#but i cannot with more sandwiches

[grimark]

not what i really need to be devoting my time to wondering about right now, but i can’t help being distracted by the question of: what the hell powers murderbot’s organic components if it doesn’t eat or drink.

[gentlehue]

My mom is almond mom final boss because why did she have a salt sandwich for dinner 😢

[thedevotionaltour]

i just know jack was a father who would open up and eat those $1 tins of sardines in the living room no warning unprompted right out of the can. and matt was in hell about it.

[perilegs]

packed lunch is such a lame term it has nothing on eväs. if i say eväsleipä everyone knows what i mean but how do i even translate that. "packed lunch sandwich" ? pathetic. anyways i helped my bestie move yesterday and we always reminisce about the packed lunches they gave us on school trips which was always a sandwich, half a banana, and a juicebox, so i packed exactly that for us before i left to her apartment and i was so giddy the whole way there bc i know this thing that took no time or effort to pull together would make her so happy and it did and now i'm eating the exact same kind of sandwich we did yesterday and i am filled with love for my friends. i think i had a point here somewhere but i like how food can be made better with memories of good company

[kiefbowl]

here's some more unsolicited adult advice as someone in her 30s who knows there are a lot of twenty somethings and teens that follow her: if you're trying to build a new habit you really want, and are struggling, you have to break it down to the smallest building block possible. If you're failing, you haven't thought small enough. I know it's possible to hear stories of people who just snapped into new life mode one day by "just deciding", but truly what's happening there is a confluence of events and experiences that force the brain into some sort of epiphany. You cannot will an epiphany. It'll never work. For most times of your life, you will need to build habits intentionally, and that means not working against yourself and to set micro goals. like laughably tiny goals. because once that easy tiny goal is met, you can build off it, tiny goal after tiny goal until you reach your big goal.

so for example, if you want to be a morning person that gets up at ass crack dawn so that you can work out, eat brekkie, shower, and get to work at a leisurely pace, and you're not that person because you will hit your snooze button 800 times, you have to get the big picture goal out of your head. think smaller. "I want to get up 15 minutes earlier than I normally do." If you can't do that, make it 5 minutes. "I want to cook breakfast every day" hell no too big. "I want to eat something, anything, before I leave the house" hell yeah, fantastic. When you go to the grocery store to make sure there are things in the house for breakfast, if you keep buying bagels and microwave sandwiches that you ignore, you gotta think smaller. SMALLER. What's something so easy to eat that you'll never say no to. Is it a yogurt? Is it a handful of grapes? Is it a hostess ho ho? is it hot cheetos? FORGET the big picture of the fantasy put-together woman preparing a full nutritious meal that you'd be proud to admit to. Think only of the smallest goal you can achieve. If you know you can't say no to an ice cream sandwich, put a ton of ice cream sandwiches in your freezer and have one for breakfast every day until it's so instilled in you that you gotta get up to eat something you can start diversifying.

It sounds like, from the lack of habit place, that must take forever. But really it doesn't take too long to form the habit once the discipline kicks in. the trick is that you have to give your brain something easy to become disciplined to. If it's too hard, think easier and smaller. No one has to know. Literally no one in the gd world has to know that for 4 weeks when you were 22 you had an ice cream sandwich for breakfast every day. who cares. If it gets you eating oatmeal with fresh fruit in a few months who cares. you did it, yay. smaller, easier. if you can't do it, think smaller and easier. smaller!! EASIER!!! You are not thinking smaller and easier enough. break your brain thinking how small and easy you can go. SMALLER. EVEN SMALLER, SIS.

[diremoone]

sylus/zayne girlie -> rafayel girlie

the man knows the way to my heart bc I LOVE peanut butter and jelly sandwiches

[aarontide]

Ok I'll bite. What's "Spotify"

[thefiresontheheight]

It’s insane to me that Dragon Age 2 is sandwiched in between two WAY HUGER and WAY MORE SUCCESSFUL games about more traditional fantasy protagonists facing off against world ending threats and winning and it’s this…weird, raw, personal tragedy about how no matter what you do, you can’t always stop crisis and disaster from occurring. Like The Hero or Ferelden, no matter who they were, wants to stop a Blight. The Inquisitor wants to repair the sky. And Hawke, like, wants to make some money, hang around their friends, and keep their family and their adoptive city safe. And they can’t even fucking do that, so unlike the heroes before and after them. You spend seven years in Kirkwall until the game says, “yeah, no matter what, the prejudices and traumas and hurts of this world are Too Much for one person to stop them. The world changes, wars roll over the land, you cannot stop history, Hawke. You tried. You failed.” And then you just sit there, sixteen years old, listening to “I’m Not Calling You A Liar” and you’re like….well, I guess I really wasn’t a hero. Damn. I love it.

[aust-een]

HOLY MOTHER OF ACTUAL GOD IM SPEECHLESS.

GET IT QUEEN ABSOLUTELY GET IT.

The Hunt

Label Mature 18+

🔗 Blood Bound Sequel

Summary Invited to a mysterious banquet after being secretly initiated by Austin Butler, you arrive at a grand, secluded manor alongside dozens of other women, all drawn by the promise of a lucrative career.

However, as the night unfolds, the glamour gives way to a darker purpose when you slowly come to the horrifying realization that you and the other women are not merely guests at this lavish banquet —you are the main course.

🚨Depraved Smut 🚨 drugged with aphrodisiac • fed to appease the pallet of a vampire •hunted• bitten•taken by force • held against will•mentally manipulated • vulnerable• mind spell•breast play •breast bitten•blood exchange •orgasm bonding • blood bonding•vampire feeding during orgasm•creampie•forever his 🔗 Masterlist

Special Thanks @thejoywillburnoutthepain 🥵 Mentions of blood 🩸 Mentions of needle for IV 💉

The Hunt

You awaken in your dim apartment, the early morning light barely filtering through the curtains. Everything feels wrong—as though something essential has been drained from your veins. You pull your robe tighter, fingers trembling as you reach for your phone, squinting at the screen seeing a string of missed calls from your agent and a few urgent texts.

You tap to dial him back, your heart a confused mess, torn between the remnants of a surreal dream—were Austin was drinking your blood—and the dawning, realization that it wasn’t a dream at all. The phone rings only once before your agent answers, his voice vibrating with enthusiasm.

“Darling, you were absolutely incredible last night!” He gushes, practically tripping over his words. “I don’t know what you did, but everyone is talking about you. You’ve been personally requested for an exclusive event at the end of the month. I mean, the event, the kind that cements your name. So, listen carefully—no work, no public outings, and absolutely no partying until then. This could be the break we’ve been waiting for.”

His words hang in the air, dreamlike and surreal, as if your agent is talking about someone else. You’re about to question him when he adds as an afterthought, “Oh, and a nurse is on her way to check on you. She’ll be there any minute now.”

“A nurse?” You ask the confusion in your voice warranted, but he’s already hung up, leaving you in a whirlpool of disbelief. You barely have time to process his words before the intercom buzzes, announcing the nurses arrival and with hesitant fingers, you press the button, the beep echoing through your empty apartment as you let her in.

Moments later, the nurse appears at your doorway, her presence chillingly professional. Dressed in severe black from head to toe, her demeanor is as icy as her expression.

Without a word, she unpacks an IV bag with your name labeled on the packaging, hanging it with mechanical precision. “Your arm, please,” she says, her voice devoid of warmth.

You extend it hesitantly, feeling her cold fingers brush against your skin. “What is this for?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly as she aligns the needle with a prominent vein.

“Your hemoglobin nourishment,” she replies, offering no further explanation.

The sharp prick of the needle is more than a sting; it’s an ache that deepens, spreading an unsettling warmth through your arm. You wince but say nothing as the needle settles into place, watching as a crimson liquid flows into your vein with an almost hypnotic steadiness.

While you wait for the IV to finish, she hands you a list of dietary restrictions—foods you are allowed and foods you are to avoid.

Scanning the list, you notice odd details such as no lactose and —“Vegan cheese pizza?” you mutter out loud with a confused look on your face despite yourself.

