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writingsbychlo · 1 year

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false confessions | azriel

summary; you overhear azriel say something, and try to cooperate. word count; 4595 notes; based on this ask, that I got a little carried away with!

"I love her, I really do." Az sighed, your heart swelling a little as you listened from where you were perched within the library, Nesta at your side. When you'd heard the men come in, you'd been intent on going to see your mate, but they'd been talking, Cassian had been deep into a story about him and Nesta, and your friend had been adamant about hearing it out. So, you'd let her grab your wrist, sneaking the two of you deeper into the library, hiding away between the shelves where even Azriel's shadows had not bothered to slip away and investigate.

"But?" Rhysand prompted, your heart skipping a beat in your chest at the pause that followed, the silence seeming to drag on.

"But... she's so clingy sometimes." Azriel exhaled the words on a breath, and Cassian snickered a little in response. "I just- sometimes I want my peace and quiet, and it just feels like whenever we're together, she's right on top of me at home, we never just.. do our own thing."

Your stomach twisted, and Nesta's fingers tightened around your wrist as she was still gripping it. All playfulness was gone, though. She let go a second later, straightening up and brushing down her skirts primly, pausing only when you grasped her in response, shaking your head. You knew that your friend would defend you to the ends of the earth if you asked, but you didn't want her to. This wasn't her problem, or anyone else's, it was yours.

You were spinning, mind feeling like it was going a million miles an hour, the way it felt to fly home with Azriel when drunk after a night at Rita’s, while your stomach twisted the way it did the morning after said nights out. You weren’t sure where this problem had come from, up until now, you’d always thought Azriel liked the affectionate side of you, the part that just couldn't get enough of him. Clearly, that was not the case.

Your eyes tracked the movements of Azriel's shadows as they slithered out further, lazily, but inching ever closer to you and Nesta's position. Slowly, in an attempt not to get caught at all, you snuck backwards, taking her with you. Manoeuvring through the stacks, you stayed hidden, the two of you slipping out through the back exit and unseen, and in silence.

Only once their voices had entirely faded and you were slowing your pace between the twists and turns of the corridors did Nesta finally let a loud and obscene curse slip from her lips. "I'm gonna' kick ten tons of shit out of them all."

"No." The word was icy on your tongue, and her head snapped to you, You gave a soft wince in apology. "I'm not mad at him."

"What? Why not?"

"Because.. he's right. I am clingy, I just thought he liked that. I thought he liked when we were together, I never sensed anything otherwise down the bond, perhaps he's just good at hiding it. But, you heard him, he doesn't like it, so it's down to me to stop." You shrugged, but it didn't stop the stinging in your throat, and you slammed up walls at your end of the bond, hoping the hurt beginning to build hadn't yet leaked across to reach him.

"What I heard," Nesta muttered, ice on her own voice as her arms crossed angrily over her chest, "was my mate chuckling his smug little ass off at the comment. Jerk. He can sleep in another bed tonight." She was equally as angry, on your behalf, and you grinned a little at the affection she displayed for you.

"You don't have to do that."

"It's for me. He doesn't get to gossip about things like this behind my back. I wonder how many things I have done that irritate him that he's never told me, simply choosing to whine about it to those other bats." She hissed the word out like an insult, and you couldn't find fault in her logic. "I'd bet Feyre would agree."

"Would agree with what?" You both jumped, rather violently, approaching the dinner hall where said sister was sitting comfortably, a sketchbook and some charcoals out in front of herself, brows raised. Nesta didn't hesitate, stalking across the room and offering her daemati sister her hand. Brushing off charcoal on her skirt, she took it gently, gasping a second later after replaying the memory. "Those... those jerks!”

“That’s what I said!” Nesta burst, hands on her hips, and only the soft cooing of her nephew was enough to replace the scowl she wore with a slight smile. Your attention remained fixed on Feyre as she processed the covert conversation you’d secretly witnessed.

“No wonder Rhys locked me out, I didn't think much of it, boy talk, but this kind of boy talk?" She frowned, offering a sympathetic look your way, and the solidarity of your friends made you feel that much better. You rubbed your temples, swallowing again thickly, the weight of it all beginning to bring you down a little. "Fey, can you just take me home?"

"Of course, Nesta will watch Nyx for a moment, right?" His auntie was already leaning over his bassinet, tapping the tip of his nose teasingly as the baby babbled happily in return. With a hand in hers, Feyre took you home, a warm hug and a chastising word about their behaviour, her parting gift, before leaving you alone in the house belonging to you and your mate.

The house was quiet when you were alone, the middle of the day meaning you would be alone for quite a while yet, leaving you plenty of time to decide on your course of action. You glanced around, somehow feeling out of place within your own home. It all felt.. different, somehow.

Were you mad? No, only sad, and so retaliation didn't seem fair.

Sure, you were upset he'd talk to his friends about it rather than simply tell you, but Azriel had always struggled with 'talking about it', and had never wanted to hurt you. Emotionally inept at times, perhaps this was simply his way of trying to protect your feelings. A conversation you were never supposed to hear, a hurt you were never supposed to feel, because your mate was simply putting up with it to let you feel better.

You couldn’t have that. This relationship wasn’t supposed to be about secret sacrifices, it was supposed to be about trust and love and mutual respect. You’d sworn it when finding out you were mates, and sworn it again at the ceremony, and you tried to hold it up every day. Azriel wanted to spare your feelings, and now, you’d spare his, too.

It was hours before he returned, and you’d found yourself slipping back into your regular routine, making everything feel normal again by sticking to what you knew. You were unloading ingredients, cooking a comfort meal for yourself, when your mate returned home.

You first caught the tell-tale sign of feet hitting the ground outside from the sky, then steps got closer and closer up the pathway, before finally, the door opening and closing.

By the time you heard him taking off his boots and hanging up his coat, you'd found it within yourself to muster a reasonably convincing smile, and shake away any lingering thoughts about it. You are doing this for Azriel, to make him happy, to love him the way he’d loved you for years, without ever telling you. Your body twitched, aching to move to him like you always did, to greet him at the door with a kiss, with a hug, with something, and you firmly rooted your feet to the ground. After a pause, clearly anticipating what you now realised was an unwanted overload of affection, Azriel left the entry, stepping through the large open-arc into the kitchen.

"Hello, my love.." You only smiled, ignoring the curious tone in his voice, brushing your hands down the front of your apron. "What have you been up to today?"

"I saw Nesta."

"Oh?" He paused by your side, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek, and you tipped your face to the side receiving it, but made no move for more the way you usually would.

"She gave me a couple of new books, and said she’d return the other ones." You only hoped he simply hadn't noticed that the book pile on the coffee table had not, in fact, changed at all. He didn't glance over, and you moved away, to the food laid out ready to be prepared for dinner.

"Are you alright, my love? You don't seem quite like yourself, tonight.”

You redirected your glance to the vegetables, only nodding in response, and taking a deep breath to force another smile. "I'm just fine, don't worry, just a little tired today."

He lingered for a second, before nodding himself, offering a smile in return, and a flush of reassuring love down the bond. You let it in, letting it warm you from the inside out. So, this is what he wanted, he had noticed and was already responding better. It was both relieving and painful. He rolled up his sleeves, taking another step closer to you. "What are we making? What can I do to help?"

"Not a thing, I've got it here, don't worry." His head shot up, brows furrowing once again, and your hand almost reached out, wishing to smooth that spot between on his face that had wrinkled with the frown. He noticed this time, the slight raise of your hand before you lowered it.

"But, I thought you liked it when we cooked together? You said you like how I can tell you about my day, while we make dinner." It's true, you had said that, but that was just another one of the events you'd forced upon him, wasn't it? Another act where he wanted to do his own thing, but was instead beholden to your wishes.

"I do, but we don't have to cook together every night. I'm fine here, I was just in my thoughts, is all. You could tell me about your day while we eat?” A flash of hurt travelled across his face, as though you were rejecting him, and so it was your turn to send a pulse of love down the bond to him. He tugged in response, pulling a smile from you, a real one, the way it always did when he did that.

With a kiss placed on your forehead, he left in silence a moment later. Not long after, his footsteps were on the stairs, bath filling in the bathroom, and you let out a sigh at his absence.

He returned in time for dinner, one of his shadows had been left behind, not-so-subtly lingering near the chopping boards to monitor you, and so you'd been careful about making sure to seem positively chipper until he returned. He helped carry everything through to the table, commenting gently under his breath about how good it all looked, and you thanked him as you poured wine, letting him serve food for you both onto your respective plates.

Taking opposite seats, the lull lasted not a full second, before Azriel was diving right into a spirited recap of his day:

"Rhysand and Cassian are in the doghouse." You almost slipped with your wine glass as you took a nerve-soothing sip, and Azriel was smirking as he chopped his chicken up, lifting a piece on his fork to his lips, awaiting your response.

"Oh? And why is that?" You followed suit, hoping your tone didn't give it away, already knowing exactly why they were upset. All three of you had felt a little betrayed by their conversation behind your backs.

"Not a clue. All I know is that after we finished our discussion, Nesta and Feyre wanted nothing to do with either. Rhys was all 'Feyre, darling, I was thinking we could catch dinner on the Sidra tonight, I made a reservation'," Azriel mocked his best friend's voice, and genuine laughter spilt from you, his eyes glittering a little and the bond between you humming once again. "And then Feyre said 'I was thinking I'd rather spend the evening with anyone else, right now, actually'. He was speechless. As were Cass and I."

He was so excited to share the gossip, like it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened, and the thought that perhaps this wouldn't be so hard crossed your mind. The same Azriel, the same you, just with less.. togetherness. Less touching. Perhaps, it would even make the times together and the touches even more special than you'd always thought they were. "And Cassian?"

"Even worse. He was in the midst of laughing at Rhys' shocked face when Nesta all but removed his balls in front of us." He took a swig of his wine, and you placed a piece of chicken into your mouth, excited to hear just how she'd unleashed that anger she'd been holding when you'd last seen her. "She said, 'oh, laugh it up, bat boy. See how much you're laughing when you're laying in bed alone tonight, nothing but your right hand to keep you company'."

That made your jaw drop, Azriel's deep laughter permeating the air at your reaction, and you felt proud of your friend, even if you did feel a little bad for Cassian. That's what they get for complaining behind their mates' backs instead of being honest.

"So, Feyre then proceeded to thank Rhysand for the reservation, take both Nyx and Nesta and winnow away without another word. Presumably to said reservation for a lovely sisterly dinner." Az shrugged, turning back to his food, and you sipped at your wine. Good for them. "When I left, Rhys and Cass were grumbling at the dinner table, trying to work out what they'd done wrong."

That sent a pang of pain shooting back through your chest, but you quickly suppressed it, beginning to tell him all about your own day, and your suddenly-made plans to go shopping instead of sitting at home with him all day tomorrow. He didn't object, only encouraged you.

After dinner, with plates cleared away and wine glasses refilled, you'd both moved to the living room, a quiet night planned as he settled onto the couch, book in hand, opening his action-packed thriller to the page he'd left off at as you stoked the fire idly, stocking a few more logs on.

When there was nothing more you could do to it, you stood, brushing down your skirts and leaving the room, not missing the trail of his eyes after you, or the sweep of one of his shadows, trying to curl around your ankle as you hurried through the house and up the stairs. You had planned to simply settle into bed, let your mind spin and wander, but with his watchful little trick giving you it's full-attention, you were forced to move through your preparations for bed, and follow its lead when it wrapped itself around your wrist, tugging you back downstairs.

When you returned, Azriel's glass was empty, book still open, but his gaze was on the doorway as you walked through it. "Where'd you go?"

"I thought I'd prepare for bed before reading tonight, seeing as I'm so tired, that way I can get in bed as soon as the need arises." Your hands locked in front of yourself, and dipped his head in a gesture toward your book pile.

"Will you sit with me and read for a while, then?"

"Of course." What were you supposed to do, say no? You were giving him space, but when he asked you to stay, who were you to deny it? Picking up the book from the top of the pile, you settled down into the large armchair on one side of the table, perpendicular to the couch Azriel sat on. As you opened your book, his snapped shut, and he let out a rough sigh.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm reading." You teased, waving your book at him, but he was not in such a playful mood, it seemed.

"I see that. Why are you doing it over there?"

You faltered. What now? Confess to hearing him, or continue to spare his feelings the way he had been sparing yours for years. The choice seemed clear. "Sitting closer to the fire, so I don't get cold."

"You never get cold, because you sit with me. You sit here, and if you get cold, I wrap a wing around you, and you get that cute little blush on your face and make one of those jokes about Illyrians being built warmer for those 'damn cold mountains'. So, why are you sitting over there?"

Busted. You worried your lower lip, trying to decide exactly what to say, but he beat you to it, his face crumpling a little as realisation washed over him.

"You heard us in the library." It wasn't a question, no, it was a statement. A fact, he knew it. Your mate was far too intelligent and deductive for his own good, sometimes. He put down his book, crossing the room in a flash, and removing yours from your hold too. He slipped down to one knee before you, grasping your hands in his, and he gaped for a few moments, no words coming. "I didn't mean it," was what he settled on.

"'Course you did, Az. It's okay." You squeezed his hands lightly, and he gripped back firmer, like you might pull away from him if he didn't hold on. "I was a little upset to know you'd rather tell your friends than simply tell me if something I was doing was bothering you, but you're allowed to be bothered by things."

"No, I didn't mean it, my love. Please, don't take it to heart." There was a pleading under his voice, like he thought this might drive a wedge between you both, and you pried one hand free to sit comfortingly over his cheek. His head tipped into the touch.

"Az, it's okay, really. Not everything is always going to be perfect between us, but in future, if I do something you don't like, just tell me, okay?"

"No, no, no.." He was panicking now, so much so that the fear was beginning to ripple down the bond, you couldn't just hear it in his voice but feel it ricocheting through your own chest. Cold, like shards of ice. "Everything is perfect, and that is the problem. Rhys was complaining about all the changes with Nyx. About how he loves his son so much, but lately, Feyre hasn't even wanted to touch him, and she's had such mood swings because of the sleepless nights, he's frazzled. One minute she's coming onto him, the next she's snapping at him because he didn't kiss her just right. Cassian was complaining because Nesta is so fiercely independent and he loves it, but when all that overprotective side of him kicks in and she snaps at him for going full-Cass-mode on her, he hates it. He wishes sometimes she'd just let him clean her wounds and treat her gently."

You didn't know quite what to say, confusion filling you, and he pressed on, pushed a little closer, never letting your gaze slip from his, holding you captive with it.

"Then they were looking at me, like I was supposed to say something, anything. Like, they'd been vulnerable about things they couldn't tell their mates without feeling embarrassed, as though it was my turn. I couldn't think of anything, because, baby, everything is perfect. All I wanted to say was, 'can't relate, Rhysand; maybe one day but not today. Can't relate Cassian; my girl protects me as much as I protect her, we fuss over each other'. I didn't want to upset them, and I realised what they wanted was clingy, the kind of clingy we have, the kind of clingy I love. So, I tried to tell them it wasn't all it seemed, so they'd feel better."

