#i think i need to take a break from writing about ezra's trauma and write about him fuckin that skeleton

[by-ilmater]

@ourinquisitorialness you get it

absolutely no judgment here, write what makes you happy. but there is not nearly enough weird emmrich porn. lich or no, i need some of y'all to get much more freaky with it

[marvel-starwarsfangirl]

Ep. 15 "The Cavalry Has Arrived" Review

To say that I am happy is an understatement. I am beyond satisfied with the finale of TBB. For me, it was perfect and I cried several times. This was about a family. Of course, there are small things I would've liked to see more of, but that's more nitpicking. I watched the finale twice today and I am happy. I guess if I had to say anything, it's that I wanted more. I love these characters and I could spend hours with them.

From a more constructive criticism side (just to get it out of the way): I definitely think the writers needed more time overall with this show. There are corners that had to be cut and you can see it. The pacing is rushed at times. While I'm still happy with the final result, you can tell it really needed more time for character moments. I don't necessarily blame the writers; I blame Disney for not giving them more time. Jen and Brad are very capable of both action and character depth, but it's clear they didn't have the time for both.

On another note, the music and animation were phenomenal. The rain animation looked so real to me, especially when dripping off of the characters. Everything was stunning. And the music, like my gosh. The Kiners popped off here. Crosshair's theme and Omega's theme are two absolutely beautiful pieces of music and I really enjoyed hearing them throughout the episode. And my gosh, tension during the final stand against Hemlock was perfect. The music was incredible and I rewatch that sequence because of it (and other things).

Spoiler time; you know the drill 😎 This will be long, fair warning.

Crosshair's conversation with Wrecker and Hunter was truly heartbreaking. You can hear the guilt in his voice, especially when he admits he feels like he deserves to 'Plan 99' himself. To hear Crosshair admit that hurt. His past mistakes weigh heavily on him. However, I loved that Hunter stepped up and told him no. Family sticks together no matter what. It's a far cry from S1, where Hunter and Cross both left each other. But now, nothing will split their little family up. Crosshair's theme playing over that whole sequence had me in shambles.

The whole fight sequences with the operatives was also really well done. I can't imagine what would've happened if Hemlock managed to condition the boys. Omega got Cross out at the right time; if he'd stay'd there a few weeks longer, then Hemlock would've definitely adjusted the conditioning machine in time to fully break him. Luckily, Crosshair avoided that fate. Still, to know that he suffered in that machine for 5 months is heartbreaking. The operatives are true killing machines, devoid of life.

I can't believe I live in a world where Crosshair got Jaime Lannister'd. AND IM A HARDCORE JAIME STAN. This wasn't on my 2024 bingo card! I will say though, I can see why some people personally don't agree with it as a writing decision. Cutting off his had doesn't magically "fix" anything; it honestly will just add to his trauma. But at the same time, I love whump and there is symbolism of Crosshair being truly free. He is now just Crosshair and that's enough.

Omega really learned from the best, didn't she? Seeing her help the other kids and free the Zillo was epic. I got so many Ezra vibes from her as she slipped in and out of the vents of Tantiss. The faith and trust she has in her brothers is truly heartwarming. And it makes the epilogue feel even sweeter. Omega knows they raised her well and she can take care of herself because of that. She's grown so much since that first time seeing her on Kamino. It feels like looking in a mirror sometimes, at least for me. I see a lot of my life reflected in her, just like I do with Crosshair. It hits home.

The final standoff with Hemlock was definitely my favorite part outside the ending. I loved the music, the animation, and seeing Hunter and Crosshair work together. There is such trust between the brothers and Omega. Despite Crosshair's worries, there is no moment that Hunter doubts Crosshair's abilities. Hunter knows Cross will make it. He assures Cross that Omega also trusts her brother's abilities. And the hug after Hemlock died was so beautiful. I love that Omega hugged Crosshair first; he needed that.

Hemlock's demise was perfect. I kept joking that I just wanted him to fall off of Tantiss because it would be so pathetic. And guess what? He did fall off of Tantiss (after getting shot before hand).

Echo of course was awesome! Loved how he commented that he knew Omega was the one to release the Zillo. I also loved how he did get to fulfill his wish of freeing the clones and even lead them into battle against the operatives. The last domino still stands and I couldn't be happier. (Also glad that Emerie lived. She deserved it after realizing how messed up everything was).

Nala Se and Rampart were also handled well. Rampart never changed and I'm glad he didn't. Some people are just not nice, even after getting served humble juice. Meanwhile, I will cut Nala Se some slack. I will never forget Fives. However, she did save Omega so there's that. And she took out Rampart.

Overall, I'm just really glad that everyone made it out in the end. I would've been fine with a sacrifice, but the Batch was constantly being forcibly split apart, I'm glad that they now get a break and can be family. (Tech lives on in all their hearts). They will be ok and they know that. TBB was my comfort show and seeing that final shot of the Batch reminded me that I will be ok. Stuff happens, but somehow, things will work themselves out.

And the epilogue! I wish we got old man Crosshair and Wrecker (maybe one day we will), but it makes sense why it was only Hunter and Omega. He's her primary father figure and their relationship has been one of the driving forces of the show. For so long, Hunter has been very protective Omega, almost going too far at times. However, he learns to let her go and trusts that she will be ok. He is at peace knowing he, Wrecker, and Crosshair (and Tech + Echo) raised her well. It reminded me so much of my own experiences with my parents and I couldn't have asked for a more perfect epilogue. It also hit hard seeing Omega as an adult; she was so tiny in the beginning.

Anyways, that was a long review. I am overall thrilled with the final and I'm glad everything wrapped up neatly. I'm sure we will see Wolffe, Cody, and Rex in another project; their story isn't over. But Clone Force 99's is. They struggled so much and are now finally able to rest. The epilogue confirms that Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair got to grow old and watch their kid grow up. For me, there's such a beauty to that. In a galaxy that is riddled by war and darkness, there is hope for a better future. The Bad Batch started as a group of "defective" clones, but in the end, they became something so much more: a family. And in my eyes, that is the perfect ending.

[toastthewolfie]

South. - Writing (done today)

TW: graphic description of injury, medical inaccuracies (im a teen on the internet, not a doctor), fantasy military stuff, comas, heavily references trauma

Summary: During a simple grab and go mission, a building Frost snd Ezra were in collapsed, in a moment of instinct, Ezra pushes Frost out of the way of a large piece of debris, however, it still doesnt end well as the force of the impact (and more falling debris) causes Ezra to get gravely injured. Frost doesnt take the 4 weeks they’re comatose well.

warning: this was started at 11:06PM (it is currently 12:09AM) and i was/am actively falling asleep. This is also not beta read so please forgive any errors, regardless, i hope you enjoy.

It happened so fast.

You were wandering a ruined building one moment the next something rams into full force and suddenly everything is blurry. You can barely hear anything over the ringing of your ears.

Everything hurts but still, you push yourself into a crouched position, breathing best you can until your eyes lay upon the sprawled body of your Captain. They were never a restless person, but you just know that they’re too still for it to be normal.

You stumble over on sprained and torn up legs before dropping to your knees and grab the shoulder straps of the plate carrier of the person before you, completely disregarding the blood slowly staining your pants and hands, trying desperately to shake them awake while you cry and beg them to wake up. That you’ll do anything they ask, but they need to wake up.

You vaguely remember someone, you think it was the avian on your team, arriving before devolving into a similar panic while calling for the other person.

You barely remember that person arriving and presumably calling in an emergency evacuation.

You don’t remember anything in between that and sitting next to a hospital bed in a wheelchair that your Captain rests upon. Everything during that time feels distant and fuzzy with a mixed pot of doctors coming in daily. The others are also usually there, and they drag you outside of the room every once in a while as much as you try to fight it.

