#were you dropped on your head as an infant and was it more than once

[somecunttookmyurl]

me: hey, when im logged in the prices on this hotel are 18% higher than when im logged out. i have a video of it. whats up with that booking.com: sorry we need you to call us for security reasons me: there are no security concerns there's no personal data because there is no booking. why is your site showing different prices when logged out. gonna need you to acknowledge and answer that one in writing, not over the phone. booking.com: can you send screenshots of the different prices me: well here is the VIDEO of the process i said i had, yeah. where you can see the price, see me log out, and then see the price magically drop by 18% booking.com: okay what's the confirmation number and pin code of your booking so we can further assist me: ...................................................there is no booking.

[pathologicalreid]

separation anxiety | S.R.

spencer's first case back from paternity leave involves children, so a concerned party reaches out to you for help

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: mom!reader, dad!spencer, vaguely described breastfeeding, word count: 1.28k a/n: this is technically the reid family from cryptic, but you don't have to read cryptic in order to understand this fic.

Your book rested in your lap as you pinched the thin paper of the novel between your index finger and your thumb. You had one foot on the ground, and the other was on the bottom of your daughter’s stroller, effectively rocking the stroller in two-four time so the infant would stay asleep.

Just because the A-Team wasn’t around didn’t mean there weren’t people working in the BAU. A crying baby would certainly disrupt the workflow in the bullpen – even if the baby belonged to a member of the BAU. Although, you had already fed her – mostly covered – at Spencer’s desk, so maybe you were past the point of no return.

You and baby Nellie had just been staring at each other at home – she was doing tummy time – when your phone went off. A mysterious text from Derek Morgan had popped up on your phone screen.

Derek Morgan: Got a sec?

It wasn’t that you and Derek never texted, it’s just that it was usually under the realm of “on my way” messages and, more recently, baby pictures, but you usually communicated indirectly using a massive group chat that was created by none other than Penelope Garcia.

So, when you answered and he asked if you’d be able to meet the team when they arrived at Quantico, you hesitantly said yes. He explained more once they were on the jet, the case that they had been on involved young children, and there was a little girl that had struck a particular chord with your boyfriend – who was on his first case back from paternity leave.

Eleanor was three months old, and you weren’t sure who’d have a harder time being away from one another – her or Spencer. You hadn’t considered how Spencer would feel when confronted with a case involving children now that he was a father. Quite frankly, you had hoped that he would’ve had more time before he needed to face a situation like that.

You waited, still using your foot to rock Nell’s stroller as the cover diffused the fluorescent light, you could hear her moving now, likely having woken up from her nap, but if she wasn’t crying, you saw no reason to stop her from playing with the colorful toys that dangled above her.

Sighing, you peered up from your book to see the elevator opening on the sixth floor, revealing the team behind the steel doors. Morgan clocked you first, winking as he passed through the glass doors to the bullpen.

Spencer hadn’t noticed the two of you yet, so you slowly opened the cover of the stroller and picked your daughter up, holding her gently to your chest. The infant fussed a bit while she was being moved, effectively gaining the attention of her father, whose face lit up at the sight of his family waiting for him at his desk.

Pushing past the rest of the team, who had also noticed the small being in the room by this point, Spencer approached his desk, haphazardly dropping his bag on the metal surface before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Before even bothering to separate your lips, he was taking the baby from your arms.

“Hey,” he murmured, pulling away from you slowly as he secured the baby in his arms, bending his neck to place his lips on the crown of Nell’s head, “I missed you, angel girl.” His voice was gentle as you looked on fondly, she reached out a small hand and gripped the collar of his shirt. “How are you?” He asked, turning his attention back onto you.

You smiled at the two of them, using a cloth to wipe the drool from her chin before Spencer took it from you, deftly draping it over his shoulder in case he needed it shortly. “Good,” you answered, “tired,” you added.

Across the bullpen, Emily waved at Eleanor, grinning broadly as she walked over to her desk with JJ. To her enjoyment, the baby responded by letting out a coo and smiling before turning her attention to her dad, nuzzling her face in his chest, “Did I miss anything?”

Raising your eyebrows, you shrugged, leaning back and sitting on Spencer’s desk, “She pushed herself up on her arms yesterday.” It wasn’t a massive milestone – you were still grateful that Spencer had been present for her first real smile.

“Oh, yeah?” He responded, proudly looking down at his daughter, who had moved on from nuzzling and was now trying to see just how much of her hand she could fit in her mouth. “Did you know that babies usually go through a sleep regression right before they learn a new skill?” He asked, directing the question at Nell, “That must be why your mama looks so tired.”

You waved him off, crossing your arms in front of your stomach, “She’s lucky she’s so cute.”

The familiar click-clack of heels notified you that Penelope Garcia had made it to the party, likely signaled by another member of the team, “The cutest little girl in the world!”

Even though every member of the team had held your daughter at one point or another, you weren’t entirely comfortable with her being handed off like a hot potato. This, combined with Spencer’s aversion to germs, led to an unspoken rule: wait until one of her parents offered to let you hold her.

“Did you want to take her for a bit?” You offered, looking over at Spencer as you did. He needed time with her, it wasn’t your intention to deprive him of that, but you needed to check in with him without the distraction of the baby. Handing her off, you spoke up, “Watch your earrings,” you tapped on your earlobe, “She will grab them.”

As Garcia held the baby, she made her way around the bullpen, allowing Eleanor to make grabby hands at everyone and everything.

Keeping an arm around his waist, you looked up at your boyfriend, “Are you alright?” You asked, keeping your voice low as there was no sense in airing your concerns to the now bustling office.

Spencer’s smile faltered ever so slightly, “They were just kids. There have been kids before, but now…”

“Now you’re a dad,” you finished for him. “It’s not just something that you could see happening to someone else; it’s something you could see happening to yourself.” Pinching his side slightly, you smirked at him knowingly, “You know, your levels of empathy and sensitivity increase when you become a parent. Your brain adjusts to make yourself a better parent.”

Rolling his eyes slightly, Spencer raised his eyebrows at you, “You know, I vaguely remember telling you something very similar last week when you were crying at an ASPCA commercial.”