“These are the requirements for the party,” she replies coldly her face a blank mask.

A chill slips down your spine. “Party of vampires?” You say gaining an understanding of the situation.

For the first time, her icy facade cracks. “Vampires don’t exist,” she says, but there’s a smirk at the edge of her lips, her eyes glinting as though she knows a secret she’ll never tell.

In the weeks that follow you quickly regain your strength feeling better than ever. As you become accustomed to your new found energy Austin’s face seems to haunt every corner of your life, glowing and youthful in every premiere, every Q&A every television interview.

His charisma practically leaps from the screen but theres something unsettling about his expression, something painfully familiar—the way he speaks his words, the light in his eyes, even the way he tilts his head as he laughs, his giddiness and curiosity an exact replica of your own and you realize with sickening clarity he’s taken far more than your blood, he’s captured your very essence.

When the end of the month arrives, a black limousine pulls up outside your building. The driver, silent and stoic, holds the door open for you, offering no answers as you settle in for the long, winding journey. As the city fades away, you’re taken through dense woods, the road winding tighter, the shadows thicker until finally, an immense, sprawling mansion looms on the horizon.

The manor is a striking blend of gothic elegance and timeless luxury. Stone and iron dominate its towering structure, with shadowed turrets reaching skyward toward the glowing full moon.

A beautifully landscaped driveway winds around a grand, illuminated fountain, the water cascading in perfect symmetry, adding an unexpected touch of serenity to the imposing estate.

Sleek black limousines pull up in a steady procession, coming to a stop along the curved driveway at the front of the manor. Drivers in crisp uniforms step out to open the doors, their movement precise and rehearsed.

As you step out, other young women emerge from their own limousines, each one casting bewildered glances at the manor. You recognize some of them—fellow actresses, models, internet celebrities, women you’ve seen on magazine covers, television screens, and countless social media apps. Each one looks as dazed and unsure as you feel.

Women clad in black stand vigil at the entrance of the mansion, their expressions as severe and unyielding as the nurse who first visited you.

Each one steps forward, assigned to their guest. Yours approaches with a sharp, assessing gaze, gesturing for you to follow. Her movements are smooth as she maintains an unwavering silence leading you into the mansion.

Your steps echo through the cavernous entryway, the weight of the place pressing in on you as she leads you down a corridor into a private wing.

Each turn is disorienting, the cold marble floors polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting the dim lighting. Dark, arched doorways line the halls, each one closed, each one a mystery.

You feel his presence before you see him—a faint tightening in your chest, a pounding in your veins. Austin is here— his presence a prickling unease slipping beneath your skin as you walk, his essence saturating every inch of your body, pulling at you, drawing you forward.

Your heart races as you reach the end of the corridor where a massive door stands, and you know, just beyond, it he’s waiting.

The woman pushes open the heavy door, and you step into an empty room adorned only by a large, lavishly made bed and a mix of antique decadent furniture of dark wood.

Shadows play in the corners of the room between the draped windows as you inspect each one, thinking you will discover Austin.

Anxiety prickles along your skin as you peer into the grand bathroom, fingers skimming the cold marble of the sink knowing he is here somewhere just out of sight.

The woman, now standing near the door, interrupts your search.

“You have followed your dietary requirements precisely?” She asks her voice steady, her eyes sharp.

“Yes…” you answer, a hint of uncertainty in your tone as you turn back to her, watching as she pulls a strange outfit from the armoire—black leggings, a matching sports top, lightweight zipper jacket, and a pair of tennis shoes.

Confused, you accept the clothing with a question, “Are we exercising?”

The faintest smile flickers across her lips, more unsettling than reassuring.

“Please put on your attire so that I may escort you to the banquet,” she says, her tone quick and precise, offering no further explanation as she turns to leave the room.

A chill settles over you, intensifying when the door thuds shut. The creeping sense of unease thickening, making you question just what you’ve stepped into.

Once you are dressed, the woman enters the room as if she had been waiting just beyond the door.

Her sharp eyes sweep over you, assessing your appearance with an air of cold detachment. Satisfied, she gestures for you to follow her.

The journey through the winding corridors feels like a maze, the dimly lit hallways stretching endlessly.

The ornate surroundings of rich tapestries, heavy curtains, and intricate carvings do little to ease the nervousness growing in your chest.

Finally, she stops before a set of grand double doors, their surfaces carved with an ancient, intricate, almost hypnotic pattern.

She pushes them open with surprising ease, revealing the banquet hall beyond. The golden light spilling out is warm, but it does nothing to soothe the dread pooling in your stomach.

Inside, the banquet hall is filled with the other women, all dressed in identical workout sets. Your stomach twists at the sight, a foreboding knot tightening as you scan the room, the giddiness on some of their faces unsettling in contrast to the dread settling over you.

The only man in the room steps forward in a pristine black suit. He has an authoritative air, his cold gaze sweeping over you all as a bell rings, pulling everyone’s attention to him.

“Please be seated,” he commands, voice devoid of warmth. Some of the women practically bounce with excitement, as if they’re at a themed event, but you can’t shake the gnawing sensation that every move, every breath is being watched.

You take your seat as covered dishes are placed in front of each guest. You can’t hide your surprise as a servant lifts the silver lid to reveal a simple peanut butter jelly sandwich on an ornate plate.

Around the table, other girls find similarly strange items, childish meals of nostalgia on elaborate dishes, and excited whispers start to spread across the room.

The young actress beside you rolls her eyes. “It must his favorite.” She mutters.

“Whose favorite?” you ask, blinking in confusion.

She tilts her head with a look at you that’s almost pitying. “The one you belong to.” She says rhetorically.

The words drop like a stone in your chest, the realization hitting heavy as a dreadful connection forms in your mind.

“Ladies, you may begin eating your meals,” the man in the suit announces —clearly the host of the evening, his gaze sweeps over you all, cold and watchful.

Reluctantly, you eat a few bites of the sand which until your stomach churns and you set it down.

Servants enter through the room, placing goblets beside each guest. The liquid is thick and black, a shimmering swirl of gold catching the dim light.

Giving it an easy look you whisper to the servant as he places it. “What exactly is this?”

The servant merely bows and moves on, ignoring your question entirely.

The host checks his watch, then lifts his hand. “Drink from the goblets entirely,” he says in a tone that garners no defiance. “Then you are to continue with your meal.”

The last thing you want is to drink the mysterious black liquid, but under the sharp, watchful eyes of the host and the female attendants, and the exclusivity of the event, you reluctantly take the goblet to your lips.

The liquid is sweet like honey, coating your throat as you drain the glass.

As soon as you set it down, a warmth begins to spread through you, intensifying with each passing second. Your breath quickens, lips parting as you feel a tingling feeling in your core. Your thighs press together involuntarily, feeling a pulsing ache that refuses to subside in you, as an overwhelming sense of desire floods your body.

“What the hell…” the actress gasps beside you, her voice shaky. She presses her hands to her flushed cheeks, eyes wide in startled excitement.

“Oh my god,” another sighs, leaning back with a blissed-out laugh as her hands glide along the tablecloth. All around you, the women are reacting, some whispering breathlessly, others laughing, touching their own arms, their skin hypersensitive to every touch.

A horrifying realization dawns—you’ve been drugged, and aroused, prepared as prey. Panic grips you as you push back from the table, the lustful haze battling the panicked need to escape.

You’re not the only one; a few other women understand and leave their seats, with terror flashing in their eyes as they scramble for the doors, pulling at them in desperation but the doors are locked tight.

The host watches, a smirk playing on his face as he presses a button. “No need to be in such a hurry ladies,” he says smoothly, and the glass doors along the far wall slide open, revealing the sprawling grounds outside. “The best one to hide will receive a reward beyond her wildest dreams.” He says.

Before the words even fully register, the room erupts with excited screams, the young women spilling out into the night, each one believing they’re part of some elaborate game.

