#prospect fanfiction

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Trigger Points

Pairing: Erotic Massage Therapist Ezra x f!reader (not romantic)

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Medical kink, massage kink (is that a thing?), erotic massage, mentions of sexual dysfunction and difficulty orgasming, consent forms, the clinical is erotic now, power imbalance due to the masseur/patient dynamic, mentions of uhhh *checks notes* anal massage, lots of vaginal fingering I mean massaging, pelvic floor massaging but make it erotic, dubcon only in the sense that Ezra says orgasm is not the goal and then definitely deliberately gives her one anyway, g-spot orgasms, squirting, Penny gets on her soapbox at the end

Summary: Ezra is a massage therapist. What kind, you ask? Internal massage. That’s it that’s the fic.

A/N: I wrote this in twenty-four hours in a horny unhinged writing frenzy. Am I embarrassed that this came from my brain? Yes. Am I posting it anyway? Also yes. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for the beta (and all of the screaming) and to @leslie-lyman for egging on the medical kink that I definitely don't have.

Masterlist

You aren’t sure what you’re doing here.

This isn’t like you.

As you stare at the nondescript building–no sign, no name on the door–you think back to the seemingly random circumstances that brought you here.

The party you hadn’t wanted to go to. 

The friend–acquaintance–who insisted.

The man with a distinctive blonde streak that kept lingering by the snack table and popping cocktail shrimp into his mouth with an enthusiasm that had made you look twice in wary amusement.

Like so many men, he’d taken your glance in his direction as an invitation to come over and start a conversation, but the resulting discussion was decidedly unlike any other man–or human–you’d come across.

Loquacious to the point of being humorous, the man–Ezra, he told you–was disarming and insightful. You opened up to him immediately; he seemed to have this uncanny ability to pull your life’s story from your lips, much to your surprise and chagrin. Did you really tell a strange man at a party that you’ve been from doctor to doctor, complaining of sexual pain and dysfunction, only to be given dismissive, unhelpful advice? Have a glass of wine, one said. Use different soap, said another. Make sure your laundry detergent is fragrance-free. 

“I think I’m just built wrong,” you said bitterly, taking a sip from your wine glass. “Anyway, it’s fine. You didn’t sign up to listen to a stranger’s problems at some house party.”

“On the contrary,” Ezra replied mysteriously, raising one eyebrow as he regarded you with amusement. “I think our fortuitous meeting must have been arranged by the universe itself.”

Fishing his wallet out of his back pocket, he had handed you a business card that had only his first name–Ezra, no last name, and a phone number.

“I just happen to be a certified massage therapist, trained to assist with the very complaints of which you speak.”

“What kind of massage?” you’d asked, scrunching up your face in skepticism.

“Internal massage.”

You may have told him to fuck off then and there. You may have made your excuses and left the party in your embarrassment over having spilled your heart to a stranger with a questionable line of work, to say the very least. 

…You may have called two weeks later to inquire about an appointment.

The woman who answered the phone in that same kind of warm, soothing tone that seems to be common in so many legitimate massage practices made you feel slightly less insane about calling. The lengthy consent form she emailed after hanging up, however, sent you spiraling again.

Extensive questions about sexual history, your beliefs about sex, your relationship to sex, your experience with pain, dysfunction, your sexuality, etc. Check boxes indicating your level of experience and comfort with a number of sexual acts and situations. And at the end, three check boxes asking whether you would like to be massaged vaginally, anally, or both. 

A bell tinkles pleasantly when you open the door, and the scent of lavender fills your nose. Soft, soothing music plays from a hidden speaker somewhere, and one of those self-contained rock garden water fountains bubbles away in the corner of the brightly lit waiting room.

A woman behind the desk greets you–it must be the same one you’d spoken to on the phone–and checks you in. She walks you through what to expect during the appointment–first, you’ll meet with Ezra to discuss the consent form, then you’ll be asked to disrobe and lay on the massage table under a sheet. The type of care you’re given, she tells you, depends on what you put down on the consent form, which of course she hasn’t read, so she can’t tell you any specifics. 

“But he specializes in women with sexual dysfunction?” you ask skeptically. It had said as much on the forms. 

“Oh, yes,” the woman nods enthusiastically. “I know it’s an unusual service he provides, but Ezra is a professional, conscientious, and passionate about the work he does.”

You nod slowly, and she flashes you a warm, comforting smile before instructing you to sit anywhere.

You do, trying not to look too nervous as you wait.

Thankfully, you aren’t there for too long before a door opens, and Ezra softly calls your name.

Your nerves cause you to babble as you follow the man to the quiet, dimly-lit massage room. “Sorry I told you to fuck off,” you say. “That was pretty rude, and I’m sure it’s weird that I’m here now even though I clearly thought you were a pervert at the party, and–” you trail off, standing awkwardly beside the massage table as Ezra sits on a rolling stool.

“Now, now. Water under the bridge, I assure you, sprite. My profession is often met with skepticism at best and outright hostility at worst, but I let the testimonials speak for themselves. I assume you’ve read them?”

You nod, thinking back to the paragraphs of women saying they’d never known their bodies were capable of such pleasure before experiencing what they had called erotic massage.

“And I have read your consent form very carefully; I like to commit these things to heart, you see. Helps me do my job to the very best of my ability. Now, I did have a question about your very last answer: you made a checkmark indicating you were interested in vaginal massage only, but drew in a little question-mark next to anal massage.”

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, too quickly, jumbling the words together. “Depends on how… how…”

“How everything goes. Of course.” Ezra nods, making a quick note on your form. “I’ll consider you to be a vaginal-only patient for now, to be revisited at a later date if so desired.”

“Kay,” you squeak.

“Allright, let me give you a rundown of how this works. I’m not a sex worker; my job isn’t to make you orgasm. Like any massage therapist, my job is to find muscles that need to be worked out, and work them out. I just happen to specialize in muscles that other areas of practice typically ignore. This will involve both internal and external work–you might find that I might press on your lower abdomen, for example, with the other hand inside you. I always start slow with new patients; I’ll begin externally, massaging the entire pubic area and finding spots that might require extra attention. When you’re ready, we’ll move to an internal massage starting with one finger and seeing how many is most comfortable for you right now. Eventually, as we progress through your appointments, the goal is for the internal massage to involve two hands.

“Now, all that being said, the goal of these sessions might not be orgasm, but I want to let you know that it is normal and okay if that happens during your massage,” Ezra continues. “This is a safe space, and your comfort and pleasure is encouraged through this process. All of that seem hunky-dory?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod rapidly.

“Perfect. If you’re ready to get started, I’ll leave the room so you can get undressed. You can undress only from the waist down if you’re comfortable, or you can disrobe completely; the rest of you will be covered by the sheet, so it’s all down to what you prefer.”

Ezra leaves, the door clicking shut behind him, and you take a few moments to steady yourself before taking off only your pants and underwear. Grimacing at the awkwardness, you tuck the underwear into your jeans and place your shoes on top of both on the spare chair in the corner of the room. Then, you lie down under the sheet and wait.

Ezra taps lightly to herald his return before opening the door. “Good,” he says, seeing you laying stiffly on the massage table. “I’m going to check in many times during this first appointment especially,” he explains. “So much so that you may tire of it. You may simply say ‘good,’ when I ask how you are feeling, and I will continue. If you do not feel good at any point, I must ask that you say so. Sound okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, this massage table is custom made for my area of practice specifically,” Ezra explains, reaching under the table and unfolding a pair of stirrups–the kind you’ve seen many times at the gynecologist–and you grimace.

“Ah, I know, most people on this table do not have the most positive memories associated with these,” Ezra tuts, “and if you aren’t sure about using these, we can simply rest your legs on either side of the table.”

“I think I’m okay,” you tell him, cautiously reaching your feet out until your legs are uncomfortably splayed open. 

“You tell me if that changes.” Ezra sits down on the stool and rolls it over to sit at the front of the table. “I’m going to do the external massage with the sheet down,” he says. “No need for a cold breeze if it isn’t necessary, after all. As discussed before, I’m going to feel around the entire pubic area, finding anything that needs extra attention. If you’ve gotten a regular massage, you might notice that this one is much gentler; there won’t be any harsh poking or prodding, just light pressure and rubbing. If that’s all good, sprite, say the word and I’ll begin.”

“I’m good.”

“Very good. First, we’re going to warm up a little by touching your inner thighs. All muscles in this area are interconnected, so this will help soften things up as well.” 

You keep your eyes closed and let out a slow breath through pursed lips as you feel Ezra’s large, warm hands slowly working out the tension in your thighs. The unfamiliar feeling of someone’s hands in such an intimate area is an odd one, at first, but you can’t help but slowly begin to relax as he works out the delicate muscles of the upper-most part of your legs.

“Checking in again, sprite, how are we feeling?”

“Good,” you answer, with a little more confidence this time. “It’s good.”

“Excellent,” Ezra praises. “If we’re feeling nice and comfortable about it, I’m going to start to move upward and inward. You’ll feel me touch your outer labia, your perineum, and your pubic bone as we move forward. How do we feel about that?”

“Nervous,” you admit, giggling awkwardly. “But good.”

“Of course, sprite, it’s normal to be nervous about an unfamiliar sensation. Always remember that you are able to say ‘stop’ at any time.”

At your nod, Ezra’s hands shift, his thumbs beginning to rub up and down the outside of your labia. He rubs little circles around the entire area, including–something that makes your entire body flush with heat immediately–the skin just above your little puckered hole. 

“I know, I know,” Ezra soothes. “Just trying to get a complete picture here. We aren’t doing any internal massage in this area, but you may feel my fingers on the skin around it occasionally.”

