#and scent drunk

[tennessoui]

“You don’t want me.”

I don’t have any au preference. I just know the potential with this one has me vibrating!!!!!

ahhh ok ok so !!! this is the long-awaited (im telling myself this) regency au snippet where obi-wan and anakin meet!! here is the tag for the au on tumblr to find the other snippets + bonus ao3 christmas tide oneshot, but chronologically this takes place first (with minor tweaks to the existing au: obi-wan always knew anakin was the duke, mace was there their first time meeting each other)

(2.4k) (squick tag: a/b/o)

At the very edge of the dancefloor, Obi-Wan stands with his hands tucked neatly behind his back as he watches the members of high society spin around the ballroom as if it’s some sort of contest.

He supposes it is.

And being unwilling to participate in such pageantry has found him invariably pushed him to the edges of their circus, his tattered, off-season clothing only cementing his place there.

He has stopped caring four seasons ago, taking his cue from his elder brother. The people who could not hold their tongues called Mace spinster to his face, and conceited behind his back. But Obi-Wan was there at his side the first time his brother realized high society had moved forward without him: he had seen the relief that accompanied his slumped shoulders, had seen how much lighter his eyes grew when the last of the alphas at the ball dragged their eyes past him as if he were invisible.

Almost immediately, Obi-Wan, all of ten and seven then, had wanted that freedom for himself. Alphas were exhausting. Society alphas even moreso. When his brother had stepped back to a nominal role in the season—present only in body, only as chaperone to his four younger omega siblings—Obi-Wan had been eager to step into the shadows with him.

“Alas, my ankles hurt,” he told every alpha—of which there were only a handful—who asked him to dance over the past few seasons.

Eventually, they stopped asking, though Obi-Wan still attended every dance of the season, if only to witness Bant trip over herself in front of her flutist, or to watch Aayla dance the night away with a bright smile on her lips.

He’s startled out of his contemplations by the arrival of his brother, who offers him a discreet flask from his coat pocket. “To the beginning of another season,” Obi-Wan tilts the flask towards his brother with a smirk. “May we be fat with children come spring.”

Mace huffs out a snort and takes the liquor back from him, medicating with a hearty swig before he tucks it out of sight once more. “You know, Obi-Wan, you do not have to wear the cloak of the cynic just because you like how it looks on me.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Obi-Wan replies, looking across the ballroom. On the other side of the cavernous space, people are starting to flock towards the doors, each louder and more enthusiastic than the last.

Beside him, his brother lets out a sigh. “I remember a boy who took great pleasure in his dancing lessons once upon a time. What turned him into this man, who I have not seen take to the floor once in five years?”

“His dancing partners,” Obi-Wan quips back, stealing the flask from his brother’s coat. “What do you think that is all about?” He inclines his head to the gaggle of alphas and omegas alike, clamoring at the base of the great staircase.

Mace shoots him an incredulous look. “Brother, surely you must know.”

Obi-Wan scowls. He does not appreciate the tone nor the implication that he is behind on some great piece of societal news.

“The duke Skywalker has arrived,” Mace says quite slowly. “He is spending the season here, as these are his ancestral grounds. The king wants him to settle here apparently. We have been ungoverned for too long, and are thinking of dangerous ideas. ”

“Hah,” Obi-Wan replies. “I suppose it is of no coincidence that he has arrived at the start of the season? Is he in want of an omega?”

“Surely he must be,” Mace dips his head. “Though I believe it wouldn’t matter if he were not,” he raises his eyebrows pointedly in the direction of the crowd.

“Because everyone else is in want of being his omega,” Obi-Wan finishes and shakes his head, a strange surge of pity welling up in his chest for the alpha duke. It is not often he recognizes someone so thoroughly trapped, which is the only thought in his head when the doors finally open and reveal their duke.

The man stands tall in an outfit of daring red, a color that has not been popular for at least a few seasons. Obi-Wan thinks this is probably about to change now that society has seen the way the shade looks on the duke’s well-muscled body,  the way its darkness highlights the tarnished gold of his wild hair.

From his position on the landing, the duke looks over the crowd. Obi-Wan can see the way his eyes widen slightly at the crowd that awaits him at the bottom of the stairs, though he cannot be surprised. He barely resists the urge to snort when he sees the way the alpha’s nostrils flare as he scents the room. In the city, this must be acceptable practice, but here? It is uncouth to the extreme. But of course someone as wealthy, handsome, and eligible as the duke will be able to get away with the action.

