath, “I’m sorry, Tess.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Ezra.” She traces her thumb along his cheekbone, and scoots a little closer to him. “You hear me?”

He licks his lip, sucks in a breath, hesitates. His nod is shallow, short—he doesn’t quite believe her. But she will keep telling him, however many times it takes, as often as he needs to hear it.

His brow quirks, his lips purse, and then he fixes her with an odd look, the shyness and sheepishness settling in strangely on his features. “When you were, uh—” he clears his throat, manages a crooked smirk. “When you were sittin’ on me. That, uh... Well, it felt sorta nice.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mmhm.”

He isn’t going for lewdness—she knows his face well enough by now, knows this isn’t his see-if-Tess-is-in-the-mood smirk, can recognize his genuine plaintiveness. So she pushes back the covers and pushes up to her knees, and once again moves to settle her hips over his. He finally peels his hand away from his scar, reaching for her instead, and she follows him down, laying along his broad, long torso and resting her head against his sternum, tucked carefully, reverently beneath his chin.

“Something like this?” she asks, shifting a bit to get comfortable, keeping her knees folded under her to refrain from dropping her entire bodyweight onto his ribcage, and is rewarded with the feeling of his bone-deep sigh shuddering beneath her.

“You’re too good to me, Starlight,” he murmurs, pulling the covers back over them both, then catching up the bulk of her hair and tugging it clear from her shoulders and neck to splay out beside them with slow, gentle strokes of his strong and careful fingers.

“I’m not,” she tells him, shaking her head. His skin smells like her soap—the good, soothing, botanical stuff she gets shipped in from the core worlds, and she’s not sure whether the choice was simply a byproduct of his hurry or because he finds the scent as comforting as she does, but either way she adores it on him. “I’m just in love with you.”

His chest lurches beneath her, a huff of breath that is almost but not quite laughter. “My point exactly.”

“Ezra...” she begins, raising up on her elbows to frown down at him. He stares back at her, his eyes haunted, tired, pleading.

She does not ask him about the dream—not because she thinks he won’t tell her, but because she knows he will, because he’s still too raw and the telling will make him live it again. Maybe in the morning, when the pain isn’t so fresh, after they’ve woken and seen Cee off to school, after breakfast, over coffee, she’ll ask and he’ll tell and she’ll comfort and he’ll reassure. She’ll have all day to help him banish whatever demons came calling tonight, to put the fear of her in them, to make certain they won’t be so bold as to risk a repeat visit for a while.

In the meantime, though, she can make an educated guess.

“Do you think,” she begins instead, altering her trajectory, “Cee knows how grateful I am?”

He blinks up at her, brow drawing together with confusion. “For what, Tess?”

“For everything,” she says, dropping her head back down to his chest. “For saving you.”

“Oh...” Ezra’s voice trails off; she feels him take a breath to speak, but the words are not forthcoming. His hand comes to rest on the back of her neck, then creeps up higher, fingers burying themselves in her hair and rubbing soothing circles against her scalp.

“I was so—so lonely,” she admits, her voice breaking over the words, over the memories the past tenday had dredged up. “All the time. All my life, it seemed. I had people I cared about, but no one I could trust. Not after everything. And I thought... I thought that was just me, just who I was. Who I’d always be.”

“Tess...”

“Then I met you, and all of that changed. And now I have you, and I have Cee, and I have...more love than I know what to do with sometimes. And I just— I hope she knows.”

Ezra clears his throat; she can just about hear him thinking, can feel his jaw move as he opens his mouth to speak, once, twice, three times before saying, “Our Cee is...a nimble-minded creature. I’m sure she knows.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hand in her hair goes still, holding her close. “Tess, you’ve got...a heart the size of a galaxy. And I think it’s a goddamn tragedy that nobody ever let you know it. But if someone had to, well... I’m just glad it got to be me.”

She blinks her eyes against the prickle of tears forming there, and grins even though he can’t see it. Her legs are both asleep by now, her hip starting to ache from being flexed at this angle for so long, and she would stay just like this forever if he asked her to. She turns her head, presses her lips against his skin.

“I’m glad it was you, too.”

#ezra prospect x oc #ezra prospect #to build something new #oc Tess Stone #oh....i have missed them #thanks for bearing with me friends i know its been a minute #ive been hard at work on some original stuff for a while that im very excited about but needed to step back from for a bit #and nothing cleanses my palate quite like that good good ezra/tess #little spoon!Ezra #(yet again not *technically* but. he's the little spoon in spirit here. baby boy just wants to be held) #(and in that vein--listen i KNOW night terrors are varied and complicated and often waking someone from them is a bad idea) #(this is not the first time its happened for these two and theyve established this is what he prefers and tess is a literal professional) #(please do not @ me) #okay i think thats it for now love you bye #my writing #horrible fishbowl husband

[spookyxsam]

When it’s dark & gloomy outside thanks to statewide severe weather warnings, it’s our sweet cow-eyed baby boys birthday, and you’re reviewing the effects of trauma in adolescence on adult romantic relationships (as you’d normally do on a Tuesday evening 😉)…

One can’t help but have all sorts of angsty, inappropriate, and most definitely unhealthy thots about our beloved blorbos and those qualities that make them a little rough around the edges.

#pedro pascal #dieter bravo #joel miller #pedro pascal fandom #pedrohub #the bubble #ppcu #pedro pascal is everything #for scientific purposes #okay yes this is a little dark but there’s a reason and it’s called research #pero tovar #din djarin #ezra prospect #agent whiskey #javi peña #joel miller brainrot #frankie morales #max phillips #max lord #thanks it’s the trauma #if you aren’t fed love from a silver spoon you will lick it from a knife #oberyn martell

[daddy-dins-girl]

Pedro Boys as Tops and Bottoms

Explanations under the cut but you know, don't come at me, this is just for fun :P

related posts: Pedro Boys "Every Friend Group Has..." Pedro Boys "During a Fire Emergency" Pedro Boys "Nice Argument. Unfortunately," Pedro Boys "Don't Fuck This Up" Pedro Boys "Dad(dy) Matrix" Pedro Boys & Stabbing Pedro Boys "Lawful/Neutral/Chaotic" Pedro Boys "Feral/Sad/Angelic" Pedro Boys Respond to "I love you." Pedro Boys "Character Tropes" Pedro Boys "Gay/Depressed/Horny on Main" Pedro Boys "Dad/THOT/Bastard" Pedro Boys "bring some Coke to the party" Pedro Boys "Zombie Apocalypse Team" Pedro Boys "I Want a Baby" Pedro Boys "As Babysitters" Pedro Boys "As McDonald's Dads" Pedro Boys "in a horror movie" Pedro Boys "Cinnamon Rolls" Pedro Boys "5 Kids, 3 Chairs" Pedro Boys "Playing Monopoly"

TOP: Dave, Javi and Oberyn. Big time "Alpha Male" energy here.They need to be in charge. Oberyn could maybe be switch if he was in the mood? But even if he was on the bottom he'd be "topping from the bottom" for sure.

BOTTOM: Silva is just facts. Maxwell... come on. Dieter is just too lazy/drunk/high to top. Just do what you want to him, he'll enjoy it.

BOTTOM THAT THINKS THEY’RE A TOP: Ezra, Whiskey, Joel. These three have "top energy" but they'd fold for a bigger Alpha personality. Or they're just so used to taking care of everyone else, sometimes its just nice to be taken care of instead, for a change of pace. Joel's biggest dirty secret is that he likes being Tess' little spoon.

SWITCH: Frankie, Din, Marcus P. I think these guys just wanna please. They'll do whatever you want, happily. WAIT, ARE WE NOT TALKING ABOUT BUNKBEDS?: Javi G and Eddie, my sweet, innocent baby angels ❤️. Never change.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #dave york #dieter bravo #maxwell lord #frankie morales #agent whiskey #javier peña #javi gutierrez #din djarin #marcus pike #silva #oberyn martell #ezra prospect #eddie buffy the vampire slayer

[prolix-yuy]

Welcome to a fun little event where you get to ask for all sorts of filth! Spin the Wheel, Pick a Pedro Boy, and Get a Drabble! Bring your jammies, snuggle up in your sleeping bag, charge your favorite toys (just kidding) and come join me for some filthy fun with our favorite boys!

Bangathon requests are closed, thank you all for submitting your ideas!

Complete Bangathon Masterlist:

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x Marcus Pike, Kneeling Reach-Around

Dieter Bravo x F!Reader, 69

Pero Tovar x F!Reader, Cowgirl

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x Plus Size F!Reader, 69

Max Phillips x F!Reader, Reverse Cowgirl

Ezra x F!Reader, Spooning

Pero Tovar x F!Reader, Missionary

Francisco "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader, Cowgirl

Din Djarin x F!Reader, 69

Dieter Bravo x F!Reader, Snuggled Spoon

Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Wife Reader, Mermaid

Marcus Pike x F!Reader, Kneeling Reach-Around

Oberyn Martell x OFC, Sit on the Throne

Ezra x F!Reader, Advanced Crab Walk

Joel Miller x F!Reader, Blowjob

Javier Peña x F!Reader, Honey Bear

Francisco "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader "Ms Jackson", Seated Oral

Oberyn Martell x OFC, Snuggled Spoon

Ezra x F!Reader, Missionary with a Pillow

Marcus Moreno x F!Reader, Spooning

Dieter Bravo x F!Reader "Murch", Sit on the Throne

Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader, Honey Bear

Joel Miller x F!Reader, Snuggled Spoon

Dieter Bravo x M!Reader, Kneeling Reach-Around

Javier Peña x F!Reader, Octopus

Din Djarin x F!Reader, Sit on the Throne

Dieter Bravo x F!Reader, Honey Bear

Dieter Bravo x F!Reader, Froggy Style

Ezra x F!Reader, Honey Bear

#LJ's Bangathon 2023 #come to sexy sleepaway came with me! #prolix fics #LJ's Bangathon 2023 Masterlist

[ahsoka-its-all-of-us]

Sleep headcanons on the Spectres + important additions

Ezra is the type of person who will end up splayed all over the bed no matter how large it is. He just moves in his sleep; possibly because of the weird Jedi dreams he tends to have. He sleeps pretty deeply; sometimes he’ll shoot up and say something and you’ll think he’s awake, but he’ll fall back asleep right after and doesn’t remember it the next day.

Zeb is a very deep sleeper, which comes in handy considering Ezra’s tossing and turning in the top bunk. He sleeps on his back, or on his side when he’s holding another person (Kallus). Between him and Kallus he is the big spoon, and when they sleep embracing it’s usually him lying on his back with Kallus half on top of him. They’re physically incapable of staying apart during the night, always ending up tightly wound around each other.

Hera usually sleeps on her stomach to alleviate pressure on her lekku (this becomes a bit of a problem when she becomes pregnant with Jacen; it takes her some time to adjust to sleeping on her side on her own). When Kanan is not with her, she likes having Chopper recharge in the same room, always feeling more at ease with him around. After Kanan’s death, Zeb got her a body pillow that he and Sabine crudely (in his case) decorated with felted Mandalorian armour, purple stripes and an orange top. It’s become a dear bedtime friend for her, offering her the comfort of her family.

Kanan gets some rest from meditating, but at night he’ll only truly be at peace once he’s sneaked out of his room to find Hera. They alternate spooning positions, and while he’ll never admit it to anyone, he loves being her little spoon. He sleeps quite lightly, and often has nightmares about Order 66. It always soothes him to wake up to Hera sleeping peacefully next to him.

Sabine sleeps either on her side or on her stomach. She’s not a fan of cuddling through the night, preferring to have her own space and own blanket and everything. While she generally sleeps well, she often wakes up to have to go to the bathroom or drink some water. Not rarely, she’ll be struck with inspiration and ends up working on a painting instead of going back to bed until Kanan comms her to keep it the fuck down, people are trying to sleep here.

Chopper usually goes into standby mode when he recharges to make it go faster, though he prefers to stay fully active. Hera doesn’t allow him to stay with her when Kanan is there too (she knows he isn’t above taking compromising pictures and blackmailing them with them), but if she’s alone she’ll let him in. Chopper likes spending the night with her; she’s his favourite organic.

Rex sleeps badly, always has. While the inhibitor-chip induced nightmares have faded, his PTSD means that he is still plagued by others, often mashing his worst memories together, like losing and finding Echo, losing Fives, Order 66, and Umbara. His fellow clones Gregor and Wolffe and later his Rebellion friend Kallus understand this feeling and can pull him out of it, but the only one who can truly put his mind at ease is Ahsoka.

Ahsoka sleeps on her stomach or occasionally her side to spare her lekku somewhat. Having a lot of experience with meditation, she tends to sleep more peacefully than people expect of her. She sleeps best with Rex at her side; they don’t even necessarily need to embrace, just lying next to each other in the same bed already calms her.

