Hm. I enjoy the aesthetic of any well-dressed man just as much as that of a well-dressed woman.
It is an art to convey status and personal taste in beautiful and tastefully embellished appearances, while also keeping it appropriate and unobtrusive.
"Hello, this is Storybrook Memorial Hospital, we're trying to reach Saul Silva."
"Yes? This is him." Silva was nervous and wondered if perhaps something had happened to Rhaenys.
"We're calling to let you know that your wife Farah Dowling-Silva was brought in critical condition. Sir, the doctors are encouraging you to come immediately." Farah? Is hurt? What...she's supposed to be at Alfea. Why is she here?
"Of course I'm on my way, is there anything else you can tell me?"
"Only that the baby survived the crash and is in stable condition."
"What..." But the call had been disconnected. What baby? What the hell? I've gotta go, how long... probably an hour less if I take one of the sports cars. Rhaenys will understand.
"Saul?" A voice from down the hall called his name.
"I can't talk, I've got to get to Storybrook."
"Yes, we've ordered a helicopter."
"You've heard?"
"A car bursting into flames with an arrow found in it's tire? The mother and child miraculously survive. Yeah, we heard."
"What?"
"That's what I'm trying to tell to you, Farah was fleeing for her life. Rosalind put a hit on her."
"And the baby?"
"We... thought you would know... from our sources, it's only a few months old. We know she was coming here, likely to find you."
This has been on my inbox for too long(Cough from the accumulated dust)
So you wanna know their love languages huh?
Nothing is much very special about them if you ask me.
Lucian will treat you like his King/Queen say the word and he will do it post haste(Under reasonable circumstances of course). Somebody hurt you? Lucian is not a violent man but when it comes to push and shove he will die and kill for you. Also he will become your typical Househusband expect every morning he will get up early and cook breakfast for you and will cuddle and kiss you on the forehead.
Lucas on the other hand will be very protective of you, asking you how your day went or if somebody hurt you when he saw you got scars on your skin. When the two of you are walking around his eyes darts around eyeing for any potential danger to you so you hold his hand and in that moment he remembers that your by his side and you can protect yourself if necessary.
Same as Lucian, Lucas will serve you ,think of him as your personal manservant. Carrying heavy objects for you, fetching water if you need one.
Clara...Well she's Clara! Even though still royalty and having experiencing the life changing journey she is still her. Fun, cocky, crazy and above all else loving. A little spoiled so your the one who tend to cook but when she helps in reality she is only making more much mess due to she's smothering your face with flour.
However all that work is all worth it when the night comes and Clara will repay you tenfold ;)
Of course I know everyone is expecting this so that's why I put her last to not overshadow the others.
The Love language of Variel is 2 words, pain and domination. You, you read that right let me get my list(Fetching my grimoire) Her love its not limited to whipping, burning, branding, biting, clawing, raking, slapping, punching, strangling, etc. Among other things and she's very possessive with her property or in your case mate.
If she someone flirting with you, you need to beg her to don't go bonkers on the person and cry if you don't want her to burn the house of that said person. Still she is very surprising caring for you, giving you what ever you desire. Name it gold, jewelry, weaponry, griffin rideback etc.
Just a word of advice don't let her ever catch you cheating, for your sake and the sake you hold everyone dear.
I think now would be an especially funny time to tell the story of how I got into the Boston University Science Journalism Grad Program (defunct) because of how attending it so thoroughly impacted every aspect of the last 6 years of my life.
Going to sci-jo grad school brought me to my dream of working with National Geographic and reporting on the ponies on Chincoteague. I moved all around the country for sci-jo, chasing that degree (Boston), an internship (DC), jobs (Virginia, NYC, and California) and affordable housing when the pandemic put work online (Wyoming.) It was a blessed adventure plagued with constantly uprooting and breaking off friendships. I’m in so much student debt I doubt I’ll ever live comfortably. I was hyperfixated on science journalism but a seriously exploitative and abusive national news outlet made me question how to be a human beyond my job. Now I work at a much nicer nature magazine in the area where I grew up. Maybe I’ll write a book later.
