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#sex positive asexual character
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“Was that a pun?” Quinntav’s composure cracked. They fell forward, covering their face with their hands, that damned tail whipping behind them. They were giggling. “I’m so, so sorry!” The shirt had risen upward, giving the most wonderful view of their ass, but-. “Are you commending my holiness with word play?” They turned their head up enough he could spy their grin as they replied: “Is that not also a kink?” Astarion smothered his eyes with the meat of his palms, groaning in agony. “Why did I think seducing a clown would yield any other result?”
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liarian · 1 year
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Severed Bonds
Disclaimer:
So... I'm writing next chapter right now, disscussing with Serirei (That's what I do with them most of the time).
I'm not sure it will work with the rest of the story in his actual form and I need to do a complete overhaul of it but I thought of sharing his draft form. There's always strenght in raw writing that sometimes gets lost in editing.
So yeah... Don't read if you don't want spoilers of Severed Bonds next chapter. But if you're curious about it's actual shape before it gets axed. Here it is!!
Birthdays had never held much meaning for Katsuya when in their monotony the days blended into one another. His thirtieth birthday had been something that had passed him by without any fanfare. Thirty hadn't felt all that different from twenty when all he had done was trade one cage for another.
And yet, that had been the year his life had changed forever.
Katsuya yawned, sitting up on the futon and scratching at his eyelashes. For a moment, he shivered as he noticed the chill seeping through the walls. Temperatures had to have plummeted overnight. The early morning light illuminated the room and reflected off the straw-colored locks of the still sleeping figure beside him. It was testament to how much things had changed that he would no longer need absolute darkness to feel at ease within those four walls.
Taka stirred beside him, seeking the warmth of his body. Katsuya watched him, unmoving in those first hours after dawn. The stillness still felt unnatural in the confines of his completely naked body.
Katsuya stroked his cheek with tentative fingers.
Katsuya had always thought it unreasonable to be called lovemaking when it was just a frantic, irrational act but he had finally understood. Memories of the night before flashed in his mind and spoke to him of the vulnerability of putting oneself in the hands of another. The shame and nervousness of losing his virginity at thirty-two had meant nothing under the complicity of two people who had nothing to hide.
"Why are you already awake?" Taka asked still half asleep. "Another nightmare?"
The scar glowed on his arm, a testament to how strong his Soulmate was. Maybe someday Katsuya would manage to convince him of how much truth there was behind his words.
"I wouldn't call it a nightmare" Katsuya blushed as he remembered where Taka's mouth had been only a few hours before.
"What are you thinking about?" Taka frowned, sitting up in bed and letting the futon fall to barely cover his lap. "It's not like you've never seen me naked before."
"It's not the same, now I know what faces you put on when," Katsuya gestured at him, unable to look at him.
"Pervert. Mm." Taka's hand started up his thigh. "So it was okay, then? Wasn't it disappointing?"
"How could it be?" Katsuya hugged him tightly, completely silencing the insecure song humming in his head. "I don't think I'll be able to think about anything else all day."
"Oh, I guess that's okay then." Silence enveloped them. Taka seemed content to let himself get lost in his arms, enveloped by the smell of sweat and musk. "Better than I expected."
"Did you have your standards that low?" Katsuya jabbed his finger into his side. "What grade would you give me?"
"Idiot!" Taka laughed. "But I don't know, it's not like I had any expectations either. It's just sex but with you it's fine. Everyone talks like it has to be something extraordinary and they always manage to make me feel weird."
Taka rolled over until he was lying in Katsuya's lap. Sex and him had always had a complicated relationship. It wasn't the first time Katsuya wondered if the scar on his arm had anything to do with it.
"Do I seem weird to you?" Taka looked at him expectantly. His melody reflected the hope in his eyes.
"Have we ever been able to think of each other as normal?" Katsuya bent down and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "But thank you for telling me."
"Oh," Taka blushed. "It's what you asked of me, isn't it? To talk things over. It's not like you make it too hard either. And now I feel like a jerk!"
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blackfliesinbluesugar · 3 months
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Fics tagged like 'sex favourable asexual Alastor' and 'sex positive asexual Alastor' that are just pure pwp with zero reference to asexuality are so funny to me. Op, you can just write porn, it's ok, we know this is fanon, you don't have to pretend his asexuality was considered here. No one is going to chase and beat you with sticks I promise.