“Okay,” you agree, nodding again.

“You’re doing so well, sprite. I’m going to stay external, but we’re going to start to examine a little deeper, does that sound okay? I’ll be rubbing your inner labia this time, spreading them apart to examine your vulva, urethra, and clitoris with my fingers. This is where it might start to feel pleasurable, or it could feel odd and uncomfortable as you become accustomed to this type of massage.”

“Yep,” you say, voice tight with anxiety again.

“I need a little bit more than that, sprite,” Ezra chastises. “Are you good to continue?”

“Yes. Good.”

“I can tell you’re nervous; why don’t you take a deep breath in for me for the count of five…” he counts slowly as you obey, “...and as you let it out slowly, you’re going to feel my hands move inward.”

The feel of Ezra running his slicked fingers up and down your inner labia doesn’t feel quite as uncomfortable as you’d feared. You’ve never been touched like this, or even touched yourself like this. It’s an exploration of sorts, collecting some data that means something only to him, perhaps. After a short time, he pulls you apart with his thumb and forefinger, spreading you open. 

“I’m going to rub back and forth just on the surface level,” Ezra says, “You might feel my thumb press down on a few places to locate any areas to focus on later.”

You take more slow, even breaths as you feel his warm thumb move from your perineum to your clit, then back down again. In a few places, he presses down, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb as he locates some unknown source of tension.

“How well you're doing,” Ezra praises warmly. “I've definitely found some areas of tension that we can work on during your sessions. This isn't the end of the external massage, per se, as I'll still want to work on some of those spots, but this is where I start to add an internal component, if you're up to it. What are we thinking?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I'm okay with that.”

“Good. As I explained before, I'm going to start very slow. I work with clients with a wide range of comfort levels and ability, and I'm not going to push anyone too far before they're ready. Not to be glib or reductive, but this is not dissimilar to a basic shoulder massage. I'll be working all along the muscles of your vaginal wall. We'll start with just one finger, and if that's comfortable for you, we'll see how it goes with two. I'm going to slowly slide one finger in, let you adjust to how that feels, and then I'll begin the massage on your right side, moving to the back, the left, and then the front, around in a little circle like so. At the same time I'll be gently pressing with my other hand so that I can get a feel for the muscles that are stiff, sore, or carry any tension. If at any point any sensation is unpleasant, please bring it to my attention immediately. In that event, I will stop and reassess. If that discomfort is the result of muscle or pelvic floor tension, we will slowly, slowly work through it without causing you any pain. Is all of this acceptable?”

“Yes.”

“And am I okay to begin your internal massage?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Just as before, I'm going to spread open your labia nice and wide, only this time you are going to feel my finger slowly enter you. Once inside, we'll take a few deep breaths together, I'll ask if you are comfortable, and I'll begin the massage.”

As Ezra speaks, he does each action in turn. You feel your labia being parted, and then one slick, warm finger slips inside. It hits a bit of resistance when he passes your pelvic floor, but doesn't cause any pain. At his instruction, he guides you through three deep breaths as you become accustomed to the sensation.

“I'm going to begin moving now,” he announces. “Beginning on your left side.”

It's an odd feeling to adjust to, the way Ezra’s finger moves inside you. With his other hand pressing sometimes on your hip, sometimes at your side, you can feel him pressing against your wall in–true to his word–the same way one might massage a shoulder. This is just… very different. Or perhaps it's the same, and your brain only perceives it as such. 

Despite the awkwardness of having someone rubbing such an intimate, deep, vulnerable part of your body, you can admit that something does feel good about this. Ezra is right, of course; there are muscles internally as well as externally, and you've never had yours attended to in such a way before. 

Ezra’s finger rubs this way and that, covering all possible knots and tense spots on that particular side. 

“Checking in, sprite,” he intones gently. “How does it feel?”

“Weird… but kinda good. I think I understand why you say it's just like a shoulder massage–I never really thought about having muscles there, but… I can feel them relaxing the same way they would as… as if it were my shoulder.”

“No physical difference between the two,” Ezra says, voicing your earlier thought. “Only up here do we make a distinction.” He taps the side of his head and gives you a sideways grin. “If we’re feeling pretty good with one, would you like to try adding one more? It all depends on your level of comfort, but it is easier to get at the muscles with two, rather than one. Would you like to try?”

The gentle loosening of the muscles you hadn't even known were tense is surprisingly soothing, so of course, you agree.

“You're doing so well at checking in with me,” Ezra says. “Take a nice deep breath for me, and we’ll switch to two fingers. Ready?”

You make a little noise of assent, and as you exhale, you feel the pressure inside you increase as Ezra slips another finger inside you. 

“Doing good, sprite. I’m going to move to the muscles at the back of your vaginal walls now, which means my other hand is going to be pressing up on your lower back and buttocks. Is this fine?”

“That’s fine, yeah,” you nod, and at your consent, Ezra goes back to his steady, methodical working of your pelvic floor. 

At this new angle, the sensations inside you are new and different from before. When he was massaging your left side, all you could really feel was the gentle push and pull as your muscles were soothed and relaxed. You can still feel the muscle tension easing away… but it’s very quickly being replaced by a different kind.

You try to focus on taking deep breaths in and out of your nose as Ezra seems to draw heat into your core with every stroke. You stop focusing on the relaxation entirely, instead concentrating every effort to not make any awkward noises that indicate how much your body is responding to his touch.

You really should have known better.

“Many people find that different areas of the vaginal wall can cause different kinds of sensations,” Ezra says quietly as he gently rubs small circles from within you while pressing just above your puckered hole. “The front vaginal wall, of course, has the tendency to produce the strongest impression because of what most people call the g-spot, but the rear wall is also very responsive. I want to remind you of what we discussed earlier; that you are welcome and encouraged to lean into those feelings. It is common for patients to come to orgasm multiple times during a session, and can be helpful for further muscle relaxation. All this to say, sprite, you don’t have to work to suppress the fact that this feels pleasurable. Of course it does. It’s far more advantageous for you to allow it to happen rather than spend the session working to rein it in. Understand?”

“Y-Yeah,” you nod, trying to sink back down onto the massage table again and stop fighting against your body’s automatic responses.

Even so, you don’t really believe you could orgasm from just this. Hell, you can barely orgasm during sex even when you use a vibrator. Your body’s need for intense, prolonged clitoral stimulation is simply a fact. A law, as immutable as gravity, and no amount of “internal massage” would ever have the same effect. 

“If you ever do wish to revisit that last little question on the consent form, one type of treatment that can be incredibly effective is to massage the area in between, if you take my meaning,” Ezra comments lightly, as though discussing the weather. “It’s perfectly workable through what I’m doing now, of course, but even though I’m capturing the same general area, in my years of practice I’ve actually found that anal massage is an important component in achieving a comprehensive relaxation of all pelvic muscles.”

“Okay,” you say dumbly. His words–all the more impactful because of the detached clinical tone–combined with the constant pressure of his fingers, are creating a maelstrom of pleasure in your brain. You still aren’t sure if you’re “allowed” to find this entire situation to be incredibly erotic, but you worry you’ll soon have no choice, especially if your mind keeps conjuring up how it might feel to have both of Ezra’s hands rubbing something deep within you. How full you might feel.

“Nothing that needs to be discussed now or even in the near future, sprite,” he adds. “But just something to keep in the back of your mind as we progress through treatment.”

“Mm,” you agree. It’s–oh God, are you going to come? The pressure is building, building inside you, and even though there’s nothing touching your clit, it feels as though you might be reaching that point of no return. You make a soft, whining, desperate little sound as Ezra massages your vaginal wall with methodical precision.

“I know, I know,” he soothes in that syrupy voice of his. “Take a few deep breaths for me–I promise, it’s okay to let it go. Allow your body to do what it’s meant to do.” At this, he presses down even harder, and you gasp as you suddenly begin to clench around his fingers. Your chest heaves as you ride the waves of pleasure until they subside to a gentle ebb. Ezra remains still throughout it all, waiting patiently until you stop twitching with aftershocks.

“See? So much better when you listen to your body,” he praises. “Can you feel that? It causes your muscles to relax even further, so much more effectively than even I can manage. Feel the difference right here–” he rubs a wide circle up and down your wall, “–there’s so much less tension now, isn’t there?”

“Yeah,” you agree, still catching your breath.

“Let’s do a quick check-in before I move on,” Ezra suggests, “and while we do, I’d like to make a quick recommendation, if you are amenable.”

“That’s fine,” you answer. 

“Give us a quick run-down of how you’re feeling,” he says. “Any pain? Discomfort?” When you shake your head, he continues. “How about mentally? Orgasm can make us feel vulnerable, and that’s perfectly okay, of course, but not if it leads to feeling uncomfortable or unsafe.”

“It still feels a little… strange, but I’m okay.”

“Ah, of course. Now, as far as my recommendation… Now that you’re far more relaxed, I think it might be helpful to switch to three fingers. How do you feel about that?”

You swallow. “It might feel like a lot,” you admit quietly.

“Indeed,” Ezra agrees. “As a general rule, the more fingers I am able to use, the more effective the massage. The ideal internal massage would be either with all four fingers on one hand, or a combination of three and two. If you’re feeling at all apprehensive about discomfort, however, I think it would be better to wait and see, yes?”

“Yes,” you nod gratefully. 

“Moving on to your right side, sprite,” he says cheerfully. “Halfway there, and doing great.”

You can see what Ezra had been saying–you can feel that your walls are more pliant and moldable after your orgasm. However, it’s also made your nerves more sensitive to his touch, and the intense feeling of pleasure continues to flicker inside you with every gentle probe of his fingers. 

