Crystal

She/her 20’s

[girlsz1]

Playing: Join Me In Death by HIM

Rules | About me | Ao3 | Wattpad | buy me a coffee

→ Naruto → Haikyuu!! → Demon Slayer → Ace Attorney → LoveandDeepspace → Mha → JujutsuKaisen

#girlsz1asks are me answering asks, #girlsz1yaps! is me yapping

[scftangl]

The truth is, I like the age gap, BUT only if both are adults and have a mature, adult mindset

[venusarchivess]

there’s just something about a pixelated man

[aeresha]

𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 Gojo Satoru ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ being touchy and super gentle during your pregnancy .✦ ݁˖

The late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting long, golden slats of light across the bedroom floor. You were propped up against a mountain of pillows, trying to find a comfortable angle for your aching lower back, when the door clicked open.

Satoru slipped into the room, unusually quiet. The moment his blindfold was pulled down around his neck, his bright blue eyes locked onto you, softening instantly. He didn't say a word as he shed his black jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a chair, and crossed the room with his signature, lazy stride.

Before you could even greet him, the mattress dipped significantly. Satoru crawled up the bed, maneuvering his long limbs with an unexpected fluidity until he was practically draped over you. He tucked his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his white hair tickling your jaw.

“Welcome home, baby,” you murmured, running a hand through the soft strands of his hair. “Rough day?”

“Immensely,” he groaned, his voice muffled against your skin. “Everyone was loud. Everyone was annoying. And I wasn't here.”

He shifted, lifting his head to look down at you. Without his glasses or blindfold, his gaze was completely unguarded—full of a raw, heavy tenderness that still took your breath away. His large, calloused hand slid down your ribcage, moving with agonizing slowness until it rested flat against the prominent curve of your stomach.

The contrast was always striking. His hand was massive, easily covering a huge portion of your bump, yet the pressure he applied was lighter than a feather. For a man who could level cities with a flick of his fingers, he handled you as if you were made of spun glass.

“How’s my little bean doing today?” Satoru whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss right next to his thumb. Did they let Mom sleep?”

“A little,” you smiled, leaning back into the pillows as his thumb began tracing slow, rhythmic circles over your clothes. “They've been kicking quite a bit this afternoon, though.”

Satoru’s eyes widened slightly, a bright, boyish grin breaking across his face. He immediately shifted lower on the bed, sliding down until he was kneeling on the floor beside the mattress, bringing him eye-level with your stomach. He gathered the hem of your oversized shirt and gently lifted it, exposing the round warmth of your bare skin.

“Is that right?” he murmured, leaning in close.

He didn't hesitate.

He pressed his cheek directly against your bump, his long silver lashes brushing against your skin as he closed his eyes. He stayed perfectly still, holding his breath, just listening.

As if on cue, a sharp, sudden thump rippled against his cheek.

Satoru let out a soft, breathy laugh, his hand instantly cupping the side of your belly to anchor himself.

“Whoa. Yeah, that’s a strong one. It definitely takes after me.” He kissed the spot where the kick had landed, his lips warm and lingering. “Keep growing big and strong in there, okay? Daddy's waiting.”

He looked up at you, his eyes shimmering in the dimming light of the room.

There was a quiet, profound reverence in his expression that made your chest ache with warmth. He reached up, his long fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear before his hand came to rest on your cheek, his thumb wiping away a stray tear you hadn't realized had fallen.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice incredibly soft, a stark contrast to the loud persona he wore outside these walls. “What's this for? Are you hurting anywhere?”

“No,” you whispered, placing your hand over his. “Just happy. You're going to be a wonderful father, Satoru.”

Satoru stared at you for a long moment, the corners of his mouth lifting into a gentle, genuine smile. He leaned up, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“Only because I have you to show me how,” he whispered against your mouth, before drawing you into a slow, deep, and impossibly tender kiss. For the rest of the evening, he didn't move from your side, his hands never leaving you, keeping you wrapped safely in his own quiet world.

© 2026 aeresha. All content is owned by @aeresha. Do not repost, edit, translate, or copy in any form across any platform.

[kiriashini]

TWST X OBEY ME!!

I edited sprites to make them into obey me characters!! (Idia as Levi, Cater as Asmo, Crewel as Lucifer, Jade as Barbatos, Leona as Mammon and Malleus as Satan!!!)

[kiriashini]

Part two!!!! Now all the brothers are done !!! ( silver as Belphi, Vargas as Beel, Jack as Diavolo, Minajael as Simeon and azul as solomon) Next will be in myplans: Mephisto, Luke, Raphael and Thirteen!!!

[leviathil]

Quick pfp sketch while waiting for more requests to choose from :thinking_monkey:

Im wondering if i should draw more of these with the brothers + dateables... maybe when i have time, heh

[parisite8809]

HE'S SO PRETTY RAHHHH

[chososprettygirl]

⡴ gojo cannot undo your bras for the life of him ⡴ suggestive/a little bit of boobs and grinding

every. single. time.

every single time you’re sitting infront of him, lips interlocked, moaning into his mouth … he just can’t seem to unhook your bra himself.

this time, he’s laid out on your mattress while you straddle his hips. he’s dressed in just his underwear that cling to his pale thighs while you sit atop of him and panties and, his worst nightmare … a matching hook-closed bra.

“fuck.” he grumbles breathlessly into your mouth, not even meaning for it to slip out, just an uncontrollable reaction to crossing paths with his mortal enemy. you pull back slightly, still close enough your breath lingers on him.