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puddleslimewrites · 1 year
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Understanding
Villain turned the hero's words over in their head. "So you can still have sex?"
"Yes."
"But you just...don't want it?" they said with audible uncertainty.
Hero hummed. "Not exactly." They tried their best to explain that people might want sex for other reasons - for curiosity, for their partner, maybe even a genuine desire. "You can still want sex without feeling that type of attraction. It's not a requirement."
The crease in Villain's brow smoothed just a little as they nodded slowly. "Okay."
Hero almost wanted to laugh but they held it in. Villain was really trying to understand and they didn't want to ruin this moment. They were one of the few who not only wanted to listen but were really trying to absorb what Hero was saying.
"So..." Villain began, legs kicking gently over the edge of the bridge they found themselves on. Their expression was akin to that of a sad puppy as they asked, "So we can still kiss?"
"Pfft-" Hero couldn't help themself anymore. They covered their mouth with a hand, but it didn't stop the sound at all. "Sorry, that's a valid question. Your face is just too cute." Before their nemesis could refute that, they quickly said, "I'm not averse to kissing, so yes, we can still kiss."
Villain nodded again, looking satisfied this time. A comfortable quiet settled between them as they listened to the lull of the stream below.
"We should make a list."
Hero looked away from the water to find Villain staring at them intently. "Hm?"
"A list," Villain repeated. "Of what you're okay with and what you aren't. That could be good for the both of us...right?"
Hero smiled, bright and hopeful. They really didn't know how they got so lucky. "Yeah. That- That'd be great. Thank you."
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workingchemistry · 8 days
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Tenten tips his head obediently, letting Fives catch his lips in a kiss. It starts out worse than most first kisses; full of red flags and a lack of enjoyment on his partner’s end. Just as Fives is starting to pull back to check in, Tenten makes a sudden soft noise and sinks into it.
Maybe it’s just a lack of experience then, and not a genuine fear of interested touch.
Every wet-hot slide of their tongues pulls another sweet reaction from the body pressed close and clinging to him. Calloused hands cling to the fabric of Five’s grays, pulling him in closer.
When Fives finally has to pull back, their gazes meet for just a moment. Then Echo is pressing the hard line of his body against them, capturing their commander with a demanding kiss of his own.
“Good?” Echo asks when he pulls back.
Five appreciates that their Commander doesn’t answer immediately. He sways to the beat in the cradle of their bodies as he considers. Eventually, he decides on, “I think so.”
It isn’t a rousing success but they still have time to win him over.
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I have just read the closest description to how my brain / heart function in relationships that I have ever found. And it’s in an erotic Kavetham fanfic. (forms of love, by acynthe)
Fandom and fanfiction is so surreal that way. It’s often seen and treated as trivial, but it can also be incredibly artistic, and it can have representation that’s otherwise hard to find.
Before this, the closest I had found was BBC Sherlock fanfic, and those didn’t quite hit the mark.
This one does.
(I describe this thing that happens in my brain as… keeping file folders on people I find interesting. All the observations I collect on that person goes into their mental file. And eventually those observations and data points click together to form a pattern, an interconnected picture of why the person acts the way they do, and of what’s going on beneath the surface. And new data points get added to the pattern/model of that person to flesh out a more complete understanding of them.)
(“interesting” can mean “infuriating, I don’t know why you act the way you do and so I’m annoyed by you, if I can figure out the why then I can more easily shrug off the irritating behavior”)
(and “interesting” can mean “I like you and am intrigued in a positive way, I am drawn to you and wish to make a study of you”)
(I imagine that Kaveh started in the first category for Alhaitham and over time moved to the second)
I have to flail about it somewhere, and doing so to my girlfriend of 17 years (who doesn’t play Genshin yet) wasn’t enough, so… quotes that I especially relate to beneath the cut:
Alhaitham’s also studied the interstices of Kaveh’s elegant fingers and wondered how his own would fit between them—the same way he’s quietly taken in the details of Kaveh’s life and wondered whether there could ever be a place for himself to fit into it somehow, amidst all that passion and all that ambition.
He collects these observations like he’s compiling a dictionary of his own—one defining all there is to know and understand about this man, about Kaveh’s relationship with himself.