You begin to float, losing track of time and simply focusing on the sensations within you. Ezra quiets down when he senses your more meditative state, and continues to massage with minimal commentary. When his thick fingers begin to move, pressing upward toward your abdomen, however, your breath catches and your hips lift of their own accord.

“My apologies, sprite. I should have warned you I was moving to the front wall before I did so, but you were in such a state of utter relaxation that I was loathe to speak up.”

“S’fine.”

“You may find this area to be the most intense in terms of sensation,” Ezra comments. “There’s a reason I usually save it for last.”

You make a slightly garbled, strained noise of assent as his other hand rubs gentle circles on your mons pubis while the other continues its deliberate path up and down your walls, soothing out all of the tension and finding some incredibly sensitive spots as it does.

Ezra pauses over one such area, and, in such exquisite torture that makes you actually cry out into the room, curls both fingers up to apply even more pressure.

“Ah, that,” he chuckles to himself. “That thing–the little area they call the ‘g-spot’–it’s not some mysterious, unique phenomenon, nor is it mythological. What they didn’t know at the time–and far too many people still are not aware–is that the clitoris is much larger than just the little bit that we see on the outside.” His fingers rub little circles, back and forth, up and down, massaging so meticulously that it feels almost ruthless. “Sooo many nerves in one relatively small place,” he murmurs. “Stimulating the clitoris is normally the most reliable way to acheive orgasm, and yet so little of it is accessible. But here–” he presses up again, and you gasp, “–here we are able to access the other end of the organ.”

You can hardly concentrate on the original goal of muscle relaxation with so much pressure on your g-spot (or, apparently, the back of your clitoris) but you can still feel Ezra dutifully and clinically working out the tension in your pelvic floor. 

“Doing so well, sprite, so well. One nice, big, relaxing orgasm for me and then we’ll gently explore how the tension lessens afterward.”

Despite his insistence before your appointment that orgasm was not the goal of these sessions, you can’t help but notice Ezra appears to be guiding you towards one with masterful precision. With one hand applying light pressure on your abdomen and the other pressing upward to meet it, it feels as though he’s got the most sensitive organ of your body trapped between his fingers. He plays it like an instrument, each finger working independently to stroke different parts of the soft, spongy membrane. 

Finally, finally, the pressure becomes so much that you simply seem to implode; all at once, you clamp down on Ezra’s fingers like a vice as your lower back lifts from the table. A feeling of pure, hot, wet relief surges through you, and the release feels endless, as though your body simply cannot stop pulsing and contracting. Dimly, you realize that it must be the ruthless stimulation from Ezra’s hands keeping you suspended in what feels like a never-ending orgasm. His fingers press upwards, rubbing quickly and insistently back and forth against the sensitive organ, and the movement draws more and more rhythmic clenches that seem to ripple across the entire area. 

And–Oh, God–with each intense throb, little streams of fluid splash out over Ezra’s hand, and you realize with absolute mortification that the sheet, massage table, and Ezra’s white coat are already soaked with your release.

“Oh shit, I’m sorr–” you try to apologize as soon as you have the presence of mind.

“Now, now, not to worry, little sprite. Any manifestation of pleasure is welcomed and encouraged here, and I’ve been at this long enough to know that stimulating the back of the clitoris oftentimes results in strong and voluminous ejaculations…” You twitch with one last, pathetic aftershock, and Ezra soothingly rubs his fingers up and down your wall in the same way one might rub someone’s back after a long day. “But feel the difference, little sprite. Feel how supple and pliant your muscles are compared to before. This is the state we strive for, little sprite. Complete and utter relaxation. When you find yourself starting to tense up again–such is the consequence of the stressful lives we lead–I want you to call up this moment, and the way your pelvic muscles so easily move for my hand, and try to get back to this state. With enough practice on your own in between sessions, this will become easily achieved.

“I’m going to do a couple of nice, wide circles with my hand to stretch out those muscles one last time, and as I do, I’d like you to take some nice, deep, easy breaths with me. Once we get  to five nice big breaths, I’ll slowly remove my hand. Does this sound good?”

“Yuh-huh,” you nod.

“Nice big inhale,” Ezra reminds you, and you dutifully suck in a deep, cleansing breath of air as you feel his hand circle around your vaginal walls, pressing deep into the muscle as he does. You repeat the action four more times, and on your very last exhale, the light feeling of pressure within you finally abates as his fingers slip out of you. 

“How do you feel?”

“Pretty relaxed,” you say with a relieved laugh.

“Mentally?” he prods.

“I dunno, fine,” you shrug.

“Any feelings of vulnerability are normal,” he says as he stands from his stool and helps you guide your legs out of the stirrups and back onto the table under the sheet. “You may find that these feelings may be delayed by a few days, even, so be gentle with yourself for the next week or so. Light muscle soreness is also normal, in the same way it can occur after a normal massage. If at any time this light soreness transforms into pain, please do not hesitate to contact me.”

Ezra picks up your consent form again and scans it briefly before setting it back down and giving you a serious, thoughtful look. “You told me three weeks ago that you were ‘built wrong,’ and you mention several times in your form that you have difficulty bringing yourself to orgasm. Little sprite, I have lost count of the number of clients who have the same complaints and who have similarly insisted their bodies were simply different from ‘normal’ people’s. Now, mind you, the sample size may be biased, but from this data I can only conclude that no human being is ‘built wrong.’ The problem lies in our minds, and more specifically, in the social conditioning we’ve all received since birth–conditioning that in no way favors the female experience of pleasure. Society has failed you, has labeled your pleasure as secondary, illusive, impossible, or even imaginary. Your sessions with me will help to reverse the physical symptoms from a lifetime of unhelpful social conditioning, and now that you know your body is not only capable of experiencing pleasure, but of doing so in ways you weren’t even aware, your mind will follow.”

“Wow,” you breathe, awestruck by how different you feel. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“I’ll leave you to get dressed, little sprite,” Ezra says, briefly patting your hand in a comforting manner. “When you’re ready, go ahead and open the door and I’ll walk you to the lobby to schedule your next appointment.”

#ezra #ezra prospect #ezra x you #ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #pedro pascal #prospect fanfiction

[wannab-urs]

Ravage

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect) x f!Reader (in the role of Venetia)

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: “Oh birdie… I could just eat you.” OR Saltburn-style hate as consumption

Warnings: Weird vibes, period/menstruation smut, bloodplay and blood consumption, weird classism stuff, biting, fingering, oral f!receiving

A/N: Inspired by, but not a one for one recreation of, the Saltburn vampire scene between Ollie and Venetia. It’s a little combo of both scenes between them that take place outside the mansion + some details I thought would make it more interesting. Oh and I skipped the ED stuff.  Thanks to @beskarandblasters and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me yell about this fic

Ezra Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

You’d left your room in a near daze, wandering the halls of your family’s estate barefoot and in your thin nightdress. A wraith speared through by the moonlight, flitting from corridor to corridor until you ended up outside. You settled on a bench just below the guest room window and gazed out toward the labyrinth. It felt, often, as if your mind were trapped in that hedge maze. Circling, wandering, endlessly lost. 

“Birdie?” 

You nearly topple off the bench, a scream getting tangled in your throat and falling in a pathetic whimper from your lips. 

“Fucking hell, you scared me.”

Ezra, your brother’s friend, steps out of the shadows. He pops his knee out and puts his hands on his hips, eyeing you. 

“Apologies, little bird. I feared you might be sleepwalking.” 

You give the man a withering glare. His way of speaking seems to come naturally to him, though from anyone else you’d swear it was some sort of performance. Perhaps a mockery of high society or the educated class. 

“I just wanted to look at the moon. It’s nearly full. You know what that means?” You turn your gaze to the sky and draw your bottom lip into your mouth. 

“Can’t say that I do. Enlighten me.” 

You flick your eyes to him without dropping your chin. “We’re all about to lose our minds.” 

Ezra stares at you a moment, the blonde patch in his hair nearly glowing in the light, and a deep chuckle suddenly bubbles from his chest. You join him in his laughter, even though you think he’s making fun of you. He goes quiet again, staring at you. 

“You must be cold,” he intones, stripping out of his plush robe – provided by your family, of course, so really it’s your robe. He’s nearly naked underneath, broad chest bared to the moonlight, bulge in his briefs at your eye level. 

“I’m coldblooded. We’re all coldblooded. Haven’t you noticed?” Your voice holds a note of disdain – for him or your family, you’re not sure – but you take the robe from him and wrap it around your bare shoulders. 

“Oh birdie, you’re not coldblooded. Your family has been more than generous to me.” Ezra drifts closer to you and you almost unconsciously part your thighs. 

“Sweet,” you whisper. 

“No one has ever ventured so far as to call me sweet, little bird.” Ezra saunters away from you, turns his back on you, and it feels somehow like a loss. 

“Real, then.” 

Ezra hums, moves behind the bench you’re sitting on and lets your back press against his naked torso. 

“You’re presumptuous,” you sneer, as if you hadn’t just been mourning the loss of his heat between your thighs. 

Ezra’s hand threads into your hair and tilts your head back as he bends to whisper in your ear, “And you are adorned in a transparent night dress just outside my window.” 

Your body shudders, in fear or arousal or both. “It’s– it’s my house. I can go wherever I want.” You try for defiant, but your voice shakes. 

“Oh, okay. And your desires led you to be in a transparent nightdress just outside my window?” He straightens again and pulls your body back into his. 

“I didn’t really think about it.” 

“Just a masochist, then.” It’s not a question. He moves slowly, almost predatory, until he’s settled on his knees in front of you. 

“Maybe,” you stare at the moon, refusing to look at him kneeling before you. 

