#IM PULLING OUT DOCUMENTS

[ilynpilled]

jaime canonical kinks compiled by an expert researcher (me):

- incest (bffr)

- impact play (90% of his chapters)

- blood (sept period sex, “red flower blossomed, and Jaime had an instant to savor the sight of her blood”)

- body hair (link)

- voyeurism (osmund cuck nightmare fantasy, the baths, bracken and hildy)

- bdsm (link)

- pegging (link)

- cuckoldry (osmund cuck nightmare fantasy, what he did to robert for years, he is a white man)

- praise (obvious. but if u need exact proof pia scene in asos)

[valgeristik]

havin some fun. out there. in photyshop land. with chicory, my friend chicory,

[3-aem]

thinking about my exit interview that was super informal but at one point i was like okay i will say something positive about the team and my ex manager was like okay

and then we both sat there in silence for a solid minute

[sforzesco]

The Art of Dreams: Reflections and Representations

The Tomb of Caterina della Ratta and the Iconography of the Reclining Reader in Renaissance Sepulcharl Art, Yonni Ascher

Ancestor Masks and Aristocratic Power in Roman Culture, Harriet I Flower

okay so just. play connect the dots with me for a second. Girolamo Basso della Rovere is Giuliano della Rovere's (Pope Julius II) cousin. Ascanio Sforza was a long time rival, and later ex-enemy of Giiuliano's. this kind of familial mirroring in the tombs, the way that Ascanio is being subsumed into a matching visual with someone of della Rovere's family is. interesting. because it goes well beyond the expected patron-client relationship between the pope and his cardinals. like, these were companion monuments.

there's also a kind of tragic romantic violence to it, given Ascanio's persistent loyalty to his family and Milan, and Ludovico's plans to have Ascanio's body brought back to Milan in the event of his death and interred in the same chapel as Beatrice d'Este.

[ribbonknot]

sometimes i feel like rn it's really understated just how bad things could be if trump wins. like, actually. i feel like it's being forgotten that despite how bad things are right now, they would surely get WORSE.

[theloveinc]

ummmmmm some things. first of all:☝🏻

held back high school senior x first year teacher!reader...

gojo x education major!reader

[butchnavi]

i hate writing (is a self-proclaimed writer)

[fuwaprince]

...

[roseband]

...

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[thecherrygod]

I WAS FEELING WORRIED AND GUILTY BC I THOUGHT I WASNT DOING ANYTHING AT ALL FOR THIS ASSIGNMENT, WHICH IN A WAY IS TRUE AND IN THE WAY IS FALSE, AND MY PARTNER JUST TOLD ME SHE HASNT REALLY BEEN LOOKING AT IT A LOT EITHER PEACE AND LOVE

[eatyourmaker]

explanation in tags.

i know this is supposed to be my spooky month specific blog but something very scary just happened and I've never felt more stressed in my life

I can barely walk I'm so stressed, it's like I lost all the strength in my body

Please pray for us

Please

[ayumip]

𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

boyfriend!nanami x afab!reader; modern au

word count: 1.5k

mdni, 18+ smut; teasing, oral, overstim, he's pussy drunk (rightfully so), not proofread and probs so many grammatical errors... lmk if im missing anything <3

nanami’s a gentleman, there’s no way around it: he pulls out your chair, letting you sit first during date nights; allows his shoulder to get soaked during rainy days just so you can stay dry; and listens to your rambles despite being tired and on the verge of falling asleep. however, when it comes to his work, he really needs to stop drowning himself in it.

it was late at night, you pried open the door to his office. he was sitting at his desk, unmoving for the past 3 hours, filling out mountains and mountains of documents. 

“ken?” you walked over to him, bringing him a cup of tea.

“yes darling? what is it?” he turned and looked at you with a tired expression, taking a sip of the brewed tea. he looked quite exhausted, his work taking a toll on him. 

“can it wait? i really need to get this done, darling” he said with a sigh, going back to his paperwork, clearly not wanting any distractions as he scanned over the document in his hand.

“can i sit on your lap? please…” you muttered, feeling guilty for distracting him. however, your desire for him, and his touch, outweighed your sense of guilt.

giving you a soft smile, nanami rolled his chair back slightly, patting his lap as a signal for you to come and stay on his lap. making yourself comfortable, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he wrapped one of his around your waist, pulling you closer. he then returned his attention to the papers scattered on his desk. the sounds of pen scratching filled the room as his pen moved across the pages again once more.

as the clock ticks closer to midnight, nanami’s breath hitched as you nuzzled your face against his neck, the warmth of your breath against his skin sent shivers down his spine. he attempted to ignore it, but fuck was it hard. 

“darling— you’re…making it real hard to concentrate…” he muttered, voice slightly strained as he tried his best to suppress whatever desire he had, focusing once again on the work in front of him.