His thumbs soothed over your knuckles, the only sounds between you being the popping of the fire and the ticking of the large clock, until you sighed. He leaned down, kissing the hand still clutched in his own, before twisting to press a kiss to the palm on his cheek before you could retract it.

"It damn near broke my heart when you didn't greet me at the door tonight. It's my favourite part of getting up in the morning, knowing that when I come home, you'll come flying into my arms, and show me so much love, a kind of love I never thought I'd have. But you didn't, you said you were fine, though. I worried you were mad at me, too. You didn't want to cook together, I hated that, because I like being part of the things you like. You didn't kiss me, you haven't kissed me all night, I miss it. I miss it so much. You didn't hold my hand at dinner, and now you won't sit with me. I'm worried, my love. I'm scared, you have to believe me."

He raised his free hand, sitting it tenderly over your jaw, just like you did for him, swiping his thumb delicately back and forth across your cheekbone. It was an act you adored so much, something he knew brought you peace and comfort, and at this moment, it was doing just that. You could feel the fear in his words as it echoed in your chest, the desperation as he waited for your response. Lifting the hand from his cheek, his gaze tracked the movement, watching your hand hover for a split second over his head. He didn't let the half-second become a full one. He took your hand, lacing it into his hair where it had been headed, your fingernails scratching over his scalp in the soothing way he loved so much.

"Always touch me. Never hesitate. I don't care if we're at dinner or on a battlefield, but your touch, your attention, your love is everything. Never stop." His eyes fluttered closed in bliss, but he was still tense. "Just say you forgive me."

"I do not, because there's nothing to forgive." His breath hitched at the beginning of your sentence, eyes snapping open wide, and you leaned forward to rest your forehead on his. "Next time, come up with something that's not going to hurt my feelings, even if I shouldn't be eavesdropping."

He smirked at that, nose brushing yours and he laughed breathily. "Next time, I'm just going to take the teasing and let them know how utterly fucking hard in love I am."

"Well, that works too." You smiled, before he was sitting up more, raising from his one knee and pressing his hands underneath your body. "What are you doing?"

"Moving you so we can sit together."

"I'll just come to the couch-"

"Won't be close enough, now." He muttered, scooping you up enough to settle into the wing-designed chair, and situating you sideways across his lap as your eyes rolled. He left a soft bite to your covered shoulder in response. "Don't roll your eyes at me, you had me freaking out. I thought you weren't going to forgive me. I thought you weren't going to.. to be the you that I love, anymore.."

"Yes, well, that's over now." You leaned in, kissing the tip of his nose for emphasis, but uncertain eyes found yours again.

"You mean it?"

"I do." You pressed another kiss to his jaw, fingernails moving back to rake through the thick black hair on the top of his head.

"You'll greet me at the door tomorrow with a kiss?" Mm-hm. "You'll let me cook with you?" Your lips moved up to his cheek, nuzzling there sweetly as you left little pecks across his skin, mm-hm. "You'll hold my hand at the table, and play footsie, and you'll curl up on the couch with me after?" Mm-hm, your kisses reached the corner of his mouth, and you felt it twitch into a smile underneath your lips. "You'll cuddle with me in bed tonight?"

"And every other night, for the rest of our lives."

Something akin to adoration raced through your chest, filling every part of you. Despite his pink-tinged cheeks, Azriel was confident in his requests, hazel eyes shining as he looked at you. "And you'll kiss me, you'll hold me, every time you want to. Promise me, you'll never hide your affection from me, promise me you'll show me your love for as long as you feel it for me?"

"As long as you promise the same to me." He nodded, vehemently, sealing the deal with an urgent kiss, and you felt a tingling mark forming on the back of your neck, alongside the mating bond you'd made together so many years ago. Another promise formed, to be held forever.

His lips worked against your own, fingers slipping from where they sat on your cheek to smooth up, no longer running his fingers gently along your jaw but tracing soft tips over the patch on your neck. His lips became a smile in the kiss, teasing and sweet, a breathy sound slipping from you as he nipped at your lower.

“We should go upstairs.” He whispered, and your arms looped around his neck, prepared for the movement that was so come as he began to shuffle toward the edge of the seat. Raising with you in his arms, he walked a path he was familiar with, your lips beginning to trace his cheekbone the way his thumb had yours moments prior, when a sudden thought crossed your mind. You gasped, sitting up stock straight and Azriel paused at the base of the stairs, brows raising, half-lidded eyes attempting to focus at your reaction. “What is it, my love?”

“We.. we have to go and tell Nesta and Feyre we worked things out.” Azriel stared for a moment, before a blinding grin was splitting across his face. It was more than a smile, it was amused and cheeky and youthful in a way he rarely showed, only in moments like this where the two of you were truly alone, when he let himself be vulnerable. A deep chuckle followed, before he was moving again, climbing the stairs with you in his arms, smile becoming a smirk.

“So you’re the reason my brothers are in such trouble, huh?” He leaned down, nipping at the shell of your ear as he backed his way into your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind himself. Dropping you down onto the bed, enough to be able to crawl toward you as you backed up into the pillows, he didn’t let up with the wicked stare. “Let it be, we can tell them tomorrow. Consider tonight a punishment for complaining.”

“Were you not technically part of that conversation, Az? Should you not also be punished?” Your words held no threat, and he knew it too, because he only dipped his head down once he was supporting himself above you. His lips dragged over your skin, up from your chin to the shell of your ear, only to whisper;

“Oh, I think I've been punished enough for tonight. I can come up with some much more fun things for us to do..”

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel/reader #azriel/you #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar/reader #acotar/you

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sinnomel · 8 months

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Absolutely Peachy

Pairing: Gale x f!Tav

Summary: Tav and Gale's conversation after Elminster's visit goes great. Slight angst but it ends cute imo.

A/N: First post breaking my very long writing hiatus to write about Gale because there aren't enough fics. Let me know if you'd like more one shots cause I think the world needs more Gale ( ´ ▿ ` ) - Sin

There was nothing in this world that could’ve prepared Tav for the surprise encounter with Elminster. She was hoping that she could meet the esteemed wizard under happier circumstances, perhaps when this damned tadpole was out from between her eyes, attempting to command the helm that is her brain.

The wise old man was jolly at first, introducing himself to the rest of the group, reprimanding Gale for his lack of decorum and grace. Tav thought nothing of it, inviting the elder to their camp, despite Gale’s scowl, awaiting for Elminster’s true reason for appearing before them in the shadow lands.

However, after the food and wine, Elminster’s visage seemed less friendly, less warm. His words were cold, concise, and fatal. Gale was to gain Mystra’s forgiveness on one condition - he was to essentially explode, destroying the curse within him and everything in a large surrounding area. It could rid them of the Absolute, of course. It could bring death to a lot of people if he decided to do this in or near Baldur’s Gate. Usually, this would be a decision that the group would push past, finding the cure for the tadpoles being their priority as the clock was ticking on them becoming mindflayers. However, this revelation had Tav’s heart sinking to the ground below her.

Tav had become particularly close to Gale, finding her feeling solidified after spending time with him in between camping and the battlefield. A complete accident on her part. There was something charming about the man’s rants, how his eyes lit up explaining the Weave, talking about his cat and how he would spend his days rummaging through the literature that covered the walls of his tower in Waterdeep. Tav never intended to fall for Gale, yet here she was.

It was clear as day what her thoughts on the matter were, as Gale had asked if everything was alright once Elminster and everyone else had retired to their respective tents and bedrolls. Tav was beside herself, “Am I alright? Absolutely peachy Gale.” Gale’s eyes held a hint of sadness as she continued. “I’m definitely alright. I’m wonderful knowing that Mystra herself has offered you forgiveness but only under the guise of the afterlife,” she spat. “Tav. I understand your frustration. Trust me, I too am frustrated with Mystra. But I can no longer satiate the hunger of the Orb that rests inside of me. There is nothing that I can do. This is my fate,” he explained, his hand twitching, as if involuntarily reaching out for her hand but stopping himself because she’s upset. He can only assume that his touch would only lead to more anger and hurt. If only he knew how much Tav yearned for his touch, how much she would fantasize it under the stars, sometimes without her knowing how she got to that topic of thinking.

“Since when have we ever listened to fate?” Tav asked, her gaze off towards the right where the water seemed to stand still and the only sound accompanying them was the soft crackle of the makeshift fire off towards the center of camp. “We have tadpoles that threaten our very existence. Every hour that passes, we teeter on the brink of becoming mind flayers. How long have we traveled together and not a single tentacle has sprouted?” she asked. Tav was breathing heavy, the conversation weighing on her physically. She couldn’t comprehend why he was giving in to this demand - his life was on the line and would he so easily throw it away? However, in that instance, Tav realized that this is coming from a selfish place. In this moment, Tav realized that the reason she was so uncharacteristically upset about Gale throwing his life away for the sake of Mystra’s forgiveness and to satiate the Orb maintaining its nest in his chest is because she has grown to love the wizard of Waterdeep.

Perhaps her eyes had given Gale indication that she had realized something, as he asked “Tav, what’s-“ “Do not ask me what is wrong Gale. I fear I realized something a bit too late. I do not wish to talk about it right now…it isn’t appropriate.” “Is it about me?” He intercepted.

Tav stumbled and said nothing. Her gaze was now on the dirt ground, her heart pounding out of her rib cage. She was silent for a beat, but Gale was patient. If she was willing to speak, he was more than willing to listen - it would be ironic if she listened to his rambling and he couldn’t do the same. Tav, despite just saying that she didn’t wish to speak on the matter, could not stop herself.

“I’m acting out of emotion rather than logic, Gale,” Tav started. Her eyes slowly made her way up to his own brown ones, making this conversation harder. She could feel her heart changing rhythm upon meeting his gaze, how her body yearned to be held in his embrace in this moment, how she craved a chaste kiss.

Gale seemed to put two and two together, or rather, what he thought was two and two.

“I know this seems very obscene and I may never be granted forgiveness. Trust me, I don’t wish to die. But Mystra wants to rid the world of the Absolute. My demise might very well be the only thing that could stop-“

“I love you.”

Gale was taken aback and fell silent, completely off guard by the three sweet words he would often dream of hearing from Tav’s lips. Perhaps he had imagined it? He dared ask, hoping his imagination, or the amalgamation of his heart beating so thunderously in his chest wouldn’t disrupt the orb.

“Pardon?” Gale asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he took a step toward her. “I love you Gale. I don’t want you to succumb to that entitled goddess for my own selfish reasons,” Tav started, unable to stop her words from coming out. If not now, she felt, when? Who knew when Gale would just decide to commit to Mystra’s possible false promises.

“There is always another way. We’ve constantly found alternatives to problems. Please…don’t go through with this. Do you not wish to live?” the appointed leader of the group asked the man before her. She could feel the warm accumulation of tears threatening to pour over the edge of her tear ducts, the shakiness of her breath not helping her.

Gale was speechless. He didn’t know what to do. He always painted this picture of how he wanted to profess his love to Tav - a beautiful sunset in Waterdeep whilst both of them spent the hours in his tower, two glasses of wine served out for them and Tara, his cat in his company, along with the countless books he seems to have. The piano would play songs from their travels to incite conversation of nostalgia, how they felt in those moments, laughing about their perilous travels. And when the sun hit the golden hour, the sky would be adorned with pink, orange and purple clouds, he would place his forehead on hers, his gaze focused on her soft lips and utter…

“I love you.”

But they were here, in this camp, the conditions of his profession of love not met. Perhaps this was how it was supposed to be because he wouldn’t make it back to Waterdeep. Perhaps he won't live past a couple nights from now.

“Gale…Say something,” Tav said, her voice cracking, two tears escaping their captivity, trailing down her cheeks. Gale couldn’t think of any words. Instead he chose to react, slowly closing the space between them. His hands made their way up to her cheeks, softly wiping away the stray tears. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was torn. He very badly wanted to rid himself of the Orb and obtain Mystra’s forgiveness, but on the other, he had Tav, who had seemingly loved him unconditionally. None of his magic was necessary to woo her. Not his history of being a prodigy of magic, not his mastery of spells, not his conduction of the weave. Just him.

Gale couldn’t help but close the space between himself and Tav, placing a soft kiss upon her lips. In this moment, he forgot all about Mystra and her empty promises, the orb, all of it. All that occupied his mind was Tav and how soft her lips felt against his own. He pulled away, staying close.

“I love you too.”

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale x tav #gale bg3 #gale x reader #bg3 fanfiction #gale dekarios x reader #baldurs gate 3 x reader #Tav

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ask-the-prose · 1 year

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Writing Burnout and Helpful Tips

Hi yall, it’s been wonderful seeing ask-the-prose posts going around writeblr and I’m so happy to see that some of these guides are helpful. If you have a specific topic you’d like me to cover, send in an ask!

What is burnout?

Burnout is incredibly common and nothing to be ashamed of! If you find you are too exhausted to do what you love, running out of ideas, or perhaps not wanting to do anything, you may be burned out. Burnout can pose a serious block to your writing, and it’s just not fun.

Burnout can happen when you’re stretching yourself too thin, spending more time and energy creating than taking in creativity, or not taking care of yourself the way you need.

Step 1: Put out the fire

One of the number one ways to fast-track your way to burnout is to forget to care for yourself. We’re writers! Sometimes we get in the zone, or maybe a little obsessed, and we forget to eat, hydrate, and maybe even put off sleep. But ignoring self-care is unsustainable.

We all see posts all over reminding us to hydrate, eat well, sleep, and even stretch, but these are genuinely great tips to remember when you’re not feeling well. I’d like to add a few ideas to try when you’re feeling down.

Exercise. Walk, run, play a sport, do anything that helps move your body, whatever you can do to help your blood flow, even if it’s just a few push-ups or a good stretch.

Find a new set of walls to stare at. I get in a rut going to the same places or staying home when I have nowhere to go. But hanging out at a coffee shop or cafe helps me often. It’s a chance to observe people, see new things, and get some sunlight. If you need to shake it up, try a new cafe!

Socialize. Sometimes burnout looks like loneliness. Socialize! Talk to a friend or family member, or make a new friend! New perspectives help.

Not all of these work for everybody, but they’re friendly suggestions to try when you’re feeling burnout coming on.

Step 2: Replenish your reserves

As creatives, we get stuck always wanting to create, but that’s not sustainable either! Creativity is not just an internal process, we need external stimulation to replenish our creative reserves. When you feel like you just can’t come up with ideas or anything new, maybe it’s time to read.

Reading can help, though I personally understand the struggle to read (and finish!) books. Start with short stories or novellas if you struggle to read novels. Read within the genre you’re trying to write, and then step out of your genre and try something new. You never know when inspiration will strike.