He sits up on his knees, pinches your chin in his fingers and forces you to look at him. “Oh birdie… I could just eat you.” 

He grabs the hem of your nightdress and shoves it roughly up your thighs. You smack his hands, shoving the gown back over your legs. He pushes the hem up again, and you don’t stop him. Your hands grip the bench beside you. 

“Ezra. It’s– it’s not– it’s not the right time of the month,” you plead with him halfheartedly. You don’t want him to stop now. 

“Do you think that will hinder me?” He quirks an eyebrow at you, his hands gripping the meat of your thighs tightly. “How fortunate for you, birdie, that I am a vampire.” 

The tip of his middle finger swipes through your folds. You gasp sharply, but his hand is gone as quickly as it came. He holds his fingers up in the scant space between your faces. You feel trapped in his gaze as the pink tip of his tongue flicks against his shiny red finger. He traces your bottom lip with it and your mouth falls open. 

You’re trapped somewhere between disgust and awe. His finger plunders your mouth, smearing your own slick and blood on your tongue. His other hand snakes up your thigh, two fingers plunging into your slick heat while the fingers in your mouth hook your jaw. He shoves your head back until you’re looking directly above you, the robe falling from your shoulders. 

You’re hooked on him at both ends, unable to pull away even a fraction. You gasp and moan around his digits, pressed so far back in your throat you’re almost gagging on them. His thick fingers feel perfect inside you, gliding easily through your slick and blood. 

He drags your face to his, slotting your lips together. It’s not so much a kiss as Ezra trying to eat you alive. His right hand slips from your mouth and grips your hair. He drags your head backward even further, forcing your chest out and baring your throat to him. You are entirely at his mercy. His lips and teeth clatter down your neck. His tongue dips into the hollow of your throat, his teeth graze your collar bone, his lips close around your pulse point and he sucks hard enough to bruise. 

He jerks your head back up to stare into his eyes once again. “You got a little something there,” he whispers, his thumb dragging over your bloodstained chin. He has a feral glint in his eye. He looks every bit like a wild animal barely contained in the body of a man, and he’s on his knees before you. 

You almost laugh. Maybe you do laugh. He throws the hem of your nightgown over his head and buries his face between your thighs. He grips your hips tightly, pinning you to his face and keeping you from toppling completely off the bench. 

His tongue curls languidly through your folds, as if he’s trying to collect every bit of you and swallow it down. You grab his head through the sheer fabric of your dress and let yourself fall into the sensation. 

Two of his fingers slip easily into your cunt and his tongue finds your clit. He lathes your bud in steady circles, bringing you to the edge. You squeeze your eyes shut so tightly you see starbursts of color behind your lids. His fingers curl perfectly into your spongy walls and your eyes snap open as your body convulses in pleasure. 

Ezra quickly replaces his fingers with his tongue, your core spasming around the wet muscle. His hand, shiny with your own blood, slithers up your body, smearing red on your nightdress. His face remains buried in your cunt as his hand finds it’s way to your mouth. You should push them away, but you let him press the pads of his fingers against your tongue, let him fill you up with his spit and your slick and your blood. Your lips close around his digits and you suck them clean. 

He groans into your pussy before dragging his lips down your inner thigh. You can feel a wet trail where his mouth has been, skin tingling from his mustache. His teeth latch onto the sensitive flesh where your thigh meets your groin and you scream, the sound muffled by his fingers in your mouth. He almost certainly broke skin. 

He releases your flesh only to bite down again, slightly lower. You bite down on his fingers in return, splitting open the skin of his knuckles. You smooth the bite with your tongue as he finally drags his hand out of your mouth. 

Ezra places his left hand on the small of your back and brings his right back beneath your nightdress. You wish you could see more of him than the outline of his body between your thighs. 

His lips close on your clit at the same time he buries his fingers inside you, your blood combining with his inside you. He pumps his fingers deep inside you, so hard it feels like he’s trying to scoop out your insides. His blunt nails catch your front wall and you try to squirm away from him, crying out at the sharp sensation. He clutches you closer to him, catches your clit in his teeth and smooths the pads of his fingers over your agonized cunt. 

You are shockingly close to coming again, despite the pain radiating from your thigh. His tongue joins his fingers inside you and you bear down on him, his aquiline nose grinding into your clit. His nails dig into your back, pulling you even closer to his face, and you’re free falling. 

You cry out into the wet night air, feeling at once scattered in the breeze and held entirely in the grip of the man still between your legs. He rises slowly, releasing you. You nearly fall backward without the support of his strong hands on your body. You cling to the bench, chest heaving, panting breaths puffing mist into the air between you. 

The moonlight casts him in an eerie glow, but his face is almost entirely in shadow. He looks satisfied or disgusted, you can’t quite tell. He turns on his heel and saunters slowly back up the stairs, leaving you beneath his window. 

#Ezra #Ezra fics #Ezra fanfiction #Ezra x reader #Ezra x you #Prospect fanfiction #Prospect (2018) fanfiction #ezra (prospect) #ezra (prospect) fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

[prolix-yuy]

HELLO I'm here I've made it, don't mind me running in with my little pocket watch like the White Rabbit. Ahem! For the position, I got missionary with a pillow. For the man, I'd like to request Ezra. And for you, I have many kisses for your cheeks.<3 Ok love you byyeeeeee

Birdieeeee I will accept all of the cheek kisses and oh so many nights with Ezra. I hope it's filthy enough for my favorite Ezra writer.

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader

Position: Missionary with a Pillow

Word Count: 1584 (hELp)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, unprotected PiV sex (don’t be a fool, wrap your tool), little bit of oral (f receiving), fingering, allusions to sex toy use, mentions of bad past sexual experiences, Ezra's filthy fucking mouth.

Notes: This has gotta be one of my favorite positions and I love it for Ezra because there's a kind of care that comes from this that gets me all swoony.

Ezra’s expression blooms from curiosity to confusion.

“You would like me to…take you to bed?” he asks, bionic and flesh arms folded over his broad chest. The henley he’s wearing stretches over his biceps, tapering to loose work trousers cinched at his waist. His tongue peeks out to wet his lower lip, confusion beginning to morph to contemplation, all while you try not to wring your hands too nervously. 

“It’s just…I um,” you try to say, the sudden mortification of how you’ve come to this conclusion weighting your tongue. “I’ve…heard about you. With others. They’re always, uh, very satisfied.” You don’t dare to extrapolate on that, or touch on how his voice carries across the hall and into your small room on the Pug. The few times you ventured to listen at his door, you burned over how expertly he took his partners apart. But beyond all that, you hated to admit why you wanted to ask him. 

“And you would like to be satisfied?” Ezra says, just a little smirk at the corner of his mouth as he tilts his head down at you. Face burning, you nod. He uncrosses his arms and braces them on his modest desk, giving you a full view of his muscled body and soft stomach. “And what would you offer me for that gift?”

Your stomach drops, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep tears from coming to the surface. Bad enough that you had to humble yourself for this request, but to be so bluntly asked what he’d get out of it only amplifies your anxieties.

“I, ah…I can…I could…shit, I’m…I think I’ve been stupid about this, I’m sorry, I’ll…” you stammer, backing towards the door. Quick as electricity Ezra pushes off and closes the gap between you, hand coming up to cup your chin. You still as he studies your face, deep lines etched between his brows and under his dark eyes.

“Have you never laid with another before?” he asks in a soft voice he only reserves for speaking to his ward. It makes your throat clench.

“I have, but it’s never been…good.” You hold his gaze, willing your boldness to return. “And it sounds like it’s always….good…with you.” Ezra’s eyes dance over your face, thumb stroking along your cheek. “I’d like to see what it’s like when it’s good, if you’ll have me.”

Ezra purrs darkly, the cool plastic of his prosthetic hand drifting to your hip.

“That is quite a gift you’re offering me. Are you sure there’s no other who would want to share in your first taste of ecstasy?” Before you answer he tugs at your waist and you follow his lead, swaying steps leading you to his bed. 

“I’d like a sure thing,” you reply, giving him a smirk of your own that he greedily enjoys. His thumb swipes over your lips before pushing inside, scraping the pad over your teeth to press your tongue. Saliva floods your mouth. 

“Take off your clothes,” he says firmly, stepping back to pull his henley over his head. The lines and planes of his chest are littered with scars and faded pink burns, noticeable redness where his prosthetic attaches. You rid yourself of your tunic and slide your pants to the floor, shedding your underwear in one fell swoop. This pleases Ezra, who groans and palms his crotch at your nude form.

“Lie down, I’m going to stretch you out on my fingers first,” he husks, stalking towards you as you sit on the edge of the bed. 

“You don’t…have to, I made sure I was ready before I came,” you said quickly, making Ezra’s head cock and eyebrows pull together.

“You…prepared yourself? Without me?” he says slowly, sinking to a crouch and parting your knees with broad, hot palms. Your core is puffy from the toy you worked yourself up with, shiny with the lube you generously used in case Ezra was larger than you were used to. His eyes flick up to your face, now anxious.

“You did not need to do this. I take great pleasure in making you cum on my fingers and in my mouth before finding myself in your tight heat.” You try to shut your knees, embarrassed that your forethought seems to be in bad taste, but he slots his hips between yours and pushes you back on the bed. The sudden intimacy of his body so close makes your heart flutter. “Did you even make yourself cum?”

You shake your head, which he follows with one of his own. “Next time you’ll let me take my time with you, pull two screaming peaks from this sweet pussy before I bed you.” The promise of next time rushes blood to your head so quickly you fear you’ll faint, but Ezra’s thick fingers sliding through your folds to press inside makes you snap into sharp focus. As he coats his fingers, pressing a spongy spot that zings pleasure down your spine, he deftly unbuttons and shucks his pants to join you nude and scorching hot.

