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miscellaneous--bones · 10 months

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lorelei has the ability to feel/see someone's innermost self, their very being, sometimes even their thoughts and desires, through touch. this is mostly because their a mushroom, its part of their innate ability to create ''hive minds'' (like mother mushroom, kind of) and connect with other beings. they can do this with about any living thing, which is why they tend to wear very modest clothing. it does require a fair amount of focus but even a simple handshake can at least give them a sense of intention.

when they officially met fern it was in the middle of him trying to detach himself from finn, and define himself as fern. he didn't originally know about lorelei's power, as they tend to try and keep such a thing to themself, and otherwise are less publicly known then their older siblings. its at a party the mushroom kingdom threw celebrating the birth of the newest princess that they meet and spend a bit of the night together.

of course Fern is Strange. being half demon half pure hero is a very mixed message, along with all of the inner turmoil was.. an interesting (2nd?) impression.

i cant think of much of in between here. i know for a moment in the confusion, fern thinks this is another rejection- he'd just made a fool of himself in front of royalty- now they thing hes an idiot, yada yada yada. lorelei on the other hand is embarrassed they got caught up in the confusing little mess that is Fern the Human, completely without his permission or knowledge. big no no, y'kno?

within their powers, fern can see an opportunity to learn more about who he is, a way to get help piece together who he is now.

fern and lorelei agree to meet a couple days after the party, so that lorelei can work their magic and tell fern what they see.

"you can start by relaxing," Lorelei peaked an eye open, a comforting smile tugging on their cheeks. Fern relaxes his shoulders, releasing the tension in his jaw. he mutters an apology as the prince closes his eyes again and seems to focus more. their hands tighten their grip on his own. "You are... struggling to except yourself. Mourning a life you can't get back," they trailed off. their words are halting as they read more into who Fern is, trying to piece together the stranger's history. "There are two sides of you, struggling to work together. This feels like a demon." Lorelei opens their eyes. "-do you know anything of your parents? or- the circumstance of your creation?" Fern glances to the distance. he can't pick out if their gaze is accusatory, or just confused. The prince had been kind to him so far, and he came to them for answers. "its a long story. The grass wizard made me because of a pun, but I'm also from the Finn Sword... I don't really get it either." "So.. you come from both of them. There is a demon here, a curse. it is.. violent, parasitic in nature." Fern's grip tightened in the prince's hold. "But there is a force of good, too. the heart of a hero. loyal and true, pure. and.. angry. You want to be good. You want your life back. You are frustrated with what you've lost, and frustrated that you can't " the prince paused. "You tell the story of a very complicated creation, I hope you know."

as their friendship grows, Lorelei goes deeper into trying to figure out Fern's existence. they call it a personal project, and say it is good for Fern to know the nature of his creation and what it means for who he is. acknowledging and accepting the different parts of himself are the first steps to building his new identity, and building a life as himself. he struggles, with getting used to who he is, with dealing with his bouts of anger and other such amplified emotions, with the idea that he can never go back to the life he remembers. he mourns himself and his friends. Lorelei tries to find food he could eat (fertilizers, various soils, and other such plant food) but it never is the same as his memory. his relationship with his Grass Demon almost improves, but he struggles to find harmony within himself.

L: There's a duality to this. differing relationships between your mind and body. do you see yourself as only Finn, with the Grass Demon as a different entity, or are you a product of both? F: what does that mean? L: You see yourself as your memories, as Finn. This is default because you are human and you see yourself as your conscious. But that doesn't mean your mind is all you are. Finn makes up your head, but the Grass Demon makes up your body, so are you only your brain or do you see yourself as all of your parts in a culmination? F: I don't know, what do you see me as? L: Thats not up to me to decide. It's for you to figure out, to define who you are. To define Fern. L: I feel like most of the answer is in that vault of yours, and I encourage you to try and look through it. F: The vault is where all the stuff I can't handle goes. Looking through it would like, defeat the purpose of the vault. L: I guess I dont get it because I dont have a vault. if I really can't handle something i shove it in a closet... F: How do you get anything done that way? I'd have to board it up. L: keeps away the clutter. I don't know how you get anything done with everything in an inaccessible vault.