Watch movies, listen to new music, play a video game, or do anything that can give you a creative boost. Reading is critical, but learning about other mediums is just as important.

Step 3: Self-indulgence is key

You may find as you’re recovering from the burnout that your wip may just be what’s causing the problem. Ask yourself some important questions:

Am I writing for myself?

Am I writing something that I want to write?

If not, what do I want to write about?

Do I like what I’m writing, or do I feel like it’s what everyone wants to read?

Answer these questions for yourself, and if you find you don’t like those answers, take a look at your project and see what you can or want to change. Remember, if it’s not fun and it’s not what you want, then it might not be worth it.

Take what you need, leave what you don’t

As always, this guide is meant to be helpful, and as with all writing advice, it’s entirely subjective. I believe these tips work because they worked for me. But if you find that something isn’t helping, leave it! Move on or adjust to what you as an individual need to recover from your burnout.

Remember that no writing is ever wasted and that your writing matters. We need your voice too!

– Indy

#writing help #writing advice #writing tips #writing burnout #writers block #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writblr #avoiding burnout #writing community #writing resources #writers of tumblr #creative writing

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jhypeach · 1 year

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After Midnight [2:00 am]

pairing: mark lee x fem reader warnings: clit play, shower sex, smut smut word count: 1k+ an: the aftermath of mark lee appearing on the live just wearing a robe and the members saw his underwear. i feel ill 😵‍💫

It was almost midnight, and Mark hadn't returned to your hotel room yet. He asked me to accompany him from their America leg until today's one-day concert show in Singapore. There is little to do when I go over the world with him and the members. We can only be our usual selves sometimes when fans aren't around since our relationship isn't publicly announced. So, I spent 80% of my stay in every country in the hotel room, and the remaining 20% was in their makeup room, talking and getting nervous with the members.

Since it's almost 12 and Mark isn't here yet, I decided to take a bath already and prepare for bed. However, it was a real struggle for me with an injured hand. I accidentally sprained my wrist earlier, moving the suitcase around. Mark wasn't there to help me since they immediately started their stage rehearsal a few hours after we landed. But the moment he knew bout my sprained wrist, he kept asking about my condition, and I didn't want to concern him when I was totally fine and he was about to perform. So instead of being backstage which I usually do at every concert, I insist that I just stay in our room.

I was putting shampoo on my hair and getting annoyed that I couldn't properly wash myself. Few minutes of irritation, I heard faint steps outside the bathroom. "Babe? Y/n" I heard Mark looking for me. "In the bathroom, I replied." I didn't hear any response after. I contemplated if I should ask him for help. He's probably already sleeping since he was tired from the whole concert. I sneaked out of the bathroom to check if he was asleep already. I saw him sitting on the couch, waiting for me. "Why are your clothes soaking wet?" he asked. I scratched the back of my head, "I need help. I can't wash my hair properly."

He followed me inside the bathroom, "Babe, I think you need to take your shirt off," he said as he stood near the sink, "No, It's fine. I-I just asked you to help me with my hair so-", I was cut off when he walked closer to me leaned forward towards my ears "Is it because you're thinking of something else?" he asked. I was taken aback; I had swallowed my saliva when I felt his breath lick my neck and jaw. "How about we wash up together, then I'll clean you after?" He suggested pushing me inside the shower room, "No! I-I just… I just need to help wash-ing my *gulp* hair," I stuttered at how close he was. I don't know why I am getting nervous. Sex isn't something new to us. But having sex overseas is.

"Oh really? But look at that" he looked at the shower niche with a messy shampoo and body wash bottle. I sighed, clearly defeated and can't get my way out. He held my injured wrist; it made me look at him. Great! He's already half-naked in front of me. "Don't worry, I'll be careful," he said softly, massaging my wrist.

My back faces him as he rubs my shoulder blades with loofa. I flinched when I felt him rubbing near my breast. I could actually feel myself drip down there. "Is this making you excited?" he teased me. And I hate it whenever he does. "Perhaps you like to do it in the shower," that's it. I do not plan on getting laid in Singapore tonight, and he better behave. "Okay, get it out. We will never finish if we do this," I said and faced him. I tried to push him out, but he held my injured wrist and pinned it on the wall, "I said I'll help you. So, you're not gonna push me until your wrist heals" I felt his hands in my entrance, drawing circles. "So let me help you down here too."

He played with my clit, pinching, circling his fingers around it, teasing my entrance. I moved my hips in an attempt to grind it. This was driving me crazy. With my injured hand pinned and my free hand holding his nape for support. "How does it feel," he asked me. The bubbles from the body wash all over my body aren't helping as it tickles me, and my whole body is so sensitive, with Mark teasing my entrance. A whimper, "Fughck!" was just all I said. He removed his hand from my entrance, yanked my left leg on his arm, and swiftly held my hips. He entered me with a warning.

Keeping myself in balance is a real struggle standing on one foot and with my arm pinned on the wall. Plus, Mark is thrusting so rough and fast in me. Showers dripping, wet squelching, moans, and whimpers were the music for our night. "Ah! Ah!" I bit my lower lip to suppress some moans and clenched around his shaft while Mark nibbled my jaw down to my neck and collarbone. "Im close," I said as he licked my collarbone to my neck, "Not yet," he said and turned me, pining my chest on the wall. He pulled my waist closer and higher, making me arch my back. He entered me again without warning. "fuck!" he cussed, "fucking tight ever."

We ended up having more than 3 rounds inside the shower and about 2 in the sink when he finally freed me. I was already brushing my hair when I heard knocks on our hotel room door. I peeked out the peephole and saw the 5 boys, I opened the door for them, and they immediately filled our room with noise.

“Noona, where’s Mark hyung?” Jisung asked me, "Oh, in the shower," I replied. Haechan immediately banged the bathroom door, "Hyung, hurry up, we have to do live." "Is your wrist fine now?" Renjun asked me while others lay on our bed while they waited for Mark, "Yeah, the swelling has subsided already." A few seconds after, Mark came out of the bathroom just wearing a robe, "Let's go," he said and sat beside Renjun. "At least wear something?" I told him, "I'm wearing briefs inside. Don't worry". The members looked at him, and some nagged while Haechan and Jeno laughed. "Let him be. I'll start the live now. Just don't stand up, hyung, because we can see your purple underwear. And cover your neck properly. We can see scratches."

#mark lee smut #mark lee #mark #nct mark #mark smut #mark lee fic #mark fluff #marklee #mark lee scenarios #nct dream #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #nct dream x reader #nct fic #nct x reader #nct

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once-in-a-blood-moon · 1 month

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AHH THEYRE OPEN!!! EEEEE

Could I request for your 🌹valentines event🌹 the prompt voice with Solomon with a GN MC? He’s heard their voice for a long time giving him encouragement and praise but he’s long since given up actually meeting them. They meet during the exchange program and he immediately recognizes their voice.

I’ve never heard of the soulmate voice scenario before so I’m realty looking forward to how you pull it all together! I love your works and am really excited for this event! Thank you so much for sharing your writing!💖💖💖💖💖

Solomon - Voice

Solomon x GN! reader

Prompt: The voice in their head is their soulmate’s voice

AN: Hi Ivy!! Thank you for your sweet words, I'm really glad you like what I do! 💕 I'm so sorry about the wait on this request, but I suppose better late than never! I really got in a groove writing this, and uh...it's a little more hurt/comfort than I expected it to be, so I hope that's okay. Thank you for being patient and I hope you enjoy! 😊

Warnings: Slight hurt/comfort, mimics how you meet Solomon in the OG but diverges a tad.

The cool night air whipped through Solomon’s hair gently as he leaned out of the open window. His eyes had grown tired from hours of combing through the weathered pages of an ancient tome he’d miraculously gotten his hands on, so he decided to take a small break to rest them. The sooner he did that, the quicker he’d be back at his desk furiously devouring the magical literature the book had to offer.

Bleary eyes flicked lazily across the landscape of the soft city nightlife beyond his walls. He’s not in the thick of it, but sometimes he listens just to feel included. The distant sounds of horns honking, the gentle clicks of heels on the street below him as two friends pass by with gossip juggled between them, even smelling the cheap, greasy pizza from one of the restaurants nearby. It’s all something that eludes him. Like an inside joke he’s not allowed in on…

“I hope you’re doing okay…”

Solomon perks upon hearing the soft, almost solemn voice in his head. It had started just a few short decades ago, popping up occasionally to say hello or to spout some words of encouragement. He was aware he was hearing the voice of his soulmate, but it seemed hard for him to let go of his reservations and interact with them. He knew it would never last, and he’d never meet them. So, he keeps his mind quiet like he always does, not wanting to give them false hope.

And it seemed he was disappointing them further by not responding yet again, hearing their soft sigh before speaking again.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re even there. Maybe I’m talking to nobody...”

He wishes you were – or at least someone that wasn’t him.

“But it’s almost as if I can feel your presence. You exist. I know it.”

Oh, he exists, alright. Longer than he thinks you could ever fathom. How the universe could’ve paired such a patient soul to his jaded one is a mystery to him. It’s curious how you’re able to sense him too. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you had some magical prowess as well – however small that may be.

“Are you looking at the same moon I am? It’s so bright and beautiful tonight… A full moon.”

The sorcerer’s ancient eyes slowly move to the moon hanging above the city, where the skyscrapers seem to just brush its surface. It’s the same moon he’s looked at for centuries, the one thing that’s stayed constant in his eternal life. Tonight’s moon seems to glow a hair brighter than usual. Perhaps it’s a super moon just playing with his perception. Either way, he basks in her maternal essence all the same.

It grows quiet in his mind and Solomon assumes his soulmate is lost in the moment, just as he is. Whether it’s due to the moon’s company illuminating his figure perched on the windowsill or because of the presence that has wriggled their way into his thoughts, he doesn’t feel as alone tonight.

The minutes drag on with nothing more from his soulmate, so he takes this as a sign his break is over. With a long, drawn out sigh, he pushes himself off the windowsill before shutting the window and pulling the curtains closed. He takes slow strides back to his desk, stretching his back muscles before he inevitably hunches over the tome until his body gives out to exhaustion. The old, rickety chair creaks beneath him as the hard wood already begins to gnaw away at his bum. Though he pays no mind to the mild pain as he aims to jump right back into the marked pages he’d left open on his desk.

“Take care of yourself.”

It’s the last thing he hears right before his eager eyes can reach a word on either of the sprawled out pages. That gentle reminder causes his heart to ache in guilt knowing he should do better to take care of himself, yet...he’s too consumed with his life’s work to try harder. With a slight shake of his head to rid himself of those feelings, he plunges right back into the mystical tome.

The halls of RAD bustle with first-day gossip shared between demon cliques about the newly implemented exchange program and the exchange students that came with it.

Solomon, who keeps to himself against one of the walls to blend in with the crowd, hears the names of his angelic dorm mates, as well as his own, bouncing around as if it were a game of Hot Potato. It’s the typical fare of “that sorcerer, Solomon, is one of the exchange students this year” and “watch out for that guy, you know he’s a bit of a shady fellow.” Every other word that’s been tacked onto his persona is spit out with a venomous hiss.

Powerful. Shady. No good. Hardly human. Sorcerer... Solomon, Solomon, Solomon.

He’s heard them so many times he’s started to believe there might be merit behind the sentiments.

Beyond that, he’s also heard a few rumors about the second human exchange student. Due to the quickly buzzing word, the clever sorcerer had already caught wind of their name and a few other interesting details, like how Mammon had been appointed as the “human babysitter.” Solomon couldn’t help but chuckle to himself when he’d first heard that. Mammon as a babysitter of anything, let alone a fellow human… That’s rich.

“I should run…”

Solomon’s brow raises sharply, almost instantly, upon hearing that phrase in his head. What an odd thing for his soulmate to say. They hadn’t spoken much to him in the past few weeks, apart from some nerves about something they never fully divulged to him, but for this to be the first thing in a while is concerning to say the least. It may not even be a conscious effort as the panic of the voice in his head is quite obvious.

“That’s what Mammon said to do…”

Mammon? How does this person…

It’s then that Solomon notices a timid looking human in the middle of the hall, their eyes casting side to side as a few groups of demons seem to eye them dangerously. The sorcerer’s feet move faster than his thoughts and he’s suddenly in front of the human with a friendly grin on his lips.

“Hey, you there.”

He watches you startle at his sudden appearance, your phone slipping through your fingers and clattering on the floor as you just stare at him with anxiety practically radiating off you. It seems you’re opting for the freeze response from how on edge you are around him. He automatically feels guilty for scaring you so terribly, but he understands why.

Slowly, as to not spook you further, he crouches down to pick up your phone, doing a quick check to make sure it’s not damaged as he rises back to his normal height.

“This belongs to you. I saw you drop it just now,” he hands it out to you, chuckling as he does. “You should be lucky it didn’t crack.”

He watches you glance down to his outstretched hand before slowly taking your phone from him. Your fingers brush lightly against his, sending a chill up his spine. For it being such a minuscule touch, it felt so natural.

A small appreciative smile eases your frightened features. Though he can tell you’re still tentative. “Thank you.”

Solomon’s heart skips a beat as he recognizes the voice instantly. He stills momentarily, though not enough to seem like he’d lost composure...but internally, he was flustered. The previous phrases he’d heard in his head suddenly made sense now. Before he gets completely ahead of himself, he decides to converse with you further to confirm his suspicions.

“My name’s Solomon. I’m an exchange student from the human world, just like you.”

Your fears instantly seem to vanish upon learning that he’s not one of the demons wanting to cause you harm. “Ah, well, that’s a relief then. It’s nice to meet you.”

You give a quick introduction of yourself as well. The name he’d heard whispered among others earlier rolled off your tongue in the same kind voice he’s had in his head for decades. It doesn’t seem you realize the situation yet, but how could you? He never spoke to you… You didn’t know what he sounded like. If he had known meeting you wasn’t a slim to none chance, maybe he would’ve asked how your day was, reminded you to hydrate or study, or just said hi.

The sorcerer makes his mind up pretty quickly – he’d make it up to you once he reveals the true nature of your special connection.

Even now, he’s realizing you’re more than just a stranger to him. You were the kind words he couldn’t give himself, the reasoning he was blind to, and the connection he thought was best to deny.

You were the sound he was lonely without.

#valentine's soulmate event #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me hurt/comfort #obey me solomon #obey me solomon x reader #jo writes

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uyuartik · 3 months

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bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part iii

tags: angst, fluff, arguments, period typical misogyny (of course not from obi wan), just overall wealthy pricks being little shits, the trope of THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, but not really, do you believe in second chances (i don't) (💀), little smut compared to the rest because originally there was no smut in this (but i HAD TO use that idea), REPOST because i fucked up in the first place

a/n: welcome back for the finale!

well, i can't think of anything to say except this has been a blast for me, and i'm so happy that there are those who enjoys this madness as much as i do. hope you like the ending too. thank you all!

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can’t wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three

enjoy!!!

word count: 8.3K

chapter three: fuck it it's fine!