“Since you wish to get to the main event so efficiently, I’ll do my best to make it worth your while,” he says, and one hand urges your hips to lift as he tucks a pillow under your bottom. The height tilts your hips, your cunt suddenly empty as he pulls his fingers out to wrap around his cock. “I find if the act is not as pleasurable for you, this position helps.” 

“Thank you,” you blurt out, his motions stilling as he looks down at your pliant body. There’s a flicker of something hungry on his face, the harsh squeeze he gives his cock echoing your observation. 

“You may thank me when you’re cumming on my cock,” he plays it off, circling the tip of his cock at your entrance. A deep breath, then he presses in inch by sumptuous inch. Throwing your head back, you clutch at his biceps as he leans over you, harsh little pants blowing out of his nose. He stops in his journey to shallowly fuck, tiny movements that pinch your brow and drop your mouth open. Finally, after what feels like whole minutes, he’s seated deep and full inside. 

“Oh, wow, Ezra, that feels…” you pant, opening your eyes to find him inches from your face. He’s draped down over your body, elbows planted on either side of your head, watching you so closely it makes you want to close your eyes again. The veins in his neck bulge, lips parted with his teeth clenched behind them.

“How many men have had you and not satisfied you?” he asks, strain in his voice as he drags back out.

“All of them. Never…fuck, never knew how to tell them,” you gasp, fisting Ezra’s close-cropped hair. It’s softer than you expect, sweat curling the strands at the base of his neck. 

“Tell me everything,” he rasps out, then snaps back into your cunt.

Ezra’s pace and power curls your toes and rolls your hips against the mounting pressure. The angle is perfect, cock pressing into a place that makes stars explode on the edges of your vision. He watches your face for pain, revels in your pleasure, and when he begins cursing colorfully he drops his forehead to your shoulder. The rough pants and drag of his lips and teeth drive you to wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him flush with you.

“Is it good? Is it what you needed?” he asks, arching over you and shifting his weight to find your clit between your sweaty bodies. Fanning his fingers over your abdomen, he strums his thumb over it. Your cunt clenches, legs trembling as the telltale signs of your orgasm rumble into your body.

“Yes, Ezra, thank Kevva it’s so good, please…” you beg, clamping your body around him as he speeds up, humid mouth finding your ear. 

“I would fuck you like this and any other way you desired. Every night. Would have done it every night before this, since you told me your name. To think you’ve been suffering so long and I could end your torture. Cum for me, and you’ll never want again.” 

You let go with a ragged shout, the profound ecstasy of cumming full of Ezra and surrounded by him thrashing you through the best orgasm you’ve had of late. He pins you down with his hips and hands, arms above your head as he mouths at your jaw and throat. Finally your body relaxes, sticky sweet with endorphins and dumb with pleasure. When you can peel your eyes open enough to watch him, the smugness you expected is well tamped by an affection that catches in your lungs. 

“Can you move?” he asks, your agreement preceding his gentle movements to roll you on your stomach. Pillowing your hands under your head, you sigh and prepare to thank him even more properly. You’re beaten by his large hands tilting your hips, and his hot tongue sliding into your pussy from behind. The gasps you choke out elicits a chuckle from Ezra’s throat.

“I’m going to take my reward now,” he teases, kneading his fingers into your generous ass. 

“What’s that?” you manage to get out before he slaps one cheek enough to spike arousal back in your cunt.

“Every orgasm I can pull from your body before the sunrise.”

Night cycles on the Pug last 16 hours, and Ezra uses every minute.

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

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

[ladamedusoif]

Stars (Ezra x gn!Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 11

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist, and follow @ladameecrit for my writing updates.

Pairing: Ezra x gn!Reader (nicknamed “Lumen”)

Warnings: None

Rating: Teen

Word count: 350

Summary: What is a talker to do when he doesn’t have anyone to talk to?

Ezra talks to you when the inky blue-black creeps in and reveals the backdrop of stars burning in the outer reaches of space.

He leans back against a tree and tilts his face up towards the sky, the perfect curve of his nose tracing a path through the heavens.

“A well-lit firmament this night, sweet Lumen.”

He pauses to imagine your response. You might admire the glow of the moons, he muses. Might even suggest they gave enough light for carrying on with the journey through the night.

“Perhaps. But we might equally rest here awhile, imagine a future plotted out for us in incandescent nebulae.”

You had always been sceptical of the symbolic weight some people still attached to stars. Pretty, yes; but more importantly useful, a navigational aid, not a portent or sign. Just far away matter burning out in a constant cycle of reaction and collapse.

Ezra was a pragmatic man, and at times a ruthless one. But he had a poet’s soul, and he saw beyond their constituent parts and the prosaic facts of science to find a purer kind of truth in the stars.

“Isn’t it a comfort and a kindness that they give light even as they near their ends, Lumen? They live so many thousands of our lifetimes that they might as well be eternal to us mere mortals.”

He turns his head and sighs, the moons and stars reflected in his visor and his pitch-dark eyes.

“I make no apologies for seeking eternity through the stars. They are my one true constant. All others see fit to desert me, after a fashion.”

His eyes scan the heavens over and over, searching endlessly for a sign. A movement, a shift in the constellations, anything.

A sign, a suggestion you might yet return, however impossible now the prospect.

He exhales and leans forward, resting his chin on his chest inside the suit.

“You were once my constant, too.”

Ezra closes his eyes, and wills a star to guide you home.

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x gn!reader #ezra prospect fanfiction #prospect fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal

[jessahmewren]

Trial

4.6k / Ezra x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni. Dystopian society, noncon/dubcon, rape, forced breeding, breeding kink, innocence kink, inexperienced reader, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, come play, oral (f receiving), pussy slapping, sexual slavery/bondage, brief mention of su*cidal thoughts, implied squirting, nicknames (darlin', pretty girl, sweet girl, sweetheart, etc), no use of y/n.

Summary: You are one of the last fertile women on a desolate world, subjected to an endless cycle of abuse in the name of the greater good. All of the men are nameless, faceless brutes. Until you meet Ezra.

Also on AO3

All thanks to @two-birds-alone-together for the excellent beta!

You crane your neck up to look toward the door. A tall, broad man in blue scrubs walks toward you. He is tan, his eyes a deep brown. There’s a curious white patch at the front of his hair, and it’s brushed downward, making him appear boyish. But he is no boy. He has strong shoulders and large hands…a well-defined nose. He approaches your head where you lay against the table and looks down at you.

-0-0-0-

You’re little more than breeding stock. You know that now. On this planet, to this endless parade of doctors and scientists, your entire worth has dwindled down to your fertility…what you can grow in your womb to repopulate a planet devastated by civil war.

You never thought you would long for the mining colony you’d been kidnapped from…for the hardships of your life before. You’d spent cycles in the mines without rest or food, scrabbling to make points from what you could unearth from the gas-ridden caves. But you were free. Your body was your own, until one day a routine blood test changed your life forever.

You’ve been in the same room for so many cycles you’ve lost count. You’re intimately familiar with the tiles on the ceiling, the harsh fluorescent lighting, the low couch by the window that looks comfortable, but that you’ve never been allowed to sit on. You’re strapped to a table, legs spread and cunt on display. It horrified you at first…the clinical exams, the blatant disregard for your comfort. Your cheeks burn with the memory of your first “trial.” You had kicked and screamed until they’d sedated you. You woke up sore with cum dripping out of you, no question as to what had happened.

Now they don’t bother with sedatives. You no longer fight. The punishing march of cycles has sapped your will. You’re never getting out, not unless you give them what they want. Unless your belly becomes round with new life, your life, as far as you can see, is over.

Tears are dried on your face from the last trial. It’s your fertile time, they’ve informed you, so the trials are daily now. The next man, one of the institute’s finest specimens of virility, no doubt, fucks you with a bored expression on his face. You look at the ceiling. You can feel his cock twitch after about a minute, feel his precious seed fill you to overflowing. He snarls as he comes, digging his blunt nails into your thigh.

The only mercy is that it never lasts long.

He backs up from where you are laid bare to him and puts himself away. “Did you come?” he asks perfunctorily. “The doctors say it’s more likely to take if you do.”

You say nothing. Of course you didn’t come. You never have. You were a virgin when they brought you here. You’ve never even touched yourself. Daily rape is not going to change that.

He shakes his head at your silence. You can feel his seed running out of you. A single tear tracks down your face, and you hear the door shut behind him.

A nurse comes in once a day to clean you up. It’s not enough. You have at least three trials a day, different men each time, and multiple blood tests. Your menses comes when you’re due, without fail. No pregnancy. No hope of ever escaping this hell you’re trapped in.

You’ve thought about killing yourself, but there’s no way to do it. Your arms are tied down away from your body. Your feet are secured and your legs forced apart. You’re never given sharp objects; your meals are liquid. Every cycle the sun rises and you wish again that you were dead.

It’s another early morning when you hear a soft knock at the door. That’s new, you think. No one ever knocks. They come in, use your body for tests or trials, and leave, usually without a word. If you don’t die from the abuse they are putting you through, then maybe you will die from loneliness. It would be a mercy.

Another knock on the door, and it piques your interest like nothing has in a long time. “Come in,” you say in a raspy voice. It’s been so many cycles since last you spoke, your lips can barely find the words. The door opens, and you brace yourself for what comes next.

You crane your neck up to look toward the door. A tall, broad man in blue scrubs walks toward you. He is tan, his eyes a deep brown. There’s a curious white patch at the front of his hair, and it’s brushed downward, making him appear boyish.

