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marisferasiop · 4 months

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Clearing out wips- I posted my vampire!reader/cryptid!Ezra last night. Enjoy!!

Ao3: link

Rating: mature/explicit- minors DNI

Summary: since being turned as a boy into- whatever liminal state of cryptid he is now- Ezra has walked this earth ageless and alone, never finding his place or a partner for long. He interrupts your meal in the city one evening, and brings you home to strike up a deal; feed from him, alone, and keep one another safe from discovery. The fact that he finds his purpose under the soft graze of your teeth and home between your thighs is a nice side effect.

Warnings: lots of blood, smut, soft yearning sweet boy Ezra, mapuche mythology and monsters, schmoop. Ezra is a subby little sap in this.

Word count: about 2.7k

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“Pleeeease, baby,” he begs, his chin tipping further up, neck curving back, pulse thundering under your slicked lips. His hand pulls at your hip, desperate to have you pressed all along his front. You oblige, your breasts sandwiched between your chest and his as you follow his backward tilt into the sofa backing.

His warmth bleeds into your skin, along with the sharp scent of moss, dirt, wood, life etching its way into the fibers of your soft cotton shirt. He tugs upward at the hem, wanting more skin, and you shift to accommodate.

You’ll always oblige him. You don't know how not to anymore. But he will still always ask.

“Ezra,” you sigh, letting his skin slide out of your wet mouth as he scrabbles for the buttons down your front. A line of that woodsy-scented blood crests over the swell of your full bottom lip, making you suck it between your teeth to swallow it. You can’t spill a drop of him. Even now, watching it pool slowly in the well of his collarbone feels like a sin. You lick over the pinpricks, sealing them, and lap away at the stains.

It would be a crime, wasting what he offers you freely.

He pushes the fabric off your shoulders and, finding you bare beneath, whines anew in his throat as you ease close again. He lets you so close. He wants you that close. Closer, even. Like it’s never enough unless you’re under his skin.

You tuck your nose against the hinge of his jaw, smelling the scent of him clinging to the scraggly beard that grows there. Moss hits the back of your tongue, makes you salivate. Your fangs drop again as you trace the sharp line of his jaw with the tip of your nose back to the bite already slowing on his skin. You lap at it, at the coagulating droplets there, twinned pinpricks.

“The other side, sweet thing. You haven’t had enough. Not yet.”

You hum in the back of your throat, dropping a kiss on his Adam's apple. It bobs under the press of your lips; tender. The pulse of him is still strong, the half cup you’ve taken barely noticed. He’s immortal as well- or as good as. Resilient. You can have much, much more.

“I have. I don’t need it.”

“You haven’t. Take your fill,” he says; pleads, really. You grin, quick and sharp, against his throat.

“Then fill me, Ezra.”

_______________

“Why are you following me?” You had slammed the moss-scented man into the bricks of an alley and pinned him with a hand on his shoulder. He held up his one hand and held your gaze easily.

“I’m not; not like that,” he explained. You wrinkled your nose at his scent again and suppressed a growl. “You’re ah – not human,” he hedged, blinking down the mouth of the alley. The street lamp at the end flickered and gave out. “Neither am I. Not anymore, anyway. Not really. Come somewhere quiet with me? I can explain.”

He had interrupted your meal. Your throat and chest burned and your skin prickled with how cold you were. “Fine.”

He had led you a few blocks away to a truck. Drove you outside of the city to a small farm edged in forest. You had spent the drive alternating between forcing yourself to ignore his pulse and body heat, and trying to pick out the notes of his heady scent.

He smelled like a dense, dark, old forest. Emphasis on the old. He smelled like everything from bright new leaf shoots to dense, herbal decay.

You learned that name was Ezra. He had a kid at home called Cee that isn't his but is now. He led you inside and called out up the staircase that he was home. A call returned, and he ushered you into the kitchen. You leaned against the counter, feeling every bit of how out of place the image was.

“Tell me about yourself. I’ve waited enough.”

“I will tell you anything you wish to know. But first, I interrupted your meal, sweet thing. I wonder if I can amend that?”

You snort, shaking your head. “Explain. And throw in why you smell like you bathe in Pine-Sol.”

Ezra smirks at you, his head tilted to the side, and nods. “Alright.” He slides onto a stool and props his elbow on the table.

“I am. Ah- approximately three- hundred and eighty- four years old. As a boy, I was playing in the woods with my brothers when a – a creature sought to chase us. We ran back for the village, to our family, but the creature caught up to me. It was- ah. A monster. We called them piwuchen. It hypnotized me, and very much intended to eat me, and steal my heart. I was helpless. My brothers ran and got the village’s medicine woman, a machi, and they came back and she killed it before it did more than bite me. The Machi touched me,” he touches the tuft of blonde at his temple and hums. “But the piwuchen had already bit me, and instead of staying under its spell, I was brought back by the Machi’s magic. My arm was amputated in an attempt to stem the spreading venom. And I aged slowly into adulthood, but no further. So I remain the same, and just… move around.”

You whistle low and make a mockingly impressed face at him. “Gonna have to Google that one. You gonna feed me, fae-boy, or am I hitchhiking back to town to drain some other asshole?”

Ezra grins at you and nods. “Fair enough. You’re welcome to try and feed from me. I admit I have never attempted to feed a vampire before.”

“How could you tell what I am?” You ask, watching him slip closer. He shrugs out of a zip-up hoodie, his right arm pinned, and is left in jeans and a tight gray tee shirt. You can smell his blood from here, washed over with the scent of damp earth and intricate root systems. He smells alive like nothing you’ve ever scented before.

“The ah- forest gift, whatever you want to call it, that was imbued upon me from the bite and the Machi’s magic, have left some side effects. My scent, as you have mentioned, is tinged with that of the forest creature’s. I am uncannily handy with direction and luring on a hunt. I can hypnotize, if I need to. And of course, the endless lifespan.”

He comes to stand right in front of you now, the tips of his boots framing your converse as you remain leaning against the counter. “So, I suppose, little bird... That like sees like.”

“Have you tried to die?” You ask, taking his wrist as he offers it up. His arm is toned but not bulky, the skin soft and supple, a beautiful golden- olive. The scent of dew on moss greets you as you bring your lips to his pulse in a kiss. He watches you test his skin, those dark eyes holding mostly curiosity. An odd sort of kinship, this.

One side of his face tics up in a knowing smile. “I have. Nothing takes.”

You hum in agreement, knowing well what the grip of ennui is like, as well as the disappointment when any action taken against it doesn't work.

“And what about the girl?”

“Another child lost in the woods, though fully human. She was fleeing a neglectful father, and got herself quite turned around. I am only ensuring she gets her education with a roof over her head and food in her belly. No nefarious intentions abound. You could no doubt scent it on me if there were.”

He’s not wrong. He smells too pure of intent. Evil sours the blood, and his is… Almost painfully clean.

Carefully, nearly afraid of what you’ll find, you pierce his wrist with one fang. He winces at the breaking skin but doesn't flinch.

His blood tastes– like blood. But gamey, almost. Old. Aged in jungle wood, with all manner of inclusions from the forest floor. You can pick out mushrooms, moss, fresh rain, bark. The drop you suckled out of the pinprick you made dissolves on your tongue. Nothing happens. The empty, aching burn in your chest grows from a single crackling log into a furnace, if anything.

He’s delicious.

Nothing negative seems to happen to you. Aside from the raging burn of your hunger, you feel fine. Your eyes flick up to his, and he nods, tipping his wrist back to your lips.

“Continue, sweet thing. Take your fill.”

_______________

Ezra has spent a long time alone. After his village aged on and he didn't; after the Spanish came and genocide sunk it's claws in. After the strange pox - sickness claimed those survivors. After he learned a new tongue and traveled across the mountains in search of anything- anywhere he could settle into, and only found more of the same. He kept trekking north, slowly and soundly. And never found anything that suited for long.

He has worn many hats. He has been a shaman, a translator, a guide. He has robbed graves and dug them, lived off the forest alone and killed countless Spanish conquistadores. He has been a cowboy, a stagecoach driver, a highwayman, a smuggler. Mostly a con artist. He has aided those he considered friends and killed those that he considered enemies.

And in all those endless lives, he has never felt wanted. Not since his chachay and papay and his brothers passed. He stayed with them, watched them age while he only made it to adulthood and never further. He cared for them, and comforted them when they went on. And every step since has been to find something he can feel in his blood but cannot find with his eyes.

He thinks, now- perhaps too poetically for his own foolish heart - that it has been you.

You like him. You will talk to him for hours, or curl into him on the sofa for a movie. Life has a painful domesticity now, with you and Cee. You don’t live with him, but you come by most days.

Cee likes you, talks to you amicably when you're there and asks after you when you’re not. Ezra likes that you two get along. His girls, and he always grins so wide when he says it.

Ezra wonders, if after a dozen lifetimes of being forgotten, questioned, reviled, exiled, othered– if he can finally have … This.

You, under him, your soft thighs parted around his shifting hips. His weight, on you; your breasts mashed on the rise of his pecs, your mouth, open and panting. He licks into you, thieving over your palate, making your fangs tingle. You pull back and drop them, nipping his lip and then soothing the sting with your wicked tongue. Without both arms to balance, he relies on you for some movement. You undulate against his hips, rising to meet each thrust, skimming your nails down his spine to dig at the meat of his narrow ass.

“Touch yourself, sweet thing. I would gladly bury my face down there for hours, strum that sweet little clit with my fingertips til you break apart if I could.”

“Roll us,” you pant against his mouth, and he is helpless but to comply.

You settle on his hips, his full weight and girth in the vice of your slick cunt. You squeeze him internally and he hisses, grappling with your waist to get you to move.

You have been coming to his little country house for months now. You and Cee still get along well; you often help her or talk to her about her studies, and then in the night, you take your fill of him, in whatever means you see fit.

He is happy to provide. To be of use.

To be wanted.

“You want it, sweet thing?” He pants, arching his neck up into your mouth, rutting his hips up in the tiny space you’ve left him. He’s quite effectively pinned. You have his one hand in your iron grip and the other closing around his throat.

“I want all of you, Ezra. You’re mine, yes?” your throat, lined with his blood, is claggy; your eyes glint like gems in the dark when they meet his.

His eyes dilate, and he goes still and pliant under your hands. Your teeth.

“I am, my sweet. You have me. All of me.”

He explodes moments later, with your hips snapping against his, his cock rooted deep in your core, and your hands still pinning him at wrist and throat. He fills you, at your sucking mouth and your clenching cunt, and you greedily take it all.

Later, when you’ve fed him and he rolls you over and makes you spread your tacky thighs for him, he licks the deep jungle- taste of his spend out of you, luring you steadily into a rolling orgasm that steals your breath.

He’s yours. And you’re his.

_______________

The sun does not kill you, but it is stifling and uncomfortable. You wear layers and hats if you have to go out. Working from home makes your life easier. Ezra often comes if you don't come to his for days. He wants to make sure you are fed, and well.

You catch him snoozing on your couch in a sun spot most of the time. Sometimes you curl against him, take a break from corporate bullshit to breathe in your own personal little forest clearing. Your job is a careful balance of keeping up appearances and giving yourself a task each day so you don’t let the ennui suffocate you again.

He bands his arm around your ribs in his sleep and hums, happy to have you close. It still strikes you at times, how close he allows you to rest. As if you’re not a threat to his very existence. As if you’re not a literal blood-sucking monster.

He has let you know, in brief spurts, how lonely he has been. You suppose that is part of why he has kept Cee. But she will be gone in a year, off to college and her own life. He has already ensured her success by way of a trust with his vast and quiet wealth. And when she is gone, he will only have… you.

You worry, sometimes, that you will be enough. That a few meals and fucks each week will satiate the gaping void in his chest left after eons of walking the earth alone.

But then he holds you tighter, and begs you to drink deeper, and take more from him, and softens into such languid peace when you declare him yours, with his blood on your lips and his cum dripping from you.

He is yours.

You have lived a few lifetimes to his dozens, and you have known him for the blink of an eye by comparison, but you would cheerfully prefer to starve to death, staked out in the sun, than taste anyone else’s blood again.

You are his. He found you, and lured you to his den. And fed you, filled you. He is under your skin, in your very veins, and you only want to crawl inside him and tear him to shreds with your affection. It’s an all-consuming thing, this untapped well of love you have for the first time in decades. You want to drown him in it.

You know he will sink willingly under your waters.

You tuck your nose under his scruffy chin and skirt your arm around the fading sun-spot, and allow sleep to draw you under.

#ezra/reader #ezra x reader #ezra prospect #ezra (prospect)#prospect (2018)#prospect movie #prospect film #cee (prospect)#reader insert #afab reader #no y/n #only description is having breasts enough to squeeze

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insomniamamma · 1 month

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Threefold: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

A/N: I am still working on my kiss prompts for @yearofcreation2023. Yeah yeah. I know we are well into 2024. But I am determined to finish these prompts. The prompt for this fic is "Kiss as a lie." This does not connect to any of my other Prospect fics, even though some terms may overlap. Enemies to reluctant allies. Reader is disabled and relies on body mods to assist her breathing. This one really got away from me. like 6K away from me.

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of injuries and medical procedures. Alcohol and drug consumption. Vomiting. Smut but nothing super graphic. Mentions of bodily fluids. This is not my usual Ezra. He is a shit in this one.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t splatter your brains all over this bar.” You jam your thrower into the curls at Ezra’s nape. You watch him in the bleared bar mirror, watch the color drain from his face even as he smiles, starts to turn his head and you dig the barrel of the thrower in deeper, feel your finger tightening involuntarily, your need for vengeance vying with your need for satisfaction, for some sort of answer for what he did, finger curls slightly and releases again, Kevva knows you never expected to see him again, Kevva knows—something cold jams beneath the angle of your jaw and you snap back into the present. The bar mirror shows a slight girl with a halo of pale hair and thundercloud eyes, a small, freckled wisp. “Put it down,” her voice is soft and steady, “I don’t want to hurt you but I will.” “Well if this isn’t quite the predicament,” says Ezra, “How but you ease up on the trigger and we talk this out like civilized folk.” “Your time for talk ended five stands ago,” Your eyes flick towards the bleary girl in the bar-back mirror, “I don’t know what he promised you, kid, but he’ll fuck you over the second it makes sense. You’re what, fifteen stands? When he ditches you on some no-name moon what’re you gonna do?” The barrel digs deeper into the flesh at your neck. Ezra says your name, not darlin or kitten or sweetheart or any of the slew of names he gave you down on The Green, but the one you told him, the one he murmured against the sweaty column of your throat while you arched beneath him, quivered around him, felt like a blessing from his lips as he spilled fever hot inside you. “I did you wrong,” says Ezra, “You weren’t the first and you certainly weren’t the last, and, if I’m being honest, I did not think on you overmuch—“ The little girl in the warped mirror shakes her head-- “Ez--“ You feel the gun held against your throat tremble. “But these past stands have not been kind,” says Ezra, “To either of us, I imagine.” His eyes flick up towards your reflection and you know exactly what he sees, and how could he not? Paired auto-breathers clipped to your collarbones, metal and plastic welded to meat in an a scarred seal, ports that can be used for a filter-hookup with the right adapters. “So what? That’s the Fringe, isn’t it? That’s what you told me then—“ “How, exactly, do you imagine this plays out?” says Ezra, “You kill me, she kills you. Both of us dead here on the deck-plating and what’s the point of it? Revenge? Satisfaction?” You dig the barrel of your thrower into the meat at the nape of his neck, even as his girl shoves her weapon tighter against the angle of your jaw. “Or let’s say I kill you,” Ezra purrs, and you become aware of a buzzing, like a neglected data pad with incoming message against your inner thigh, but that doesn’t make sense, data pad’s in your left breast pocket and he grins in the mirror, flick your eyes down and damned if he doesn’t have a laser scalpel pressed into the meat of your leg, blood corona already spreading, “Think you can make the shot before I clip your femoral artery? You didn’t crawl out of Bakhroma’s well to bleed out in this dive, did you?” “Damn you, Ezra. You owe me. You left me to die down there.” “I did indeed, and if you ease off the trigger for a tick, I can offer your recompense.You think it’s an accident? You and me nested into the same ring? Show her, Cee.” “Ez, I don’t think-“ “Show her. And I’ll get us some drinks. I think a toast may be in order.”