You don’t board that ship. A slight sickness you excuse, then spend your days sulking at home, still covered by the expanse of your lies. It is not totally untrue, though. You did really wake up with a swollen throat, and that put the integrity of your health during the journey at risk, thus with great grief, canceled the plans. Nobody knew that you’d not even mention the symptom on any other day, just requesting some honey tea and hardly noticing it disappear in the morrow. And it exactly worked out as predicted, more so, without leaving its discomfort for remorse. But after that, the hours stretched out each day, like you were living in a different plane where you were not welcomed. Perhaps you actually weren’t, for if you followed your fate, you’d be eating different foods, and walking foreign corridors. In an attempt to run away from that feeling, you try to socialize just a little, attending even the most dull tea parties. Also, your preference of company has to be specialized now, and that proves difficult sometimes.

So, that’s exactly why you indeed sulk at home, even though all your efforts.

But not tonight.

Then again, perhaps you should've.

His presence has nothing to do with it, to be perfectly clear. On the contrary, he makes it a little endurable. The forced small talk and empty eyes you once feared dearly are not the case, even after your last encounter. Of course, there's a little awkwardness, an uncertainty about where the line of intimacy now stands, shadows of anger and disappointment still darkening the atmosphere, but the overall sensation comes down to longing. You both lost a great friendship, cast it aside in a blink, but your souls don't accept this new arrangement that quickly, trying to fall into the familiar rhythm once more each time you feel your walls break. You don't allow it, neither does he. Yet, it is about the only thing that turns this night into a not complete waste of time. Even a pleasant one, you'd dare say.

If it weren't for literally everything else except this.

The hushed little uninformed jokes start during the dinner. It is the lord of the house that says them, to his close circle, barely hanging onto etiquette he had glimpses of. As minutes tick and glasses of wine roll, that glimpse is gone, and even in your seat at the end of the table, you hear him clearly. The pressed lips and masked mimics pretending not to be aware of it soon become apparent on every face, excluding you and Lord Kenobi. You glower the first time another of the guests feels confident enough to make his dirty contribution to the subject. Typical, you try to stay calm, tapping your fingers on the table. The world is filled with the likes of him, and the last thing they deserve is your attention. The reflex doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and he sends a sympathetic smile, showing that you’re not alone and accepting this invitation was a most regretful choice. He uses a few retorts to close the deal, let the dinner continue in different matters- or in silence, that would be fantastic indeed, but his smart wit and slight intimidation work only for a couple of minutes. Now it’s your turn to reflect that sad smile, and you do.

The sadness doesn’t come from the circumstances around you all, though. Your heart feels heavy, for not trying better ways to handle that morning. That guilt will haunt you, drag you into the gloomy pit you’ve been in, and maybe, you should stay there for some time, a penance for your mistakes.

After dinner, when the ladies and gentlemen huddle around different interests, you get a chance to cool off. The soft peals of laughter and giggles fill the room, a much more pleasant sound than the roar of men. You get to entertain others with your stories of other cities you’ve been to, and they tell their interesting incidents, and make fun of their husbands, people who deserve, as their commotion spills out of the walls. The topic of their conversation, marriage, diffuses out into your circle in such a way, that once again, you’re restraining yourself, trying to listen to the problems one of the ladies is complaining of, and not to hear the crude comments going on on the other side. You’re stopped from rushing out of your armchair simply out of respect you have for the woman speaking when you pick up your name passing in their remarks. Plus, Kenobi’s words, you don’t flatter me by offending the lady, reach every ear in the room, sharper than a knife. Your cheeks burn with anger, then with gratitude, and at last, out of embarrassment, because how are you going to explain he’s just doing an honorable thing, that it’s his character to defy ill minds when he sees one, and this has little to do with his “pursuit” of you? Your breaths are shallow and quick as you focus on the discourse, and dodge every attempt to pull the subject towards your relations.

Though, the snake doesn’t give up on eating, even his own tail, it seems.

In less than half an hour, a joke about abduction is whispered, and you surge from your armchair, the screeching sound echoing. You murmur what resembles to be an excuse (you’re still deciding whether they are worthy of one), and send one glaring gaze at the group, enough to make one flinch, and walk out.

Out of the entire house.

Lucky for you, this is a night in which you carpooled with another guest, meaning you only have your own feet to carry you away in this pouring rain.

But of course, that’s not enough to deter you.

You take big steps, enforced by your fury. Thus, the house leaves your sight in no time, but not their audacity, still ringing in your ears. Implications about your freedom. Complaints of wive-hood. Humor about how perfectly reasonable is to get rich, by kidnapping a young woman… (Honestly, after all that, you don’t have mercy for them of the panic they might experience when they realize their guest is not refreshing in another room, and have left the estate altogether. Alas, that guest is you.) You string curses at them, the only form of thinking you have in regard, and feel the bulk of emotions resonate with every stomp, even spilling out of your tear ducts. Your dampening body, and the length of the road don’t make it any easier, feeding your frustration. Your only anchor is your self worth, the reason you began this path in the first place, and you desperately hope it will turn the tide in a while.

Though now, the picture you paint with those foul words and wet clothes isn’t exactly the brightest.

It is still among these moods, that Obi Wan catches up to you. You’re not exactly surprised to see him, his carriage closing the twenty minute distance you put between yourself and that damned house with a speed that you think can’t be that good for the horses in the long run. They stop abruptly at your side, and you have all those insults readied if it turns out to be that fucked up man or polite declines if it is indeed Obi Wan.

But, you can’t speak them. The world feels like it freezes, the raindrops slowing down, and carrying away your burdens as they fall to the soil. The small door opens, and Obi Wan rushes out of it, with an expression that is so honest and raw. His fright vanishes at the sight of you, that scared gaze dissolving, eyebrows relaxing… You can actually see his lips move, Thank God. He is totally undisturbed by the downpour, already making his strands stick to his forehead. His hands find yours, and pull you close, almost like an embrace. You look into his eyes, how focused they are on you, as if they could burn you from the inside with their intensity. You have an undeniable urge to kiss him right now, and that has nothing to do with lust, but your wish to undo the last couple of weeks, uphold that strong connection once the two you had. Of course, you don’t, you can’t, thus, you let him lead you inside, and continue towards whatever destination.

Funny, how you feel much calmer doing the thing you thought you wouldn’t. Moreso, you have no woes about it either.

The silence is deafening, but nobody dares to open their mouth, the greatness of the storm of emotions you both are having too heavy on your tongues. He puts his less soggy jacket around your shoulders, you welcome it with a nod. That’s the moment you realize the redness on his knuckles. It’s not hard to guess the scene, and that has your head turned to the floor, processing the entire night. It is also at this moment that you become aware of your fresh tears, still sliding over your cheeks. Even if he notices them, he doesn’t do a thing about it, an indifference you’re grateful for. He just looks out of the window, and contemplates, same as you.

===

The tub filled with hot water doesn’t make you any wetter, but it helps with the temperature. You’re sorry that you exhausted the owners of the inn you had to stay in, (for it was getting impossible to travel in that rain) with this request, but a voice tells you that Obi Wan wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re unbelievably silent as he sorts it all out, staying in your bubble, unintentionally playing the part of the damsel in distress. You listen to his list of requests, for the horses, for three rooms (the best reserved for the lady, he insists), a tub to be prepared for you, and some tea-

“No need.” Your voice is weak, but it is clear. He would’ve protested this answer, but it is the first time you’ve talked after leaving the house, how ironic, and the realization sets deep in both of you. After that, you feel the words pile up on your tongue, but in a blink, you find yourself in a room. Alone.

“So sorry, I thought they gave me this room.” He stands at the door, holding it half open, face turned in the opposite direction.

“Obi Wan.” His gaze hesitantly finds your way again. God, he’s about to kill you with that blues… “Can we talk for a second?”

You name yourself a hypocrite for asking that, in this state, but you can’t breathe with all that untold things if you spend another second without explaining yourself to him, and apologize for all the trouble you’ve caused. And, isn’t this already proof of the trust you have for him, how vulnerable you can be in his presence?

And, there’s nothing he’s not seen before, after all.

He gingerly closes the door, locking it in a swift motion, and makes his way to you. You pull yourself together, and reach for his hand for him to help you out.

“No, stay. Your fingers are still cold.”

You can’t hide the small smile forming on your face as you settle back, careful to keep most of your body underwater. He, ever noble, keeps his eyes straight on your face, which somehow doesn’t help. There’s something about his rolled-up sleeves, the matching three-piece suit down to two for the damp jacket sits behind the chair in your back against the fireplace. His hair is drying up in all defiant shapes, and you have to stop imagining that morning he woke up next to you.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I- I never intended to cause this big of a mess, and make someone clean up after me. Certainly, not you, of all people. You shouldn’t have tired yourself this much, and I’m sorry for it.”

“You can’t expect me to do nothing.” The sentence begs for a dear to be added in the end, and he has to fight his throat to silence himself. Instead, there’s a kind tug at the corners of his lips.

“You’re right.” You nod. “But the truth is, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I needed to get out, I just couldn’t sit there pretend I didn’t hear all those nasty comments.”

His fist clenches at the reminder, and you once again spot the bruises settling in on his knuckles, filling with the desire to mention them, but you inevitably decide not to. “That asshole-“

”He was obnoxious since the first hour, and loud, but that doesn't scare me, for thus he has proven himself to be just a foul mouthed man. But, that title started not to cover the extent of it- it was too much and I couldn’t take it anymore. You may say it was obvious from the start, but I tried my best to not evolve this into a thing I would regret afterward. And I succeeded.”

“So you don't even regret ever setting foot in that house?”

A tinge of disgust seizes your face, but only for a moment. Even with all those words echoing in your ear, you don't have hatred in your heart, or any remorse. You're not so quite sure about its reason, nor do you wish to be, avoiding all analysis. Like you don't know the basics already. But the sudden change in your expression tells everything. “I don’t think I can ever regret it. At least, not in its entirety.” You say, hugging your knees and lowering your head. Hot steam no longer hits your skin, you realize in your attempts of distraction.

There's a second of silence in the room, despite the thunderstorm raging outside. You are as cold as in the beginning because of it, and you almost contemplate how good of an idea this conversation was, especially under these circumstances.

“I’d say the same.” Obi Wan speaks, and that's when goosebumps rise on your skin. Your eyes meet his, then flutter away quickly, overwhelmed. Does he mean-

Why is him meaning that any different than yours, huh? Why is it any worse when he says it?

“You should get out of there.” He reaches for a towel, and you shyly stand up, turning your back and pressing your arms around yourself. Nothing he hasn't seen before, right? As the coarse fabric is draped around your shoulders, you can’t help but feel afire, the imprint of his hand around your shoulders for a second lingering way more than it should, creating a tingling sensation.

“Thank you.”

“Well, I must return to my room now.” He folds his hands together, like trying to preserve where they’ve touched, and his eyes still stay respectfully up, causing your heart to lose its rhythm. There has never been a scenario that involved nakedness without… sexual intentions, and clearly, it’s not even crossing your minds right now. Your awareness of it takes up all the space in your mind, tosses every other idea out, and leaves you at the mercy of your soul.

“Obi Wan.” Fuck, the way you call his name, it is bound to weaken him every time. “Can you-” Oh, haven't you demanded enough from him? “I- I would like it if you stayed.”

His mouth hangs open for a second, with a subtle sharp inhale. His fingers tighten around each other, then relax all together, hanging free by his side. “Of course.” For all the words that come to his lips, it’s a most simple answer.

Not that you have any complaints.

You’re filled with another kind of thrill, being this open with your wishes, but having no clue whether they’ll take the night, having no clue where you want the night to go, or how to act in this very moment, half covered. You just know that you prefer him, being in the same chamber as you. You’d prefer to listen to his idle talk or slow breaths, than the silence of the room. You’d prefer him to snore in your bed than to picture him in his own, lying awake. (Because let’s face it, it’d take a while for him to surrender to sleep, if left to his own devices.)

He takes a step towards the armchair, unbuttoning his vest and you come back to your senses, stepping out of the tub in the opposite direction, towards the nightgown the innkeeper gracefully lent to you. It’s slightly large for your body, definitely not tailored for someone close to your size, but if Obi Wan ever heard you commenting on the fact, he’d wholeheartedly claim you still looked like an angel. Since you don’t, he doesn’t too, but it’s obvious in the way he takes in your form, a battle of excess fabric against your movements. He has to bury a groan when your sleeve falls down your shoulder, a simple accident. He knows that shouldn’t have been seen by him, or you didn’t do it on purpose, that tonight is not meant for those activities, and it shouldn’t get him so bothered up, but it fucking does. Does it also make him want to slap himself? Yes.

Walking near the fireplace, you wring the excess water from your hair and run your fingers through the strands before rubbing that towel aggressively, for the fact that it is already soggy enough, and is not gonna do much. You despise sleeping with wet hair, it is an invitation for you to get sick, not to mention that you’ll be sharing the bed, leaving frustrating streaks of wetness on the sheets for them.

“Hey, hey, let me help you.” Is he a little bit scared? The answer is another yes. But he’s not gonna stand there and watch you fight with your hair. He takes the fabric, locating the most usable spots, and slowly massages your strands with them. Objectively, it’s not a lot different in terms of overall results, but it does more than that anyway. Despite the forbidden intimacy, despite the question of “How is he so good at it?”, you’re lulled by the constant movements, the tension in your muscles easing off. He keeps you by the fire longer than you would’ve stayed, and that achievement belongs solely to him. Frankly, he too is not sure how long the two of you could stand like that, or put an end to it. All that matters is that your hair is pleasantly damp, less bothersome, and he did that.

To be honest, with each minute he is in your presence; the task of holding onto his manners, respecting his broken heart, and following your lead is getting harder to manage.

“Thank you.” You murmur, eyelids barely held open, and he feels like a juggler, suddenly losing his sense of balance, and dropping one of his props.

“You’re welcome.” Perhaps he was the one to thank, for the pleasure. That’s the second prop, falling down.

Still, it’s obvious how that sentence misses a darling thrown out after it.

You climb the bed, and he follows suit. You both favor the edges of the mattress, and there’s a ridiculous distance between both of your bodies, but you’re both too timid to use it, even at the risk of tumbling down.

Only after the urge to find a better position kicks in that you move, and end up just a little closer, face turned to his side.

He’s already turned to you, eyes closed but definitely not trying to sleep, or relax if nothing. He opens them of course, after you rustled the sheets that hard.

“What if I get sick tomorrow?” Admittedly, that’s a silly question, but the scenario occupies your mind. All the elemental factors are present, and you only have a formal dress on your back. Also, the fact that it would be all your fault, yet you are the one to complain? You hate yourself for saying it out loud.

“Then we would stay ‘til you got better.” His point-of-fact words, softened with his bedtime voice, must be annoying. Must be. It is not. It is the raw truth, straight from his core. You won’t disrespect it, (again). “I would take care of you.”