#i have a lot of feelings about these two #i want to keep it roughly canon compliant #eventually Lorelei also goes to Prismo #and brings Fern with them #''for closure' if not answers. He is where your brother is' and the reason you got turned into a sword. maybe he has insight''#im not sure how that visit goes quite yet though #sorry this is long and dialogue heavy i tried to draw what i could but tbh it was a lot #so i shortened a lot of it lol #this was fun though. good way to get my thoughts out #anyway its 4 am i gotta go to bed #art #prince lorelei #the amount of shit i had to go and look up for this was stupid #both abt lorelei and abt adventure time lore #who knows if this will end up in main tags idec at this point #adventure time oc #long post

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bittercoldbrew · 2 years

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For Keeps

Ezra (Prospect) x OC (Tess Stone)

Gotta post this quick, while everyone's distracted...

Okay, so I wrote this a few weeks ago, but I've been dragging my feet about posting it here because it's definitely the steamiest thing I've ever written and I feel. weird about that. But uhh despite its adult content I am still quite proud of the writing I've done here, and I think some folks here might uhh enjoy it as well, so here ya go!

Takes place immediately following the fade-to-black in Chapter 6 of To Build Something New, so this is Ezra and Tess's first time together—probably helps to have read that first, but it's almost entirely smut so I doubt much context is necessary 😅

This is for 18+ readers ONLY. Contains sexually explicit content, oral sex, fingering, a very quick handjob, a bit more size kink than I intended (sorry Sam), lots of swearing, a truly excessive amount of italics and em dashes (fight me), and Ezra being Ezra.

Word count: 3.6k

“Why don’t we...start with tonight, and see where that leads us?”

“That sounds good to me.”

His kiss leaves her breathless, stunned. Ezra loves her, wants her, she can feel it in the grip of his big hands on her waist, in the heat behind his glittering dark eyes. She thinks of trailing fingers through melted candle-wax—just shy of too hot to touch, pliant and cooling against her skin, peeling away and leaving her smoother than before. “Ezra,” she gasps, and he buries a hand in her hair and draws her in for another scorching kiss, breathing her own name into her.

“Tess—”

His mouth is a furnace—she would let him melt her down, mold her into whatever he wanted her to be. But he wants her as he is, loves her as she is, and for that—for that—gods, for that she’ll give him anything.

“Fuck,” she gasps into his mouth, pants for breath against his chin, begs without an ounce of shame, “fuck me.”

He looses his breath like she’s struck him, rocks his hips up into her, slips his hand more securely across her back and cradles her head in his hand and calls her, “Wanton thing...” And then he lifts up and turns and lowers her to the couch, drawing her under him, sheltering her in beneath the breadth and strength and solidity of his body.

There’s nowhere in all the galaxy she’d rather be.

She wets her lips and heaves a breath and meets his eyes. “Please?”

“Fu-uck,” he groans, rolling his hips and pressing his hard, hot length against her in a way that makes her heart and eyelids flutter. He tucks the prosthesis beside her hip to prop himself up, lowers his open mouth and slick tongue to suck and nip at her collarbone, trails his other hand—hot and calloused skin, firm and gentle grasp—around the dip of her waist and over the soft swell of her tummy. “Gotta be patient with me, pretty girl,” he rasps, voice rough in his throat. “Ain’t done this since I lost the arm. —Need to get it right.”

She drags a hand through his hair, scoffs at even the suggestion that he could get it wrong—and then his fingers dip beneath the waistband of her shorts; he grunts in surprise to find nothing but her skin beneath them, his thumb seeking lower, gliding between her lips and skimming over her clit and delving into her wet folds—and the scoff gets caught in her throat, escapes as a desperate whine.