“You know what we need to do, when we meet up with the others, right?” You cling to him despite the sticky heat of the tent, air thick and heady with the smell of sex, his come smeared between your bellies as you lay half atop him, head on his chest, his arm curled around your shoulder. “I stay on one,” you say, yawning, drifting as he traces aimless patterns up and down your arm, “You switch to two. Give them the talk. You fake a comms error and go for your channel box. You take the big one and I pick off the leader. The one with the red. Then we get, we get out of here.” He squeezes you tight as sleep takes you, his heart slow and steady beneath your ear.

Cee sighs, rolls her eyes, pulls her thrower off your throat. “Fine,” she says, and reaches for a bag slung at her side.

Ezra hails his crew, and hiss of static on your ear when he switches to two, your thrower in hand, trained on the leader, brilliant red plast pauldron over his exosuit, waiting for the signal, for Ezra to go for his channel box, what is he waiting for? He looks animated, smiling through the fog of his helmet, this is wrong, you think, and he turns, thrower in hand and shoots and the world whites out for a tick, your leg collapses under you and when you lift your head there’s Ezra, tucking his thrower back into his holster, the press of his boot against your shoulder rolling you on your back from where you curled around yourself, broken nerves screeching around the path of cooked flesh just above your knee. You know what’s happened, but part of you can’t believe it— “Help me!” You say, met by the hiss of an open channel, he grabs your trophy case and tosses it to his friend, the big man with the railer he was supposed to kill, leans in and reaches for you and for a moment you think this is all some mistake, something that can be made right and he wrenches your filter out of it’s clip, cuts the hose so it’s you and the dust laden atmosphere. “Why?” You ask and know he won’t answer, makes a big pantomime of tapping his helmet and shaking his head. Your eyes scrim over with tears, the cooked nerves in your leg screaming a wordless anthem, “Please.” Ezra bows his head but still smiles, presses his gloved fingers to his helmet and blows you a kiss , that’s the fringe, girl, even with comms cut you can make out the words, and then he turns away, walking off into the brush with his crew.

“Carom-burned pearl,” you say, mouth taking over while your brain runs wild, this gem is trash, sure, but the size— “So what?” You drop your thrower back to your hip without even thinking on it. Impossible to tell the quality with the membrane half-burned into the surface, but still— “Don’t play stupid.” says Cee, “You were on The Green. You know what you’re lookin at.” “I know that I am looking at a botched pull,” you say, “I’m also looking at a little girl who thinks she’s found a friend way out here in the ass-end of the Great Arm. Did he give this to you, spring-sprite? Spin you a tale of buried treasure? He promise you an even split—“ “60/40. My way. 16th per point garnishment to clear his debt,” she says, “Ezra works for me.” You laugh, a real one deep from your belly and the intake fans, your intake fans whir faster to make up for the perceived oxygen debt, vibrations through your bones that you can’t seem to get used to even after all these stands, “Oh, honey, I was gonna kill him, but now I don’t think I will. Think I’ll let you reap the consequences here. Me and Ez? We’re done.” “It’s the Queen’s Lair,” says Ezra, and you stop cold, half-way up off of your stool, seep back down like your legs have forgotten themselves. “I know. I know you’ll never believe me, but we were there.” “You just happened on it right? Just happened to drop right down in the place that every fool and their brother went hunting for on that Kevva-forsaken rock.” “Not me,” says Ezra, “Cee’s father.” “So why isn’t it him making the pitch?” “He didn’t make it,” says Cee. And you nod. Spacer’s phrase for a constellation of mishaps. A blown hull. A dust infection. An altercation in some shit station bar over points or pussy or any number of things. An invitation to not ask. “It wasn’t even really him that found it—“ “Cee—“ “My father was contracted to harvest for Karoclan. Group of mercs found the Lair by accident. Probably digging a shit-pit. We landed bad. By the time we made it to the site it was just me and Ezra, and things got complicated.” “Complicated.” “We had to fight our way out. We barely made the sling.” “You couldn’t do the job,” you say, “And you know I can.” “That’s not-“ “She never learned the trick and I was trying to cut the blisters weak-handed,” says Ezra, “That’s why we need you.” “You went back there. Even after all you took from me. You could’ve gone somewhere better with your cut but you didn’t. You got addicted to the rush.” “I did,” says Ezra. “Me and Ezra and now you are the only people that know the Queen’s Lair is even real,” says Cee, “We go there, we get a good pull and we can live off it for years. Now that the line’s dead the value’s just gonna go up. We get the pearls and trickle them into the market—“ “How’re we gonna get there with the line dead? No one makes the BG sling anymore. They just route everything around Ikhar and—“ “Got a hot-jumper willing to take us for a cut.” Says Ezra, “We ride the line till just after the Ikhar sling and then unclip and burn. Gets us in orbit in 6 stand months.” “Risky,” you say, tapping you index and middle fingers against your right breather, vibration passing from metal into bone, a nervous habit born out of a rerouted urge to scratch at the healing skin. “Yeah. But if we do it right, if we play it smart, none of us will have to drop down some Kevva-shunned well for a hand of points ever again. We can have the lives that sharp-toothed bitch moon took from us.” “Like you didn’t have a part in it—“ Ezra reaches across the sticky bar and folds your hand in his—

He grabs you under the arms, woah there girlie, this is bad ground, yanks you back, so focused on the pull that you didn’t feel the ground shifting beneath you, grab your gear and hold it to your chest even as you’re pulled back from the rapidly forming sink-hole in the loamy dirt, draw your thrower and whirl on the stranger, your gear scattered all around your feet. Don’t fuckin touch me. Is that anyway to talk to someone who just saved your life? What’re you doing out here all alone anyway? who says I’m alone? You got crew? Raise ‘em on coms. Yeah that’s what I thought. Gonna get killed out here all alone.

“I had every part in it,” says Ezra. “The breath of your lungs, Cee’s only living kin, and the arm from my own body. All victim to my greed and stupidity and short-sightedness. I used you and I duped you and robbed you and left you to die and Kevva rightly and thoroughly kicked my ass for it. If not for Cee I would have breathed my last in that forsaken jungle-“ You yank your hand away as if burned. “You do not touch me,” you say, “We are not friends, we are not lovers. That part is over. Forever. We clear?” “Clear,” says Ezra, that infuriating little half-smile crawling up his cheek, “That mean you’re in?” “Maybe.”

Didn’t realize how loud those fans were gonna be. Maybe you’d like me to suffocate about it. Does she ever turn that player off? Do you ever turn your breathers off? Not the same. To her it is.

What’s with you and her? You aren’t kin. You said you cost her only kin. In that pretty speech you gave me so I wouldn’t shoot you. That is a complicated and lengthy tale. We’ve got time.

“Ezra? I don’t like this.” Cee eyes the blue gel pack in her hand. “Once the bolts release Jada’s gonna burn hard,” says Ezra, “She’s got mods to deal with the pain and sickness, but we don’t. If we don’t dope down, we’re gonna be in a world of hurt.” “People’ve died,” you say, and Ezra shoots you a dark look that you give right back, “They go into shock sometimes. Don’t wanna risk that right?” “It’s not addictive, if that’s what you’re worried about,” says Ezra, “We’ve got a sixteenth to take it and have it work. You go past that and it’s your choice, Little Bird.” Cee’s eyes flick from your face to his, and you wonder how you’ve slipped into caring for this girl, this orphan of Ezra’s making, how you became someone she’d look to in a place of indecision. “I’ve never hot-jumped myself, but I was crew with a man who was on a prison transport that did,” you say, hoping the grain of truth in the story will be enough to get Cee to chomp down on that gel pack when the time comes. You heard the story second hand on over drinks on Leylan bench, but Cee doesn’t need to know that. “They didn’t bother doping down the prisoners. Guess they didn’t want to spend the points. Aggie said him and most of the others exploded from both ends. It wasn’t nice. Hallucinated on top of that if I remember right. Hot jump fucks with people.” “Heard some of those tales myself,” says Ezra. “Jada’s a professional. She’s so modded up she can’t handle a drop down a well anymore. She wants her cut we’ve got to be her hands. It’s not in her interest to lead us wrong.” “We got a sixteenth?” “Yeah, but how bout we get ourselves secure and do it all together?” “Okay,” says Cee. The three of your wordlessly prep, following the instructions Jada gave you on boarding. Wear something soft. No jewelry, nothing rigid. These, Jada had flicked a finger against Cee’s music player, are a no-go. The crash beds have plenty of give but I’ve seen people come out the other side with holes in em from fancy buttons on their pants. These gonna be a problem? Jada eyed your breathers and poked at one with a questing finger. How long’ve you had em? Bout five stands. Should be fine then. Bone’s had time to remodel and deal with the extra mass. You’ll be sore though. You remove the ring your mother gave you before you left the well, remove the studs from your ears, don the softest clothes you have. Cee wears an over sized shirt with Puzo in his space suit, long, coltish legs and bare feet sticking out. Her toenails are painted an alarming sparkly green, and your heart squeezes a little. She may have shoved a thrower into your neck but she is still very much a little girl. “We ready?” “This is gonna taste bad isn’t it?” “Most likely,” says Ezra, “We bite down on a three count, yeah?” Cee scrunches her face, tucks the gel pack into her cheek and you and Ezra do the same. “Ready? One, two, three-“ “Oh that is nasty-“ says Cee. You crunch down and swallow the drug in a convulsive gulp, bitter medicinal taste beneath something that is supposed to taste like bananas. Not that you’ve ever seen or eaten one. “That is just—wrong.” You feel sleep sucking at your bones, and you can hear the sound of the hot-jumper’s engine’s spooling up, a bright spike of anxiety tries to lodge itself in your chest, familiar whir of your breathers kicking up as your heart rate rises and then the drugs take you down.

Come to with a raging headache, Ezra and Cee are already awake and at the controls. “Here,” says Cee and tosses you a pack of stim-chews, “Just do one. It’ll kill the headache.” You crunch one, sickly fruit and bitter and you feel a little more alert, but not in a pleasant way, like remembering the last bits of a long and unpleasant dream, not sure exactly what happened, but there was blood and horror and pressure. “Something happened—“ “That’s the drugs,” says Ezra, “Telemetry’s good. We’re right down the line. Five by. Took you a little longer to come out of it, that’s all.” You try to sit yourself up, and your pectoral muscles scream, your clavicles ache where the breathers are clipped to them. You must make some sound, because Ezra turns to look at you, those dark eyes locked on you and you want to slap that concerned face right off his skull— “You okay?” “Yeah. Gimme a minute. Jada said it would hurt.” “Should’ve said something, Kitten, I would’ve gotten you a patch—“ “I’m not your kitten, and it’s not your business.” “You’re right,” says Ezra, “it’s not my business. But we go hot in a sixteenth and I’ll need you sharp. You know what you need to do?” “Do you?” “How bout both of you shut up and focus on the drop,” says Cee, “You can fight it out once we’re clipped back in and bench-bound.” “Fair enough, Little Bird,” says Ezra, “You take the conn, Cee. Your controls.” “My controls,” echoes Cee. “Where’s the pain?” “Clavicles. Achy around the breathers. I don’t think anything’s fractured-“ “Here,” says Ezra. He hands you two pain patches. “Peel these and I’ll stick em.” “Fine.” You open one patch and then the other, stick them to your fingertips and hold up your hand for Ezra to take them. Scoop your hair out of the way and Ezra smooths the gel-patch on to the join of your neck and shoulder. “There you go. Let’s get the other side.” His hand lingers, brief and warm and before you can tell him not to touch you he withdraws. “That should keep you creamy until we’re dirt-side. Don’t be shy about takin what you need from the kit. Need you steady downworld, we clear?” “Clear.”

This feels nothing like a normal drop, not the warning alarm and dull thump of bolts retracting. Going hot means a hand of solid fuel boosters will push you screaming towards the Green Moon, igniting as soon as the clips let go, push you away from the hot-jumper without slowing, vibration shaking the dropper in a sick two part resonance that hurts your ears and churns your stomach— “Oi! chute status” Lock your eyes on the jittering screens. “Bolts are go. Drogues are go. We’re go.” You flip up the toggle guards and hold your fingers above the switches. The thrusters fire and the dropper rocks, flipping itself so the engines face down, watch the numbers on your screen go green and listen for the callouts— “Heat shield sep!—“ “Tracking?” “We’re clear! Go for drogue deploy on your mark—“ The switches vibrate beneath your fingers, you feel the vibrations in your skull, in your bones, strange resonance in your ears that churns your stomach, crush your eyes shut so you don’t have to see the way the screens jitter in and out of focus. “That’s atmo—“ says Cee. “Blow the drogues in 3..2…1…mark—“ You flip the toggles and lurch forward hard into your harness, and then back into your crash-couch as the landing burn starts. “Where we at—?” “Transonic,” you say, numbers blearing green on the scope, “we’re green.” Hook a bag from where its stickied to your seat and wretch into it, smell of fake chocolate half-digested Bitz-Bars and jump drugs. Grav and spin enough to fuck your inner ears, and the engines burn hard, “Landing gear deploy—“ calls Cee. There’s a hard thump and you’re down and stable but your roiled stomach and pounding skull and tight neck betray you and you dry heave while the others gear up. “Gimme a minute,” you say, pressing your eyes closed, trying to get some sort of control over yourself, “Haven’t done much well-work since— since—,” heave helplessly over the bag but nothing comes up, there’s nothing too come up. Ezra rests his hand your arm. “Hey. Look at me—“ You try to lift your head, and the world starts spinning again, too much time station-side, too much time in the gentle, predictable spin of bench-rings, your body’s forgotten the suck of the world on your bones, on your blood on your lungs “Can’t,” you crush your eyes shut, welcome dark nulling out some of your screaming nerves. “Okay,” says Ezra in the roiling dark, “Okay, Baby, I need you to breathe real deep through your nose for me.” “Not your baby—“ “I know,” he says, “Deep breath. Through your nose. One, two, three--“ You breathe in, left over bitz bar chunks making their presence known, irritation followed by something numbing and cool and slightly spicy, you stomach calms but sweat breaks out all over your body-- “Is this even gonna work?” Cee glares, hands on hips, mostly suited. “Finish kitting up and start scouting the perimeter,” says Ezra, “Stay on two unless I tell you different. We’ll be out shortly.” Cee narrows her eyes, but does what she’s told, seals her helmet and clips her filter and steps through the hatch, brief breeze of equalizing pressure, scrubbers kicking up to deal with the dust as do the fans clipped into you. When the seals cycle Ezra hands you a styrette. “This’ll kill the nausea. Also you won’t be able to shit for a half-hand or so. It’s intramuscular” “I’ve given myself hot-shots before,” you slide your pants down and jab the styrette into the meat of your thigh. Ezra’s eyes flick away. “Cee’s funny about chemical help,” says Ezra, “Her father was an addict you see. He’d dope down and then stim awake and it scares her so-“

“Let’s just suit up and do the job,” you say, baring your back to Ezra so you can don the compression garments that go under your suit. The suit’s a custom-job to accommodate your breathers, filter clipped into a hose split and spliced three ways, clean air for your breathers to pass on to your dust-scarred lungs, and another than clips in to your helmet. Settle your mic-rig over your ear. “Channel two how read?” “Channel two clear,” says Cee. “Two clear,” says Ezra, odd doubling of his voice through your rig and through your helmet. And then the channel goes dead. Hollow thump of Ezra’s fishbowl pressed against yours. “Can we do a suit check right quick?” His voice muffled by his helmet and yours, “I think i’ve got it, but I’d like—“ “Turn around.” “Cee usually—“ “I’ve got it.” He turns his back to you and you lift the loose fabric off the back seal, two twist catches with hook and loop for the outer seal. You tighten the right side catch and smooth everything else into place. “Thank you,” he says, “You need checks?” “No, I’m green.” “They’re still here—“ Cee’s voice loud and overdriven through your rig and Ezra bolts for the hatch. You shove yourself into the nacreous light, Bakhroma hanging above, it’s curve spanning the sky like a diseased rainbow, pulsing through thick clouds and the endless fall of dust. “They’re dead, Birdie! Look! They’re just bones in suits. They can’t hurt us, okay?” You turn your back on them. Cee’s breath loud and ragged on two. “Okay,” says Cee, “M’okay—I just” “What the Kevva be-cursed fuck?” A plast box rises out of the tall grass, curled around in flowering vines inside and out, a skeleton inside seated on a small bench, glints of gold and bones stained a livid, unnatural pink. “He got back in the box,” says Cee, “Why would he do that? He let us go and then he got back in the box.” “Karoclan,” says Ezra, “An oblation I suppose.” Your neck prickles. “Those folk are fuckin crazy,” You press the back of your hand to your helm and push away, palm out, a gesture to dispel bad luck, can’t rightly remember where you picked it up. “Look,” says Cee,” standing in a bare, cracked circle of dirt, “This is where we boosted from. Must’ve baked out the soil.” “Hey. Let’s get the pull. We can get all nostalgic once we boost.” Ezra gives you a dark look, but Cee, bounds past and into the trench. “Ezra,” she says, her voice flat, even over coms. You and Ezra catch up to where she’s frozen, stone still, “He’s still here. Why is he still here? Why are they still here? It’s been almost a stand.” You push past Ezra and examine the sprawled and sagging suit, nudge the boxy helm with you boot, rotted breather hoses crumbling, dust floating up. “Are you gonna get your shit together or not?” Cee flinches. Glares at you through her fishbowl. Ezra scowls. “I hardly think—“ “I’m here to harvest,” you say, “And I will harvest, but I am not doing it alone unless you alter the split.” “You’re out of line, Kitten,” says Ezra, “You seem to have forgotten who’s hired you on for this venture—“ “It’s okay,” says Cee, “I’m okay. Third time pays for all, right?” “Third time pays for all,” says Ezra, “Clear.” “So lets dig,” says Cee, “Fuck these guys, right?” “Fuck ‘em.” you say, “We’re gonna get rich while these fellas feed the bugs for the next stand and change.”