Kallus sleeps curled into himself. He tells people who question it that it’s to efficiently preserve heat, but in reality he does it because it makes him feel slightly safer. He sleeps very restlessly, tossing and mumbling and being plagued by night terrors (all of which intensify after he switches sides) as a result of heavy PTSD, and unless he is in the depth of a nightmare he is always alert, woken by the softest sounds. Between him and Zeb he is the little spoon, and he likes that, likes how Zeb literally has his back.

#jenny’s headcanons #Star Wars #kanan jarrus #Hera Syndulla #kanera #Sabine wren #garazeb Orrelios #kalluzeb #alexsandr kallus #Ezra bridger #chopper #captain rex #ahsoka tano #rexsoka

[oonajaeadira]

For the Love of Fic: September 30

I've been back at my reading, y'all, doing some major catch up. And what a ride. There's a METRIC TON™ of amazing writers under the cut.

Brace thyself.

🪐 = Year of Themed Creation piece

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EZRA

Kisses of Fire by @simpingcowboy 🪐 It starts with an unconventional if not favorable bargain and then evolves. If I could make Ezra fall in love with me a little over a long time, I'd be patient too...

Lucky Stars by @brandyllyn I am SO IN LOVE WITH THIS FIC. Not only does Brandy nail Ezra's voice, cadence, swagger, and world, she even gives him someone who's onto his scoundrel-with-a-heart-of-gold behavior and just barely allows herself to be charmed by it. This feels so very canon and so very Ezra and I just need to roll myself up in it and cuddle it real hard.

Saying I love you with a letter by @songsformonkeys 🪐 Hanna is one of my favorite writers of deep emotions. Her Javi G is one of my all-time faves and I will never not laugh at her Javier. But I will knock you over to get at her Ezra and this is no exception even though you're gonna need tissues. Listen. Would like to get a letter of love and missing from Ez? Because this is it. Savor it.

Lost in the Weeds by @haylzcyon Have you seen this artwork? Insert Ezra and you and you have this fic. It's a beautiful little snippet that quietly documents falling in love with Ezra, and that's my favorite kind of Ezra story.

Wild Mountain Thyme 2 by @writeforfandoms Dragon Universe Ezra is back and he is not impressed with his tagalong. She's chipper and eager and seems to be up for his brand of grumpy today. I'm excited to find out how Jen turns his cart around.

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DIETER BRAVO

Fifty Shades of Orange by @all-the-things-2020 🪐 If you love Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, you're going to love love love how Dieter fits into this crossover. I am super impressed with this fic because it is, first and foremost, a HHGTTG fanfic. And it succeeds wildly at capturing the tone and attitude of all the characters. And I love that Dieter's just what Dieter is here, not the main character, but an odd problem to be solved. As a character, he fits so seamlessly into this world, I was kind of in awe for this whole ride. Aw man. Enjoy.

Position: 69, Position: Snuggled Spoon, Position: Sit on the Throne, Position: Kneeling Reach-Around, Position: Honey Bear, and Position: Froggy Style as part of @prolix-yuy's Bangathon 2023 Listen. LJ obviously loves her some Dieter. I appreciate the sweetness and softness of some of these, that Dieter is in need of some care and connection...and someone to just come undone around. I loved all of them, but props to Snuggled Spoon for it's slowness and softness, and to Froggy Style for the moment of the reveal. The whole Bangathon is wonderful, and the Dieter fics are certainly some of my faves there.

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JOEL MILLER

It Pours from Your Eyes by @the-blind-assassin-12 I mean, yes, it's a Joel fic, but really, it's Tess. It's Tess and it's beautiful. Alyssa has woven a 1200 word spell here, expertly painting a picture of Tess's heart and how it works to keep Joel's beating. It's so gorgeous and I'm just bewitched and bereaved... I'm almost begging you to read this.

Surrender [chapter twelve] by @ezrasbirdie This chapter just wrapped me in the yearn blanket. Written in three sections from the POVs of Daisy, Ellie, and Joel, each section just pulls at a different heartstring and all of them together are such pretty music. Yes please this found family that loves each other so much...

Year of Small Joys - Candles by @keldabe-kriff 🪐 Inviting Joel over to dinner in Jackson is inviting a damaged soul to sit down and heal. He's still got a little PTSD here, but a nice meal by the light of scented candles he looted? That's a nice step in the right direction.

Let's Twist the Knife Again by @missredherring I am obsessed with this little "time travel" story. I don't know exactly the mechanics of what's going on here--is it a dream? is he being given a second chance? is he stuck in a time loop?--but watching Joel retrace some familiar steps knowing what he already knows is fascinating and I would love to see what comes next.

Hypothermia by @morallyinept Jett's cleverly come up with the "giflet," a drabble based on a gif. This one is Joel in his sleeping bag. And you're in yours. And it's cold. But it ends soft, and that's my favorite.

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PERO TOVAR

The Herbalist: Part 7: Drinking Won’t Change the Audacity But Maybe It Will Help by @blueeyesatnight I'm so caught up in this story of beasts and strange people in Victorian England. Now we learn about Pero's past and a little more, but there's also something chewing at the edges about our heroine lady sleuth and I can't wait to find out what it is!

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JACK DANIELS

F is for Forced Orgasms / Fucking Machines by @butchmandalorian 🪐 Istg Max is out to pull me out of my soft places and make a sub out of me. I am not usually into the hard stuff, but everything they write is like beautiful crack and I cannot stop. I think it's because everything is so real, there's so much checking in and trust involved, I probably sound like a broken record, but hells bells that's my kink and Max writes it so well. I will say that daddy-talk is usually a turnoff for me, but I really REALLY appreciate that Max sets the scene thoroughly and explains that it's just a title, that any word can be substituted (read the warnings). I for one used that suggestion and appreciated that heads up. Looks like someone not only knows how to write a man that takes care of his partner, but is also a writer that takes care of their readers. Love it.

Black and White by @never--doubt 🪐 I've never seen this soulmate mechanic before and it's an interesting take on the traditional mark--one that changes color when your soulmate touches you there for the first time. Oh to be on mission with Agent Whiskey when the change happens....

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FRANKIE MORALES

Not Leaving You Again by @flightlessangelwings 🪐 (With Santi Garcia) It's a two-for-one not just in protectiveness and smut but in boys! It's hard not to fall for both of them--one of them sultry, one of them sweet--and it doesn't hurt that they're up to the task of sharing.

Buck Moon by @grogusmum 🪐 Listen. If you've ever wanted Frankie for the first time, naked (well, except maybe his hat) under the full moon out in nature under the full moon, have I got a fic for you! AAAAAAAA

We Came Along This Road by @insomniamamma 🪐 When J goes angst, J goes hard, and Frankie is many times her main target. Set within the world of the movie, the reader is his girl with his baby, and he's got some substance problems. Frankie has some trouble keeping promises.

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OBERYN MARTELL

First Dance by @hopeamarsu 🪐 Asking Oberyn for a dance when you know right well what you're both after is genius. Because he's probably a beautiful dancer so you get to experience that, but also, it only ramps up what's coming. What I wouldn't give to sit on this man's lap and ask him to dance just to see the look on his face....

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TIM ROCKFORD

Black Days 7: Times Are Gone For Honest Men, Black Days 8: Eyes Were Waking Up Just To Fall Asleep, AND 2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #5: Tim Rockford - Jealous Kiss by @something-tofightfor I will knock you down to get at Rachael's Tim Rockford. This man is complicated, their relationship is starting off complicated, and their circumstances have the potential to continue to complicate matters...and yet. These two seem to fit together just fine, easy as pie and coffee. The way he cares... I so can't wait to see what (and who) comes next.

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SPECIAL GUEST CORNER

JANE FOSTER

Undefeated by @captainsophiestark 🪐 Listen. I've never played pong in my life, but if Jane Foster walked into my party and wanted in on a game, I'd pong so fast....

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BOFUR THE DWARF

Love at First Fight by @ironmandeficiency 🪐 When you swear to keep your friend safe from the man who most recently broke her heart, your drunken ass threatens the wrong man. Or, rather, the right one. Or, rather, the right dwarf.

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#for the love of fic #prospect fanfic #ezra #marvel fanfic #jane foster #the bubble fanfic #dieter bravo #HHGTTG fanfic #tlou fanfic #joel miller #the great wall fanfic #pero tovar #kingsman golden circle #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey #triple frontier fanfic #frankie morales #santiago garcia #got fanfic #oberyn martell #hobbit fanfic #bofur #merge mansion fanfic #tim rockford

[frannyzooey]

In The Dark: 8

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, a tiny angst, mentions of drug use

a/n: Thank you to @mourningbirds1 who gave me so much help with this chapter, who encouraged me to stay the course and who is a delight in every way possible. Thank you also to @krissology and @charnelhouse who let me vent, and to @jazzelsaur who helped in the best way by sharing not only her advice, but her writing with us, which inspired parts of this chapter. I love you all!

Series Masterlist --

“Oh my fucking God, I can’t believe it.”

You look up from your laptop. “What?”

“You know that writing retreat? The one that only so many people get invited to, at that professor’s cabin in the woods?” Her eyes devour the words on the screen of her phone and you wait, chin in your hand. “Well I got in.” She looks up at you, beaming. “I got an invite.”

You grin back, an automatic one, and do a little dance in your chair at her table. She’s been pretending for weeks not to care that much about this retreat (“It’s not a big deal, really”) while chewing a hole in her lip and pride fills your chest at seeing her unrestrained expression of excitement right now. Sometimes she’s Cee: the girl you first saw on the subway, the one with an aloof wall put up that mirrors so many other people in this city, who pretends not to care about anything with a learned, blank expression. But with you, she’s Cee: her face open and youthful, caring deeply about things that matter to her, and currently dancing in her kitchen, her socks sliding on the hard floor. 

“Ezra!” She yells for him, grabbing a can of water from the fridge, along with the lime juice and vodka. Kicking the door shut with her socked heel, she sets the ingredients in front of you and you laugh, closing your laptop. She grabs some glasses from the cupboard and he walks in, stopping with raised eyebrows when he sees the liquor. 

“What’s all this?”

“I got into that retreat! That weekend one I was telling you about!”

You keep your eyes on Cee, even when his immediately flash to yours. Without even looking at him, you can feel his mind working. 

“That’s amazing Cee, I’m so proud of you.” He pulls her in for a hug. “Was it the Streamer Girl? Was that the one you submitted?”

She tells him about it while you crack open the water, pouring half into each ice filled glass and you’re adding the lime when she says she’s going to run to the bathroom. “Don’t take the first sip without me,” she yells, heading down the hallway. 

Ezra comes to sit across from you at the table and you peek up, meeting his bright, playful eyes. You can’t help but smile, a tiny one that curls the edge of your mouth when you twist open the vodka. 

“So,” you say, carefully pouring in a shot of the clear liquid. “A weekend.”

“A weekend,” he repeats. He sits up straight, looking teasingly concerned. “I mean, I shouldn’t assume. Are you free, Birdie? Or do you have plans?”

“You know,” you frown, twisting the top of the bottle back on. You take the spoon, gently swirling the cloudy mixture. “Now that you say it, I think I do have plans that weekend.” You look up at him, your face shifting into one of mock pity. “I’m sorry.”

He says nothing, his eyes narrowing and it takes everything you have not to break your straight face as he assesses you. He takes you in for a moment, slowly leaning forward on the table and you hold one of the chilled glasses tighter in your hand, waiting. 

He’s so good at this - catching you unawares, leaving you dangling on the precipice in anticipation. Your body always freezes, your mind scrambling for coherent thought as he makes you wait and just like he did it last week in your bedroom, with your bare form stretched out on the mattress while he knelt between your spread thighs and undid his belt so slowly you wanted to scream, he’s doing it now, his face hovering a foot from yours. 

“Your only plan for that weekend,” he begins, voice smooth like syrup, your eyes fixed on his mouth, “Is to stay naked in my bed and let me fuck you until –”

The bathroom door opens, and he immediately pulls back, the two of you sitting up straighter in your chairs and you resist the urge to press the cold glass to your heated cheek, forcing yourself to breathe normally. 

“You gonna celebrate with us, Ez?” Cee asks, oblivious to the tension in the room and he looks at you for a moment, liking the way he can see you almost vibrating with want. Just where he wants you. 

He considers her question for a moment, and then seems to abruptly make up his mind. 

“Okay.”

–

It’s torture and you can tell he loves it. 

A knowing look every time one of his touches hits the mark, he’s been around you all night and the want you feel for him is suffocating. It’s consuming you, creeping into your flushed cheeks, trembling through your restless limbs, dampening the crotch of your underwear. 

Making you a drink, he takes a sip of it first before he hands it to you. Sitting down next to you at the table, his thigh presses against yours. Standing to retrieve a beer, he brushes past you, dragging his fingers over the nape of your neck. Twisting the cap of that beer off, he uses the hem of his shirt to do so and when you see the peek of a mottled mark rounding his hip bone, the taste of his skin floods your mouth in memory. You gave him that mark just two days ago right before you, as he so eloquently put it, “sucked his soul out of his dick.”