Everything blurs into a nonexistent day and night cycle, everyday feels the same. Sitting there and talking about random stuff before crying and begging the person that threw you out of the way of the largest part of debris to wake up. You aren’t sure if it does anything as from your perspective, you’re rambling to a corpse. Someone who cant breathe on their own, someone who’s been asleep for a week at this point, someone who has flatlined three times and is closer to dying than being alive right now.

How does one live with the guilt of knowing that someone who holds infinitely more use than you do is now laying half-dead because they chose to save you over themself? You don’t know, it’s something you plead for them to answer during your daily breakdowns, begging them to wake up so they can answer your desperate questions, only for that bloodied and bandaged face to remain still and unresponsive.

It’s your fault. (It’s not. You know that.) It’s your fault that they are lying here, comatose. They chose to save you because you reacted a second too late. Your teammates try to drag you away, to therapy, to recovery, and it helps but it doesn’t make it stop. The voices that scream and screech. It doesn’t help anything you really need help with because you’re scared people will think you’re crazy so you never admit to anything.

You’re asleep when they wake, head resting on the mattress near their leg. You are the only person in that room when pale blue eyes open for the first time in four weeks. You aren’t even aware they’re conscious until you hear a muffled groan causing you to snap awake, expecting nothing more than to see a unconscious expression, only to find them conscious albeit confused.

You break down almost immediately after seeing that, ugly sobs wracking your body as your Captain tries to comfort you despite their limited mobility. It’s awkward, sure, but it’s so comforting regardless. The hand gently patting their head is weak and shaky but it’s warmer than the limp and cold hand you held when they were unconscious.

It takes you an embarrassing long time to come back to your senses but your captain doesn’t mind. They just smile gently and subconsciously poke at the IV line in their hand. You gently redirect them before you call in the doctor.

You zone out while he talks until the others arrive. You try to pay attention but your mind is elsewhere as you gently grasp your Captain’ hand, everything eels surreal and heavy and the second the doctor is gone, you rest your head on the bed again. A hand slips from your grasp and comes to rest on your head. You slowly drift off while your captain and S.I.C. discuss in the background while your mechanic rests his head in a similar position to you.

Everything is still confusing and hurts but at least in the moment, everything feels okay, even if it’s not.

Note:

S.I.C. refers to Second in Command as in The Resistance, theres no ranks, just roles. The most common ones are Captain, Second in Command, Rifleman, and Tech Support. Roles are NOT set in stone and are often modified as in the case of the Reinstated Icarus: Ezra is the Captain, Sniper, and MINOR Tech Support, Marie is the S.I.C. and gas expert, Varian is the mechanic and scout and Frost is Logistics and the medic.

[mandaloriandy]

For the WIP game, Obi-Wan Can’t Catch A Break, Can He?

[WIP Ask Game!]

Obi-Wan Can’t Catch A Break, Can He?

a.k.a

The Star Wars AU I’m Not Gonna Write: Time Travel, the Fuckening: Darth Searah 3.0

So time travel. Wham, blam, cosmic rays, everyone gains future memories. And! There’s a bunch of people who haven’t been born yet who show up out of nowhere. “I don’t understand why we’re the same age, you died years before I did,” Sabine Wren tells Ezra Bridger, when they meet up. On Kamino, everyone has a big ole freak-out before the medics yell at everybody to shut up and start getting their control chips out (and Kix, just in case, carefully does not mention the time he spent in cryo-stasis). “Hm,” says Shmi Skywalker, when her much-older-now son shows up to kill Gardulla and free her. “Things got complicated, didn’t they?” Ani doesn’t stop hugging her, so she can feel his nod. “I have some things to tell you as well, I think…”

Obi-Wan Kenobi is an initiate. This is, to borrow a phrase of Ahsoka’s, a big yikes moment. He would probably be freaking out about it more if everyone else was freaking out about it less, but as it is, there is nobody in the temple who is not halfway to a panic attack except for maybe Vokara Che, who is grimly sedating anyone who needs sedating, and Sifo Diyas, who is pointing and laughing and saying I told you so. So Obi-Wan does what anyone (he thinks) would do: he organizes his fellow crechelings to go give their various masters a slap upside the head (or, more likely given their current stature, a stomp on the toes) until they stop freaking out and start doing things.

This is not the interesting part of the AU. Just work with me, here.

Okay. So over the next few years, things become… weirdly normal? Like, nobody is pretending that Obi-Wan et al are as young as they are. But also it is very clear to everyone that they’re all still children, and have the cognition skills and habits of children. So people go off with their various masters (with only a few minor shuffles) and start doing missions across the galaxy. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan (and Tahl and Yoda and Mace and probably a few others, for safety) swing by Tatooine, because they’re not gonna just leave Anakin there, but… well, he’s not there, and neither is Shmi. Plo Koon’s first stop is not Kamino (because trauma, and getting shot down by men you considered your family) but he goes there after he can’t find Ahsoka on Shili, and it’s just… empty. Palpatine has vanished. Great, everyone says. Now what.

Well, now problems.

The thing is, last time, by the time Obi-Wan had turned like seventeen, all of Qui-Gon’s friends were dead. They’re not, this time, and that’s wonderful (even though Obi-Wan is probably only like fifteen at this point so technically they’ve still got time.) The thing is, Qui-Gon is a maverick, and has never played by the rules, and knows how to play-by-the-rules-in-the-rules and also how to pretend. The thing is, the thing is… the thing is that when they had first started truly delving into this research, it was Dooku who had been following Qui-Gon’s lead.

It takes Obi-Wan Kenobi, oh, three months to figure this all out?

No, not quite. It takes Obi-Wan about that long to figure out that Qui-Gon is dangerously close to the edge of Falling. Unintentionally, he thinks. From trauma and sorrow and loneliness, he thinks. So he argues with the Council (he was once on the council) and they agree that he can keep trying to convince Qui-Gon not to Fall. Since technically he isn’t Fallen yet. He writes up all their mission reports, anyways, so he can just include an encrypted section with a status update on that. It’s Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mace Windu thinks. Surely he is the person best-placed to determine how safe or unsafe Qui-Gon Jinn is. Normally, he would be right, especially with a post-ANH General Kenobi. Unfortunately for him, Obi-Wan Kenobi is currently a teenager.

So a few years into this, when Obi-Wan is fifteen or sixteen, Quinlan Vos runs away. He Fell, his master says. Months later, when Obi-Wan senses a shadowed presence stalking him through the concourse of a space station, he just sighs and gets an extra cup of caf, then sits down on a bench until Quinlan just comes out and talks to him. Quinlan says that he didn’t know what to do – he’d Fallen before, and returned, but now it kept happening and he doesn’t know how to stop it. Quinlan says that he just thought he needed some time away for things to settle, but it hasn’t settled yet, and would Obi-Wan be willing to help him? Quinlan is lying out his ass about most of those things. Again, unfortunately, Obi-Wan is a teenager, and at this age he has a much harder time keeping his eyes off of Quin’s biceps than he should. (Also, well, Quinlan knows Obi-Wan, and knows that this is exactly the kind of narrative that Obi-Wan is looking for, because it’s the kind of narrative he’s desperately trying to find with Qui-Gon, had desperately tried to find with Anakin. Quinlan Vos, at this age, is a bit of an asshole.) Of Course I’ll Help You, Obi-Wan says. Let me just tell the Council– You can’t tell the Council! Quinlan says. Half of them died before the Clone Wars even started, they… I’m scared they won’t understand… he makes his eyes go wide, he bites his lip, he lowers his lashes. Okay, Obi-Wan says.

