Ezra Prospect/reader - Tumblr Posts
Ohhhhh how I missed him! 😭❤️ this is incredible.
In The Dark: One Shot
Series Masterlist
Ezra x m!reader
Rating: E (filth and yearning, my friends)
Summary: Six weeks after Birdie has left, a glimpse into how Ezra tries to forget.
A/N: all the thanks to my bestie in crime, @the-scandalorian who said “when will this freak be in MY sheets” and she was so real for that ❤️
--
It’s been over a month, and the wound is still raw.
He’s tried to keep busy in so many ways: driving further for deliveries, taking on harder jobs that tire him out, seeking out his friends for a few drinks or a movie or dinner. Anything to keep him from reaching for his phone to text you or call you.
Distractions, which is what he needs tonight.
The itch to grab his phone is strong, so he grabs his keys instead. Stuffs his wallet in his back pocket, some condoms in the front. Steps out into the dusk and with a quick, restless stride, makes his way towards the nearest station. The train is crowded, not unusual for a Friday night and so are the streets when he gets off: streams of pairs, of groups, of single people like him all headed their way somewhere.
A thought pops into his mind, the way you used to wonder aloud where everyone was going. You used to watch them from your window, the steam from the tea clutched in your hands curling into the air, and for a brief, painful moment, he sees it. Your profile, your cheeks stretched with a grin, your hand patting the cushion next to you, beckoning him closer. In nothing but a tank top and your underwear, you’re a vision – a literal one that he shakes free as he opens the door to the bar.
It’s loud, but that’s good.
It doesn’t take him long to find someone. He’s never one to be shy about looking at someone with blatant want, and it takes only a few minutes before the man approaches him. It’s only been men since you left. He can’t bear the touch of another woman, with all their softness and sweetness and curves. He needs a hardness that matches his own: rough kisses, harsh grips.
Ezra orders the man a beer to match the one he’s finishing off, and they talk for a while, leaning on the bar. He’s a drummer in a band, here to see his friend play. He’s got intricate tattoos that run the length of his arms, molding to the sinewy muscles. He’s got eyes so rich with depth that Ezra finds himself drawn in the longer they talk, empty bottles being replaced with fresh, full ones.
He’s not you, and that’s perfect.
A bundle of cash is thrown down on the countertop, and Ezra follows the man out of the bar, letting him guide him back to his place, just around the corner. The apartment is sparse in the way men’s often are. A couch, a coffee table, a couple of pieces of art on otherwise bare walls. Not as many books as Ezra would like to see, but that’s okay. He’s not here for intellectually stimulating conversation.
He’s here to fuck.
He’s here to forget the fact that he would rather be in someone else’s apartment, surrounded by their stacks of books, among other things that made it feel so cozy and lived in. So warm, just like the cloud of your bed, or the cradle of your thighs or –
“You want a drink?” the man offers, standing next to his open fridge.
Ezra shakes his head, coming closer. He reaches out, gently pushing the door shut.
“No,” he replies. “Just you.”
—
The man’s bed is nothing like yours, but that’s okay.
The sheets aren’t as soft and it doesn’t smell as sweet, but it does have a willing body with a tight hole and that’s all that matters right now. Something to turn his brain off for the night, to numb the deep ache that’s settled between his ribs.
He aches now, but in a different way. A sweet, heavy ache deep in his balls as he tries not to come in the tight, wet fist of this man’s ass. The stranger is on his hands and knees, his back arched to take every one of Ezra’s rough thrusts, rocking back to meet every snap of his hips. His groans are deep and loud, his hands clenched in the plain sheets stretched over his mattress and Ezra runs a hand down his spine, his fingers splayed over his lower back.
Tattoos extend all the way up to his shoulders and wrap around his ribcage. His body is gorgeous – all lean muscles and smooth skin; Ezra’s touch fits between his ribs along his sides as he bends forward to tug the man up.
The stranger molds his back to Ezra’s front, and Ezra keeps a hand cradled at the base of his throat and fucks him harder, letting out his low, labored grunts into the nape of his sweat damp neck. His body is hard against Ezra’s, nothing like yours. When Ezra’s arm wraps around his front, he feels firm, flat planes instead of lush, weighted breasts. When his hand smoothes down the man’s torso, he feels a flat belly covered in scattered hair instead of plush, rounded softness. When Ezra’s hand dips lower, it wraps around a thick, stiff cock instead of finding a seam of wet, slick warmth.