The duke’s face darkens suddenly, head still tilted a touch too high to be natural. Ignoring the guards who have announced him and who now are trying to gently urge him down the steps to his doom, he steps forward to lean against the marble banister as his eyes focus on the party below him, as if intent on making eye contact with each of his subjects before deigning to walk amongst them.

“It will be the mating of the century,” Obi-Wan says, taking another sip from Mace’s flask.

“It will be a boon onto our business,” Mace replies. “If the amount of omegas through our doors just for tonight’s dance is any indication.”

Obi-Wan blinks. He’d noticed that the business in their tailorshop had increased rather substantially in the past month. He hadn’t realized the duke’s presence had anything to do with it, though he supposes it makes sense.

“And here I thought our recent fortunes were due to your clever hands.”

Mace snorts and confiscates his flask. “One day, my vexing brother, your clever tongue is going to get you in trouble.”

Obi-Wan is a respectable omega and gentleman, so he does not stick out his tongue in response. Alright. He does not stick his tongue out at his brother for very long.

“Pardon me, I believe I should say hello to Mrs. Dubrey,” Mace nods across the way. “Smooth over Depa’s fourth late-to-return library book.”

“Mrs. Dubrey’s standing by the refreshments table,” Obi-Wan points out. “You’re not fooling anyone. And I would like a honeycake, thank you.” 

Mace rolls his eyes and claps him on the shoulder. “Then I’m sure a strong and willful omega such as yourself will find a way to get one.”

He takes his leave to the sound of Obi-Wan’s displeasure, which is apparently music to his brother’s ears.

—----------

Not two songs have passed before Mace is back in front of him, strange, troubled expression on his face. He offers Obi-Wan a honeycake wrapped carefully in a linen napkin.

“Why do you look so perplexed?” Obi-Wan asks, taking the food gleefully from his brother’s hand. “Was Mrs. Dubrey immune to your charms? Do we owe her a horse to pay for Depa's fees? Can we lend her Depa instead? With the stipulation we care just as much about a properly observed return date as Depa has in the past, of course.”

“I��I ran into the duke,” Mace says, ignoring everything else, eyebrows furrowed. Obi-Wan startles. “Or—the duke accosted me may be more accurate.”

“Pardon?”

“I was chatting with Mrs. Dubrey, and then suddenly, he was standing before me. It startled me half to death, mind you, he is...very intense, but—”

His brother breaks off and tilts his head as he looks at Obi-Wan. “Was he untoward?” Obi-Wan asks, preparing to set his honeycake aside to approach the duke and challenge him to a duel for his brother’s honor, should the situation demand it.

“No,” Mace says sounding only slightly unnerved. “No, he—scented me from afar, and asked whose scent I wore over my own.”

Obi-Wan blinks and then stares.

“Obi-Wan,” now Mace’s voice is more hushed as he leans forward, hand grabbing his shoulder. “The only scent I could possibly carry apart from mine is yours.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head slightly, eyebrows furrowing for a moment before a curl of a new scent shocks him into stillness.

Cedar and snow, clinging to the edge of Mace’s coatsleeve, and Obi-Wan is leaning forward before he even realizes it, mind focusing only on the sleeve—the smell—the cedar—the snow.

“What did he—” he starts to say, but before he can finish the question, his attention is captured by cedar&snow growing closer, stronger. 

Overwhelmingly closer. Overwhelmingly stronger.

“Pardon me,” a voice says from behind him, and Obi-Wan is turning around as if someone else is controlling his puppet strings.

Cedar and snow threaten to tear his senses asunder, so crystal clear is the scent. For one moment, he blinks in sudden, unnatural quiet as the duke Skywalker comes before him. He’s taller than him though only by a few measures. He’s older than him too, though only by a few years. Perhaps five seasons more mature, at most. A scar cuts through his brow, giving him the appearance of some sort of devilish rogue, despite the neatness of his outfit. His hair has much more shades up close than it had far away.

And suddenly how close the duke is as he stops to stand directly before him, eyes roaming over his face not unlike a starving man looks at a feast.

And then the duke bows in front of him, to him, and it is so incredibly wrong that Obi-Wan can only gape from his figure down to the upturned hand the alpha holds out. 

Mace nudges him; it’s effective in snapping him into action, though it does little to make this reality sensible again.

He rests his palm in the alpha’s hand, and the duke curls his fingers around it as if he has been given the most precious jewel in the entire kingdom.