You reached up to ruffle his hair, “Nice try at sarcasm, babe, but you and I both know you never vaguely remember anything.”

“How did you know to come here? That I’d need to see her?” Spencer asked, watching as Penelope continued to parade around the BAU, now taking her up the stairs and through the roundtable room. “Was it a mother’s intuition?” He suggested, taking up a lighter tone.

Turning around, your eyes followed Garcia as she walked with Eleanor, “I was contacted by a concerned party.”

Spencer followed your gaze, “I’ll thank Garcia when she gives our baby back.”

You hummed, “Actually, it was Derek, he-“ Your voice cut off abruptly, “Oh, Penny, I told you she’d grab them!” You called from Spencer’s desk, but Garcia was already on her way to return Eleanor, holding one hand to her ear as she handed the baby back to Spencer.

[pholla-jm]

Heir (2)

IMAGINE: HEIR~ SUKUNA X WIFE!READER GENRE: FLUFF cw: sukuna is a bit ooc. f!reader. true form sukuna. not proof read

If you haven't read the first part, here it is: Heir. ***************

As months went by, your stomach got bigger and rounder. Your back was certainly hurting, feet aching, and a constant need to go pee. 

You almost hated every second of it. 

If it wasn’t for the fact you were bringing life into the world, you would’ve hated every second of it. 

Someone that was almost more excited than you was your lover, Sukuna. He was dead set on the baby being a boy. He was so excited to raise a boy to create a future heir. 

He even already picked out a name for him. Akumu, not a common name but it was one that Sukuna liked and it was set. 

However, you had a feeling that you were having a daughter. But, Sukuna was not hearing any of that. But just in case, you picked out a name just in case it was a girl. You wanted to have a similar vibe that Sukuna wanted so you chose Yumekui. 

You were very close to your due date and you were extremely nervous. You felt like you weren’t ready. You felt the nursery wasn’t ready or that things weren’t baby proofed enough. 

That’s why you paced around the castle, trying to get things ready. You didn’t care that your feet ached and your back was crying for help. All you cared about was making sure that everything was ready and perfect for the baby.

You know who did care? Sukuna. He didn’t like how you are constantly on your feet, pacing around and just being worried in general. 

“Woman.” Sukuna calls out once he finds you wandering the halls. You turn to him, already knowing you’re about to get scolded. “You should be resting.” You pout a little, “but do you see that over there?” You say while pointing to an area where a sharp corner was protruding. 

Sukuna follows your finger, “yeah. What about it?” “What if the baby hurts themselves from that?” Sukuna rolls his eyes, “you’re being paranoid. Our son will be strong. A corner is not going to harm him.” 

There’s that word again. Son. You often thought about what his reaction would be if it was a daughter instead. Would he be mad? Would he kick the both of you out? Would he kill the child? All these negative thoughts clouded your mind daily. 

That’s why when the time came, you really didn’t want Sukuna in the room- just the midwives. However, Sukuna wanted to be in the room with you and no one was really going to defy his orders. 

Sukuna was being super supportive though during the whole process. He held your hand and let you squeeze as hard as you wanted, even though it felt like a little pinch to him. He also kept a clean towel to wipe the sweat off of you. Even the sly cursing didn’t affect him. 

The process felt like hours and you were sure you looked like a hot mess. Sukuna didn’t care though. In his eyes you were still the most beautiful woman. 

You could feel the baby coming through and it was only confirmed by the midwife when she said the head was crowning and you only needed to do a couple more pushes. 

You were happy to hear that as you started to feel more tired and weak with every second that passed by. 

Finally, you heard the sound of an infant crying. Relief washed through your body. Until you heard the words you didn’t want to hear.

“Congratulations. It’s a girl.” 

You felt Sukana’s grip on your hand loosen until he completely lets go of your hand.

You could feel your heart drop and your skin paled. You wanted to grab the baby before Sukuna did. But you were too weak to sit up correctly. 

“W-wait..” Your voice only came out as a whisper as your back hit the bed. “I want..” You couldn’t speak anymore as your head lolled to the side. You could feel a midwife trending to your side. 

The last thing you saw was the midwife holding the child and Sukuna walking up to the child. You could see the subtle frown on his face as he looked down at the small baby. After that, your vision went black as you went into a peaceful slumber. 

*************

Everything felt sore. Extremely sore. It took you a minute to come to your senses. But when you remember your situation, you sit up. Hoping to find your daughter safe and sound. 

However, what you saw was the last thing you expected.

Your daughter was swaddled, in the crib sound asleep. 

What shocked you even more was Sukuna. The man who said who wanted a son, stood at the crib admiring his child. 

His large body was bent over so his arms were crossed and leaning against the edge. His head was tilted to the side and resting on his arms. You would have never guessed you would see a sight like this. He looked almost… soft. All though, you would never say that to him. 

Sukuna heard the rustling of the sheets causing him to sit up a little. 

“I’m glad you’re awake.” He says and you nod your head. 

“Are you mad?” You softly ask him. “Why would I be mad?” “You know… for having a daughter. Not a son, like you wanted.” 

Sukuna laughs, but not too loudly to wake the baby. 

Sure, he was a bit upset when he heard that it was a girl. But as soon as her eyes opened, the same red color as his, he swore he could feel his heart stop. The cries were weak and pathetic in his opinion. However, when the midwife handed her over to him, her cries stopped. The baby looked up at him with wonder and she showed him a gummy smile. 

Sukuna would never tell you that as soon as her cries stopped he started to love the child. 

“No. She’s so small. I decided that having a daughter isn’t too bad.” You chuckle at his answer and peer over the crib, getting a good look at your daughter. 

Even though she was a few hours old, you could tell that she was Sukuna’s daughter. You could only imagine what she would look like when she gets older.

“She looks just like you.” You mutter, a little upset that you carried her for so long and she came out looking like her father. 

“Of course she does. My genetics are strong.” “Hmm, we’ll see with the next baby.” 