Quinlan’s not that subtle, though, so Obi-Wan figures it out in just a month or so. A month of him traveling around with Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. And learning Obi-Wan’s routine. Like, when he sends the Council updates. And what kind of things he puts in them. Oh, fuck, Obi-Wan thinks, while Quinlan has him pinned to the floor, his lightsaber clipped to Quin’s belt. Then, he thinks again. It’s not as if Quin knows any of his passwords, or his encryption keys, or his separate decryption keys. Without those, there’s no way Quin will be able to use his datapad to send the Council false updates, so they’ll realize that everything has gone south fairly quickly. Quinlan shifts Obi-Wan to a one-handed grip (damn those biceps) and, with his teeth, pulls the glove off of his free hand. Oh, fuck, psychometry, Obi-Wan thinks. Yeah, he’s kinda screwed. “Don’t tell me you’re working with Dooku,” Obi-Wan says, as scathingly as he can manage. Quinlan rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m working with Skywalker.” he pauses. “I mean, Dooku’s also working with Skywalker. So. You know.” Well, Obi-Wan thinks, trying to be optimistic. If Anakin kills me then my force-ghost can go complain to Yoda, at least.

Obi-Wan has failed to ask which Skywalker is the one pulling the strings, here.

[touchastar]

@macabrevampire

ah!! that's so sweet ty ;__; sorry for the delay; i hope you're still interested!

long long ramble about the two stories under the cut

apoworld and marsworld are placeholder names for two of my story projects. im not sure exactly what format they'll end up as (going back and forth between marsworld being a point and click game or a podcast tbh) and both of them do need a lot of refinement and writing to be done. marsworld does have a blog for posts that make me think of it and the occasional ramble :) @13blues13moons

i'll start with apoworld since that's the smaller project! and i want to preface this with saying ive come up with this when i was ~16 and long before i knew what h//zbin h//tel was.

its a story about angels, demons, and other things. takes place in midwestern or western america, haven't decided yet. im hoping to make it a series of short, interconnected stories with a couple recurring characters, but nothing has been really set in stone yet.

the main characters is ezra (lucifer's child), apollyon (the angel of death), and the lamb (a 16 year old emo who has decided she wants to become the antichrist.)

apollyon (he/it) is the angel of the pit. ancient, hateful, and tired. takes a LOT of pleasure in terrorizing humans, deeming them all inherently evil and unworthy. it fails to see any beauty or kindness in humanity, and as a result, got cursed by higher powers. im not entirely sure yet what the curse will exactly entail, but its going to be very much unpleasant and only drives apollyon deeper into his hole of hatred.

i want apollyon to be representative of how trauma makes people ugly and hurt and getting better / recovery is incredibly difficult and oftentimes doesn't even feel worth it. but even the worst victim still deserves compassion and love and does have a chance at recovery. you can't do it alone, no matter how much you want to, and you're going to need to rely on other people to support you. as well as a caution towards nihilistic thinking and generalizing humans as inherently evil, which will inevitably make you worse off and fascist in some cases.

ezra (they) is the child of lucifer. they are wildly, recklessly in love with humanity. they've also taken it onto themselves to try and "fix" apollyon after falling madly in love with apollyon - as in both healing apollyon's trauma and breaking the curse. they have the best of intentions, but i fear ezra is a bit too idealistic and immature. basically the (extreme) opposite side of the (extreme) spectrum apollyon lies on.

ezra is still a wip, as im trying to reclaim them from an ex friend who pretty much took the character and ran with them + kinned them. so they aren't as deep and detailed as apollyon yet, but i have made progress in making ezra mine again!

the lamb is a newer character. your standard midwestern emo girl who hates it here and wants to die to make a statement. she got into the occult and decided she's going to become the antichrist. inevitably, being the angel of the pit, it caught apollyons attention. and ezra wasn't too far behind. apollyon and ezra took her from her abusive family and now they kinda roam midwest / western america until i can figure out a cohesive story!

i do have one in the works but ive already typed up so much and i don't want to overwhelm you. they're very special to me and one of my older stories, but doesn't have as much work put into it due to the ex friend i mentioned before.

as for marsworld!!

essentially: marlow "mars" is an engineer for a company that specializes in disease control and research (for profit). daisy is a supercomputer / ai built to assist the company's endeavors. daisy is in love with mars and desires to become human to be with him, and is slowly hoarding bodies and meat and various bits and pieces to build herself a human body.

meanwhile, the company is quite literally playing god.. things go from point a to point b (still working on this aspect), and reality itself slowly starts breaking down and corroding into a gross, disjointed hellscape.

again, this needs a loooot of work and im still trying to figure things out for it, but i love it so so much and think about it always.

tysm for expressing interest :)

They should invent someone who wants to listen to me talk about my ocs (specifically marsworld and apoworld ocs rn)

[sp00kymulderr]

Nexus

Fandom:  Prospect

Characters: Cee, Ezra

Words: 1184

Warnings: Angst, some hints of dealing with trauma

A/N: Ok this is something very different for me! I’ve never written Cee before because I’m not sure how to write younger characters but I’ve been thinking a lot about how things might’ve been directly after the events of Prospect, so here’s my little take on that. Please let me know what you think!

Cee doesn’t expect Ezra to stay.

She has been let down by adults her whole life; the mother she couldn’t even mourn having never known her. Teachers who ignored her interests and barely seemed to care. And a father who even if on some level he did love her at some point, she believes would’ve traded her with the Sater for aurelac if he had been there instead.

So, despite what they have been through she can’t let herself expect too much of the man. 

To begin with things are the same, they are comfortable, and while he recovers in bed Cee begins to read to him her writing as she had promised she would. Yet after their short time in the sick bay he seems quickly to withdraw from the growing friendship and unsurprised she prepares to be alone – truly alone this time. Alone with her fear and her guilt, remembering the moments of terror on the Green and wondering why she barely misses her father.

After they are as healed as they will likely ever be, Cee and Ezra sit side by side in a canteen on the Pug and there is silence. She wants to talk to him. To ask for his help because despite, or perhaps because of it all she trusts him. Trusts he could understand her and help make sense of it. But he is not the same spirited man who helped her get off that toxic moon, whose curious thoughts never ceased to flow. Now the man is pallid and tired, stretched thin and perhaps selfishly she thinks it is time for him to let her down too.

The same evening, then, she begins to pack the few possessions that remain while Ezra takes a walk to look out at the stars as he does sometimes. It’s easier this way, Cee thinks. Easier to leave him to it with his half of the credits so they can wallow in their shared but so distinctly separate traumas in different parts of the universe. She isn’t scared of surviving on her own, it felt for quite some time that she was doing just that even before. Without shared affinity the familial relationship between her and her father felt barely there. Not like Ezra, because when she had finally let him in and given her trust she felt kinship. But not understanding fully, Cee thinks that was left on the Green.

When he returns they say their goodnights and she nudges the pack under her cot, settling in to be bombarded with those same guilty, confused thoughts as most nights. For a while it’s quiet as they both fight to succumb to their tiredness but eventually she hears Ezra snore and even if their time is over she is glad that he manages these few hours of sleep, he needs it more than anything. She huffs a low laugh at the gentle purr-like snore of the man she had at first thought menacing, before pulling out her book and flicking on the dim reading light to continue the ideas she had been jotting down daily, continuing the story of The Streamer Girl so she does not have to think of her own.

It’s still early when she decides it’s time. Quickly tying back her hair and shouldering the pack. Purposefully burdening herself with the prospect of nothing but her own company for the next while because, as she reminds herself, it’s easier. Easier than weighing down someone else who would rather she not be there. Cee can’t see past that because she feels like it’s all she has known for these last several years. Looking to his dark corner of the room she smiles gentle and silently wishes the best to the strange man she had grown so fond of before she leaves to scan the boards for a departure to her destination of choice. 