“what?” you ask, brows furrowing together while his slender fingers tap at the lacy fabric. you squint down at him while his gleaming eyes vacantly look at you. “satoru? you okay?”

he nods quickly while your words snap him out of his thoughts. mostly just ‘fuck’ repeated and ‘why can’t i just blast this stupid thing off?’ you lean down to kiss at his soft lips again, thinking it’s just one of his weird space outs that happen every so often.

he kisses back, leans to his side and tries to distract you with his tongue in your mouth—or atleast buy him some time to figure this the hell out. he can’t believe he figured rct out at 17, yet at 28 he’s still clueless when it comes to something that should be simple.

his fingertips build up the courage to trace over the hooks while your arms scrunch at his stark white hair. your hips grind down onto his heavy bulge like you’re trying to fuck him through the layers of fabric separating him.

he tries to give himself a peptalk while you’re attacking at his lips, that it’s not that difficult and if he gets this over with he can just fuck you already.

his thumb clasps onto one side of the backing, trying to pull it away carelessly from the other end. no dice. he tries to thread the hooks off one by one with a a single finger at once. you start to foster a confused look on your face as you pull back for air. he finally tries to bring the sides together before yanking them apart… he gets the hooks tangled in the lace some-fucking-how.

you yank back from his mouth, spit still trailing between your faces between the string eventually breaks.

“are you, like, not in the mood?” you ask, utterly confused. you’re actually worried at this point that he just doesn’t wanna fuck you from how much he’s hesitating—couldn’t be farther from the truth may he add—even despite the pulsing boner sitting against you, and his eyes open wide at your words.

he immediately shakes his head fervently to signify NO. “no, no, no! i just…” he hesitates, embarrassed before the words can even fall out of his mouth. “…need help getting your bra off.”

“really.” you deadpan, staring down at him with your eyes squinted and eyebrows pulled up against your forehead. he flushes against your gaze. he’s about to plead out a sorry for ruining everything before you giggle.

you slink your arms behind your back and undo the clasps along the band.

he thinks he cums a little in his pants when you yank your bra off your head and toss it across your room, revealing your breasts to him right infront of his face. he might even have drool pooling at his lips.

“you really never learned how to take off a bra?”

“can we just forget about this and let me fuck you?”

[fushihearts]

૮(◞ ‸ ◟ )ა ;; your husband, satoru gojo, who can’t help but pout at the fact that his newborn baby girl sobs whenever she’s placed into his arms! ── ✦⋆🍼.˚

it’s been weeks of this — weeks of satoru tenderly trying to lift your frail newborn daughter from your arms, his tall frame hunched over her and his touch agonisingly gentle, only for her to burst out into tears. he just can’t comprehend it!

“it isn’t fair,” he mumbles, slumped over on the couch after yet another failed attempt at picking her up. “i mean, she has my eyes! in fact, she has all my genes, yet she won’t let me pick her up!”

his tone is scandalised, a hint of betrayal seeping into it; but beyond the usual dramatics, there’s a subtle sense of vulnerability in it too. it’s barely there, hidden behind the light-heartedness of his voice so that you almost miss it.

that’s the kind of skill that satoru has mastered by now: being able to feign confidence in the form of borderline obnoxious mock-arrogance. or rather, being able to divert any concerns you may have with a kind of ease and fluidity that’s got to be at least a little bit concerning.

but you don’t miss it this time. not with the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he stares at the floor, lost in thought. not when he looks so worn down, eroded of his usual playful demeanour, an unfamiliar tiredness written all over his body.

you can see the way his shoulders are lowered a fraction in exhaustion from the situation, and even despite his joking demeanour, you both seem to have noticed the way his voice lacked its usual charm earlier.

“hey, toru..” you murmur, sliding onto the couch next to him. your daughter is still clinging to your shirt, having only just been lulled to sleep by you. she’s finally finished bawling her eyes out at the sight of her own father. “don’t be like that…it’s nothing. she’ll grow out of it.”

“no, you don’t get it sweets! she must know something…” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “i mean, whenever she looks at me with those huge blue eyes, it’s like she’s staring right through me. she must know something i don’t!” with that, he drops his head into his hands with a groan.

you’d laugh at the irony of his words if it weren’t for the defeated look on his face. of all things, you’d never expected to hear satoru gojo complaining about the unsettling nature of the piercing-blue eyes that she’d inherited from him. nonetheless, you gently move your free hand to stroke his back, your voice soft as you rub soothing circles.

“hey, no…she’ll come around soon enough.”

“but what if she doesn’t?” he looks up, pouting once more. “what if i’ve done something wrong? maybe i messed up my first impression or something!”

“…toru, don’t be silly, i don’t think newborns care about first impressions.”

he sits up slowly, assessing your words as his eyes fall once more upon the baby in your arms. her snowy eyelashes flutter slightly as she snoozes, tiny hands curled up against her body. one of her chubby cheeks rests against you as she snores, her tiny chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale she takes. tentatively, satoru brings a hand to run over her small leg, fingers running over the soft fabric of the fluffy bear socks on her feet courtesy of his impulse buying.

he snorts sadly at that, remembering the way he had been so excited to spoil her. he’d ran around, desperate to find only the very best for his sweet daughter: bags of baby toys, soft socks, cute baby outfits and pacifiers. he’d spent hours researching the quality of each, scrolling through reviews, diligently ensuring that his daughter would receive only the best — only for her to sob at the mere sight of his face.

it’s a kind of irony satoru can’t bear. because ultimately, in the eyes of the newborn in your arms, he’s no longer satoru gojo. he’s simply…nothing. stripped of being the strongest, stripped of his usual defence mechanism of feigned-confidence, stripped of his ability to win her over with expensive toys and clothes. he’s left vulnerable, stuck with the discomfort of it all. maybe he isn’t cut out for this. maybe he isn’t cut out for fatherhood.