Deciding to watch a movie, Cee curls into one side of the couch and you sit down next to her, assuming you’re safe - until he bypasses the spare chair and sits next to you. The clean, masculine scent of him pressed into his cardigan fills your senses, and when Cee turns out the lights, you feel the need between your thighs hit a peak. That is, until she drapes a blanket over your laps and his hand reaches for yours under the fabric. 

You shouldn’t have drank around him. You always get handsy and affectionate and aroused and he knows this about you, which is why he stuck around. Every time his hooded, mischievous gaze meets your own, you have to resist the urge to surge forward and press your mouth against his. Giving up concentrating on the movie, you’re so turned on between the dark room and his closeness that you instead start to wonder, if you move slow enough, if you can get away with guiding his hand between your legs under the blanket. 

Cee rests her head against your shoulder, interrupting that train of thought and his hand squeezes yours, his knuckle a light drag against the outside of your leg that makes you clench. The weight in your belly moves up to your lungs, making it hard to breathe. 

“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” you announce, needing to just be away from him if you can’t touch him. He looks at you, smug in his victory, but when Cee announces that she’s going to follow you, disappointment flashes across his face. You almost hesitate, but you’re stuck now, having declared your intention and walking towards her room, you mentally scold yourself for breaking early under his pressure. 

You could be out there fucking him on that couch right now, you think, crawling into bed and the mental image of that alone is enough to keep you awake until Cee falls asleep. You open your Books app, hoping to follow her shortly…..but you don’t.

Not with him just down the hallway. Not with the magnetic pull of him winding across the distance between the two of you. You contemplate getting up to go to him, but then you hear the TV turn off before he walks past the open door to her room, and you lay there, listening to his bedroom door shut. The house descends into silence around you, and disappointment floods your body. 

You couldn’t have done anything anyway, not with Cee right here. 

Going back to the book you’re reading, a text comes through at the top of your screen. 

Ezra: hey

You bite your lip, grinning in the dark. 

Ezra: come here 

You think about typing something back about how you can’t, but your thumb stills above the letters, waiting. Cee’s heavy, slow breaths come from behind you, steady and comforting. Listening to her for a moment more, you shut the screen of your phone off, slipping slowly from her bed to pad down the hall. 

“I thought you didn’t text,” you tease in a whisper, slipping into his bed after shutting his door with a quiet click. 

“I thought you weren’t gonna come,” he replies lowly, reaching to drag you across the mattress and into his arms, rolling you underneath him. His greedy mouth finds yours, the need in it surprising you. “I was about to come down there and tell you to your face that I needed to fuck you, but I thought maybe a text might be better in this case.” 

You laugh into the kiss, reaching to pull his shirt over his head. “You should have texted me that, so I could keep it.” Your hands slide down the firm length of his back, slipping under the band of his black briefs and you push them down over the curve of his ass while you flex your hips up into his. His cock is a stiff weight, pressing tight along your seam. 

“So I could read it over and over,” your hips rock forward with each word, matching the grind of his own. “And make myself come.”

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, quickly pulling back to sit on his heels. His fingers tug impatiently at the waistband of your sleep shorts, sliding them down your legs. “Take these fucking things off.”

His hands push your thighs open, his broad shoulders flexing when he dips his head down to put his mouth on your spread cunt and you bite back a moan when his tongue delves deep, your hips arching into the slick warmth. Immediately riding his mouth just like he likes, you give into the pleasure sparking through your limbs at the glide of his tongue over your clit and when he pulls away, you let out a soft sound of protest. 

He’s too impatient tonight, tasting you only to get you wet enough for him and when he guides you onto your stomach and shoves one of your knees up, pushing his briefs down just enough to pull himself out, you grin in victory. That is, until you feel his mouth on the curve of your ass and then the harsh bite of his teeth, digging into your flesh. 

“Hey,” you reach back and push at him, his hand catching your wrist to pin it to the bed and his other hand comes down with a gentle swat in reprimand. His movements behind you are rough, rushed and when the weight of his body settles heavy on top you with a drape, it presses you deep into the mattress. His hot breath ghosts over your ear as he lines himself up, before shoving himself inside and taking him way too easily with a slick stretch, the both of you try - and fail - to hold back a relieved moan, his fingers now pushing their way between yours in his hold.

He was trying to work you up, but it wasn’t like he was immune to your presence on the couch. Everytime you shifted, he thought about pulling your leg over the top of his. Thought about slipping his fingers snugly into your tight warmth. Thought about you kneeling between his spread thighs or pushing you backwards on the couch to eat your pussy or making you ride him; the TV a halo of illumination around your curves in this mind. 

He reaches with a stretch to wrap his fingers around a slat of his headboard, and you can feel the flex and shift of the lean muscles in his torso with every punishing thrust inside. His other hand drags down to your hip, tugging you up higher, so he can slide in deeper, fuck you harder.

“Ezra,” you gasp, trying so hard not to make a sound, but with every filling push of his cock, you break, releasing a flood of them into his pillow. His hand leaves your hip and comes up, clamping over your mouth to muffle your sounds.

“You gotta be quiet for me, Birdie. You gotta – fuck,” his breathing shuddering when you feel the fit of his hipbones tight against the curve of your ass. Again, again; his hold tightening on your mouth with every jolt forward. “You gotta take it, okay? I need you to take it.”

If anyone had their ear pressed against this door, they would hear something filthy, something almost desperate in its need and it’s an hour later when you slip back out of his bedroom; slick and sore between your thighs, yet finally relaxed enough to get some sleep. 

–

The whole weekend. 

Starting at 3pm on Friday when Ezra dropped Cee at her ride’s house and stretching until Sunday night, you skipped your last class of the afternoon and let him pick you up at your apartment; a thrill when you tossed an overnight bag into his backseat.  

The novelty of the situation has him endearingly handsy, something you noticed he did all the time before anyway with his causal, affectionate touches, but it’s even more now when he’s allowed to be free and stake his claim to you in his own home. 

His house, a place you’d been countless times before, was brimming with possibility without her presence. It felt like a different place altogether, with the ability to wander into his bedroom, or curl up with him on the couch. 

“So, what do you wanna do?” You turn to face him, the silhouette of your body lit with the incredible brightness of the sun reflecting off the snow outside and when he comes closer, he pulls you away from the window. 

“I think you know what I want, Birdie,” he hums, his mouth finding the corner of your jaw and you circle your arms around his shoulders, leaning into the solidness of his hold. 

“Hmmm, I want that too.” His hand slips down your back, pressing into the base of your spine to push you against his hips and you can feel him half hard already under his jeans, his hand moving down over the curve of your ass with a squeeze. “But I mean, what else?”

“I was thinking,” he nips at your skin, eliciting a giggle from you, “what about watching a movie? Order in some food, stretch out on the couch.” He’s walking you backwards towards it now, his hand shifting from your hip to between your thighs, cupping you through your leggings. 

“Fuck, Ezra,” you breathe softly, closing your eyes with a frown. You’re already wet, the pressure of his hand building in an immediate spreading heat and he looks down at you with a smile, watching your face slip into pleasure. His hand slowly works against you, his fingers a gentle dig into your entrance. 

“Wanna get high with me, Birdie?”

Your eyes open, trying to focus. It’s hard though, with how hungry and dark his own are right now, looking down at you. Like he’s trying, and failing, to hold back a sort of hidden fierceness masked in the deep brown depths. 

“I got some edibles. I thought we could do them together, if you want?” He leans closer, placing his mouth next to the shell of your ear. “I wanna fuck you so bad. Right now, on this couch. And then we could take them, and fuck again later, right here on the floor. You wanna ride me again down there?” 

You shiver, remembering when you did it at your apartment - the way he called out for you, the way his neck was taut with strain as he arched against your rug, a deep groan slipping out beneath your palms as your nails dug into the meat of his chest. 

You reach for his belt, working it open. “Let’s do it.”

–

Winter winds blowing snow drifts outside, he had fucked you right there on the couch, and then laid with you while you picked something to order together. He held the phone aloft, your finger tapping the screen in between tender presses of your mouth against his whiskery jaw and when the food was delivered, you laughed from your place on the couch as he answered the door without a shirt on. 

He set the plastic bag down on the table, a shriek sounding loud from you when he crawled onto the couch and pressed his icy skin against yours, and he kept you underneath him until your feverish warmth bled into him, dissipating his chill. 

A forgotten movie plays now in the background as the two of you stretch out on his couch, the edible you split over an hour ago flowing heavily through your limbs, and it feels like you have been making out forever, but neither of you could stop. His mouth opens yours, his tongue dipping inside to taste you and your lips are swollen and plush against his, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek to keep you in place. To kiss you, for as long as he wanted, out in the open on his couch was something he didn’t know he wanted so badly until he started.

His hands map your soft skin, sliding under your shirt to splay over your side, or down the back of your thigh to hitch your knee around his hip and when you start to rock your hips against his, he tucks you into the crease of the couch, shielding you with his body before breaking the kiss. 

Closing your eyes, your mind is wandering, focusing on the sensation of his body under your touch. Everything feels like so much more - his shirt softer, his warmth intoxicating, his voice deeper and richer when he speaks to you and with your eyes still closed, you smile lazily.

“Did you ever think about this, before?” You ask the question so sweetly, almost hesitantly even though he knows you know the answer and he slips into his own head for a moment, not answering. Images rapidly flash through his mind: you, in so many ways he’s both seen and dreamt of you. He rests his head on his crooked elbow, leaning forward to kiss the curve of your chin. 

“All the time, Birdie. Every night.” His eyes slipping shut,, he delights in the way you dig your fingers into his lower back, but he opens them when you give a petulant, playful whine. Your face is tipped back in a silent encouragement for a kiss, and when you thread your fingers through his hair with a delicious drag of your nails against his scalp, he takes it, tasting the line of your throat. “What about you? What did you think about?”

Your mind is moving too slow for the question, and when you start with “On the train once –” and then stop yourself, his mouth also stops, and he waits. You tense underneath him, turning your face away and he becomes instantly both intrigued and determined to find out the truth. 

“Tell me,” he grins. 

“No, it’s so embarrassing.” You cover your face with a throw pillow from the couch, and he laughs, tugging it from your hands to toss it on the floor. “Hey! Stop!”

Your protests are mixed with laughter, growing in volume when he pins you down into the couch cushions and climbs on top of you. The credits of the movie start to roll, your takeout dishes littering the coffee table and his fingers dig into your side while you squirm, shrieking. 

“I’m not gonna stop until you tell me.”

“Okay, okay,” you concede, breathless. You stretch out underneath him, an indulgent, feline motion and when you notice him watching you, you bite your lip and then lift your head in request for a kiss. He comes back down, his mouth finding yours and your tongue slides against his, deepening it, the movement both slowed down and intensified. When you wind your legs around his waist, he groans, almost getting lost in it.  Almost. 

“Fine. I had a daydream once,” you start, not remembering how the hell this subject even got brought up, “that we were dancing….and that it turned into something more.”

He grins, his eyes lighting up. “Something more, huh?”

“Oh god, don’t make me say it,” you laugh again, and he laughs too, pulling your hand away from your face. . 

“All this shyness from someone who called me for a video strip tease? Who convinced me to download Snapchat so she could send me pictures of her tits?”

You laugh renewed, and then it dies down, your smile remaining. “They are nice tits, don’t you think?”

He doesn’t answer, instead holding your gaze for a moment before abruptly pushing himself down your body to lift the hem of his shirt that you’re wearing and when he shoves his head underneath it, you start to squirm, laughing again. 

“I think they are more than nice, Birdie.” He mouths as them, his whiskers scraping against the sensitive valley as he nuzzles his face closer. You feel his lips catch on your skin as he keeps going, the words slightly muffled and you push on his shoulders until he pops his head back out, his hair a curled mess.

“What did you say?”

“I said,” he repeats, palming the weight of one through the threadbare cotton, “I want to eat them.” He grins boyishly, but with a carnal look to it. His fingers squeeze tighter, his face dropping to breath through the fabric. “I wanna taste them. You make me want to fuck them when you send pictures like that.”

Your fingers wrap around the nape of his neck when you pull him in for another kiss, your bodies entwining on the couch to get even closer and it’s several minutes before he pulls away, asking you again to tell him about your daydream. He listens carefully while you tell him, his mouth molding around the knuckles of your hand and when he lifts his weight off you, you resist the urge to pull him back down. 

Switching the TV off and turning the stereo on, he pulls up “Redbone” on his phone and when the dulcet tones of it fill the room, your face heats with embarrassment when he holds a hand out for you. 

“Come on,” he encourages, pulling on your hand. 