Sukuna grins at your words, “the next baby? Already planning for another?” “Wait, wait,” you giggle while holding your hand up, “I don’t mean that just yet. I still have to heal.”  Sukuna hums, silently agreeing. “Next time, it’ll be a boy. I’ll make sure of it.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tagging: @lotuskassagi

[marvelstan0905]

Helloooo can you please write one where Ken is just stressed his practices and barely has time with reader and their baby girl so reader surprises him by taking their bby to watch hin practice and the entire time their baby is just giggling and cheering him on?

"Sunshine in the dark"

Husband!Kenji Sato X Wife!Reader [Oneshot]

TW : petnames/fluff/mentions of overwhelm, sadness and guilt/Emi mention/Kenji's mom mention/not proofread yet/mixed POV

Note : Here you go! Hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the love and support!❤️

©all rights reserved. the modification, translation, and plagiarism of my work is strictly prohibited.

Swing. Strike. Swing. Strike again. At this point Kenji had been out more times than he could count. His head was everywhere and he felt like he was pulled in numerous directions. The guilt and overwhelming feelings that drowned him where far too immense for Kenji. He couldn't even think of a time when he spent a full day, a whole 24 hours with his wife and beautiful baby girl, d/n. Kenji's little princess was so small, just months old and his mind was eating him for not being there for every single moment of her growth. That was only the cherry on the cake. His mother was still not found. All this Ultraman stuff was dragging him further down. Kaiju alerts left and right. Even if Emi was in a far better place and with her birth mom, Kenji couldn't help but worry from time. That was his baby as well. Then his passion, a reason for a smile on his face was going downhill as well. Baseball, God. Kenji felt like he was sleeping on the field. He was losing plays left and right. He couldn't get much sleep because of his own worrying and the Kaiju alerts which were increasing day by day. Along with that, he was doing his best to be a good husband and father. Trying to change and feed the baby at night, help his wife so she can rest as well but it felt like he was more of a problem than solution to his family.

"Goddammit! You're Ken Sato! The Ken Sato! Hit the ball! Hit the ball!" Kenji roared in frustration as he slammed the bat into the ground before picking it up. As the simulation of an old ball park surrounded Kenji, another ball was picthed and he missed once again. In complete frustration he slammed his knee into the bat. Instantly regretting it, he groaned from the pain and grumbled. "Of course. You're being so stupid, Kenji"

"Go Kenji!"

"You can do it, sweetheart! Just breathe!"

"Dada!"

Kenji immediately whipped his heads towards the stands to his beautiful wife, his daughter and his mother. All three of his favorite girls. Even if one was a simulation. It made Kenji's heart skip a beat and flutter in happiness. His baby daughter, sat on his wife's lap clapping and giggling. The infant finding joy in just seeing her father. Those little joys even made Kenji's frustration dissipate. Even for a moment. With a grin, you leaned to kiss your daughter's head.

"C'mon, princess. Say 'Go daddy'" I gently coaxed my daughter whiles she cooed and babbled. D/n just clapped and giggled calling out for her father with endless joy. Kenji's eyes brimmed with tears. This small moment, this joy meant the world to him. It was just what he needed. His sunshine in the dark.

Even so the simulation of his mother sitting right next his daughter and wife was all he needed. With a quick wipe to his cheeks, Kenji readied himself.

Batter up. Ichi. Ni. San. Ball!

With all his might, Kenji swung and finally hit the ball. The ball disappeared into the landscape of the simulation as Kenji dropped the bat and felt so refreshed. This small win. This trivial achievement. It was..everything to Kenji. At this very moment, he just needed this.

"YAY! GO KENJI!" I cheered for my husband. The simulation of his mother followed in suite urging him to run. Kenji went towards the stands and picked up his daughter. With a spin around, he peppered her face in kisses before running three bases with her safely tucked in his arms. At the very last stretch, just three quarters in from the third to home base, Kenji put his tiny princess down and held her hands tight. "That's it! You're almost there!"

"Come on, little one. You can make the home run for daddy!" Kenji encouraged his daughter who giggled. D/n held onto her daddy's index fingers and with his support she waddled towards home base. With some falls and babbles on frustration, she finally got there. Kenji couldn't help but think of Emi when his baby daughter finally made the home run.

"Home run! Let's go D/n!" I shouted from the stands. My daughter giggled and smiled brightly not even knowing what she was being praised for. Blissfully unaware of the impact her bright smile had on Kenji. "Well done, baby! You did Kenji!"

"There's my girl! Well done, princess" Kenji praised his tiny girl and picked her up holding her tight and kissing her tiny face. D/n clung to her father and nestled into his affection.

"Thank you." Kenji murmured as his cheek pressed against hus daughter's soft hair. Thank you to his wife, his daughter and..of course his mother. He really needed this.

[gothghostiie]

more babysitter!reader x price because yea. sort of part 2 to this, but can be read on its own

cw: age gap (20s/40s), Virgin!reader, handjob (reader giving), price is drunk, gn!reader

babysitter!reader being asked to babysit by price on halloween, telling them its okay if they cant because they have plans for halloween, plans to go out and party. but you tell him its okay, you don't have plans. his heart clenches because a young thing like you should be out partying, enjoying your life, not babysitting. but instead you're there now, and he's getting ready to go out instead. not wearing a proper costume, just a black button up with the top buttons open, some black jeans, little red devil horns and eyeliner that he bought on a whim and that he poked his eye with more than once. he gets down the stairs to see you coo at his infant, who's laughing and kicking it's feet, especially upon seeing their dada with the little plastic horns. price chuckles and picks them up, cradling the chubby baby in his burly, hairy arms, tickling the little thighs and making it giggle. both of you smile fondly, almost as if it's your baby; and for a moment you wish it was when he winks at you.