The kips that came before you exposed the leading edge of the deposit, oxidized crusts shimmering in Bakhroma’s murky light. “They didn’t prime any of this?” “They didn’t know to do so,” says Ezra. “That one over there—“ Ezra jerks his head towards a blood colored suit with faux gold adornments glimmering through a twisted clutch of creeper-vines, “Got himself acid burned for his troubles.” “Dry breach.” “Something like.”

This is no hurried dig, this is no quick pull and boost, Jada has her heart set on atmo-skimming around the outer moons before hooking back up. Trying to break some record. Ezra hovers at first, flitting around the perimeter you’ve established, light poles stabbed into the boggy ground, and then gets drawn in to the excitement of the pull, peering over your shoulders as you and Cee work. Cee is a quick study, follows your instructions to the letter, and between her hands and yours? The size and clarity is like nothing you’ve seen. “This makes what we got last time around look like pea gravel,” you say. “We’re going to have a weight issue,” says Ezra. “Do we stop?” asks Cee. “Absolutely not,” says Ezra, “We keep pulling and take the highest grade with us. And then we chem-burn what ever we leave behind.” “That’s crazy!” says Cee. “Think on it,” says Ezra, “We burn it behind us and no one else can get ahold of these gems ever again. Not at the size and quality we’re pulling.” You split the fibrous outer husk and Cee squeezes in the diffuser without being asked, and you feel yourself smile. “The scarcity sets the price,” you say, “We’re the only folk who know about this deposit. No one will ever know we scorched it.” “But all these pearls—“ “No one knows about them,” says Ezra, “Only us and Jada and she can’t ever drop down here herself. And some hot jumper hits a bench blatting about buried treasure on a world they can’t touch? Only ads to the mystique and rarity, and the points in our accounts.” “Enough to get me into the Academy? You’re laughing,” she frowns at you, “why’re you laughing?” “Because this is fuck you money,” you say, “We play this right you can probably buy yourself a station-ring or five somewhere in Central. This is do whatever we want forever kind of money if we keep our heads.” “She’s right,” says Ezra, “We play the long game and there’ll be precious little we can’t do.” “Still want to go to the Academy” says Cee, peeling the outer husk away just like you showed her and backing off so you can cut the carom blisters, but there is a tub full of the biggest pearls you’ve ever laid eyes on hardening in the fazer. “And so you shall,” says Ezra. “You do this one.” “You sure?” “You’ve been watching me excise blisters all cycle. Give it a go.” Cee turns the pinkish mass one way and then another, jaw clenched in fraught concentration, trying to grip without touching the blister, the trick is to slide the blade under and cut it free from beneath, go in at the wrong angle and the cillia react, defensive mechanism. “What’re you gonna study at the academy?” You ask, and her face loosens up some, her hands do the work they’ve been trained in, pulls the inner husk tight and slides the blade under the blister. “I’m thinking a botany/anthropology double major,” she says, flicks the blister into the weeds like she’s done it a million times before. “Huh,” you say. “Interesting combination, Birdie,” says Ezra. “What ties the two together?” Cee slices another blister and flicks it away, brief curl of steam where it sizzles in the grass. “What doesn’t?” says Cee, “Why do people bring certain plants from one world to the next? You remember the orchard we saw on Verres? Someone planted those trees there. Don’t you wanna know who and why?” “Guess so,” says Ezra, “It was a bit creepy seeing all those trees in lines. Verres being classed unihabited and all.” “I’ve seen stuff like that too. Folks’ve been screwing around in The Great Arm for a long time-“ “Hey! Fazer!” Cee barks and you squeeze the fluid into the cut, watch the husk curl and shrink away. “There she is,” says Ezra and the three of you look at Cee’s prize, held aloft in the murky daylight, Bakhroma’s ruddy arc taking up most of the sky. “Not the best one we’ve pulled—“ “This one’s mine,” says Cee, snatches the squeeze and coats the pearl before tucking it into her suit pocket, slow smile creeping up her face, “This is my fuck you pearl. We make it out of here and I’ll use it as a paperweight if I get into the Academy.”

“When you get into the Academy,” says Ezra, and Cee rolls her eyes, and you feel yourself smile a little. You like Cee. “You should do one, Ezra,” says Cee, “You peel it down and I’ll hold it for you.” “I don’t think—“ “Give it a go,” you say, “Get yourself a fuck you pearl.”

Ezra eyes the exposed deposit, an irregular honeycomb of aurelac pores, dirt darkened to mud, sprayed water from the onboard tanks to rinse away the caustic slime. “In for a penny in for a pound,” he says, just loud enough for the mic rig to pick up and shoves his arm inside. His breath comes ragged over two. “Ezra?” “I’ve got it, birdie. It’s a big one,” he says, and Cee slices through the dirt flecked umbilicus. Ezra cradles his prize like a kitten then sets it on the tray. Cee gives it a good rinse like she’s been trained to, pinches the outer husk and rolls it between her gloved fingers, loosening it up from the inner husk so Ezra can cut. “It’s thick,” says Cee, “You got wiggle room. We got time. It’s not like before.” Ezra’s breath steadies and he cuts, splitting the fibrous husk, slow, careful movements, beads of sweat popping out on his brow. Cee peels the husk away, like taking off a sock and you douse everything with the diffuser. Ezra primes the blade, waits for it hit the right setting and then freezes, sharp edge glinting in the ugly light as his hand shakes. Cee wraps her hand around his wrist. “You’ve got this.” “Okie. Yeah. Let’s give her a go. Third time pays for all, right?” “Third time pays for all.”

One half-stand later…

Pain is the first thing, deep, sprained ache in your chest, thirst is second, thirst and taste in your mouth and nose like burnt rubber, third is a warm hand holding yours. Squeeze your fingers around a warm palm, around a plastic handle with a button on top that you press and then there’s no more ache, no more thirst, no more light shining blood ugly through your closed lids.

Later. You come back to yourself. The pain is less and the thirst is more. Slit your eyes and cram them shut, dark blob leaning over you haloed in screaming light, the hand holding yours lets go. oh, shit, let me douse the lights. And the bloodshine through your eyelids stops. Blink the tears out, and Ezra’s face resolves out of the dark his face pinched with worry. “Oh Kevva, I’m dead.” His eyes go big and then he brays laughter. “Fraid not, Kitten. Might not feel like it right now but the head nurse assured me that you’re healing well.” You close your eyes, and press the button that will kill the pain. “Why’re you here?” “Cee was worried. She keeps tabs on both of us. She couldn’t make it herself, she’s up to her eyeballs in her new school, she tested in and—“ Sleep is calling, the ache in your chest dying to a low hum. Why’re you really here? not sure if you say it or think it, and the drugs call you down before you can figure it out.

thirsty. “Can you sit? I’ve got you.” His arm curls warm around your back and tilts you up, plastic straw pressed against your lip and you drink deep, frigid water against your raw throat. “Slow sips,” says Ezra, “Don’t want to shock your stomach.” One arm holds you up, a hand offers you a cool drink. You blink your eyes open, confusion and cool water against your dry tongue wake you some, close your lips around the straw and drink deep before Ezra snatches it back, plastic bottle gripped in an intricately articulated prosthetic hand, burnished metal plating like the scales on a snake's belly, telltales and indicators winking, etched over with decorative grooves, circles and curves. Looks a bit like a nav map. “Slow,” he says. You narrow your eyes at him and swish the water around your mouth, trying to wash the dryness, the foul taste away before swallowing. “You didn’t go for a regrow?” Your voice sounds lower than usual, ratchety. Ezra shakes his head. “Too much nerve damage for that,” he says, “Scarring and time passed.” You reach for the bottle and he puts it in your hand “Slow,” you say before he can, “I know. Ezra, why are you here? You got your new arm, I got my breathers out and Cee’s got her schooling. We got the agreement set. Third time pays for all, so why are you here?” “Cause I did you dirtier than that cache of pearls could ever pay for,” says Ezra, “And you shouldn’t be all on your own right now.” You want to say something back, but you’re so tired, even the act of speaking has made you tired right down to your bones, chest and throat screaming in protest, and your eyes scrim over with tears. One escapes and Ezra strokes it aside with the pad of his thumb. “I pushed the call button, Kitten, they’ll be here soon.” “Not your fuckin Kitten,” you say as Ezra folds your hand warm in his, “Not your friend.” “I know.” i know.

#year of kisses #year of themes 2023 #yeah yeah it's 2024 #what am i supposed to do time travel about it?#ezra x f!reader with cee #prospect 2018 #prospect fanfic

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

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𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐀 — 𝐄𝐙𝐑𝐀 (𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓)

↳ summary: Abandoned by your prospecting crew, you team up with a fellow castaway to survive the hostile environment of Bakhroma.

↳ pairing: ezra (prospect) x f!reader

↳ [6.7k words] content: 18+ MDNI. Violence, injury, use of the name 'Little Bird' (canon), medical scenes. Fingering, riding, p in v sex, unprotected sex (ain't no condoms on a moon, girlie, but you better wrap up!), oral (f receiving). This is a @beskarbabs remaster — original post date 2021.

Ezra masterlist I| main masterlist |I join the taglist here

On your journey to Bakhroma, you'd heard an old wives' tale. Somewhat of a ghost story passed around the three-member crew during drunk nights while the long-haul space freighter floated in endless space. The unit said that other Prospectors that had survived the trip to the moon claimed that anyone who stepped foot in The Green was consumed with greed. How they were overcome with voracity upon the sight of the first Aurelac gem obtained, how Prospectors would literally kill for more of the obscure crystals, for the money that came from selling them, even just to be able to possess them for themselves. You had laughed.

How you wish you had taken them seriously.

Clutching your right arm in distress, you stumble through the foliage surrounding you on shaky legs. There's no denying the agony crawling up your arm in tendrils. You also lack oxygen, food, water and a weapon to protect yourself. Yet, you aren't as afraid of this as you are of the likelihood of other Prospectors wandering the forests. Given the traumatic event you managed to survive only hours ago, you could happily live the rest of your life without seeing another Prospector again, even if that shortened your life by force of circumstance.

Your crew, many of which you had grown up with, had stranded you on a hostile moon, of which its air was unbreathable, with little to no chance of survival. Despite the ache in the soles of your feet and the searing pain that shot through your arm with each step, this irrevocable fact left you numb: there was no accident. They'd abandoned you.

You didn't even observe when the atmosphere amongst the crew changed; it had all happened so fast. Having landed in the Drop Pod without incident and safely navigating The Green without needing to fire a single shot from the two Frontiersman guns you shared between the three of you, it had all gone so smoothly. Even the first Aurelac extraction had been successful.

If you were to pinpoint a moment you could pin the blame on for your fellow prospectors' change in attitude, it was when they first set their eyes on the crystal that they extracted from the hideous organism's membrane.

There was no way around it; everyone had become greedy. Their ridiculous ghost tale had manifested itself. They had harvested as many as was needed and then some more, and some more. The storage cases were overflowing and impossible to close without bursting at the seams. Some Aurelac gems were too big to fit into the case and had to be carried by hand.

When the time for harvesting was up, the group wandered back to the Pod. Maybe if you had been more observant and taken heed of the muted conversation, you could have avoided this mess entirely.

Upon returning to the Pod, the atmosphere had curdled. Stasya and Devi had control of the weapons since the very start of the mission, and you now found the barrels aimed at you. Stasya, the self-appointed leader of this expedition and all-around pretentious air-head, had decided upon leaving you on Bakhroma, initially claiming there wasn't enough weight capacity to take all three of you back home on the Pod.

"That is nonsensical, and you know it!" You'd insisted, wondering whether or not Stasya had secured her helmet correctly. She had to be going insane. Surely the toxic air had seeped into a crack in her armour-

"We have at least 140 pounds in Aurelac gems," she'd replied abruptly, her stance aggressive, "We need to leave you." You were in shock, bewildered by her statement. No matter how hard you tried to interpret her logic, it wasn't making sense...

"But we were cautious that we didn't pack too much equipment to ensure we had capacity for the harvest- I don't see how we could have breached the volume that we can't all make our way back safely," you contend, incredulous at her insinuation. When she didn't respond and instead aimed her Frontiersman Gun up between your eyebrows, your attention flitted to her overly-protective grip of the handle to the storage case in her free hand. Finally putting two and two together, you scoff, looking between Stasya and her power-grabbing number two, Devi.

"You are being ridiculous! We have an even split of the money we'll make from the gems-" You'd tried to plead for your life, well aware that abandonment on The Green was a definite death sentence. Devi interrupted.

"We get a much bigger cut if you're not involved," he pointed out rather callously. These two crew members, your friends, had been tainted by the very same greed they had forewarned in their ghost stories, passed on by other Prospectors, and were willing to sacrifice you for a shot at blood money.

Maybe it was the pressure of the situation, the rising panic in your stomach, but time seemed to slow down as the gravity of their plan for you began to set in. That same alarm sent you into fight mode.

It had all happened in what felt like a microsecond. Charging at Devi, you grabbed the gun in his hand with both of your own in a reckless attempt to foil their plan and turn the tables. You grit your teeth, straining at the exertion it took to try to pry his fingers from the weapon. Devi panicked, the gun slipping from his grip, and he began screaming at Stasya to do something.

She did.

She shot you in the arm, causing you to drop to your knees with a cry as you pawed at your wound with your palm. It burned white-hot, and you almost doubled over at how the pain pulsed from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Your vision had begun to blacken around the edges through the blurriness of the pained tears that welled in your eyes. Yet, despite your obvious distress, your agonising cries fell on deaf ears. Aiming his now secured gun at your head, Devi breathed heavily as he attempted to ease the shudder that wracked his body.

Adrenaline had coursed through you in your body's subconscious effort to numb the pain, and you rocked your torso backwards and forwards, battling the onset of unconsciousness. Through your astounding agony and the way your jaw throbbed from the strain of gritting your teeth as an anchor to ground you to reality, you'd managed to make sense of Stasya's final address to you.

"You should be grateful. We're allowing you to live. It's up to you whether or not you make an effort." She muses before turning on her heel and leaving you on the muddied floor of The Green, Devi following quickly behind her.