you study his face, frowning at the way his brows are pinched and his features have melted into something much more vulnerable, tired. he looks deep in thought, barely registering the fact that one of his legs is tapping anxiously. he just stays sat there, eyes absentmindedly resting upon your daughter, zoned out.

your heart aches a little. it’s a strange sight, to see your usually-bold husband reduced to this unfamiliar state, hands tensed in his lap like he’s not sure what to do with himself.

so, you decide to take action yourself.

tenderly, you lift your daughter and quietly place her into satoru’s arms, silently willing her not to wake just yet. you’re not quite sure how you or your poor husband will cope if she does — and the idea of having to lull her back to sleep whilst simultaneously looking into satoru’s face of pure disappointment is one you’re not particularly fond of.

the second the baby is in his arms, satoru tenses up, thrown off-guard for a moment at the sudden action. however he then slowly begins to pull her closer to his chest, arms cradling her more securely now. it’s a bit awkward at first, because for once your poor husband hasn’t had a chance to prepare himself to hold her: no half an hour pep talk in the mirror as usual, no rubbing vanilla baby lotion into his hands before attempting to hold her — after all, apparently the scent of vanilla is soothing to young babies. hours of extensive research and a couple of youtube tutorials on how not to make your newborn daughter cry have taught him that much, at least.

much to his surprise, though, despite his total lack of preparation this time around, she seems to warm up to his touch immediately. despite being fast asleep, she nuzzles her tiny cheek against his chest a little, angling her head just a fraction inwards towards his warmth.

sure, maybe they’re just baby steps, if you can even call them that. but for the first time since his sweet daughter was born, satoru has actually been able to hold her without being subjected to sobs and screams. he tries to fight a tiny smile, and your heart flutters at the sight.

he stays stood there in silence, eyes crinkled in fondness as he peers down at the sleeping girl in his arms, cradling her like she’s precious. and after a few minutes of standing like that, a single, tiny tear begins to form in the corner of his eye, not quite falling yet. it stays there for a few seconds, clinging to soft dove-white lashes before the salty water finally rolls down his face, just barely brushing over the edge of his cheek.

with a tiny sniff, gojo quickly manages to recover his composure, letting his typical confident grin return back onto his features and simultaneously trying to pretend that his eyes aren’t currently going blurry with the threat of fresh, brand-new tears.

“ah— i knew it, so you do like me..!” he chokes out a weak laugh as he addresses the sleeping newborn, his voice half-subdued in a poor attempt at being quiet so as not to wake her. he dramatically crooks his head downwards, his ear right up next to your daughter’s face as though trying to ensure he can hear her better before he speaks up again. “…soo, this means that i’m the favourite parent, right??”

the nerve of him!

a/n: filler post sorry if the writing quality is poor i just wanted to post something💔 the idea came to me thanks to a dad sukuna fic i saw so creds to them!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) taglist: @nonchalantfiend @mochiakun @rielovesphel @yujismissingfingers @megumigooner @vanillaascented @megumisrighttoe @catgvrl @hearts2vivi @mariisagb @renrenrenren17 @bowiesprettieststar2 @733164 @palanggaaa @megssleepygirl @rengoatku @hangenism @yujisdreamgirl @nonamedreams @ivankinnieclatter @sugerfilled @silverstar111 @dreamyreadinglover @v4mp1r3b4tzz @dev1lw4arsprada @megantheestallionswife @magicalpeenpoo @qrxswan @silverwfern @luvhza @rozzaa0scentzz1 @azizxxxah @eyayur @strawberrychansora @qrxswan + join!

divider creds @/dividers-are-us and @/cursed-carmine!

[zaynezone]

It always happens at the worst moment.

Zayne’s evol hadn’t acted up in a long time. At least not since before your daughter was born. It’s why this moment is so terrifying.

“Papa?” Just barely aware of what’s going on, she rises on unsteady feet and begins to make her way over. Fear clenches around Zayne’s heart, crawling up his throat and preventing him from speaking.

Black ice coats his hands and crawls up with forearms. He tries to turn away from his daughter’s small, fragile form. But it’s too late, and a little hand rests on his shoulder.

“Papa? Don’t cry papa.” She peers over his shoulder, trying to see his face and what’s going on. He clenches his fist, doing everything in his power to keep the ice at bay. He wishes you were here, with your calming presence and evol capable of healing him.

“I help!” She presses both hands to his arm, but before he can get her to move away, he feels it.

A warm feeling begins to encompass him, the light of a resonance evol illuminating the room as the ice slowly begins to recede. He looks over in amazement, the concentrated look on her toddler face so similar to your own.

“Papa better?” Her eyes are wide, completely innocent to what has just occurred.

“Y-yes. Yes sweetheart. I’m better.” He hesitates for a moment, then slowly reaches out to pull her into a hug, kissing her cheek. She giggles, patting his back with her little hand.

“Papa silly!” She laughs as Zayne releases her, unable to resist tickling her to hear her laughter. The fear in his heart quickly dissipates at the sound.

It’s a laugh just like yours, and it’s the best sound in the world.

[zaynezone]

You weren't dating Zayne for his pool, but it sure was an incredible bonus.

"It's so nice out today." You remark as you slip your sunglasses on, laying back onto the chair. Your eyes have barely shut when you hear the splash of Zayne slipping out of the pool. Immediately, you're grateful for the sunglasses hiding your hungry gaze.

Seriously, the guy could be a swimwear model with those washboard abs.

"Did you put on sunscreen?" He stands over you, blocking the sun. The sight nearly makes your mouth water, droplets tracing the planes of his abdomen.

"The bottle is too far away. Could you put it on for me?" He doesn't need much convincing, retrieving the bottle of sunscreen and joining you on the chair.

He starts at your legs, smoothing the lotion onto your skin. His touch is nice and cool on your warm skin, a sigh slipping out almost involuntarily. His motions pause for a moment, but then he continues on.