“...ken, baby…take a break…” his heart quickened at the sound of your sweet, enticing whine. it made him feel weak. god, you were irresistible, and you knew that. you, not so subtly, started grinding your hips against him, rolling and pressing your core against his.

“fuck- darling… behave yourself.” he clenched his jaw and let out a low growl, the arm wrapped around your waist tightening his grip on you in an attempt to ground your movements.

you let out a whine as protest. you wanted him, no, you needed him. he’s been so preoccupied with work lately—what about you! he couldn’t help but chuckle softly at your whiny tone. 

“so needy, trying to tempt me? you little minx” he whispered in a teasing voice, his breath hot against your skin whilst tracing small circles on your hip.

“...no…” you retorted, trying to act all innocent; but he knew better.

“no? then how come you’re squirming against me…hmm..?” nanami whispered, trailing kissing along the side of your neck, gently nipping at the sensitive skin.

“thats-!” *you gasped at his ministrations, biting your lip to conceal your sounds as he sucked on your neck, leaving traces behind.

“what’s more important…your work- or me…” you teased back, though instead of sounding bold like you intended, you sounded breathless, needy for more.

how unfair, he thought. it was impossible to resist you if you begged for him like that. 

“you, of course. you always come first — you know that. but, darling, i really need to finish these papers. please, just let me finish these last couple, and then i’m all yours. alright?" he pleaded softly, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes.

“…hmph” you got off his lap and stripped off your dress shirt, well, his to be exact. underneath, you were wearing his favourite set. teasingly, you tossed the dress shirt onto his lap, full of your scent, his favourite perfume, and walked to the door of his home office.

nanami watched intently as you got off his lap. he picked up the shirt on his lap, filling the surrounding air with you, you and you. he let out a frustrated sigh, running his hand through his hair as he leaned back on his chair, his adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped.

“fuck— that’s just not fair…” he muttered to himself as he let his thoughts be consumed by you, and how fucking badly he wants you. he could feel the blood rushing downwards, losing his composure and whatever focus he had left on his work. “you’re playing a dangerous game, darling.”

“your work…or me…~” you looked absolutely sinful, breaking the last bit of resistance and self control nanami had left. all he could think about was you, how badly he wanted to touch you, how badly he wanted to have you. his work could wait, he couldn’t care less. to hell with it.

“you, always you.”

he rose from his chair, papers flying off his desk. in long strides, he made his way to you, pulling you into his arms. his hands roamed over your body hungrily as he kissed you deeply. his tongue explored your mouth passionately, leaving no room for you to breathe. you were kissed breathless.

“ken- bedroom…!” you whined out between kisses, moaning at his taste.

he didn’t need to be told twice. he swooped you up easily, one arm under your thighs as he picked you up bridal style, swiftly carrying you towards the bedroom. he was already so fucking turned on, and seeing you in arms, just made him impossibly harder. he was utterly whipped for you.

once inside, he hastily shut the door, gently laying you down onto the bed. his eyes hungrily roaming over your body. he climbed on top of you, kissing you deeply yet again. he was addicted to your taste, trailing kisses down your neck, claiming every inch of your skin.

“do..you like this new set? just bought it…f’ you…” you bashfully looked away as he chuckled. of course he likes it, he loved it even, it was driving him crazy. the lace of the lingerie hugged your curves perfectly, making you even more alluring to him.

“fuck, darling, i love it…”

“…you’ve worked hard, ken ... have a treat” you murmured, guiding his head down.

nanami let out a low, guttural sound at your words, smirking slightly as his body shuddered with desire at the thought of tasting you. he let you guide his head down, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed soft kisses against your inner thighs.

he sees the wet patch of arousal on your underwear, pressing his finger against it as you moaned from the sensation. he gave an experimental lick before prying the fabric aside, burying his face deeper between your thighs. he lapped up your essence, moaning at the sweet taste against his tongue, his hands gripping your hips tightly to keep you in place.

“oh…f-fuck…” you whimpered out, feeling his tongue swirl and suck at your clit. his fingers grazing up and down your folds before sinking one finger into your core, hitting deeply at your convulsing g-spot perfectly. he knows your body, maybe even better than you do.

“there we go darling…don’t hide yourself…i wanna hear you…” he cooed as you arched your back off the mattress, mewling out desperately as you dug your hands into his hair, pulling him closer. god, you were so responsive to him, and he couldn’t help but to grind his hips into the side of the bed, groaning and moaning into your cunt which sent vibrations, heightening the sensation you were feeling. 

“baby- ‘m close…’m gonna-!” you cried out, grinding your hips upwards. you were gone, and the only thing in your mind was the mind-blowing pleasure your boyfriends was giving you. nanami continued to eat you out like a starving man, snaking his other arm up and towards your tits, caressing your soft mounds and rolling the sensitive nubs between his fingers. 

your hips involuntarily buck upwards into his mouth, searching for more contact, more pleasure. 