All that started with going to Boston University. But all that was after. Maybe you want to see what was before. To hear that story, remember:
1. If you want to see more, you have to open your eyes wider.
2. If you want to learn more, you have to ask the same question several times.
Warnings: NSFW, Obsessive!Reader, Light!Somno, Reader is GN
Word Count: 4.3K
A/N: Sorry it took so long, like really sorry. These were such good requests and I hope yall are still here to read it rip. I also combined the two since they were on the similar territory so I hope yall both don’t mind
The room is dark room, the light from the hallway that spills through the cracks is the only thing that lights the room for a brief second before you shut the door, your hand twisting the doorknob to let it shut softly, with a single, soft click that sounds to only your ears as you enter the room that is shrouded in darkness.
You walk quietly, sock-clad feet moving across the hardwood floor, silent as a mouse, bottom lip bitten and hands formed into fists, avoiding the squeaky floorboards that echo throughout the room and risk awakening the slumbering man who lays on his back, hands balled into fists and spread far on either side of him in a habit that won’t die anytime soon. You’re silent, releasing your bottom lip and running the tip of your tongue over the stinging pain where your teeth had been not even seconds ago. You inch closer to the bed, your steady breathing matching his and you rest on the edge of his bed, your hands fluttering and fingers curled over softly, gently brushing against his forehead, and soothing out the strands that cover his sleeping face. Tomura lays still, only a small crinkle of his nose lets you know that he felt your touch. You’ve learned over time that he is a heavy sleeper- only when he wants to be.
You’ve been in his room plenty of times. You’ve avoided old, creaky floorboards that would startle him awake and force you to hide under his bed, breath held tight until he fell back to sleep. He can sleep from his name being called, but he can wake up at a sudden movement in his room where there is not supposed to be. He can lay asleep as you run your tongue over his lips as long as you don’t step on an old floorboard.
You’ve stolen old shirts of his that still had his scent lingering on them. You’ve slept in his bed countless times, holding his pillow close and pressing your nose into it, pretending that it was him only to scramble away as you hear footsteps approaching his room. You’ve done what you could without arising too much suspicion on you. You've talked your way out of being caught in his bed, quickly covering up how tired you were and that you must have slipped into the wrong room.
For the most part it was believable. You were able to skate by with your half baked lies. And surprisingly, he never reprimanded you harshly, never held you with all his hands and had only casted uncertain glances at you, eyes narrowed in disbelief before he shoulders you as you walk away. You were sure he suspected you of something, that he no doubt snooped through your room in order to find the missing things but you were always good at hiding, good to keep things hidden and out of sight. And yet, he never pushes, never tries to extract the information out of you, only giving you a shoulder bump that you’re sure conveys something deeper about him and his words.
It’s the touch that counts. It leaves you breathless. When you’re alone, you grab onto your shoulder, trying to mimic the rough touch that he gave you, your nails leaving red marks that peel at the skin and you’re left with an ache as you think about his touch- how rough his hands would be, how they’d move over you body as if it belonged to him and with eyes clouded over in desperation; you know that you’d submit entirely to him, you’d give him whatever he wanted, as long as he was able to touch you.
It’s not an obsession. It’s not a silly, little crush that’s going to lose meaning in a month or less. No, this is so much more, it runs deeper than anything you’ve ever felt. Ever since you first laid eyes on him, it was like every cliche romance that you have seen, read, and heard about. Time stopped and your body felt like it was on a high that didn’t seem to end, when you brushed your hand against his bare skin, you could feel electricity course through your veins, leaving only a jumbled mess of butterflies fluttering around in your belly. This is love. It’s a love that hurts and makes you want to cry into his chest, to pull him close to you and wrap your arms around him, to pepper kisses against him and let him know that you’d kneel in front of him and grab his hands, clutch them tightly in yours without the fear of decay, that you’d gladly accept decay, you accept everything about him, why wouldn’t you accept his hands that hold so much power, you’d kneel and you’d worship him like a king, like a god, like the higher power that he is.