you take the little one back, sitting it on your hip as price grabs his keys, walking him to the door. he turns back and leans down, putting a hand on your arm while kissing the baby's head. "now be good.. both of ya." he jokes, making your cheeks warm while you chuckle. he tells you one last time to make yourself at home, to call him if you need something and to not break any doors this time. your cheeks burn as you nod with an awkward chuckle, he grins and gets into a car thats apparently waiting for him, waving at both of you as they drive off. now you're sat there, playing with the baby until it's bed time, the little one is just delighted to have you around, even when you put it down in it's crib and turn on the little music box. now you're there, sat on the couch and flipping through TV channels to see if something good is on, loads of horror movies and the like. you know it's yhe watered down version, considering the time it's running, but you decide to settle for one of them. you're on your phone meanwhile, checking on the baby every now and then, watching movie after movie until you hear the familiar jingle of keys in the door. you sit up and glance around the corner where price stumbles into the room seconds later, his steps heavy and his appearance a bit messy. he blinks at the TV, then at you, his lips turning up into a grin. "there you are.." he coos, stumbling towards the couch and slumping down on it with a deep grown, his hand landing in your lap with how close he dropped down. you can smell the booze and sweat on him immediately, mixed with his perfume and his natural musky scent, it almost makes you wanna lean in and nuzzle him.

he takes a momemt before looking over at you with a satisfied grin forming on his lips, his calloused hand coming down on top of your head to pat you as if you were a dog. "you're such a gorgeous little bird, aren't you?" he hums lowly, almost making you gasp. your eyes widen a bit as your cheeks start burning, he just chuckles quietly, eyeing you over. hes had his eye on you the last time already, the image of you looking up at him with teary eyes burned into his mind, doing things it shouldn't be doing. he leans in a little closer, his breathing heavy while his hand cradles the back of your head. "you've been good like I told you, yea?" he teases quietly, your cheeks somehow get even hotter as you nod. "have ya now?' he chuckles, giving your cheek a firm pat as he leans his head back with a chuckle. the little plastic horns are loosely in his locks, the eyeliner is smudged and you're pretty sure that more buttons on his shirt are open, his strong, hairy chest peeking out between the fabric. the only thing that stops you from staring is his small groan as he stretches again, face scrunching up. you ask him if hes alright, he chuckles softly. "just my old bones aching, love." he murmurs, then suddenly eyes you over. "say.. y'don't happen to wanna help an old man relax a bit, do ya?" he says quietly, his tone suddenly feeling much more intimate.

"i- I'm sorry..?" is all you can muster, your thighs subconsciously squeezing together as your head runs wild. surely you misunderstood him you think, there's no way he wants what you hope think he wants.

"y'know what I mean love.. lend me a hand or something more." he hums, eyeing your form next to him, his pants already getting tighter at the mere sight of you. "I ain't gonna make you and I ain't gonna be mad if you don't want to, bird." he reassures you gently, he truly means it. you hesitate, your breath getting stuck in your throat along with all the words you want to say to him, all you can do is nod after a few seconds of silence. a smile crosses his face, a big hand goes to cup your cheek. "that's a good doll.. c'mere." he pats the side of his thigh, you scoot closer until you can't. he gazes at you through lidded eyes, it's scary how he can see your nervousness even when he's like this. " 's alright love. nothing' to be nervous about." he says gently, his hand patting your head.

"you ever done this?" he asks, seeing right through you. fuck. you shake your head softly, he raises his eyebrows in surprise before smiling. "that's alright. I'll help ya." a bit clumsily he opens his belt and his pants, bulge pressing against the fabric of the boxers he's wearing. "gimme your hand.." he orders gently and you do, letting him put it on the taut fabric. "there. get a feel for it, pet." he murmurs, having to hold back from cummin on the spot as you carefully let your fingertips explore. he can sense your intrigue along with the insecurity and it almost breaks his heart. he slowly pulls down the band of his underwear, giving you time to intervene if you wanted, before his cock springs free. its a bit above average and fat, a few veins running from the base to the weeping tip. your eyes widen and he chuckles, taking your trembling hand and wrapping it around his hard cock. "there y'go.. now just move up and down, yea?" he explains, you almost wanna huff that you know what you have to do - but that's forgotten as the first deep groan rumbles in his chest as your fingers graze his tip. the sound is addictive, you have to restrain yourself from making a mess in your own underwear as you keep moving your hand. his moans make you secure, giving you the feeling you're not doing it entirely wrong, his body twitching under your touch. breathy moans fall from his chapped lips, head is lolled back against the couch while his hands desperate try not to grab you; and it gets harder the closer he gets.

it doesn't take long before he gets close, whether its the alcohol or that he'd been build up for a good while now, his hips stuttering slightly. his eyes are shut tightly when he suddenly grabs your arm, holding you tight while trying to keep breathing without pathetic noises spilling from his mouth. "so good, bird.. don't stop.. 'm almost there.." he mutters mere seconds before pretty much exploding, his tight balls aching in relief as his cum stains your hand and his shirt. you gasp in shock, your movements stuttering and it makes him smile, he chuckles at how adorable you look when as you give him a shocked look. "good job love, y'did well." he hums, his grip loosening and instead going to rub your back.

"you're gonna sleep here tonight, alright bird?"

[ihrtnanami]

same time next week?

dilf! nanami kento x female! teacher reader

my best friend gave me this prompt and it’s so scrumptious omg. i wish men were real 💔

pt. 1 (currently reading!) pt. 2 (soon!) pt. 3 (tbd) pt. 4 (tbd) pt 5. (tbd) pt 6. (tbd) word count: 1.2k (sorry for the shortish chapter, i want it to be more interesting in further ones^-^)

the rain falls gently as the morning unfolds, the rhythmic sounds of droplets tapping against the ground, filling the air. it's another day of learning for the happy, buzzing children in the neighborhood. loving goodbyes, the soft bounce of rain on umbrellas, wet footsteps splashing across the pavement, and chitter chatter among the students are all that can be heard.

you stand at the entrance of the elementary school, greeting your students with a warm smile. they smile back and make their way to the classroom to greet the assistant teacher and unpack their belongings.

in minutes, the slight rush begins to subside, leaving just a few straggling students arriving at the entrance. following that, it would soon be time for class to begin.

but something feels off.

a girl whose father is always on time, hasn't arrived yet.

"odd." you think to yourself, but dismiss the concern. after all, anyone can be delayed by sickness or unforeseen circumstances.

another couple minutes pass, and it's nearly time for the school day to start. time to get back to class to greet the students once more and begin to go over the plans for today.

you shrug and begin to make your way into the school. as you do, you hear hurried footsteps approaching closer and closer to you.

turning around, you catch a glimpse of aoki, whose hair is drenched by the rain, followed closely by her father, who is equally soaked.