“that’s it, darling…let it out-” he groaned as he continued his actions, his tongue gently lapping at your sensitive flesh, eyes fixed upon you as you writhed and trembled under him.

“s-shit- kennn-!...’m cumming…’m cumming~!” you cried out as your vision flashes white, seeing the stars as your climax washes over you in waves. nanami lets out a moan as he feels you shudder and convulse around his fingers, immediately prodding his tongue to drink up all your essence.

it was so messy, his chin covered in your juices as he whispered against your core, voice thick and raspy with pleasure.

“fuck, that was beautiful darling…can you give me one more..?” 

before you could even register, still coming down from your high, he started again, and didn’t stop.

oh, it’ll be a long night.

authors note: i was listening to chase atlantic when i wrote this and i honestly don't even remember what i’m writing. nanami is so ooc here bro hates working overtime but….yeah whatever-

[mariasont]

haiiii!!! i would LOVE smth ab spence and hotch competing for the readers attention. like in a schoolboy way where they’re obvs friends, but it doesnt stop them from trying to show off in hopes the reader will laugh at them

SCHOOLBOY-ESQUE - S.R & A.H

a/n: im dead i loved this request hahahaha thank you 4 requesting i hope you like <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader x aaron hotchner

warnings: two men acting like children, fighting over the reader (all in good fun), a lil suggestive comment at the end

wc: 1.3k

To say the day started out strange would be an understatement. You were well-liked on the team, sure, you considered everyone to be your friend, but did you think that it was that level of friendship where they would drop dead for you? Not really.

So, when you walked into the office to find not one, but two different things on your desk that were definitely not there last night, you were thoroughly surprised.

The first thing that caught your eye, naturally, was the steaming to-go cup of coffee from your favorite cafe. You checked the label, and yup, it was your favorite—butter pecan latte.

Thought you could use a boost - S

You clutched a hand to your chest, searching the bullpen for the boy genius but coming up short. You'd thank him later.

The next thing that caught your eye was the paperwork that you had not completed last night. It had been a beast of a task, a stack you'd planned to tackle with bleary eyes this morning. But it was no longer blank. Every line and box had been meticulously filled out, albeit in handwriting that looked more like chicken scratch than anything else. 

A standard yellow sticky note sat on top.

Took care of this for you. Hope you got some sleep. - A.H

You stared at the paper, mouth slightly open as you tried to wrap your head around the sudden wave of generosity. Hotch? Spencer? This was suspicious. Very suspicious.

The very precious world as you knew it had to be ending. And to further prove that theory, the rest of the day pretty much unfolded the same.

"God, it's freezing in here," you mutter to JJ, leaning into the conference table as you wrap your arms around yourself.

JJ gave you a sympathetic smile, but before you could respond, you felt movement behind you.

"Here," Spencer offered softly, draping his cardigan toward you.

You blinked up at him in surprise, but before you could take it, Hotch's black suit jacket was already being settled over your shoulders. He muttered something about it being warmer, giving Spencer a pointed look before returning to his place at the head of the room. 

Spencer froze, his outstretched cardigan still dangling in his band, his brows furrowing slightly in disbelief. JJ's lips twitched as she leaned over to whisper. "Are we... interrupting something?"

You shot her a glare, cheeks warm as you tugged the jacket tighter around your shoulders.

Later, you found yourself hunched over your desk; nose practically pressed against the screen as you tried to decipher a particularly dense report. It was the kind of document that tended to make your brain feel like soup. Your concentration was hanging on by a microscopic thread when Spencer's voice broke through your thoughts.

"You're going to strain your eyes like that," he said, holding out a pair of blue-light glasses you swore he had just pulled from thin air. "Here, these should help filter the light from the screen."

You blinked at him, surprised. "Uh, thanks, Spence."

He grinned, leaning casually against the corner of your desk like he didn't have the entire bullpen watching him. "It's actually proven that prolonged screen exposure can lead to significant digital eye strain. In fact, did you know--"

"Reid," Hotch interrupted, voice cutting through the air as he emerged out of nowhere, holding some sort of ergonomic chair cushion. He looked to you. "Your posture isn't great either."

You blinked, again, looking at Hotch, who somehow looked calm and cool while holding a memory foam cushion like it was some sort of tactical device. 

Your posture wasn't great? How were you supposed to take that.

"Try this," Hotch continued, placing the cushion behind you in your chair before you could argue. "It'll help your back."

Spencer shot Hotch a look that bordered on indignant. "Right. Because back pain is so much worse than irreversible eye strain," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Um, well, I appreciate both of you," you said, cheeks heating as you glanced between the two. Their behavior was getting harder and harder to ignore, and if you didn't know better, you'd think they were competing.