✰

You can't recall how long you've been staggering through the forests by yourself in your endeavour to find water. It's already hot in The Green, and your adrenaline spikes have caused you to sweat even more and edge you further towards dehydration, to the point your throat feels like sandpaper whenever you swallow. Whatever liquids you had drunk before leaving the Pod have now seeped through your pores, making your undersuit stick uncomfortably to your hot skin and your wound burns from the salt of your sweat.

Having lost all sense of direction some time ago, whether that was due to the ever-changing forest line or the pit of emptiness that sat in your stomach that growled in protest at the lack of nutrition in return for your bodies labour to trek across this forsaken moon, you are entirely disoriented.

You can't go on much longer like this. Not only are your vitals appearing utterly grim, but breathing has become much more challenging. You're running out of oxygen, and your lungs are beginning to ache. It begins crossing the threshold of uncomfortable, morphing into something akin to pain. You clutch at the fabric at the chest of your environment suit, struggling to maintain a calm disposition while also supporting the drive of a survival instinct.

You're so tired.

Despite your best efforts, anxiety and dread rip through your body and inundate your logical brain. You can feel your chest heave, the onset of a panic attack. You lurch forward in your hysteria, rushing in your despair to find something that could help. You aren't even sure what you are looking for, only that you're looking for something that would enable you to survive.

You see the fallen tree log at your feet, but the blind panic is so overwhelming that you don't have time to react. Pain racks up your ankle and calf as you trip over the damned thing, falling forward and rolling down a muddy hill. You're falling so fast that the trees and grass look like a green and brown smudge through the glass visor of your helmet, like some arcane painting. You hold your hands out to brace yourself, to stop yourself, but the mud is slippery, and there's nothing to grab onto until you reach the very bottom and come to a stop, groaning weakly at your arm's complaints.

You sit up slowly, hands braced on either side of your hips to keep balanced as you move in the soaking, sticky mud. Checking your oxygen supply, you have enough to last at least another 5 minutes. Then you'd have to rely on the air in The Green's atmosphere. A few hours of that would kill you. By your estimations, you had an hour to find shelter and breathable ai...

The view when you look up and take in your surroundings is breathtaking. Having landed in some kind of wide open valley, you have an uninterrupted view of the horizon the forest had once concealed. You're enclosed from behind with bright yellow wildflowers, the remnants of the flora in the woods you had quite literally tumbled out of, but what lays before you now is a beige-coloured wasteland surrounded by mountains. With no camouflage to hide behind, the skyline is perfectly clear. Suspended in the sky, much to your astonishment, is a colossal moon, similarly toned neutrals to the floor beneath you, but with brilliant splashes of rusty oranges and reds.

You're not sure whether it was the inevitable feeling of your life slipping away with each passing second or whether the sight before you is washing away all of your fear, but when you finally hear the hiss of your oxygen tank running out, you don't feel frightened. Pulling the latch on your helmet, you slowly remove it, noting the sting of the spores in your throat, the tickling in your lungs that reminded you the air on this globe was toxic. If this was how you were to die, at least you had a beautiful view.

So you sit back in the grass and mud, taking in the stunning view, and let time slip away. The absence of hope wasn't as petrifying as you had imagined; it was calming. So serene. In your moment of peace, you can't feel the pain in your arm despite it worsening over the hours of wandering aimlessly. It's a simple resignation, one that doesn't take much thought at all. You would return to the stars here and become a part of this ecosystem. While hostile, it's certainly gorgeous.

You tilt your head back, observing how the celestial bodies twinkle and frame the gargantuan moon in the sky. The breeze picks up slowly, tickling the skin of your exposed face and neck while the sun soothes and warms it.

When you cast your eyes behind you, taking in the expanse of your surroundings over your shoulder, you're jolted from the tranquillity and suddenly reminded of your dire situation. Not only is there an Aurelac cluster nestled in the grass to the left of you that you had narrowly avoided hitting during your fall, but there's also a person beside it dressed in an environment suit. They're staring, Boscelot Frontiersman gun aimed straight at you. Terror rips through your veins as you attempt to scramble to your feet.

"Wait, wait!" You gasp out, eyes wide as you put your hands out to show you aren't a threat. The sun reflects from the glass visor covering their head, preventing you from seeing the person's face. The suit is old. Keeping the gun aimed at you, they point to their radio, asking you to turn it on. You crouch slowly, pointing to your helmet to alert him that you must reach for it. He seems to understand, as he has no quarrel with you picking it up and slipping it onto your head. The rustling of the trees and gentle blow of the breeze cuts out when you're sealed in, and as you connect the radio, their voice echoes in the plastic chasm.

"You won't endure much longer if you persist without oxygen." It's a man. The voice is unexpected. It's low and laced with an attractively smoky tone. So smooth, it almost flows and ebbs with each word. You've never quite heard an accent like his, the twang new to your ears.

"I won't endure if you decide to shoot me either," you point out bitterly, mocking his extravagant phraseology. You've had enough of this planet having it out for you. Your lack of luck today was becoming almost humorous, but your limited patience certainly wasn't. Did it have to torment you like this? Why couldn't it finish you off quickly and not at the hands of another Prospector, considering you had already had enough of them too?

You hear a throaty chuckle at your mocking comment, though there's no humour to that either. The stranger keeps aiming his gun at you, taking a few steps forward. The sun, still reflecting from his visor, causes you to squint when it targets your eyes, hoping to see his face before he kills you.

"It appears that your words hold venom," he begins. You sneer slightly, already past the point of no return as far as you are concerned. He lowers the barrel of his weapon ever so slightly then, and you assume he's studying you.

"It has been quite some time since I heard the sound of a fellow human's voice," he laments, taking another step forward, "How nice it is to exchange utterances with someone who understands me." Had he not stepped out of the sun and revealed his face, you would have made some snotty remark about how you can't understand him anyway, his flamboyant verbiage creating a difficulty of comprehension. However, the sun's rays don't extend this far, and the moment his face is revealed, you find yourself stunned into a shocked silence.

Given the age and weathering his environment suit shows, he's younger than you would have expected. A beige-green colour with notes of black, he had been completely hidden among the leafage. His jaw is square, covered with dark brown stubble and a moustache on his upper lip that he's miraculously maintained well, given his situation. After all, you could safely assume there wasn't an endless supply of razors on the moon.

From what you can gather from his face, his skin tone is honeyed, and his aquiline nose is subtle though the bridge does arch enough to be noticeable from this distance. He's rather handsome.

You're so focused on his face that you almost wholly overlook that his right sleeve is knotted just below his shoulder, indicating he has lost his right arm. So many questions cross your mind, but the predominant query is... How had he survived even a second in this environment with only one arm?

"Though," he continues, disrupting your evident surprise, "It would also appear you have been impaired. What happened, Little Bird?"

Discounting his name for you, you consider your answer carefully. How would he react to knowing that you had come to harvest Aurelac? Is that what he's here for too? The likelihood of him seeing you as a threat to his harvest and killing you was more feasible than letting you go. But you're running out of time, and your lungs are screaming from the intake of a toxic atmosphere. So you decide upon the truth.

"My crew-mates shot me," you admit stiffly, coughing from the strain the spores are putting your body through, "We came to harvest Aurelac, but they left me behind. Wanted to split the harvest between the two of them."

The man standing before you considers your words, his expression unreadable. You're sure he's about to shoot you. A second bout of coughs breaks the tense air, making him relax a little.

"So the other Little Birds flew the nest and left you behind," he muses, watching you struggle with a quirk of his lips. He seems to take a moment to think about something before asking you another question.

"Are you..." A pause. "Are you out of oxygen?" He asks, nodding his head to your helmet. Despite what you think is a pretty obvious answer, you nod weakly. He lowers his gun.

"Will you be able to walk? You took quite the tumble." He fucking saw that?! Just how long had he been watching you?

Again, you nod, wondering where he plans to take you, given his miniature inquisition. He slings his gun over his shoulder and holds his only palm out to you.

"Hand me your oxygen tube," He orders, curling his fingers in and out for emphasis. You stumble awkwardly on your injured ankle, grabbing the tubing and making your way over to him. Despite your better judgement, you are willing to trust him. Your urgency for aid outweighs any wariness you have for him. The man takes the tube from your palm, feeding it into his oxygen tank with ease. The surge of fresh air into your lungs and the instant relief from the burning brings you solace.

"We need to revert to my Pod. Can you make the journey?" He asks of you, commanding the situation flawlessly. You nod again, at a loss for words at this man's generosity. Finally, he turns his back to you, leading the way back up the hill you fell from. It's a struggle, especially given the slickness of the mud, but the stranger manages to help you up with little effort despite his handicap.

"You can't keep the lesion exposed to the air like that. The spores contaminate it," he continues to make conversation. You're not sure if you're thankful for the silence being broken or want him to remain quiet, but you listen to him regardless. "It will make you feel bilious, and then it poisons the tissue in the arm... Resulting in necrosis." He's far too knowledgeable in the effect of Bakhroma's spores on the limbs for you not to think that is what caused the lack of his own. It spills from your lips before you even have the chance to stop it.

"Is that what happened to yours?" You blab. He doesn't stop walking. In fact, he doesn't answer your question at all.

"I'm Ezra," is all he states, his way of an answer, you suppose. The silence following is arduous and highly discomforting, considering Ezra just told you there was a likelihood of your arm turning black and dying due to the exposure to spores. It's now that you make the decision that you wish he hadn't spoken at all.

Without a response, Ezra answers instead, amusement in his tone ringing throughout the tense atmosphere.

"You're innominate? I guess I'll stick to calling you Little Bird then," he muses, once again leaving you stunned by his use of vocabulary. He's like a walking thesaurus, spouting words you've never heard before and blindsiding you with his knowledge of language. You are so blinded that you miss his asking for your name.

At this point, the blissful feeling of reassurance hits you like a tonne of bricks. The Pod is just ahead of you now, and you have to chew on the inside of your cheeks to prevent the sting of tears of consolation from devolving into full-fledged sobs. Not five minutes ago, you had truly convinced yourself that you would die. Now safety is just within your reach.

Ezra moves forward and opens the hatch for you, helping you inside. It's not large, but it's just spacious enough for you not to feel claustrophobic. The first thing you notice is that it has been kept very neat, almost to the detriment of a homely feel, as the steel-grey walls, floor and ceiling give off an almost hospital feel. There are few of his things on display, and you just assume he keeps most of his possessions in storage.

There is one thing that catches your eye, though. Despite the almost solitary cleanliness of the Pod, there are two cot beds. One is neatly made, pillows put into place, and covers smoothed out so there are little to no wrinkles. The other is messy, with pillows askew and covers pushed into a crumpled mess in the left-hand corner of the mattress. You glance back at Ezra, who's entering the Pod from behind you.

"We need to execute the procedure to preclude infection, Little Bird. Sit down. You may remove your helmet in here too." He orders, pointing to the neatly made bed as your seat. You do as he says without question, sitting down cautiously and taking off the crash helmet as he makes his way over to storage, riffling through whatever was in the containers. You need to fight the urge to cry again with the relief of the strain of your body weight on your feet, having been wandering for hours amongst harsh terrain.

Ezra returns to you, med kit in hand. He lays it down next to you on the bed, removing his helmet now that his hand is free. Of course, you had seen his brown hair back in the valley, but you hadn't noticed the little blonde tuft at the front of his hairline. It's cute and gives him somewhat of a boyish charm. He takes this moment to give a weak smile.

"I need you to disrobe from the environment suit. Do you require my assistance?" He asks you, tilting his chin to your arm. You're so taken aback, probably overwhelmed and exhausted from the extremity of the events that had unfolded so quickly that you find yourself at a loss for words. Once again, you merely nod, accepting his offer of help gratefully.

You use the hand of your healthy left arm to pull down the zipper on the front of your environment suit, while Ezra works to pull down the shoulder from your right. He's vigilant in ensuring the collar doesn't catch on your wound on its way down. Then, working together, you unpeel the suit from your torso until it hangs around your hips, your sleeveless body glove exposing the blast to the outside of your bicep.

You decide not to look at it.

"Will it hurt?" You finally speak to him, and Ezra's eyes move to your face momentarily. He seems to consider his answer carefully while he raises his wrist to his mouth, ripping the velcro of his gloves and pulling them off with his teeth. He takes the item of clothing, laying it neatly on the bed beside the med kit.

"I'll do my utmost to keep your discomfort to a minimum," is his reply. While it does nothing to quell your initial fears, you appreciate his honesty and consideration. You look around the room, trying to find something to focus on as Ezra works through the med kit, taking out whatever he needs to start the procedure.

"Remember to breathe," he murmurs, his voice suddenly very soft. It causes chills to break out across your skin, even though the fear of pain is causing you to sweat. Inhaling slowly, you feel your lungs expand in your ribcage to the point it grows tight before exhaling again, fixating on the sensation to distract yourself from the pain.

"Hey," he whispers softly, pulling your focus back. You glance up at him through your lashes and find him gazing back at you. His expression is tense and cautious. He doesn't want to hurt you, yet the inevitability traps a sense of trepidation between you. Deep-rooted panic settles in the pit of your stomach, making your blood rush through your veins quicker.

"Look me in the eyes," he takes your chin now, holding it a little tighter with his fingertips to ground you. Your eyes probably gave away your internal panic.

You nod weakly, looking to catch his eyes and-

And time just stops.

It's humiliating; you know you would be blushing if you said it aloud. His irises are a deep and warm earthy-brown, as though Ezra had spent so much time amidst the rich soils and thick mud here that it had almost become a part of him. Looking into those eyes, you felt like you were orbiting around him. Maybe the spores had left you with irreversible brain damage from the very little time that you had your helmet off in the valley, or perhaps he was quite possibly the most handsome man you had ever seen.

Once he notes that you're holding his gaze and breathing steadily, he sets to work. You hear him pick up something from the kit, a top popping from it. He hesitates for a moment but holds your gaze still.

"This will sting," he admits. There's a splash of a lukewarm liquid before the burning starts. You grit your teeth, straining against the scorching sensation. It prickles, an intense itching following that is so bad you feel your toes curl in your leather boots. Yet, you maintain eye contact. You cling to the empathy that's there and appreciate his understanding.

He lays down the tube, eyes flicking down for just a moment to pick up an item. A Patch Gun. Ezra stares back at you, pulling the stopper with his teeth and lining up the nosel with the wound.

"Breathe in," he commands, and you do. You breathe so hard and fast that your sternum aches with the strain. The sound of medicated foam being released from the Patch Gun reaches your ears before the pain does. When it hits you, you release the air in your lungs with a strained whine, squeezing your eyes shut as the agony rips through you. Like the initial wound, it seers white hot, spiralling down your arm to your fingertips and up your neck muscles. Your jaw is tight, tears springing to your eyes.

"Good girl," Ezra soothes you, pulling the patch gun away from your arm. Leaning back into the searing torment, you moan as he helps you to lay back against the mattress to ride out the peak. It's not long until the intensity slowly ebbs away until you're blinking your eyes open to find he's putting the stuff back into the kit box to lay back into the storage containers. You can see the peripherals of your vision pulsing rapidly, skin buzzing all over as you come down from the tense and excruciating high.

Time seems to both slow and accelerate in this mid-conscious state. What feels like hours passing by is probably only a few seconds, but you're exhausted. That fatigue catches up with you so fast that you barely have the chance to catch it before your eyelids droop. Sheets pull up to your shoulders, and their comfort is enough to finally push you to slumber.

✰.

There's a suspended moment when you ease back into consciousness. You are aware that you're awake, but keep your eyes closed in an attempt to fall back into unconsciousness. A dim thrumming in your bicep pulses with each beat of your heart inside your chest. It's not painful, just unpleasant. You pull your eyebrows together slightly, your other senses finally beginning to awaken with you.

You can hear Ezra moving around in the Pod, searching for something in the storage containers. You blink your eyes open slowly, still curled up on your side. He's just ahead of you. Having shucked his environment suit, he's dressed in a deep camo-green, long-sleeved shirt tied just beneath his amputation and a pair of grey sweatpants. You can't help but feel like you're imposing on his privacy, seeing him dressed so casually and watching him walk around his own space.

"Ezra?" You croak his name. He glances up quickly from what he's doing, eyes settling on you. He looks relieved, eyes crinkling around the edges as he smiles at you.