"aoki, mr. nanami," you smile, "glad you could make it."

both father and daughter are panting, and nanami’s face shows signs of distress as he catches his breath.

you hold your umbrella over the two, offering a shield from the downpour.

mr. nanami sighs. "sorry we're late," he starts, his voice tinged with frustration.

"it's no problem at all, don't worry," you reassure him.

"i’m glad you’re not upset, but it doesn’t look great," he admits. looking up at the umbrella that covers him and his daughter, he speaks up again.

"thank you for covering us."

you smile, nodding. "it's no trouble at all. seems like you both need it more than i do." you chuckle slightly.

a brief silence envelops you both. your eyes drift down to aoki, her pink bows in her hair and neat uniform stand in stark contrast to her soaking wet shoes and drenched white socks.

"she's adorable, her mother must love dolling her up every morning," you say, smiling at aoki.

mr. nanami pauses, his gaze dropping to his daughter as well. the air between you grows heavier as his expression shifts slightly.

"she did... when she was an infant," he says, his voice soft.

"oh... i'm sorry, is she...?" you begin, but trail off.

he shakes his head. "no," he sighs, "things just... didn't work out, and eventually, she wasn't suitable enough to be a mother to my princess."

you nod, feeling the weight of his words and glance away awkwardly. catching the shift of your demeanor, he smiles acknowledging your shy discomfort

the moment stretches into an uncomfortable, awkward silence, until you look back at him. his honey-colored eyes meet yours, and for a brief, startling moment, you both seem to freeze. the world slows as his gaze locks with yours, and your grip on the umbrella falters. before you can even react, mr. nanami reaches out, gently placing the umbrella back in your hands. his other hand rests on top of yours, steadying your hold.

your eyes are locked onto one another's and time feels as if its still for a moment—all until the school bell rings.

the sound of the bell pulls you both back to reality.

"i-" you both start in unison, then fall silent again, hesitant to speak over the other.

mr. nanami clears his throat, his hand still resting on yours. "i apologize… anyways... i should get going now," he says.

you nod, "yeah... aoki and i should hurry inside."

mr. nanami nods, removing his hands from yours, stepping back slightly.

"i'll be on time to pick her up, i apologize again," he says, bowing slightly.

"it's all right, mr. nanami," you smile. "see you then."

"see you, miss. y/n." he replies with a smile, and you both turn to go your separate ways.

you hold the umbrella over yourself and aoki as you step inside. closing the umbrella, and shaking off the rain, you look over to her. her bright smile catches your attention, and you can't help but ask with curiosity, "what's got you so happy, aoki?"

she giggles, adjusting her backpack. you raise an eyebrow, walking beside her.

a few moments of silence pass, and then she leans in closer, gesturing for you to come down to her level. you crouch slightly, and aoki cups her hand to your ear, whispering with a mischievous giggle.

"papa has a really big crush on you," she whispers with a giggle, her eyes sparkling with secret joy.

"i-" you stammer, caught off guard by her words.

she smiles at your reaction, and you clear your throat, standing up straight again.

"does he now?" you ask, trying to sound casual.

"yup! he does." she grins. "he told me not to tell you..."

"then why did you?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

aoki shrugs and slides open the door to the classroom. as she rushes inside to join her friends, you try your best to remain composed, though your face feels flushed and your heart is racing.

did nanami kento really have a crush on you?

you try to brush it off, but the signs are hard to ignore - the lingering glances, the way your hands would brush against his when handing papers, the long chats after school... does it even mean anything? you’re just overthinking it, right? but then there are the little compliments on your hair, the way he sometimes stares at you when you’re not looking - though, if you’re being honest, you’re fully aware of it. it’s subtle, almost unnoticed, but you can feel it, that quiet tension between you.

and those moments when his eyes linger just a second too long, when his smile seems a little more personal than casual... you shake your head, trying to make sense of it, but your mind keeps wandering back to those moments.

is it really nothing, or is there something more? you don’t want to assume - maybe it’s just out of kindness, respect maybe? maybe it’s just him being considerate - but part of you can't help but wonder if there’s more behind those glances, those fleeting touches, than he's letting on.

you sigh, standing at the front of the class near the chalkboard. your eyes wander over the students, still chatting away, and your gaze lands on aoki, her bright smile as she talks with her friends.

"nanami kento..." you think to yourself.

you don't have a thing for him but...

the way he cares for his daughter? the way he protects her, loves her - his dedication to his daughter is truly admirable.

and, not to mention, he’s handsome in a way that seems almost unfair… the way his features catch the light, the quiet strength in his demeanor - it’s all so... captivating.

who are you kidding? you definitely have a thing for him.

you clear your throat and clap your hands together, grabbing the attention of your students.

"good morning, class." you say with smile.

"good morning, ms. y/n!" they reply in unison, their voices full of enthusiasm, as always.

@erensfeed hai pookie... don't kill me D;

ahh, i finally posted my (partial) debut post! :') hope you enjoyed reading! feel free to leave any feedback, suggestions, or requests!

12/13/2024 ♡ ihrtnanami

[scribbly-squid]

Anyone, Anything

Lucifer x F!Imp Reader

Lucifer's world is thrown into chaos when his wife, Lilith, announces she needs a break from their relationship. Her sudden departure leaves him reeling, clutching their infant daughter, Charlie, in his arms as he battles feelings of betrayal and heartbreak. Struggling to reconcile his emotions, he finds himself thrust into the challenges of parenthood alone - until he meets a fellow Hellborn who understands his struggles.

🌻I finally got this chapter finished. It took too long in my opinion, I kept rereading it and didn’t like how some parts sounded. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter / Masterlist

Chapter 1

“What do you think happened?”

You glanced over at Carrie, a fellow imp maid who’d become your closest companion since you started working at the Morningstar Manor. She stood with one hand on her hip, a mischievous gleam in her yellow eyes.

“About what?” you asked, your tone light as you continued sweeping the vast banquet hall. The gilded chandeliers overhead sparkled like constellations, but the heavy silence in the manor was impossible to ignore.