The girl is sitting on a bench waiting for the transport and reluctantly chewing down a bits bar - she’d had enough of them in her life already – when the familiar gait and distinct blonde patch catch her eye as Ezra approaches her. He looks better rested but still drawn and some emotion catches in her throat at the sight. She realises she’s even more attached to him than she first thought. He sits besides her and says nothing for a moment and even though the station is buzzing it feels too quiet.

“Getting ready to take flight, little bird?” Ezra asks eventually, if anything sounding amused at the situation.

Cee nods, mousy unwashed strand of hair shaking loose and falling against her face. She brushes it back behind her ear and turns to look at him finally.

“I’m sorry, Ezra,” she admits to him “I didn’t know how to tell you, I didn’t want to make you feel guilty too”

“What do you mean?”

She hesitates when he asks for explanation. Surely he knows.

“I appreciate you looking out for me and everything you’ve done but… it- it feels like you need space and I don’t want to burden you when you’re…” She trails off and motions to his missing right arm, and to the unseen wounds within, “healing”

“Oh birdie,” he sighs in response, kindly smiling down at the young girl “Cee. There’s no burden in having your friendship, and I’m grateful for your company even when it doesn’t seem that way. If anything, I should offer my apologies for my doleful demeanour lately. But without your kind company and conversation I wouldn’t have survived it, and for that and...everything else you’ve helped me with I feel a bond between us that I’d rather not break”

It’s here that Ezra offers Cee, for the first time ever, a hug. Arm slowly coming to rest on her shoulder, barely touching in case she wants to shake him off but instead she feels herself become overwhelmed by it, sobs barely audibly and lets him pull her in to such a warm, and caring embrace that tells her she is not alone.

Finally she realises, there is someone who cares for her.

“It seems we both still have healing to do” he mutters, squeezing her shoulder lightly, “I hope you know you can always talk with me. If you remember, I’m fairly fond of it”

“Thank you” she whispers, wiping the stray tear from her cheek before moving to sit back. Ezra watches as she looks to the gate where the transport will be, seemingly trying to decide something.

“Where is it you’re planning to go?” the man queries curiously

“Camria” is all she says but it’s wistful and full of thought

“Camria” he repeats, before setting down the pack at his feet that she hadn’t noticed before, “And would you like some company, little bird?”

“Ok” Cee nods, needing barely a moment to contemplate the offer, grin forming at the gesture. 

He didn’t even know where she would go, could’ve been back to the moon for all he knows, but he was willing to follow rather than lose her.

For the first time in a long time, Cee’s expectations are exceeded.

Permanent tag list:

@youhavereachedtheendofpie @princessbatears @miraclemoreno @hdlynn @fleetwoodmac-tshirt @chews-erotically @keeper0fthestars @marydjarin @readsalot73 @lunarthoughts @heatherbel @din-damn-djarin @seasonschange-butpeopledont @mstgsmy @sin-djarin @huliabitch @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @phoenixhalliwell @softpedropascal @millllenniawrites @blancatobarxoxo @cyaredindjarin @goblinqueen95 @knittingqueen13 @teaofpeach @agirllovespancakes @insomniamamma @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @strangelittlenobody @veuliee2 @buttercup--bee @coldlilheart @starless-eyes-remain @pikemoreno​ @dindjar-n

Ezra tag list:

@pedropascallion​ @justanotherblonde23​

[followtheowls]

WIP Challenge

Rules: tell us the titles of all the WIPs you are currently working on right now and a little about them. Then tag five other writers.

Thank you, @kitepiper for the tag (sorry it’s a few days late, I wanted to do it properly)!

I’m bending the rules on this because titles cause me stress and I never come up with them until literally right before I’m about to upload something, but I can definitely describe my WIPs. I also usually always hate the titles I choose in retrospect lol

Ok so I have lots of underdeveloped and unfinished WIPs but here are the few I know I’m going to finish at some point:

A post-TotA fic that deals the crew of the Ghost processing the trauma from Malachor. It mainly focuses on Ezra, who has become selectively mute and otherwise very distinct from the crew. This fic is slightly AU in that I’m tweaking a few details of what happens on Malachor, namely Kanan isn’t blinded. Instead, he loses an arm during Maul’s attack. Most other details are the same, Ahsoka’s gone, Maul escapes, etc..

An A to Z ficlet series that I hope to do and not give up on. Not entirely sure what it will look like, but just writing short drabbles about the crew together/that take place within the swr universe. This one’s not meant to be too serious, just an outlet to allow me to share some smaller ideas that won’t necessarily be good for a fic. I’m probably going to upload the first chapter either tonight or tomorrow depending on how I feel. (I kinda want this to be like interactive in some way? Like maybe could be fun to do with others and see where they take it? But it is also kinda a big project lol)

A cute family fic of our favorite space family exploring Lothal’s capitol city with Ezra as the local guide. It begins with a conflict between Ezra and Sabine after she misspeaks about a Lothalian cultural practice. After deciding the crew has spent far too much time on Lothal only to know so little about it, Ezra takes on the responsibility of educating the crew on Lothali indigenous culture. (This one is probably going to take awhile because it involves a fair amount of detail in creating/orchestrating the background of the culture. I might break it up into a mini series idk).

I have a series that I’ve already started to develop a few scenes and dialogue for about Ezra and his various trips to the medical wing. Contrary to how this sounds, I’m hoping this series to be a little more lighthearted, and leaning towards humorous than most of my other work. I already have a cute fic about Ezra being adorable with Kanan and Hera while super loopy on anesthesia.

Now the unfinished, but published WIPs:

 In the Arms of Another - This is my unfinished fic about Ezra’s grief for his parents directly following the end of A Princess on Lothal. It depicts Ezra’s inner turmoil between wanting a shoulder to cry on and to seek comfort from his new family, while also feeling sentiments of guilt over his attachment to his new family. Basically, Ezra has no idea what to do with himself or his grief and isn’t coping well. So far it’s been all hurt and no comfort, but I’m hoping to end it on a softer note. (I started this fic a while ago, I haven’t been feeling super motivated to finish it because it’s so heavy and deals with parental death, panic attacks, anxiety, etc.. My dad was incredibly ill recently and it really discouraged me from wanting to think/write about those kinds of themes. He, thankfully, is on the mend and doing better! So I’m hoping I will feel inspired to return to this soon.)

A True Measure of Intelligence - This is my other unfinished fic which I am hoping to finish in the near future! It dives into Ezra’s lack of access to education due to losing his home and family and becoming homeless at a young age. It focuses his insecurities within the Rebellion and even the Ghost. I’ve written most of the final chapter, I just need to edit it which is hard for me to focus on myself.

Eeek looking back that’s a lot, and I also have a few prompts in my asks that I have to get around to writing. Hopefully I follow through with at least 50% of this (I find that my ADHD makes it hard for me to follow through with projects that are purely creative, so maybe posting this will help me hold myself accountable?).

- Mia

[1andthesame]

I'll apologize up front: I'm not sure what this is. I sat down to reread the chapter and pick out all my favorite lines and thoughts and suddenly I'm unpacking decades old trauma? I don't know where it came from, although I can probably blame my female parts working overtime this week. I was going to comment about the tension and how edged the reader was for the entire day and I had to wait a few days to even make a comment because I was so tender and sensitive it was fucking painful to experience it with her and I didn't want to feel that twice. 😆

I was in a situation very similar to Cee's position in high school: had a bff I'd known for a few years, made a new guy friend at my fast food job and was like YOU.HAVE.TO.MEET.HIM! because he was older, super intelligent, exceptionally cool, kinda had a reputation/was the dangerous type and on our same wavelength. She knew how I felt about him, how I was physically and intellectually attracted to him. In fact, he was the first person I ever actually "fell for." And when I found out they'd been sneaking around behind my back, going on little "dates" without telling me? I was absolutely devastated.