"Could you do my chest too? I'm tired now." The coy smile on your lips may give you away, but Zayne doesn't comment on it. Instead, his sunscreen coated hands slide up your waist and under your top, squeezing the soft flesh before deft fingers find your nipples and circle them.

"I-fuck-I d-don't think I need sunscreen there..." Your words trail off into a moan as he moves closer, settling between your open legs and pressing his bulge against your now soaked bikini bottoms.

"No? So you want me to stop?" He murmurs, face dangerously close to yours as he unties your top and tosses it aside.

"...No one can see into your backyard, right?"

"Not a soul."

"Then please don't stop."

[cruxhing]

Thinking about Simon trying Tinder for the first time but it’s not what he expected. He signed up without telling anyone because if he had uttered a word about it, you already know Johnny or Kyle is going to snoop through his phone to look at his profile.

But Simon being Simon, he doesn’t know how to present himself in a good light. His photos were bad; he took two selfies as he created his profile and they were not good to say the least. One was a mirror photo of him holding his tiny phone with both of his hands as he stoically stared into the mirror. The other was just a selfie of him except it wasn’t angled high or even remotely attractive. It was angled down as if he was taking some sort of quick snap.

The only thing saving his profile was a photo of Riley wearing a vest and goggles.

His bio was the worst of them all.

“I like working out. I have a busy job.”

That was it.

No personality, no indication that he wanted more than just a quickie.

Simon wasn’t expecting much out of the app and he was right because the next day, he opened up the app to find no matches.

Got the man thinking that he really was ugly.

It ruined his self esteem a little if he said so himself. Simon didn’t care about what other people thought but gosh, not even one person wanted to match with him?

…. And then he learned that he also had to swipe to get matches.

So on Simon’s off day, he practically spent half of the day swiping through people. He was picky, believe it or not.

Boring bio? Bye.

Too much filters or AI? Bye.

Too corny? Bye.

Clearly only looking for a one night stand? Bye.

Kind of hypocritical considering his profile looks like he only spent five minutes creating (which he did).

Just when Simon was about to give up on his love life for good, the last profile he stopped on was yours. Simple, nice photos, interesting bio and funny prompts. He hesitated— not because he wanted to skip, but in fear of rejection. Because if he swiped right and there was no “it’s a match!”, he’d probably wonder if he’ll ever find the love of his life.

His thumb hovered over the middle of his phone before he pressed down and swiped right.

It’s a match!

His phone lit up with the two profiles and underneath was his chance to send a message first.

Fuck. He didn’t know what to say. Should he try to be funny? Or start it off with a simple hey?

Simon began typing, deleting, typing and deleting the same message for the next two minutes before finally settling with a: “Hi. How are y”

He typed too fast that he didn’t even finish his sentence before he pressed sent.

Maybe Tinder wasn’t for him after all.

[phoebeselwyn]

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY // barbarianking!simon, f!reader, kidnapping, noncon, eventually consensual, pregnancy, mention of intimacy, mention of fingering, possessive simon, caring simon, childbirth

part 1

Simon was angry.

Firstly, at the healers. The local midwife was shocked when he broke into her house and pinned her against her wall, scaring the hell out of her children, who immediately grouped together, shaking at thinking what their king might do. The middle-aged woman shook her head, saying that nothing was her fault, that she had determined pregnancy at a time when your small bump was not yet there, and that she could not even imagine that the news would not reach Simon.

Then at himself. Because you did not trust him enough to tell him that you were carrying his child in your womb. And looking at how he treated you, he understood that you simply had no reason to trust him.

The day he saw you mourning your father, who was slain during the battle, he just threw you over his shoulder and moved towards his horse. You were punching his back and crying, so he had to put you in front of him and literally squeeze into your back so that you were trapped between him and the edge of the saddle. You cried the whole first day when his men stopped for the night in the woods, and Simon just covered you both with one big piece of fur, not noticing how you slipped out of his arms and slept on the side, but not next to him.

But you did not shed a tear at your wedding ceremony. You did not even look Simon in the eye when the local spiritual leader tied your palms together with a thin strip of bearskin, and then, after you were both treated to wine, you poured yours right into Simon's mouth when he kissed you.

You were not to share a bed with him, but Simon refused to do anything that would provoke your tears. What was the point of a woman hitting his chest while he fucked her? Instead, his fingers were the first to enter your core, and you frowned through barely suppressed moans when you first reached your peak, pressing into his palm.

He was the one who kidnapped you, took you away from your home, forcibly married you, and now you were pregnant with your unwanted husband's child.

But Simon was still angry. At himself.

His was raised as a brut; the shortage of sentences he spoke and tight muscles of his arms were what he was raised to act like and have, his culture valuing rought instead of gentle. His men did not spare a glance to women they fucked after the victory, whether it was they wife or a wife of their neighbor. Women's tears were not seen, men's were disgusting.

But you... You were the one whom he married, despite his advisors seeing you as a whore, hardly even worth of their king's bed. But Simon's actions were not to be questioned, he made sure of such a reputation when he took the position from his uncle.

At yet, in the face of his wife, pregnant with his babe, Simon clutched his fists on his way back from the midwife's house, swearing to himself to become a better man for you. And for the second heart, already beating inside you.

***

You noticed you were no longer present on the main room of the house, when Simon usually returned from the hunt with his men. The gatherings were held in this big hall, men dragging their prey on the wooden floor, soaking the wood with blood still pouring out of the corpses, laughing and chanting in unison on a language you still were yet no learn. The action always made you nauseous, seeing the blood, the fur being removed from the deer's body, men roaring and biting the raw meat right from the flesh.