The duke’s nostrils flare again at whatever scent Obi-Wan must be leaking into the air around them, and Obi-Wan darts a nervous look towards his brother. He is wildly out of his depth, but Mace does not offer much help.

“May I have this dance?” The alpha asks. His thumb strokes along the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist, so close to one of his scenting glands that the action feels scandalous.

Obi-Wan swallows. “May I have your name?” He asks, clawing at normalcy as his instincts and body begin to revolt. But he would not be Obi-Wan Kenobi if he allowed himself to be so easily overpowered by his sudden urge to show his throat to a rather intense and powerful (and handsome and sweet-smelling) alpha.

The duke blinks, but rather than scowl at what can be nothing but a slight, his face breaks into a smile. “Anakin,” he says eagerly. “My name is Anakin Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan is helpless but to smile back. “Charmed,” he says because it’s true.

“May I have this dance?” The duke asks again, much more insistent now that the newest song has begun.

“You do not want my name?” Obi-Wan asks.

“I will learn it,” Duke Skywalker says so confidently that Obi-Wan would be hard-pressed to doubt him.

He opens his mouth—to tell him his name, to tell him he will dance, to tell him he cannot—but before he can get more than a breath into his lungs, his eyes are dragged away from the duke’s face by movement behind his shoulder.

People.

People staring, whispering, tongues wagging as they observe.

Obi-Wan takes his hand back, cold reality seeping into his field of vision. “You don’t want me,” he tells the duke quietly, leaning his head forward so that the words stay as private as his shame. “I promise.”

The alpha rears back as if Obi-Wan has said something deeply offensive. “I assure you, I do.”

“You do not,” Obi-Wan says firmly, turning slightly away toward the surety and safety of his brother.

“May I have this dance, omega?” The alpha catches his elbow. “Please.”

“You do not even have my name,” he says—the words are supposed to leave his mouth scathing, but instead they fall to the ground between them, heavy and lost. Before the alpha can reply, Obi-Wan shakes his head, so cognizant of the onlookers that he can hardly move his lips. “The song is almost over.”

“Thank the heavens then that the night is still young,” Duke Skywalker says immediately.

“My ankles hurt, I would be a terrible dance partner,” Obi-Wan murmurs. Mace makes a noise next to him, one that is half-disbelief and half exasperation.

“I shall have no other,” Anakin replies, stepping forward and carefully touching the dance card Obi-Wan has strapped to his wrist. “I would take all your remaining dances for myself.”

Obi-Wan’s lips curl up into a small smile. “I think that would lead to a riot, your grace.”

“Ah. So you know who I am. I wasn’t sure.”

“Know who you are? You bowed and gave me your name. I was listening.”

“You are vexing,” Anakin decides with a smile, as if the discovery is one to be worshipped or at the very least treasured.

Obi-Wan does not truly think of his actions or of their consequences. 

The last person who called him vexing had been his brother.

He is acting purely on learned behavior when he raises his chin and sticks his tongue out at Anakin. A second later, of course, he remembers himself and startles back, feeling the blush grow over his face as he blinks at the duke in front of him.

His brother groans. “Obi-Wan,” he swears as if his name is a curse. “For the love of—”

Anakin’s eyes have gone very dark. “Obi-Wan,” he repeats, testing the name on his tongue.

Obi-Wan swallows, and then, perhaps minutes too late, bows to the duke. 

“May I have this dance, Obi-Wan?” the alpha asks, extending his hand between their bodies.

This question, repeated for the third time still just as sweetly as its first iteration, causes the blush to darken across his face.

He allows his hand to rest in Anakin’s.

With his other hand, he deposits his untouched honeycake into his brother’s open palm. After a second’s consideration, he maneuvers his dance card off the circle of his wrist as well, dropping it next to the pastry. 

He has a feeling that he will not be needing it for the rest of the night.

[findingoblivion]

PSA for all the musk sluts out there: If you don't shower for a while (or just don't use soap like a coward) you can wait until your musk builds up and then if you lie on your side with your arm under the pillow your head will be close enough to your pits to likely smell your armpits

[anchovy]

Hey guys it’s me! Your local art and craft fair. You wanted original artwork for your place? Too bad! Here 4 booths with AI art tumblr mugs, 3 booths with canvas prints featuring stolen art the seller found on Google, 2 booths only selling resin ashtrays and cups that are all not food safe, and 3 booths with shirts that have racist undertones. Go kill yourself.