The rest of the bullpen had noticed too. How could they not? Prentiss gave you an exaggerated look from her desk, her eyebrows wiggling in silent commentary. You bit back a smile and tried to focus, though the two men clearly had other plans.

Lunch was no better.

The team scattered around the table in the break room, half-heartedly picking at salads, sandwiches, and takeout. You were mid-sentence, recounting a mildly funny story to the group about your night last night, when Hotch handed you a carefully packed container.

"Eat," he instructed. "You skipped breakfast."

The words might have sounded bossy, he kind of always bossy, but he said in such a concern, gentle tone that you felt like you should've been the one concerned. You stared back down at the meal--an elaborate chicken pesto wrap--wondering when he'd even had the time to notice let alone get this.

"Wow," you teased, moving your gaze to him. "Do you just... carry emergency food for everyone, or am I special?"

You hadn't meant it as a challenge, but apparently Spencer took it as one.

"Actually," he piped up, slide a piece of dark chocolate onto the table in front of you, "this had flavonoids that improve brain function."

"So I'm getting the VIP treatment today, huh?"

"Seems like it," Prentiss muttered into her coffee.

"Food for energy is practical," Hotch defended.

"And so is cognitive stimulation."

You felt a laugh bubbling up. They were serious. Hotch and Reid--two of the most brilliant minds you'd ever met--were locked in some unspoken, schoolboy-esque competition. 

It escalated even further (you didn't think that was possible) later in the bullpen.

It started out simple: Reid was showing off his eidetic memory (as always) by reciting a list of obscure psychological terms. His voice was quick, words flowing almost like water, and you had to admit it was impressive. You'd barely had time to compliment him when Hotch walked by, dropping a thick binder onto your desk.

"Your report. Already printed and formatted."

"Are you serious?" you asked, flipping through the neatly organized pages. "I was planning on staying late to finish this."

"No need."

Reid, not to be outdone, stood straighter. "Oh, well, if you have time now," he stated, already grabbing a deck of flashcards from a drawer in his desk. "I could help quiz you on behavioral patterns. Might be helpful."

You couldn't even help it--you laughed.

They froze, both of them looking slightly off guard, like they weren't expecting that reaction. You shook your head, attempting to contain yourself as you gestured to the two of them.

"Okay, seriously. What is happening today?" You were still grinning. "Did you two make some kind of bet? Or is this just... you being competitive for fun?"

Hotch cleared his throat, straightening his tie. "I don't know what you mean."

Reid shoved his hands in his pockets, but his ears were bright red. "Me neither."

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms as you regarded them both. You let the silence linger for a moment longer, their baffled expressions only fueling the grin tugging at your lips. Slowly, you stood from your chair and approached them.

Both Hotch and Reid seemed rooted in place, caught off guard as you closed the distance between you all. You leaned in just a little, tilting your head so only they could hear you clearly.

"Listen, boys. There's no need to fight over me." you said, looking Spencer square in the eye before turning to Hotch. "I'm open to the idea of being shared."

Before either man could recover enough to reply, you spun on your heel and headed towards the break room, leaving them standing there like statues. Behind you, Hotch cleared his throat while Reid, still bright red, muttered something about needing to find more flashcards.

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[twinkletfout]

— Cockwarming Hiromi Higuruma🎀

Soft whiny moans escaped from you, as you sat on Higuruma's lap his cock snuggled inside you. He gave no attention to you as he looked through his documents and scribbled on it. Your pussy trying to accommodate his sheer size as it moulds its shape inside you, god, you wanted to move so bad. Your legs were splayed on top of his thighs while you were gripping on the desks trying to sit still. If you moved a bit trying to get some kind of friction, one of his hands would come to slap on your twitching clit.

You turned to look at his face slightly with your innocent eyes, begging him to let you move. But too bad, he was liking this too much. “Hm?” He grunted, still not looking at you. You whined to get his attention, as you felt him twitching inside you “hiroo?” You asked with a drunken gaze. He sighed as he put his pen down, relaxing on the chair. When he adjusted the way he sat, your hips instinctevely sank on top of him, feeling him stirring even deeper inside you as you let out a moan, trying to maintain your composure.

He let out a chuckle at your pathetic state “you are practically begging for it, aren't you?” He whispered in your ear when you felt your back pressing onto his clothed chest. One of his hands came up to graze your abdomen, as he gently rubbed it. “Feel that?” he said moving a bit, as kissed the nape of your neck, the breath hot against your skin. You stirred on his lap, letting out a whimper. He gave a harsh slap on your thigh, “be quiet, sweet thing” he mumbled “we don't want anyone interrupting us, right?” his hand snaked up towards your throbbing clit “so wet f’ me” he jerked his hips, you bit your lips so hard as you tried to contain the moan.