“Oh, shit,” he breathes, and starts to push away from her. She cries out, makes a grab for him, but he catches her hand and shakes his head, drops a swift and soothing kiss to her ribcage, and clenches his fingers in the fabric of her shorts. “Shh, I know, I just—you gotta let me— Need to know what Kevva tastes like, Kyrie.”

She hasn’t even come yet; he’s scarcely even touched her. Already, he’s ruined her for all others.

“Ezra.” She hitches her hips as he drops to his knees beside the couch, letting him drag her shorts down as he goes.

He’s to impatient to pull them all the way off, so the elastic stretches to its limit across her right thigh and left calf as he wedges his chest between her legs and smothers his own face in her cunt. He is ravenous, insatiable, eating her out and drinking her down like she’s the last glass of water he thinks he’ll ever see, like he doesn’t want to waste a drop.

With anyone else, she’d be embarrassed by the slick, sloppy sounds he makes and the pathetic little noises she can’t rein in—but they seem to spur him on instead, both hands gripping her ass and tugging her closer with each desperate keen and—yes, wanton cry. He rubs his nose against her clit, licks and sucks at her wetness, scrapes the edges of his teeth against her sensitive folds to hear her gasp, thrusts his tongue inside to taste her deeper, lets her feel the rumble of his every contented sigh and satisfied hum as she buries her fingers in his hair and calls out “Yes,” and “Please,” and “Ezra…”

“That’s it,” he murmurs, words muffled in her flesh. “Need you to come, baby, so I can—fuckin’ think straight. C’mon, sweet girl. Let me have it.”

She comes in a cascade of pleasure, every sensation of lips and tongue and teeth and hands building off of the other, core throbbing and stars bursting behind her eyelids, pulse thudding in her ears, and the soothing comfort of Ezra’s voice behind it all, purring, “Yeah, yeah, just like that, oh Tess…”

The couch beneath her feels like a dream, a cloud, letting her drift back slowly to terra firma and her tingling, loose-limbed body. She remembers the day she found it, walking home from a long but satisfying shift at the clinic, spotting the bulky piece of furniture on the other side of the street, jogging across to read the note pinned to its cushion—free to a good home. She remembers that sudden, striking epiphany—that she had one of those now; that she could be one, even. She remembers comming the man she was falling for, remembers the glee in his voice at the prospect of a tiny bit of mischief in service of helping her haul this thing back to her place, remembers sitting there waiting for him to come—remembers daydreaming about what it might be like, perhaps, someday, to fuck Ezra Sky on this couch.

“If I’ve found my way, at last, to Kevva’s gates,” he murmurs softly, resting his forehead against her hipbone and speaking the words into the dark, damp curls between her legs, “I most humbly beg your mercy.”

He certainly hadn’t been the first of her patients to recite the old Prospector’s Prayer at the first sight of her. She’s pretty sure he’s the first to ever repeat it, now knowing better and being neither dead nor dying. She knows without a doubt that he’s the only one to ever have spoken it like this—as though he’s worried more for her opinion than his own fate—as though she is, and could ever be, worthy of praying to.

From any other person, the idea would make her recoil. From him, it makes her want to return the favor.

She rests her hand at his nape, holding him to her protectively, possessively. “They can’t have you yet,” she tells him. A promise. A threat, in case any gods out there think they might try to swoop in and snatch him away before she’s done with him.

He lifts his head to meet her eyes, his crooked grin and heated gaze striking her breathless, even now. “No, they can’t,” he drawls. “I’m yours, Tess.”

She smiles at him, tracing her fingers through the soft curls at the back of his neck, relishing in the way it makes his eyelids flutter and his head cant into her touch. “Then will you please just fuck me already?”

He chokes on a laugh, drops his face into the crook of her hip. “I, uh—didn’t bring anything with me. Protection, I mean. But I can—I’ll give you my fingers, sweet girl, if that’ll take the edge off? Or I guess I could run to the store; be back in a tick, if you can be patient?”