(Doesn’t he, always?)

A shiver runs down your spine.

(He’d name this place heaven, if it allowed you two to stay together a little longer.)

“Obi Wan.” Whispering, trying your best to break that ugly silence, not to crush under the weight of his words, but more importantly to let him know your truths, the alignment of your soul. “I- I never told you how much I appreciated you. Now just today, but especially today.”

He’s trying so hard not to sound rude, or leave you unanswered, but none of them are good enough. Thankfully, you are not expecting one. Your fingers ghost over his knuckles, afraid to hurt him. he’s not even sure you’re doing that, ‘til you hunch over, and press a small kiss over them.

That’s all the acknowledgment he needs, ever. It wasn’t becoming of a gentleman, obviously, but the situation didn’t require gentleman-cy, too. He has no recollection of how his fist ended up in that man’s eye, except for the exact second it happened, feeling his shirt slide from his other hand as the impact sizzled through his bones, and sent the man to the floor. He found himself in the middle of saying God knows what- he still doesn’t have a single clue, and thinks about the possibility of how they’ll resonate, ‘til it reaches his ears once again.

Though, he has no fear regarding that, or the altercation before it. Nor regret.

“I am honored that our names are spoken together, a testament of our likeness.”

The third prop.

It falls, most obviously, but he doesn’t show it. Not under these circumstances. No matter how you try to avoid the subject of love, or a future, he’s burning for it, burning for you. In that moment, it is settled that it’ll always be that way, forever. You’re absolutely crushing his heart, and maybe even crush yours in the process (for which reasons, he’s never sure), regardless of your intentions pointing otherwise, because he knows you’re pushing through your struggles to speak up, select the appropriate expressions, to honor your past. He’s touched by your effort, as well as your words, oh, your words… This is the only compliment he’ll ever accept, and it’s not even meant to be a compliment. Your voice is already etched into his brain, and there will not go a single day he’s not reminiscing about it.

Thus, with such strong emotions, his every muscle twitched with the desire to pull you closer, wrap his arm around your waist, card his fingers through your cool hair as your lips meet. He wants to kiss you slowly, savor your taste and caress your tongue with his, for the sole purpose of being close to you. You, throwing one leg over him… You, falling asleep in his arms as he gets to bathe in your enchanting scent… The feeling of your warm breath against his neck as you take refuge in there… He’s surprised he doesn’t have to chain himself not to act on any of these images.

(Oh, it very much feels like he has done that anyway)

Yet, it is probably the worst night to do so. It has all been too much, and all this on top of that is a recipe for disaster. A disaster he’s been struck with nonetheless, though, perhaps he can spare you from.

When it comes to you, he has always put his heart before his mind, (but never disregarding the latter part. It is the essential element to keep both of you safe, to never compromise your social statuses, to create the optimum atmosphere for your relationship to flourish (by your own unusual standards)). For the first time, he’s not following that code. Even he can’t imagine the consequences if he doesn’t.

You’re glad that nothing has changed. No response from him, no action. His relaxed expression tells you enough; the calmness of his eyes, his slow breaths and the slight curve of his lips… To be honest, you’re relieved to see your words reach their destination but also set with the urge to prove them. To press down your mouth on his, from which you hope for an answer; to hold his hand without causing any discomfort, or simply hug him for a second, eliminating all space between your bodies like your souls.

Alas, the role of the hypocrite is a part you no longer wish to play, and you’re perfectly willing to hurt yourself by not succumbing to your wishes, and refrain him from further confusion.

“Good night, Obi Wan.” You say, fingers grazing over his for the last time, and curl yourself into a ball.

“Good night, my dearest.”

===

The morning is unlike the previous example.

You wake up to him getting up, so there’s no way for you to know if your bodies drifted closer during the night, but considering the position of your arm, extended way beyond the middle, it is quite possible to assume some physical contact was present.

Considering you two are not facing each other, thus acknowledgment of the situation is not a matter, your embarrassment is half of what it should be.

Though, your cheeks burn brighter each second you can’t peel your eyes off of him, filling up the rest of that cup. Watching him walk around, the movement of each chiseled muscle on his back as he puts his shirt and trousers on quickly highlights another impropriety. He is perfection, even in that drowsy state of the human condition, there’s harmony to his every motion, the slow steps he takes, the way the fabric glides against his skin, the subtle fine arrangements of his fingers to make sure it looks decent, even how he breathes causes him to blend into the room, but also bedazzle it in his grace, make him stand out like a crown jewel, a masterpiece of arts that name the place.

You can only stop your ogling once he leans in and stirs the flames, which were already going strong since they were last fed before you went to sleep- wait, that doesn’t seem possible, did he actually sever his sleep to tend to it?

Is there any other explanation you need?

Your heart may flutter out of your chest after this realization, so you skirt out of the blankets. Of course, the sound draws his attention, and you’re caught, forced to react.

Yet, the unstoppable smile forming on his lips inspires a similar response on yours so easily, so naturally that you don’t feel obligated at all. On the quite contrary, that simple mimic banishes any pretense, showering you with reassurance and bravery, the motivation to act on your own true terms, not society’s or the ones you pressured onto yourself.

“Good morning.” The simultaneous greeting pulls a giggle from both of you, and it is all so small, yet so much. You sway away from his direction, casually reaching for your clothes, hoping he doesn’t notice the tremor of your legs when you shed the nightwear and put the chemise on. Because you know, he’s watching you. Divine justice, perhaps.

“Be careful, Obi Wan, I might start to think you enjoy watching me get dressed too much.” The snarky comment, fighting its way out of your mouth further softens the atmosphere, and it is like the first days of spring after a harsh winter, soothing your souls with relief.

“Guilty as charged.”

You shake your head, consumed by his usual forward banter. A scene taken straight out of your past. You shimmy into your dress instead of coming up with a cleverer response.

“You don’t sound sick.” He says, indicating that he’s been paying attention.

Biting your lip, you turn away. “Actually…”

“Is there something wrong?” He ends up right beside you in a blink, as if the world changed by your unfinished sentence.

Your heart picks up a different rhythm, hands raised in position to tie your ribbon but frozen. “It’s nothing, my throat just feels-”

“Do you want me to call a doctor?”

That was the exact reason why you started with it’s nothing. Alas… “No, it’s probably just my overthinking and coming up with strange sensations.” And if not, it depends on how well you spend tonight, so there’s not much room for intervention. Definitely not in medical terms.

“Pity.” His comment makes you scoff. After that, you can’t reward him with your concerns, can you? It is funny, ugh.

“Let me help.”

Your heart can’t get any rest as the tension simply changes garbs, his fingers trailing over yours and leading a 180° turn, leaving a blazing line along your skin, to tie the ends of your ribbon together. Your arms tentatively fall to your sides, not sure what to do with their freedom. His breaths lick your neck while he attentively, slowly smooths his creation, and you’d probably freak out if you weren’t so focused on the sheer range of his skills.

(Also the mystery of how he comes to acquire it, but it’s only the deep, dark parts of your mind speaking. Moreover, you do not pride yourself in a position to be jealous. You absolutely are, on that tiny level, and no, you’ll never admit it.)

Though, you’re not gonna comment on that, not when your heart threatens to fly out of its cage. The sacredness of the action brings back the echoes of your concerns, not a single one strong enough to overtake you, but the cacophony of them loud enough to occupy the entirety of your capacity.

All that talk of past times… Coupled with a little hesitancy, and how the tables turn…

“T- thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Like he just didn’t flip the dynamic, he carries on with his outfit, tying his cravat. His beautiful hands work expertly, effortlessly, and the result is perfect, even without a mirror, eyes on you the entire time.

“Is it looking fine?”

“Yes.” You meekly answer. It is decent, like he always is. Somehow witnessing that feels as sensual as the previous scene, pulling you further down the whirlpool.

Embarrassed enough already, you busy yourself with your hair, accepting the mess that it is, and decide on a simple bun, as much as possible. The practiced moves bring you some sense of calmness and control, even if the result isn’t perfect. The silence helps too, along with his occupancy of tidying up the room.

“Do you want to have some breakfast?” He asks. God, how does he still sound that cheery?

“No, thank you.” You don’t want to keep your father worrying any longer, and it’s not like you’re going to faint. The memory of your last food in the most unpleasant company is still strong enough to expel any thought of hunger.

That answer may be the clearest thought you’ve ever had this morning, yet it is the one that whispers doubt into his heart. You are silent, turned away from him, and far too engrossed in whatever unnecessary thing you’re doing. Because now, he fears that if the two of you leave this room, this building, all your lives in it will be a part of the history, never to be repeated or worse, mentioned again, lost in the torn pages. The joke about residing here for however long- seems awfully bitter, perfectly demonstrating he’d rather hold on to the possibility than put an end to this.

How could that be love?

Perhaps you were right, accusing him of madness.

That’s the only reason he walks out of the room to prepare the carriages, instead of cocooning the both of you in.

===

“Father!” You wrap your arms around him, who’s standing by the main entrance to your estate, waiting anxiously. He does the same, unaffected by the eyes that watch, the staff, and a mere acquaintance, Lord Kenobi.

Now Obi Wan knows who you got your bravery from.

He stands quietly, hands folded in front of him, not sure what to do but damn sure not to leave. He had plenty of time to think about his madness on the road, and decided it was not anything pathological- it was pure love and desperation for you. Isn’t that the nature of most of your meet-ups? Consoling each other in the positively dreadful situations, and utilizing everything to spend a second more together?

He hears you reassuring him of your well-being, and summarize the thing in pretty understated phrases. Even that makes him stutter over his words in a fit of rage. Obi Wan agrees. You distract him by speaking of the help you’ve gotten from a valiant friend, and that’s how he enters the conversation.

“Good morning, Sir.”

How he keeps it all cool, sharing and shaping his anger, silencing any doubt that may arise in him is a surprise, though he’s called a great negotiator for a reason, right? His work in various cases in court has earned him the title. He’s not overtly a fan of flaunting it. Though, it helps him a great deal in this instance.

At least, enough to have a pleasant exchange in these unpleasant circumstances, and secure permission to talk to you again.

Alone.

It is weird enough as it is already, you and him spending the night at some inn, him casually chatting with your father like his clothes haven’t benefitted from the merits of ironing, not to mention his hair being on the wild side after a slight treatment of rain, and now he is requesting your attention? Not only yours, but your father’s too in extent?

His plans have never been so crystal clear.

“No.” You declare your objection so clearly, in one word as the door closes behind him, giving you the privacy of the room. “No, no, no, no.”

“I haven’t even opened my mouth!” He objects, though it is more of a principal thing, than an actual defense. He knows you’ve worked it all out already. God, could he expect anything less from you? Your watery eyes and trembling hands break his heart into a million pieces, reactions so strong even before he has a chance to utter their cause. He caresses his beard, reevaluating if he should continue-

He can’t live with the consequences if he dares not. He can’t live with what-ifs, or not knowing the reason why you are so repulsed by the idea or would you still feel the same, if he told you about his love for you. Of course, that would require some magic, considering the magnitude and intricacy of it. How is he supposed to put the purest feelings he’s ever had to mere words, the origin of the butterflies caged up in his chest, the wires of his brain getting tangled up whenever you’re not around, and the constant intoxication from the strongest liquor he’s ever consumed? He’d rather die than sober up, and a part of him already recognizes that it’s not a possibility. It is his poison and antidote. There’s not a moment that passes without either of them.

And surely, he has no complaints about it. Never will. It is a brave choice, but what’s braver is this moment.

“No.” You repeat, hands clasped together to stop them from shaking. Your voice is low albeit steady, as much as it can be.

Because you do not lift your eyes to meet him. “You can’t propose to me, because I can’t refuse it. But I will. Then the whole country will wonder what is so wrong with you, and me, and they will talk about it all the time, for years to come. The whispers will be the first thing that you hear in every room you enter, and you’ll see the mischievous glint in the eyes of every person you meet, them scrutinizing whether those rumors are true. Our reputations will be tarnished forever, and we will hate each other for it.” And you can’t stand that.

You don’t sound like this is the first time you’re putting these words together. In all your distressed state, you sound awfully logical in your own way, so focused on one improbable, insane possibility (damn those reputations, he can never hate you), but devising every little detail.

“Why?” He basically hollers, running a hand through his hair. Why does that potential is the one you envision? “Why can’t you marry me?”

One can only dream that someone outside isn’t listening.

“Because- I don’t know!” You take a desperate step closer, showing him your honesty. You truly can’t quite name your aversions, and isn’t that already enough of a reason to stay away, spare the person you’re facing? “I don’t know how to be a wife! And I am scared. All my life I alienated myself from the idea of a marriage, I methodically dismissed every chance claiming it wasn’t the time, all the way ‘til I would say it was too late. I was content with that idea. Because I love- loved my life the way it is; I get more than I need from my father, and that is to remain unchanged when my brother takes over, and I am free as a bird, unbound by society’s expectations, traveling wherever, wherever and trying new things. I was, I am so happy about it that anything that may alter it I shun from immediately. And now I find myself in a place I never imagined, and I am scared. I don’t know what happens now. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what that future looks like for us.”

He moves towards you, his head tilted sideways in understanding, arms reaching for yours. Finally, finally hearing your justifications, the basis of your attitude, fills him with pride and compassion, and most importantly, gives him an opportunity to help you solve those problems, together. But, you hush him, squeezing his wrists in gentle guidance, with tears streaking across your cheeks. “I just know that I love you. I love you so much that my heart will always feel like a weight in my chest when I’m not with you, like a ship sinking, but never reaching the bottom. And I will continue to love you even if you stop loving me back, but I would rather lose you on my terms than by the burdens a marriage brings.”

“Why do you so believe that a mere contract would change my feelings? Do you think my affections for you are that fragile?”

You frantically shake your head, causing the drops to fall faster. “No, I’m not saying that-“

“Then what?” He snaps, though not because he’s angry. He wants to learn every single reason that’s keeping you away.

“You don’t know what that will do to us.”

“No, I don’t! And I don’t care! It will never change my feelings.” This, he can shout freely. This is the simplest truth for all his remaining days on this earth.

You don’t know that, you want to object. “Obi Wan…” Is the response that comes out of your mouth. “I am not a good bride.”

“No.”There’s acceptance in his tone, a punch to your guts. “You’re the love of life, my companion, my everything.” When he pulls you even closer, and cups your cheeks, you let him. “Haven’t we been through all the struggles a couple could share already? Haven’t I seen all of you, and let you see all of me? Haven’t you claimed my entire soul, and occupied my every single thought? You made me break my rules, and painted a picture I never thought was suited for me- and I came to like that picture very much. In fact, it’s all I ever want my future to look like, with you in it. You, exactly in the way you already are, with all your unsusceptibility to the norms and striking habits. I know that can be scary. I am afraid too. But, anything worth doing starts like this, I know it. And we’ll be the biggest idiots in the world if we let our fear rule us.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, the joyful sound making his breath hitch. It is reflected on his face too, and it is something you’ll hold on to, alongside the tears that begin to form on his eyes. Fortunately, they sit there, despite him kneeling in front of you, his fingers never leaving the bend of your arm, only to follow the route they create, and hold onto both of your hands. “Please, marry me.”