"You awoke! Do you need liquids?" He asks, pacing his way over to you. He leans over the bed, placing the back of his palm on your forehead to feel your temperature— though you're certain he gets a reasonably inaccurate reading. The moment his honeyed skin touches yours, your cheeks heat up as your heart hammers in your chest. You're not sure why his presence is suddenly so debilitating for you, but when he looks expectantly into your eyes for an answer to his question, you swear your brain short-circuits.

"Yes, please," your voice is raspy from the lack of use, and your throat aches as the words pass your lips. He smiles that same smile again, rendering your heart almost completely useless before he turns on his heel to grab you a glass of water.

You know exactly where this is coming from. Your very sudden attraction to him comes from months of loneliness. While your abandonment by your crew had come as a shock, it certainly wasn't a surprise. They had always been much closer and would go days without acknowledging your existence if you didn't make an effort to talk to them. Maybe this had been the plan all along?

Regardless, despite being in the presence of other people, your isolation had made you utterly starved of touch, needy for attention. Along came Ezra, coming to your aid and focusing all his consideration on you.

Stars above, you were desperate. Shockingly so.

You look up, seeing him stroll over with a cup of water in tow. He settles himself down on the bed, laying the cup on the bedside table to hold your waist as he helps you to sit up in bed. You're almost sure he doesn't mean to, but his fingertips brush the slither of skin exposed between your undershirt and your bottoms. It sends a tremor up your spine. It's so intense you swear you can feel it on the crown of your head.

"You had me concerned, Little Bird," He smiles, passing the water over to you, "But you're out of the woods now." Ezra sounds almost as relieved as you feel. He keeps his gaze on your bicep for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he plans his following few sentences. Nothing acceptable seems to come to mind, so he remains silent, the unspoken words hanging in the air and causing a thick tension between you as you sip at the water.

You cast your own gaze upon his arm, or lack thereof. The questions in the valley swarm your mind again, much louder in the silence than they had been at that moment.

"Did you amputate it yourself?" You work up the courage to break the stillness with a whisper, and once again, he casts his eyes upon your face. You'd known him less than thirty waking minutes, yet you had already reconciled multiple things you admired in him. His smile, his hair, his use of vocabulary.

However, it was how he looked at you when he spoke to you; how he gave his full attention and hung on every word was your favoured attribute. It may be that those spores *had* caused some form of irreversible damage to your brain chemistry...

"No," he chuckles, fingertips moving to brush at the stump of his arm underneath the fabric, "No, it was my companion who dismembered it." You sense almost a fragility hidden deep beneath his extravagant persona. It doesn't take a genius, a person with Ezra's knowledge of dialect, to see that the unspoken words indicated the partner he spoke of was no longer with him.

You try to steer away from what appears to be an emotional subject for him, deciding upon another question to ask.

"What made you decide to help me?" The query falls from your lips so easily. Ezra's own quirk up slightly.

"Your candid account of what you had experienced touched me deeply. Had you told me a differing narrative, I wouldn't have been so lenient," he admits to you, those earthy orbs finding flitting between your own once more. You swear he's doing it on purpose now.

"But I empathise with you. Many moons ago, I found myself in your state of affairs, my own crew deserting me. Words and metal were exchanged, and I found myself alone on this very same celestial body with no help." His hand takes your own, brushing his thumb along your knuckles as he speaks.

"I was hoping I could be of service to you, help you in your moment of need... You might help me in mine." You pause, taking in those words with surprise. Help him? What could a man who had survived an extended time in such a hostile environment, alone and with only one arm, possibly need your help with?

Ezra turns his hand slowly, his knuckles brushing up your forearm absentmindedly as he talks. Yet, for a man so equipped to be savage and cruel, he also managed to maintain a very soft, gentle side.

"I lost my partner," he confirms. There's a tender, mournful look in his gaze. "I met her not unlike I met you in the valley. She was heedful but intrepid. An astonishing companion..." He trails off slowly, that pain finally reaching his expression as he gathers himself.

"I miss having a partner. I'm half the man I once was and can no longer defend myself adequately. I require a confidante and associate." He looks expectantly at you.

"You're asking me to stay?" You question, your surprise reaching your voice. Was he always this trusting? Or was it simply because you were both stuck here regardless?

"Yes. Truth be told, I miss the company. Besides, how could I turn down your companionship when you are as bewitching as you appear?" He muses, a smirk spreading across his lips as you let out a bemused laugh.

"Are you saying I'm pretty?" you grin, unable to hold your overwhelming attraction to his charms. He just nods slowly, tracing his palm up your bicep and over your neck until he's teasing at the skin stretching across your jaw's bone with his thumb. He's methodical in his strokes, almost contemplative.

"After all, it's not as though you could leave without oxygen," he points out teasingly, but the smile slides from his face almost as quickly as it pulls up. The air is charged around you, a pull so strong you're convinced that Ezra can feel it too.

You begin to wonder if Ezra was as desperate, as touch starved and deprived of affection and care as you are.

"How long have you been alone?" You manage to force through the quiet between you. His thumb trails beneath your jaw again, the pad tenderly outlining the column of your throat. You swear your heart is beating hard enough for him to feel it beneath your skin, but you do your best not to draw attention to it.

"Some six to eight months. I lost track after the fourth," he admits his voice a murmur. Those deep globes flick back up to yours, considering the expression they hold, reading your sympathetic gaze. His lips curve into a small, meek smile, very unlike the personality he'd displayed to you. But Ezra was such an open book; you felt you knew everything you needed to know about him already.

In a universe, so advanced and technological, science had been able to explain away every form of mystery and coincidence that humanity had ever thought up. But there was something about Ezra, the way he had stumbled into your life and saved your own, that made you feel like this was some sort of fate. Destiny. He was meant to find you.

You're bold with your next move, moving your unhindered arm up to place your palm over Ezra's wrist, forcing him to take you by the throat. He looks surprised at first, looking between where he held you and your expression. You can see the number of questions running through his mind slip away as you lean forward.

There's this moment of suspense between the two of you, your chest so tight as you find your breath escaping your lungs a little heavier than a moment ago. Your lips are so close, millimetres away. You can taste him on your tongue, can smell a citrusy scent. It's oddly like oranges, sweet and tangy. Those lips you're so needy for tilt upwards, smirking at the drawn-out wait of you psyching yourself up to make a move.

"I wouldn't leave even if I had oxygen," you sound hushedly. It wipes that grin off of Ezra's face, the implication of your words not having time to sink in before you're pressing your lips to his in a desperate kiss, so full of tender and agonising need that wholly consumes the both of you.

He squeezes his palm around your throat, not enough to choke you but enough to apply light pressure, and uses the leverage to pull you into a deeper kiss. His lips are soft, barely exposed to fresh air due to the ventilation in the Pod and the constant covering of his helmet. It's intoxicating, and you find yourself slipping so fast into this heated embrace that you forget to breathe entirely.

Ezra leans you against the mattress slowly, trailing his palm down your side ever so gently despite the heated frenzy of your lips. He's highly aware of the bruising you sustained during your fall in the valley, and in any other moment, you would have been overwhelmed by his consideration, but he tastes so sweet on your tongue that you cannot help but lose yourself to him. You're certain Ezra can feel you melt into his touch as his tongue traces the plush of your lips, groaning softly as he allows his hands to explore the heat of your skin.

He begins with feather-light touches on your hip, squeezing gently to test for sore spots before he adds pressure to his grip. You hum in appreciation into his mouth, your fingers trailing through the dishevelled brunette curls at the side of Ezra's temple before working their way to the nape of his neck and taking root there.

Brushing his palm up your abdomen slowly, Ezra's fingerprints map the ridges and bumps of your muscles and the bones of your ribs. He moulds his lips against yours in a softer kiss before pulling away, smirking as he feels your ribcage expand with a sudden gulp of air.

"You need to respire in order to survive, Little Bird." he mutters, the pad of his thumb brushing the underside of your breast, "Don't say I've restricted your ability to perform a basic human function." You giggle breathlessly, appreciating him trying to break down the intensity of the situation as he presses a delicate kiss to the tip of your nose, between your brows while he waits for you to catch your breath again.

"May I touch?" He asks you, ensuring that it's what you want. You nod feebly, finding yourself at a loss for all words apart from those that sounded like you were pathetically begging. Your skin buzzes as his palm cups your breast, squeezing gently.

"You are just heavenly," he murmurs into your ear as you tilt your head back with a soft moan. It's been so long since you were last touched by someone else that every skim of his skin against yours sparks embers of heat beneath it. He groans softly as he feels your nipples harden under the fabric of your undershirt. Only then do you notice the strain his body is under, having only his elbow to balance.

"I can-" you pause to consider how you want to put this, "I could get on top." There's a break in his purposeful movements, almost as though his brain has buffered at your words. Swallowing a moan that he manages to catch in his throat, Ezra nods quickly and turns to lie on his back.

The dynamic changes almost instantly as you straddle his hips. You can feel the atmosphere change around you, as though the ambience shifts and clicks into place. When Ezra's hand finds your hip, you feel empowered. So you lean over, kissing him with a hunger that allows him to experience your breathlessness.

A soft whine escapes you as you feel his hips shift, the stiff bulge in his sweats brushing against your clit through the pants of your environment suit that he had left on you when you fell asleep. The friction, mixed with the tension in the air, seems to unlock a primal side to Ezra. He leans up suddenly, pressing open and sloppy kisses to your throat. He's nipping and sucking on your skin as you fumble with the waistband of your environment suit to push it over your hips.

Quickly pulling your legs out of your clothes, you're left in only your undershirt and underwear. Ezra pulls you back over his hips, grinding up against you and letting out a groan that almost reverberates in his chest. You're both grabbing at each other in your desperation, months of pent-up frustration and lack of intimacy fuelling the both of you with little thought.

As he continues his ministrations to your neck, you pull down his sweats, easing them over his hips. You can't help but pause as you reveal his cock, Ezra having decided not to wear underwear beneath his sweatpants. He presses another open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, teeth brushing your skin with the smug smirk that spreads across his face.

"What's the hold u- oh fuck-" he chokes out as you brush your clothed cunt over his exposed crotch. He grips your hip hard, pupils expanding until the earthy brown of his iris' are almost entirely swallowed by them at the feeling of your slick leaking through your cotton underwear and streaking across the length of his dick.

"My sweet... Let me..." He trails off, his thumb hooking underneath your underwear and pushing them to the side. You can feel him brush against your pussy lips, your thighs shaking at the heat that settled between them. Then, before you even have the chance to beg for his touch, he's brushing his fingers through your folds and spreading your slick up to your clit.

You jolt at the sudden pleasure that arcs up your spine, head lolling back as the feeling practically liquifies you. Ezra is rubbing your clit with his print in small, tight circles, and you swear you could cum right there. But, almost as quickly as he starts, you must stop him, grabbing his hand and pinning it to his side.

"Little Bird, why can't I touch y-?" He cuts off as you lift yourself, sinking down onto his cock slowly. He squeezes his eyes shut, throwing his head back against the pillows and practically tearing up as he feels your cunt flutter around him at the stretch.

"E-Ezra," you splutter his name, bracing your hand on his chest and digging your nails into the sun-kissed skin to the point pink blooms underneath. He's stretching you so wide it's almost like he's splitting you in half, enough for you to need to spread your legs wider in order for you to feel like you can take him all.

"Good Girl— so good. Just a little more," he coos, kneading the tips of his fingers against your hip to ease you. Sucking in a deep breath, you sink yourself down to the hilt, whimpering at the intense stretch and the delightful sparks of pleasure that come with it. His cockhead is spearing up against something that makes your thighs tremble.

"Hah, ah..." You try to steady yourself against his hips, only rocking them slightly as you adjust to his size. He's gazing up at you like you're the most dazzling gem he'd ever seen, pupils tinged with enough awe and reverence to make you feel like you are some kind of goddess.

You begin to grind into him, a chorus of moans and gasps falling from your mouths as bliss spreads through you. You can already hear your blood rushing in your ears, your heart pounding in your chest so hard you swear you can feel your ribs crack. He's filling you up so well, hitting that spot in you with each bounce of your hips.

"Brighter than the stars, Little Bird- Fuck, you're so beautiful," Ezra growls, using his grip on your hip to rock them harder against his. Meanwhile, you're speechless. Your mouth is agape, panting out with a squeak every time he fills you up to the hilt repeatedly. It's all happening so fast and building so much that you could scream.

That's when Ezra switches his position, hoisting you up slightly as he plants the heels of his feet into the mattress. You sob loudly, tears of excruciating ecstasy slipping down your face. They drip from your chin as he grabs your ass, kneading it and using its leverage to bounce you on his cock. He's pounding into you, his dick hitting your cervix with each thrust.

"Ezra- Ezra, that's hah- that's-!" You wail, eyelids slipping shut as you focus on chasing your pleasure with each sway of your hips, making sure the head of his cock hits that mind-numbing spot inside you that just makes your toes curl.

Your focus is broken when Ezra grabs your chin, dragging your face forward so your noses bump together. Your eyes fly open in surprise.

"You're going to look at me when you cum," he orders, voice indicating this wasn't up for negotiation. You couldn't find it in you to argue anyway, completely cockdumb from the way he fucks you. When he sees that you're pliant, he resumes absolutely destroying you, relying on the relaxation of your body to allow him to thrust his hips into you without using his hand on your hips. He keeps his fingers under your chin but slips his thumb past your kiss-swollen lips and into your mouth, ordering you to suck.

You hollow your cheeks around his digit, running your tongue over the ridges of his thumb print as you keep eye contact with him. He growls out, losing himself in the fervency.

Abandoning that thought, he rushes to remove his hand from your face and press it to your abdomen. He moans out, delighting in feeling his cock slip in and out of your cunt. He can feel the rippling of your muscles and skin with the force he's using to pound into you. Every ridge of his cock adds to the overwhelming feeling as he moves in and out of you, the pressure he's applying to your pubic bone enough to launch you to your orgasm, but then he begins ruinous thrusts that knock your cervix and that sweet spot inside that have your legs turning to jelly with a scream.

You cum so hard that white blooms across your eyes, splitting you down the middle and pulsing devastatingly between your thighs. It sends heat from the bottom of your feet to the top of your head in gentle waves. Tilting your head back, you sob as he continues to thrust in and out, to ruin you completely.

He's babbling, voicing gorgeous and heartwarming compliments, but you're unable to discern them, still in the peak of your orgasm as it just builds and almost reaches a point of rapture that has you in pain. It's when you slam your fist against Ezra's sternum in an attempt to pull yourself from the earth-shattering orgasm that you hear him yell out, painting your fluttering walls with his cum. His thighs tremble, and you fall against his chest, fighting to drag air into your lungs to rid your eyes of the black spotting in your vision.

You lay there for a while, feeling like you're spinning despite your head securely resting on Ezra's shoulder. Your muscles were so tense from your orgasm that it now feels like they're melting into the mattress, seeping through and dripping out of the bottom and onto the floor of the Pod. You feel entirely liquified.

Then he's turning you both over gently, using his hand to brace the back of your head before it hits the mattress and gently laying it down with your body. You whine from the loss of contact, assuming he's getting out of bed or going to redress.

So when he dips his head between your thighs, brushing his tongue through your folds to taste the mix of your cum together, you can't help the moan of shock, overstimulation seeping down your thighs and pools in the base of your spine. He focuses his assault there, swirling the tip of his tongue around your clit until you're sobbing once more.

On your journey to Bakhroma, you'd heard an old wives' tale. Somewhat of a ghost story passed around the three-member crew during drunk nights while the long-haul space freighter floated in endless space. The team said it had been passed down from other Prospectors who had survived the moon trip. They claimed that anyone who stepped foot in The Green was subjugated by greed. While Aurelac gems definitely pleased Ezra, it appeared he found the treasure between your legs much more valuable...

join the taglist here

@xwing-baby , @mybugboy , @pansa-1-san , @pedrosprincess , @cosm1c-babe , @lil-stark , @heart-atttack @crybaby-blue-blog, @ssimelttilgniht @2pacacabra @pauldanosgf @leithatnight @kirsteng42 @dindjarinsmut @s0ftgabby @milly-louise @aynsleywalker @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @uncassettodiricordi @howellatme @mortallyuniquepeach @maviee @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @stvrlights-world @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @girlofchaos @s-u-t @pintsizedsunshine @djarin-dreams @Malici0usPuff1n @solidly-indulgent @bii-aan-ckaa

#ezra x female reader #ezra x you #prospect #prospect movie #prospect 2018 #cee prospect #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fics #pedro pascal x y/n

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nerdieforpedro · 18 days

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Interlude Two - Tell me about Her (during chapter 6)

Ezra (bayou AU) x Seraphina (plus size OFC)

Word Count: 532

Summary: Cee calls to check in on Ezra. He's different, in a good way.