His arms enveloping you in a slow dance, the music sounds richer, deeper, more consuming as his feverish body presses against yours and your long ago daydream becomes real as he slowly peels your clothes off, slipping out of his own.  The song plays on repeat, your skin chilled from standing bare in his living room before him, but when he looks at you just like he did in your mind, you can’t even feel the cold. 

“Did I do it like this?” he murmurs, his fingers trailing down the length of your spine, lighting a path of sensory sparks along the way. 

“Did I do it like this?” he asks, somehow now kneeling and kissing a warm, wet path up the front of your leg. 

“Did I do it like this?” The words are muffled against your skin, his mouth worshiping the petal soft skin of your inner thigh and you squirm in his hold, your laugh sliding into a soft moan when he bites you in reprimand. Your foot comes to rest on his coffee table, his hand wrapping around the underside of your thigh to hold you open there. 

“Yes, Ezra,” you sigh, threading your fingers through his hair as his tongue dips into you. “You did it just like this.”

—

It’s so decadent, being alone with him. Being open with him. Fucking him when and wherever you want and then being able to revel in each other’s nakedness as you get a cup of water, as you walk to use the bathroom. 

He had you spread out in his bed early this morning, the door wide open as your moans spilled down the hallway for anyone to hear and he demanded you say his name louder — a luxury neither of you are often afforded. He ate your pussy yesterday in the living room, then fucked you on the kitchen counter, woke you up early this morning with his hand between your thighs and it’s like he’s filling every room with a memory of you; painting it onto the structure of the rooms for when you have to leave.

Right now, he has you in the shower — the sounds of your shared efforts and pleasure sounding against the slick tiles. It’s like he’s everywhere all at once: surrounding you, against you, inside of you. Those hands you’ve seen smooth over wood, polish brass to a shine, uncover layer after layer of dirt to find treasure underneath — those hands are grasping and stroking and sliding against your wet skin, seeking purchase on the flushed heat of it. His palms cup the weight of your breasts in their spill forward into his hands, his thumbs stroking and catching on the peaked buds and you pant into his open mouth, a delicate frown between your brows. . 

The steam billows around the two of you, the fogged shape of your bodies moving as one from the outside of the stall and inside, they are one too: his strong arms lifting you against the wall, your back slipping up the soaked tiles with every push inside. The stark white patch in his hair is extra pronounced against the slick dark strands, red creeping up his cheeks with the heat of the shower underneath the patchy scruff that covers them and when he tips his head back with a long, filthy groan, you trace the line of a vein with your thumb before resting your mouth on it with a kiss, then a suck. 

“Fuck,” he grits out, adjusting to bear more of your weight and the snap of his hips becomes harder, faster, deeper. Your thighs are pushed open wide, your fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders and when he begs for you to cum so he can do it too, you let go and do it.

—

He’s so open with his affection — crowding you from behind with a hug, delicate kisses on your temple or hand, nuzzling into your head on the couch like a cat begging to be petted — and he’s doing it now, sitting beside you at the kitchen table.

“Wanna go out today?” His mouth finds the juncture of your shoulder, like he couldn’t stop touching you with it if he tried.

“I don’t know. Maybe a bookstore? Records?” It’s late morning, the weekend half over and you push against that thought, bringing your heel up to rest on the chair seat while you take a bite of toast. He runs his eyes appreciatively over you — your thighs on display while you wear nothing but your panties and one of his T-shirts. He likes the way he can see your breasts shift and move freely under the fabric, a memory of the way they felt under the threadbare cotton as he curled around your back last night in bed. 

“Wait,” you chew thoughtfully, swallowing. “I have an idea.”

–

Central Park, you decided. 

You had come here almost immediately upon moving to New York, wanting to see the marvel of the park for yourself and you had spent an entire afternoon walking the paths, sitting on the grassy mounds, taking in the sheer number of people. It was your favorite place to come and read, or think, or walk while you listened to music and when Ezra asked you what you wanted to do during your weekend with him, it was the first place you thought of. 

Winter time was especially your favorite time to visit. You liked it the other times as well - the lush, sloping hills of green in the summer, the bursts of orange and red in the fall - but there was a crisp, starkness to the beauty of it in the winter that you liked the best. 

Every time you stepped foot into the park during the winter, you thought about Holden Caulfield and his obsession with the ducks in the ponds:

“You know those ducks in that lagoon right near Central Park South? That little lake? By any chance, do you happen to know where they go, the ducks, when it gets all frozen over? Do you happen to know, by any chance?”

And you’re thinking about it now; puffs of icy air hovering in front of your mouths. 

His cheeks are pink with cold, his dark hair stuffed under a navy blue knit cap and the two of you walk along, snow crunching under your feet. His gloved hand holds your mittened one, icy fingers of bare branches arching high over the path to form a veined extension across the blue sky and when a jogger passes you on your right, you wonder how more of them don’t slip on the ice during their winter runs. 

“So, Central Park, huh?” He smiles down at you, and you lean into his shoulder, pressing your cheek against the soft wool of his coat. 

“Yea. Kinda basic, right?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, squeezing your hand in his.  

“I always heard about it,” you continue, “in books, in movies, in shows. And it’s like I couldn’t picture such a thing? Like the concept of space, almost. I couldn’t comprehend it.” 

You step to the side, making room for a dog walker. “I mean, how the hell could they fit a park in the middle of this city? Why would they do that? In a place where space would be at such a premium, it seems strange that they would allow it? That they would preserve it?”

He says nothing, letting you continue and you look at the edges of the city skyline peeking over a snowy hill. Children wait at the top, the iconic peaked skyscrapers and hotels at their backs with their sleds in hand as they watch others careen down a path carved into the side of the mound. As one slides straight across the paved path and continues going with a shriek of joy, you smile. “But then I saw it, and now I get it.”

He smiles at you, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “I used to spend a lot of time here too.” 

The way he phrases it sounds nostalgic, with a hint of sadness threaded into the words and you stay silent, hoping he’ll continue. “When I first came to the city, I thought the same thing, so I thought - or we - we thought we should check it out. It was one of the first places Damon and I came when we got here.”

“We would come to talk about our terrible days at our terrible jobs,” he grins, looking sideways at you. “I was working nights with this crew that did excavation on job sites? It sounds so weird, not like a real job, but in order to keep the timelines of some construction projects you gotta have people there around the clock. Anyway, he was working in this shit hole kitchen, which is where he met Cee’s mom.” He looked down at you, his eyebrows raised. “She tell you any of this?”

“No, she’s never really talked about it.” You silently urge him to continue, not only wanting to know more about their background, but feeling like he wants you to hear this story. Like he’s been waiting to tell you this..

“Yea. He met her there, things got serious and I didn’t see him around as much. I was used to seeing him all the time, but I mean, I got it. When you meet someone, you wanna spend all your time with them, doing…..other things.” He looks back down at you with a smile and you match it. 

“They got pregnant with Cee around the winter time, I think?” He scrubs his hand over his jaw, thinking. “He still worked in that kitchen, but when he took on another job, I didn’t see him as much after that. I don’t think she liked me very much, and to be fair, I don’t think I was someone who tried to make myself very likable.” 

His shoulders slump slightly, though his tone stays resigned as someone who knows his truth. “I was nice enough, polite when we saw each other, but I didn’t always do the most….honorable things. I was in with sort of a rough crowd at that point, some of the other members from the crew that I worked on and I think she wanted better than that for Cee?”

He keeps his face forward, his eyes fixed on a point in the distance. “Anyway, a couple of years went by, we saw each other once in awhile, and one day he asked to meet me here. He had Cee with him, it was the first time I met her. I can still see her small face peeking around from behind his leg.” 

He laughs at the memory, looking down at you. “She didn’t trust me. I think she still makes that face, sometimes.” 

He pauses for a moment, continuing his slow pace and you watch his jaw shift, hardening. “I could tell he wasn’t good, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. When I asked him how Cee’s mom was, he told me she died.”

Your heart aches in your chest for the image of little Cee, without a mother and his expression seems pained, yet resigned to keep going. “Birdie, I swear to God, I just stood there and I didn’t know what to say. I just kept looking from her, to him, and I thought that he looked so terrible because he was still grieving, but it wasn’t until too late that I figured out it was something else. 

His voice gets softer, his eyes looking at the ground. “And then one day, he was gone. Tried to steal from the wrong person.”

He takes a deep breath, looking up at you and the ambient sounds of the park seem to slowly creep back into your surroundings, so transfixed you were on his story they had faded into the background. 

“I’m sorry,” you begin, “I wouldn’t have asked you to come here if I knew –”

“No, no,” he interrupts you, stopping to tug you closer. When he turns to face you, your lips are too chilled and numb to kiss him, but you do it anyway.  A slow, lingering meeting of your mouths that makes them pliant and warm and when he pulls away, he continues. “It’s nice to be back here with you. Now I’ll have a much better memory, don’t you think?”

You say nothing, a rueful, yet hopeful smile on your face and he takes your hand in his, pulling your mitten off. He takes his own glove off, lacing your fingers with his and then stuffing them both into his jacket pocket, he tucks you into his side and starts walking back down the path. 

You go to MoMa next, the museum a short walk from the park. Your wet boots squeaking on the polished floor, small clusters of people walking slowly around in their whispered observances and there among the white washed walls of abstract art, he kissed you. Deeply, softly, his mouth moving tenderly against yours like it had the potential to turn into something more — but it doesn’t. His hands cradle your cheeks, rejoicing at the ability to kiss you in public; his need to let you know spilling out of him and into you. 

Dinner at La Bonne Soup, a tiny Parisian cafe with delicate bowls of soup, crusty bread and a rich eclair that you share. He swipes the cream from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, a wink at the shared memory of when he did that before and when the waiter comes to refill your wine glass, you let him. The small, airy room is full of other couples, the chatter of conversation filling the brightly lit, inviting space and when he makes you laugh - which he does repeatedly - it fills the space around you. 

A glass of wine over dinner, another to keep you warm for your walk to the station and when you tuck yourself into his side on the train ride home, you close your eyes and try to press the memory and feeling of this into the depths of your brain, to preserve forever. 

Inside his house, the wine has made your movements syrupy and slow, your touch lingering on him. When you undress each other in his dark room, there’s a weight to the silence you’ve not felt before — feeling it in his hold, in his touches. In his mouth, on yours.

Guiding you towards the bed, he pushes you backwards and onto it, bending to kiss his way up your body and you wait patiently for him, your thighs parting to make room for him. When his mouth reaches yours, your limbs twine together: the top of his thigh pressing into the curve of your ass, your arms winding around his neck while his wrap around your back, your mouths meeting over and over. 

His skin is bare, velvety, the sparse hair on his legs sliding against your smooth ones and he takes his time tasting everything he can: the hollow of your throat, the divot below your ear, the plane of your chest. You are aching and ready, slick with anticipation but there is something in the way he is moving tonight that stops you from demanding more, and so you wait until he’s ready. Until he’s so hard he’s weeping along the inside of your thigh, until his kisses start to steal your breath. 

When he notches himself against you, you splay your hands over his lower back, reaching down to pull him inside and he cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses you deeply, rocking into you until you’re full to the brim. You’ve been with him so many times, in so many ways, but this one feels different. His touches are tender, delicate, careful. Like he’s trying to press his feelings into you with every stroke of his palm over your curves, every consuming, open mouthed kiss, every push of himself inside you. 

Your thighs hitch higher, welcoming the weight of his body and whereas normally the two of you are more frantic and feral in your movements, this is slower; something to be savored. His hand finds yours, palm to palm, pressing it into the bedding as his hips push forward and you meet each slow grind of them with a flex of your own. 

Usually vocal in his love, tonight he’s quieter. His nose resting along the curve of your cheek, his husky groans softer when you hook your heels over his back and urge him deeper and his hand tightens in his hold when his body tenses above yours, trying to hold out long enough for you to come. 

“Please, Birdie,” he whispers, and when you do, he does it at the same time with a stilled, hard press of his hips against yours, your body trembling underneath his. He takes his time easing out of you - his mouth a slow, sleepy path along your jaw, down your neck, resting on your shoulder and you think he actually falls asleep for a moment on you, to the relaxing drag of your fingernails between his shoulder blades. When he eventually lifts himself off, you stay awake while he goes back to sleep. 

It’s so different, being with him at night. You roll on your side, facing his back and take in the breadth of his shoulders, the line of his spine. Dark locks of hair wave and curl over the nape of his neck and you reach out and finger one, twisting it. You let it slip through your grasp, resting your hand on his skin instead. The slow movement of his breath moves under your palm, your thumb brushing against a mark your nail left in the round of his shoulder.

You can’t stop thinking about Cee’s little face and though you should be floating on air right now after having this weekend with him, for the first time since this started, it feels more wrong than it’s ever felt. 

You think about them, since you’ve met them: in the kitchen, cooking dinner together. On the couch, watching TV. In the car, bickering or laughing or singing along to music.

You think about little Cee, in this house.