You’re convinced, but your tongue is still tied, so you nod. Your entire upper body shakes with the gesture in seconds, making you look like an overexcited child, on the verge of losing their balance with the restlessness of their legs. You barely feel him kissing your knuckles before he stands up and embraces you, stabilizing both of you in both physical and emotional terms. Let’s be real, if he kissed you instead as he desperately wished to, you’d fall on the floor (and continue there- ‘til somebody discovered the two of you in very indecent terms). His chuckles quickly become your favorite song, you feel blessed as they delight your ears, and make your chest vibrate like his. He revels in the newfound proximity, despite the fact that you’ve been much, much closer in the past. This is new. This is raw love, uncombined with other emotions, strengthened by the absolute truth that you two are meant for each other, and with the promise of you’ll do something about it. He holds you ‘til your sense of balance is restored, for he now has urgent matters he has to attend to. He’ll get to hold you forever soon, and that revelation doesn’t change the herculean feat of letting you go now. He can’t help but wipe the streaks of wetness on your face, though it forms again. He solely doesn’t repeat himself because of the widest grin on your lips. You press yourself to his palm, eyelids closing for a moment, then place a small peck on it.

“I- I’m now gonna go and talk to your father, get the papers right- and find a-” oh, that’s not “a”, he is going to require many others even if he keeps everything minimal, “I’ll be back in three, fuck, four hours, okay?”

“What? No!” You exclaim, almost giving him a heart attack.

“What’s wrong?” His fingers tighten, a slight tremble taking over them. You have to smile to get him to relax once again, and raise your eyebrows wittily, as if he is a fool for not imagining it already, reminding him of your nature.

“I’m only doing this once. I want everything to be right.”

He squints his eyes, grasping your chin. There’s a few seconds of silence, the time it takes for his nerves to settle. When it does, you’re struck by the intensity of his blue irises, the condensed calm before the storm. “So you want to stay as my fiance ‘til the next season starts, in eight months, succumbing to waiting as we get no freedom to ourselves, always in the center stage, enjoying the last of our bachelor states, the lonely nights and beds bigger than you can ever occupy.”

His other hand, wandering across your waist tells you exactly what he implies. While you actually weren’t planning on such a thing, it causes a surge of rush to overtake you, burning you from the inside. Pursing your lips as you free your face from his grip, with a contradicting shaky breath, you say. “I was always fond of winter weddings…”

To this, he laughs, echoing in the room, and you join him.

One can only hope whoever outside listens to this too, this moment of pure joy preserved in one more mind.

===

“I couldn’t be happier to be married to you.” Obi Wan whispers, but the sentence is loud and clear to you, etched into where he takes nest in the crook of your neck, hot breaths burning your skin.

“We’re still not- ngh“ Yes, this is supposed to be the rehearsal, the night before the main event. You two should be at the reception downstairs, among your many relatives and friends and other members of the society, all gathered for tomorrow morning, when these words of yours will be invalid.

Of course, you are further making a hypocrite of yourself by the way you hold onto him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms locked around his shoulders as he burrows his cock into you. It was impossible to wait any further, as you were separated by the whole ordeal of preparations and the watchful eyes. The moment you found a clearing, you two slipped away, cue to now, where your back on the wall as he supports you against it. You didn’t even get one meter away from the door, you could basically reach the knob with a simple extension of your elbow, but in the end, who cares? Who cares when he fills you so deliciously, scratching the itch that has been building for some time, peppering you with all the love in his heart?

Still, your sentence is cut abruptly as he drives his hips faster, rougher- very much an act of pedantry, advising not to get lost in the details. It works, the correction dies on your tongue, though a quite loud moan takes its place. His hand flies to cover your mouth, and your eyes pop open, meeting his. The pressure of his palm against your face almost forces another sound out of you. Fuck, you adore those blue storms, even when they are focused elsewhere, turned to the door as if it can see past behind it, scanning for intruders. You do actually whimper when the danger dissolves, the vibrations running among his bones, and he keeps up his pace, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

However, it is getting harder in terms of balance as he now has one hand to stabilize you, and despite your best efforts, it is quite hard not to slide off of the smooth fabric of his clothes. Remorsefully, you push on his shoulders, and he understands, pulling his cock out of you and burying his mouth on your skin. He stifles a sob in there, the frustration getting the best of him.

“Oh, you definitely had too much wine.” Look at who’s talking, you with those wobbly legs and bitten lips…

“No, I just had too little of you.”

Your heart flaps its wings out of your chest, as it does after his every cheesy compliment. You still cannot figure out how he makes you blush harder with those words, even as he ravages you in the meantime.

You reach for a kiss, it is always a good idea. He hums contently at the touch, grateful at the most basic form of contact. Obi Wan rocks against you unintentionally, and that’s how the unsatiated desire wages war, with desperate groans and roaming hands.

Then, his fingers tighten around your waist, and you find yourself supported against the vanity with your open palms, depositing most of your weight there (thank God, because you couldn’t trust your feet much longer). He pulls your hips back to his. Your back arches in a way that is most complementary to his chest, and fuck, it is a vision.

It literally is.

Fluttering your eyes open for only a second (that was your intention at least), you’re struck down with the image of the two of you in the mirror, faces contorted in the prettiest way that is possible in this dirty position, heavy lids and open mouths, fingertips whitened by the strong grasp you have on each other, the matching colors of your outfits…

Yes, even with that detail, you’re still on his side, agreeing you’d be idiots if you weren’t doing this.

Deciding to take the sight from its direct source, you turn your head to the side a little, looking at the adonis of a man you’ll soon call your husband, with his neatly trimmed beard and prominent cheekbones and long eyelashes you are slightly jealous of and so much more…

He meets your gaze, breathless with similar thoughts, that little tug on the corner of his mouth telling you all you need to know, but then he nudges your face to its previous state by a small clasp of your chin, and you’re watching him through the reflection, leaning forward when he starts to fumble with your skirt once again.

The moan that leaves you is totally incapable of being unobscured as he enters you anew. The change in the angle along with the visual stimulation has you teetering on the edge quite easily, like him, but he denies it, maintaining slow movements and choking out any noise that dares to leave him.

Of course, all is impeded when the door is knocked-

“Occupied!”

Your voices are synchronized, high and tight. The clock stops for a moment for your bodies, as if the stationary status makes it any less scandalous, and both of you fixated on the doorknob.

It never turns. Never.

Still, the dilated pupils remain a little longer, joined over the mirror, with big puffs of breath and shaking hands.

“Do you think they-“ There’s not an exact word that you can find to explain what has just occurred, but the sentiment is clear.

“Probably.” And the answer too is just as clear.

Well, the only thing lost is the trivial achievement of never being discovered before the wedding.

A wedding which is hours away.

So, you push back, wiggling your hips. His unrestricted sound is all you need to regain your spirits back, and you do it once more. Just like that, the wheels are turning.

“You realize there’s a bed behind us, right?” He asks as he slowly thrusts into you.

“Yes, but I like the view better here.”

#star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan imagine #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan x reader #obi wan kenobi smut #obi wan kenobi fluff #obi wan kenobi angst

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blingblong55 · 5 months

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Appreciation-141 & Konig

Based on a request:

Hello! I had a question, could you perhaps do HCs with the 141/Konig and a AMAB GN! reader who has tics, but not Tourettes? Specifically, tics where they hit things? Thank you so much! I adore your writing! -Rai ---- AMAB!GN!Reader, tics, platonic!friendship, HC, fluff? ----

A/N: I just want to emphasise that I am not fully educated in how tics affect most people or how they look on those who have this so if this is in someway offensive or incorrect, please be kind, correct me and educate me in a kindly manner, let's not spread hate those trying to learn <3 And Rai, I hope you adore this one<33

Ghost:

he has gotten used to your sudden tic attacks, so much so that at some point when you say or do something he ignores it as if nothing is going on.

There are times when he gives people a cold glare when you begin to knock on the table in the meeting room.

"Mate, what are you doing?" A recruit tries to suppress a chuckle as the others glare at you with judging stares. "Leave them alone, soldier," Ghost replies with his cold and commanding voice.

Anywhere you go, he goes and this is to ensure you don't end up hurting yourself. For example, there are times when you knock things out, occasionally it's your cap when you hit your head and sometimes when it's bad, he is there to help you not harm yourself.

He sees you as his close friend. Soap could even argue that you are his only friend from all the times he has seen Ghost talk so much about you.

"Yeah, they are the best soldiers I've worked with. Your soldier is better? Maybe, but have you seen my soldier, they are way better."

The cute thing about him and you is that you are the one person who is allowed to touch his mask. In private, there was one time when you pulled on his mask and all he did was chuckle. "Trying to see my face, R/N?" he smiles and you fluster, unable to find the right words to apologise.

Soap:

I feel like he would be so unserious with you. Like him, you have to at some point be separated in a meeting because you keep getting tics that make you hit him and sometimes all he can do is gasp and laugh.

But, I have to say that he is very much aware that if someone tries to mess with you, he would most likely be sent to Price's office afterwards.

There are times when your face grimaces and he won't acknowledge it and if there are people who call you out for it, he, like Ghost would stand up for you, which leads to a literal roast towards the soldier.

He is so unserious with you, as a coping mechanism to be honest, that he calls your tics 'tic tac toe' only because every time he does this, you and he get into a hysterical argument. Don't worry, you win but only after you say his head looks like a white tic tac.

The winning streak had gotten to a point that now in the common room, there is a wall dedicated to the wins and losses of Soap and you.

Gaz:

Gaz gives me Golden Retriever vibes and he is the most loyal person, so of course, his traits with you are similar to those of Ghost and Soap.

With him, it's a little different though, as he asks so many questions that you have a small window to actually and thoroughly answer the questions regarding your tics.

Sometimes, if someone dares to mention your tics but in a negative light, Gaz will deadass stop the person and like with Graves, he will not even dare shake the person's hand or be kind to them.

Because of you, not the helicopter, this man has lost and has had his caps destroyed from the many times that you have knocked them off his head that now you have a monthly gift for him.

I think there are times that he chuckles a little when you clap in a silent room when there are serious matters to be talked about, mainly when Graves talks and you interrupt him with clapping or knocking down something, usually an empty cup Gaz keeps around. He doesn't laugh at you but rather at how annoyed you've made Graves since you don't let him finish his 'All-American hero' speech.

Price:

This man is THE father figure when your tics go off. I can't explain any further but you know what I mean…I hope.

Like Ghost, he also brags and gives people a death stare when they dare to comment on your tics negatively.

I know for a fact this man is all about being so inclusive towards everyone like no one should be alone, it's mean and that won't happen on his watch. So when you were introduced and he found out you had tics, better believe this man read all there was to know about your syndrome and how to make an environment better for you.

Also, you better believe this man has a class in which not only does he teach the rude and disrespectful soldiers about manners but he also teaches those on how to be around you and make you feel at ease. And may I add that he is the first captain, at least on base, that in this class teaches others about LGBT+, social and racial problems, like this man is THE man when it comes to absolute kindness. (to those that work with him….so…fuck you Makarov, Shephard and Graves) König:

I think that because he has social anxiety and prefers to be more of a serious man to others, he is very calm and educated on your tics. -Since he is friends with you and has grown accustomed to your tics he knows how to keep things under control if they happen to be out of norm.

Because he is a colonel, everyone respects him and he has ensured that you, as his second in comment have the same level of respect. -He has yelled, like yelled and people who witnessed him get this angry were terrified. They saw him as a very stern and serious man on base so seeing this part of him when yelling to others to respect you and be able to keep in their rude comments towards your tics, they surely kept quiet.

I chose to believe this man likes his helmet more and more when you are around because you tend to knock his helmet off when one of your tics gets more… intense.

A/N: I don't know if this could be accurate but i hope i did okay with this request

Tags:

@liyanahelena @hilmiponken @natashamea18 @demonic-grace @sans-chara @rougeripoff (didn't tag those on my list since I'm not sure they would be comfortable with this one)

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rocketturtle4 · 9 months

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Aceness in BL: Let’s go for a Ramble

(I made this post soon after Be My Favorite finished but shadowbanning has delayed the posting) - I'm Freeee (@plantsarepeopletoo @shouldiusemyname)

So, I’ve been thinking more and more about aceness in BL (mainly BL anyway), and to get my thought’s in order I thought I’d make a post.

This post is NOT intended as a blanket rule in literally any context. It is specifically about how 1. I frame aceness in my head based on very surface level research and my own experience and how 2. I apply that to a few characters (In BL) who, to me, have felt acespec.

This post will cover

A brief overview of how I understand the acespectrum (with reference to aesthetic, romantic and sexual attraction)

How I view demisexuality as a kind of doorway (with reference to my own deminess)

How I feel five characters (Ae from Love by Chance, Arthrit from SOTUS & SOTUS S, Kat from The Warp Effect (yes not BL but whatevs), Kawi from Be My Favorite and Khai from the Warp Effect) might fall on these spectrums. (THIS WILL INCLUDE SPOILERS)

A wrap up on acepectrum, transient identities, and labels

First Up the Ace-Spectrum!

(How I frame aceness in my head)

Aesthetic attraction = I really want to just stare at this person, they so pretty

Romantic attraction = I want to have this person with me, I want to hold them close and see them daily and talk to them about everything, also I want to cuddle and sleep together (maybe idk this is the attraction I am vaguest on)

Sexual attraction = I want to have sex with this person, I want to personally bang this person, I stare at this person and think about what it would be like to kiss them with tongue and push them against walls and have them underneath/on top of me. (This isn’t necessarily at like 100% all the time I think)

Kapish?

Romantic and Sexual attraction are both spectrums (obvs) and in my head they go from

Allo (100%) <------- to --------> Ace/Aro (0%) with the percentage reflective of how frequently you find people attractive, (I don’t think 100% is everybody all the time though).

So theoretically anyone not at 100% for either romantic or sexual attraction might identify as acespec, though I IMAGINE most people over perhaps, 30% feel attraction often enough that they don’t consider it, so for headcannon purposes I’m considering under 30% as ace or aro.

Sometimes people might consider themselves grey-ace (or grey-aro) if they fall within the more middling but still low percentages (say 15-50%,) So they experience attraction to individuals on occasion, but less frequently than typical. (But, again any label that people identify with is true for them)

Framing Demisexuality as a doorway

Demisexuality is, to me (in brief), not experiencing sexual attraction prior to the development of strong emotional/intellectual/romantic feelings (also can feel like a significant jump rather than completely 0-100, for me it’s almost like a switch on/off, but it can be gradual too)

Demiromantic people don’t experience romantic feelings for people unless there’s a strong emotional bond in place. (Same caveats as above)

The demi-doorway doesn’t automatically open the moment bonds/romantic feelings are developed, it’s simply that these feelings DON’T occur without the bond first. An alloromantic demisexual person MAY develop sexual feelings for someone they like romantically, but they also may not.