But he is no boy. He has strong shoulders and large hands…a well-defined nose. He approaches your head where you lay against the table and looks down at you.

That also, is new. Most men who come in go straight between your legs. You almost never see them up close. Sometimes you never see them at all.

“Hi darlin’,” he says, his peculiar drawl thick and syrupy. He’s smiling down at you a little lopsided, his head cocked slightly. “Let’s get you all undone, now. Let you stretch your legs a bit.”

You blink up at him, trying to comprehend this radical change in protocol. He’s already working on the restraints binding your arms, then the large one across your middle. He moves down to your feet, and your gaze immediately finds the ceiling, expecting the worst.

Instead, he loosens those restraints as well. When he sees the reddened skin around your ankles, he tuts, taking one of your feet and gently massaging it. You say nothing, wondering if this is some sort of cruel joke. You’ve never been unrestrained during a fertile time before, not since you first arrived.

The man returns to your head. He takes one of your hands in his, thumb making little sweeps over your skin. It’s the first time someone has touched you with any sort of kindness in a long time, and tears spring to your eyes. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he says softly. “My name’s Ezra.”

You look up at him and reflexively draw your hand away. You marvel at being able to move your arms. They’re stiff and tingly from being bound, but you relish the sensation. You whisper your name and he smiles.

“That’s beautiful darlin’,” he says pleasantly. He holds out his hand again while his other hovers near your shoulder. “Need some help sitting up?”

The first thing you do is close your legs, wincing at the pain in your atrophied muscles. Your modesty intact for the first time in a long time, you let Ezra gently pull you to a sitting position. The hospital gown covers you, finally, and you let your legs dangle over the side of the table.

You still avoid his gaze, though you can feel it burn you where it lands. You chance a glance at him and his eyes are soft, thoughtful.

“I bet a shower would do you a world of good,” he says, still congenial…still seemingly kind. You’re unused to it. It makes you immediately suspicious.

“Are you…are you a nurse?” You ask him. The only time you’ve been cleaned up (and those were hasty wipe downs with a cold basin of water) was by nurses during your scant few bathroom breaks. A shower, as unbelievable as that sounds, still feels like a trick.

He chuckles at that. “Not a nurse, sweetheart. Here to take care of you, though. Here to make you feel good.”

You frown. How could you possibly feel good in a place like this? After all that’s been done to you? You shake your head in refusal.

He sighs, leaving you sitting on the side of the table. “Let me start the shower for you, darlin’. You think you can manage by yourself?” His brow is furrowed, his eyes sympathetic. “I know it’s been a while since you stood.”

Suddenly you see the adjacent bathroom. You watch Ezra as he walks into it; you listen as the water turns on. Hot steam wafts from the open door, and you close your eyes.

Then you remember…the door to your room. It’s probably open. You can get away, or try to. This is the first time you’ve had any actual hope of escape, and you’re drunk off of it.

You bolt toward the door, but your numb legs betray you. You fall on your face, crying out, the hard floor jarring your bones. Ezra is by your side in moments.

“Ah, now,” he soothes, taking you up by your shoulders. “Can’t be running off like that. I’m trying to help ya honey. Nothing more.”

You look up at him where he holds you in his arms. He’s handsome, you think distantly, but the realization has no physical effect on you. You lost any sexual desire you had a long time ago, when these people weaponized reproductive organs as a means to an end, a tool to be used for the greater good.

Ezra helps you to your feet. His hands are big and calloused, but they’re warm. You’re not used to gentleness. It makes you wary, but you find yourself craving it all the same.

He leads you into the bathroom…stands you up by the sink. He offers you his arm, looking away as you step out of your hospital gown.

The steam feels so good on your skin; you’ve been cold for so long that your very pores starve for warmth. Ezra leaves you and you step under the hot spray. A wanton little sound of relief, the nearest sound you’ve ever made to pleasure escapes your lips, and you snap your mouth shut.

You spend the next few minutes washing your body, your hair, letting the suds run over your skin and down the drain. You clean the dried semen from your folds, scrubbing just a little too roughly. You stand there swaying under the water. You haven’t had a hot shower since your youth, since before you were sent to the mines. You huff a disbelieving laugh at how good it feels. You forget about Ezra and stay there until the water runs cold.

When you step out of the bathroom, there’s a fresh gown waiting for you on the counter. You towel off, slipping it on over your head. Feeling the cool, threadbare cotton against you just reminds you of where you are, what your purpose is, and the previous contentment from the shower, scant as it was, immediately evaporates.

You pad out of the bathroom and onto the cold tile. Your legs are still wobbly. You’re lightheaded from the hot shower, and before you know it the entire room tilts.

But you never hit the floor. Ezra catches you under the arms, sweeping you up to cradle against his chest like you weigh nothing. He murmurs something, his voice a low and pleasant rumble, but your ears are still ringing. He sits you down beside him…not on the cruel examination table, but on the couch.

You come back to yourself, and Ezra is tucking your wet hair behind your ear. He lets his hand linger by your cheek in a soft caress. You blink up at him, not understanding.

“Why am I on the couch?” you ask. Ezra looks confused, then his face transforms into a wide smile.

“Well, it seemed a mite more comfortable than where you were,” he says softly. He ducks his head, trying to catch your furtive gaze. “You feel better?”

The question catches you off guard. You do a quick, basic self-assessment and realize that you do feel a tiny bit better. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Thank you for the shower.”

Ezra preens, seemingly pleased by your gratitude. He tracks his thumb back and forth across the soft skin of your cheek, humming to himself. After a moment, he leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead.

You instantly recoil, pressing your back to the end of the couch. He scoots forward, crowding you a bit. Your heart picks up.

“Mmm,” he hums, that low rumble coming from deep in his chest. “Y’ smell good.”

You bite your lip, refusing to meet his eyes. “I smell like hospital body wash,” you say, still trying to parse what’s actually going on.

He drags his knuckles up your bare leg, and you look at him. His eyes are dark, his strong nose scenting the air. “Wasn’t talking about the soap,” he says, grin lopsided, and then you realize.

He’s here for a trial.

You swallow hard. He’s got his arms braced on either side of you; it unfurls a strange warmth in your belly. It feels like fear…anticipation, but you’re not really afraid of him.

“If you’re gonna fuck me then just fuck me.” You look up, your mouth a firm line. “Why play all of these games?”

He tuts again, eyes bright and looking at you softly. He floats his hand down the column of your neck, settling at your shoulder.

“Such harsh words, sweet thing.” He gives your shoulder a little squeeze, and your skin burns with his touch. “I’m going to make it so good for you. You have my word.”

A little thrill goes through you, and you shiver. Without a word he pulls you to him, wrapping you up in a warm embrace. He’s speaking, but you don’t register much of it. It’s soft nonsense, words you would use to calm a frightened child or animal. You close your eyes against the white noise, and your nose catches his scent.

It’s uniquely masculine, something earthy and rich. Saliva pools in your mouth.

He holds you there for a long time, whispering soothing words into the shell of your ear. He trails his hands down your arms, smoothing the gooseflesh he finds there.

“You cold baby? You need a blanket?”

He leaves you on the couch, going to a closet and withdrawing a blanket. In all your cycles here, it’s a comfort you’ve never been offered. He wraps it around your shoulders, rubbing his hands over it like he can stoke warmth into your bones.

“Th-thanks,” you say, your teeth chattering. You realize it’s not entirely from cold.

Once you’re wrapped up, Ezra leans in again and you stiffen but do not pull away. You realize this is a foregone conclusion. Ezra is here for a trial, and nothing you do is going to change that.

He noses the skin beneath your ear, and you exhale. He presses his lips in a trail down your neck, gentle little pecks. When he reaches the fluttering pulse there, he seals his mouth over it and sucks.

You gasp softly and arch against him, feeling the warmth in your belly from before travel lower and settle between your legs. You feel your heartbeat throb in your center. That’s never happened before, and it makes you want to squeeze your thighs together to make it stop.

You reach up between you and press a hand against his chest.

“I won’t fight you,” you say. Your voice is thready and soft, and you hate how demure it sounds. “Just do what you have to do.”

He ignores you, letting his tongue wet your skin where his mouth is still sealed over your neck, then he teases it with his teeth. You tremble again, from nerves or cold you know not. “Ezra,” you whisper breathily, and he groans.

“You got me so worked up, darlin’,” he breathes against your neck. He kisses down to where your collarbone juts out of the wide neck of the hospital gown and closes his lips over it. He pulls away, observing the flush of your cheek, your shallow breath.

“Gonna take care of you,” he murmurs. “Gonna put a baby in you. Maybe two. Right here.”

You look down and he has his large hand splayed over your stomach. Your pulse quickens. Your gown is hitched up, and your legs are on display.

You shake your head. “Can’t get pregnant,” you say, “no matter what the blood tests say.” You turn your head, cheeks blooming red. “Been through many trials. Nothing’s ever worked.”

Ezra pouts, pecking at the line of your jaw. “Bet no one’s ever made you feel good though,” he says, his hand sliding from your stomach down your thigh to catch the edge of your gown. “Bet no one’s ever fingered this pretty little pussy before.”

Your mouth pops open, and he uses it as an excuse to claim your lips. His are full and soft, and your eyes slip shut. You’ve never kissed anyone before, so you have no comparison, but you like the way it makes you feel…warm, wanted. His whiskers tickle your chin. He slips his tongue in your mouth and your eyes fly open, a little noise purring deep in your throat.

He moans into the kiss, probing your mouth with his slick tongue. Tentatively you kiss him back, unsure of exactly how, so you simply touch your tongue to his and hope it’s enough.