Tess cocks her head to the side and frowns down at him, confused. “Sorry, do you think I wouldn’t be up to date on my bots?”

His head snaps back up, eyes wide with surprise. “Your..? I… Fuck,” he gasps, shaking his head with a sheepish, sideways smile. “I have got to start rememberin’ I ain’t in the fuckin’ wilderness no more.”

She can’t quite stifle a laugh, too amused by the embarrassment that is such a rare sight on his gorgeous face. She cups his chin in her hand so he can’t hide that face again, strokes his cheek with her thumb, and says, “I’ll remind you anytime you need it, baby.”

“...Yeah?” he asks, and the look he gives her is one she’s seen from him before, one she’s sure she reflected back just as often, but one she’s never been brave or reckless enough to give a name to. But she can’t deny it now—he looks lovestruck.

She’s sure she looks the same.

“Yeah,” she promises, and pushes up on her elbows to lean into him, and he lifts up from his knees and meets her halfway, lips crushing against hers and his tongue in her mouth as she throws and arm around his neck to hold him close.

He tastes and smells like her, the reminder of the pleasure he’d just wrung out of her setting her body alight, and she squirms to kick her shorts off the rest of the way and starts tugging at his shirt. His chest and back and arms she’s seen before, but she wants to see them again—see all of him—like this, with better lighting and better circumstances and all the time she needs to see her fill and the right to touch him all she wants. She wants to see as much of him as he’ll let her, for as long as he’ll let her. She can’t imagine ever growing weary of the sight.

“Gods, Tess,” he groans, drawing back and lifting his arms so she can pull the shirt over his head and toss it away. “I should—do this properly. Should carry you to bed, or somethin’.”

“Later,” she huffs, the word and the promise it holds echoing around in her own head as she slips out of her sweater and reaches for the hem of her tank top, starting to lift that off as well. “I need you now.”

Ezra curses under his breath and fumbles to help her, hands trailing against her skin as the last of her clothing is lifted up and tossed away.

He stares down at her slack-jawed, panting, his gaze hot and heavy and seemingly tangible as it traces over her, leaving her skin flushed in its wake. “Oh,” he breathes, the word leaving his mouth with a shudder. “Oh, Kevva has nothin’ on you, Tess. How—how are you so beautiful? How could you...want me?”

“You’re all I want, Ez,” she admits, grabbing his left hand and dragging it between her legs, letting him feel how wet she is for him, again, already. He seems dazed, stunned, but his fingers know what to do, sliding against her in a way that makes her chest heave, a moan hitching in her throat. And he watches her react to his touch, swallows hard, leans in and rests his forehead against hers, screwing his eyes closed and taking a deep, steadying breath—still stroking her.

So she slips a hand between them, skimming across his hipbone, cupping the hard ridge through his pants as his breath catches, hips rutting softly into her touch. “Ezra,” she breathes, trying to draw him back to her—but he responds with a low whine that makes her bite back a moan, his hips pressing into her hand more intently, fingers slipping lower, the thick, blunt tips of the first two just beginning to press into her.

“I know,” he says, still not opening his eyes. “I know I said we’d just start with tonight. But I’m not—I can’t… If you let me do this, Tess, it’s for keeps. I’ll be good, I promise I’ll try to be good for you. I’ll give you space, or time, or whatever you need, anything you need. But you—you make me feel adrift, Tess—like the only thing keeping me tethered is you and your voice and your smile, and, Tess, if you give me this, too, I’m done for. I’m all—all yours.”

“Yes,” she gasps, rolling her hips to take his fingers deeper, stroking him faster through his pants. “That’s what I want, Ezra. You’re what I want.”

“Shit.” He opens his eyes again, and his gaze is molten as it traces from her eyes to her lips and down her neck and over her breasts and along her stomach and down to her cunt where his fingers are now buried inside her, stroking deeper than her own reach, pulling slick sounds and breathy gasps from her.