Personally, I consider myself demisexual and demiromantic because (based on 1.5 data points (data points = people), which is really not enough evidence) after bonds are formed both my romantic and sexual interest about a specific person jump up to allo. My deminess also feels tied to the way the changing/wavering of these emotional bonds also closes the door really quickly?? (So I can become abruptly not attracted to someone anymore if my romantic feelings/emotions are gone/destabilised, let me tell you it is weird to experience)

The lines around characters and actors and attraction gets all blurry too. Kind of like there’s a window in my door(s) that can be open or shut, but I can always look through it? (IDK how this metaphor is holding up)

For example, here’s some arbitrary categorites:

1. People are nice looking because everybody is nice looking (e.g., most people)

2. Aesthetic attraction (let me stare) e.g., Jean from The Warp Effect or Ayan from The Eclipse

3. Aesthetic attraction but more?? E.g., Joong (Joong is pretty, VERY PRETTY. But it’s still not really sexual attraction…I just want to stare at him…extra hard…and if he WANTED to fuck me…I mean for science…but I still don’t really WANT to??)

4. First. E.g., AM I EVEN ACE/ARO WHAT IS THIS SORCERY??

Clear as mud I’m sure.

Ace people can also dislike sex, be sex repulsed, enjoy watching, and whatever else without it emphasising or erasing their aceness, since it’s about sexual attraction to an individual more than anything else.

In a similar way you can also be sex repulsed or dislike sex or dislike aspects of sex without automatically being ace.

ALSO Demispec people may experience full (e.g. 100%) romantic/sexual feelings once the door is open without the caveats that I listed (about emotional instability) and this in NO WAY erases their aceness (or their deminess). There is also something to be said for the different ways the emotional bonds are formed/feelings are triggered. My two data points (attraction to people) were both triggered by strong intellectual connections.

ALSO acespec (which includes all aro/ace/demi people FTR) people can have gender specific (or non-specific) orientations as well (e.g. homoromantic asexual or aromantic pansexual or even biromantic bi-grey-ace).

Examples from Thailand BL/QL in my headcannon

I’m only talking about allo/ace/demi here, no gender-(non)-specific orientations.

Ae (Love By Chance) alloromantic demisexual (through the door 100%)

Ae is, I think, a pretty classic example of the most common view of demisexuality. He experiences romantic feelings for someone (idk if it’s the first time for this) and then slowly realises he’s sexually attracted to said person and goes a bit crazy because he doesn’t quite know what his feelings mean because he’s never experienced them before and, well, he’s a horndog (I love Ae and this depiction for the record) his demisexuality is absolutely a gateway to 100% sexual interest!

Some signs of his aceness might include his lack of interest in sex as commented on by his roommate and his confusion over the feelings he’s experiencing for the first time because they’re outside of his frame of experience. Also his sexual feelings seem to take a while to develop, after his crush has begun.

(I’m much less certain about romantic orientation here because we don’t know if he’s had crushes before (without wanting sex) and also he’s only 18, so even if he hasn’t doesn’t mean he’s arospec)

Arthrit (SOTUS & SOTUS S) Alloromantic demisexual (but different!!)

Arthrit seems alloromantic, in his previous feelings for his childhood friend and his clearly developing romantic feelings for Kong.

Arthit’s aceness is less clear cut than Ae’s because even after he develops sexual feelings (through the demidoor) he doesn’t experience allo sexual attraction as strongly as someone like Ae. I found a lot of his reactions to the relationship ups and downs in SOTUS S were very relatable (and prompted my first ever long post lol click for way more info on this) because of how Arthrit’s desire for sex (or sexual touch) seem to waver with the relationship stability. This is not about being uncomfortable with Kong exactly, but more about how even after they’re technically on an even keel and Kong’s sharing his bed and apartment, Arthit still seems uncomfortable with some of his sexual advances. While LATER after they’ve properly talked about it, he goes back to leaning into Kongs space and making flirty eyebrows.

So his deminess kind of means his aceness is variable even through the demidoor, like the door is wavering between open and closed. But it also doesn’t ever feel like his romantic feelings for Kong waver, just that the unstable grounding of their relationship boundaries lead to emotional instability which effect his sexual interest.

(Because I will take every excuse to use my Arthrit screenshots)

Kat in The Warp Effect (aromantic allosexual)

Honestly, Kat being Aro seemed basically canon during my viewing of The Warp Effect. She shows essentially no evidence of romantic feelings for anyone the whole series. (Though obvs people can want and have sex without wanting relationships and not be aro)

While Kat later tells Alex that she likes him (and tells Jean too) I don’t really feel like this mucks with the head-canon for a few reasons:

Kat is shown to be pretty monogamous when in sexual relationships with people even as she want’s no strings (she tells Alex he’s the only one she is currently having sex with (I think), she later tells Captain Asshole this and then later tells Tony this).

Thanks to Captain Asshole she begins to feel unsafe with the way she lives her life.

She initially wants to commit to Alex as the person she is most comfortable with, but we are not really shown any evidence of romantic feelings, just a desire for commitment.

She seems to reach a similar sort of balance with Tony in the OG Warp Timeline, but there still (to me) isn’t really evidence of romantic feelings

Aro people can, after all, want a committed and/or monogamous relationship.

Kawi in Be My Favorite (Alloromatic Asexual (not Demi IMO))

The reason I think he’s ace rather than demi is more about the language he uses even after he’s in love with Piseang (please see my thoughts about ace-kawi coding in ep 10 for more details if you're curious). Even after this wasn’t made explicit by the narrative, I stand by my thoughts around his lack of interest in sex in general. (As well as the coding in ep12 of him trying the rollercoaster and not liking it). It didn’t really feel to me like he gained sexual feelings for Piseang (unlike the vibes I personally got from Arthrit even if they wavered), more than he tried sex and enjoyed it enough to participate again in the future because he loved and felt comfortable with Piseang.

If you feel ambivalent about playing tennis, but your partner really likes playing tennis than maybe you make a point of playing tennis regularly even if it’s not something you’d think about doing on your own, because playing tennis with your partner is fun you know?

Of course, if tennis makes you feel icky, or really bored, you many not ever want to play it even if your partner enjoys it.

Khai in Theory of Love (demiromantic allosexual)

So Khai is my most recent addition to this post given I just finished ToL but he was so demiromantic it crushed me into pieces so he gets to be included! ways Khai feels demirom:

His confused realisation of feelings when he talks to his Phi at the beach.

He likes to keep things uncomplicated with the girls he’s seeing because he doesn’t do relationships.

He actually tries to take his relationships seriously but just never really seemed to genuinely want the romance.

Even after he realises he has romantic feelings for Third, when he returns back to him (after the beach reflection) he notices his sexual attraction more easily than his romantic feelings.

His confusion over how much he hurt when Third seemed to be choosing Un over him, and how it was the first time he realised how much Third must have been hurting because he’d never felt like this before.

The entirety of Ep12 with Third telling Khai what he feels isn't love (because Third has seen time and time again that Khai hasn't loved anyone before). Khai's attempts to prove himself even though he really understand what loving someone means, even as he follows his emotions, and tries hard to be “better” for Third because he does love Third, he chooses Third, he changes for Third, he cries for Third.

He also curls up in his room watching romantic movies for multiple days because Third tells him that what he's feeling isn't love and if it isn't then what is?)

Very relatable and also owie ouchie my brokenness feelings.

Lack of data points makes it tricky:

There are probably lots of other characters that COULD fall into a-spectrum, (just as there are reasons why these characters might not) but the thing I find the trickiest to navigate (for my headcanons) is lack of data points. Most characters in BL are in highschool/college, and this, combined with a desire for lack of messiness in story structure, means characters are often experiencing feelings ‘for the first time.’ Long term pining, childhood crushes, and first attraction to the same gender, all come into play and make evidence muddy and lacking a concrete foundation, from which to draw conclusions.

We can’t ask characters about their preferences, previous feelings, levels of emotion etc. so in my opinion conclusions can’t be drawn, only inferences made.

I don’t have a problem with anyone headcannoning these characters as not acespec.

I don’t have a problem with anyone headcannoning other characters as acespec.

Identities, Transience and Labelling

In discussing this post and my own framework with a couple of people I wanted to add a bit more of my personal experience with the ace label and the ace spectrum. Because the thing about both ace-ness and allo-ness is that they’re not equal all the time. Some people experience sexual attraction first or more frequently and may only experience romantic feelings later or less frequently. Some people feel romantic attraction before sexual, but only sometimes and sometimes people feel both at once and straight away, or both at once but only later on…

The romantic and sexual attraction spectrums are spectrums that everybody exists on and in existing on a spectrum some people have a firm placement and others a shifting one.

People who are ace-identified are typically those who have felt meaningfully different from their peers in the level and/or frequency of experiencing any sexual attraction and/or any romantic attraction and whose attraction is close to zero for one or both of those spectrums. They have thus sought out explanations for their difference and found the ace labels. Demi-ness, on either spectrum, then relates more to the way emotional(/intellectual) bonds, positive or negative, directly impact your ability to feel romantic or sexual attraction.

In the context of TV, for me, it’s picking up a photo of a character you love and being confused when they don’t seem right anymore. Its looking at a cast of beautiful humans and not really feeling anything but awe at their acting. It’s forgetting that characters were shirtless until the gifs show up on your dash the next day. It’s reading the definition of chemistry and not really understanding what it means. It’s not realising that there’s a difference between kisses where the lips move and kisses where they don’t because the way the characters talk and stand and stare means so much more. It’s so many things until you must notice because what you’re seeing and noticing and caring about is just…not the same as the things other people are seeing, noticing and caring about.

In the real world it’s messier, because aceness is sometimes framed as only 0%. Experiencing emotions outside of 0% can make the label feel hard to keep, or wrong or mismatched:

My 16-year-old-self called herself Asexual and was relieved to have found a reason why she felt so weird, even if it didn't quite fit right.

My 18-year-old-self called herself maybe-bi because both boys and girls can be pretty to look at, and this must be what crushes are right?

My 20-year-old-self called herself Asexual again (even though it still didn't fit right) because she’d tried things with one of these apparent crushes and it just felt…weird.

My 22-year-old-self called herself maybe straight afterall because she dreamed about kissing someone for the first time and that person was a boy.

My 24-year-old-self picked up demisexual and clung to it like a lifeline because why else would her attraction just be…gone. Was I broken?

My 25-year-old-self discovered demiromantic was also a label and felt like things finally made sense.

But what’s important to know is that at no point between finding the asexual label at 16 to finding the aromantic label at 25, was I not aro/ace. And that if I had settled on a non-aspec label after any one of my identity-questioning experiences, it wouldn’t have made me a liar at any age or negated the experience of other aspec people in any way.

Because what my 25-year-old-self now understands is that labels aren’t there to put you in a box and squeeze you into shape, nor are labels there to lay across your shoulders and weigh you down with their expectations.

The labels are a lifeline, a hand reaching out, a voice whispering in the darkness…

You are not, and have never been alone.

So, for me at least, to label characters as this or that, is not to box them in, instead it is pointing and gasping, look, look, that one is like me…or maybe, look, look, that one is like you.

When a character acts the way I would, thinks the way I would, talks the way I would I am again reminded that,

I are not, and have never been alone.

So please, label away, I don’t mind if we pick different labels. I just like that I can share my labels with you.

#Rturts is wondering #acespec in bl #for the queer #be my favorite #theory of love #the warp effect #love by chance #SOTUS #SOTUS S #asexuality #aromantic #ace spectrum #aspectrum #demisexuality #demiromantic #demisexual #aromantism #roc talks aro/ace

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utilitycaster · 9 months

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One of my least favorite types of post in fandom, particularly for actual play, is the "why isn't everyone dropping everything to focus on my blorbo's mental state," and I wanted to talk about why.

The most obvious surface reason, of course, is that unless you are watching something with a very clear single protagonist and that is the character you're talking about, and the story is explicitly about people helping them heal, this is simply not a thing that's likely to happen in most works. It doesn't mean you can't want it; but that want is best explored and expressed through transformative works rather than trying to get the "let's watch blorbo carefully work through every trauma they have" blood from of the narrative stone. (I'll admit my own interest in such works is very limited, but that shouldn't stop you.)

But even when that is the stated purpose, that's just not the sort of story I'm drawn to. It feels too artificial and dishonest to the human experience, and leaves a strange taste in my mouth. I think it derives from a set of intertwined fantasies this represents, and they are admittedly a very seductive pair of lies.

One is the idea that there will come a time, amid seemingly insurmountable external challenges, when everything can pause and during that magical lull all will be resolved. It's the "this weekend I'll get my life together" fallacy. The truth is that this stoppage almost never happens, and in the cases when it does it is rarely a gentle hold, but rather a screeching involuntary halt. The fix is often not enough to truly fix, but rather just enough to get one moving again before being thrust back into the unceasing world. It's magical thinking, of a magic that even fantasy worlds (perhaps especially heroic fantasy worlds, where all the stakes are impossibly heightened) cannot provide: that the world will stop turning long enough for a complete fix, and that a complete fix is even possible or attainable, and that it will not require any ongoing work to maintain once the world has started up again.

The second is the fantasy of being understood without effort: that this quiet period will come without you needing to speak up and say "stop". That your walls will be broken with no contribution from within; that someone else will do all the work and love you despite that. And why not? As anyone who has dealt with any sort of mental health issue knows, it is exhausting. Wouldn't it be nice if someone else just...knew exactly where to place the leverage to pop you out of that rut as you sat unmoving?

It would be! It's also not going to happen.

I am, despite what I say, not against projecting on characters. That's what characters are for. I'm just not particularly interested in seeing characters who get what I sometimes want and know pretty much no one can have. I want to watch characters experience what I might, and succeed, but I do need the struggle to be as real for them as it is for me. I want the character to be in the same hole and know how to get out because they've been here before, not turn to me and shrug and say "honestly, everything went great for me - you're on your own, pal" and levitate out.

There's much more to it too - I love character dynamics, and so the idea of everyone else fading to flat grayscale tools to help one character is uniquely unappetizing. I also find a lot of the discussions surrounding this sort of premise believe that this magical fixing also occurs without anyone ever saying anything even remotely challenging to the person being helped. It really is just essentially reduced to a flavorless hand waving a magic wand over the character in question, which makes for a very short and bad story.

There are other fantasies too, all tied up in this, and all both understandable to have and tedious to watch, most notably the ideas that suffering is purification and that the blorbo who needs help is eternally blameless and never complicit in either their own pain and their actions towards others; and that give and take (and on a meta level, focus within a story) are easily and meaningfully quantifiable and are required to be kept in some cosmic balance (usually one rather heavily tilted towards a fan's favorite character) for a story to be good.