Carrie groaned dramatically, rolling her eyes. “You know…” She glanced around, making sure no one else was nearby before leaning in closer. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “About Lilith leaving.”

Your movements slowed just slightly, the broom catching against the polished marble floor. You straightened and looked up at her, feigning indifference. “I don’t know.”

Carrie narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms as she leaned against the handle of her feather duster. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me you haven’t noticed anything weird? The arguments? The way Lucifer’s been stomping around like a walking thunderstorm?”

You straightened, gripping the broom handle a little tighter. The mention of Lilith’s departure made your stomach twist. Of course you’d noticed the shift in the manor’s atmosphere—the tension so thick it felt like it could suffocate you. Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell and the most fearsome being you’d ever encountered, had been anything but his usual self.

“I try not to get involved in things that don’t concern me,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

Carrie let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “Don’t concern you? Girl, everything concerns you when you live under the same roof as him. Especially when you’re cleaning up after his messes.” She gestured vaguely to the ornate table behind you.

You sighed and turned back to your sweeping, but the knots in your chest only tightened. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t thought about it—hell, you’d overheard more than you cared to admit. The shouting matches, the muffled sobs, the tension that seemed to saturate the very air of the manor. Lilith’s departure hadn’t been a single event. It was a slow unraveling, weeks of barely-hidden turmoil that had finally snapped.

And then there was Charlie, their three-month-old daughter, who’d been thrust into Lucifer’s care. You’d seen him with her a few times. He tried, that much was clear, but he looked… lost. Out of place.

But it wasn’t your place to talk about it.

“I think it’s best we stick to our jobs,” you said carefully, focusing on the rhythmic sweep of the broom. “We’re here to clean, not to speculate.”

Carrie snorted, muttering something you couldn’t quite catch under her breath. But for once, she dropped the subject, moving off to dust one of the massive chandeliers.

The two of you worked in silence for a while, the occasional clang of cleaning tools echoing off the high ceilings. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of Charlie’s cries reached your ears. It tugged at something deep inside you—a strange mixture of pity and unease.

You shook the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. The Morningstar family’s affairs were none of your business.

“That should do it.” Carrie’s voice broke the silence. She stood back, brushing a stray feather from her duster as she surveyed the gleaming banquet hall. “Banquet hall’s clean. Mister Winfred will be satisfied.” She pulled a crumpled note from the pocket of her apron and squinted at the next item on the list. “Next up… the parlor room in the west wing.”

You groaned, leaning against your broom for support. “Are you kidding me? We’re on the complete opposite side of the manor! Isn’t there something else we can do here in the east wing?”

Carrie scanned the list, her lips moving silently as she read. After a moment, she shook her head. “Nope. Everything else is west wing. Looks like we’re walking.”

“Great,” you muttered, dragging the broom behind you as you followed her toward the door. The thought of trekking across the sprawling manor was exhausting enough, but the unspoken tension in the air made it worse. The weight of it pressed down on your shoulders like the suffocating heat of Hell itself.

You paused at the doorway, casting one last glance back at the room. The banquet hall gleamed, every surface spotless and perfect. But it was hard to ignore the feeling that no amount of cleaning could fix the fractures running through the Morningstar Manor.

As you and Carrie made your way toward the west wing, the faint sounds of Charlie’s crying grew louder, echoing through the long, marble-lined corridors. The noise tugged at your heart, each sob sharp and insistent, like a tiny dagger pricking your conscience. Before long, you found yourselves passing her nursery, the door slightly ajar. The room inside was dim, but you could make out the faint glow of a nightlight and the shadow of her crib.

Your hoovesteps slowed, hesitation creeping in. Should you check on her? The idea of Charlie crying alone made your stomach churn. You stopped, your hand twitching at your side as if to reach for the door.

But before you could take another step, Carrie grabbed the sleeve of your uniform, stopping you in your tracks. You turned to her, confused, only to find her shaking her head firmly.

“What if His Majesty got the wrong idea?” she whispered, her tone serious.

Her words sent a jolt through you. The last thing you wanted was to be caught somewhere you didn’t belong, especially by Lucifer Morningstar himself. You nodded reluctantly, even as every maternal instinct in you screamed to go inside.

Ignoring the pull in your chest, you forced yourself to follow Carrie, leaving the sounds of Charlie’s wails behind. Each step away from the nursery felt heavier than the last, but you kept your head down and your focus on the path ahead.

By the time you reached the parlor in the west wing, the cries still echoed in your mind, no matter how far you walked. Carrie was already at work, humming softly as she dusted an elaborate set of shelves lined with ancient books and strange artifacts. But you... you couldn’t focus. Your hands gripped the broom tightly, your tail flicking with unease as your thoughts spiraled.

“Hey, you alright?”

Carrie’s voice snapped you back to reality. You glanced up at her, startled, your tail instinctively curling around your ankles as if to ground you.

“Yeah,” you said softly, nodding. You forced a small smile, hoping it was convincing enough. “Just a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Carrie raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “Don’t let it get to you,” she said, returning to her dusting. “Things in this place are always messy, one way or another.”

Her words lingered as you turned back to your work, sweeping the intricate patterns of the parlor’s marble floor. But no matter how hard you tried to focus, the image of Charlie’s tiny, helpless form wouldn’t leave your mind. And somewhere, deep down, you wondered if anyone else in this entire manor felt the way you did.

“I’m fine… just noticed we left one of the buckets with some of our supplies back there,” you said, forcing a casual tone. Setting down the duster in your hand, you straightened up and glanced toward the door.

Carrie paused mid-dust, arching an eyebrow. “Really? I didn’t notice anything missing.”

“Well, I did,” you replied, your voice steady as you moved toward the exit. “I’ll go fetch them. Wouldn’t want Mister Winfred finding out we’ve left unsightly items lying around for guests or, worse, His Majesty to see.”

Before Carrie could object or ask questions, you slipped out of the parlor and into the hallway, your heart racing. Retracing your steps toward the banquet hall, you couldn’t shake the growing unease gnawing at you.

The sound of soft humming drifted down the corridor as you neared the nursery again, making you slow your pace. You stared at the slightly ajar door, your ears twitching to catch the tune. It wasn’t the usual stillness you associated with the nursery—it was soothing, low, almost angelic.