He pushed both of your legs up to your shoulders telling you to hold it in place. If anyone walks through the door in front of you.. they will get a clear view of what's unfolding between them. But you knew no one dared to come through that door when you were with Hiromi. But the thrill of being used like this only made your desires deepen. He kissed your cheek several times as he whispered “im gonna fuck you— so hard” his breath hitched when you said in a hushed plea “please”

You felt him smirking slightly as he gripped on your thighs to pull you up slightly to pound into you. You threw your head back as you felt your need getting satisfied through each thrust. The chair under him shaking violently cause of the sheer force of him fucking into you. He grunted close to your ear. Letting you know how much you are making him feel. Your walls clenching on to his girth so tight when you felt yourself orgasming around him, he let out the most erotic moan known to mankind “God— you are killing me” you were trembling all over as he kept you in place not giving you any second as he kept on pounding into you determined to fill you to the brim.

“Slow- go slow, hiro!” you pleaded, he shushed you, as he shifted the weight of both of your legs to his one hand, and used his other hand to give a firm slap to your ass. A suppressed moan left you in the stinging pain. “I told you to be quiet, didn't i?” his pace picked up as he gripped on to the flesh of your ass, when you felt him fumbling the rhythm, his grip on your ass tightening, leaving harsh, red marks as he thrusted inside for the last time, strings of cum painting your gummy walls. As he let out a long pant, releasing his grasp on you as he made you look at him. A grin flashing across his face at your fucked out expression as he leaned in to kiss you, his cock still warm and snuggled inside you.

[tojisun]

it takes a rampage (to be a dad)

!! fluff & angst; simon’s pov; simon’s insecurities; vague descriptions of violence; repeating allusions to past child abuse; parenthood; f!reader // wc: 3.5k // dividers by @/plutism!

a spinoff of the apple that rolled over to the tree

simon’s not a good man, but he concedes that there are just certain circumstances where you have to be the good man. where you have to bleed and burn through, and sacrifice a shit ton because that’s what being good is.

case in point: the child, who couldn’t be any more than two, bundled in his arms as the squad tries to come down from the adrenaline after a dangerously high-tension exfil.

“where,” johnny pauses, breathing deeply, quick fingers unlatching any tight strapping that’s making it difficult to gulp in air. “where ye dumpin’ the brat?”

it’s callously said, but they all know johnny’s meant it in a place of worry—which is founded, by all accounts, because the base is a terrible place to care for a two year old toddler. no one’s even equipped to deal with the boy, not with the mission still on its last legs; granted, the winding dregs would only require their captain, maybe garrick for backup, to finish but nothing is ever certain.

but—

the boy shifts on his lap, big brown eyes staring up at simon with unfathomable trust. like the sight of his mask, and weapons, and even having seen him in action—poised guns and clean shots on the head; unfazed eyes scanning the explosion of brain matter spilling he’s caused—was not petrifying.

simon knows what they say about ghost—the living boogeyman; the harbinger of death and destruction. and yet here the little boy is, looking up at him like simon isn’t anything other than man; like simon is something so human.

simon thinks about his place back home that’s dancing close to the outskirts of the city; he thinks about its picket fence and its brick walls and its big backyard.

he thinks about its love, forged from the softest hands that simon’s ever held; from the hands of the only one that simon’s ever loved.

“i’m bringin’ ‘im ‘ome.”

.

laswell was kind enough to pull some strings so that the boy has whatever legal documents he needed so simon can bring him back safely—passport, citizenship papers… adoption documents.

jacob emory riley. (yakov in russian. yasha.) he’s simon’s ward now. his son.

(laswell had congratulated him with crinkled eyes and the softest of smiles; it might just be the first simon’s ever seen her look so at peace.

somehow, it was that brief talk with laswell that made everything feel tangibly raw; simon realized that things got too real too fast, and that he found himself almost wanting to reverse everything he’d done so far because what if he wouldn’t be a good guardian to the child? what if simon’s too broken for the child? what if—

his thoughts stuttered, quaking until they reach a tentative halt because the boy closed his little fist around the entirety of simon’s finger. he was so small, like that, and still so blindingly trusting even with all the littering scars on his little arms and little legs. he held onto simon so fiercely, he didn’t even notice the turmoil in simon’s heart. or how simon had almost given him away in an act of his cowardice because simon is a coward. especially with this.

but jacob—

but yasha held him, chose him, and the storm raging in his head died down, petering into a quiet chill until simon could bite out a weak but not any less genuine, “thank you,” to laswell.

laswell stared at him, all-knowing as always, before bidding him and yasha a sweet goodbye.)

the boy responds better with the diminutive, all giggly and grabby hands as he toddles over simon. the rest of the squad had eased into their roles, battle-worn bodies turning into the softest cushions with yasha in their arms. he is a shy little thing, hiding behind simon’s leg whenever price would come visit, or refusing to be put down from simon’s arms or even make eye contact with mactavish when it’s his turn to babysit.

garrick was a different story altogether. yasha had looked at him once, studying with such inquisitive curiosity, before deeming his sergeant the safest after simon. he’d grumbled and cooed and begged for uppies—garrick had been all too pleased to give it to him.

which is why saying goodbye now is difficult.

yasha would not stop crying, pale face all blotchy and snotty as he wails, chubby arms thrashing, trying to reach for kyle, but the sergeant and their captain are already suited for the mission, ready to leave the moment simon and johnny and little yasha do.