Warnings: fluff between Cee and Ezra

Notes: A small insert to explore Ezra's and Cee's relationship. I like it, it's cute.

Main Masterlist/ Ezra Masterlist/ The Lake Between Us Series

She had called to check on him, he answered as usual and sounded - chipper. It was good, weird to hear, but good. He also called out a name, ‘Moonbeam’ and told her that he was stepping outside for a bit. Also strange, in her formative and teenage years, Cee could count on one hand the number of women she’d seen leaving his room. He’d been rather careful about that. She asked who ‘Moonbeam’ was and he told her that she was someone he was getting to know. When Cee called the following week, ‘Moonbeam’ was now ‘Sundrop’ since it was still daylight out, he stepped into his bedroom, and she was helping him to sleep better, finding comfort with her by his side. On the third week when she called, Cee heard the elusive ‘Moonbeam’s’ voice for the first time. Apparently this week, Ezra had not stepped in another room or outside. She was nearby, laughing at something he likely had been saying when picking up the phone. Her voice sounded gentle and it made the university student smile. Sly old dog. Cee thought to herself as they spoke, Seraphina as she learned her name was from Ezra telling her goodnight before she departed.

“You old coot. Where did you find a nice lady like that?” Ezra hears a shrill laugh over the phone.

“How do you know she's nice Birdie? I haven’t told you anything about her.” The gentleman shakes his head.

Cee scoffs. “You’ve mentioned her for three weeks in a row, each week you keep increasing her importance. And I know unless there’s a point to be made, you don’t use names. Which you made sure without fail to tell her goodnight and to stay safe. Something I’ve never heard you do for a person who isn’t me.”

“It seems I will continue not to suffer a fool. I taught you well. Moonbeam is important to me, that I will confirm. She is quite…alluring.” Cee chuckles and so does Zora who’s been listening in the background. “Good evening Zora. You both can continue in your laughs. I’ll call back when you finish.”

“Wait! Wait! Sorry for laughing. It’s just who says that? I know that’s not the only thing about her, otherwise, you wouldn’t be bothered.”

“You are correct. You will find out when you meet her, the next time you come to visit.”

“Does she know that?”

“She will soon.” Cee gave a soft hum in agreement, having never heard Ezra speak like this. She had never thought he would sound sweet to her but he did. It was a very good thing she surmised and they spoke about his tours and her classes. Cee was studying business and taking some cooking classes along with Zora. Ezra told her she didn’t need to pay for that, he could teach her on home visits. They both laughed about that, knowing that Ezra never measures anything when cooking so it’s extremely difficult to teach.

Once off the phone, Cee discussed things with Zora, and settled on this being a very good thing. He sounded a lot better and she was excited to meet the woman inspiring such change in him.

Chapter six Chapter seven

Taste-testers of Ezra’s gumbo 🍤: @rav3n-pascal22 @maggiemayhemnj @morallyinept @survivingandenduring @bonezone44 @magpiepillsjunior @yorksgirl @gemmahale @missredherring @missladym1981 @alltheglitterandtheroar @megamindsecretlair @readingiskeepingmegoing @pedroshotwifey @tinytinymenace @inept-the-magnificent @vivian-pascal @jessthebaker

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #ezra prospect #Ezra prospect x ofc #Ezra prospect and Cee #Cee #The Lake between us #Nerdie fic

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grogusmum · 7 months

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Noodling with an idea...

Ezra had been hoboing and riding the rails for a long time all over the U.S. after the Crash. Traveling companions came and went. Along the way, he picked up a girl to care for... then a factory accident took his arm, and Floating became that much more challenging.

So, Ezra and Cee make their way to the Northeast to seek a new way of getting along. Their travels, assisted by signs left by other hobos, lead them to you, a woman with a kind, though not unbruised, heart...

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect x f!reader with cee #ezra and cee #prospect au

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 8 months

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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

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all-the-things-2020 · 5 months

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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

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artemiseamoon · 4 months

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Preview: A light at the end of the tunnel

Ezra x ofc , ft Cee

Words: 3,140

December entry for Artes’s Year of Whump ( and fluff) @yearofcreation2023

Summary: As Ezra struggles post recovery, Cee plays cupid and finds his lost love.

Warnings: recovery, depression, loss of a limb

An: This is the official end of Arte’s Year of Whump. It was so fun, thank you yearofcreation! I know I missed some months, but glad I could close out December. I love this story so much, it’s open for later expansion. More notes at the end…

Preview below, read in full on A03 (account holders)

Sunlight peeked through the curtains, sending rays of light across the bedroom. This might be the first time he’s woken up before sunset in weeks.

His eyes settled on his new arm. It was still a strange feeling, having a robotic limb. But it did provide a small comfort as the loss of his arm, on top of everything else, sent him into the darkest place he’d been in years. Ezra told himself, he didn’t need a replacement, he would learn his way with one arm, and be just fine. He’s a man who weathered many storms. But he found his phantom arm haunted him. His mood, his self-esteem, and his sense of purpose all plummeted.

Ezra sat up with a groan and followed the scar on his torso with his eyes. Sometimes he could still feel that jab, sometimes he woke up in a sweat thinking it was happening all over again. He’s endured worse, he’s gone toe to toe with no hesitation with some of the meanest, more dangerous men and beasts one could face. Still, the events on the Green haunted him the most. Sometimes he could still hear that disturbing music in his ears.

Ezra died twice on that noxious moon; when he lost his arm, and when he was stabbed. But he was revived too. Cee, bless her heart, dragged back some version of him to civilization, a shell of him he didn’t recognize. The price of that job was the highest he’s ever paid; one he was still paying for now.

Ezra coughed as he rummaged the surface of the nearby table, then he found it, the recent letter from Cee.

Keep reading on A03

No tags

A03: Artemiseamoon (u need an account to read my work)

@artemiseamoon-updates

More Ezra

✨✨✨

About this year long challenge:

Works from this challenge that have more to come:

1. Is this how it ends? Turned into a full fic, we are on chapter 4 or 5 now and it's ongoing.(TF, dark Santi, ofc)

2. Dial up the Jack, Dim the Whiskey will have a part two. (Agent Whiskey, ofc)

3. The thing about second chances will have a part two.

Stay tuned by subscribing to those fics.

#Ezra #Ezra x ofc #ezra prospect #cee prospect #artes year of whump #year of creation 2023 #fic: a light at the end of the tunnel

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morallyinept · 8 months

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

PART 1

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Puppet - @jksprincess10 Sub!Ezra

Focus - @leslie-lyman

Ezra Drabble Part 1, Part 2 & Part 3 - @toxicanonymity Dark!Ezra

Safe In My Arms - @mishasminion360

More - @ezrasbirdie

Speechless - @sneetsnootyoit M!Reader GN!Reader

Appropriate Reactions - @wannab-urs

Heat, Taste & Ache - @ezrasversion

Fallen Star - @fake-bleach Dark!Ezra

Akrasia - @sp00kymulderr

Ezra Masterlist - @sp00kymulderr More Ezra To Choose From!

Loquacious - @pedros-mustache

Ezra Sunbathing Drabble - @fleetwoodmactshirt Soft

Lamplit - @fleetwoodmactshirt

Perfect - @the-fic-baker

Fortifying My Mystique - @netherfeildren Art Collector!Ezra

Eyes On Me - @mandoblowmybackout GN!Reader

Verba Amoris - @absurdthirst

Kudzu - @beskarberry Corrupted!Ezra

Oct 21 Breeding Kink - @danidrabbles

A Wondrous Treat - @coastielaceispunk GN!Reader

Kiss Me - @radiowallet

The Storm - @frannyzooey Featuring Din Djarin & Francisco Morales

Dear Friend - @psychedelic-ink Modern!Ezra

Beg So Pretty - @psychedelic-ink

Trial - @jessahmewren AO3 Link

Soulmate - @theredwritingwitch

Worth More Than Aurelac - @absurdthirst Alpha!Ezra

Lunch - @never--doubt Soft

The Ethics Of Forging Masterpieces - @write-and-buried

Trinkets - @write-and-buried

Eat Your Young - @writer-darling

Darkness - @ezrasbirdie

Kinktober 22 Day 24 - @absurdthirst

I - Kinktober 22 - @psychedelic-ink Featuring Pero Tovar

Life After The Green - @absurdthirst

Blind Trust - @brandyllyn

I Have Been The One You Chose - @gar6agef1r3

Ezra Masterlist - @artemiseamoon More Ezra To Choose From!

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thesoftdumbass · 10 months

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take my hand, wreck my plans

Ezra (Prospect) x reader, pirate AU

word count: 2,990~

warnings: piracy, mentions of death and murder (because pirates), swearing in general, no Y/N

summary: With Cee now on The Queen's Lair, there are adjustments to be made and conversations to be had.

my masterlist | previous

You learn that, while she doesn’t have a lot of possessions to her name, Cee takes care of what she’s got, carefully packing her few belongings into a sack to carry with her over to the Queen’s Lair and into her new life. One of these items being the book you found on the captain’s desk, the red leather cover embossed with the title “The Streamer Girl.” After Cee gathers the bag of her only earthly possessions, she faces the door and stands with her back straight, and you can guess that she’s gathering the courage to leave her old life behind. It’s only a few moments before she takes a deep breath, walks toward the door and opens it, striding into the hallway that leads to the steps above deck.

You’re trailing behind her as Cee leads you out of the captain’s quarters, and before you make the turn onto the stairs leading above deck, you catch the eye of your Captain. Nodding silently, you’re able to communicate that the girl is coming with your crew and is doing so amiably. He nods in response and knowing him so well, you can see the glimmer of appreciation in his deep brown eyes.

As Cee and yourself make way up the stairs, you stop for a moment to look behind you, catching sight of the Captain’s back as he makes his way into the office to finish what he started. Reaching the deck of The Harvester, you take the lead, ushering Cee across the gangplank over to The Queen’s Lair. She steps onto the deck of her new vessel, a long sigh drooping her shoulders minutely before she turns her attention to you, a neutral expression replacing the forlorn one from moments ago.

“Well,” she says, taking a long look around the pirating vessel. “Where will I be staying?”

You lead Cee into the pantry, closing the door behind yourself and leaning against the wall while she takes in the space. “This is where we keep most food supplies, obviously,” you say, gesturing to the stacks of crates and barrels of mead. “Most of the crew sleeps further below deck in a communal area, but since I spend most of my time in here, I tend to sleep in the corner there.” You use your hand again to point to the hammock swinging lazily in the corner of the room. “You’re welcome to use it while you’re with us, and I can join the rest of the men through the night.”

At the apprehensive look that crosses her face, you amend that statement. “Or I could always find some more blankets and make a pallet on the floor. Never know when we might need two sets of hands manning the kitchen.”

A flash of relief shows on Cee’s face and you think, briefly, how scared she must be that the thought of sharing a room with a woman she barely knows and only met today, is better than sleeping alone. You find it best in situations like these to go about business like you normally would, so you step away from your post against the wall and toward where you keep your personal items as you keep talking.

“I can take you around later to get a better idea of the ship, but right now, the crew are carrying cargo back and forth, so walkways will be a little clogged.” You shrug out of your jacket, the heavy leather doing its best to give you heatstroke below deck, and leave it on the wall hook until it’s needed again. You turn back around to face Cee and catch her observing your clothing. Men’s breeches with a linen top to keep cool, and an obvious lack of a weapon’s belt.

Cee leans her bag of possessions against the wall of the cabin, pulling herself into the hammock to sit facing you. After drawn-out silence, Cee’s curiosity gets the best of her. “How did you find yourself here?”

“Here in this moment in the pantry, or on the ship?” You’re deflecting and she knows it, raising a blonde eyebrow in prompting. There’s a stack of crates by the hammock that you use to hold your personal belongings and extra supplies for the ship, and you make a seat out of them as you hesitate to answer her. “It’s a complicated story.”

“Whose isn’t,” she asks rhetorically, leaning back on her elbows with a shrug.

A knock sounds from the doorway and Cee flinches, surprised, but the captain’s voice reaches you from the other side of it. “May I intrude for a moment?”

You look to your companion for confirmation, and at her nod, call out for him to enter. He closes the door gently behind him, walking a couple of steps into the room but leaving plenty of space for comfort, before addressing the girl. “In all of the…excitement earlier, we were not properly introduced. My name is Ezra, I am the captain of this here vessel. We will assuredly need to have a conversation later about what steps you would like to take next, but for as long as you need, you are safe aboard The Queen’s Lair.” She nods, her eyes meeting the captain’s briefly. “You’ve also got a hell of an arm, I have to admit.”

Amusement- and possibly pride- show in her expression, and this time when she makes eye contact with the captain, she holds it. “My name is Cee.”

“It is a pleasure, miss Cee, though the circumstances are unfortunate at the least.”

You watch as Cee draws back into herself, eyes taking another trip around the room and landing anywhere but on the two people in her company. Ezra takes this as a sign to move on, turning to face you more directly. “Moony, could we have a word above deck? There are some details about the safety situation-”

“You can speak in front of me,” Cee asserts quietly but with underlying strength. “I’m not a child, I can handle it.”

The captain nods, though the polite smile on his lips doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Very well, birdie. I was going to tell Moony that I’ve had a discussion with the rest of the crew. Our people tend to respect boundaries, but I’ve made it understood that the same rules apply to you as they do to Moony and the other members that do not fit the…archetype of a seaman. If you are approached in a threatening or inappropriate way, or if someone puts their hands on you in a way that is not welcome, the culprit will answer to me…that is, after Moony is done with them.”

A huff of a laugh escapes you, a murmured “if there is anything left,” and you see a small smile crack on Cee’s face.

“Alright then,” the captain claps his hands together once to dismiss this impromptu meeting. “I’ll let you get settled in. I shall see you both in a little while.”

The sun is near set as you make your way above deck on your nightly walk, and it’s near the bow of the ship that you encounter your captain. He sidles up to you as you’re enjoying the view, standing at your side as the ship rocks you both peacefully. You feel his eyes on you eventually, can sense that there are words on his tongue, and look away from the now-dark sky to meet his eyes, a small “yes?” entering the air around you.

There is slight hesitation on his part before he averts his gaze, walking a step or two up to the wooden railing and placing his hands upon it. “How is our newest member adjusting?” he asks, running one thumb over a divot in the wood there.

You think of your walk with Cee around the ship, giving her a feel for her new accommodations. Think of how afterward, while you prepared supper, she sat nearby and listened as you chatted lazily, mostly telling inane stories about the crew. How eventually, she started to respond to more than direct questions, breaking down a wall slightly and making non-verbal sounds to show that she was listening, even asking a few questions of her own. A smile, almost wistful, if a pirate can be considered as such, graces your lips. “She seems to be settling in well, given the circumstances.” The captain hums lowly, acknowledging your answer with a nod of his head, as you continue. “She’s been through so much change in one day, though, so I thought it best to give her the room for a while. What better time to take a stroll?”

He chuckles softly at that, sending a look over his shoulder that sings of fondness. “It wouldn’t be The Queen’s Lair without the queen taking her nightly walk,” he remarks.

A not very queen-like snort leaves you and you step up to the railing as well, sending a nudge into his side with your elbow. “I am no royalty.”

“Indeed, you are not,” warm brown eyes seek out your own, the unreadable emotions in them holding you there. “You are m- our Moony, and in my humble opinion, well…you’re even more important.”

Words escape you at the sincerity behind his words, and you can only manage a soft “thank you, Captain,” in response. Your eyes drift down to the sea, before being drawn to your hand being scooped up by his own broad one.