Tomura sleeps in his bed. Vulnerable and in a deep sleep, as you sit on the edge of his bed and cup his face in your hands, pressing a soft, feather light kiss on his lips. Your eyes close, fluttering open and when they land on his still closed eyes, eyes that remain still behind his eyelids, you press a rougher kiss on him, breathing harshly against his skin, a hand coming under the blanket to rub across his chest and you gasp when you feel his bare skin, warm and scarred.
You pull away from him, hand still cupping his face, tilting your head as you coo softly about how trusting he is. If he were to wake up, you’re sure that you could lull him back to sleep, to make him close his eyes and believe that whatever he saw, whatever he felt, would be nothing more than an imagination from his mind, a simple wet dream that could. You look at him endearingly, let your hands explore his torso, running down his chest and sucking in a sharp breath when you feel his happy trail, hair like peach fuzz that hardens and turns coarse the lower you go only to flutter up and ruffle the fixed hair. You bite your bottom lip to stifle a giggle as you run your fingertips over a soft nipple, your lips returning to his, tongue slipping past his willing mouth while your index and thumb roll over a budding nipple. It perks under the attention, bumps and rolls against the palm of your hand and through the kiss, he lets out a quiet moan, bashful and sweet and in return you whimper at the sound, hand leaving his face, to trail down his neck, gasping when you feel fresh wounds on him.
“Oh Tomura,” you sigh softly, peeling away from him dejectedly, “you should stop harming yourself, sweetheart.” You nip at his neck, running your tongue over and blowing cool air, amazed at how his body pricks with bumps with the simple touch and gust. “You can always come to me,” you whisper into his ear, dipping back down to suckle softly on his neck. “I’d take away your pain if I could,” you whisper, kissing at a spot.
Your hand dances across his chest and cups the neglected breast, nipple already pert and stimulated as you roll your palm above the peach bud. It’s light in color and looks positively cute on him, something sweet and innocent. A smile forms across his neck, teeth shown and pressed against him, in a lovesick grin. You give the bud the same treatment as Tomura whines underneath you, pausing from the love bites that decorate his skin, you glance up but his eyes are still closed, slightly knitted and nostrils flaring, yes, but still closed nonetheless. His chest raises and it's until now that you realize, he’s been breathing harshly, heart pounding and you want to giggle, to let the sound fill the room and bursts of the joyous laughter bubbles past your lips and you stop yourself by pressing your lips against chapped ones. You grin into the kiss, tongue slipping into his mouth and running it over the pink muscle, committing the experience into memory as you continue to toy with his chest, tweaking at the now red nipple that grows thick with assault.
“Such a pretty boy loves to have his tits played with, eh?” You whisper against his lips, pulling away to watch as his lips shine with spittle, no doubt matching yours. The hand leaves his neck, fingers hooking into his mouth and pulling the jaw down, exposing his mouth and it is divine. “I wonder how close you are,” you mumble to yourself. “I wonder if you’ll wake up when you jizz your pants,” your thumb runs under his chin, and closes his mouth, “or if you think this was all a sweet dream,” his teeth press into your fingers and in his sleep, his tongue flicks at the tips of your fingers, rolling over the nail and through the small dip between your fingers. He whines and his hips buck upwards, stilling for a second until they crash back onto the bed, his whines growing restless and higher. “Sh, Tomu-kun,” you whisper softly, pushing your finger further into his mouth until the rest flat against your tongue, mouth wrapped around, “the others will hear.” You return to his neck, suckling softly, moaning as you derive pleasure from this twisted love.
The hand on his chest works through his rut, pinching lightly around his areola, coming to rub over the bud. He sucks harshly on your fingers, moaning against them, and you have a thought that lasts for a second too long on what his mouth would feel like wrapped around your sex. If he’d be just as eager to taste you and make you whine like you’re making him.