The question ultimately needs to not be "when will everything stop and center and therapize and fix the character I most relate to" but rather "will this character's traumas and issues and past be explored in any meaningful way during the narrative, or, if they are not, will the fact that they are not explored carry its own weight." Ironically, the stop/fix/magic wand wave away fantasy does away with any possibility of meaningful exploration, and that's really why I can't fucking stand it.

#on fandom

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straykids-97 · 1 year

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Scarlet

“When I am dead, I hope it may be said; his sins were scarlet but his books were read.”

Yunho is a patient man, but sometimes you wear his patience thin…

Warnings: Dom!Yunho(like actually heh), use of toy(riding crop), unprotected sex, pet names/nicknames, dom/sub dynamics, smut, also soft Yunho at the end Word Count: 3.1k

You met Yunho through mutual friends. At first, you were shy, Yunho was way out of your league. All the girls wanted him, but for some reason, he never brought anyone home. He hardly afforded them much attention either. He was the perfect gentleman, always so nice.

Until he met you.

He hardly spoke around you, at first you thought he didn't like you. Then gradually, he began to open up. He was adorable, and he was so blushy when the two of you talked for longer than 10 minutes. It made you melt, it was clear that the two of you were attracted to one another. But you were too shy to say something to him, not that you needed to. Yunho knew. He always knew.

When Yunho finally asked you out, no one was shocked. You two were perfect for each other. But there was something different about Yunho, you noticed. He didn't seem to eat or sleep, and after a few months, you finally confronted him. The answer you got wasn't what you expected. In fact, you thought he was joking. But, he wasn't.

But it made sense. Why was he so alluring. Why everyone was so drawn to him? Why he was so charismatic? It was because Yunho was a vampire.

That was his deepest, darkest secret, well one of them. Perhaps his second one was that he desired control over you. He wanted complete and total submission from you, in every way possible. You knew he was ‘kinky’ but the night he dangled those keys in front of your face changed your future. You were apprehensive at first, it was a lot to take in. After all, he had quite the collection of things.

He quietly watched you from afar, observing, waiting for the moment you had a question. Yunho immediately gave you a synopsis of what you picked up, no matter what it was. Ranging from its uses of it, to where it originated from. Even before you opened your mouth, Yunho was immediately answering the question you had. He wanted to share this part of his world with you. Even if that meant waiting for you to catch up to speed. And he had all the time to wait for you. You both had a discussion about what you wanted and didn’t want, and Yunho was wholly understanding that this was all new to you. After all, he didn’t want to push you away. Yunho very rarely chose a sub, let alone a sub who knew his secret.

After a while, he learned that maybe if you had the opportunity to explore the room alone, you’d be more open and honest. Figuring that you may be more comfortable if you had the chance to explore without him around. So Yunho allowed you the keys and told you to feel free to go through everything and anything while he was gone. “Call or text me if you have any more questions.” He gave you a soft smile and left you to your own devices.

You stood in front of the dark door, fidgeting with the keys for a few moments. You bite your lip apprehensively, take a deep breath and finally unlock the door. You were greeted with the smell of wood cleaner and Yunho. His scent was all over this room; he did admit he spent a lot of time in there. You walk toward the ‘whipping wall’, as you called it. Yunho found it adorable that you were naming the things in his playroom. But he couldn’t deny the fitting name. The wall was covered by things that all hung on hooks; from canes to tickling devices, Yunho really had one of everything. You were intimidated by the more brutal-looking devices and opted to look more closely at the less lethal-looking ones.

You were most fascinated with the whips and flogs, heat filling your cheeks and neck as you run your fingers over the riding crop. Maybe Yunho would use it on you one day. The thought made your legs clench. You clear your throat, trying to rid yourself of the heat you felt suddenly. You keep moving through the room for a while and decide that you were done exploring. You leave the room and make sure to lock it. Carefully put the keys back where they belong and go to the door, texting Yunho that you were going home for the evening. He texted back immediately and told you to travel safely. He followed it with a, ‘I’ll call you as soon as I’m through with this business.’

You catch a taxicab and ask to stop by the store before heading home. You remembered that there were something’s you needed to grab before getting home, and maybe grab something for dinner while you shop. You were dropped off at a store a few blocks away from where you lived; a good thing if you couldn’t find a taxi later. But you dreaded if you didn’t.

After leisurely browsing the aisles for the list of items you needed, your phone buzzes. Yunho texted you; any kinks I should know about Princess?

You gasp to yourself, sensing your legs clench. It surprised you that even now his dominant side was prevalent. Yunho explained that it was all involuntary because of what he was and that he was just used to making women feel this way. Even if it was on accident. Nonetheless, his question caught you off guard and you think that replying to his text while in public wasn’t appropriate so you leave it alone for now. You carry on throughout the store, calming yourself and preparing for that call Yunho promised you later. Lord knows you needed it. Yunho was very convincing sometimes, and who knows what he had planned for later… You gather yourself and finally check out. Surely enough after some trying, you managed to find another taxi to make it home before it got too late.

Sighing as you walk down the hall to your apartment door, you pull your keys out and let yourself in, kicking the door closed with your heel. You release yet another sigh as you kick your shoes off, struggling with your bags as you managed to semi-safely get out of your shoes. You tread into your kitchen to put your food away, not noticing the figure sitting in your lounge chair until you hear the lamp click on.

You freeze; heart skittering to a stop. You knew that sound very well, the lamp that was beside your chair… The one you spent hours sitting by the window with a book, cuddled up as Yunho watched from the safety of the darker side of the apartment. That lamp.

Slowly turning to see who let themselves into your apartment, you only see a figure. Their face darkened, the light of the lamp positioned just right to reveal only a silhouette. They’re wearing a black dress shirt, unbuttoned enough to reveal a broad chest. Those familiar collarbones were on display for you and only you. Their lithe legs were covered by tailored slacks that squeezed their thighs deliciously. And spread just enough to make your pulse race. His feet were bare, something that he had revealed many weeks ago that he only does when he’s in his ‘space’. Yunho explained that it gave him a better grip on the floor when he was in his playroom because the floor was wooden. But the thing that held your interest was a thin, hard riding crop that slowly and rhythmically tapped his thigh. His opposing hand held his head, his scarlet eyes watching you intensely.

For a moment, neither of you says a word as you scrutinize each other. Yunho’s beautiful eyes scanned your flushed features for a while until they landed back on your face. He splits the silence with a deep drag, “Didn’t reply.” His hoarse voice rumbled, making you jump slightly. It wasn’t loud, or even stern. His words almost sounded like a cat purring, and it sent shivers down your spine. “I-I was at the store.” Your voice broke at the end, making Yunho chuckle. “Why don’t you say it now, hmm?” He smacked his thigh once; the loud sound made you jump again. He held the riding crop up to his nose, moving it down the whip part of the crop until it landed on the clap, “Or maybe this speaks enough for you…” He runs his nose back along the riding crop, inhaling where your fingers danced earlier. “You dawdled on this one longest…” He drew away, his eyes regarding you carefully. “Come here.”

You waver for a moment too long and he slowly rises to his feet. “We’re in the space…” he trails off, referring to you two, “where you don’t get to disobey me.” His voice grows deeper as he hisses the end, his teeth baring at you. Your legs become goo instantly as you sink to your knees. Your eyes fall to the ground, remembering everything Yunho expected from you when you two played. You watch his feet appear in your vision and he stops in front of you. “Hairtie?” He requests. You hold your wrist out for him to pull the elastic off of your appendage. He moves behind you and pulls your hair backward, running his hands through it before quickly and expertly braiding it. Yunho hums a song to himself that vaguely sounds like Often, by the Weekend.

He takes a deep breath and wraps the long braid around his hand and yanks your head backward to look into his scarlet eyes. You mewl, heat spreading through your belly. “Crawl to the chair.” His voice was sharp, piercing your core and making your legs shake. Somehow he always makes it sound so alluring as if he was a walking sex God. The second he drops your braid you instantly do as you were told, pausing only when you were a few feet away from the edge of your sitting chair. You sink back onto your calves and wait for your next demand.

Your heart was sprinting; Yunho could hear it. It made him want to pounce on you, devour you right then and there but he had to take his time. You were new to all of this. Quite frankly, he didn’t care for playing. He just wanted to toss you onto your couch and rip all your clothes off and-

“Take your clothes off.” Yunho ordered. You sit there, unsure if you could stand yet. “May I stand, sir?” Your voice was soft and fragile, making Yunho groan softly. “Yes. Once you are done, back to your knees babydoll.” He approved of your memory; only calling him by his preferred play names, ‘Sir’ and ‘Daddy’. Yunho moved around you to sit in the chair, spreading his legs so that you were now in between them. His scarlet eyes watch your every movement, even the rise and fall of your chest. He most enjoyed the quickening of your pulse as you shifted, realizing what you were about to do for him. He was struggling to maintain his composure...

You shudder knowing that he was observing you strip, making you feel a little self-conscious. You had never done this before, stripping for someone that is. Or really anything that Yunho had planned for you, whatever it was. But you hoped he used that crop on you. Your thoughts cause you to bite your lip, and Yunho grins like a cat, “Penny for your thoughts, baby?” You shake your head, too embarrassed to say what you were thinking. Yunho chuckles, “A loss, for certain.” He drops it and continues to eye you as your fingers make quick work of your clothes. After a few moments, just as you were about to take your panties and bra off, Yunho holds his hand up, causing you to glance at him. “Leave those…” He trails off, his eyes shamelessly racking up your body until they landed on your face. Your cheeks heat up as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, surely puncturing them with his sharp incisors. “Come here.” He taps between his legs with the crop, and your feet carry you to stand closer to him. “Bend over my lap.” You gasp at his demand but still obey. It was like your body was not your own, but an appendage of Yunho’s. Yunho really was struggling now. You were being so good to him. He wanted to give you the whole fucking world, even if he had to make it burn just for you.

You lean over his lap, breasts pushing up as you lean over the arm. Your ass was stuck up in the air and Yunho took full advantage of the opportunity, grabbing a handful. “If you ever feel ashamed of your body, I’ll spank it out of you. Your a damn Goddess, y/n.” He purrs. After a few seconds, a harsh slap rang out into your tranquil apartment. “Yunho!” You choke, head whipping to peer at him. A cunning, seductive grin spreads across his features as he raises his hand to deliver yet another strike, his eyes holding yours as his palm connects with the other cheek. You yelp, your mouth dropping open as your skin warms up, the interaction between the two of you making you feel fuzzy as if your body was responding to his. Yunho quirks an eyebrow as he rests the crop on your backside, “Ordinarily,” he cocks his head as his free hand holds your chin, “I would make you look away. But,” he runs the crop between your asscheeks to your soaked core, making you whine, “I want you to look at me.” He delivers a soft quick pat to your clothed clit, making you pant.

You try to close your legs but Yunho’s foot prevented you from doing that. You didn’t even notice that his leg was wrapped around yours until then. He had you pinned to his lap, and the thought of him not letting you go made your pulse race. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “The fragrance that you emit when you get horny makes me want to fucking eat you alive, y/n.” he reopened his eyes to reveal his eyes burning a brighter scarlet. “Yunho-” you begin to say but he stops you. “Sir.” He corrects, using the crop to spank you. The sting was sharper but didn’t last as long as when he used his hand. Your legs begin to shake as he spanks you three more times. “Do you like this, Princess?” You nod frantically, panting as your core clenches around nothing. No one had ever made you feel this way. You whimper when you realize that he had stopped. You begin to think you’ve done something wrong, but what you didn’t know was that you had made him snap.

He had you on your back, pinned to your carpeted floor in seconds. He didn’t speak as he burst the buttons of his dress shirt, ripping at the seams to get it off of him. Yunho’s mouth latched to yours, his right hand holding your jaw as his other peeled his pants off. Your mind was churning, jumbled with thoughts of what he was about to do to you. Yunho and you had only had sex twice but he seemed to be holding back, but not this time. He was going to give you what you deserved and deal with the consequences later. Yunho wanted to use you. Wanted to eradicate any hope of anyone that may come after him, but the thought of anyone else with you made him growl, there would be no one else. He would ruin you so completely that there could be no one after him, ever. And now that he knew you were just like him, he knew he was fucked in more ways than one.

There was another shredding sound and your panties joined his ruined shirt a few feet away. He pulled your bra down enough to expose your breasts, making him hiss. His mouth latched around your nipple making you cry out, his teeth sinking into your flesh. But his tongue was quick to lap up the blood that spilled out, filling you with even more passion. You groaned, running your hand through his hair as he thrust into you, both of you groaning with bliss; he filled you so completely that it was as if he was made just for you, and you for him. He groaned as he began to fuck you into the floor, the sound of flesh meeting flesh was pornographic. You prayed that your neighbors couldn’t hear, not that you cared at the moment.

Yunho’s scarlet eyes met yours, agitating with hunger and desire, and he buried his face in your neck. “I could fucking mark you right now.” he moaned, “no one will want you then. You’ll be all mine. No one elses.” You wail at his words, nails digging into his back as he fucked you harder. “Mine. Mine.” he growls, baring his teeth at you, gripping your jaw. “Yours.” You blubber. Yunho’s mouth falls open and a moan emits from the back of his throat. “Say it again.” he demands, thrusts getting shallow. Your mouth falls open, feeling your orgasm getting close. “Yu.” you plead, holding his shoulders as he goes faster. “Fuck, please say it again.” Dom Yunho was gone. He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted you to say that you were his again.

“Yu, I’m- I’m all yours!” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he grinds against you, the tip of his dick rubbing the gooey spot inside of you. “Yu!” You cry out as your shatter. You tuck your head into his neck, holding him closer as you cry into his throat. He holds you as his hips stutter and he stops, letting out a throaty groan. For a moment you stay like that, unmoving. Well, apart from the shaking of your body as you came down from your high that was, you didn’t move.

Yunho pulls away and looks at your tear-stained cheeks. His thumb catches a stray one as it rolls down your face, “Are you ok?” He questions. You nod feebly as he gazes down at you with something akin to adoration maybe even love. Yunho offers you a soft smile as he pulls away, helping you to your feet. You were feeling tired as he holds you steady, “Do you want to lie down or take a bath?” He sweeps you off your feet and awaits for you to reply. “Bath.” You reply, curling into his chest finding solace in his warm body. Yunho carries you down your hallway to your bathroom, humming something that you didn’t recognize as he enters the bathroom.

Yunho finally found what he had been looking for for nearly 300 years; someone to spend his forever with.

Taglist: @anyamaris @vibessonvibes @s3onghwaswifey @whatudowhennooneseesyou

Working on cherry as we speak! As I work most weekends, it probably won't be up until Monday :( anyway, enjoy this utter filth for now you animals <3 plz lmk if you want to be tagged!

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#ateez smut #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #yunho smut #The Red Saga #ateez drabbles #yunho imagines #yunho x reader

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