“You need not always call me Captain, my gem.”

“I know, Ezra,” is your near-silent reply. Letting the quiet consume you for a few more peaceful minutes, you watch the waves roll by as the captain’s hand, the one which is not cradling yours, comes up to rub circles across the back of your knuckles.

Once the sun is fully set and the moon is high in the sky, Ezra turns back to face you, breaking the silence. “Billy Bones has been keeping an eye out for you and the girl,” he mentions, “making sure no-one tries anything.”

You hum, taking in the information. “I doubt anyone will.”

“Even so,” the Captain insists. “He has volunteered to patrol through the night to make sure that your room stays clear. I told him that I would inform you of his intentions and see what you think is best.”

You nod, eyebrows drawn down as you think. “He doesn’t need to walk the corridors while we sleep,” you say, but pause. “Tell him to rest close by, though, just in case he’s needed.”

“I’d better let him know, then,” says Ezra, releasing your hand with one last brush against the back of it.

“I’ll get back to Cee,” you murmur, watching his movements. With a polite smile, you take a step back from him and mentally shake yourself out of the moment. “Have a good night, Captain.”

A huff of breath leaves Ezra, his head shaking in fond exasperation at you continuing to use his title. “Sleep well, Moony.”

Opening the door to your pantry, the flickering candlelight shows that your young companion has fallen asleep, and you notice as you step in that her eyes appear puffy from crying. Not that you’ll mention that to her tomorrow. It only takes a few minutes to make your bed, arranging your extra blankets into a semi-comfortable sleeping pad before you lie down, blow out the lone candle left burning, and settle in for the night.

When you wake next, it’s to the sound of the rest of the crew changing shifts from night to morning, the creaking of floorboards alerting you to the activity nearby. Stretching out the kinks from sleeping on the ground, you eventually make your way into a sitting position to find Cee still asleep in your hammock.

“Hey, kid,” you croak out, your voice not yet warmed up. Sitting up on your knees and shuffling a few feet to the edge of the hammock, you reach a hand out and let it rest on Cee’s arm which is hanging over the edge.

“No!” she exclaims, waking with a start, her right hand reaching over to wrap fiercely around yours which is still on her.

“Hey, hey,” you repeat softly, trying to soothe the startled girl. “It’s me, it’s Moony.”

“Moon-” she starts, her eyes finally registering where she is after having been awoken suddenly. “I, I’m sorry,” she says, her hand releasing you, and you both ignore the crescent moons left behind on your skin from where she had dug her nails in.

“You’re okay,” you intone, hoping she understands the double meaning laced there. “I’m about to start breakfast, I wanted to see if you wanted to come along or stay here and sleep a little longer.”

“I think I’m fully awake now,” a humorless laugh accompanies her words before an embarrassed smile creeps onto her face.

You finally stand, your knees protesting the exposure to the hard wood beneath them. “Good. You can make yourself useful, kid.” You’re grateful for the small genuine smile that Cee gives you, pulling on some shoes and heading into the kitchen for breakfast.

Cee peels potatoes to fry while you put together a batch of cornbread, the two of you working in comfortable silence. It’s while you’re cleaning up from the meal, your hands in dishwater as she wipes down the counters, that the captain comes to greet you both and asks to speak with her.

“I’m almost finished here, if you’d like me to accompany you?” You’re careful to phrase it as a question, and you’re glad you did when she shakes her head, sending an assuring smile your way.

“I’ll be okay, Moony. I’ll find you after?”

“Of course,” you say, turning back to your task.

“After you,” Cee gestures for the captain to go first and he does so, leading her to his office. She sits opposite the desk from him, meeting his gaze, his eyes appearing tight with discomfort.

“I thought it time you and I had a discussion about the future,” he pauses, “and the past.”

Cee nods, silent for a few moments as she looks away, expression thoughtful. “Was it you?”

Ezra takes a deep breath in. “If you’re asking if I’m the one that-”

“Killed my father?”

The rest of his breath exhales on a sigh, the sound tired and a little regretful. “Then yes, it was me.” Cee nods, already having accepted the probability. “I was unaware that you were on board The Harvester. The crew and I, we try to accomplish these things with minimal casualties, but it doesn’t always work out that way. I know,” he reaches a hand out, another gesture of peace, as his voice comes out with an edge of trepidation. “I know that excuses will make you feel no better, and I dislike having a part to play in how your life was upended. But unfortunately…the past cannot be changed. It is up to us, up to me, now to try and make things right in any way that I know how.”

Cee finally turns her gaze back to the captain, her eyes hard and jaw set in anger. “You’re a killer,” she says, tone hardened.

“I know.” Ezra’s shoulders slump, resigned to her judgment. “We’re all alone in here, there’s nothing stopping you from seeking vengeance. I wouldn’t blame you for your actions, either. But,” he says slowly, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the desk meaningfully, “If I am left to live another day, I will try to find a place where you feel like you belong.”

The fire in Cee is extinguished, and she shrinks to look smaller in her seat. “I don’t belong anywhere.”

Ezra’s brows draw up in surprise at the shift in the girl. “Surely you do. If you have family somewhere, we can track them down and-”

“I don’t,” she interrupts, shaking her head. “I don’t have any family left. My dad was the only person I had.”

The quiet in the office is tense, as though at any moment the whole room could shatter. With this information left to stew in his mind, Ezra’s thoughts are left to be uttered from his lips. “You and Moony share a common history.”

“Really?” Cee asks after a moment, voice quiet in the open office.

“Really,” he confirms, sitting a little straighter in his seat now. “Well, since you have no guardians or relatives to account for, and you are old enough, in my opinion, to do so, you will decide what happens to you.”

“So…you’re not going to leave me stranded on a desolate island?” Ezra is taken aback by her words at first until he registers the dry humor in her voice and in the uptick of one eyebrow.

A chuckle escapes on his next breath. “Not unless that is truly what you desire. Although,” the corner of his lips lifts in amusement, “I’ve no clue why you would.”

“Is…is it okay if I take some time to consider my options?”

“Yes, birdie, that’s just fine. But, we are touching down in Nassau in five days’ time, so if you would like to stay on the island or use it to jump to another port, you may want to know before then. We don’t stop there but every few weeks.”

“Okay,” she nods, standing from her seat. “I’m going to think about it. In the meantime, I told Moony I would find her after you and I talked.”

“Of course,” Ezra stands as well, walking to the door to open it for her, and pointing her to your most likely position. With a small amount of weight off his shoulders, Ezra closes the door behind her and sinks back into his seat, blowing out a breath. He can’t undo the past, that much he knows, but he’ll do his damnedest to protect this girl who’s just fallen into his care.

If you like my fic so far, please leave a comment or reblog and let me know what you liked about it to give me the inspiration to continue. Thank you so much for reading!

Everything tags: @greeneyedblondie44 @kickingitwithkirk @mad-girl-without-a-box @feelmyroarrrr @rosie-posie08

Pedro Pascal tags: @aficwhore @annathewitch @trickstersp8

Lost in Your Current tags: @fuckyeahdindjarin

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #cee prospect #piracy au #prospect au #ezra x f!reader

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marisferasiop · 3 months

Text

Interloper

a Transplant short

Ao3 link

Summary: when a new citizen of Jackson gets a little too aggressive when you turn him down (and a little too rough with Ezra, who comes to intervene) Joel ensures that he thoroughly understands the consequences.

Word count: about 4k

Warnings: canon- typical violence, jealous/overprotective Joel, boys kissing, slight internalized homophobia (or fear of it, at least), blow jobs, breathplay if you squint

Rating: explicit! Minors DNI

Note: set 1 year after Transplant. If you haven't, I suggest that you read it first so you're not lost! Also I forgot who made these dividers but I did rb them as asked when I saved a few 😭

Tags: taking a step outside my comfort zone and tagging those I thought would like based on previous interactions/feedback (if I tagged you mistakenly OR didn't tag you I'm sorry!) @for-a-longlongtime @wannab-urs @morallyinept @ezrasbirdie @luxurychristmaspudding @timelordfreya @chronically-ghosted I never tag ppl I'm freaking out a little at the idea of being p e r c i e v e d, sorry.

He had woken up in such a good mood, too.

Joel had stirred in the witching hour that morning to the feel of your cool, little hand curving over his ribs as you slid back into bed behind him.

“Hmm?” He’d grunted, tipping his head up toward the ceiling to look back. You had sighed back at him as you tucked your knees behind his, smothering your face between his shoulder blades.

“Had to pee.”

Under his chin, Ezra had stretched and turned into him, soft breath tickling his throat, and Joel had drifted back off.

When he’d been awoken flat on his back sometime later, the sun up and searing through your windows, it was to find you and Ezra each straddling one of his knees, sucking his dick in tandem.

He’d nearly come at the sight.

“Oh, Jesus fuck,” he’d quietly groaned, spreading his knees a little, reaching down to palm your heads. You had glanced up at him and grinned around your mouthful of him. When you popped off, you ran your hand up and over his spit-slicked length, making his hips twitch up into your grip. Under your wrist, Ezra had tucked his face and was coaxing Joel's balls down, laving at the wrinkled skin of his sac, sucking a ball into his hot mouth as it descended. "Agh!"

“Ooooh, Joel’s awake, baby,” you’d crooned at Ezra, giving another kitten lick to Joel’s weeping head. His thighs jumped under your palms.

Ezra had his cheek smushed into Joel's thigh and was staring at your hand greedily, his mouth wet and still stretched around a testicle, waiting. He pulled away, letting Joel's balls slide out of his lips and drop with a wet slap. Joel hissed and flinched. Ezra picked his head up and swiped his tongue over your knuckles, following them up to Joel’s cockhead and between your salty lips, licking his taste off your tongue.

“We’re wondering who sucks your dick better, Knuckles,” Ezra said up to Joel serenely, cupping his balls. Joel groaned, absolutely stricken dumb. He had never been woken up with head before, and you two were gonna absolutely ruin him.

Part of him wanted that. A big part. One that grew daily, now, the longer he was with you both.

You stroked his cock tightly in your little fist and leaned it over to fit the tip in Ezra's waiting mouth. Ezra sucked half of him down greedily, pressing himself hard to take the rest.

Instantly, Joel's hand had tightened in his hair. [Ezra likes Joel being rougher with him than he is with you. He recognizes that the man has to let all that aggression out somewhere, even if it’s really repackaged desperation]. He hummed around the fat cock in his throat as those fingers twisted tighter in his hair and Joel rocked his hips at the vibration, buried himself deeper. The sting of his scalp and the squeeze of his tonsils, the burning of his lungs, feels like success to Ezra, who has spent the last year diligently working his way under the curmudgeon’s skin.

Just as Joel was about to come, his balls up tight and his cock pulsing on Ezra's tongue, the younger man had pulled off and kissed his weeping tip, passing him back to you.

Joel wanted to jump up and shake the man, throw him under himself and make him swallow every thrust until he choked on his cum, but your gentle touch on the inside of his thigh gave him pause. The marked difference of your soft, sweet sucks to Ezra's deeper, stronger pulls on him was giving him whiplash. He settled immediately under you, caught between Ezra's teeth on his thigh and your urgent nursing on his tender head.

You’d both teased Joel for ages like that, trading him back and forth with a firm squeeze to his base every time he got too close. Eventually, he erupted on your faces, painting your lolling tongue and the scarred bridge of Ezra's nose and scrappy mustache with ropes of his cum.

After, he’d let you crawl up and lay on him for deep, indulgent kisses. He traced his fingertips down your spine, feeling you bloom under his touch. He gripped your cheeks and held you open while Ezra fucked you hard from behind. He eventually relinquished your hip into Ezra's hand only to move to assist better. He got onto his creaking knees and wound one unforgiving fist into your hair and used the other to allow his calloused fingers to strum your clit til you shook apart for them.

When Ezra pulled out of you to finish himself off, Joel had moved behind him. He pinned the man back to his broader chest with one hand wrapped snugly around his throat and the other around his cock.

"Lay back for us, honey," Joel told you softly, and you were flushed and eager to comply, rolling bonelessly to your back. You cupped your breasts together and played with them for their gaze.

Joel stripped off Ezra rough and fast, still pinned into position, til he shot his load all over your heaving tits where you lay beneath their spread thighs, watching them with lust- blown pupils.

Joel had gone outside to work on your rotting porch with a smile and some pep in his step some time later, grateful and happy.

Now, play time was over and he was far from amused. He’d been having such a nice, domestic off day and you and Ellie were dragging him out to socialize.

The inhumanity.

He knew grumbling would get him nowhere, so he simply remained surly and quiet about it. Until a thought struck, anyway.

“I don't see why’n the fuck you gotta run the bar. Or do rounds, like ever? Y’all are still in school. They even let you drink?” Joel grouses to Ellie, stomping through the crisp snow beside you from the house to the Tipsy Bison.

“If I'm old enough to take patrols, I'm old enough to run the bar for a couple hours,” Ellie says sardonically.

“And drink,” You say quietly, rolling your eyes at Joel’s continued grumping. She huffs a laugh.

“Everyone does rounds, now and then, Joel. Even me. So, even Ellie. And it’s only a couple hours. You can sit with us and Cee for that long and pretend not to be such a Grinch,” you elbow him.

He harrumphs, squeezing your hand where it’s stuffed inside his coat pocket with his own, and takes Ellie's teasing in stride. She’s mimicking his grumpy stomping behind them, her arm linked with Cee's.

“Knock it off,” he says with no heat. She rolls her eyes so hard she nearly falls into a snowbank, making Cee and Ezra giggle.

“Come on, old man. Get a drink, chill out. Watch your hot girlfriend while she dances with your pretty boyfriend. I have faith in your wallflower abilities,” she claps a hand to her chest dramatically, eyes closed, and takes a loosely-packed snowball to the face for her acting skills.

Still spitting out bits of grass and pine needles, Ellie holds the door and sticks her tongue out at a smug Joel as he passes by. Cee is the last to enter and picks a blade of grass out of Ellie's hair before dropping a kiss on her icy nose. “Let’s see if you can get me wasted,” Cee leans in and whispers, straightening and biting her lips when Ezra glances over his shoulder at her with a lofted brow.

“You coulda done that at home with some 'shine and had a far better time alone, rather than here in this sausage- fest tryna get drunk on watered-down shots,” he quietly conspires, and they dissolve into appalled giggles. “There's a three- drink- max anyway.”

Inside, Joel accepts a tumbler of whiskey from Ellie and follows you and Ezra to a tall, round table with four stools. The bar is already humming, mostly patrolmen who are fresh off the wall shift stopping in to de-fuse and socialize before going home. He casts a glance around the room, recognizing most faces now after a few years in Jackson, and takes the stool beside Ezra, both facing the bar.

You’ve shucked your heavy coat and are sitting pretty across from him in a tight top and what you had called a skater skirt with dark leggings and your trusty boots to keep your legs warm in the dead of winter. (If you had noticed the way Joel had sandwiched you between him and Ezra on the walk here like a guard dog, you hadn't commented on it).

Right now he wants to put your jacket back on your pretty little shoulders. Or his own flannel. As soon as you’d hung it on the back of your chair, you had eyes on you.

Ezra drops his hand on Joel’s lap under the table and strikes up conversation with you girls, asking about Cee’s final weeks of school and the hideously strict teacher, Marnie, who has both of them and seems to have it out for her. Cee is still training at the clinic, and is now training with you in surgery. Ellie is still at the stables. She’s been moved on to farrier training now that the last foaling is done, and is taking well to it, she explains in Ellie’s absence.

You and Ezra and Cee dissolve into idle talk about the clinic, allowing Joel to zone out a bit under the pressure of the hand curved over his leg, those lissome fingertips scratching idly at the inner thigh seam of his jeans, just above his knee- nothing impertinent- and keep his eyes on the milling crowd. You hook your foot behind his calf and when he snaps his gaze to you, he forces his shoulders to drop an inch at your goading smile.

You ask him to dance and he gives you a flat look. At your pout, he turns his look on Ezra, who simply squeezes his knee and gets up. “Come on, soleil. Let’s let Knuckles guard the table. I’ll lure you back into bed with my two left feet.”