The tent grows in his pants, teasing and large and while you’d love nothing more to taste him, you also want the first time with him to be special. You want him to come to you on his own accord, to show up to your room, breathless and kiss you against the wall. Your lips kiss over his neck, his heartbeat quickens, pounding against his skin and your tongue swipes over, the hand on his neck, curling into a hold. His moans vibrate against your fingers and you’re sure that if you were to have his mouth around you, the lewd sounds would send you to your high in seconds. His hips quicken, a leg jerks and kicks out in a frantic race to find some type of friction while he sings to you in his sleepy, lustful haze; it doesn’t take much for him to spill, to have his heather gray sweatpants darken in color and against you, he lets out a sigh and his face looks at peace.
There’s a deep moment where you think about stripping him, to clean him and make sure he doesn’t sleep in his own filth, to grab at the wet, warm boxers coated in his seed. Your hands twitch, tugging on his skin and you there’s a deep ache in your stomach that wants to take them back to you room and keep them safe. You’re sure that he wouldn’t notice if he woke up in a new pair, that he would destroy the ones covered in his cream, and then this whole thing would have been lost. You’d be stuck with boxers that were dry and only smell faintly of him while a pair that oozes with his pheromones cling to his thighs.
You move slowly, pull the blanket off of him, smiling soft at the blushing red nipples that ache and are swollen from your touch. Hooking your fingers over the waistband of his sweatpants, you pull down, leaving him only in his boxers. You can feel your own face grow red, to burn at your cheeks and slowly, his boxers come off.
His member lays limp against his side, coated in white discharge and your mouth waters. He eats nothing but filth all day so there’s little chance he’d actually taste good but the need to dip your head down and let your tongue roll over his prick, to clean him and let your spit cover his cock in a thin layer. But you restrain yourself. You pull away, take the boxers off and place them next to you. Grabbing the sweats, you dab him clean, putting your hand through a leg sleeve in order to avoid touching him, you can still feel his heat. But even with the feel of cotton against his sensitive member, he twitches and drips of white peek out and stain his thighs. You tut softly, shaking your head and place a clean pair on him, careful to not touch his member.
You tuck the blanket around him, smooth out his hair. His face glows in a soft pink, lips parted and breaths starting to return to normal. You press another kiss against his lips, putting all your love through the simple gesture, letting your tongue lick at his bottom lip and you pull away, whispering a good night to him.
You leave the room with a pair of stained boxers clutched under your shirt, the wet, sticking and making your skin rise in goose bumps.
-
You watch as Shuichi plays a video game, the rest of the League- minus beloved Tomura- watching with casual interest as he easily places in first, a proud grin on his features as he continues the race.
“You know, you’re really good at this game, Shu-kun,” you comment, watching the screen as selections flash by in quick colors until he chooses a field. “I was always interested in playing games when I was younger but never had the chance to,” you add, wincing as his character hits at a piece that loses him points.
He clears his throat nervously and a clawed hand reaches to scratch at his scalp. “I can show you how to play sometime. If you’d like of course.” He gives you a quick glance and returns your smile before returning his attention back to the game.
“Really?” You ask eagerly, sitting straight up on the couch. He nods in confirmation and you clap your hands and give him a wide grin that he can’t see. “That’d be great! I was always interested in learning how to play-”
You hear your name being called in a gruff tone and all heads turn to the entrance where Tomura stands, now dressed with a shirt and clean sweatpants. Your eyes widen slightly as you had forgotten to put the sweatpants away properly.
“Tomura,” you reply, your voice cracking midway, “what can I help you with?”
“Can I talk to you?” His eye glances around through the mask. “In private if you will.”
A smile breaks across your face, you don’t even try to hide it, you rise up, a skip in your step as you stand next to him, grabbing onto his forearm where he retracts with a hiss. “Of course you can Tomura!” His eye narrows and he turns around and walks away from the common room, and you follow eagerly, throwing a peace sign as you leave.