Learnings handled with the utmost care. Alhaitham documents all these things far more conscientiously than any of the information he’s ever managed as Scribe. Some things are simply far more precious, after all.
“You don’t need to be a student of Amurta to know that’s not quite how it works.” Amusement flickers across Alhaitham’s face. “But if you must rely on physical evidence for some form of reassurance,” he takes Kaveh’s hand, and guides the palm of it to rest over his own chest, “then I’d direct you to look for it here instead.”
Here?
It takes a few seconds for Alhaitham’s meaning to register, to fully sink in.
“...Oh,” Kaveh whispers, as the rhythm of Alhaitham’s heartbeat makes itself comfortable in the home of his hand. He closes his eyes, willing his own to fall in sync, finding the pace of Alhaitham’s pulse to run unexpectedly fast for someone so seemingly unswayed and stoic on the surface. How swift and steady this heart beats—
“...For me,” Kaveh murmurs, with a quiet sort of wonder.
And that’s the issue with Alhaitham, isn’t it? He says such things so simply, so bluntly, like it’s the most straightforward thing in the world to accept, like it’s simply another truth of existence—and somehow they still send Kaveh’s heart in somersaults nonetheless.
Alhaitham soothes a hand down the curves of Kaveh’s sides. Studies him as he slips fingers into himself, opening himself up, like there’s something about the process worth analysing.
“Like what you see?” 
“On the contrary,” Alhaitham’s touch ghosts over the space between Kaveh’s ribs, “it’s rather regrettable that this is all there is to the view.”
“And what do you mean by that?” Kaveh narrows his eyes. “Pray tell what it is that you find so disappointing.”
Alhaitham’s gaze sweeps over him. “That this is all there is on the surface.” His fingertips ghost over shivering skin. “That there is much more to you that my eyes cannot possibly perceive.”
Kaveh closes his eyes, that blush deepening its reach down to the base of his shoulders. “So this is what you’ve chosen to use your Haravatat education for.” He huffs out a laugh. “Waxing poetry to fluster me?”
“Not poetry,” Alhaitham says, dismissive. “Such a subject isn’t in the curriculum at all. I was merely acknowledging something I found to be a pity.”
It’s difficult for him to see this as anything but that. For all the people who meet Kaveh, it’s common to get too distracted by the radiance at his surface to look deeper than his skin.
But Alhaitham has been around long enough to see through all of that. Perhaps because when it comes to Kaveh, he is always looking. And Kaveh has always been so much more than what exists of his corporeal form to be perceived—his body but a finite vessel for an infinite mind.
What a crime it would be, to reduce someone so brilliant to the simplicity of their physicality. Alhaitham has never wanted anything less than all of him.
This, like most endeavours, Alhaitham approaches methodically. Brow furrowed in concentration as he works his fingers inside Kaveh, initially in an exact imitation of how he’d observed Kaveh do it to himself—an exact replication of pace and angle and pressure.
Then he gets a bit more experimental, following his own intuition as he gets a better feel for the process. Throughout, he keeps his eyes on Kaveh’s face, watching his expression to assess his response to every touch, using that to guide his own adjustment of his efforts.
Alhaitham hums. “Let’s put it this way. I’m exempt from a certain sort of attraction,” he says, “but I’m certainly not blind.”
“...Oh.” Kaveh pauses, processing those words into something warm and hopeful. “And what do you like about what you see?”
“What I like?”
Alhaitham doesn’t even have to spare a second thinking about it—it’s like there’s a list already waiting for him in the back of his mind.
“The outline that the side of your face cuts against the sunset,” he says. “How your eyes are the colour of wine. Your hair could be an instrument of alchemy, with the way it catches daylight and transmutes it into gold. The shape your hand constructs when poised with a quill perched between your fingers. This arc between your shoulder and neck.” He traces the path gently, and the touch tingles like his fingers are stained in stardust. “I hope that answers your question.”
Alhaitham knows he may never be able to look at Kaveh the way he may wish to be seen sometimes, the way he may wish to be wanted. He can admire Kaveh for all his aesthetic appeal, certainly, but there are certain desires his mind simply does not have access to. And maybe that means he won’t be able to fulfill a need Kaveh may carry, one craving a certain sort of validation.