Yet when the voices were heard again, Simon did not appear on the doorstep, as he usually did, with the "inviting" gaze of his that forced you to come out, to sit on one of the tables by your husband, to look at all the chaos, the pure madness happing around you.

No.

You could hear his voice, telling the servants to gather the drinks. But he did not "invite" you to the gathering.

The same night, when he slipped under the furs, making the bed creak under his weight, you asked, not looking over you shoulder.

"Why did you not make me come out?"

The silence stretched for too long, making you nervous, almost thinking that he might have just fallen asleep and you were speaking into the air.

But it was his sigh and short, always short answer, that made you put you palm on your belly.

"Not good for you to see the blood."

***

Everything began to change since that night. Since when Simon's eyes, brown and stoic, caught the slight bulge of your stomach. You were on top of him, bouncing on his cock, whining and gripping the headboard of the bed with you fingers, when he outlined the new curve of yours.

Hiding that from him was the only thing you felt you had the right to. After being taken from your home, forced into the marriage, the life around the people unfamiliar to you, the new life that bloomed in your womb was the only thing you thought could belong to you.

But since Simon found out, since the silent conversation of your gazes colliding happened, he changed.

He was still the same giant of a man, almost too small for the bed, speaking of short sentences and giving orders to everyone around. Yet, your new state made him soften the littlest bit.

The knife, placed in front of you, made you raise your gaze up from the embroidery (on which the servants looked down on). The blade was small, yet sharp, and the handle wooden with some shapes carved in. The item appearing so suddenly made you stiffen, but Simon was quick to speak.

"Tradition. Men gives a babe a knife. First weapon."

A weapon for their unborn child.

You raised a knife in your hands, examining the handle. The symbols carved into the wood, yet, made to sense. The tree, as if the one he had slung you over his shoulder near; the flower, similar to ones you had been embroidering; the sun that you cherished to have and always pulling your face towards when walking out of the house for mere seconds.

"Those... Are those for the babe?"

The real question that made Simon clench his fists, but not tearing his eyes away from you. The tradition required a future father to carve in the symbols of his future babe. Yet, those he put on the handle, were not about that particular being.

"You left everything there when I took you. You need to have something yours here."

Something yours.

He said no more, walking out the room, but your heart skipped s beat, taking the said in.

Simon made the knife not for your future child. But for you.

***

The day your belly became too huge for you to sit up came quicker that you had expected.

The servant, the girl, prepared a bath with a hot water for you, and called when everything was ready. Having laid down for a moment to ease the pressure off of your back, you struggled to sit at the bed. Clatching the headboard, you tried to wiggle to the side, to find the balance and reposition newly gained weight.

But before you knew it, the strong, calloused hands, gripped your shoulders and set you straight, you finally being able to sit. You looked up, and there Simon was, hair slightly sprinkled with fresh snowflakes, as the first snow settled on the village a week ago.

His hands moved, one under your knees, the other on your back, and he carried you, as if weightless, to the other end of the room, where the wooden bath tub stood near the fire.

You found yourself silent, expecting him to follow you into the tub, to perhaps try to initiate intimacy, which you lacked for some time.

The first time you shared a bed, you shed a tear and blood, having lost your virginity. But he was never cruel with you during sex. Persistent, perhaps, sometimes even rough. But he always made you shiver and whine in pleasure, as your hips twitched, catching this sweet release again and again.

The moment your wool dress dropped, and you climbed in the water, you scooted over, making some space for him. But Simon stayed outside. Maintaining some distance, he sat on the fur on the floor, seeing your body being fully covered by the water for a second, as you wetted your hair.

The bathes were what made the pain of your big belly ease. The weight you had gained and will gain, most of which were the babe inside you, made your already small statue clumsy. Simon had noticed you several times placing your hands on the wooden pillars of the house while walking, as if ensuring some safety for a small adventures.

But he saw now how big the babe had gotten.

The curve of your belly, soft yet strong, was undeniable. Poking out of the water for a mere inch, it was a big evidence of all the shared nights of yours. The pregnancy made you stronger. He saw how you started sharpening the knife he had gifted you, cutting apples and helping the servants with cooking. You were refusing to be a burden in a state where your body was making another human being inside.

That made Simon proud. For a woman he had taken away, but not taken the spirit of hers.

The small movement from the inside of your stomach, the glow casket on your skin from the nearest torch, it made Simon stiffen, his hand quickly reaching for the axe on his hip.

But you chuckled, shaking your head.

"No need for that. The babe is simply kicking."

Kicking.

"Kicking you?" His brown arched, the anger and confusion, the strange mix in his eyes.

"It is moving." You clarified, moving your palm, stroking the skin at the exact spot, as if soothing the babe inside you. "It shows the strength."

Strong. His child would be strong.

He let you bath in silence, sitting nearby, looking how you enjoyed the warm water, the comfort. And that night, he feel asleep with his palm on your belly, and you already sleeping face to face with him.

***

You found him hear the open doors, the ground sprinkled with snow, the winter not harsh enough yet to make him cover his bear chest. Yet, you were the one covered in warm clothes.

The wood between his legs looked smooth, the curve not subtle, but the length not long enough to be one of those where people carried water in on their shoulders.

"What are those for?" You stepped closer, palm stroking your belly, the babe being active all morning.

Simon raised his eyes briefly, looking at yours, and then at the movement of your palm. His hands did not stop, still smothering the wood, but his haze lingered on your belly, the reminder of an approaching labour.

"The babe bed."

"The crib?" You asked, dumbfounded.

Just the other day, the woman from the village, a wife of one of the warriors, brought the local version of a crib into your house. Two small wooden pillars firmly embedded on the ground under the floorboards, and a sack of fabric hanging in between. You looked puzzled, eyeing the construction with a curiosity, asking Simon what for did you two need a cheese press when the goats in the village hardly have enough milk to make one.