“ky! ky!” he cries out, unable to fully say kyle’s name but trying so desperately because his grief is so much bigger than himself.

simon bounces him on his hip, trying to calm the little tyke down, but shrill wails pierce their ears, unstoppable, and he wonders if it was too cruel to have made him say goodbye to kyle and price. simon heard from the medic that it was healthy for children to cry, but yasha sobs like he is grieving, and simon can’t fault him—this is his first, and hopefully his last for a long while, experience of abandonment. sure, they’ve all told him that kyle would just be gone for a while, but yasha is a child, unable to reconcile such reality where his uncle isn’t flying home with him.

(they didn’t mention the fragility of their lives in their line of work; how, every time they suit up, there are chances that they’ll never return. yasha is too young for such reality.

‘sides, kyle promised to come back. so he has to.)

kyle is teary-eyed, so is mactavish, and simon presses his sorry’s and his reassurances on yasha’s inky black hair, while kyle makes a vow once more.

“don’t worry, son,” their captain croons, his face creased in the softest it has ever been. “i promise i’ll bring your uncle back in one piece.”

yasha sniffles, watery brown eyes not looking away. then, “o’ay.” he lifts an arm up, waving it cautiously. “buh-bye?”

“yeah, bubsy,” their captain replies because no one can, not kyle who is crying nor simon who can’t lift his face up from where he’s breathing in his son’s baby smell. “bye bye.”

“buh-bye,” yasha repeats, still quiet but more sure. “ky? buh-bye?”

kyle chuckles wetly. he steps forward and pinches yasha’s cheek. “bye bye, little man. see you in two weeks, okay?”

yasha hums, having grown exhausted from his emotional outburst. the base shrink said that’s normal for children; that it’s good when they’re emotional, it’s healthy, so simon bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from fussing.

instead, as a distraction, he nods at his captain and his sergeant, and he and mactavish turn to leave.

“daddy?” the little tyke asks.

“yeah?” simon replies, turning his full attention to yasha.

“buh-bye?”

“oh, son no,” simon murmurs. “daddy’s always goin’ t’be with you.”

yasha nods, and flops back down on simon’s chest, satisfied.

.

the flight was tedious, sprinkle the listless child with that, and it was just about draining. he couldn’t thank johnny enough for being with him throughout because being an uncle to tommy’s kids didn’t teach simon much about this—cranky and emotional two year-old’s, and their complicated tastebuds that almost made it impossible to feed them aeroplane food, and their odd sleeping patterns.

but as simon shoots yasha a glance, watching the boy sleep peacefully finally, he thinks to himself how it’s all so worth it.

.

johnny doesn’t follow them to prestwich, crashing instead somewhere in stratford before making his way back to dundee. yasha hadn’t cried as hard for johnny as he did when he said goodbye to kyle, but he’d been teary-eyed even when he refused to be given to his sergeant’s waiting arms. still, simon’s boy had been solemn and gave mactavish a weak wave.

simon tells yasha that johnny would come back in two weeks’ time too, with the captain and garrick, before trailing off when he realized he doesn’t know how to tell yasha exactly why johnny was giving them space.

shit, he hadn’t even thought about how yasha would react when—

the house appears past barren trees, and simon’s lungs constrict in one full swoop. god, he’s missed this place, very much so.

pinpricks fill the back of his eyes, and he desperately blinks them away as he tries swallowing past the lump in his throat, but not even the familiar warmth of yasha could ground simon back. rather, the reminder that simon’s not returning on his own this time makes everything feel a lot more intense, like ragged tendrils curling at the base of his neck, grasping him until reality and faraway dreams blend into something miasmic.

simon’s never once deluded himself with thoughts of having his own family. he once thought he’d go grey on his own, something he was perfectly fine with because nothing is ever sacred—the catholics had a word for it, johnny said, how one’s mere existence was the original sin, and simon is neither a pagan nor a believer, but when you grow up with shadows that are ever so perpetually haunting, you learn that not even the sign of the cross can truly ward off the demons.

but then, his beloved appeared before him—just as… fearful; as self-punishing as he had been, and he knows it was twisted but he had been pulled. he had been lulled into the weight of your gravitational force, dragging his heart until it was homesick for anything less.

(two words have never sounded sweeter to him before.

i do.

since then, he’s never hunger for more.)