I'd like to think I would've been cool with them being a couple if they'd just come to me and told me, but I don't honestly know if I could've been. Did they need my permission to have a relationship? No. But it felt like such a betrayal: a lack of trust in our friendships on their part, a dishonest taste left in my mouth from the secrecy and slinking around, the breaking of The Girl Code. Not to mention discovering that my first real crush only looked at me like a buddy, one of the guys (my twin and I were the first girls he brought into his circle of friends).

So I lost them both for the year they dated, anger, hurt and jealousy getting the best of me as I tried to navigate their back-stabbing as it compounded the trauma my asshole malignant narcissist of a father had delivered upon me when he abandoned his family (hello rejection and abandonment issues) 10 years prior.

Decades later, I'm still dealing with those issues and there's some serious self-loathing and feelings of shame going on while I'm reading because I'm relating so easily to the reader and how she responds to Ezra and I get it now: I totally get the gravitational pull, the feeling of drowning, the hair-trigger sensitivity to his nearness. And I hate myself for it. I am sitting here literally crying for Cee because if she can't reconcile them being together or feels like she's been betrayed like I did? Gods, I don't wish that on anyone.

Even though I assured my friends that all was well, I've been carrying this around for YEARS and it still stung when I'd think about it and be like how could they do that to me? And now reading this story, I understand how they could and it's A LOT to process and it will take some time, but it's helped me to see them as not necessarily so callous toward my feelings or so dismissive of our friendships. What you've described here between the reader and Ezra is both biological and magnetic and I feel it too. I see how easy it would be to succumb and it's quite a revelation.

Also, I thought maybe 'In the Dark' was a reference to what happens between them under the cover of darkness, behind closed doors? But now that the floodgates have opened, I feel it's more about Cee and her ignorance of their growing feelings.

And Ezra's POV was a welcome addition to this chapter! We had that conversation this week about age gap and experience and YES YES YES to see him grappling with desire, obsession, and an inner struggle of should we/shouldn't we? It really brought his character to light. If it wasn't there, he would definitely come off as a dirty old pervert or a Svengali type.

TL/DR: Who knew fanfiction could kickstart healing for old trauma?

Thank you for sharing this with us, for sharing all your stories. Reading how you manage to write in short snatches of time here and there with your busy life, it sounds like no small feat. ❤

In The Dark: 4

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Mature, age gap, sweet sweet tension 😌

a/n: This chapter gave me the worst trouble — thank you to @krissology for giving me the best advice, and for whom this chapter is dedicated to (spot those Easter eggs, baby!) and for @charnelhouse @astroboots @loversandantiheroes and @the-ginger-hedge-witch for patiently listening to my whining. It takes a village, y’all. Enjoy! ❤️

Series Masterlist

—

The first time he looked, it was an accident.

Bored and scrolling through Instagram, he saw Cee tagged you in something and his thumb tapped your name without thinking, his phone screen filling with a neat grid of images:

You, on vacation at the beach.

You, in your apartment.

You, sitting with Cee outside a coffee shop.

You, lying in bed with your laptop.

He brought the phone closer to his face, studying them in a silent, slow scroll.

Jesus, you were pretty.

Funny too, judging by your dry captions.

The sounds of traffic wafting in through the open window, a beer bottle chilled limply in his hand while he buried himself for the next half hour or so, descending deep into your timeline.

Your friends, your previous school, various vacations you’ve been on and back to the one of you on the beach, his eyes lingering on your smooth curves of skin.

It felt slightly voyeuristic to keep looking, but he couldn’t stop.

A car door slamming outside had startled him back into the present, a cold wave of realization dawning on him as he came to and feeling like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been, he closed the tab.

But then he checked it again a couple days later.

And again, after that.

The next time he saw you, he felt like you could tell he’d been looking, though of course you couldn’t.

Still, he tried to keep his distance, staying in his work room almost the entire night because every time he looked at you, he saw those pictures. You flat on your back in bed, or on that beach and he had to force some space between the two of you; break the thick, magnetic pull he felt whenever you were in the same room.

He had eventually taken a shower, stroking himself to relief before coming out into the kitchen to find the two of you looking into weekends away and when he invited you to watch TV with them, he told himself he was just being polite. Friendly. Showing interest in Cee’s friends.

Yea right.

He wanted you next to him on that couch: the warmth of your body, the sweet smell of your clothes, to be near your voice and it was so hard not to touch you right then.

Something he made up for later, when you found him watching TV that night. He couldn’t help the way he reached for you, not with the way you had been looking at him.

Not only right then, but all the time, these past few weeks.

He’s been drawn just as much to you: drawn to your softer, more wholesome sweetness. To the vulnerability in your face, wholly untouched by the defensiveness the city often demanded from people. You left yourself exposed and open, and he liked that.

Liked thinking about all the things he could show you too — all the things you’d let him do to you, if you wanted him too.

You did want it, showing him when you let him kiss you last night and he should regret it, but he doesn’t.

It’s early, the house silent around him and Ezra lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He can tell no one is awake yet by the utter stillness when he lays and listens, the orangey glow of dawn beginning to creep in through his window.

He shifts, reaching for his phone to check the time and sits up with a cinch, leaning against his headboard. Scrubbing his hand down his face, he listens again for movement in the house, thinking about how you’re just down the hallway from him. He closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the wood.

Last night.

He could still see you in the bathroom, getting ready. The curve of your ass in your jeans as you leaned over the sink, the slow, deliberate way you outlined your lips in lipstick. He can’t ever help looking at your mouth - not when you’re chewing on your pencil at their table, not when you’re eating dinner with them, not when you’re laughing at something he’s said.

And especially not when you bite the bottom one, trying to hide your arousal, like you did last night.

He knows. He has seen it on your face, has come to recognize it on men and women alike when they look at him and though he knows he shouldn’t take that alone as permission to pursue you, especially given your friendship with Cee, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He had tried to hold out, he really did. All these weeks of you keeping your distance and of him scolding himself over his thoughts haven’t brought him any relief and it’s not for lack of trying.

The woman, at the movie theater. His fist, in the shower or in his bed at night. He even went out to the bar to try to go home with someone and bury himself in them until he could forget about you and the touch of your soft skin under his hand and the warmth of your body next to his under that blanket on the couch - but he couldn’t do it.

He hasn’t found satisfaction in anyone since you’ve been around.

Then you were there when he got home, your sweet face upturned to his when he walked in the door and you had looked so unabashedly hopeful for a split second that he wanted to walk over and kiss you right there and then; fuck that fact that it wouldn’t be right.

When you went out, it drove him crazy to think about you going home with someone else. He had been restless the whole night, tossing and turning in his bed, listening for Cee to come home with the hope that you would be with her and when you were, he couldn’t help seek you out.

He reasoned that he just wanted to see how your night went, but the fact that he waited until Cee got in the shower told him that was bullshit.

Fuck, you had tasted good though. Sweeter than he ever imagined, that mouth that’s been haunting him these last few weeks just as soft and pliant as he knew it would be and the sounds you made had only solidified his choice - your soft moans, your hums of hunger. He could still feel them on his tongue if he tried hard enough.

He was lost when he saw you standing there bare faced and sweet, so young and innocent in the hazy, bluish twilight of the kitchen and it made him hard then to think about all the things he wanted to do to you.