You were horrified to discover this was how his people made newborns sleep.

"Monk said your people use wood." Simon mumbled, his eyes back on the wood in his hand.

The monk. The kidnapped slim man from the same lands as you, taken and kept as a slave for one of the chiefs of Simon's. He talked to him. About the babe, about you refusing to let the fragile being sleep in something without a steady ground under.

And he made a crib.

It stood near your bed two weeks after. Steady, strong, and full of clean fabric and warm furs.

"Woman said babe needs warmth." Simon said, dropping two more fur pieces in the already full crib.

You nodded, and, walking closed, snuggled closer to his side, desperate for his always hot skin and warmth.

"It will need warmth, coming in the winter."

***

The wind outside made the doors swing from side to side with force. Or was it the hurry with which the servants and the midwife were running in and out, bringing more warm water and fresh linens? You could not tell, too lost in the agony that gripped your body.

"Why she screams?"

"She is having a child, the child needs a way out of her body. It is expected of her to-"

"If you do not do anything I will take my axe and-"

You interrupted the threat, ready to slip out of Simon's mouth and reached for his hand. He gripped your palm in an instance, moving closer, until your foreheads were pressed to one another.

"I need the knife."

"Knife?"

"The knife you- Ugh! The knife you gave me."

The one you never parted ways with, always looking at the pattern, tracing the symbols with you finger pads.

The horror passed into Simon's eyes, and before anyone could notice that, you said.

"The cord. Cut it with the knife."

He did, just several moments later. When you collapsed on your face, babe being pushed out, and servants helped you to lay on your back from the hands and knees you were relying on while the midwife wiped the babe with a fresh fabric. The newborn screamed, finally here, finally breathing the air for the first time.

"What a big boy. A mighty warrior."

A son was placed into your hands, and Simon cut the cord not leaving his eyes off of the child on your chest.

He would do anything for the two of you. He would conquer new villages, fight a thousand battles, build a bigger house, hunt a dozen deers, kill anyone who dares to look wrong at you.

At his family.

well, what do we think?

tags: @prettybpony @devoted-buttons @mvstercvrd @lilpothoscuttings @other-fandoms-reblogs @eastern-side-of-the-heart @drugs-and-daddyissues @itsnayumenko-blog @rios-st4rs @leahsfantasy @1-800-bobcut @cocolocorococo @hikotaru @cherryv0dk4 @damonlore @rottensage @missj609

[f9lix]

XXX REPLIED TO YOUR STORY!

various (haikyuu) x reader

IN WHICH — you post an innocent ig story of your store-bought sushi, and haikyuu boys take that opportunity to try to slide in your dms

FEATURING — kuroo, suna, atsumu, osamu, tsukishima, hinata, oikawa, kageyama

EXTRA — crack, fluff, slight ooc, semi-timeskip

A/N — hi … first post & smau on this blog aha hope u enjoy 🤞 lmk if u want a part 2 + feel free to request !!!!!!! this is lowk buns

creds to kat (@oikyawa) for the first slide dm 🧐🧐 thank u momo (@fukunaagal) for motivating me to post dedicated 2 eme (@lovedlorned) and sariah (@ryomenlettuce)

[illinicoise]

“But if you forget to reblog Madame Zeroni, you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity.”

[spn-fandom-breathing-heavily]

not even risking that shit

[codyslipring-deactivated2015060]

scrolled past this, re-evaluated my life, then SCROOOLLLED back up and hit the damn reblog button. 

[tumblgang]

She ain’t no games in real life so I take her serious all the time

Anyone with a name that starts with a “Z”, ends with an “i”, and isn’t some kind of Italian pasta, IS SERIOUS

I’m not climbing no mountain with a pig on my back, 🙅🏽🙅🏾🙅🏿 Negative.

[skuubasally]

Nope. I know better, have your reblog Madame Zeroni.

[luckytaters]

who the fuck is Madame Zeroni

[saudadesinfinitas-deactivated20]

Look at these stupid children who don’t know who Madame Zeroni is

[drayaintshit-deactivated2019030]

☝🏾😂

[callmedeku24]

Man lissen if you don’t know you better ask somebody AFTER you hit the reblog button

[emeraldmercury]

Idk who she is but I have an exam today so I’ll reblog her

[girlsz1]

what is going on 😭lmfao

[showhay]

collared shirt

kageyama tobio x f!reader

you adjust tobio’s collar so now he imagines a family with you. wc: 1.4k, happy birthday @mayoeinase :3

it was a scientific anomaly that kageyama managed to function in everyday society without a volleyball glued to his palms. usually, his brain operated on a very strict, dual-channel system: set the ball, or think about setting the ball. there was no third option. there was no room for complex cognitive processing outside of a ninety-by-eighteen-meter court.

which made it all the more terrifying that a single, slightly wrinkled piece of white fabric was currently threatening to completely dismantle his entire nervous system.

the karasuno high school gym was loud, filled with the usual chaotic symphony of squeaking sneakers, hinata screeching like a defective car alarm, a random guy named berto tripping on a rock, and tanaka yelling about meat buns. but for kageyama, the entire world had compressed into the space right in front of him. specifically, the space where you were standing.

you were wearing that oversized knit sweater he secretly wanted to steal and bury his face in, looking entirely too comfortable while his own chest felt like an overinflated tire about to pop. he was supposed to be walking out the door. he was supposed to be heading to the bus. instead, he was frozen to the gym floor, heavy sports bag slung over one shoulder, looking down at you with the intense, wide-eyed stare of a feral cat cornered in an alleyway.