*He must have heard her crying and came to lull her back to sleep,* you thought, relaxing slightly.

Just as you turned to leave, Charlie’s wails broke through again, this time louder, more desperate. The sound startled you, and you froze in place.

“Oh, golly, what’s wrong, sweetie? You were falling back asleep…” Lucifer’s voice came next, carrying a hint of panic beneath his typically smooth tone.

Against your better judgment, your feet moved toward the door. Your curiosity—and that unshakable maternal instinct—got the better of you. Peering cautiously through the small opening, you caught sight of him. Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell himself, was pacing back and forth across the nursery. He cradled Charlie in his arms, his movements careful yet frantic as he hummed a soothing tune under his breath. His usually pristine suit was slightly disheveled, his bowtie loosened and his hair tousled from running his fingers through it.

It was a sight you never thought you’d witness. The fearsome ruler, looking utterly normal as he tried to console his infant daughter.

For a brief moment, you felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for him. He wasn’t just the all-powerful king you served; he was a father fumbling his way through the chaos Lilith had left behind.

But before you could linger any longer, a sharp throat-clearing behind you jolted you back to reality. Your entire body stiffened, and you turned slowly, dread pooling in your stomach.

Mister Winfred stood there, his gaze like daggers as he appraised you. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his posture was as rigid as always.

“And what exactly are you doing here, loitering outside His Majesty’s nursery?” he asked, his voice icy and clipped.

Your tail instinctively curled around your leg as you stumbled over your words. “I-I was just… I thought I heard—”

“Save your excuses,” he snapped, his lips pressing into a thin, unforgiving line. “You’re not paid to eavesdrop on matters that do not concern you. Get back to your duties before I report this breach of discipline to His Majesty.”

Your stomach dropped at the threat, the weight of his words hitting you like a blow. Bowing your head quickly, you stammered, “Y-Yes, Mister Winfred. Right away.”

Without another glance back at the nursery, you hurried down the hallway, your hooves clicking against the polished floor.

[ . . . ]

The cries echoed through the hall, dragging Lucifer from a rare, deep sleep. Groggy and disoriented, he reached instinctively for the space beside him—only to find it cold and empty. His fingers brushed the silken sheets, and a sharp ache of loss filled his chest. Lilith’s absence was still fresh, raw enough that every reminder felt like a blade twisting. With a weary sigh, he slipped his hooves into his soft duck slippers, the absurdity of the gesture lost on him as he accepted the tug back into harsh reality.

It had been less than forty eight hours since Lilith left, yet it felt like an eternity. The once vibrant and commanding aura of the Morningstar Manor now felt muted, its halls too quiet except for the cries of their infant daughter. His responsibilities as a father weighed heavily on his shoulders, and sleep had become a fleeting luxury. Whenever he closed his eyes, he was haunted by memories of Lilith’s departure, her face devoid of the warmth he once knew, her parting words cold and final.

Dragging himself down the dimly lit hallway, his tail trailed limply along the floor. The cries grew louder as he neared Charlie’s nursery, each sob pulling at a part of him he hadn’t known existed. This wasn’t just unfamiliar—it was uncharted territory. Fatherhood, single parenthood, the raw ache of abandonment… Every piece of it unraveled him in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

With a resigned exhale, Lucifer pushed open the nursery door and stepped inside. The soft glow of a nightlight bathed the room in a warm, golden hue, casting shadows on the walls adorned with delicate celestial designs. His daughter lay in her crib, her tiny face red and scrunched as she wailed, her tiny fists flailing. The sight softened something in him, a reminder that no matter how lost he felt, she was even more helpless.

“Alright, apple pie,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he scooped her up with practiced gentleness. “I’m here now.”

Charlie’s cries quieted slightly as he began to rock her, pacing the length of the nursery. His movements were slow and deliberate, a sharp contrast to the storm raging inside him. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a bottle of milk, its surface glinting faintly in the dim light. Holding her securely with one arm, he warmed the bottle with a soft, golden glow from his palm.

Once it was ready, he offered it to her, and she latched on eagerly, her sobs dissolving into quiet, rhythmic gulps. The room fell into a peaceful silence, broken only by the sound of her feeding. Lucifer sank into the rocking chair by the crib, cradling her close as he watched her eyes begin to flutter shut. A tender smile flickered across his lips, though it was weighed down by the shadows in his gaze.

“At least you’re still here,” he whispered, stroking her fine hair. “You’re the one thing keeping me sane in this mess.”

The quiet was broken by the sound of a throat clearing behind him. Lucifer’s head snapped toward the door, his crimson eyes narrowing dangerously. His aura darkened instinctively, a protective edge sharpening in his voice.

“And what exactly are you doing here?” he growled, his tone low and menacing.

Standing in the doorway, poised and unflinching, was Winfred. The imp butler’s expression remained neutral, but his piercing gaze met Lucifer’s without wavering. “My apologies for intruding, Your Majesty,” he began evenly, his hands clasped behind his back. “But I thought it prudent to check in, given recent… changes in the household.”

Lucifer’s annoyance flared, though he quickly turned his attention back to Charlie, who was drifting into a light slumber. He adjusted her position slightly, his movements careful and deliberate. “You have a habit of showing up uninvited, Winfred,” he muttered, his tone icy.

Winfred remained unfazed, his posture as rigid as ever. “A habit, perhaps, but a necessary one. With Lady Lilith gone and many of the staff following her or deserting their posts, someone must ensure that the manor—and its King—continues to function.”

At the mention of Lilith, Lucifer’s jaw tightened, and his tail flicked sharply against the floor. The betrayal still stung, even if he’d grown accustomed to hiding it. “The manor will survive,” he said curtly. “Hell will survive. Right now, she’s all that matters.”

His gaze dropped to Charlie, his voice softening instinctively as he held her close. For a moment, he wasn’t the King of Hell or the fearsome Morningstar; he was simply a father, cradling the one person who hadn’t abandoned him.

Winfred inclined his head, his tone calm but firm. “Of course, sir. However, there is a balance to be struck. Your responsibilities as a father are undeniable, but so are your duties as the ruler of Hell. Delegation, at least in part, may ease your burden.”