[horriblemenfucker]

Minors dni nsfw post (sweat/body odor) (drunk posting) ASK 2 TAG

I bet homelander gets sooo sweaty inside his suit.. I bet his balls smell wonderful. I need to inhale his sweaty musty scent so bad. Cmere boy let me sniff ur balls!!!!! Let's him call me mommy or sum so I can smell his pits

Sniff sniff aniff sniff sniff sniff sniff hrnrnfnfnfff fuck I bet he stank so GOOD

[faaun]

something happened to me for like 2 weeks but we're so back

[andragoras-in-vanity]

ive gotten new perfume samples since the only perfume ive found that smells like "me" is either 200$ at lush or a bottle of juniper essential oil, and i dont think ive found my scent yet but holy balls i smell like true love rn. peonies and roses and the tenth date where its official and your happy but sex isnt new or anxious. i smell like pink lingerie.

nature wants what i have, real flowers could never. i smell like hickies and honey.

[take-ya-to-the-ghey-bar]

{Been thinking about these HCs again, and since i don't think they've been posted on the blog before-- figured now was a good time for that lol}

-♡- muse related: @banditborn -♡-

🐍} Although it likely wasn't something he'd been made aware of at first, and possibly ended up finding out about thanks to an unfortunate yet small mishap-- Once he'd become aware of Bandit's "allergy" to silver, Minato does make an effort not to wear any jewelry made with it when they see one other. Often oping for other metals instead. On the off chance he does slip up, for whatever reason, then he'll take a moment to remove at least a majority of his jewelry-- The only exception, sometimes, are his earrings. As he'll often only bother with taking them out if it's totally needed.

🐍} In the event that Minato found out about the above via some small mishap rather than Bandit telling him, then I imagine it was thanks to just some innocuous little touch-- A brush of rings over the wolf's hand or arm, before the blonde quickly withdrew his hand at whatever hiss/curse slipped Bandit thanks to the sting.

🐍} On the occasions when the two of them spend time together with Bandit in his were form, Minato is very much guilty of being perhaps a little... Overly touchy with the wolf-- But with such an abundance of fur, could one really blame him all that much?

🐍} In a trade off for being such a fiend for things like pets and sritches, however, he's gotten into the habit of offering to brush out the wolf's fur. (or at times, just deciding to do it without any prompting first--) Mainly in spots he can't easily reach himself, but there's rarely any objection should Bandit let him get away with brushing more.

🐍} Speaking of self care... While the sometimes troublesome feline hasn't gone so far as to try and rope Bandit into his own little routine, there might be a little scheming going on to have the old wolf let him moisturize those huge paw pads from time to time-- After all, if it works well for your typical canine companion, then this couldn't be much different.

[whumpshaped]

i will never get over ripe bananas smelling faintly alcoholic it catches me off guard every time

[dirt-str1der]

That fanart of kiryu getting fingerblasted and he’s wearing nothing but his watch always makes me so fucking horny i was to explode

[appalesbian]

sorry you’re infertile from eating scented candles.

I’lll give you a baby…. give me a week what color ?

please do not send me any babies I can barely take care of myself

[acidheaddd]

Witches Brew night market tonight yeeeees.

[countlessrealities]

RELATIONSHIP BUILDING || Accepting !

@moonspower sent: 💤 for Rick!

Send 💤 for my muse to say something about yours in their sleep.

Spending the night after a hook-up wasn't something Rick did often, if he did it at all. Even if he dozed off after the act, he usually was out of the person's place, or of whatever cheap space motel room they had booked, much before the other woke up. Pillow talk always felt weird, too intimate, even when it came to his more or less regular fuck buddies.

He might have friends with benefits, but he still tended to keep the friendships and the benefits part somewhat separated.

The only exception to that rule was when he and his partner (or partners) already had plans for the aftermath, something that didn't involve remaining in bed or, worse, that looked even just remotely like cuddling. Going to a club to dance and get drunk or going out to get drunk and high were examples of perfect post-coital activities. Nothing killed the mood to talk about awkward stuff more than a change of scenary.

So, finding the scientist's asleep in a bad that wasn't his, or Morty's, was a one of a kind discovery. And it would have sounded even more unlikely knowing whose bed that was.

Rick rolled on his side, forcefully pulling the silk sheets with him. The room wasn't chill enough for him to need to cover his half naked body, but the material felt so nice against his skin that he couldn't help wanting to snuggle into it, even in his drunken sleep.