“hold still for a second,” you murmured, stepping into his personal bubble without an ounce of fear.

most people back away when kageyama glares. you, however, treated his resting murder face like it was nothing more than a minor weather inconvenience.

you reached up. your fingers, which were criminally warm, brushed against the stiff collar of his uniform jacket. it was flipped inward on the left side, a messy oversight from when he’d thrown it on in a rush to leave practice.

the moment your fingertips made contact with the column of his throat, kageyama’s internal server crashed.

error 404: tobio.exe has stopped responding.

his jaw locked. his knees threatened to turn into jelly straws. his hands twitched inside his pockets, fingers curling so tightly into his palms that his knuckles turned a stark, ghostly white. he stopped breathing entirely, fully convinced that if he inhaled, he might accidentally swallow his own tongue or explode into a cloud of milk-flavored dust.

you didn’t even notice the immediate, catastrophic meltdown occurring twelve inches above your head. you were too focused on the stubborn fabric. your thumbs slid under the lapel, smoothing out the crease with a gentle, agonizingly slow tug. the backs of your knuckles scraped lightly against his collarbone, and kageyama felt a jolt of electricity shoot straight down his spine, paralyzing his legs entirely.

he was completely whipped. it wasn’t even a question at this point; he was so utterly in love with you that if you told him to jump off the school roof, he’d only ask if he needed to perfect his landing form first. he spent his nights staring at his ceiling, aggressively gripping his pillow, frantically wondering how a human being could be as perfect, as devastatingly soft, and as completely life-ruining as you were. you were a walking hazard to his athletic career because every time you looked at him, his heart did a backflip that would make nishinoya jealous.

“there,” you said softly, giving the neatened collar a final, affectionate little pat with the flat of your hand. “all fixed. you looked like you got dragged through a hedge backwards.”

you smiled up at him, a bright, easy thing that instantly melted the last remaining remnants of his sanity.

kageyama didn’t move. he couldn’t. his face was rapidly transitioning through several shades of a violent, apocalyptic crimson. the heat radiating from his cheeks could have easily defrosted a commercial industrial freezer. it crept up from under his shirt, devouring his neck, before completely engulfing his ears until they looked like twin tomatoes attached to the side of his head.

his eyes were wide, blown out, staring blankly at the wall behind you as his brain desperately tried to reboot. the sheer volume of his devotion to you was currently suffocating his ability to form vowels. he wanted to wrap his arms around your waist, bury his face in your hair, and stay attached to you like a giant, over-emotional barnacle for the rest of his natural life. the thought of you touching him—even just to fix his shirt—made him feel like his chest was full of carbonated soda, bubbles popping wildly against his ribs.

you blinked, tilting your head. “kageyama? you okay? you look like you’re having a stroke.”

his throat clicked. his lips parted, but only a small, pathetic squeak came out, sounding remarkably like a wet rubber boot stepping on a chew toy.

“i…” he started, his voice a gravelly, octave-cracking disaster.

he needed to say something normal. something cool. something that didn’t scream ‘i spent three hours yesterday looking at your handwriting on a borrowed notebook like it was a sacred religious text.’ he needed to thank you. or tell you to move. or say goodbye.

instead, his short-circuiting brain took all his secret, deeply buried future daydreams—the ones where he imagined you wearing his jersey, the ones where he thought about buying a house with a yard big enough for a volleyball net, the ones where he secretly wondered what your last name would sound like attached to his—and threw them all into a blender on high speed.

the words tumbled out of his mouth before his conscious mind could erect a firewall to stop them.

“…how many kids would you like?”

the gym around you seemed to drop into a dead, horrifying silence. even hinata stopped shouting in the background, though that might have just been wishful thinking on kageyama’s part.

you froze, your hand still hovering near his chest. your eyes blinked once. twice. a slow, stunned expression washed over your face as the sheer absurdity of the question registered.

kageyama’s soul instantly detached from his physical body. he was dead. this was it. his ghost would have to haunt the karasuno gym forever, doomed to toss volleyballs to underclassmen while weeping over his own utter lack of social awareness. his face went from apocalyptic red to a deep, bruised magenta. he looked so profoundly stressed that a single tear almost leaked out of his left eye from pure psychological agony.

“i mean—!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the high ceiling rafters, loud enough to startle a flock of crows outside. “v-volleyball! three! a rotation! a setter—no! that’s not—!”

he clapped both hands over his own mouth, staring at you in horrifying desperation. he looked like a giant, terrified dog that had accidentally knocked over an expensive vase and was now waiting for the rolled-up newspaper. he wanted to dissolve into a puddle. he wanted the floorboards to open up and swallow him whole, dragging him down into the earth’s mantle where he could burn to death in peace.

you stared at his bright red face, his wide, panicked blue eyes, and the unfiltered honesty vibrating off his massive frame. and then, you let out a loud, snorting laugh.

it wasn’t a polite giggle. it was a full, chest-deep laugh that made your shoulders shake. you hid your face against his freshly straightened collar, your shoulders trembling against his chest as you laughed at his utter absurdity.

kageyama stood rigid as a statue, his hands still over his mouth, his heart hammering so hard against his ribs he was convinced you could feel the vibrations through his jacket. he was so deeply, humiliatingly in love with you that it actually made his teeth ache and his knees do the stanky leg.

when you finally looked up, your eyes were bright with tears of amusement, a beautiful smile stretching across your face. you reached out, grabbing his large, trembling wrists, and gently pulled his hands away from his mouth.