It makes him hard now, under his comforter.

He wonders if you’re awake yet.

–

The sun is the full, bright glow of late morning behind the curtains in Cee’s room when your eyes flutter open and rolling over to face her, you find her side of the bed empty. Her covers carelessly thrown back, you stretch your arms into the open space before tucking yourself back into a tight ball and you listen for movement outside her bedroom.

Muted, far away sounds: the ceramic clink of a coffee cup on the counter, the sound of slippers shuffling over the hardwood floor, the low bass tones of Ezra talking. A note or two of music underneath it all, if you try hard enough and the memory of last night skates around the edges of your sleep muddled mind.

The warm, solid weight of his body against yours. The perfect mold of his lips. His breath, escaping with a sigh into your mouth as you opened up for him. The soft texture of his mussed curls in your grip.

“I think about you all the time. Every night.”

You close your eyes again, burrowing deeper into the soft bedding and relishing the content limbo of time. When you hear the creak of the hardwood floors in the hallway in a signal that someone is coming closer, you open your eyes expecting to see Cee, but instead, you find someone else.

“Good morning.” Ezra stands in the frame, bringing a mug of coffee to his lips. It should be criminal for someone to look as good as he does in that doorway: his sleep rumpled dark mess of hair with a shock of white, the cozy fit of the navy blue cardigan he’s wearing form fitting around his shoulders, the warmth in his eyes as they slide over your body under the covers.

Your smile is a tired, automatic one as you prop yourself up on your elbow and you briefly wonder what you must look like with how little sleep you ended up getting last night. With him standing there though, you find yourself unable to care.

“Good morning”, you grin shyly.

He shuffles his feet forward, looking at the frame of the door before he stops with a rest of his hand against it and it’s like he can’t quite bring himself to cross the threshold, instead looking at you for a moment before glancing down the hall towards the kitchen.

“There’s coffee, if you want it,” he says softly. “I think Cee wants to go to the farmer’s market, if you want to come with.”

“Is she awake?” Cee’s voice sounds from the end of the hallway. A resigned smile graces his face before he turns to her and nods and she rounds the door, coming to climb into bed.

“I was just gonna come wake you up,” she says, stretching out next to you. Her hair is still a mess - a sloppy, lopsided bun on the crown of her head, her pajamas making her look more youthful than she is - and you lay back against the pillow, dragging the covers up over your shoulders. Ezra lingers in the doorway for a moment, his gaze resting on you before walking away.

“It’s almost ten,” she continues. “You wanna come to the farmer’s market with us?”

“Sure.” Swiping your fingers over the corner of your eye, you clear the sleep crust. “I’ve heard a lot about it. I could use some fresh food.” You grimace, thinking about the state of your near empty refrigerator. “Lemme get dressed and brush my teeth, then we can head out.”

She rolls out of the bed, wandering over to her dresser and you make your way to the bathroom, keeping an eye out for Ezra. A glimpse into the kitchen has you briefly staring at the spot where he backed you into the counter last night - the space now empty as if nothing happened there, and flooded with morning light.

Fully awake now, you take your time brushing your teeth and washing your face, giving yourself a moment to think about how this is supposed to go. He kissed you last night. And not just a small brush of lips, but a kiss. Like he meant to devour you if you would have let him and you almost did, with the way you tugged him into the cradle of your thighs and opened your mouth to him.

That was at night though, when the two of you were held suspended in that kitchen together until the want became too unbearable to ignore. That was when you were alone, without anyone around and felt the infinite possibility of nighttime: a time without consequence, never a thought for the next day.

But now it is the next day. What next? Are you supposed to go out there and pretend like it never happened? Or are you actually supposed to acknowledge it?

You know you need to get him alone and talk about it, but knowing that isn’t going to happen with Cee around, you finish up in the bathroom and resign yourself to take direction from him.

Creeping back down the hallway towards her room, you hope you’ll run into him, but you don’t - and that’s how it stays until you leave the house.

He shows up at the last minute, fully dressed and patting his pockets to make sure he has everything and he looks so handsome you want to reach out and touch him - even more so because now you know you can.

His navy work pants that fit his legs so nicely, a worn cotton t shirt stretching across his shoulders, his hair a disheveled splay with a pair of sunglasses propped on top until he pulls them down over his eyes and you look at his back as he locks the door, the gray fabric clinging to the taut shift of his lean muscles.

“Let’s take the train, parking is always so horrible down there,” he says, a loose amble down the front stairs of the house and you’re waiting for any kind of acknowledgement from him, but of course you’re not going to get one. You know it’s not safe with Cee here.

Watching him walk slightly in front of the two of you, you’re reminded again about what happened last night. You felt those hands you’ve been dreaming about, sighed over the scrape of his beard on your neck, clenched at the warm, wet drag of his mouth against your skin.

You did that, with him, and no one knows except the two of you.

How could they not? You feel changed, hyper aware of his presence near yours, as if you’ve been branded by his lips for everyone to see. Can’t they feel this like you can? Can’t they see it between you two?

As if he can sense you thinking about him, he peeks back at you for a moment and then slows his stride down just enough for the two of you to catch up. You can’t walk three wide down the sidewalk for long, but it’s just enough time for him to reach out and catch your pinky with his hand, giving it a secret tug.

He smiles down at you, dropping your hand just as quickly as he caught it and you grin to yourself; the three of you continuing onto the station.

–

Ezra stands near you on the train, crowded for a Sunday mid-morning and uses his body as a shield, blocking you from being bumped by anyone. The rock of the car makes his body sway and brush against yours, the space around him slowly filling and he moves closer, causing you to be almost flush against his side and it’s like a torture of the most exquisite kind.

Jesus.

He’s noticed your proximity - you can tell with the way he keeps casually looking down at you and you know you should probably put some distance between your bodies, but you can’t make yourself do it. The train is crowded after all and the two of you look just like anyone else in the cramped space. If anything, this is the perfect opportunity to be close to him - so you take it.

His clean, male scent fills your senses when you inhale, a fresh wave of memory taking you off guard with how strongly it washes over you: he smelled the same last night when he pushed you back across the counter, filling the welcoming space between your legs. The sleep warm feel of his t-shirt in your grip, the husky grunt he let out into your mouth, the words he said.

Swallowing thickly to combat a flash of heat, you get pulled from thought when his body lurches forward into yours.

“Sorry, man,” someone says over their shoulder as they pass by the two of you, their backpack the cause of his stumble and Ezra says nothing, already brushing it off.

The contact of his body against yours is brief, but enough to make you close your eyes, lightheaded.

Trying to rein yourself in before you slip an arm around his waist and tug him closer no matter who sees, you try to think about something else, focusing instead on how you feel when he stands next to you in public.

You’re envious of the way people move around him, giving him space on the train. Like he’s entitled to it without question just because he’s a man - something you’ve never experienced as a girl. People were always invading your space, always pushing your boundaries, always sitting too close or not moving when you needed them too - but with him, they respected his space without question. Like being a man came with a certain understanding in these spaces and while you should be more upset that the same courtesy isn’t afforded to you, instead you revel in it.

Being in his bubble makes you taken care of, protected; grants you a sense of freedom that you so rarely get to feel. Like you don’t have to be on your guard against anyone when you’re with him because he takes care of that for you, without even knowing.

A sudden appreciation for him felt, you smile up at him and he returns it with a wink.

–

The market located in Chelsea, it’s a short walk from the train and you take in everything you see around you. The neighborhood is one you haven’t had a chance to explore yet and you are grateful for Cee bringing you here - it’s gorgeous.