… “You’ve had other partners, I assume, who are able to properly appreciate a facet of your allure that is inaccessible to me.” Alhaitham pauses. “I can’t think of you like that. I don’t think I ever can.”
He wonders what he can do, wonders what he should promise in compensation. “I don’t know how it feels to think of you in that way,” Alhaitham continues, the space in his chest suddenly tight like it already knows the importance of what he’s going to express, “but I do know how it feels to be in love with you.”
“Maybe they will never be able to comprehend each other, not in their entireties. They are two pieces from different puzzles after all. But if what’s ahead of them is a lifetime of learning, there can be no other person more fascinating to figure out than someone so diametrically opposed to yourself.”
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blue-hail · 5 months
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Is there any media where an ace person ends up in a happy and healthy relationship?
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esrah-rah-rasputin · 2 years
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Love how ace TMA fans project their specific relationships to aceness onto Jon, and explore other relationships to aceness through Jon
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lothiriel84 · 11 months
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A Pleasant Countenance
In all his three-and-twenty years, Charles Bingley had not once stopped to consider how different he was from his peers.
A Pride and Prejudice ficlet. Sex-positive asexual!Bingley.
It was fair to say that Mrs Bingley’s disposition was hardly ever inclined to discontentment; if anyone were to ask her, she would without a moment’s hesitation express her perfect contentment in her husband’s affections, and it did not occur to her to start questioning the veracity of her own statements until several months into their marriage.
When Charles had mentioned he was planning to invite the Darcys to Netherfield Park for the summer, she had rejoiced at the opportunity to spend some time with her dear sister; straight away, she had devoted herself to the preparations for their arrival, personally inspecting the guest wing until she finally selected a suite of connected chambers she felt sure would do nicely for Lizzy and her husband. She was therefore more than a little befuddled when upon the guests’ arrival, her sister thanked her for all her troubles, only to playfully remark that they would scarcely require more than one bedchamber between the two of them.
Jane held her peace for a grand total of four days before sequestering her sister to her own dressing rooms, and haltingly enquired as to the couple’s usual sleeping arrangements both at Pemberley and the Darcy town home.
“We always share a bed, unless Fitzwilliam is away on business,” Elizabeth replied simply, a slight frown creasing her brow. “You will pardon me, dearest sister, if I dare to presume what these questions tend to?”
“Oh, you will think me the worst kind of shameless busybody, Lizzy,” Jane exclaimed, twisting her hands. “It’s only – oh, I know it is hardly proper of me to even broach such an indelicate subject, but I hardly know who else I could turn to at this juncture.”
Lizzy was immediately on her feet, gathering her sister’s hands in her own. “You know you can always speak to me, my dear Jane. I shall spare you the indignity of needing to ask, and tell you that more often than not, my loving husband is wont to solicit my favours several times a week, and that they are most willingly bestowed on my part – heartily encouraged, even.”
Mrs Bingley’s head was spinning, and she felt more than a little faint as a result. “Several times a week,” she breathed, disbelief apparent in her voice, wondering for the briefest of moments whether her sister was teasing her for some strange reason. Her long familiarity with Lizzy excluded such a possibility, and she reluctantly had to acknowledge that her sister was in earnest – which begged a series of questions regarding the state of her own marriage she was scarcely ready to contemplate.
“Jane, are you – that is to say, does Mr Bingley,” Elizabeth bit her lip, clearly considering how better to address the issue. “Are you not satisfied with your marriage bed, then?”
Jane buried her face in her hands, her cheeks burning with shame. “Oh, Lizzy, I am the worst creature in the world.”
“Nonsense. I hate to be the one to tell you, dear sister, but if you are not happy with your husband’s attentions, your best course of action is to openly discuss it with him – you will do no favours to your marriage by keeping your feelings a secret to him.”
“How could I ever do such a thing? He would think me a wanton and the most ungrateful of wives, for he is very deeply in love with me, and the most considerate of husbands besides. And if he truly does not desire to share my bed, I can only conclude it is my own fault – that I have disappointed him, or that he finds my lack of experience in such matters off-putting in some way.”
“Jane!” Elizabeth exclaimed, obviously scandalised that she could even express such a thought.