Your heart pounds as you glance at the host one last time, his smile lingering as he watches you. With a shudder, you bolt out with the others, adrenaline flooding your veins.

Outside, the manor has an endless expanse of trees and dense gardens. You sprint, weaving past hedges and statues, your heart racing as you search for cover. The moonlight glows faintly over the grounds as rows of marble statues and manicured flowerbeds appear briefly as you run, disappearing into the shadows with the other women behind you. You push forward, darting between archways and tall hedges, searching desperately for a place to hide.

Spotting a small stone gazebo, you dart inside, pressing yourself against the cold, damp stone as you strain to catch your breath. The night is filled with the sound of footsteps, voices calling, and laughter echoing in the dark.

Suddenly, the crunch of gravel and the rustle of leaves grow louder near you, impossibly close. Your chest heaves as you listen intently, hoping the shadows will conceal you.

You freeze as you hear a girl nearby, her voice high-pitched and excited as she talks to someone. “There you are,” a male voice responds, his tone carrying an unsettling mix of eagerness and satisfaction.

You press yourself harder against the stone, your pulse pounding in your ears as you try to stay silent, your every muscle tense with dread.

Peeking around the corner you freeze in horror as you watch the girl being cornered by a familiar face—Timothee Chalamet, his grin almost playful as he closes in on her, eyes glinting with an unnatural hunger in the moonlight.

She giggles as he grabs her, his mouth descending to her neck, and you’re frozen, watching as he drinks from her. She moans in pleasure her body weakening in his arms as he guides her to the floor, then he turns to another man who appears from the shadows— one of Hollywood’s older stars, an actor you recognize instantly, though his name frustratingly escapes you.

“Isn’t this fun?” Timothee grins at him, wiping his mouth with a satisfied sigh.

The older actor chuckles darkly his voice filled with amusement, “The enhancement makes them taste so much richer. It’s intoxicating—almost impossible to stop once you start.” He reveals.

Timothee laughs a sharp, delighted sound, and the two slip away into the shadows, searching for their next victim.

Your stomach turns, revulsion and terror twisting within you as more screams and laughter split the night, the other girls becoming prey in a twisted hunt.

Frantically, you glance around the gazebo, hands groping along the stone ledges until your fingers close around a piece of jagged iron, part of the gazebo’s old railing. You grip it tightly as desperation flares in your chest realizing this is your only weapon.

Holding your breath, you peek out, eyes darting as shadows flicker between the trees, figures moving with inhuman grace. With trembling hands, you press yourself deeper into the shadows, clutching your makeshift weapon and praying that you’ll find a way out of this nightmare.

When your surrounding quiet you exit the gazebo with trembling steps, heart pounding as you make your way to the girl laying on the cold ground. You kneel beside her, pressing two fingers to her neck. Her pulse is weak but steady, her skin deathly pale, her breaths shallow—she’s alive, but only barely.

You glance around, the sounds of distant laughter and haunting cries echoing through the night in a terrifying symphony. Shadows slip between the trees, vampire silhouettes stalking their remaining prey. You have to move before you’re discovered, but as you rise to your feet, you feel a familiar presence.

A heavy silence settles around you, and your pulse thunders in your ears.

You turn, already knowing who you’ll see.

Austin stands just a few feet away, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. There’s a wildness in him, something dangerous simmering beneath his calm, poised exterior, and yet he doesn’t advance. He watches you, chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths, his gaze intense.

“Austin…please ” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath, the mingling of fear and yearning twisting in your stomach.

His eyes never leave yours as he grins, a flicker of joy in their depths, genuinely excited to see you.

You raise the spike of iron, gripping it tightly to keep him at a distance, but it doesn’t stop him from stepping closer, his movements slow, savoring the moment.

“I told myself I wouldn’t get attached,” he says, his grin slipping, almost painfully. “But you…” He reaches for you and when you lift the iron spike, his eyes softens. “I want you more than anything.”

He gestures for you to drop your weapon, and your hand releases it involuntarily, the iron piece clattering to the dirt as you struggle to maintain control over your own movements.

You can feel his power, a subtle, unbreakable hold, allowing you only the faintest control as he tries to override your will to bend you to his command

“Let me go,” you plead, your voice trembling. “Please! You don’t have to do this, Austin.”

He closes his eyes for a brief moment, as though his mind is too clouded to make the decision clearly.

Then his eyes open, his gaze is sharper, darker and filled with barely restrained hunger.

“Let me taste you ,” he rasps his, voice low and dangerous. “I need to have you again … .” He says stepping closer, his eyes locking onto yours, pulling you into their depths.

“They’ve enhanced you,” he reveals, his voice softening briefly as his eyes lock onto your neck. “Your blood, your essence… it’s perfect now. Perfect for me. It’s like you were made for me.” His tone shifts, the restraint in his voice desperate as he steps even closer. “And I need you more than you could ever understand.”

The weight of his presence fills the space between you, magnetic and terrifying, yet impossible to resist.

Your heart stammers as his words settle over you, your pulse hammering wildly in your veins. “Please just… just let me live,” you whisper, your voice barely audible from the panic rising within.

A smile curves his lips at your willingness, and he closes the distance in an instant, his fingers trailing down to your neck, where your pulse beats frantically.

“My sweetest one,” he whispers, his voice soft and possessive and you’re trapped in his gaze, the world shrinking to just the two of you.

“I could never take your life,” he says softly, his voice laced with a dark promise that makes your breath catch as his mouth descends to your neck.

His breath is warm and intimate against your skin as his teeth graze your pulse point, and then, with a groan of satisfaction, he sinks his fangs in.

A shock of pain mingles with a rush of pleasure that pulses through your entire body.

Your senses are overwhelmed as the sharp sting fades into an intoxicating warmth that spreads through you, a sensation that is both terrifying and thrilling, igniting something deep within you that you can neither resist nor fully understand.

You grip his arms, your nails digging in as you pant, feeling every beat of your heart push against his hold, against the intensity with which he drinks from you.

His moan vibrates against your skin, his hands gripping you tighter as he drinks, each pull making your pulse thrum in your ears with a heightened, feverish ache.

Your eyelids flutter as a euphoric haze settles over you and he draws from you even deeper, his strength growing with your every heartbeat.

He’s becoming too powerful, his moans vibrating against your skin, his bite intense and consuming. It’s overwhelming, and instinctively, you claw at his arms, your body writhing as the need to break free grows.

But he’s relentless, his grip tightening as he drinks deeper, the pull of his hunger making you whimper against him, helpless under the force of his need.

Your head grows light, the night spinning around you in a haze of heat and shadows. The pounding of your heartbeat in your ears begins to slow, muffled and distant, your limbs growing heavy and unresponsive.

You try to speak, to push him away, but the energy to resist has completely diminished, leaving you weightless in his grasp, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

Your breaths become shallow, each one a struggle as your vision blurs at the edges, fading into darkness.

—You promised me— is the only thought that lingers in your mind, a faint, desperate echo, as you begin to fall unconscious.

He continues to drink from you, each pull drawing you closer to the brink. Your vision dims, the edges fading into a consuming blackness. Your pulse becomes faint and your body weakens to the point of slipping away.

—I will always keep my promise— he finally transfers in to your mind and as the world falls away his presence anchors you, his words threading through the haze with an almost comforting certainty.

Your body grows limp, the last remnants of strength fading as a strange warmth envelops you, soothing you into an inevitable surrender as your mind fades to black.

Somewhere, deep within the void, a whisper of acceptance rises—silent, unspoken, but clear and you let go, giving in to him, to his promise, to the connection that feels inevitable as the darkness swallows you whole.

Your mind swims in a haze, the darkness giving way to the faintest flicker of light as your consciousness slowly returns.

You realize you are in an ornate bathroom, the air fragrant with hints of vanilla and orange blossom. The sound of water trickling fills your ears, and a warmth surrounds you—comforting, soothing. Your head lolls to the side, and through the blur, you see Austin kneeling beside the large, clawfoot tub you’re submerged in, his hands carefully guiding warm water over your skin.