Lush, tucked away green spaces between the buildings. Compact rectangles of peace and play; cherry blossoms and courts; park benches and play structures. The size of the city was staggering, even daunting sometimes, but it never failed to surprise you how small it seemed when you found places like these. So much more quiet than you could have ever imagined.

Reserved red brick scrawled with harsh, multi-colored graffiti, futuristic structures of concrete and glass bent around the Highline, practical, cold facades of corporate buildings with sculptures in their courtyards. The whole city screamed utility, but with the bursting pleasures of life and art. Organized infrastructure underneath sprawling, ever growing, messy chaos.

You loved the way the people made the city their own — marked up the buildings, carved out their neighborhoods, pounded the pavement and pieced together a life that felt individual and unique in a city of over 8 million people doing the same thing; the way they’ve been doing that very thing for hundreds of years.

The outdoor market was a perfect example of this city domesticity: families and partners and friends, all gathering to buy the food that they would prepare together. Small children more stylish than you’ve ever seen being waltzed around by their parents, those same parents trying to remember if they need apples, or if the flowers they bought a couple of days ago need replacing.

Bundles of produce piled high at individual stalls, all laid out in the most aesthetically pleasing yet casual placement you’ve ever seen and you wish you were better at drawing or painting or something; the urge to capture the look of it tugging strongly at you.

Packed with people trying to take advantage of one of the last gorgeous fall days before the weather turns biting and cold, Ezra’s face is unreadable under his sunglasses. He walks alongside you with a confident aloofness, content to let you both guide him around and you quickly realize that visiting the market with Cee doesn’t mean grocery shopping as much as it means looking and eating.

It’s fine, you didn’t relish the thought of carrying home sacks of fresh produce on the train anyway and so you let her lead the way, enjoying the day.

Ezra stays by you - always at your elbow, or behind you - just out of reach, but there.

He’s quiet today - more quiet than usual, but as you watch him walk through the market you can see telltale signs of tension in his limbs. You watch the set and shift of his jaw, the flex of his shoulders as he rolls them, the restless way he moves his arms when he walks. Like he’s trying to hide it, but can’t help the way it works loose from his body.

“Do you guys want coffee?” he asks, his hand rubbing at the nape of his neck.

You both nod, a secret, inward smile at the thought the man needs anything but a cup of coffee right now and when Cee tells him her order and wanders over to the fresh flowers, he comes closer to your side.

“What do you want?” he asks, his hand cupping your elbow in a delicate hold. It’s the first direct thing he’s said to you since you’ve left the house and the double meaning of the words feels more intimate than a question about coffee should.

You tell him your order, distracted by the way his thumb brushes against your skin, a rhythmic drag back and forth over the bone of your elbow and for a moment, it feels just like the kitchen last night - a space in which the two of you stand suspended, alone.

There is a palpable tension between your bodies, like all you would need is a green light in order to throw yourselves at each other and the weight of it wraps around your lungs, compressing the air there. You take in his features greedily, your eyes dropping to the plush line of his mouth and he does the same to yours, but it’s only a second before he gives you a squeeze, leaving to go get it.

When he stands in line and places the order, you watch the woman at the stall smile broadly at him and laugh at something he says. He leans in conspiratorially, another flirty laugh bubbling from her and something ugly rears in your chest at the site. You tamp it down, thinking instead about how he is standing in line getting something for you.

You don’t know why you like it so much, but you do. You feel cared for and cherished when he does it, like he wants to take care of you and wants other people to see it. A claim being staked, in the barest of ways and it’s dumb, because no one even knows what happened last night and you also know he does the same thing for Cee, but to you, it feels different.

He comes back, handing the cup to you and you pretend not to notice the way he watches you take your first sip before taking his own. Food vendors everywhere, Cee comes back and debates on what she wants to eat: translucent, delicate looking spring rolls, steaming perogies swimming in pats of butter, hot breakfast sandwiches cooked on a huge outdoor griddle. You smell the heady, rich scent of bacon as you pass the stand with your coffee, your stomach grumbling as you eye it, but Cee tugs you forward to another place she has in mind.

“Oh my god, you have to try these dumplings,” she gushes, taking her place in line. “They have this delicious custard inside them that's amazing and they look like little panda bears? It’s the cutest thing. Here.”

Ezra stands behind you, placing his hand on the small of your back in a guise to make room for someone behind him and you feel the gentle touch light a path up your spine. You can’t help the way you subtly push into his hand; a movement that doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

She pays the vendor in exchange for a paper tray of them, immediately placing one in your palm and taking your first bite of the pillowy dumpling, he shifts to watch your teeth pierce the plush dough. A rush of thick, rich custard fills your mouth and you hum in contentment. The dumpling such a satisfying thing to bite into, you chew, savoring the taste. God, you’re hungry. This is divine.

“This really is so good,” you tell her, the heat of Ezra’s eyes on you underneath his shades and she laughs, gesturing at your mouth.

“Hang on, lemme get some napkins. I’ll be right back.”

She leaves and before you can wipe it away, Ezra quickly steps in to brush the pad of his thumb against the corner of your mouth, gathering the small dot of cream. He brings it to his own mouth, sucking it off and you’re frozen, watching his lips surround the tip of the digit, when Cee comes back to your side handing you a napkin.

“It’s good, right Ez?” she asks, taking another bite of her own and he nods, keeping his eyes on you for a moment.

“Yea, real sweet.”

–

A stop at the bookstore per Cee’s request, the two of you share a shorthand communication that Ezra observes. He watches Cee point something out to you, sees you pick up a book and hand it wordlessly to her and it’s like each of you knew exactly why the other wanted to show it to them; a connection he envies. His eyes follow the line of your delicate neck, resting for a moment on the image of your finger tracing the matte cover of a table of new releases and then he moves on, letting you browse.

You pick your way through the titles, scanning the backs, but given the stack of books you have yet to read currently sitting on your bedside table, you instead find yourself watching him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s wandering, selecting books seemingly at random and reading the backs before putting them down — and he looks both absorbed and restless, if that was possible. A momentary look of intense concentration on each book itself, but seemingly bored by it at the same time. Fingers drumming on his thigh, making a fist and then releasing it. Grip outreached, like he was grasping something that wasn’t there or remembering the feeling of something just for a moment.

You focus on his hand for a moment - the strong, thick fingers, the veins that run over his wrist and down, thinking of the way that it easily wrapped around the back of your neck last night and feeling the phantom grip of it.

“I’m gonna head upstairs,” Cee says. “There are a couple of books in the art section I wanna check out.” She looks at you expectantly in an invitation, turning to head towards the staircase and you wave her away with a nod.

“I’m gonna see what they have in their used section. I’ll catch up.”

You wait in place as she walks away, not moving until you see her small frame disappear up the second flight of stairs and then you go looking for Ezra, finding him in the used fiction section. He looks up and sees you, a smile stretching his cheeks and peeking over your shoulder, you come closer. When you seem to hesitate just out of his reach, his smile blooms into a full blown grin and he reaches out, plucking your shirt in his hand to tug you to him.

“Hello, birdie,” he says smoothly. “Looking for something?” There is a teasing lilt to his tone and it makes your face heat.

“I am.” You aren’t sure how to play this game that he seems to be the master of, this confident way of flirting, but he makes you want to try.

He hums, his eyes darkening as they slide down your features. His knuckles brush against the soft cotton of your shirt right above the waist of your pants, his eyes flicking back up to yours to gauge your response and you hold your breath, feeling a jolt of electricity directly between your legs; strong and intoxicating. Mischief flares bright in his gaze, just for a moment.

“What about this one?” he murmurs, guiding you close to a shelf with his hand spanning across the small of your back. His chest is a solid wall against you and you lean back into it, chasing his warmth. His hand skates a path down your arm, winding around the delicate curve of your wrist and the calloused pads of it scrape against your smoother hand when he brings them up together to rest on the shelf.