“I didn’t mean it like that, I – I know I have no right in presuming anything about Charles’ past, but you must not think me so naive as to believe that he never – but that is irrelevant to our current situation, in any case. Perhaps he merely finds me not pleasing enough to tempt him, after all.”
“Promise me you will talk to him, Jane,” her sister pleaded with her in a most urgent tone. “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for him. He would hate to find out you’re hiding such a thing from him, believe me.”
She swallowed, looked around the room as if hoping that the solution to her problems might suddenly materialise out of thin air, but in the end, she could not find it in herself to deny her sister. Elizabeth hugged her tightly, and promised everything would be all right; all she had to do was keep her faith in the strength of her and Charles’ love.
.
.
In all his three-and-twenty years, Charles Bingley had not once stopped to consider how different he was from his peers. Even before inheriting his father’s fortune, his good looks and pleasant disposition had garnered him the attentions of many a pretty lady; and while he had always been partial to a good flirt – and even the occasional stolen kiss – he had scarcely given any thought to the many possibilities afforded to a young man when presented with a female of inferior birth eager to share her favours. At university, his friends used to jest that young ladies might consider themselves quite safe in his company, which he actually took as a compliment to the propriety of his conduct; it was on one such occasion that he had made the acquaintance of his good friend Darcy, as the gentleman was similarly being teased for being ‘too uptight to know his way around a woman’s petticoats’.
Upon his coming of age, his father had of course summoned him to his study and provided him with a series of entirely mortifying instructions as to how to conduct himself with females of good breeding, and what was expected of him when he entered the married state. What his father had failed to inform him of was how often a husband would be expected to share his wife’s bed, and after spending the past few years overhearing his eldest sister’s complaints concerning the frequency of Mr Hurst’s visits, and the many excuses she employed to discourage him in such endeavours, Charles had come to the natural conclusion that he ought to impose as little as possible on his adoring wife, regardless of his own inclinations on the subject.
If someone had ever chanced to draw his attention to this particular matter, he would have been forced to conclude that he had no strong inclination either way. The actual reality of conjugal relations had come as an utterly pleasant surprise for him, and he enjoyed every moment spent in such startling new intimacy with his blushing bride; however, more often than not he would straight up forget that such activities were now open to him, let alone expected of him.
As it was, he had been sparing no thought whatsoever to the whole state of affairs, and was therefore entirely shocked when his beloved Jane haltingly brought up the subject one evening, soon after the Darcys had departed for a short stay in town where his friend had been unexpectedly called on business.
“I – I would understand if you didn’t desire me anymore, all I ask is that you’re completely honest with me, Charles,” she concluded, very nearly in tears, and it was all he could do to take her in his arms and hold her quite possibly too tightly for her own comfort. He was about to vehemently deny such an outrageous suggestion, when he was suddenly reminded of the few – and entirely too reticent – confidences he had managed to extract from Darcy with regards to his marriage, and he stopped in his tracks as if struck by some kind of revelation.
Had he ever desired a woman, in the way most gentlemen of his acquaintance intended when discussing such matters? He knew he loved Jane in a way that surpassed any of his previous infatuations; he was most pleased to share her attentions when attending to their marital duties, though he realised now he had perhaps misjudged how affected she was in turn by such intimacies. But did he desire her? He – wasn’t entirely sure, but he was inclined to think that the nature of his love for her would make for a strong argument to disregard such a trivial distinction.
“Does it matter, when I love you more than life itself?” he pleaded by her, and was rewarded with a heartfelt sob she endeavoured to stifle into the lapel of his dinner jacket. “Jane, I am utterly pleased with everything that has transpired in our marriage bed, and if you wish for me to visit you more often, I shall be delighted to do so.”
“Oh, you must think me such a selfish, wanton creature,” she demurred, but he would have none of it.
“Nonsense. I am beyond grateful that you should value my attentions so highly,” he promptly assured her, pressing a tender kiss on her golden curls. “And I would suggest we retire to our chambers this instant, so that I might start making amends to my long-suffering wife.”
“Charles!” Her cheeks had blushed a dark shade of pink by now, which only made her more becoming to his eyes. “What will the servants think if we were to retire this early in the evening?”
“I have to say, my dear, I do not care a jot what the servants might thing,” he smiled at her, and offered his arm with all pretence of formality so that he might escort her upstairs.
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zoskas · 3 months
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so
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