“Fuck, Tess, I should—I should be better for you,” he mutters, distractedly, sitting up and fumbling at his belt with the prosthesis, kicking off his shoes, curling his fingers inside her in a way that makes her back arch, makes her swallow a desperate cry. “But I will—I promise I’ll give you my best.”

She’s pretty sure his best would wreck her.

She’s certain it will, once he gets his pants undone and pushes them down with a little hop, his cock jutting free, dark and weeping and bobbing against the soft swell of his belly, thicker than anything she’s ever had before.

“Oh,” she moans, incapable of anything more intelligent, grabbing his left wrist with one hand so she can pull herself toward him and reach desperately with the other.

He spits out a curse and shoves his pants and briefs to the ground and lurches toward her, sliding his hot and twitching length into her eager palm. It’s so much, too thick for her fingers to wrap around and meet her thumb, but not for lack of trying. She strokes him only once and earns a litany of curses and a cry of her name from his lips and a drizzle of precum on her forearm for her efforts.

“Ezra. Ezra, Ezra, Ezra, please, Ezra,” she begs, and he nods his head jerkily and pulls back from her with a groan. She makes a pitiful sound as he drags his fingers out of her, but he’s quick to soothe with feather-light caresses of his prosthetic hand against her inner thigh, the polished polymer smoothness a grounding comfort as she bites her lip and watches him smear his cock with her slick.

“I know, baby, I know you need it,” he murmurs, dipping his fingers back inside for a little more, sloppily coating himself with her. “I’ve got you, Tess, I’ll be good for you. Just—just—just give me a second.”

She’ll give him anything he asks for, give him every star in the sky if he wants ‘em, as he slides his hand along her thigh and around her knee, lifting her leg to wrap around him and spreading her open, nocking his tip against her entrance. She lifts her hands to his chest, aching to touch him, needing something to hold onto, feeling his muscles flex, his pulse thumping against her palm, racing in time with her own—as he presses into her.

She’s been so wet this whole time, this whole night, practically from the moment she’d opened her door to find him standing there with a bottle in his hands, concern and sympathy in his eyes. But still, he’s so big, trying to take it slow, take it easy on her, stretching her so deep it forces the breath from her lungs, pinning her hips to the cushions with both his hands to keep her from squirming or driving herself on him too quick.

“Fuck, Tess, you’re so—so tight,” he grits out, as if she’s somehow the issue here, bottoming out before she can mount any kind of coherent defense, his pelvis resting against her aching clit and leaving her breathless, speechless, incapable of anything more sensate than throwing her arms around his neck and dragging his lips down to hers. He groans into her mouth, filling her with his breath as much as all the rest. It’s a messy kiss, all tongues and teeth and gasping, and it may be the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

“Ezra,” she pants into him, trying to roll her hips but unable to with his weight on her. “Ezra, please, I need—I need you.”

He nods his head, dragging his open mouth against her neck, hot and wet, teeth barely nipping at her skin as he pulls out halfway—then just drops back into her.

She gasps, digging her fingers into the solid muscle of his back. “Ezra!”

He laves his tongue against her neck in apology, then lifts up on his elbows and gazes down at her, panting mouth and sweat-slick skin and eyes blown pitch black, endlessly dark. He pulls out for real this time with a cant of his hips, rolls back into her, sliding deep—then does it again. And again, and again, settling into a steady, eager rhythm that has her rocking up to meet him with every stroke.

“Tess—sweetheart—baby, you feel—too good,” he groans, shaking his head. “And it’s… It’s been a while, Tess, and I—I can’t—can’t last as long as you deserve, sweet girl.”

“Close,” she gasps, chest heaving, gripping his hand tight, dragging his fingers to her needy clit. She’s too keyed up—from the prior orgasm, and the way his fingers had worked her over, and the heft and weight and heat of him filling her again and again. “I’m close, please.”