“You were so cold,” he reveals, his voice low and tender, tinged with something that sounds almost like worry. His gaze is intense, his movements gentle as he brushes damp strands of hair from your face.

Your lips part, but your voice is barely audible. “What… what happened?”

He hesitates, his jaw tightening briefly before his expression softens again. “Your blood was so sweet… so perfect,” he admits, his voice low, almost reverent. “I almost drank too much—almost let you slip away.” His tone is steady but quiet, carrying the weight of his regret. “I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t lose you.” He says with conviction, his eyes locking onto yours ensuring you understand the depth of his promise.

The words tug at your memory, fragments of his voice in your mind, but everything feels fractured, out of reach. You blink up at him, still dazed, the warm water cradling your weak body.

“I feel… heavy,” you whisper, your voice faint, every word an effort.

“Shh,” he soothes, his hands skimming the water as he washes away the remnants of blood from your neck and shoulders. “Don’t try to talk. Just rest. Let me take care of you.”

The heat of the water lulls you further, your mind drifting in and out of focus. You hardly register when he carefully lifts you from the tub, his strong arms cradling you as if you weigh nothing. The cool air brushes your damp skin as he carries you to a chaise lounge draped in dark velvet.

He lays you down gently, his hands precise as he removes the towel wrapped around you. “Stay still,” he murmurs, reaching for a thick, soft blanket. He guides it over you, his touch firm but comforting as he wraps it around your body.

Your gaze flickers toward him, confusion clouding your thoughts. “Why… why are you doing this?” You ask.

He pauses for a moment, his hands lingering at your shoulder where the blanket rests. “Because you’re mine to protect,” he answers, his voice steady, but there’s a depth to it, an emotion he doesn’t fully show.

You watch through half-lidded eyes as he stands and begins to undress, his movements unhurried, deliberate. His shirt falls away, revealing the lean, chiseled planes of his torso. His pants follow, and then he steps into the shower. The sound of water cascading fills the room, and despite the fog in your mind, your gaze lingers on him. The water runs down his perfect form, tracing the contours of his back, his muscles shifting with every movement.

Your breaths are shallow, the weakness in your body anchoring you in place.

“You’re… so beautiful ,” you whisper faintly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

He glances over his shoulder, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re delirious, you need rest,” he says gently, his tone amused yet soft.

When he finishes, he dries off quickly, the towel wrapped low on his hips as he steps toward you. Then, without hesitation, he drops it, standing bare and unashamed as he picks you up in his arms once again.

His skin is warm, the faint scent of soap clinging to him as he carries you into the dimly lit bedroom.

The bed is massive, draped in dark silks and accented with ornate carvings. He lays you down gently, adjusting the blanket around you. His movements are precise as he sets up an IV, his fingers deftly working to place the needle in your arm.

You flinch slightly at the prick, your eyes fluttering open fully to meet his. “What are you doing?”

“We need to replenish your blood,” he explains, his voice calm but firm. “This will help you recover your strength.”

Your gaze flickers over him, taking in the softness in his eyes, the way he moves with gentle urgency.

He looks at you, his expression softening. “Rest now” he says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I need you stronger.”

The weight of exhaustion pulls at you again, and as your eyes drift shut, his voice lingers, soothing and steady. “You’re safe with me.”

You awaken slowly, the heaviness in your body gone, replaced by a strange sense of strength. As you sit up in the massive bed, the silky sheets slip from your skin and you realize you’re completely naked.

The room is dimly lit, luxurious and unfamiliar, and a sense of disorientation washes over you realizing you have no idea where you are—or even what time it is.

Your eyes fall to a tray covered with an ornate silver cover sitting on the bedside table. Instantly, you reach out and lift the lid to reveal a peanut butter sandwich, a bar of dark chocolate, and a chilled bottle of almond milk.

A famished hunger gnaws at you inside and you waste no time, devouring the sandwich entirely, swallowing the almond milk in quick gulps, and finishing the chocolate bar in a few eager bites. The food satisfies the deep hunger within you, grounding you slightly, though questions still swirl in your mind.

Just as you set the empty bottle back down, a sudden chill prickles at the back of your neck, and you freeze. You sense him before you see him—a shift in the air, making your pulse quicken.

Austin climbs onto the bed behind you, his blue eyes glinting with a predatory edge, and though his expression is calm, there’s an undeniable intensity radiating from him that sends a shiver through

He’s naked, just like you, his presence commanding and intimate, and your heart races at the sight of him.

“You’re awake. That’s good,” he says closing the distance between you. “You’re stronger now. You’ve healed faster than I expected.”

Your breath hitches, and instinctively, you shift back against the headboard, suddenly hyper-aware of your vulnerability.

“Austin…” you whisper, a flicker of fear returning as you see the hunger in his eyes. “You’re going to… you’re going to drink from me again, aren’t you?”

A small, smile touches his lips. “You already know the answer to that,” he replies, his tone calm, almost soothing.

Panic grips you, and you throw off the blanket, attempting to leave the bed. But he moves faster than you can comprehend his arm wrapping around your waist, strong and unyielding as he pulls you back down onto the bed.

You struggle, your hands pushing against his chest, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “Let me go!” you cry, but his voice cuts through the chaos, low and commanding.

“Look at me,” he says, cupping your face and forcing your eyes to meet his. His gaze holds yours, steady and penetrating. “We share blood now,” he says

“I can feel it in you,” he continues, his voice dropping lower, rich and intimate, his eyes never leaving yours. “Your heart races for me, your body answers to me, and you can deny it all you want… but you can’t fight what’s already inside you.” His words wrap around you like a spell, powerful and inescapable, pulling you deeper into his control.

“It binds us completely, stronger than anything you could understand,” he reveals, his voice a dark promise as his fingers trail down the side of your neck, lingering just above your pulse point reminding you of his hunger.

As his words seep into your mind, they lull you into a sense of surrender, the tension in your body loosening against your will.

Your breath slows, your resolve faltering as his presence overtakes your will.

His gaze intensifies watching the shift in you as a slow knowing smile spreads across his lips. His eyes seem to pierce through you, pulling at the deepest, most hidden parts of your mind, leaving you completely exposed for him.

A warmth begins to unfurl in your core, spreading through your body like fire. Your pulse quickens from an undeniable growing arousal that steals your breath and leaves you helpless against him.

A soft, involuntary moan escapes your lips, and his eyes flash with satisfaction, his grip tightening as he pulls you closer.

“There she is,” he rasps, his voice low and reverent, filled with a dark tenderness. “My sweetest one.”

He lifts you effortlessly, guiding you up into his arms before settling you back down, his body pressing intimately against yours as he moves between your legs.

The coldness of his skin against yours is intoxicating, his presence overwhelming as his hands slide along your hips, holding you close.

“You feel it again don’t you?” he whispers his voice a dark mix of tenderness and hunger. “I’ve craved you—every part of you. And now that you’re mine, I’ll never let you go.”

Before you can respond, his lips capture yours, slow and deliberate, claiming you completely. His kiss is deep and unrelenting, sending surges of pleasure racing through your body, his hands grounding you and binding you to him all at once.

His lips trail lower, his kisses grazing the sensitive skin of your neck then your collarbone, before descending to your breast.

His hands slide down, caressing your supple flesh with a slowness that sets every nerve on fire.

He scrapes his fang against your hardened nipple and a gasp escapes you as your back arch’s instinctively. Your hips push up as you whine your body already anticipating what’s next and he eagerly bites down on your breast.

The sharpness of his fangs blends with an overwhelming wave of pleasure, the sensation so arousing it draws a moan from deep within you.

Your hips press upward again, the wetness between your legs sliding against him, driving both of you into a fevered state. His moan vibrates against your skin, his mouth still on your breast as he tastes not just your blood but your growing pleasure.

“My favored one,” he rasps, his voice low and reverent, filled with a dark tenderness as he pulls back slightly.

His tongue teases the small wounds before he brings his lips to yours. “Taste yourself,” he whispers, his voice low and filled with dark satisfaction.