The store is crowded with people, groups and solo readers both wandering everywhere and yet this space between the shelves is a liminal one, where anything could happen surrounded by the privacy of the worn spines.

“What about it?” you barely get out, your eyes on the books but unable to focus. You swallow thickly, feeling the pressure of his body crowding yours.

“I just think it sounds like a good one, that’s all.” His voice is low and husky, the baritone rumbling only just and you’re about to reply when you suck in a sharp inhale.

His mouth comes to rest delicately against the nape of your neck, his breath a warm skim over your skin and you can feel the way it moves your hair every time he breathes out. He brushes your hair out of the way to kiss it fully, fitting his lips into the indent at the top of your spine and you close your eyes, feeling immediately drunk with arousal. He opens his mouth just enough to peek his tongue out, tasting the sweetness of your skin before giving it another kiss and when you flex your hand on the bookshelf to steady yourself, he presses his fingers between yours with a squeeze.

Cee could walk around the corner of the shelf at any time - hell, anyone could - but you can’t think of anything but him when he opens his mouth again, this time to drag his teeth in a barely there bite that he soothes with another kiss. The seam of your panties soaks with arousal, a moan gathering at the base of your throat and threatening to slip out as you arch into him when he suddenly stops, pulling away.

You miss him immediately, turning to chase his mouth with your own no matter who the fuck sees, but he takes another small step back; his hands resting on your waist, a curl of his lips at your lust drunk expression.

His thumb tucks itself neatly under the hem of your shirt, caressing the meat of your hip and just like on the couch, it’s a singular point of contact that makes your thighs imperceptibly clench together; your panties clinging to your damp core.

This fucking man.

He leans in, your face tilting towards his in anticipation of another kiss, but he bypasses your mouth and bends to brush his lips against your ear instead.

“Let’s get out of here and go get something to eat - I’m starving.”

–

He’s going to drive you crazy.

It’s almost like some kind of a joke, the way you’ve been teetering between euphoria at his closeness and your own personal hell of being unable to touch him and you are so aroused that it actually hurts.

Discreet touches are as good as you’re going to get today it seems, ones that dance the line of casual and appropriate while sating the need for each other and he’s testing you again now, by taking the seat next to you at the table.

Cee’s bags of books tucked neatly by your feet, he scoots his chair in next to you, so close his thigh brushes yours and your body feels like you’ve been edging it for hours, almost jumpy.

“What are you going to get?” he asks, leaning in and the words breathe warm across your cheek, making you shiver.

“I’m not sure,” you reply, swallowing. You look up, his face so close to yours that you can see the brown blending with the black; a rich, lighter ring of color highlighted in the sun. “Everything looks so good.”

He grins slowly. “It does, huh.”

When your food arrives, you’re surprised by how much you eat given the empty, aching pull deep in the pit of your belly. Just sitting next to him is a lot; the scent of his warm skin mixing with the deep husk of his laugh when he listens to Cee talk about someone in her class and you tuck your hand under your thigh to hold it in place, lest you reach out just to touch his forearm.

You can feel the vibration between the two of you, the thick tension filling the space between your seated bodies and as the meal goes on, it gets more intense. The presence of his body, the pitch of his low voice, his scent. The bookstore comes back to you, the warm weight of his mouth on your neck and you’re just about to excuse yourself to the bathroom for a break when Cee says the same, standing up.

You stay put, waiting a moment before slowly turning to look at him and he’s already doing the same.

“Listen,” he starts, turning his torso to face you more fully and leaning in. “We need to talk about last night.” He glances at the hallway where the restrooms are, watching for Cee before he brings his eyes back to your face. They drop automatically to your mouth and he lets out a quiet laugh, one of relief. “But I actually just wanna kiss you again.”

Expecting a much more serious conversation, you smile in surprise at his boldness. “Oh yea?” you tease, your next words getting caught in your throat when he slides his hand over the curve of your knee, dragging it up to the inside of your thigh. The weight of his hold is felt deep within your core, a need so piercing you almost squirm in your chair.

“Yea, I do. I’ve been thinking about it all morning. You’re killing me over here. I feel like I can’t get any time alone with you and all I want is to –”

The waiter comes by and you’re breathless, waiting with baited breath on his every rushed, hushed word. You watch him slowly refill your glass of water and when Ezra leans away from you, you want to toss your glass into the corner of the room.

He smiles politely, if not a little stiff, at the waiter and when he moves on, he leans in again. “What happened last night and whatever is happening today — you want this, right?”

You nod immediately, the ghost of his lips felt on yours and a corner of his mouth curls up at your confirmation. “When can I see you again? Can I come over, or –”

Cee rounds the corner of the table and he shifts away from you, the tense little bubble surrounding the two of you bursting. You take a breath, your heart racing and he takes a sip of his water, looking out the window. Cee’s busy looking down at her phone, typing away a text.

“Hey that guy I met at the party the other night just sent me a message,” she grins, placing her phone down on the table and picking up her fork. She is oblivious to the stiffness of the two of you and you have no idea how, because he is all you can feel.

He’s done eating, leaning back in his chair and draping his arm across the back of yours and you have never been more happy for his over familiarity with everyone; Cee not even batting an eye when she does it. It takes all you have not to lean into the crook of his arm.

“What’s next, ladies?” he asks. “You gonna go meet up with that guy, Cee?”

You feel like you can sense an eagerness in his tone when he asks, but she shakes her head.

“No. I’ve gotta go home and get some reading done. Maybe a nap? A nap would be nice. Last night was a late one.” She looks at you, dragging a fry through mayonnaise. “You were asleep before I even got out of the shower,” she smiles. “You must have been really tired.”

You nod, a slight guilt kindling in your gut. “Yea, I was.” You shift on your chair, trying to deliver the response casually. “Good thing I have tomorrow off. I can catch up on my sleep.”

Ezra goes still for a moment, before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Oh yea? Got any plans?”

“I don’t think I do.” You can’t help but smile, your chin coming to rest in the palm of your hand and he raises his eyebrows, leaning back in his chair.

“A day off sounds great,” he says and Cee nods in agreement.

She glances down at her phone again, tossing her crumpled napkin onto her plate and Ezra drops his hand down to your knee, briefly squeezing it before signaling to the waiter with a tilt of his chin for the check.

“Let’s get out of here before we miss the next train.”

–

You’re going to be sick.

Never more turned on in your entire life, you are itching to get your clothes off and get into the shower. The party the night before weighs on your skin, but more than that, you need to sate this ache between your thighs.

Jesus, being around him all day has left you unbearably aroused, your skin on fire and your limbs restless, your panties darkly soaked and dropping your bag by the door, you kick it shut with your foot and walk quickly to your bathroom, your hands already undoing the button on your jeans.

Bending to turn the shower on, you kick the denim off, strip your shirt over your head with a tug and dropping everything on the tiled floor, you step into the too hot stream.

The water running over the crown of your head and down over your back, you brace your hands on the cool wall and take steady, slow breaths.

“I think about you all the time. Every night.”

The image of him licking the custard from his thumb.

His fingers pressing between yours on the bookcase.

“I just want to kiss you again.”

A lightness expands in your chest that fills the humid stall, and to calm down the jitter in your overstimulated muscles, you force yourself to stand there until you relax. Adrenaline has been rushing through you all day and you let the water wash it down the swirling drain, eventually along with the moans you let out into the small stall.

You don’t get out until you run out of hot water, and when you step out and wrap a towel around yourself, you see you have a text.

Ezra: Can I come over tomorrow?