Little Cee, going to school with Ezra holding her hand.

Little Cee without front teeth, or learning how to read, or the painful growth through adolescence and how it’s always been the two of them. 

Something pushes against what you know is right, and you wonder if he’s ever dated anyone serious. Did he ever want to? Did he feel like he couldn’t?

You want to give him everything; everything that he must have had to give up for her, in order to provide her with as much attention as possible. You want him to be selfish for once, and selfishly on your own end, you want it to be with you. 

But then you see her face in your mind again, and that part of you shrinks back.

Fuck. 

He stirs, and you watch him roll to face you. His eyes remaining closed, his arm drapes heavy over the side of your body, tucking you against him and his voice is husky and intimate, still on the edges of sleep.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart.” His mouth finds your temple, and pressing there, it stays. 

You know you should, but you don’t want to. Who knows when this chance will come again? To have dinner, to go out, to fuck and crawl into bed sated and sleepy. To stay with him in his bed, surrounded by his scent, his linens, his life. 

Watching the snow drift silently past the window, you listen to his breathing for a moment and then tuck your face into his chest, closing your eyes.

#ezra x reader #ezra x you #ezra/reader #ezra/you #ezra prospect #pedro pascal

[foxymoxynoona]

honestly i would totally read a drabble with only ezra and lily in it. no jungkook no isabella. just the two babies doing baby things

Story: Amended, July in the new house timeframe Characters: Ezra & Lily, Isabella ft. Length: 3599 CW: none, General Audience appropriate Read more Amended shorts here (or check out my masterlist, making an Amended-specific masterpost soon)

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“Aww biscuits!”

Ezra froze on the stairs and listened to Lily’s muttered curse. When he’d walked through the kitchen only a moment ago, she was getting a banana for herself. She had declined his help opening it which was dumb because she was going to mush it up trying to get it open and then refuse to eat it. Mom said she was going through a phase. Ezra didn’t think he’d gone through a dumb phase like that and didn’t like that Mom had laughed when he said that but then she’d said all his phases were cute so… he guessed that was ok. Everyone was a little kid once upon a time, even him.

He heard the clink of a metal spoon against a ceramic bowl and decided he’d better check it out. Lily wasn’t supposed to be using a ceramic bowl. No one was. They were Gigi’s and Mom kept them high in the cabinets and one time JK had used one for cereal and Mom hadn’t been happy. He was confused which meant Ezra wasn’t the only one who thought it didn’t make sense to have bowls you weren’t actually allowed to eat out of. Mom said no one was allowed to use them anymore and put them up high but that was definitely what the clink sounded like unless Lily was doing something else weird.

He tossed his books to the top of the stairs and trudged back down, shaking his head about little sisters. He had offered to open the banana for her and then he wanted to just go read in his room because Parker had loaned him a couple Dr. Slump manga and JK had seen it  and suggested Mom should see them to make sure they were ok for Ezra to read which obviously meant he needed to read it immediately before Mom said no. That was yesterday and JK hadn’t said anything to Mom yet so maybe he’d forget. If they were bad Ezra wouldn’t read them but he was just curious what JK thought might not be ok for him to read.

He stepped into the kitchen and forgot all about Dr. Slump.

Lily stood in a growing pool of milk. The whole gallon lay sideways on the counter, glug-glugging onto the floor while she stood there and just watched it with big eyes. One of the forbidden cereal bowls was indeed next to the sink, the cabinet she had climbed and pulled it from still open. The silverware drawer was open. Two boxes of cereal were knocked off the top of the fridge and one lay sideways in the pool of milk. 

“I walked away one minute ago!” Ezra cried.

“Well I got hungry.”

“You said you wanted a banana.”

“It got mushy,” she said, glancing at three smushed bananas dangling out of the trashcan. 

“Mom said to get her if you wanted cereal,” Ezra reminded. As if cued, they heard the lawnmower start in the backyard. JK was away for the weekend and Mom was mowing the grass and Ezra and Lily were supposed to behave and play quietly and come get me if you need anything but Ezra was old enough to know that really meant don’t need anything unless someone is bleeding. Mom had definitely said some words worse than “aw biscuits” trying to figure out how to work the riding lawnmower. 

“I asked her but she couldn’t hear me.”

“Did you ask her while she’s mowing the lawn?”

“Yeah I was asking her.”

“Did you get close to ask her?”

“No are you crazy? She’s mowing the lawn! She’d chop me to smithereens!”

“Did you even wave your hand like this?” Ezra asked, demonstrating how his sister might have gotten Mom’s attention from the safety of the deck.

Lily shrugged and looked at the mess before asking, “Can you get me a bowl of cereal?”

“You might as well just dump the cereal on the floor and eat it like– no! Are you crazy? Don’t really do that!” he groaned as she promptly dropped to all fours and leaned forward, slowly, tongue out like she was going to do it. Her eyes were on him like she was waiting for him to laugh, but he knew better. She’d do it. Lily could be crazy to get a laugh. That’s why she kept saying aw biscuits because she’d said it and JK had laughed and now it was her favorite thing to say, even though Ezra explained she didn’t invent that, she got it from Bluey. 

Sure enough, she licked the floor-milk. But when he didn’t laugh, she decided not to bother.

“OK I’ll get the vacuum while you get the cereal,” Lily said.

“No I’ll get the vacuum, you’re scared of it.”

“Ok I’ll eat my cereal,” Lily said, turning to lift the box out of the milk like she’d planned this anyway. Ezra glared at the back of her head but didn't’ say anything because he was older and knew more things anyway. “The box is wet. I don’t want to eat this kind. Can you get that one?”

“I can’t reach that. How did you get these?”

“I threw Gidget’s toy until it knocked down,” Lily explained, grabbing it to do so again. It had also been in the milk and sent droplets flying everywhere, then lodged on top of the fridge. “Aw biscuits.”

“Get a kid bowl,” Ezra told her. He grimaced as he waded through the milk that instantly soaked his socks. “Ewwwww it’s so gross.”

“I kind of like it,” Lily admitted. Her socks and leggings were wet as she swished side to side. “Look I’m an ice skater!”

“You’re getting it everywhere!”

“Catch me!” She leapt in his direction but slipped exactly like he’d expected and landed on her knee. He watched her lip tremble and her eyes water. 

“You’re ok. You’re ok, you didn’t break anything,” he quickly assured her, crouching down. “Do you want me to get Mom? Did you break something? I don’t think you did.”

“Carry me.”

“You’re five, you’re too big for me to carry.”

“Daddy can carry me.”

“Yeah he’s a big grown up. I’m only nine and I’ll just slip in the milk and we’ll both get hurt. Stop ice skating and just get a bowl, ok?”

She sang a song as she got the bowl and Ezra wondered how to get the breakable one back into the cabinet. He wasn’t as good at climbing as she was and didn’t want to risk toppling off. Besides, he needed to get the milk cleaned up first. Part of him thought maybe he should go get Mom because this was a really big mess, but the other part of him really wanted to prove that she could trust him to keep an eye on Lily while she was mowing the lawn. It didn’t matter if JK wasn’t here, Ezra could take care of things too.

First thing was to get Lily out of here before she made it even worse. He sloshed through the milk to pick up the gallon only to realize it was broken, so she must have dropped it, not just dumped it over.

“How did you even get this out of the fridge? It was almost full.”

“I’m really strong,” she told him.

“If you’re so strong why did you drop it?”

“I was pouring it and the milk went out way too fast! It wasn’t slow at all! It was too heavy. It was even more heavy than I am strong.”

Ezra let out a sigh. Kids. Obviously if something was heavy to pick up it was going to be heavy to pour! 

There was just enough milk left in the broken jug to pour into her bowl. He poured the cereal on top because recently JK had seen him make cereal and told him you were supposed to put the cereal in first so Ezra was going to keep doing the opposite because JK couldn’t tell him what to do. Then he gave Lily the spoon and made her take her socks and pants off and sit at the table to eat. He threw her clothes and his socks into the washing machine that was already full of clothes anyway, then dragged the vacuum from the closet.

At this point he paused. Was a vacuum the right way to do it? Mom usually mopped up spills with towels, but it would take a lot of towels. Like a crazy number of towels, maybe every towel they owned.

“How many towels do you think we have?” he asked Lily.

“Oh I don’t know. Six? Or maybe nineteen.”

He decided to pull all the kitchen towels out of the drawer and drape them across the pool first to soak up as much as he could. They got really wet really fast and then were really gross but he hauled them over to the washing machine, back and forth. Probably he was never going to drink milk again after this. 

It still looked like too much liquid for the vacuum, so he unfurled the roll of paper towels next. At this point Lily came over and chucked her bowl in the sink.

“Now you have to help me clean this up,” he told her.

“Why? I didn’t do it.”

“I’m going to murder you–”

Lily gasped and shouted, “I’m telling Mom you said that!”

“Ok sorry sorry I didn’t mean it. I’m trying not to say it.”

“Mom said you have to pay one dollar of your allowance.”

“I’m not actually going to murder you, it’s just a saying because– because you did make this mess so you have to clean it up.”

“But you can’t murder me about it!”

“I’m not going to murder you. Fine. Sorry. I’ll give you a quarter if you don’t tell Mom,” Ezra bargained because Mom had sat him down and had a talk with him about saying I’m going to murder you or I’m going to kill you. She didn’t get it’s just a thing his friends said at school and sometimes Dad said it too and probably Mom had said it before too, it didn’t mean you were actually going to kill someone! But she told him all this stuff about how sometimes people do bad things in the world and it’s not funny to be casual and make jokes or be light about it and JK is a cop and all that and also he had sad things happen in Korea and Ezra wasn’t allowed to say that ever again. He didn’t really understand how it was all connected but fine, if Mom said it was such a big deal he would try not to say it – but it was really hard to stop saying something when your tongue just made the words come out! “Ok,” Lily beamed, happy about the quarter. She just liked them because they were the biggest coin, she didn’t even understand money. “But don’t forget or I’ll tell Mom you said it twice.”

“That would be lying.”

“No it isn’t… I’m not a liar.”

“Just help me clean up the milk,” Ezra sighed. “Take that towel and wipe up where you left all those footprints.”

“Woah this is a lot of towels.”

“Wait. Do you hear the lawn mower?”

Lily shared a look with him. They ran to the sliding door, tracking milky footprints around the table, and looked with terror around the backyard. It wasn’t that Ezra thought Mom would kill them for spilling the milk or anything, but he just thought it was better if she didn’t know.

“She’s there!” Lily cheered, pointing to Mom in a far corner of the yard. She was off the lawnmover, dragging some branches out of the way. She didn’t look happy. Gidget was penned up but barking like crazy.

“If Gidget keeps barking she might bring her inside, we have to hurry,” Ezra decided, feeling the rush of urgency course through him.

“AGHHHHH” Lily shrieked in a panic and did a somersault, then ran towards the kitchen to mop furiously at the floor, flinging milk, tearing the paper towels, doing more harm than good.

“Just hold the trash open,” Ezra huffed. It was a good thing she was cute because she wasn’t much help for anything ever. Together they tossed the sopping towels into the trash can, then Lily ran shrieking to crouch in the stairwell as Ezra ran the vacuum cleaner around the kitchen –the little one that Mom was strong enough to carry up and down the stairs, but he thought it was really hard to drag around still and he wasn’t sure it did much good. It seemed to just blow the milk around. 

He shoved it back in the closet and saw Lily climbing on the counter again, putting the bowl back into the cabinet.

“You aren’t supposed to use those,” he reminded her.

“Why not?”

“Mom said so. I don’t know. Moms are weird about things sometimes.”

“So are Dads,” Lily nodded sagely.

“Do you mean JK? He’s not your dad.” He felt bad about saying it as soon as the words were out because sometimes Lily got upset if you pointed out she didn’t have a dad, or she was just confused and thought his dad was her dad. He hadn’t meant it to be mean, but JK was their stepdad, it wasn’t the same thing as having a dad.

“I didn’t say he was,” Lily rolled her eyes and clambered down from the counter. “But he’s still a dad.”

“He’s not anyone’s dad.”

“He’s Gidget’s dad! And Crabby’s!”

“I guess you can say that if you want to…”

“Can I go play now? This is boring.”

“I know it’s boring but I want to be reading my book and you made the mess! Next time just ask for help,” he scolded.

“But I don’t need help, I can do it by myself.”

“Then why did you spill all the milk?”

“It wasn’t my fault, it was the milk’s fault!”

“For being too heavy?”

“I think we’re done here,” Lily announced and turned to pad off to the living room.

“Hey put some pants on, your underwear is hanging out!” he reminded her.

“I like it that way. Oh yeah, oh yeah, doot doot doot,” she sang, doing a little butt-shaking dance. 