His mouth presses to yours, and the metallic tang of your blood mingles between you, stirring something feral within him.

Your heart pounds as he pulls back, his dark eyes gleaming. “Now that youre mine,” he says, “It’s only fair you taste me too.”

Before you can respond, he tilts his head, exposing his neck. With deliberate slowness, he drags a sharp nail across his skin, releasing a thin line of blood that glistens in the dim light. “Drink,” he commands softly, his voice thick with need.

Your lips meet his neck, your tongue darting out to taste him. The moment his blood touches your tongue, a wave of heat and power floods through you, the sensation so overwhelming that you moan against his skin. “That’s it,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips, guiding you closer. “Feel it… feel us.”

The intensity rises as he pushes his cock into you, his body perfectly aligned with yours, his thrusts deep and claiming.

His blood surges through you, blending with your own, binding you in a way that feels inescapable, eternal. “You’re everything,” he rasps, his voice rough and thick with emotion. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. There is no one else, nothing else.”

His hands grip your wrists possessively pulling them over your head as his thrusts grow deeper, more passionate. His strength overwhelms you, his cock pushing into yours with perfect precision, each thrust sending shockwaves through your core.

His hands tangle in your hair pulling your head back, as a soft cry escapes your lips, and he lowers his mouth to your neck, his fangs grazing your pulse as his voice seeps into your mind. Come for me sweetest one….Give me everything.

His fingers slide down, finding your sensitive clit nestled between your thighs, moving in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. The pressure is unbearable, the sensation so intense that your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving faint marks on his skin.

“Austin!” you gasp, your voice trembling as the coil inside you tightens beyond control. He responds with a groan of satisfaction, his finger pressing into your clit, his thrusts driving deeper, pulling sounds from you that you didn’t know you could make.

Your body tenses as the sensations peak, and together, you both come, his fangs sinking into your neck again as you orgasm , your cries mixing with his groans.

The connection between you burns brighter than anything you’ve ever felt, his blood and yours mingling together, his release and yours merging in a perfect, primal harmony.

His mouth moves against your neck, savoring the taste of your blood as his fingers continue to work their magic on your clit, drawing your pleasure higher and higher creating more sweet blood for him to drink.

Your body begins to weaken, the intensity of his bite and the pleasure merging into something that leaves you lightheaded and disoriented. Just as you feel yourself slipping too far, his fangs retract, and he pulls back with a gasp, his lips red with your blood. He tilts your jaw up with his hand as his tongue tenderly licks over the marks on your neck, soothing the faint sting.

“So perfect,” he praises, his voice filled with satisfaction and restraint. His eyes meet yours, heavy with a mix of desire and control. “I could have taken more… but I won’t. Not until your stronger.” He reveals and kisses your neck softly, his breath warm against your skin.

As the waves of ecstasy subside, his lips tenderly brush your neck, his voice barely above a whisper. “You will never need anything else now because you are mine.” He confesses.

His words seep into you, sending a ripple through your very being. You feel it—this connection, this pull—as if every part of you is no longer your own, as though your blood aligns in harmony with his.

Your mind races, grasping at the edges of what your life was before this moment—your ambitions, your plans, your identity. It feels distant now, like a faded memory compared to the vivid, all-consuming presence of him.

How did it this happen? You ask yourself and as you remember, your heart pounds understanding there is no going back.

Beneath the fear, you feel stronger, more alive than you ever have, as if the pieces of your fractured world have rearranged themselves into something new. Something terrifyingly inevitable.

I’m not the same anymore, you think, a shiver running through you at the realization —I’ll never be the same again.

His gaze holds yours, unrelenting and filled with something deeper as the warmth of his thoughts pulses through you, filling every corner of your mind.

You’re mine now, completely just as I am yours. There is no going back … but you wouldn’t want to, would you? His grin widens, the intensity of his presence filling you as his words vibrate through your thoughts, binding you further, the connection growing deeper, consuming you entirely.

You’ve already changed, the reality settling over you like a dark, undeniable truth.

You don’t want to escape it—you don’t want to escape him. You know now, with every beat of your heart, you are his, as much as he is yours, and you will never leave him again.

🩸 END 🩸

🔗 Master List

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[captainpriceslilwife]

something silly with our boy simon because i don't write anything for him literally ever heehee! (Also I saw a work abt Price and a djungelskog that probably inspired this wrinkle in my brain, but i cannot for the life of me find it - pls let me know if you know it so i can tag for inspo!!!)

"The fuck is tha'?"

He just wanted to lie down with his girl. That's all he wanted.

Familiarity. After being gone for over a month, he's been craving a moment of peace with his sweet girlfriend. In his bed. With his sheets. And his pillow that's got his head practically etched into it from how long he's had it.

But there it is - a new fixture - right smack in the middle of his bed.

A bloody teddy bear. And a big one, at that.

"Djungelskog" You say with a proud smile, placing your hands on your hips like you haven't been completely betraying him for the past five weeks.

"Gasundheit. Now answer my question."

"His name is djungelskog."

Simon's eyebrows raise to his forehead as he glances between you and the brown blob taking up nearly half of his bed. "His? It's a bloody he?"

And you - you seem absolutely chuffed at his displeased expression. "Are you jealous?"

"Of an obese teddy bear? Please. His head is too small for his body." He punctuates his words by smacking the bear's head back unceremoniously, pulling a discontented squeak from you as you move to fix it. "Looks like a fuckin' idiot."

"He does not!"

"Stupid fuckin' name, too."

"Cut it out!" Your defense of the thing only makes him brood even more - and he's starting to look more and more like the bear himself with his hunched shoulders and bowed head - not that you'd ever tell him that. Not out loud anyway. "He is the only reason I haven't absolutely lost my mind from loneliness while you're halfway across the world, so I'm sure he would appreciate a thank you."

"Thanks." He mumbles coldly as he picks it up out of your hands and tosses him on the floor - leaving you slack-jawed and horrified. He just shrugs his shoulders, trying to steer you back towards the bed as he steps over the flaccid bear that's now sprawled out on the carpet. "Don't need 'im anymore, love. I'm here now."

"...Djungy..." You murmur quietly - a soft coo that makes Simon roll his eyes in annoyance. You came up with a bloody nickname for him, too? While he was off fighting terrorists? He can't help but scoff softly as you shimmy out of his grip to bend down and pick it back up again, giving him a disapproving look before you begin dusting him off carefully. "Don't put him on the floor, Simon."

"Fuck's sake, love. I want to lie down in my own bed."

"We can all fit!"

And now here he is - spooning you from behind while you cuddled up to junglesmog or whatever his name was.

You're sound asleep, sandwiched between your two boys without a worry in the world to ruin your peace. But Simon? Simon is glaring daggers over at that overstuffed piece of Swedish fluff.

Was he being dramatic? Probably.

But the way you cling to it so tightly is making his chest ache. He understands that you were lonely without him - probably missing him more than he could ever imagine. But he's here now...so why the hell are you still snuggled up to that thing?

Ever so slowly, he loosens your grip on the bear as carefully as he can, but you still whimper softly in your sleep when he pushes it away (a bit more aggressively than he needed to, but hey, it's not like you're awake to see). You shift around uncomfortably - actively seeking out the comfort that Simon had so rudely taken away from you - and he decides to take his opportunity to flip you over gently to face him.

Your arms immediately circle around him, and he lets out a breath when you begin to nuzzle your face into his neck and settle back down. Fucking finally.

"There she is..." He whispers softly as he presses a gentle kiss to your hairline, making you hum quietly in your sleep. "...there's my girl."

And he can finally fall asleep now that he's gotten that damn bear out of the way and you safely tucked into him - wrapped up in his arms.

Where you belong.

[senualothbrok]

A Tight Fit

Summary: You and Gale are trapped in a locked room, with no space to move. Inspired by @daisyofwaterdeep 's juicy post which I just couldn't resist writing about.

Set early in Act 1, before the tiefling party. Featuring matchmaker Karlach and chaos gremlin Astarion.