(until yasha.)

the cab stops, the driver dutifully ignoring how simon must look, all brooding and emotional as he holds his child close, like if he blinks, someone would take him away. he tips generously, and declines any offer of helping with the unloading of bags in the trunk. simon didn’t even bring much, just a travel bag and a rucksack stuffed with as many travel essentials for yasha.

the boy is asleep again, exhaustion dragging him back to his dreams. he looks so peaceful like this, and younger too, and simon knows that isn’t a good thing because yasha’s so small for a two year old. simon’s only comfort is that he’s bringing him somewhere safe; a place filled with boundless love.

he walks to the front door, debating on whether he should just take the spare key underneath the nondescript potted plant to get in or just bite the bullet and introduce yasha to you like this, through the entrance.

the choice is taken from him when you swing the door open, surprise and disbelief lining your face.

“i saw you—” you say at the same time that he rasps out, “love—”

he beckons you to go first. you did so with a tremor in your voice.

“i saw you from the cameras,” you pause, roving your wide eyes over him, before stopping at the bundle he’s carrying. “haley helped me set them up—said you can, uh, get notification of movements outside and, and…”

he watches as you realize that you’re about to ramble, so you take a deep breath, finding the centre of your gravity, before, “baby? who…”

simon adjusts his hold on yasha, before a careful hand sweeps away the blanket so you can see the boy better.

“this,” he says, quiet and fragile. “this is our son, jacob emory riley.” he licks at his chapped lips, the word ‘our’ settling so warmly in the pit of his stomach. “our yasha.”

“oh,” you whimper instantly, tears already springing from your eyes. a choked sound gets stuck on the back of your throat before you’re rushing forward, careful to not jostle the tyke awake, until you’re pressing yourself against simon’s side, watching raptly.

“simon he’s—” you hiccup, rubbing your face on his shoulder. “darling, he’s perfect.”

simon ducks down to brush his lips on the crown of your head, humming deep because yeah, he is. but so are you—and he wouldn’t have done this, anyway, without you. because yasha deserved the best and simon doesn’t know anyone who could step up other than you.

you, who is so bright and joyful; who has crafted fortitude from the ragged shards of your pain.

you, who is the strongest person that simon’s ever met; how you could look at the storm and find a reason to dance.

you, who is so beautiful and lovely, and so utterly full of love that it spills into everyone you meet and everything you do.

yasha deserves you.

and, love, you deserve a family just like this too.

.

yasha wakes up and simon makes the mistake of not being there for him. he didn’t even know he accidentally slept in the living room, long body sprawled on the couch gracelessly. he jolts awake after the loud ring of cries, the fear he felt at hearing yasha’s familiar sobbing slams so fiercely into simon’s heart.

he topples to the ground, knees thudding against the hardwood floors, before he bolts up, frantic as he tears through the house, trying to find his boy, desperate to comfort him and to apologize and to make things right because he never wants yasha to feel so alone in his new home—

simon pauses, feet stopping just in front of the bedroom where you and simon had put yasha in since the guest room has yet to be baby proofed and prepared, when he hears your familiar croon.

“shh, darlin’. you’re alright, i promise.”

simon angles himself so that he can see through the ajar door. you’re kneeling on the floor, head a few feet away from where yasha’s is pillowed. the boy is staring at you with wide eyes, wet and red, but he’s no longer wailing, and simon wonders if it’s because yasha’s internalizing his fear, but then he sees the tyke make grabby hands at you—pudgy fists closing, then opening again. he seems like a baby like this, more than a toddler, and simon watches as you coo, inching closer, giving yasha room to roll away if he wants, but the boy turns to his side, facing you properly, and it’s all the confirmation you need to take him in your arms.

you rise up from the floor, yasha perched on your hip. the boy is still watching you, curious, and you murmur something too faint for simon to hear, before wiping at his wet cheeks and his runny nose.

“hi, love,” you murmur, voice a tad quiet. simon sees the hesitance in your gait, like you don’t know what else to say. it takes a heartbeat, before you’re uttering your name, voice curling around the vowels the way simon never gets tired of hearing.

“i’ve heard good things about you, you know?” you say, brushing the pad of your finger along the bridge of yasha’s nose. simon’s ears pick up huffing sounds, then your giggles, and yasha’s hum.

“oh, i sure did,” you add, smiling, bouncing the toddler in your arms. “simon said you’re the best boy ever!”

simon did, he guesses, say that but with more words—he told you how he found yasha, and how yasha had been so brave after such a stressful change in his life; how yasha had been so excited to learn and to trust, and how he’d brighten up everyone’s day back at the base; how yasha had first called him daddy, and the others unca’, his brave little boy so eager for a family that he made one even when all he’s surrounded with was a ragtag of broken men.

yasha is truly such a beautiful boy, so darling and loving.

“si-‘on?” yasha says, attempting simon’s name.