If asked about how he had ended up falling asleep in Virote's bed, he would blame it on the absurdly comfy mattress, so different from the shitty camp bed he had in his room. Or on the sheets and their enchantingly sleek embrace. Or again, on the exaggerated, even for his standards, amount of alcohol he had consumed before showing up on the younger man's balcony.

There would be no admissions, not even to himself, about feelings of familiarity and comfort strong enough to allow him to lower his guard, just a little, just for a few hours.

Luckily for him, the excessive amount of alcohol would seem a perfectly valid excuse to almost everyone, considering that he has drunk to the point that he even talked in his sleep.

"Mhmm~ H-Hell yeah, that's it..." Rick muttered, words slurred and half muffled by the pillow. "S-So fuckin' good...I could...e-every day."

A bit of drool dripped down from the corner of his mouth, sticking there as his lips curled in a pleased grin.

"I-It's like it fuckin' blows m-my brain...my mouth for sure." A snort. "G-Gonna slurp it all up, an-and lick every goddamn drop."

A pause, filled by a sound that was half way between a moan and a hum.

"F-Fuckin' best curry ever. M-Might just steal it...P-Prince...he must be carrying it around 'cause...w-why would he smell like that...if not...?"

[grimweaver]

80s kid, 90s teen but never tried "Exclamation" perfume before cause I thought it was one of those overhyped things but omg I love it! Sandalwood, man, that is my all time favorite scent, and it's on it with a really nice peachy scent! Popular for a really good reason, not just because of the brand name!

[take-ya-to-the-ghey-bar]

{ @banditborn : will admit, this actually came out to be slightly more of a challenge than first expected lol-- but~, the mood struck so i took a go at making an aesthetic for the bois-- u w u }

[take-ya-to-the-ghey-bar]

@meretrixious / @cuteteacakes / @banditborn

[sigh-tofm]

when they come home drunk…

… price

- thinks it’s important that he loudly tells you he’s married while you steady him upstairs to bed. points to his ring incessantly, slurs on and on about his perfect wonderful wife with the big ass and soft tummy. you roll your eyes and can’t help but smile when he doesn’t let you hold on to his arm to support him. something about protecting his virtue for his wife, as if you’re not standing right beside him. proceeds to lock you out of your own bedroom when you finally get upstairs, telling you his wife will be home soon so he can’t have a strange woman in their bedroom (but still remarks on your wonderful ass). you decide it’s too early in the morning to persuade your drunk husband to let you in, so you go down to sleep on the couch. you wake up with price sleeping soundly on the floor beside you, having gone to find his wife when she never showed up in his bed the night before.

… kyle

- gets sappy and apologises for being away. loses all concept of time when he’s drunk, says he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to be away so long, he was thinking of you the whole time, the guys pulled him along and he couldn’t say no. while he’s on his knees at your feet, pressing his face to your thighs and mumbling into your marbled skin, almost making you lose your balance with his fervent apologies, you gently remind him that you were the one who made him go out with the boys because he needed to unwind after a stressful weekend of combat drills, and that he had left with them less than two hours ago. he refuses to hear and only hugs your thighs closer, so much so that you have to support yourself on the wall. turns out all he needed to relax was you.

… johnny

- is horny. almost starts drooling when he eyes you at the top of the stairs, after struggling to close the entrance door for a good minute, causing you to investigate what made all the noise. gets a wild look in his eyes when he sees you in just his t-shirt and makes you scream and giggle as he chases you back up the stairs and to the bedroom. being absolutely shitfaced, he has the coordination of a tranquillised moose and stumbles head over heels across the floor, catches his foot on the doorway and narrowly misses the edge of the dresser with his head as he falls. still, his little soldier is courageously tenting his pants when you worriedly lean over him and he gets a good look right into the collar of your shirt.

… simon

- is emotional and clingy. can’t get enough of you, won’t leave you alone. you can’t make out half his words when he’s had this much to drink (and the mancunian in him breaks out too, making it ever harder to make out the words), but you play along, smile and nod and let him sit on the closed toilet seat and talk and talk while you do your night routine in front of the mirror. so lucky to have you, luv. how could’a lug like me get a pretty one like you, luv. his melancholy statements of love become comfortable background noise for you as you remove your makeup and apply moisturiser. lets you wash the sweat and grime of the day off his face with a washcloth, closes his eyes while you massage your floral-scented moisturiser into his skin, never once stopping his little speech. ambles after you out of the bathroom, holding on to the hem of your shirt, when you’re all finished and ready for bed. his devoted mutters only let up when be falls asleep next to you.