The man’s hand joins Ezra’s, the two of them pumping his cock in time with the beat of Ezra’s hips. Ezra wants something slicker, something to make the drag better, and he lets go, bringing his hand up to the man’s mouth. The man opens, sucking Ezra’s fingers in down to the knuckle, and they groan together, Ezra’s cock jerking inside. Ezra can feel the vibration of his hum around the thick digits and pulls them out of his mouth, bringing them back down to the man’s cock.
“Fuck,” he groans when Ezra wraps him with a firm, slick hold, jerking him root to tip. He adds a slight twist to the motion, something he loves to do to himself, and when the man’s broad frames melt against Ezra’s, he grins. He pumps his fist faster, feeling the man clench around his cock, and when the man’s groans start to get louder, Ezra’s pace picks up.
Sweat beads along his neck, and Ezra licks it up with a flat lave of his tongue. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” Ezra croons in his ear.
When the man doesn’t answer, Ezra scrapes his teeth along the corded muscle, biting down.
“Yes! Yes, fuck yes, it feels good. Jesus Christ. Fuck me.”
The man is near babbling, his cock thickening in Ezra’s hold, beads of pre-come leaking steadily from the thick, rounded tip and Ezra swipes through the pearly mess, bringing his hand to his mouth. He sucks the sticky slick off the pad of his fingers, and lets out a lewd, deep groan into the man’s ear. The man whimpers, letting his head tip back against Ezra’s shoulder.
Ezra’s got him cradled on his lap, his hand back on the man’s cock to finish him off, and when he starts to come with a shout and a steady stream of thick cum seeping through Ezra’s fingers, he digs his fingers into Ezra’s thighs, forcing himself down on Ezra’s lap to bury him as deep as he’ll get.
Ezra’s chest is heaving, his body aching with the need to come, every muscle strung as tight as the hold he has on the man’s hair. He’s rough with him: pushing him forward on his hands and knees, digging into his hips with a harsh grip, pounding into the curve of his ass hard enough to bruise. His fingers dig into the crown of the man’s hair with a tug, and Ezra closes his eyes, teetering on the edge of his own release.
The curve of your plush ass, the dig of your tiny fingers, the weight of your smaller frame enveloped by his. Your softer moans, the scent of your shampoo and your skin and the touch of your hair when he buries his face in it and the slick, tight warmth of your cunt or your ass as his hips jerk upwards –
And then he comes, burying himself deep.
He drops forward, catching his breath for a moment, resting his hands on the bed as his cheek rests on the man’s shoulder, and when he eases himself out, he feels slightly smug at the hiss he hears him let out.
“That was…a lot. Fuck, man,” the stranger laughs, breathless and sated. He drops down onto the bed, splaying out. His fingers dance along his tattooed stomach while he watches appreciatively as Ezra stands, tugging the condom off and knotting it.
“The bathroom is over there.” The man waves his hand in the direction of the hallway.
In the tiny room, Ezra washes his hands and stares at himself in the mirror. He looks tired, even with his cheeks flushed with heat.
His balls are empty, but so is everything else.
He doesn’t stay long after that. A quick press to the man’s lips at his front door, a half-hearted promise to see him again sometime. He knows he probably won’t.
He feels tired on his walk back home, his limbs drained of their restless energy, which is what he wanted – so he isn’t sure why he feels so..unsatisfied. Like he didn’t just fuck someone until they both finished. He wonders briefly if you’ve fucked anyone since you’ve been gone, and he immediately rebels against the thought…even though he knows he doesn’t have any right to.
He just did, didn’t he?
He wonders if you miss him like he misses you. If your world is tinted in Ezra-colored glasses like his is tinted in yours. If you also lay awake at night, staring at your face-down phone on your night stand, willing it to light with a text.
He said he would give you time and space and he meant that. Christ, he did. He wouldn’t even be mad if you went out and had fun and fucked someone because that’s what he wants for you – to be young, to embrace this opportunity, to have those experiences.
He just wishes it was still with him.
Letting himself in the front door, he heads straight for the shower. Stripping his clothes, he stands under the steaming pressure, dropping his head between his shoulders. He lets the steady stream beat down on his back, washing the sweat of someone else off his skin.
He sees a flash of your open mouth moaning in pleasure, your skin sliding against the shower tiles, and frustrated, he slams the water off. His cock comes to life, half hard between his thighs, and he ignores it, toweling off.
Pulling on sweats, he should be tired enough to sleep after a fuck like that, but he heads in the direction of the living room instead, grabbing a beer on the way there. Slumping into the couch, he clicks the TV on. He pulls up his phone, swiping open the weather app.
LONDON: 46F / 7C, 3AM
The bright light of the TV illuminates his profile, and he sighs, setting the phone down.
Are you in your bed? In someone else’s?
Hoping you’re safe, he slouches into the cushions and settles in for a sleepless night.