Disclaimers: 18+. Mildly smutty. Gale x female Tav/reader.

Word count: 1k

AO3 link

*****

“Well, this is a tight fit, isn't it.”

Crushed between the wall and Gale's heaving frame, you cannot avoid his warm breath on your cheek. You speak into his beard, desperate for space.

“Serves me right, for wandering straight through every door I see.”

Gale's chest is flush against yours. His arms flinch in an awkward attempt to avoid your waist and rear. Your own hands are fatefully sandwiched between your bodies. You curl them into yourself, trying frantically to ignore the groove of his groin.

It is not that you have not imagined how it would feel. In the darkness, you have wondered about the taste of Gale's touch, the lilt of those lithe fingers. But only for fleeting moments, sheepish and stolen. You are almost strangers, after all, fledgling friends. And never beyond your wildest dreams would you have imagined this, much less wished for it.

“Your curiosity is one of your most a-door-able traits.” You can feel his smirk on your skin. “One might even say it's the key to your success.

Your groan is muffled amongst his hair. “I'm glad to see being trapped in a coffin with me brings out your comedic genius.”

“Just getting a handle on the situation.”

Despite the levity, each word of his seems more choked. His ribs jostle against yours. You are surprised by the lean edges of his frame, the force of muscle beneath his robe. As if he senses your attention, he swallows, his eyes darting around you in a frenzy.

You grunt as you manage to wrench one hand free, only to realise in horror that it is cupping the curve of his ass. You cannot help but notice how firm it is. How full. When he jerks at the contact, his leg wedges between yours. Your hand dangles ominously below his hipbone.

“Sorry!” He fumbles, his features twisting. “Sorry. Gods, I'm sorry–”

“Karlach?” you cry. “Astarion? Are you out there?”

The responding thump on the door rocks the entire room. Gale's thigh spasms into yours. He winces sharply.

“Can you get us out please?” Gale blurts. “Now?”

“Hang on, soldiers.” Karlach sounds annoyingly relaxed, even chipper. “The door locked behind you, and we don't have the key. We can't break it down either, tough bastard.”

“Oh look.” The glee in Astarion’s voice is undeniable. “We've run out of lockpicks. Best go hunt for some more.”

You try and fail to punch the door. A flush has spread from Gale's neck to his cheeks. His blushed earlobe hovers just before your mouth. You can feel his heat on your skin, the rasp of his stubble.

“Hurry up,” he pleads. “Please.”

Gale clears his throat. As he shifts and fidgets, the taut muscles of his chest rub against your breasts. His juddering breaths are hot against your ear, and you are mortified by the ripple through your core, the peaking of your nipples. He wriggles his leg, trying in vain to move it out of the range of danger. But his knee grinds into you instead. You chew your lip.

“This is simply” – he stammers, his throat bobbing – “This is most– I'm terribly sorry–”

He trails off, burbling incoherently. You have never seen Gale so out of sorts. As you writhe clumsily against each other, sweat beads on his brow. You can smell the bittersweet tang of it, layered within the fog of sandalwood and leather, book dust and soap. You wonder if he feels as dizzy as you do. You no longer think it is from the lack of air in the room.

“I should be sorry,” you manage. “I haven't bathed for a week.”

You were hoping for a chuckle, a break in the stiffness between you. But instead, there is a glimmer on Gale's chest. A faint stain of indigo flashes and then deepens. He is glowing. You stare at his blazing orb scar in alarm.

“Gale…”

Gale is coughing. Sputtering. As he twists, pointlessly seeking escape, you feel an unmistakable hardness against your hand. Your eyes widen. Clasped between your hips and his, jerking your hand away only nestles it further in. Your fingers bear down against his bulge.

Gale's eyelids flutter. He bites his lip.

“Stop moving,” he chokes, pained. “Please stop moving.”

For a moment, you do. Your chests rise and fall against each other’s. Strands of his hair drift over your face as you meet his gaze. His lips are swollen red, parted as he pants.

You are acutely aware of the point of his knee. It surges, ever so slightly, against your cleft. His eyes are dark and desperate, like you have never seen before. You are drunk on the rhythm of his leg, trembling against the pulse of your desire. You stifle a gasp, your nerves unravelling, his breaths catching as you quiver into him. Your fingers move of their own accord, following the thrumming of his need, flickering along his throbbing length.

He moans. You feel it like a wet hot flare through you, his searching mouth lingering over yours.

“Please,” he whispers.

His hardness twitches towards your touch as you grind against each other. He is groaning, grunting, and you can taste the salt and sweetness of his breath as his nose grazes yours and your lips open to his…

You tumble backwards as the door swings open, crashing hard against the ground. You lie there for a while, swollen, dazed. Karlach and Astarion loom above you with triumphant grins.

“Look at you, all flushed and breathless.” Astarion’s fangs flash.

Karlach pulls you up with a flourish. “It's a good job you didn't pass out.” She beams.

Stumbling, burning, you look back into the room. You have a brief glimpse of a tented robe, a guttering purple glow, before Gale lurches away, shutting the door behind him.

“I think he needs a minute,” Astarion chortles.

*******

Read the sequel, A Generous Portion

Liked this fic? Check out my other work

[neverendingford]

.

[necromancelena]

Whenever i don't feel like eating i usually trick myself with one of two imaginary scenarios to make it more appealing. So when i make something with steps i pretend I'm the personal chef of a venerable king who is in his final years and eats alone these days and only trusts me to make his food and he's like. Well respected because he's ruled for like 60 years and the first 20 of those were spent away from home being a tactical genius in a devastating war and now he's kind of resentful of palace luxury like I'll pretend a bologna sandwich is like. Artisanal bread and fancy cured meats from the northern provinces and the whole time i resent him because he lives in such luxury that I, the castle chef, could never have, and while everyone worships him i see him at his weakest because he's so private and he knows i hate his ass but he says he knows he's safe because unlike everyone else I can't hide my hatred of him behind a mask like all those scheming nobles at court. And he knows I can't be bought as an assassin because in spite of my hatred for the king i see too much of my own disgust for the world in him.

And then if i make a frozen meal i pretend I'm trapped on an ice planet for years and years in a station where everyone died. There's a great entity at the heart of this planet that i can feel but not see. Its intentions are unknowable to me but sometimes i garner it's interest and it warps reality with its very observation of me. This planet is filled with monsters but I can't even trust my own perception because nothing i know applies here. And I've been alone so long that I wouldn't trust my senses anyway. I talk to the ships computer so my brain doesn't rot but it's just filled with prewritten responses. Or it should be. But sometimes it says things it cannot say, knows things it should not know. And then i crack open a nitrient pack from stasis (frozen mac n cheese) and eat it like I'm starving and can only ration one meal per day but i need to keep up my strength.

And then playing pretend makes the food seem yummier so i eat it safe n sound

[solxamber]

Ultimate Betrayal || Leona Kingscholar

You don’t remember how to breathe.

The walls are closing in, the air is thick, suffocating—choking you with the weight of a betrayal so profound that your very soul threatens to collapse in on itself. Your knees give out before you even register the sensation, hitting the floor with a dull, hollow sound that echoes through the emptiness of your chest.

This can’t be happening.

Not him.

Not Leona.

Your vision blurs. Whether from unshed tears or the sheer magnitude of the heartbreak sinking its jagged claws into your ribs, you don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. Not when the one person you trusted—trusted beyond reason, beyond instinct, beyond every shred of caution that should have warned you—has done this to you.

It was foolish. You should have known better. Leona Kingscholar was never a kind man. He was sharp edges and lazy smirks, a beast masquerading as something tame, something safe. He had warned you time and time again—mocking words, teasing glances, a sardonic lilt in his voice that should have set off alarms instead of making your heart stutter.

“I ain't the type to play fair.”

You had laughed then, brushing it off as yet another of his games.

But this—

This was no game.

This was ruin.

The floor beneath you tilts, the world spinning out of control as a chasm yawns wide in your chest, swallowing you whole. You don’t know how to rebuild from this. How to take the shattered remnants of your trust and piece them back together when the hands that broke them are the same ones that once held you steady.