He growls, nodding frantically, rolling her clit between two fingers—her back lurches up off the cushions, and he swipes his other arm under her ass, bracing himself on his knees and the back of the couch, angling her hips up and snapping his down into her. “Next time,” he babbles, “next time. Promise you. Tess—Tess, where—? Where can I—?”

She clenches trembling thighs around him, just in case—barely manages to meet his wild eyes and grit out, “Inside.”

Then the orgasm consumes her, every nerve ending sparking white-hot, the pleasure overwhelming, all-encompassing, filling her up and flooding out all else but itself and the throbbing of her cunt and the feeling of Ezra spilling inside her with a desperate, broken cry of her name—and then the sweat-slick heat of his skin against hers, the weight of him pressing her into the couch cushions as he all but collapses on top of her.

Somewhere in all of that, his mouth finds her, and he drags a line of wet kisses along her collarbone and up into the crook of her neck. She runs a shaky hand up the broad pane of his back and down again, relishing in the feeling of firm, strong muscle fully relaxed beneath her touch.

“Ezra,” she says—just to appreciate the sensation of his name in her mouth.

“Mnh?” His response is little more than a low, sleepy breath. She shakes her head anyway, not wanting to disturb this afterglow, not wanting to speak because anything she could say in this moment would be irrevocably, embarrassingly lovesick.

But he is, as always, ill content to linger in silence. With a groan, he shifts the bulk of his weight off her and props himself on his side to look at his handiwork, at the mess he’s made of her. The creases are deep at the corners of his smiling eyes as he lifts his hand to her cheek, smooths a dark coil of hair out of her face.

She hadn’t had time to style or fully dry it after her shower, with his unexpected arrival, and she doesn’t even want to imagine what kind of bird’s nest it’s become after all...this. But Ezra doesn’t seem to notice, tracing his fingers down her cheek with a slow, easy smile. “You’re so beautiful, Tess,” he breathes.

And because it’s Ezra—because he’s never lied to her about anything that matters—she can’t help but believe him.

And her eyes well with tears.

“Hey, hey—” His voice is a soft rasp, his brow wrinkling in concern as he brushes an escaping tear away. “Baby?”

“Sorry,” she gasps, shaking her head. “Sorry. I’m alright.”

“Are you..?” He slides his dick free of her and cranes his neck to look, checking for any sign of blood. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she hurries to reassure, lifting a hand to his chin, guiding him back to her. “No, I’m just… Today was just—intense.”

He hums softly, keeping close, sort of hovering worriedly. “Was this...too much?”

She’s still crying a little, but manages to grin, leaning in and resting her forehead against his cheek. “No, this was...good. This was so good.”

He hums again, thoughtfully, trailing gentle, calloused fingers against her skin. There’s a warm, lilting tease in his voice, as he asks, “Only good?”

She huffs a watery laugh, laying her hand over his, keeping his palm against her cheek so he can feel her smiling. “Don’t wanna set the bar too high. I was promised a next time.”

“You were indeed,” he assures her, seriously, a little breathlessly. “And I do aim to deliver.”

“I know,” she says, pulling back to meet his eyes again, tracing her finger along the curve of scar tissue in his cheek. Fell out of a tree, she thinks. Not going anywhere. He promised.

“For keeps, right?” she asks, her smile fading, needing to hear him say it again, needing to be certain.

He cups the back of her head and draws in close—close enough for the tip of his nose to rest against hers, close enough that all she can see are his warm, dark eyes and the love and honesty and certainty in them. “For keeps,” he promises, his breath warm and welcome against her skin.

And because it’s Ezra, she believes him.

#ezra prospect x oc #ezra prospect #to build something new #oc tess stone #my writing #thanks queenie for kicking the bucket so when this gets like a total of 2 notes i can blame you and not my awful tagging/promo skills #anyway. anyway anyway. i gotta stop looking at this so up it goes #horrible fishbowl husband #god the search function on this site is really the pits huh #thanks st*ff for keeping me in unsearchable limbo for hours lmao #i seem to have actually made it into the tag finally so hopefully someone might actually read it now #-_-

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