Ezra laughed at her silly style because she was really bad at dancing but it was cute. He saw a little more milk on the counter but he was out of all towels, so he took his shirt off and wiped it down, then tossed that into the washing machine and closed it. He put the busted gallon of milk in the recycling and wrote on the shopping list Mom kept on the fridge: Milk. He couldn’t reach to get the cereal boxes back up without dragging over a chair and just as he was going to do it he heard Mom’s footsteps on the stairs up to the deck and had the primitive instinct to flee.

Apparently Lily did too because she ran screaming through the kitchen and up the stairs, “I NEED PANTS!”

Gidget sprinted in as soon as Mom opened the door and Ezra remembered too late that the last bananas were still on the counter where they weren’t supposed to leave them because Gidget could reach, but he was already halfway up the stairs and couldn’t do anything about it. 

“Everything ok in here?” Mom called through the house.

He grabbed his books at the top of the stairs and shouted back, “Yes!” before diving into his bedroom. 

“Boo!” Lily shouted, throwing his covers off of herself where she’d been hiding in his bed, waiting for him.

Ezra pretended to be scared, then threw a pillow at her and reminded, “Go get some pants on!”

“I don’t have any pants! I’ll wear some of yours and you can wear some of mine.”

“I don’t want to wear your pants,” he pointed out.

“It’s a new rule I just made up.”

“What’s the rule?” he asked, flopping down beside her after he had a new shirt on. His feet and arms still felt gross and sticky.

“You give me a quarter and–”

“KIDS! WHY AM I STICKING TO THE FLOOR?” Mom shouted.

“I think Mom wants to talk to you,” he told Lily, whose eyes went big.

“What if she feeds me to the birds?” Lily asked in a whisper.

“I don’t think birds eat little girls.”

“But what if she puts peanut butter and sunflower seeds on me. They like that a lot.”

“I don’t think Mom will waste that much peanut butter.”

“KIDS?”

Ezra didn’t much want to face Mom’s wrath, but he felt bad for Lily looking so nervous about it, so he held out his hand and sighed, “Come on, I’ll go with you. Next time just let me peel your banana, ok? I can just get it started for you.”

“And take off the black part I don’t like?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok I want a banana now.” It was like she’d already forgotten Mom was calling for them downstairs. Which was exactly what she said to Mom too when they stepped into the kitchen a moment later to find Mom pulling cleaning supplies and more rags out of the laundry closet. Ezra didn’t know those were in there.

“Definitely more than nineteen,” he told Lily.

“Can I have a banana, Mom?”

“Looks like there was an incident,” Isabella sighed. 

“Someone murdered the milk,” Lily agreed. “It was me. I mean, it wasn’t me!”

“How’s mowing the lawn going?” Ezra asked. He just meant it as a change of subject, but Mom’s eyes narrowed.

“Fine… why?”

“It’s taking a long time.”

“Yeah well…” She looked sweaty and tired and serious, but her stern look cracked into a smile. “It’s not going great. Don’t tell JK.”

“I think he’s going to notice,” Ezra pointed out. “I thought he said not to do it because he would do it when he got home.” Not that he wanted to promote JK too much, but he did think it was better for JK to do that kind of work and Mom could just play with them or read or something.

“And I thought I told you two to get me if you needed any snack you couldn’t reach with both feet on the floor, huh?”

“We can say someone murdered the lawn mower!” Lily suggested.

“Ok enough with murder. We don’t use that word, remember? It’s time to do your time. We’re scrubbing these floors, Lily.”

Ezra looked at the kitchen, at Gidget eagerly licking the sticky floor, at his sweaty, tired Mom.

“I can help Lily scrub and you can put the lawn mower away and nobody gets fined a dollar and we can pretend like this never happened,” he suggested. “Except we should probably buy more milk.”

“Yeah, probably so,” Mom snorted. “Deal. Thanks for being such good kids trying to clean up, but next time just get me, ok? Here’s the spray, don’t get it in your face, I’ll be back in five minutes. Don’t let Gidget get into the trash!” She was gone in a heartbeat and Ezra let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sold on JK lately, but he had to admit that Mom seemed a lot less stressed these days. She didn’t get so mad when they messed up!

“It’s really gross and sticky,” Lily complained. “Ewwww it smells bad.”

Ezra looked at the bottle and made a face as he read, “It’s grapefruit.”

“But I like grapes.”

“Not grapefruit, it’s different. It’s really gross. I bet JK likes grapefruit.”

“He likes grapes like me.”

“Lots of people like grapes,” Ezra rolled his eyes. 

“Arrrr I’m a pirate!” Lily sang, sliding the rag back and forth on the ground where Ezra had sprayed. “I’m Pirate Princess Barbie!” She let out a sigh and sat up. “This is boring.”

“Yeah it’s boring because I’m faster than you. When you go that slow it’s boring.”

“I’m faster than you. I’m faster than anyone who ever lived,” Lily argued.

“Not faster than me. Prove it.”

Lily let out a war cry and set to scrubbing at a crazy pace. Ezra tried to keep a straight face but after half a minute couldn’t help it and mimicked her insane energy, yelling and scrubbing and making up a pirate song as best he could. He didn’t really like to sing but Lily never judged him so it was ok around her.

There, was that good enough? He and Lily sat next to each other and leaned against the cabinets, trying to judge by looking if they’d done enough.

“You’re supposed to say thank you for helping you,” he told Lily.

“But you didn’t get me a banana.”

“But I helped clean up the mess you made! Twice!”

“I already said thank you.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes I did!”

“Well I didn’t hear you,” he said, certain she had not said thank you. 

She sighed and let her head fall to his shoulder and murmured in a monotone voice, “Thank you, Ezra.” 

Actually thanked, he was embarrassed to have demanded it. It was fine, he didn’t mind helping his sister. She was the only sister he had. Even if she was a little butt sometimes.

“Now can I have a banana?” she asked him.

Just as Gidget took a flying leap, grabbed the last two bananas off the counter and raced off.

“CATCH THAT DOG!”

#drabble #amended #my writing

[sin-djarin]

Hiiiii 👋🏻👋🏻

I hope you’re all well! Just popping by to say thank you for all your messages and reblogs. I’m hoping to get around to answering some this weekend. It means the world to me that you continue to tag me in things even though my presence here has been quite limited. But in the meantime…

One of the things that’s been helping my noggin lately has been lists. As simple and basic as that may sound, it can be difficult to see when you’re in the weeds. Anyways, they’ve been helping me put one foot in front of the other in the past few weeks. Here’s a list from my notes app…

Dave York - little spoon.

Din Djarin - big spoon.

Joel Miller - little spoon.

Francisco Morales - big spoon.

Marcus Pike - big spoon.

Dieter Bravo - the whole set of measuring spoons. The set that stops the drawer closing. He’ll be behind you, in front of you, splayed underneath you and sprawled on top of you.

Tim Rockford - big spoon. Except on weekends when he catches your hand to wrap you around him for another hour even though you want to get up to make coffee.

Javi P - big spoon.

Javi G - big spoon.

Ezra - little spoon.

Max Phillips - little spoon.

Agent Whiskey - big spoon.

Here to longer days and more sunshine. Be safe and be well! 🤍

#personal #kinda #I’m still playing catch up #if you’re feeling some type of way about anything don’t be afraid to reach out to someone

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

Eden part sixteen

TW: Major character death, assisted suicide, depression, captivity, gun, slight gore, mood swings, grief, religion, Christianity, creepy/intimate whumper, pet whumpees, multiple whumpees

The next few days passed in a blur.

Jay couldn't find any mood other than euphoric delirium and the depths of depression. Not a moment went by when they weren't giggling or sobbing, often to the point where they couldn't breathe. All the warm showers and meals in the world couldn't fix them.

Christopher had taken it upon himself to take care of everyone, as he so often did, constantly forcing back tears in favor of smiles. He still cooked and cleaned and did everything he thought needed done, keeping himself far too busy so he wouldn't have to face his feelings.

Ezra couldn't stand it. Not one bit. The house seemed like a pot of water that would boil over given the slightest provocation, and Ezra couldn't find a wooden spoon to subdue it with.

"Do you need help with something, sir?" Ezra asked.

Christopher stood in the middle of his kitchen. Every utensil, dish, and bag of non-perishable food had been pulled from the cupboards and drawers and laid out neatly on the floor. There was hardly room to walk, but Christopher still managed in his attempt to scrub out all the cupboards. Ezra could barely smell the cleaning chemicals over the omnipresent lavender.

"No," Christopher said, waving Ezra off with his hand. It no lpnger wore his engagment ring. "I'm just doing some organizing. God knows this place needs it."

Out of every house Ezra had ever lived in, Christopher's was by far the most orderly. Perfection and cleanliness lived here just as much as anyone else did. But Ezra knew a coping mechanism when he saw one, and decided to stay out of Christopher's way.

He knew it was selfish, but he wanted things to go back to the way they were before Jay and Colt entered the picture. How lovely it had been, just the two of them in their little house in the woods. No one to bother them, and perpetual days to be spent together.

Ezra still resented Jay, and his many attempts to talk them down from suicide had taken their toll on his mental health. He was fucking selfish through and through.

What kind of a person hated having to take care of their suicidal friend? What kind of a person prefered to be coddled constantly to having to deal with their problems?

But hadn't this always been true? Ezra had spent so many nights staying up late to deal with a friend's mental health crises, secretly hating them for not having a single other person to find support from. He'd always been so selfish.

As he collapsed onto his soft bed, Ezra felt sick. What was wrong with him? He should be happy. Or sad. Or angry. Some simple emotion. It just wasn't fair.

To Ezra's dismay, Jay found him not long after. He wanted to snap at them to leave him alone, but he couldn't find the nerve, even as Jay laid down on top of him half sobbing half shrieking.

"I love you! I love you! I love you!"

"I love you too," Ezra lied with a deep sigh. "What's the matter?"

"Everything hurts! Breathing hurts! Moving hurts! My body hurts!"

"Shh…shh…" Ezra gently patted Jay's shoulder. "It's okay."

"My chest hurts," they said, much quieter. "Like I got shot in the heart. I hate it. I hate it. I love you."

"You're just sad," Ezra explained, wishing he were anywhere else. "Really sad. Everyone is. Christopher is sad because Colt died. You're sad because you remembered your sister. I'm sad because you and Christopher are sad. We'll be better soon."

"What is soon?!" Jay shrieked. "I don't know! I don't know! I don't know!-" they erupted into fresh tears, streaming down their freckled face and wetting Ezra's shirt as they buried their face in his chest. "I didn't want to do anything but leave. But now I'm gone and it still isn't better."

"It will get better," Ezra lied. "I promise. Just sleep, eat, and let us take care of you."

Jay didn't respond. It was only when their sobs were fully stifled that Ezra realized they had fallen asleep. Ezra hated to move them, and closed his eyes, wishing Jay would just disappear.

•••

When Ezra awoke, he was alone. Someone had turned the lights off and tucked him into bed properly. Obviously Christopher, as Jay wasn't in the state of mind. As a few minutes to himself wouldn't do anyone harm, Ezra stared up at the ceiling, relaxing all of his muscles under the comforter and weighted blanket.

His sleep cycle had all but disappeared over the last week. He slept whenever he felt tired, and stayed in bed as long as possible after waking. The house was awfully quiet though, and Christopher still kept a good sleep cycle, so it must be late at night.

After finally rousing himself and making his way down the hall, Ezra found Christopher sitting on his bed and conversing with Jay in hushed tones.

Jay looked up at Ezra with bloodshot eyes, spilling over with tears. "Hi Ezra…"

"We need to get your thoughts and feelings on this matter," Christopher said gently. "Come sit down."

"What is it?" Ezra sat crisscrossed on the bed, facing Christopher and dreading his answer.

"I ask you to kill me," Jay whispered, rubbing their bloodshot eyes. "But you didn't want to. So, I asked Christopher. Are you mad at me?"

"I'm not mad." It was far too easy a statement to decide upon. But Ezra wasn't mad. How could he be?

He couldn't identify his emotions, or even their quantity. Far too many and far too little, all fighting each other in glorious battle, with Ezra feeling all too numb for it. He wasn't crying, or laughing, or having any normal emotional response. Just a tortured blank slate.

"Are you sure you want to die?" he asked mechanically.

Jay nodded and said nothing more.

"I guess that's your decision." Ezra stared down into his lap, fidgeting with his hands. "I don't have to like it. I can't force you to live. That would be cruel. But I'll miss you."

The last sentence was a lie. Probably. Maybe. He would just have to wait and see.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" Ezra asked. "About yourself? About your family? About your life? About-" Ezra suddenly remembered Christopher's presence. No, he wouldn't ask about Colt. "-About anything else?"

Jay shook their head. "Nope. I don't have anything to say. I'm just too sad and painful to live."

"...Okay. I hope Heaven isn't sad or painful."

"That's the whole point of heaven." Christopher ruffled Jay's hair. "Your soul will stick around here for forty days and nights, then move on. I'll be sure to leave out plenty of food."