He walks quickly, not waiting for you to catch up, not even daring to turn his head as if he had that much faith that you would follow him without hesitation. It's rather cute knowing that he knows you so well. You’d follow him where he’d go, no questions asked as you stare at the back of his neck, your heart fluttering in your chest.
You enter your room and your smile grows. Your giddy to be alone in your room with him, to have him stand where you spent countless times thinking and imagining him. He stands in the middle, giving a quick glance to the bed and when you offer for him to sit down and relax, he chooses to stand, to grip father in a hand and rest it on your dresser and you practically swoon that he’s willing to reveal his face for you and only you.
“I had the strangest dream last night,” he starts, eyes focused entirely on you as he talks. “Do you want to know what it was about?” You nod eagerly and take a step closer to him. “Someone had come into my room and touched me.”
“What an odd dream,” you comment. You desperately want to press- to ask if he enjoyed his dream, that if the touch he felt made him feel good, if he had thought that there was someone who touched him.
“I know.” His hands flex and fingers are outstretched and you want to hold his hand, to grasp it in yours and pepper kisses over him. “You wouldn’t happen to know if someone wandered in, would you? If a certain person had walked in while i slept and stole something of mine?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you coo, giving him a shrug. “Tomu-kun, as much as I love our chats-”
“I’m sure you do.” His voice is stern and you tilt your head, eyes wide and mouth watering as you give him your full undivided attention, practically on edge to hear what else he has to say. “You see, the thing is,” his finger dances along the edge of the dresser as he stalks his way towards you, “ever since you joined our little team-” the way he says “team” sends a shiver down your spine- “it seems that most of my things have gone missing.”
“It sounds like you’re accusing me of something.” You blink innocently, a soft smile gracing your features. “I’d prefer it if you were more direct, you know.” You can smell his musk with how close he is, and you hope that the scent lingers in your room long after he is gone.
In a quick motion, his hand is on your face, tilting you up so your eyes reach his. Your face squishes between his fingers, nails pressing into the plush area with a pinky held and lifted in the air. Your lips are parted and opened in a soft oval shape, as you watch him with wide eyes, breath hitching as you wait for his next movement. You watch him with half lidded eyes, a small puddle of drool forming on your tongue and slipping under. He’s close to you, enough that you can count the scars that etch themselves on his face, to see the color in his eyes and there’s a fresh cut on his bottom lip, small and pink and it must be new. You want to kiss the pain away.
“Fine,” he snaps. “I fell asleep with boxers and sweatpants and when I woke up I had a different pair on and my sweats were coated in jizz. What the fuck was that about?” He glares at you and you want to melt into his, to touch him like he’s touching you.
“It sounds like there’s a pervert in the home,” you mumble. Your love for him is pure and untainted, unconventional but filled with love. His nails dig further into your cheeks and you whimper. “Maybe it would help if you slept in my room.” You gasp as another hand reaches to your throat, grasping it tightly, thumb and three fingers squeezing the side in a painful pleasure. Your eyes water and you don’t want his touch to stop. “Why are you coming to me anyways?”
“Because it has to be you,” he growls, pressing his face closer against your until the tips of your noses touch and rub against each other in a soft bunny kiss and you think it’s possibly the cutest thing that you have ever done with him.
You pinch your thighs together. “Is that how often you think of me?” You breathe harsh against him, swallowing the drool that dares to spill over. “I have to admit I’m rather flattered.”
“Stop fucking with me.” His hands fall away and he walks towards your bed, letting his back face you. You grab the area where he touched you, already missing the warmth and your tongue lolls out, as you try to replicate his grip. “Fucking twisted is what this is,” he mumbles and you frown.
“It isn’t twisted,” you say defiantly, standing straight and letting your hands fall from where they hold your face. He turns to face you, a scowl on his lips and eyes narrowed. “I love you,” you confess, heart beating. “None of what I have done is twisted, okay? It’s all out of love!”