His hand slips up your thigh and you feel a gush of liquid between your legs. You pull away, mortified, and move to stand. “I think I need to go to the bathroom,” you stammer. You feel strangely off balance. Your skin’s on fire, and there’s a steady ache between your legs.

You’ve never felt this way before. Something’s wrong…Ezra has done something to you and you don’t understand what.

Your legs are shaking, and you look down at the wet spot on the couch. “Oh no,” you murmur, face red. You feel the sudden need to hide, but there’s nowhere to go, and Ezra has both hands on your arms.

“Sit down, sweet girl.” There’s color to his cheeks, too, and you can see his hard cock tenting the front of his scrub pants. He pulls you back down and gently kisses your cheek. “It’s normal, honey,” he says sweetly. “It’s what’s ‘sposed to happen. That little pussy just needs a cock is all. It’s crying for one.”

Your core throbs, and you feel even wetter at his crass words. The dull pulsating sensation is now more urgent, sharp and unceasing. You want to touch, thinking that would make it go away, but you’re not sure how or where.

Ezra places his hand back on the inside of your leg, slowly dragging it upwards. He kisses you again, gentler this time. His hand reaches the humid juncture of your leg and pelvis, and he pets through your damp curls with the back of his hand.

“Unngh,” he moans into your mouth, then pulls away. He withdraws his hand, and his knuckles shine in the sunlight coming through the window. “Haven’t even got my hands on you properly and you’re already soaked. Kevva’s sake, girl.”

You’re trembling again, gripping Ezra’s upper arms. He slips beneath your gown once more, parting your seam with two big fingers.

“Oh shit,” he breathes, scooting up some on the couch. “You’re dripping, babygirl.” He locks eyes with you, and his are impossibly dark. “This all for me?”

You bite your lip and tell him the truth. “I don’t understand,” you say, trying to keep the tremor from your voice. “This has never happened before.”

He smiles, his eyes sparkling. “Good,” he says around a smirk. “You mean you’ve never touched this pretty thing, not once?”

He pulls your gown up, exposing your soaked cunt to the cold air. You shiver. “Kevva be damned, you’re beautiful darlin’.”

He drags through your folds with those same two fingers, groaning at the wet heat. He finds your clit, giving it an experimental little tap, then circling it with his thumb. Your legs quiver and your head falls back.

Your panting now, chest heaving, arms braced against the couch. You unconsciously widen your legs and feel yourself leak onto the cushion.

“Goddamn,” Ezra groans. “You’re unbelievable baby.” He makes another gentle circle over your clit, and you can scarcely believe the sound you make.

You can feel your body tightening. Your muscles go rigid and your toes curl. The warmth in your belly returns, spreading out to your limbs. “Ezra…,” you say, tears in your eyes. He continues his ministrations, shushing you gently. “You’re just aroused, sweet girl.” He dips into your folds, bringing more of your essence to your swollen clit. Something’s about to happen…you can feel it. Your heart beats faster…your skin feels tight. Ezra presses one of his fingers against your entrance and locks eyes with you. “Gonna give you one finger, my good girl. Just one. Give you something to clench around.”

You nod, not sure what you’re agreeing too. It’s all so much so quickly. Ezra smiles and looks down to where his finger enters your body.

You cry out, and he’s barely a knuckle deep when your walls close around him. He pumps his finger in an out, hooking it just so. You see stars. Your vision goes black at the edges, and your legs shake. He coos, laying you back onto the couch. He’s still working you through it until you start to whine, overstimulated.

He’s showering your face with kisses when he finally stops circling your clit. He withdraws his finger, giving your pussy a slap. His palm falls wetly against your folds, causing a pleasurable little sting.

You’re still catching your breath when he’s opening your thighs again. “You were so good for me, sweet girl, taking that finger. Did I hurt your little clit, rubbing it so hard?” He’s trailing his hand over your abdomen. It tickles, and the skin there quivers. You shake your head.

“Uh huh.” His hand slips down between your legs, cupping your pussy. You groan, arousal stirring again. “I’m gonna kiss it better all the same.”

He slides down the couch, kissing his way over your belly, to the top of your mound. “Ezra,” you moan, and he has to palm himself. “Ezra, please.”

He noses your curls, chin bumping against your folds. You groan louder, feeling the pressure build inside of you. He seals his lips over that tender bud and sucks.

You arch off the couch, crying out. Your heels dig into the cushions and your hands drop to his hair. He nips your clit with his teeth, stealing your breath, and still travels lower.

He looks up at you, eyes hooded. Your slick paints his mustache and patchy beard. You feel a fresh gush of it coat your thighs at the sight.

He probes your entrance with his tongue, and you twist under him. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. There’s pain in the pleasure, but you also need more. He licks a stripe up your seam, and it makes you shake. “You taste so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs against you, and the vibrations of his voice against you almost send you spiraling. “Could stay here all cycle.”

His lips return to your clit, swirling his tongue around the little bundle of nerves. Two fingers probe your entrance, and he slides them in without warning. It’s a stretch; your walls flutter around him to accommodate the intrusion. Then he starts to move.

“Goddamn pretty girl. I think you can take another.” He slides in his ring finger aside the other two after just two pumps, and you groan at the stretch.

“So full,” you murmur, already cock drunk and you haven’t even had it yet. He pumps his fingers in and out of you while eating you out, feeling your cunt tighten and clench around him.

“Gonna give me another sweet girl? One more before you take this cock?”

You find yourself nodding…anything just so he doesn’t stop. He crooks his fingers and presses into that spongey spot inside you, and you keen.

It hits you like a lightning bolt. The tension in your belly unspools, and before you can stop yourself you’re riding his face, hands clenched in his hair. You know it must hurt, but you can’t be bothered to care.

He coaxes you back down with soothing words, his soaked hand rubbing little circles on your inner thigh. “That’s my good girl,” he says to you over and over. “Gonna take this cock so well.”

When you finally come down he’s holding himself, languidly stroking your juices over his shaft.

Your eyes immediately go to the cock in his hand. It’s big…you’re not entirely sure it will fit. Your mouth goes dry as you notice the little bead of precum clinging to the tip.

“It’ll fit, darlin,” he says, reading your mind. “Gonna fill you up good. Like nobody else.”

His cock twitches, and he gives it a squeeze. “Gonna put a baby in me,” you murmur, and he smiles, cock lined up at your entrance. “That’s right, sweetheart. That’s what I said.”

The fat head of his cock breaches your entrance and you gasp. It’s a stretch, and once you’ve adjusted he eases a few inches inside you.

You both groan in unison. You can feel yourself relaxing around him, the initial twinge and stretch all but gone. It’s always hurt before. It’s never felt like this.

He’s got both elbows planted on either side of your head. He bends down to kiss you, and sinks his cock to the hilt.

You moan into the kiss. For a few moments neither of you move. His breath is coming in warm puffs. His hips are moving in little thrusts; he’s not fully fucking you yet…it’s like he’s settling in.

“Knew this pussy would take me,” he grits out. “So perfect. So tight.” He pulls out and then slams back in. It takes your breath. He finds a rhythm, pulling all the way out before thrusting back into your tight heat. His pelvis grinds against your clit. He balances on one arm, pulling up your hospital gown and exposing your chest.

You blush. He looks at you in awe, then bends and licks a stripe up your sternum. “Knew these tits would be perfect, too,” he says before taking one his mouth.

Your mouth drops open. He’s fucking you hard, and you’re so full you wonder briefly if they’ll be any room for his seed. You wrap your legs around him, the wet squelch of your bodies joining and your harsh breathing the only sounds in the room.

He pulls off your breast, a string of saliva dragging from his lips. “I’d come on these pretty titties if it wouldn’t be a waste of seed,” he stammers out. His hips are stuttering…there’s high color to his cheeks, and his hair is soaked in sweat. He flicks one of your hard nipples and it goes white at the sting. “Maybe next time.”

You clench around him at the thought of a next time. He pulls out suddenly and flips you on your belly. He slaps your thigh. “On your knees for me, sweet girl. Gonna pound you deep.” You’ve barely processed what he’s saying before he’s slipped inside you again, fucking you at a furious pace. He is hitting you deeper at this angle, you marvel, and a blooming warmth starts unfurling in your body even more rapidly than before.

Ezra reaches for your clit with his free hand, and it sends you over the edge. You soak his cock, and he groans, pulling you up and grabbing your hips in a bruising grip. A few more thrusts and he’s spilling inside you; his hot release branding your insides.

He collapses against you. You’re both breathing heavily, your body slicked in sweat. Ezra stays there for a long time, pressing sloppy kisses into your shoulder.

You feel sleepy, fucked out. Your eyes slip closed as Ezra slips out of you. He presses what seed escapes back into your loose hole, holding it inside with his fingers.

“Gonna take, pretty girl. We’re gonna populate the new world, you and me. Gonna be a regular Adam and Eve.”

You moan into the couch cushion. You’re pleasantly sore, and your mind is blissfully blank. Ezra’s fingers wiggle within, and you clench around him, trying to keep him inside.

You never wanted to help repopulate the world, you can’t help but think. But if Ezra was by your side, maybe a baby wouldn’t be so bad.