"That's good, master." Jay laid down and rested their head on Christopher's lap. "I hate being hungry."

Christopher pet them, like he might pet a cat, running his fingers through their blond hair. Ezra rubbed a small circle in Jay's back, trying his best to look worried. His intestines felt knotted, not from pity for Jay, but guilt for having none.

Christopher cleared his throat. "We need to decide how to go about doing this. Jay, I would recommend that you overdose on opioids. I have some handy and know the dosages. It would be painless and quick, just like falling asleep."

Jay burst into tears, their breathing turning ragged and shallow. "Please, please- no drugs. I can't do more drugs. I'm trying so- so hard. No more, please no more."

"Shh…" Christopher whispered soothingly. "It's alright. We don't have to do that. But anything else might come with a great deal of pain."

"Just shoot me," Jay pleaded. "I'm so tired."

"Alright." Christopher continued playing with Jay's hair, waiting for them to calm down. "We can do that. I'll make it as painless as possible. Don't fret."

There were tears in Ezra's eyes now. He longed for them to be preemptive grief for the good life Jay never got to live. But deep down he knew they were spurred on by relief that this nightmare would soon be over.

"Can we do it right now, master?" Jay asked.

"In a few minutes," Christopher promised. "Let's have some hot chocolate and relax for a while, then we can…go through with our plans."

While Ezra and Jay seated themselves in the dining room, Christopher busied himself in the kitchen. Ezra hadn't noticed the little shrine on the table before, due to his own distraction and not its absence. There was a small plate of sliced fruit, and a few framed pictures of Colt, including one of he and Christopher's wedding photo. They both looked so happy, standing side by side and holding each other so closely. Ezra couldn't stand to look at it.

This, Ezra supposed, was what Christopher had been explaining to Jay. Probably some tradition of the Russian Orthodox church. Though why Colt's soul would be in Christopher's home at all was confusing, when he had his own house. Jay was too wrapped up in their own little world to notice the shrine. Probably for the best.

Christopher laid out the hot chocolate on the table, a now familiar gesture to the three of them. He sat with his hands folded on his lap, a grim look on his usually smiling face. Jay kicked their legs under the table, much too happy for someone having their last meal. If a mug of hot chocolate could be considered a meal.

The warmth blossoming through Ezra's chest was the most defined emotion he had felt since waking up. Everything else had been a hazy, jumbled mess. But the warmth was real, mimicking happiness as it spread from his chest into his limbs. He couldn't help smiling. Jay smiled back.

When their mugs were empty, Christopher cleared the table. He walked down the hall, leaving Jay and Ezra alone. Neither of them spoke. There was nothing to say, really. At least not that Ezra could think of.

Christopher returned with a loaded handgun. Ezra idly wondered if he had a permit for it. No one really cared in Idaho or Montana. At least, not as much as they should. It seemed that everyone living in the middle of the woods had an illegal gun or two.

Ezra stood up and hugged Jay one last time, knowing how important it was to them. They squeezed him as tightly as they could, a feeble but enthusiastic gesture. He ruffled their short strawberry blond hair, remembering how he had needed to cut out several pieces tangled beyond repair, and then cut it all short to make it look nice. Jay had hugged him after that too.

It was only after Christopher had escorted Jay outside, gently holding their bruised hand, that emotions finally hit Ezra. Jay was a person. An actual, living, breathing person.

How could he have been so stupid and jealous? Jay deserved a good shot at life. Maybe they were annoying and childish, but he could be too. He couldn't just let them die on a whim. He had talked so many friends down from suicide before. It always felt impossibly hard, but at least he had gotten much needed practice.

What a morbid thought.

Ezra broke out of his thoughts and raced outside, not bothering to put his shoes on. Snow crunched under his feet but he hardly noticed the freezing cold. This was too important for him to be worrying about his comfort. Such an odd feeling, for someone who never thought about anyone but himself.

Christopher already had the muzzle of the handgun pressed to the back of Jay's head. It was positioned to hit the spinal cord embedded in their upper spine. A quick and mostly painless death.

His face was contorted with concentration, and he didn't notice his favorite pet running across the field towards him. But Jay noticed, looking up at Ezra with an ecstatic smile on their face. Ezra's heart plummeted.

Then their body was sprawled on the blood soaked snow, broken and oh so small. The gunshot deafened Ezra, but he hardly cared. Jay didn't look real. No person could ever look the way they did. Ezra finally realized he had never seen a dead body.

Jay was dead. They weren't coming back. They weren't ever going to laugh or cry or have another family meal. They were just…gone. Ezra's heart splintered into thousands of tiny pieces, embedding themselves into the snow, never to be pieces back together in full.

Once again, Ezra bolted. Still deafened from the gunshot, he didn't process Christopher's calls for him to come back. The dark forested hills swallowed him whole, and he quickly got lost. He ran himself ragged, not knowing why he was running, just that he needed to get away from Jay's corpse.

He froze when he stumbled upon a road. His hearing was slowly returning, filled with crickets chirping and leaves stirring in the trees. A small gray car pulled over to the side of the road, and a woman rolled down her window.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "Ypu look like you're lost?"

"Y- yes. I'm lost. I don't know what I'm doing out here." Tears froze on Ezra's cheeks. "Please help me, ma'am."

"Get in my car," she said gently. "I'll take you wherever you need to go."

This wasn't Ezra's first experience with hitchhiking, and he was too tired to feel suspicious. He clambered into the passenger seat and told the woman his old address without thinking about it. It wasn't home anymore, but he didn't know Christopher's address.

The car drive passed in a blur, and he brushes aside all of her invasive questions. He stumbled out of her car with hasty thanks and apologies for not having money.

Ezra wearily climbed up the stairs to his apartment. No one else was awake, and his old room was still messy and untouched. He collapsed into bed, leaving all his problems for the morning. A bad habit, but one he was fond of.

Taglist: @devourerofcheesecake @hugh-lauries-bald-spot @thedarkmongoose @whumpsday @whump-by-robin @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @annablogsposts @whumpshaped @seetheothersideofparadise @knittedeyebrowsandcardigans @whatwasmyprevioususername @boonasaurusrex @suspicious-whumping-egg @heavenly-whumper @melancholy-in-the-morning @snakebites-and-ink @suck-my-clit-loser @i-eat-worlds @scp-1296 @chiswhumpcorner @skittles-the-whumpee @whumpkinz @dokidokisadness @enbygesserit

#Abraham original: Hot off the press #Whump #Pet whump #Major character death #Eden #Whump series #Multiple whumpees #Pet whumpees #Creepy/intimate whumper #Assisted suicide #Religion

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! I very much love this blog, it is an absolute delight. I couldn't find it in the masterpost - but this might just be me misreading it! - but do you have a tag for flower shop AUs? Wishing you all the best!

Hello! We have #florist crowley and #florist au tags, and you might also be interested in our #crowley's plants tag. Here are some more florist fics...

Honeysuckle and White Jasmine by Dannye Chase (E)

While on a bad blind date at a coffee shop, bookshop owner Aziraphale meets a gorgeous red-haired barista. Also Aziraphale knows flower language and he's not afraid to use it.

So now Aziraphale was going on a date with someone Tracy knew. Since Tracy had arranged it, Aziraphale let her pick the place as well: Double Double, a new coffee shop. Tracy had promised that the shop was lovely and had a selection of rich desserts, which was honestly the part that had convinced Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s one bit of defiance was the flowers. He had a book or two in his shop on flower language, and he’d decided that the bouquet was going to be the sweetener for the day (besides the dessert), the spoonful of sugar that helped the medicine go down.

Yellow carnations: Disdain, disappointment, rejection. Red snapdragon: Deception. Purple columbine: foolishness. White candytuft: indifference. And finally butterfly weed, a bright little orange cluster flower, which meant Let me go!

Armed with his passive-aggressive (but quite lovely smelling) bouquet, Aziraphale took a cab to Double Double.

Flowers Are Better Than People (Angel Don't You Think That's True?) by MJ_Spooks (T)

He liked plants more than people, hence his decision to become a florist, and if he liked something, he was utterly incapable of not obsessing over it. When he committed to the study of something, he committed wholeheartedly.

So, naturally, he was well-versed in The Language of Flowers.

And, looking over his notes, it almost made sense. Almost. There was, in fact, a pattern, between what Mr. Ezra Fell liked, and did not like.

The thing was, if the pattern was in fact there, and wasn’t just some insane coincidence, then Mr. Ezra Fell was more than a little bit of a bastard.

Tea For Two by ICanSingNoRequiem (T)

Aziraphale is living his life in London's Soho District when he's summoned to the sleepy town of Eden to settle the affairs of his recently deceased childhood friends.

Second Chance at a First Try by Fallinfromgrace (E)

Aziraphale is happy in the life he’s living. He has his books and his shop, and his cocoa, what more could he want? Until one day a small boy hides in his shop, his eye bruised and his hope shattered. His eyes are hauntingly familiar but Aziraphale knows he’s never met this small boy before.

It doesn’t take long to unravel the mystery of why the boy is there. And when his father shows up, looking for him, bruised and bloody Aziraphale realizes what he recognized in the small boys eyes. Now his life will never be the same, and perhaps that’s good?

A Study Of Rose Petals and Ink Stains by teardrops_on_ghostly_wings (M)

After a painful breakup Crowley goes to the tattoo shop down the road from his flower shop to get a bad breakup tattoo but instead meets tattoo artist Az who talks him down from his terrible idea and helps him start to heal.

where dwells the breath of all persisting stars by grayscaleTestimony & ranichi17 & temporalSilence (T)

They still meet, whatever the universe.

Or, a florist, a bookseller, and a chance meeting in the rain.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #florist crowley #florist au #human au #mod d

[kanerallels]

Sabine and Ezra:

"I don't think baking soda and baking powder are the same thing."

OKAY THIS FEELS A LITTLE TARGETED (I'm kidding I love it. It's perfect!!)

“I don’t think baking soda and baking powder are the same thing.”

Shrugging, Ezra said, “How different can they be, really?”

As she watched him scoop a hefty spoonful out of the container, Sabine remarked, “I’m starting to think you don’t actually know anything about cooking, kid.”

“I know enough!”

“Enough that this isn’t going to be a disaster and ruin Hera’s birthday?”

“Uh…” Ezra looked down at the mess in the bowl in front of him. “Okay, maybe we should ask Kanan for help.”

“That’s what I thought.”

#thanks for the ask!! #writing ask game #sabine wren #ezra bridger #swr #star wars rebels #writing stories is a kind of magic too

[prolix-yuy]

I'm shyly peeking around the corner of your beautiful Bangathon.

Spinning the wheel brought me one of my favorites: SPOONING.

Pedro boy...I can't decide between Ezra, Pero, and Oberyn but think you'd do heavenly things with any of them.

I'm so glad you're using your conference time for filth. I'm so proud of you. <3

Adira! Welcome to the Bangathon! Spooning is such an underrated position, and while I love it for all the boys, Ezra is calling to me...

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader

Position: Spooning

Word Count: 999 (this pleases me)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, unprotected PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), little bit of oral (f receiving), fingering, biting and drawing blood, rough sex, a moment of consensual somnophilia (though it's a little gray in the beginning).

Notes: Oh my god, I meant for this to be a sweet little thing because your writing is so soft and gentle and then Ezra just went and made it filthy. I am hiding my face in my hands. This is like someone dropping off the ingredients for a birthday cake and I bake a huge anatomical penis instead. Oh boy.

There’s only so much a man can be expected to endure in tight quarters for so many cycles, and you’re pushing him to the edge of sanity.

First it was the showers, too noisy for him not to imagine how the water traced your curves. 

Then it was the heat, stripping you both down to compression shorts, a cropped bra barely covering the sumptuous breasts he wanted to savor.

But now you’re testing the last threads of his resolve, curled on your side slicked with sweat and sleep. The flimsy blanket slipped to pool in the hollow of your back, the gusset of your panties peeking from between your thighs. 

For a moment Ezra contemplates if just the sight would be enough for him to get off, circling his cock inside his boxers and letting a few pumps bring him to attention. But the cotton is damp and sticks to your lips, so close he could trace them with his bionic fingers. Your body calls to him, shifting ever so slightly to arch your back more. 

“Kevva be damned,” he rasps to himself, dropping to his knees and leaning down to nose at your cunt. The first inhale of your sex pulls a groan deep from his chest, rumbling too loud. He’ll wake you at this rate, and his cock can’t decide what he enjoys better, your body sleep-pliant and unaware or your wide eyes staring up at him.

Another inhale, and this time he runs his tongue along your slit, pressing in where your clit should be. A sharp gasp alerts him.

“Forgive me, nightingale, but you have driven me wild for too long to deny a taste,” he bemoans, not an ounce of apology in his rakish voice. 

“Ezra,” you breathe out, and to his delight you grind against his touch, pressing an open kiss between your thighs and nuzzling his nose in.