“You fucking depraved, little slut.” His upper lips curls and he walks towards you. “I fucking knew it!” He points a finger at you accusingly.
“I’m not depraved!” You say in a harsh whisper, eyes narrowing and tears starting to form. “It’s love!”
“It’s twisted!” He steps closer to where you stand.
“Love isn’t twisted,” you say and you close the gap between the both of you with a few steps. “I love you Tomura. Ever since I first saw you, I’ve-” you hands cover your heart and your voice turns softer, cracking in between words as you try to hold all the emotion in, “loved you.” A tear rolls down and your hands clutch at the front of the shirt, twisting it in front your heart in a swirled knot.
“It’s not fucking love, it’s a weird obession.” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose while you stand and pout. “You jerking me off in my sleep isn’t cute-”
“I didn’t jerk you off,” you counter with a roll of your eyes. “I simply helped you reach that cute, little high of yours.” You tilt your head and your hand comes to cup his breast that is hidden by shirt. “I think it’s cute how sensitive you are,” you lament.
He pauses and groans. “It’s not love.” His voice is stern and he takes a step back from you, hands curling into fists and you see this as a win.
“Tomura,” you call out to him, walking softly with arms raised up and hands extended, “yes it is.” Your hands cup his face and he winces from your touch. “I know what I feel. And you’ll feel it eventually. I know you will.” Your hands release from your shirt, one still placed flat while the other comes to hold his own heart. “Because that’s how strong our love is.” Your eyes begin to water, spilling over and staining and curving down your face, dripping past your chin as you lean closer to him. “I know what I feel. I love you so much-” a tear catches on your hand- “so much that it almost hurts.” Tears slip and fall and wet your face in a burning streams. “I love you much, that I’m crying,” you croak. You press a fleeting kiss against his lips and he stares at you with interest. “I love you. I’d give you whatever you asked. I’d get on my knees and praise you like you deserved to be.” Your hand leaves your chest and you can feel his heart quicken as you continue to talk. His chest stutters as your hand cusps his face, thumb stroking his cheekbone. “I love you.” Tears slip down your face and you lean to kiss him. “I love you.” You pepper kisses over his face, your tears staining his face while your hand slides to the back of his head, entangling into his hair. “I love you so much.” Your voice cracks and you press another kiss against him, yelping as you’re pulled into his chest.
He holds you in his arms, your chin on his shoulder, legs slanted as he leans down and buries his face in the curve of your neck and you wait with bated breath to decay, to feel the sensation as you drift in his arms. It wouldn’t be so bad to die then and there, to have your final moments be in his arms, to know that you confessed and you got to kiss him while he was awake, to feel his heart beat in time with yours, that the last face you saw would be his. But the decay never comes, you never turn to ash. You stay in his arms and your eyes shine with tears, drops that prick and catch on your eyelashes and make your vision blur and colors mix together. Your hands come to clutch the back of his shirt and let out a pleased whine, pulling away with a heavy blush that dusts your cheeks, your hands leave his body and you grab your face, fingers resting on your cheekbones as your eyes grow hazy and mouth curves into a wide grin.
“I love you, Tomu-kun,” you cry, tears spilling even as you smile and your hands return to wrap around him, to lay on the back of his neck, pressed onto his hair and push him onto you, your lips meeting his. “I’ll love you till the day we both die,” you say in a giddy tone, pressing your lips against his.
His eyes dart over and he opens his mouth “I-”
You shush him softly, gripping his hair tighter in your hand. “You don’t have to say something right now, love.” As much as you want to hear the words, to have them repeated to you again and again, you can see a certain look in his eyes, the way that his chest stutters and he licks at his lips- you know that he’s too overwhelmed right now to say how he feels without tripping over the words himself. “I love you, Tomura. I’d gladly do whatever you asked of me,” you lilt, eyes turning lovesick and voice sickly sweet. Your hands return to his face and his own hands stay stiff at his side. You press another kiss, one where he returns it hesitantly.