“let’s start with a proper date first, tobio,” you teased, your voice dripping with an affectionate warmth that made his stomach do a violent, ecstatic flip. “and then we can discuss forming a full volleyball team.”

kageyama nodded frantically, his brain still entirely offline, a helpless, dazed expression spreading across his face as he let you drag him out of the gym by his hands, completely and utterly defeated by a single collar adjustment.

my cutie pie mayodenoche, i wish you the happiest birthday! this is quite late because i’ve been busy ;( but youu are one of the sweetest and funniest person i have ever encountered online, you bring a ton of fun whenever you’re present. i value our friendship so much and i’ll be eternally grateful to have met you on tumblr. you’re genuinely one of the best people ever and i love you sooo so much!

n: would 12 kids be good so substitution won’t be a problem? 🤔

© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.

iloveu

[kenmaspuddinghair]

the 141 finding out reader isn't a guy behind their mask (fem reader x simon) request from @wolfiemagic

You joined the 141 almost a year ago, everything was great, minus one small detail. They all thought you were a guy. You wore a mask just like Simon, originally you got it to help blend in during missions but just like Simon you grew to love it and wear it daily. The 141 never asked about it, or pried you to take it off, probably because they were used to Simon, that's what made you stay. But because of that mask, they never saw you, and they had just assumed you were also a guy, and well you never corrected them. 

It was far from the first time someone assumed you were a guy, most of the time you just let people assume that. When they know you're a girl they tend to look down on you and doubt you, it just got easier for you if they thought you were a guy. You've had people straight up ignore you, but that never happens when they think you're a guy. You've been with the 141 long enough to know they don't think like that, but now it just seems so weird to tell them, and a part of you is worried they'll be mad that you lied to them. 

Honestly at first you weren't sure how you had gotten away with it, but over the years you've started piecing things together. Your callsign was bird because you had a deeper voice than the average girl, but a higher voice than the average guy. The callsign made people stop asking about your unusually high voice, they just accepted you were a guy with a higher voice, but they definitely made fun of you for it. Every month you claimed to be sick, and no one ever paid enough attention to the dates to see the consistency, Soap just joked that you had the worst immune system. You always wore baggy clothes, not to hide your identity but just because you liked it. You tended to wear a binder during training, honestly you just preferred it over a sports bra.

The most confusing thing to you was Price. He had looked over your chart, including your medical shit, so either he somehow didn't notice or he was just playing along. You later learned while out drinking with them that Price always asks Laswell to only give him the important bits of information, too much paper work he said,  apparently this didn't include your sex. You later called Laswell to confirm this and she just said your secret is safe with her, even after you explained it wasn't necessarily a secret. 

You've been on plenty of missions with the 141, and they never notice. Right now you were on a regular mission, that was until an enemy managed to sneak up behind you. They sliced your stomach before pushing you out of the window, they even managed to shoot you on your fall down. Thankfully the cut wasn't too deep, the shot only hit your upper arm, and they didn't come to confirm your death. Even with your injuries and fall you had enough energy to alert the team, very shakily you told them where you were. Simon immediately answered “stay there, I’m coming” you just kept mumbling his name softly, he had always been nice to you, and odd quiet sort of nice, not what you would expect from him. 

Your eyes were just starting to go blurry when you felt Simon pick you up. As soon as he gets you into the vehicle he starts taking care of your wounds. Putting pressure on your stomach, while Soap helps bandage the wound, Gaz putting pressure on your shoulder. You would definitely need stitches, and as soon as Price got in they were heading straight to the nearest hospital. Price was the one who removed your mask, he knew it was something personal but your life was more important and he needed to make sure you were breathing. You saw them all stare, the way they actually looked you over, now without all the gear on, their hands still worked following Simon's orders, but they looked utterly shocked, all of them except Simon. Simon focused on your wounds but he did look at your face once, almost as if he knew and understood.

Part 2

[bittersweetlyblue]

asking simon what he would change, 'beside the obvious'

AN: i saw this on tiktok and thought it would suit him perfectly! this is also some unedited drabble so apologies if its bad

"simon?" you're sitting curled next to him, phone in your hand that you quickly place next to you. your monster of a boyfriend is staring at the tv, which he immediately looks to you when you call his name.

"ye, bird?"

you shift, placing your head on his bicep the way you do whenever you want to get a reaction out of him. "can i ask you something?"

"depe'ds, but ask away."

"what would you change?" you have to bite your lip to hide your smile. "you know, beside the obvious?"

he blinks. "what?"

"what would you change about yourself?"

"not that."

you try blink innocently, "what?"

"what you mean, 'beside the obvious'?"

"you know, beside the obvious?"

"well," he says gruffly, "i don't know what the bloody obvious is, apparently."

"just answer the question."

"bu' what's the obvious?"

"answer the question!"

he grunts. "morning coffee."

"you'd change your morning coffee, out of every single thing about yourself?"

"yeah, that 'n' beside the obvious." he snides.

© BITTERSWEETLYBLUE. do not copy, translate, edit my work then claim it as your own, attempt to plagarise or repost it on any other website nor feed into AI. you will be blocked.

taglist: @fiercetigerpoison , @irelands-reading, @aiwlotrkaeya , @angel06babysworld , @sorqenlos , @britishaccentsrhot , @fandom-fxcker , @upintheclouds19 , @dustie-faerie , @lvrlindaddy , @snoos-stuff , @missycreeper , @vergol , @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction , @snore-3 , @bonjourjiminie , @d1g1-swirl , @tessakate , @xncasi , @mayo-n-ketchup , @my-therapist-hates-me , @mary7ys, @httpsluvr , @multi-fandomreaderwriter , @prettyprincessgirl444 , @buckethat12 , @drewsbby , @cozyteabag , @whitemelanin , @ch3rrygirl3 , @shitaaba , @joelmillrenthusiast , @imjustaprettyyprincess ,@livlovesfastcars , @simple-mex3 , @konigsdoeeyedbaby , @goatife19 , @cococococ , @junglewoos , @pyschicstorms-world, @lacerta--agilis