“A sweeter word has never fallen from your lips,” he husks, dragging his prominent nose up between your cheeks and following the path of your spine, stopping to drop a messy lick here, a ring of teeth there. You squirm under his touch but don’t shy away, keening until his lips finally press to your neck. He fits himself against your back, the thick humidity making your skin slide. 

“Ezra, please, I want…” you plead, and his cock aches at how wrecked you sound from just the simplest touches. He cannot wait to see how much more desperate he can make you. 

“I know what you want, my little nightingale,” he coos, tucking his bionic arm under your head while sliding his fingers along your stomach. Your skin is hot under the tips, catching on little patches of hair and the ridges of scars. You both had stories to share with the maps of your body, and Ezra could finally learn them.

“Want you inside me,” you whisper, and he has to bite his lower lip to stop from taking you right then. 

“Can’t say that so sweetly, I’ll ruin this if you let me,” he teases, cupping your cunt and roughly rubbing. You back into his hips, his jutting cock nestling into your plump ass. Dropping his forehead to your shoulder, he ruts in time with his wandering fingers. Slipping underneath your panties, he pulls a surprised moan from your throat when he dips two thick fingers inside, cursing at the slick tightness.

“Do you know how hard it has been, resisting this sweet nectar?” he growls, curling his fingers to shred against the devastating spot inside you. He wants you clenching and wailing, soaking him and begging for more. He needs your body like air, if only you’d give it to him.

“Then don’t,” you toss back, blood roaring in Ezra’s ears. “Don’t resist.”

Ezra has been a better man of late, but hearing your permission - Kevva, even your desire - has him yanking your wrist into your panties, roughly pulling them to the side.

“Fuck, touch yourself,” he orders, using the wetness coating his fingers to slick his cock. Sliding the head through your folds, your keening moan is all it takes for him to sheath himself in one powerful stroke. 

He can’t wait, as soon as he’s in your blissful heat he’s snapping his hips, every thrust exploding inside his groin. Planting one foot, he cages you in, pressing you tight to his chest, snarling into the shell of your ear. Every punch of his cock into your g-spot tears out another ragged wail, but once he sets the pace you’re pushing back against him just as greedily. 

“My sweet companion, wet and ready for me the moment I want it. How many nights did you wait for me, hoping for this cock inside you?” Ezra covers your hand, fingers sliding together in the mess to stroke your clit. 

“Every…fuck, every night, Ez. Wanted it…every night,” you gasp, and if the hunger inside him wasn’t raging by then it was an inferno at your admission. Sinking his teeth into your shoulder, he yanks you back against his rapid thrusts, white heat blossoming as his jaw clamps hard. Copper suddenly dances on his tongue, a sharp shock that makes him release, but in that moment you cum around his cock, tossing him over the edge to spill inside your pulsing cunt. Both of you gasp and tremble in this embrace, Ezra’s eyes finally opening to see two small beads of blood where his incisors bit in too deep. He laps his tongue over them, followed by a softer kiss than he thought it possible for his cautious heart.

“Nightingale, in my lust I’ve been a little too rough with you,” he murmurs, hissing when you slide off him and turn in his arms. Studying your face, he preens at the quirk of your smile.

“Good, then I can leave my own marks on you next.”

Ezra thanks Kevva for long trips across the galaxy and his undeserved luck.

“Anywhere that delights you.”

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

#ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect fic #ezra prospect x f!reader #ezra prospect fanfiction #ezra prospect x you #prospect fanfiction

[better-call-mau1]

Oooohhhh, I'd love to hear about The Great Galactic Food War for the WIP ask game!

Thank you for the ask!! 😄 Excellent choice…this should be a fun one. I’ve always loved Sabezra as parents, but trying to figure out what their family should look like (how many kids? number of girls and boys? age range?) for story purposes has always been a struggle for some reason. I usually don’t have a tough time coming up with OC kids for my OTPs (I’m a huge softy when it comes to the Babies Ever After trope lol), so it took me a long while to find a family dynamic chaotic enough for a Sabezra household…

…and as someone who has triplet cousins, I’ve seen their potential for chaos firsthand. Right after the end of this snippet, dinnertime starts to spin out of control, culminating in the Great Galactic Food War between Sabezra and their Loth-Triplets. 😈

(Link to the WIP list for the ask game.)

“Alright sweetie, here comes the freighter! Open wide!”

With a smirk tugging at her lips, Sabine watched her husband wiggle a spoon in front of their daughter’s face, trying to coax her into opening her mouth.

“No!” Ursa squeaked, clamping her lips shut again before her dad could sneak in another bite of meiloorun purée — not that the first one had stayed inside for long. “No m’loowas!” She shook her head as purple goop dripped off her round little chin and onto the Loth-cat-print bib and high chair tray.

“C’mon, kiddo! It’s good! See? Mir’ika loves it!”

Sitting beside Ezra — and across from their baby boy, who’d already gulped down his purée in a matter of minutes — Sabine realized she was about to witness a maneuver of outstanding tactical genius:

The only thing Ursa hated more than nasty fruit paste was seeing her sister get something that was rightfully hers.

“Here comes the starfighter! Zzzzshooom! Pew-pew! Pew-pew!” Ezra flew the spoon around in circles between Ursa and Mira, their big blue eyes watching intently. “Here it comes! Open up!”

The starfighter took a sharp turn away from Ursa and strafed over the kitchen table to Mira’s mouth, open as wide as she could stretch her little face.

“Mmmmmmm! Tasty, huh?”

“Mmmmmm!” Mira hummed in agreement, clamping down on the spoon to slurp up everything she could.

Teeny fists pounding on her tray, Ursa squirmed and bounced, protesting the reappropriation of her dinner. She threw her head from side to side, sending black curls whipping about wildly.

“No! My m’loowas! My m’loowas!”

Sabine had to chew on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing — not just because Ursa’s tantrum was adorable, but because her namesake had been known to change her mind in sudden, dramatic fashion as well.

As Ezra scooped up more purple goop to pacify their middle child, Sabine noticed their eldest — older than Ursa by five minutes and Mira by twelve — curling his chubby fingers, trying to get her attention.

“M’loowas?”

“You already finished yours, ya little Loth-monkey.” Showing Caleb the empty dish, she watched his face sour into a pout. “All gone! But you can have some more tomorrow, alright?” Sabine booped his little nose, which eased the tension in his fuzzy brow.

#the Loth-Triplets are partly inspired by Merida’s little brothers in Brave #three little chaos gremlins who can get away with anything and everything #they treat the laws of physics as a suggestion (thanks to the Force) #and really give their parents a run for their money #and I love me a good comedy of errors too #so it’s gonna be pretty fun to write the rest 🤪 #dootchster #thanks for the ask! #sabezra #sabezra fanfiction

[oonajaeadira]

For the Love of Fic: June 21

Here’s what I loved the last couple of weeks!

🪐 = Year of Themed Creations work!

JAVIER PEÑA

Voulez-Vous by @simpingcowboy 🪐 Year of ABBA indeed. The two things I love about this fic are the way it takes the song and puts it into fic form seamlessly...and the sensory details that put me right there in that sweaty, loud Medellin club. Oh. And the way I can almost feeeeeeel Javier’s packed jeans under my fingers. nnnnnnng

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JOEL MILLER

Year of Small Joys 4 - Breathtaking Sunrise by @keldabe-kriff 🪐 A simple and lovely drabble. What Ellie sees is a real sunrise. What Joel sees is an opportunity to muse on the moment, that in another life, it would be a moment of everyday peace...

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OBERYN MARTELL

Yes You May by @grogusmum 🪐 Imagine it. Maybe you just go about your Beltane way, all flowers and ribbons and branches and such. Then you get yourself all ready for the Maypole and find yourself dancing with a handsome stranger with a sly smile and a golden robe. A stranger that wants to jump fires for you...or with you.... Yes plz.

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DIN DJARIN

Return the Favor by @ghostofskywalker 🪐 Just on the friendlier side of enemies to ... allies for now, I love the little things that give the reader some trust in Din. From running a mission for him to being given a place to crash and an offer to tag along on some more adventures, this couple’s off to a rough start, but seem to be fitting together more and more as the story goes on. I bet the adventure’s not gonna stop with these two.

Tidal Force by @the-blind-assassin-12  A mermaid AU, but the reader is the mermaid. Specifically one on Mandalore beneath the glassed-in Sea of Sundari and forever pining for the Concordian moon. There’s a reason for that though, and it all has to do with a fairytale...and I do so love a good fairytale.

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EZRA

untitled (Bangathon Ezra / Spooning) by @prolix-yuy​  Really, isn’t it every girl’s dream to be yearned for by Ezra? To be lusted after by Ezra? To be woken from sleep in the hot tent you share and taken in a sweet and feral fit of need by Ezra? Kevva’s balls, this gave me the wants and the thots and the hots. Color me glad for asking...

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MAX PHILLIPS AND DIETER BRAVO

D is for Double Penetration by @butchmandalorian 🪐 You know who’s getting the double D? It’s not you. and it’s not Dieter. There’s so much kink happening here, so much play and trust and Dieter being a flirty bi king and Max being cute because he doesn’t know how to deal with all these new wants and feels... Again. @butchmandalorian‘s dom fics always push my buttons because her characters are always loving and good to each other and the trust is real. I really don’t know who to be jealous of in this fic...I want to be all of them....

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SPECIAL GUEST CORNER

BENEDICT BRIDGERTON

More Than Just a Pretty Face by @captainsophiestark 🪐 I don’t know much about the Bridgerton world, but I do love the regency period and I thoroughly enjoyed this meet cute with surprise revelation. These two are so cute together and it seems like they really do deserve some fun. What good is courting if you have to be stuffy and proper all the time? What good is being a sassy, talented woman without someone who can really appreciate it? Nice.

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PIPPIN TOOK

Free Food by @ironmandeficiency  It’s a love story and ahhhhhh you’re seeing Pip + Food and making assumptions. You would only be half right. Because when @ironmandeficiency says Year of Idiots they really chose a perfect one here. Full disclosure: There was a time I would have very much loved to have been Pip’s object of affection....and maybe this fanned a little flame for him....

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#for the love of fic #bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton #narcos fanfic #javier peña #lotr fanfic #pippin took #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #tlou fanfic #joel miller #got fanfic #oberyn martell #bloodsucking bastards fanfic #max phillips #the bubble fanfic #dieter bravo #prospect fanfic #ezra

[mx-lamour]

hello i demand to know ezra more! (answer as many/little as u want heehee)

freeform questions 🔥

favorite type of spoon

favorite ice cream

favorite hard and/or soft beverage

a flower, plant, gem, stone, and/or etc. you associate to ezra

birth month / season

hard or soft pillows?

fav type of clothes/style to wear

fragrance/scent you associate to ezra

would ezra use something magical-tumblr-esque if it existed in barovia?

Oh man, these are some weird ones for Ezra. Let's go! 🔥

spoon You know what? I don't think Ezra really uses spoons. He hates wet food, so there's not really much occasion to use them.

ice cream He has probably never eaten ice cream either. I bet he would be willing to try it, but it would be a pretty weird experience. (Cinnamon flavor seems a likely choice for him.)

beverage Ezra is a whiskey guy. The Barovian tuika (or Romanian țuică, a plum brandy) is pretty good, but he thinks of it more as a dessert drink.

flower/gem/etc. Very specific: the orange gem from the Wizard of Wines winery, which he Catapulted into the sky so the sun would return to Barovia. In return, the fae spirit of the sky granted him the sun's heat (so our lil' fire genasi sorcerer ignores other creatures' fire damage resistance).

birth month/season Ezra doesn't know. He just found out that he was born in Avernus - do they have seasons there? I think he just keeps track based on how many midwinters he's survived; subconsciously goes by the natural rebirth of the sun. (Best guess is actually November, which is not far off.)

hard or soft pillows? I think he's so used to sleeping on his arm or his backpack that he would be more comfortable laying his head on a hard pillow. If you gave him a soft pillow, he'd end up sleeping on something else but would hug the pillow to his chest the whole time. bonus: Ezra makes soft little crackling noises like embers when he sleeps.

clothes/style Kind of that Dickens era poor immigrant vibe, but less dissheveled, with boots, and his little red-tinted glasses. He tries his best to look presentable with what he has. When he was more adamant about disguising his genasi appearance, he would wear more layers to hide as much of his ashen gray skin as possible. But now I like to think casual Ezra takes off his gloves and coat when he can, and rolls up his sleeves to his elbows.

fragrance/scent That woodsmoke/tar smell you get on your clothes from sitting around a campfire; "amber"; old vellum; clay earth; yesterday's bread; dried mugwort

useof somethingmagical-tumblr-esque [Will update with an answer, but you'll have to explain to me what you mean by this. I am not familiar.]

#ezra sunstar #i'm that oc mom who talks about her boys like they're little babies #but ezra is in his thirties #ty i love these #creative writing #character development