Joel is helpless not to smile in the wake of your delighted laughter. He watches Ezra lead you and Cee to the parquet. His unit, everyone he cares about most is right here, in this room, it’s okay. He just doesn't like the press of bodies after half a lifetime in the overflow of the QZs, followed by the absence of trustworthy folks on the road.

He fingers his glass idly and enjoys watching you, how Ezra doesn't let you stray too far from his reach and how you grin wide and enjoy yourself, moving to the music and giggling with Cee. He catches Ellie stealing glances of her, between serving drinks, and hides his smile behind his glass.

The door blows open with a blast of frozen air and Tommy steps in with a handful of men crisped at the edges with snow, fresh off a day- long scouting run. He claps Joel on the shoulder with an easy, tired grin before leading the group to the bar for their drinks. Joel narrows his eyes at the men; he doesn't recognize half of them. Odd, he thinks, since he’s one of the patrol heads.

Tommy thanks Ellie with a playful wink and brings his beer back, dragging a stool over to squeeze in among the others.

“What did you do on your off day, brother?” He asks, drawing Joel away from his thoughts.

Joel shrugs and glances at his partners on the dancefloor. “Slept in. Cleaned the house. Helped Sunny replace those rotten boards on her porch. Got dragged out here,” he complains lightly, knocking back the last of his drink.

Tommy scoffs and draws a panting Ezra, who has abandoned the girls for a break, into conversation next. His eyes stick to the way Ezra’s hand steals back over Joel’s thigh under the table as he slides into his stool, but he says nothing and doesn't react, though Joel notices the glance and stiffens slightly at first. Tommy just takes a swig of his beer and keeps talking.

While the chatterbox catches his breath and spins a yarn about crossing paths with a mountain lion on their last foraging trip before the snow hit, and his anticipation of the next one when the snow melts, Joel scoops up both their empties and goes to the bar.

It’s crowded, and Ellie and the other lady, Rachel, are busy pouring for the scout team that just came in. You and Cee squeeze in beside him. He catches your eye quickly, of course he does, and you lean over with a salacious grin, stealing the bottle from Ellie's grasp as she’s about to pour in his cup. “What can I get you, handsome?”

“Two more. Pretty thing like you shouldn't walk home alone. When’re you off?” He flirts back with a warmed chest, looking down at your easy smile. He leans an elbow on the wood surface as you snort and watch Ellie pretend to gag and grab the bottle back.

“You guys are gross. Go away,” she mimes a dramatic hurl and you can’t stifle a giggle.

“In an hour or so, big guy. You can walk me home. But don’t let my boyfriend find out,” you nod at Ezra, who is watching your exchange with a bemused smile. Joel smirks and scoops up the glasses.

“I think I can handle him, sweetheart,” he winks at you and goes back to the table, leaving you to wait on your drink with Cee.

He’s drawn into Tommy’s story of the scouting trip today, listening to how he was training some new folks and how they’d taken the west pass through the mountain to check the dam for any issues after a power outage the day before. They’d found a lone infected wandering about, and managed to bring home three deer for the mess hall. Joel is in the midst of fantasizing about a nice venison steak when he hears your annoyed voice cut through the susurrus of the bar.

“Yeah, I don't think so, bud.”

Joel snaps his eyes to you, feeling Ezra’s hand curl back around his knee as if to keep him pinned to the stool.

You are watching one of the scout troupe closely, one who has decided to lean over you at the bar so he can leer at you better.

“Aw, come on, little lady. You’re all dressed for attention, ain’t you?” the guy drawls, making the acne-riddled guy next to him snort into his beer. “I’ll give you some.”

Joel’s hand curls around his glass hard enough to shatter it.

Idiot #1’s spotty friend elbows him and leans in. “You gotta watch out man. That guide today said the town doctor is taken. That's you right, miss?”

“That’s me, but a no should be good enough reason to lay off.” You roll your eyes and shift to turn away and continue having fun with Cee, but the first guy won’t let up. He just gets louder.

Joel's fist tightens on the table. He knows you can handle this. You can. It's the principle of it. You shouldn't have to.

“Ooooh, yeah? You’re the one with that old, mean fella, right? And the one- armed guy? At the garden center,” he laughs with a snide grin. “They share you or somethin’?”

“Hey, she’s not interested, dude. Either quiet down or leave,” Ellie intones, her voice hard. “Either way, you're cut off.”

Ezra presses down on Joel’s leg when he feels the muscle tense. He slides his palm up over Joel’s nape, leans in, and murmurs: “If you go over there and do what you’re wantin’ to do, Sunny or Cee is gonna end up havin’ to patch them up at the clinic. Let me talk to ‘em.”

Joel clenches his jaw but stays in his seat as Ezra gets up. The younger man grasps his shoulder and slides close behind him, between the wall and the stool. “If they decide to ignore my words and get physical, you’re obviously welcome to come have a tussle. But let’s take it outside if so, yeah?”

“He touches any of you–”

“Joel.” Tommy calls his attention. “You’ll take it outside.”

The muscle rolls in Joel’s jaw but he nods.

Ezra squeezes his shoulder again and drifts over to the bar, keeping his eyes on you. Unfortunately, he arrives a moment too late. In the second it takes Ezra to pause and talk to Joel, the guy has already stepped too close again and crowded you against the bar, his hand aiming for the hem of your short little skirt. He manages to get his other hand around your wrist before you yank it back.

"Hey!" You and Cee both exclaim. Cee quickly pulls you out of his reach.

“Hey! Back off,” Ellie grits. She's already slipping out from behind the bar to step between you and him before Joel can even react. He starts to stand and Tommy grabs his arm.

“Let Ezra try,” he says, and Joel growls under his breath.

You slip out of the man’s reach and your jaw tightens. “I said no, dude. Fuck off. Last warning.”

“Oh, and what are you gonna do about it? You and two girls? Town doc doesn't exactly scream fighter, princess. I bet your guard dogs do it for you. Speaking of, I don’t see ‘em? Or are you just the town slut, and two of your regulars are what you’re calling boyfriends?”

Ellie looks mutinous, but before she can cock her arm back to deck him, Ezra grips the guy’s collar and hauls him sharply backward several feet before he realizes what’s happening, giving you room to make an escape. The man crashes to the floor, caught off guard.

“Excuse me, partner. I suggest you turn your attention to me and have a civil discussion, and level your temperament, before you find yourself with a broken jaw, flying outside to bleed in the snow.”

The acne-riddled guy locks eyes on him first, noting Ezra's missing arm. Recognition sparks in his face. “Oh shit. Uh, Ray?”

“Ray?” Ezra sneers. He glances at you, clocking your burning cheeks. It makes his gut roil. You’re more furious (and now embarrassed) than anything, now standing between Joel’s knees. Ezra watches him assess you, his hands and words gentle (probably for the last time tonight) as they cup your chin. He swipes his thumbs over your burning cheeks and folds you into his chest. Ezra can tell that Joel very much would rather be pounding this guy’s face in than simply holding you, but he's waiting for his cue.

Ray has straightened up from where Ezra had dragged him to the floor, spitting curses, and turned to face Ezra. His friend has disappeared backward into the crowd to avoid the pending fight. Hell, half the bar has quieted down to watch.

“Imagine having a nemesis called Ray, soleil.” He winks at you and you grit your teeth against a weak smile at the joke. “Now, mister, I can tell you’re new here in Jackson. I'm inclined to ask you again to apologize for your boorish behavior toward our doctor, Sunny, and change your attitude. She gave you a final warning, and I will not ask again.”

“Oh, are you one of her mutts, then? Girl can spread ‘em for the elderly and disabled but not anyone else?”

“You need to make your way outside, Ray, before it's ensured that you end up with one functional arm, too,” Ezra says.

“I ain't scared of you, or her old man. And I sure as shit ain't scared of some slut who thinks she's too good for anyone.”

The glint in Ezra’s gaze snuffs out as his gaze darkens. “I suggest you find your manners immediately, Ray. You’ll find your way out of this town just as quickly as you entered it, if you don’t learn to manage that temper and hold that tongue. Perhaps even wrapped in a sheet, six feet under.”

“What are you gonna do, huh? Talk me to death, bitch?” Ray comes around and sizes him up, looming an inch or so above Ezra as he stands far too close.

To his credit, and much to do with his rough life before Jackson, Ezra doesn't so much as blink. You feel Joel's fingers tighten around your hips in anticipation. Ezra can feel the violent rage vibrating in the air a few feet behind him from Joel and smirks a little.

He’s got nothing to be scared of, unlike this idiot. He narrows his eyes.

“You are not understandin’ me, Ray. You will apologize to my girl. And then I think you ought to go home and get a good night’s sleep. You found some audacity and anger on the scouting ride today, and harassing the only doctor in town in front of her family and half your own crew ain't the way to go. She could be all that stands between your life and death, and much sooner than you anticipate. You’re showin’ your ass right now, when it’s long past time to turn tail. And besides, I'm not the dog you gotta watch out for.”

“I don't give a shit who she is. I am not apologizing to some snooty whore or her broken, pathetic little cuck boy toy.” He shoves Ezra hard in the chest.

There is an uncanny, absolute silence that happens before a bomb goes off. In the vacuum of noise, for that split second, all anyone can hear through the whole bar is the scrape of a stool across the floorboards.

All Joel can hear is your gasp and his own ringing ears.

Ezra grabs Ray’s collar as he falls, twisting so that he plants a knee on the asshole’s gut when they land. Before Ray can scramble to his knees and ready for another blow, Joel’s already on him.

“Outside!” Tommy commands.

Folks on the street see the pub’s swinging doors fly open and slap the walls as Ray sails clean out of it. He lands a good few yards into the walkway, crashing hard over a wrought- iron table and chairs before collapsing to the snowy ground in a heap. Before he can even scramble to his knees, Joel is on him, flipping him over, and a fist is crashing down on his face.

Joel feels the crunch of cartilage under his knuckles and grips Ray’s collar in his other fist. He shakes the man, straddling him with one knee in the snow and his other boot planted firmly on the other side.

“You touch anyone who's mine ever again; you so much as look at any of ‘em outside of the clinic, and your goddamned head is the only thing comin’ back from patrol next time. I'll stick you on a pike on the Wall. You understand me?” Joel seethes and shakes Ray again, rattling his brain, watching the blood pour out from his split nose and eyebrow, and finally hears the wet gurgle of his frantic yes.

"You say it. Ellie, Sunny, Ezra, Cee. Off limits."

"Off- fuck! They're off limits!"

Ray claws at the meaty hand still fisted in his shirt collar as Joel straightens his spine and turns back to you and Ezra, now watching from the doorway of the bar.

“Which hand he touch you with?” Joel asks you both, his voice raw as gravel and eyes dark with rage.

You shake your head, a tiny frown between your brows betraying your confusion at the question. Ezra flicks his eyes down at the man and sees his ineffectual grappling with Joel’s grip. Ray had used both hands, both when trying to grab you and when shoving him, but Ezra knows Joel enough by now to know what's coming next.

He also knows intimately what it’s like in this world with a limb missing.

“His right,” he says, feeling only a little vindictive. His frustration has not quite tipped over into murderous rage, unlike Joel, who is reigning his in.

Joel huffs an angry, foggy breath and turns back.

“Ray,” he spits with venom. “You’re gonna take your lousy ass home, and splint this your damn self. Same as you would have done before you came here.”

“Wha–AAAAAAH!” Ray screams as Joel takes his hand between his own and swiftly breaks his wrist.

Joel lets Ray flop back into the snow, cradling his hand, and leans in close. “You ain't gonna act like a rabid animal inside these walls. Because I will not hesitate to put you down like one. You hear me?”

“Fuck– yes! Get off me!” Ray yells, nearly pissing himself with the need to get away, his bootheels scraping the snow down to muddy slush beneath them.

Ray flops over onto his belly, army crawls forward out from under Joel with his broken wrist pinned to his chest, and scrambles up and off into the night.

Disgusted, Joel gets up and slaps the snow off his knee. He scoops up a handful of the fresh stuff off a nearby table and presses it to his bruised knuckles.

“How long you got left on your shift?” Joel deadpans at Ellie, a dismissive move to the scene that just took place. People are already drifting back inside, with the action over.

“Uhhh, it’s like an hour til close,” she answers. He nods and waves them back inside with an annoyed look that says let’s get this over with. Cee smothers a smile and turns back into the bar, herding the handful of onlookers who are still lingering away from the doorway. You and Ezra stay on the porch while the girls go inside.

Joel comes up and stands on the step in front of you, flexing his fingers before he hangs them down by his side, curling and twitching anxiously. He flicks his eyes all over you and the muscle in his jaw rolls once.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you confirm, shrugging. “Some grabby asshole isn't enough to scare me. Not here. Ezra?” you hold out your palm and wiggle your fingers expectantly. Joel drops his hand in yours with a fond eye roll, feigning annoyance at your inspecting.

You both look at him and he nods. “I’m okay, soleil. Are you, Knuckles?”

Joel blinks at him and glances at you. You arch a brow at him. “I’m– he shouldn’t have touched either a’you,” he frowns, defensive, ignoring what you asked.

“No, he shouldn't have. That wasn't the question.”

Joel shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

You and Ezra share a glance and you top an eye roll with an arched eyebrow before disappearing inside, which makes Joel frown deeper.

"What?” He snaps at Ezra.

Ezra smirks at him and shakes his head. “She wants me to take you home.”

“We ain't leavin’ the girls here. Not after that,” Joel says flatly.

“I know. But we can wait out here a little bit, let her think I was successful. In luring you home with my wiles, of course. Not with making you see that they’re okay, even without us. If you hadn’t ‘a stepped in, one of our girls would have gutted him. Ellie was certainly ready to,” Ezra huffs, knocking his shoulder against Joel’s.

“Your wiles, hm?” Joel chucks his knuckles under Ezra’s scruffy chin, offering that little half smile before seeming to realize they are outside on the main thoroughfare, in plain sight. He stuffs his fists in his jacket pockets and frowns again, making Ezra chuckle.

“Speakin’ of the damned things- my wiles, that is– who won this morning? I mean, aside from you, who clearly benefited most from our friendly little competition.”

“Jesus,” Joel huffs, shaking his head. Ezra can see the shocked smile curling under the edges of his mustache and in the wrinkles by his eyes. “Sunny.”

“Oh, come now. I’m certain that I am the one who couldn't talk for an hour afterward with a raw throat from all your bucking. There's an alley just there, if you need a reminder.” he gives Joel a shove and the other man snorts.

“I was celebrating finally finding a way to make you shut up.”

“Only if I won, knuckles. Or if I'm next,” Ezra tries to give him a serious glare and dissolves into giggles at Joel’s wide-eyed, surprised, mooncalf look. He laughs harder when Joel shakes his head at him with a scowl.

He lets Joel shove him playfully into a lean against the part of the wall cast in shadow by the doorway loght. He lowers his voice, mindful of the open road and other milling members of the commune enjoying the evening just a few yards away. “Hmmm. I’m chiseling my way through that tough exterior, old man. What’re you gonna do to me when I do?”

Joel flicks his eyes over Ezra’s face, seeing that same goading, happy serenity he saw this morning, framed between his own thighs. He leans in, too close for mere friendship now. Ezra doesn't move, as if afraid to spook him. Joel doesn't think he will.

Not anymore.

Ellie cracked his carefully- bricked- up heart open, and you carved out a space for yourself easily after that. He knows Ezra's right there, ready, pickaxe in hand. His name was on the list tonight that he gave Ray, same as the girls'.

He lets his forward momentum knock him into Ezra, who cautiously steals a swift kiss. Joel lets it linger for a long second. When they pull apart, he finds Ezra's eyes glinting in the dark, honing in on his prey. It sends a shiver up his spine, different from the sort he used to feel, before Jackson. Before Ellie.

“I dunno,” Joel answers truthfully, instead of denying it will happen.

He knows it will.

#joel miller #the last of us #joel x reader #joel x you #ellie the last of us #ezra (prospect)#prospect (2018)#prospect film #ezra x reader #cee (prospect)#Joel x Reader x Ezra #poly dynamics #transplant #afab reader #no use of y/n #no description #also on ao3 #minors dni #minors do not interact

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