-0-0-0-

#ezra x you #ezra x reader #ezra prospect #ezra (prospect) #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x reader #prospect movie #prospect 2018 #fem!reader #ezra x f!reader #ezra x female reader #prospect fandom #prospect ezra #prospect fanfic #prospect fic #prospect fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #ezra my beloved #my writing #this is my first reader fic #please be kind

[penvisions]

dev's drabbles {masterlist}

been dabbling in letting the words flow lately as a way to exercise mood and thots, so i decided to collect them all on one neat little post for y'all

Joel Miller:

joel's morning wood

out of date (set in the {garnish} universe)

Frankie Morales:

anticipation with frankie

slow and then fast with frankie

once more, with feeling (frankie morales)

Ezra:

it takes two to dance with ezra

Javi G:

from grief to grace

#dev writes #drabbles #snippets #writing exercise #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #triple frontier #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #ezra prospect #prospect fanfiction #prospect fanfic #ezra x reader #ezra x you #smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom

[the-blind-assassin-12]

If This One Wasn't Enough

1200 words for 1200 followers #9

A/N: Hi friends! Welcome to the 12-A-Palooza! This event is my way of saying thank you for sticking with me. Your support and kindness toward me and my writing is out of this world and I’m grateful for every last one of you! This one is *technically* a free-standing one shot... but that doesn't mean that I don't have plans to connect it to an existing Ezra series, so take that as you will. ;)

Warnings: mention of character death and lots of angst... but with a hopeful ending

Requested by: @valkblue Song: How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful Character Choice: Ezra. Thank you so much for this, Angie! This song always makes me think of Ezra, so I was thrilled to see you request it. I hope you like the direction I took it in... and where I left it for now.

Summary: Ezra's last job on the Green goes sideways, leaving him unsure if he'll be able to make it back to you. But you're not willing to accept that you may never see him again.

He isn’t here. 

The thought enters your mind before the shuttle even touches down on Delphon, eyes closed and hope retreating further into the corners of your heart. The captain is well trained and has a steady hand with the directional stick. You barely even feel the gear contacting the hard ground beneath it. But the realization that you’ve reached another dead end rumbles through you as the rest of the passengers offer a round of applause for the feather-light landing. You busy your hands with your bag and prepare to disembark. There’s nothing for you to celebrate. 

If he isn’t here then I’m wasting time. 

You can’t explain how you know you’re in the wrong place before you’ve even set foot on the street. You suppose if you had to, you would say it feels like something is missing - like an emptiness that gapes wider with every step you take. One that echoes with the last words you heard him speak. 

“Maybe I’ll see you in another life, Moonbeam. This one might not be enough.” 

They came through the long-range comm speakers, speckled with static, his breathing shaky. You had been in orbit around the Pug, waiting for his return from Bahkroma Green, so at first you didn’t understand. It was just supposed to be one last Aurelac run before the two of you set out in your Satellite Cruiser in search of a new orbit to call home. He’d even told you to stay behind because it was, in his words, “a job so creamy nothing could crust it up.” 

“What? What do you mean, Ezra? Did you miss the slingback? I can come to you and-” 

“No. Do not come to the Green. It’s not safe. I am -” A weak, wheezing cough came through to swallow up the rest of his words. 

“Where? Where are you, Ezra? Ezra?!” 

That was all you were able to get out before a storm of white noise filled your ears and the connection was lost - and the emptiness began forming in your chest. 

Three standard weeks had passed, and you’d spent every waking moment trying to find him. You weren’t willing to wait for another life to see him again. Not while you still had time in this one. 

Immediately, you set the Cruiser’s course for Central, arriving  in four cycles. You docked on the Outer Ring and went straight for the mining office. There, you learned that the rest of Ezra’s crew had returned without him, the smarmy expedition leader placing a hand on your shoulder and offering his condolences for Ezra’s death. An explosion nine cycles ago, he’d told you. Bad batch of phaser, an unfortunate accident. He told you that he was unaware that Ezra had any family, and that he would have contacted you personally otherwise. His lips and brow formed a fraudulent frown as he apologized again for you having to find out this way, and pressed a slip for two thousand points into your palm - the agreed upon payout for casualties on the Green. 

You would have collapsed right there in the office if what the man was telling you held even a drop of truth. Holding your breath, you curled your fingers around the slip and hoped the shock - and fear - you felt at hearing the man’s outright lie would pass for grief, and left without a word. Your heart slammed at your chest as you nearly ran back to the cruiser, wanting to put as much space between you and the mining office as possible. 

Because you knew that Ezra couldn’t have been killed in an accident nine cycles ago. He’d contacted you only four and a half cycles ago. And you knew that if Ezra hadn’t told the crew about you, it meant that he felt they couldn’t be trusted - that he didn’t want them to know your name or what you looked like or that you were important to him. With reason. Two thousand points as an insurance payout was a decent chunk of money. But it was far less than he would have come home with if the information he had on the Queen’s Lair was correct. 

Those pieces of shit left him behind to get a bigger cut of the pull.  

Despite the chill that spread through your veins at that thought, you focused on one thing: that as of four and a half cycles ago, Ezra was alive. Alone, and likely hurt based on what he’d said to you through the comms, but alive. As soon as you made it back to the ship, you cashed in the slip you left the mining office with and used the points to fund your search. 

You told me not to go to the Green, Ezra. But I won’t just sit here and accept that you’re gone. I can’t. 

From Central you’d flown to Grillo. It was a longshot, but you knew that sometimes freighters that pass through the BG system make stops on Grillo. But when you arrived you were told that no ships had come from Bahkroma in months. Hyphlon-4 was next. Another grasp at thin straws. Hyphlon had a Satellite Ring and was on the list of places the two of you were considering. Again you were told that no crafts had entered Hyphlon airspace or landed on the planet. Delphon, then, you’d thought. It was next on the list. No Ring, though, and the spaceport wasn’t large enough to accommodate a cruiser, so you had to dock on its moon and take the shuttle. 

And now you’re here, and you don’t even have to ask about ships from the Green to know that Ezra isn’t. The emptiness stretches wider as you step off the shuttle and out into the crowded spaceport platform. You walk to the railing overlooking the city and let your eyes scan the shapes of the buildings, and you whisper. “I wish you were here, Ezra. I wish I knew you were safe.” 

Tears trail down your cheeks and fall to land on the copper railing before you can push away to head back for the shuttle. There’s only one planet left on the list and then you’ll have to repeat them, starting with the Pug. You shake your head. Lau. That’s the one. 

It has to be, you tell yourself. 

– – – 

Ezra curls his fingers around the copper railing at the Delphon spaceport and closes his eyes. He sighs, and for the first time in weeks he doesn’t wheeze. Cee steps up to his right side, careful not to bump into the still-swollen stump where his arm ends. “Ezra?” She doesn’t bother to ask the next bit out loud. Is she here? 

She watches a sad smile form on his face. “My Moonbeam was here. I can still feel her.” 

Cee’s brow furrows as she clutches the rail, too. She didn’t ask Ezra how he knew that you had been there. She just trusts him. “Then we’re getting closer. Where do we go next?” 

He opens his eyes and looks down at her. “Lau, Birdie. If we are to catch up with her it will be on Big Blue.” 

She nods. “Let’s go, then.” 

.

.

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list, please feel free to let me know. You can also fill out the form on my Masterlist! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @shoopidly @valkblue @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @cannedsoupsucks @tobealostwanderer @gracie7209 @dihra-vesa @marauderskeeper @disgruntledspacedad @novemberrain221 @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @stevie75 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @swtaura @thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @spishsstuff @noisynightmarepoetry @writeforfandoms

#12 a palooza! #1200 followers 1200 words #ezra (prospect) #ezra (prospect) fic #prospect fic #ezra (prospect) x female reader #ezra x female reader #cee (prospect) #ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra (prospect) x you #prospect fanfiction #pedro pascal character #pedrostories #ezra (prospect) one shot #how big how blue how beautiful #if this one wasn't enough #Spotify #ezra prospect

[wannab-urs]

Written in the Stars Masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x Ezra (Prospect)

Series Summary: The Mandalorian takes a job unlike any he’s ever had before. Driven by his guilt over working for the Empire, even indirectly, and the strange bond he formed with the man, Din rescues his bounty. What follows is not something either of them ever expected.

Series Warnings: The Mandalorian/Prospect crossover AU, canon-typical violence, season 1 rewrite, eventual smut, slow burn, eventual romance

Graphic by @atinylittlepain (Thank you so much)

Ezra Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

Arc One: The Job

Prologue

Chapter One: You Caught Me

Chapter Two: Got So Much to Lose

Chapter Three: Constantly on the Cusp

Chapter Four: Like Lovers or Partners in Crime

Chapter Five: Will We Burn or Just Smolder

Chapter Six: Fall Back into Place

Chapter Seven: Will You Take Me All the Way

#Written in the Stars #Ezra #Ezra fics #Ezra fanfiction #Prospect fanfiction #Prospect (2018) fanfiction #ezra (prospect) #ezra (prospect) fanfiction #Din Djarin #Din Djarin fics #Din Djarin fanfiction #The Mandalorian #The Mandalorian fics #The Mandalorian fanfiction #Din Djarin x Ezra #Din Djarin x Ezra (Prospect) #Din Djarin/Ezra #Din Djarin/Ezra (Prospect) #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

[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

[all-the-things-2020]

All Our Future Prospects Masterlist

Summary: A corporate scientist meets a one armed prospector named Ezra while fleeing a planet that will soon be too dangerous to stay on, and her life is changed forever. So is his.

Total Word Count: 55,250+

Rating: Mostly PG-13 (some mildly graphic sexual content, but those chapters will be noted)

Characters: Ezra, Cee, original female character (Claire)

Notes: My take on the world of Prospect is a somewhat dystopian version of the future. None of my three main characters has a last name, since Ezra and Cee do not have canon last names. Claire is vaguely described but does have hair long enough to fall into her face when it’s loose and she leans forward. Otherwise, she looks like you or anyone else you want her to.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight - contains sexual content

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

#ezra and cee #ezra fic #Ezra x ofc #prospect fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ezra #ezra prospect