“yeah,” you reply, just as choked up as simon is. “simon… your daddy.”

yasha hums, fist curling up your shirt.

“daddy,” he repeats, nodding. then, like he remembers that simon isn’t there, yasha begins to look distraught again, whining, looking up to you like you hold the answer when he asks, “daddy where?”

simon takes that chance to walk in. you two whirl to look at him, both with pained faces easing up into the loveliest of smiles just at his mere presence. it makes simon feel… raw; that somehow, all he needs to be is himself, and it’s enough to brighten up the room.

his lips twitch up in his own smile too.

“hey there, kid,” he greets, slotting himself to your side so he can pull you close and be in yasha’s line of sight.

you turn, moving to pass yasha to him, but the boy’s hand is still tight on your shirt and he still looks at ease with you, and simon nuzzles his face on the top of your head in comfort when he sees the way your lips wobble at yasha’s easy display of trust.

“daddy!” yasha cheers. “you here!”

simon ruffles the soft tufts of yasha’s hair. “of course. did you nap good?”

yasha nods, distracted by the bright colours on the bed. the yellow pillows and the baby blue blanket.

the dog stuff toy.

yasha gasps, utterly delighted, and he wriggles out, begging to be put down, and you and simon watch as he runs to the side of the bed, plucking the toy out with a giggle.

“towy!” he says, showing it to you and simon.

simon files the name for next time, focusing on yasha as he runs to hug simon’s leg, then yours, before running back to the bed, chatting animatedly to the toy.

simon pulls you close, slotting your back to his front to bury his face on the crook of your neck, because this, right here, is change. but also, he’s home.

“i missed you,” he murmurs, because it is the only thing he can verbalize. he wants to say more—he wants to say how he’s never once stopped thinking about you, how he’s always kept a picture he has of you in his helmet, tucked under the crown pad, how he’d always toy with his ring when he has the chance because simon is made of many things, and one of them is your love.

but this is all that forms from his lips, inadequate, but then simon hears the twinkle of your laughter, and, “i missed you too, love.” and knows, there needn’t be any more words. not when you two have more time than he’s ever had the privilege to spend.

.

the first time yasha calls you his mom—“mommy!”—was just days before the squad was set to meet the riley’s in their residence.

it was a mundane day; you and yasha are in the living room, playing with his army of anatoly’s—towy—when yasha squeals, finally able to dig out his favourite anatoly from underneath the couch after futile attempts. you’ve asked him if you can help him with it, but he’d been so adamant, tutting the way simon does and it’s honestly so adorable that you let him have at it.

so you laughed at the sound of his happy trills, watching as he turns, running to you, saying, “mommy, towy look!”

he falls to your lap, humphing loudly and smooshing the turtle stuffie on your face, and all you can do is gather him close, trying not to cry in front of him but—

he’s called you mommy.

your little brave boy called you—

“mommy, sad?” yasha asks, readily giving you another treasure, saying the word so naturally like you were never anything else to him.

“no, sweet pea,” you reply, choked up with the weight of your joy. “mommy’s the happiest she’s been.”

you kiss his chubby cheek, breathing in his scent, before letting him squirm out of your hold so he can play with another anatoly, leaving you the turtle one. you hold it close, trying to ground yourself, but the happiness bloats and you feel floaty.

god, it is almost unimaginable.

(you tell it to simon later at night, and simon coos as he wipes the tears away from your cheeks.

“i’m so, so happy si,” you breathe out.

simon bumps his forehead to yours. “i am too, baby.”)

.

simon is not pouting, thank you very much. if anyone says otherwise, he’d like to go on record and say that they’re all a bunch of liars. yes, that includes his beautiful wife too because, again, simon is not pouting.

sure yasha has refused to detach himself from uncle kyle, but that doesn’t mean simon’s jealous, he swears.

“yer a lying scumbag,” johnny hisses at him because he’s been trying to get simon to admit that he’s jealous, which simon isn’t. “i’m on you, LT. i’m on you.”

“whatever ‘tavish,” simon grumbles, hands twitching at another hearty giggle that rings from where kyle is playing with yasha. “last i checked, the boy still runs away from you so, you know, start with that.”

“oh you motherfu—”

“boys,” price barked out, and simon and johnny cringe at the chastising voice of their captain. “language.”

johnny says something that no one picks up because he’s chewing on his words. simon sniffs, looking away only to meet your eyes. unabashed glee is bright on your face, and simon knows he would be hearing you teasing about this later on tonight.

simon scrunches his nose. you reply with a playful rolling of your eyes.

yeah, it’s a good day. and simon still isn’t pouting.

notes: it turned out to have heavier (?) parts than expected. also to clarify, yasha’s been picked up from a mission (the specifics were removed since things got a wee graphic). i’ve included a concept photo of simon and yasha, which was fun to use while reimagining! i hope u guys liked this <3 peace out and sm love mwah!!