He knew. He had to have known.

And yet he did it anyway.

You don’t even flinch when you hear him approach, his steps slow, deliberate, not a trace of remorse in his gait. You can feel his presence settle beside you, the warmth of him a cruel mockery of everything you once thought you had.

“You’re bein’ dramatic,” he drawls, a smirk in his voice.

Dramatic.

You turn to him slowly, the weight of your devastation pressing down on your shoulders like a death sentence. He doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty. No hesitation, no regret—just that lazy, infuriating amusement that only twists the knife deeper.

“Leona,” your voice is barely a whisper, cracked and raw. “How could you?”

He stretches, completely unbothered. “Didn’t think you’d mind that much.”

Didn’t think—

You inhale sharply, your lungs burning with the effort. It takes everything in you not to break completely, not to crumple beneath the weight of what he’s stolen from you.

Your faith.

Your trust.

Your very will to go on.

“I was saving that,” you rasp, voice hollow, empty—an echo of everything you once were before this moment, before the fall, before him.

He quirks a brow, unrepentant. “Tasted good.”

And that’s it. The final blow. The killing strike.

You had loved him once. Perhaps you still do. But love cannot survive in the wake of devastation, in the ruins of something that was never meant to be broken. He has made his choice, and now you must make yours.

With a shaking breath, you rise to your feet, the cold settling deep in your bones.

You don’t look at him as you turn away, voice quiet but heavy with the weight of all that has been lost.

“I hope it was worth it.”

And with that, you leave him behind—leave behind the man who had so carelessly stolen your heart and, more importantly, your sandwich.

Happy April Fools!

[yoiisa]

I just read your writing about the trio first year courting reader 😳 its so sweet its make my heart goes boom boom and smiling 🤭

The gender of reader is female and romantic for the boys

I want to request Headcanon/scenario separate for sakura, suo and kaji

about fem reader as their wife and how their married life goes, how many kids do they want, how they're when woke up in the morning and the first thing they see is fem reader's sleeping face, how clingy they're with fem reader, how they act when she is pregnant and craving something weird.

I need something sweet in my life 😭🙏

DOMESTIC FICS MY LOVE OML YESSSSSSSAHHHHH ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

Tags: TW for mentions of complications during birth (suo), aside from that it's pretty fluffy, especially kaji's!!

➜ as we all know, sakura haruka has some serious issues with his family, so to get to the point where he has one with you takes some time for sure ➜ in my mind, he's around 28 when he finally gets married ➜ the reason it takes so long is that he sees marriage as largely a formality and not something necessary to your relationship. if he's dating you, he already trusts you like a wife even when you're just his girlfriend, so why would he need to put up with the extra headaches of getting married? ➜ once you guys finally tie the knot though, he understands why so many people take the next step. he takes pride in getting to be your husband, and he loves when you introduce him as such ➜ it takes another five years though for you guys to finally have kids. sakura is so worried about repeating the mistakes of his parents, and it takes some convincing from you that the two of you can work as parents ➜ you have two, both boys. sakura wants to make sure the two will always have someone to be with, that way they'll never be lonely like him

Sakura wakes to a start, a weight pressing down on his foot. He sits up in bed, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness of the room. He sees a tiny shadow clinging to his foot and crawling up his leg. "Naoki? Is that you?" he asks, his voice gruff with sleep. Naoki, his youngest son, peeks up at his dad, his wide eyes wet and fearful. Sakura's heart stops and he immediately moves to scoop the tiny boy in his arms. "What happened?" "Nightmare," Nao mumbles, rubbing his eyes. "Can I sleep . . . with you and mama?" Sakura sighs and nods. He tucks Naoki against his chest and lays back down. The young boy is sandwiched between Sakura and you, and falls asleep quickly to the warmth of his parents. Sakura soothes Naoki as best he can, patting his hair and occasionally giving the young boy kisses. He feels his eyes start to grow heavy, but just before he can fall asleep, he feels a hand shaking him awake from behind. He turns his head and rubs his eyes to see his older son, Haruo, staring at them. He has Sakura's eyes, the darker one looking pitch black in the night. "What?" Sakura asks. "I heard Nao getting up and followed him. I . . . I don't wanna be left out," Haruo looks off to the side and asks quietly, "can I sleep here too?" Sakura stares at his son for a moment, a horrible pang shooting in his chest. He quickly wraps his arms around his other son's shoulders and pulls Haruo closer to the bed. Haruo climbs up and lays next to his little brother, falling asleep just as fast. You wake up, surprised to find your kids in bed with you. However, when you look over at Sakura, you smile as you see how protectively his arm is wrapped around your sons.

➜ suo hayato proposes to you straight out of high school. you are both freshly eighteen years old and he just cannot wait a minute more to make you his ➜ in my mind, suo is a big family man, so the sooner he can make you part of his the better ➜ he makes sure you are the most cherished wife in the world. like genuinely everything you want he somehow makes happen, even if it can't be immediately ➜ for kids, he wants a big family. he initially asks for five, but you adamantly refuse and he narrows it down to three ➜ the first two end up being boys, and the third is a girl, and she's the apple of his eye. suo is a girl dad through and through, and makes sure that his sons grow up strong and gentle so that they can take care of their little sister and you ➜ he's a wonderful husband and an even better dad

"Again," Suo instructs. Asahi, the middle child, frowns and pouts. His clothes are all dirty from sparring in the grass with his older brother, Yuta. As time has passed, Asahi's movements have gotten sloppier and more predictable. Yuta is taking him down with more and more ease. Asahi is frustrated and Suo's calm demeanor isn't helping. "Enough," Asahi grumbles. "I'm tired." "You're the one who asked me to teach you how to fight like I do Yuta," Suo reminds him. "You can't give up after one lesson." Asahi grits his teeth and clenches his hands into a fist. "Asahi, come on," Yuta whines. "Don't be a baby!" "I'm not a baby!" Asahi shouts and lunges again, his fist going straight for Yuta's jaw. Suo's eyes widen, and he immediately steps in, catching Asahi's wrist and flipping the young boy so that he lands on his back. It's not enough to hurt the boy, but it stops him all the same. "Wha- Dad!" Asahi whines. "You're wrestling, not boxing," Suo says sternly. "Fight fair or don't fight at all." Asahi suddenly screams, tears beginning to well in his eyes. They burst out a moment later and Asahi hiccups as he furiously cries, "I would've won! Why'd you stop me, I would've finally won!" Yuta's eyes widen, and he moves to try and comfort his little brother, but Suo stops him. He kneels in front of Asahi and gathers the boy into his chest, cupping his hand behind his son's head. Asahi kicks and punches against Suo's body, but he takes the blows with ease. "Asahi, listen to me," Suo says. "Do you remember why you asked me to train you?" Asahi stops his fighting after a moment and sighs. "I . . . I wanted to fight to keep mama safe. To protect my new baby sister." "That's right," Suo says softly, stroking his son's hair. His mind flashes back to a couple weeks ago, when you were delivering Emi, how pale you became, how your hand went limp in his, how he cried for hours at your side and pleaded that whatever the doctors had done would be enough to save you. "It doesn't matter if you win or lose, Asahi," Suo explains. "As long as you can protect those you love. I'm not gonna be around forever, and I need to make sure you both can grow to be stronger than me, to protect your mom and Emi." Asahi nods against Suo's shirt and Suo sighs. "You can beat your brother, I know you can, but ask yourself this: even if you beat him up, did you really win?" When both Yuta and Asahi remain silent, Suo stands with his youngest son still tucked against him. "Let's go in for the day, hmm? I'll make you both mac n cheese to cheer you up." As the three boys walk back inside, Suo looks up and sees you, a soft smile on your face, watching your boys, with your daughter against your chest.

➜ from practically the moment the two of your start to date, kaji ren knows that you're the one ➜ he keeps a ring at the ready for when the moment feels right, but that moment doesn't come any time soon. the two of you are in your mid twenties by the time he finally proposes to you and the two of you get married ➜ your wedding is super lowkey, to the point where the only real indicator that it's a wedding is that you're wearing white and have a veil ➜ not much changes in terms of how he is as a lover after the two of you get married. he's still clingy and protective of you, but his protection takes on a new vibe ➜ he always takes the chance to refer to you as his wife ➜ for kids, you guys have them when you're twenty eight. you only end up having one kid, a boy who looks exactly like kaji ➜ honestly it's kinda annoying how much he looks like kaji, but he acts like you, so at least there's that

It's Sunday, and you and Kaji have elected to be lazy with your newborn son in bed for the foreseeable future. "He's so small," Kaji whispers as his son, Yukiya, wraps his tiny hand around Kaji's fingers. "Yeah, he didn't feel that small coming out of me, I'll tell you that much," you laugh softly. Kaji doesn't return your humor though. He stares at his son a little longer, marveling at his chubby cheeks and the shadows cast by his eyelashes. "I didn't know babies could have long eyelashes," he whispers. "Yeah, well they do. Especially boys, they always get the better deal," you sigh. "You have long eyelashes, didn't you realize?" "Do I?" "Yeah, I've always been jealous. Oh, Ren," he looks over at you and you beam, "he's going to be so pretty. He looks just like you." Kaji stares blankly at you, before turning beet red. He buries his face in the comforter and you laugh. The sound rouses your baby and his eyes flutter open, taking in the surroundings which are bathed in sunlight coming from the windows. For a moment, you and Kaji freeze in anticipation of Yukiya crying, but nothing comes. He just stares blankly, his eyes an exact copy of Kaji's. Your heart squeezes and you can't help but nuzzling into your baby's chubby cheeks. You squeal softly, "My baby boy . . . you're so cute!" Kaji huffs out a quiet laugh at your behavior and he pokes Yukiya's belly. Suddenly, Yukiya laughs. It's a tiny sound, but both of you freeze at it. His mouth is pulled up in a smile, his cheeks puffing up. His eyes twinkle and he wags his arms and legs aimlessly in the air as you and your husband stare down at your baby. "Oh my god, are you laughing?" you grin and gently tickle Yukiya's sides. "Are you laughing bubba? Was that a laugh?" You stop and your smile falls as you notice drops of water darkening the fabric of your son's onesie. You look over at Kaji, whose face is red and sports fat tears on his cheeks. "Ren?" you ask softly, touching his shoulder. "Are you-" "He has your smile," he gasps. His voice is light and breathy and makes your heart stop. He wipes his tears on his wrist, before looking up at you. "I love you. I love you both so much. I'll never . . . I won't let anything happen to either of you . . . I-" he can't manage anything else, his voice dying in his tears, but you know what he means. I won't ever let anything happen to that smile.

a/n: guys, is it obvious that I have baby fever or what?

[amoeganism]

PROJECT PARTER HCS (he wants you so bad) haikyuu

ft: aran, kita, atsumu, osamu, suna

ATSUMU:

HES TRYING!!! but is it successful? (no)

literally cannot shut up the entire time you two meet up but it's ok because he's funny

"hey you wanna see pictures of my teammates" "yeah sure" he pulls out a blurry .5 of suna's nostrils

offers you protein bars and osamus leftovers as snacks

compliments you on literally everything

you wrote two words? he starts cheering and clapping his hands like you're shakespeare presenting a new play

loves pretending to be your strict teacher whenever commenting on your work

makes up for his lack of preparation by making you laugh and flustered

"i think you can add a little more to this part" "you look so sexy calling me dumb"

if you two meet up at a cafe he ALWAYS!!! pays for you

started off as a mistake because he asked you for your order in front of the barista

but he thought for a moment and decided you're worth an extra $5 out of his wallet

always loses his pencils but has dozens of erasers?????

SWEARS by wooden pencils. he sees a mechanical pencil and jumps 5 feet into the air and starts screaming

last few days of the project he looks constipated every time you two are together

"do you need a diaper" "I WANT YOU"

you accept his confession because you unfortunately like him back and because you want a good grade

also because you don't want him pooping his pants

ARAN:

the sweetest!!

always asks how you're doing before pulling out his notes

digital note taker 100%

loves loves loves writing with erasable pen and only uses pencils for exams

is a "let's work on everything together" kinds guy

he says it's to make sure there aren't any disagreements in content and aesthetic (he just wants to talk to you)

if you guys aren't at your house, always offers to walk you back!!!

great academically but if you're making a poster or slideshow do NOT let him decorate it... pls watch out

"does this look good!" "i'm gonna hold your hand when i tell you this..." "omg you want to hold my hand 😍"

starts giggling to himself in his head whenever you guys accidentally touch

you catch him staring at you one day and you don't know what to say so you just stare back

he thinks its so romantic

you're just confused but go along with it

after presentations you think you guys are gonna go back to being friendly classmates but he finds you after class and asks you out :)

KITA:

ACADEMIC WEAPON TEACHERS FAV EVERYONE LOVES HIM

"do you want to read my notes?" he pulls out 5 notebooks with everything color coordinated, sticky tabs, perfect handwriting, and factually correct

he can sit and work for 5 hours straight and still somehow have perfect posture

first time you asked him for help on something you were about to piss yourself because you thought he would call you stupid and send you to hell

he gave you a small smile and started walking you through it with an unmatched level of patience

that was the moment you folded and had to physically restrain yourself from grabbing his cheeks and kissing his face

always offers you tea when you come over and brings out a small tray of snacks

"are you comfortable? do you need any help?"

is suuuuper meticulous but kind with his 739273 different corrections

he swears by the sandwich method of compliment-critique-compliment

"your analysis is amazing in this section but i think you can expand a little bit after because..."

you're the one who confessed first because you thought you would explode from cuteness aggression if you didn't

and also because you thought even if he did reject you, he'd do it in the most painless way

was super happy and bursted into a bright red face but shy smile!!

still told you to go back to the assignment though...

SUNA:

menace i hate him (no i don't)

literally doesn't understand anything that's going on and probably doesn't process what you're saying at first

realizes you're serious about this assignment and forces himself to lock in

asks a BUNCH of questions and jots them down on a google doc

loves to make random conversation when you two are working

actually insane gossiper

nosiest birch you know

allergic to minding his own business that mf has shit on everyone

are you slightly scared of what he has on you? yes. do you still want to hear everything he knows? yes

"i'm taking this info from page 175 of the textbook" "got it, but did you hear that kato is trying to get with his exs best friend??"

leaves notes on your project that are both unserious and encouraging

"omg u are literally einstein"

folds origami when bored

will give you paper cranes, frogs, foxes, and cats whenever you see each other

you discovered that there's small doodles in the posts it's he uses to make them

one day there's your name and his surrounded by hearts like the corny mf he is

confronted him and it and he was just like "oh you found that? well, do you want to go out with me?"

he was NOT SLICK with the way he skipped home and whistled to himself that day after you said yes

OSAMU:

HES TRYING HIS BEST!!! (pt. 2)

can only meet up after school because of volleyball so he offers to cook for you before starting to work

takes notes in class but doesn't understand half the stuff he jots down

writes actual bullshit but half a page in decides to abandon his pride and ask you for help

leans in a little too close whenever listening to what you're saying

tries to make sure your knees are touching and that it's all an accident when your fingers brush (he prepared each scenario in his head before sleeping the night before)

down bad LOSER

spends his time doing his portion of the project while sneaking glances at you

doesn't know how to decorate presentations for the life of him so he is on doodle duty

gives surprisingly good suggestions and takes your corrections to heart

one of the best project partners because of how willing he is to learn and contribute!!! (also because he wants to impress you)

talks shit about his brother to you

atsumu has walked in while osamu was telling you an embarrassing story

they start fighting

osamu gets super embarrassed when you laugh at him

then gets overly confident when you tell him you were rooting for him

will not stop dumb smiling whenever he sees you after that

asks you out after the project is turned in with his hands in his pockets with how they're shaking so much