Lucifer exhaled sharply, his frustration mounting. “And what do you propose, Winfred? That I hand her off to someone else? That I treat her as an inconvenience like—” He stopped himself, the words catching in his throat.

Winfred’s expression softened just slightly, his tone almost understanding. “No, sir. I propose finding someone trustworthy to assist you. Not to replace you, but to ensure that you can balance both roles. Hell may wait, but it won’t wait forever.”

Lucifer’s gaze lingered on Charlie’s peaceful face, his tail curling protectively around the base of the chair. The thought of entrusting her care to anyone else gnawed at him, but he couldn’t ignore the truth in Winfred’s words.

“If you truly believe there’s someone capable of earning my trust, then perhaps,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less commanding. Rising from the rocking chair, he adjusted Charlie in his arms, her tiny form nestled against his chest. “But for now, leave us.”

Winfred bowed deeply, his movements fluid and respectful. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” With that, he turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving Lucifer alone in the golden glow of the nursery.

He looked down at Charlie, a rare, soft smile gracing his lips as he stroked her hair. “It’s just you and me now, apple pie,” he murmured. “And I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

[ . . . ]

Once you grabbed the bucket from the banquet hall, you made your way back to the parlor, your mind still reeling from the earlier conversation with Winfred. The butler’s words weighed heavy, and though you tried to shake them off, they lingered like an unwelcome shadow.

As you entered the parlor, Carrie was finishing dusting the last of the shelves. She glanced over her shoulder and smirked. "Wasn’t sure when you’d be back," she said, her tone teasing.

"Sorry," you muttered, setting the bucket down. "I bumped into Winfred on the way there."

Carrie winced, her tail flicking nervously. "Oof. That explains the look on your face. What did the old grump want this time?"

You hesitated, debating how much to reveal. "Nothing much," you lied, grabbing a rag from the bucket and moving toward a nearby table. "Just reminded me to stay on task. You know how he is."

Carrie snorted, rolling her eyes. "Sounds about right. He’s always lurking around like he’s got nothing better to do than breathe down our necks."

She hopped down from the stool she’d been using to reach the higher shelves, dusting off her apron with exaggerated annoyance. "Last time, he scolded me for ‘improper posture’ while dusting. Posture! Who cares about posture when you’re cleaning?"

Her dramatic reenactment of Winfred’s scowl drew a genuine laugh from you, momentarily easing the tension you’d been carrying since your run-in with the butler.

"Alright," Carrie said, stretching her arms above her head. "We’ve got one last thing on the list—"

A knock at the door interrupted her, and both of you turned toward the sound.

Standing in the doorway was Guthrie, a cheerful imp who worked in the kitchen. He offered you both a friendly smile. "Good afternoon, ladies. Just checking in on how you’re doing."

Carrie raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "What? Winfred’s too busy, so he sent you to spy on us?"

Guthrie chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not spying, no. Well, maybe a little. He’s rounding up what’s left of the staff for a meeting."

Your brows furrowed. "What for? Is someone in trouble?"

Carrie scoffed, her tail flicking dismissively. "When isn’t someone in trouble with that shriveled imp?"

Guthrie shifted awkwardly, glancing between the two of you. "I don’t know the details, but he specifically asked for everyone to gather. You two should come along."

Reluctantly, you exchanged a look with Carrie before following Guthrie out of the parlor and down the hall. The tension in the air thickened as you approached the kitchen, where the remaining servants had gathered. Whispers filled the room, but they fell silent when Winfred stepped onto a crate to address the group.

The butler’s stern gaze swept over the assembled staff, his hands clasped behind his back. "Thank you for arriving promptly," he began, his tone clipped and commanding.

"As many of you are aware, Lady Lilith is no longer residing in the manor. Some of you witnessed her departure; others have heard rumors. Regardless, this is a private matter, and discretion is paramount. His Majesty does not wish for this information to leave these walls."

A ripple of unease passed through the room. One of the younger imps raised a trembling hand. "But… what about the staff who left? Won’t they spread word about what happened?"

Winfred’s expression darkened, his crimson eyes narrowing. "Those who abandoned their posts have forfeited their loyalty to this household—and the protection it offers. His Majesty will address them in due time. For now, your focus should remain on your duties. His Majesty and young Miss Charlie are our priorities. Am I clear?"

A chorus of uneasy nods followed, though the tension in the room remained palpable.

"You are dismissed," Winfred said sharply, stepping down from the crate.

The staff began to disperse, their murmured conversations resuming as they filed out of the kitchen. You turned to leave with Carrie, but Winfred’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Y/N, a moment."

Your stomach dropped, and you exchanged a worried glance with Carrie before turning back to face the butler. "Yes, sir?"

Winfred regarded you with his usual composed demeanor, though his piercing gaze seemed to weigh you down. "You will assist His Majesty with Miss Charlie. Effective immediately."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you struggled to find your voice. "W-what? Why me? I’m just a maid—I barely know anything about…" You trailed off, unsure how to phrase it without sounding defiant.

"Precisely," Winfred replied, his tone unyielding. "You are unassuming, diligent, and discreet. His Majesty requires someone who can balance attentiveness with subtlety, and you have demonstrated those qualities."

You hesitated, your mind racing. This wasn’t what you’d signed up for. You’d come to the Morningstar Manor to escape your past, to provide for your son without drawing attention to yourself. Now, Winfred was thrusting you into the center of the Morningstars’ inner circle.

"But… I’m not sure I’m the right person for this," you said weakly.

Winfred tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening just enough to unsettle you. "You have a son, do you not? Five years old, if I’m not mistaken."

Your blood ran cold. "That’s none of your business," you said sharply, though your voice wavered.

The butler’s calm expression didn’t falter. "Perhaps not. But I believe your experience as a mother will serve you well in caring for Miss Charlie. You understand the stakes better than most."

Anger and fear churned in your chest. "You can’t just… use that against me!"

"I’m not using anything against you," Winfred said evenly. "I’m offering you an opportunity to prove your worth—to His Majesty, to this household, and to yourself."

You clenched your fists, glancing away. Images of your son filled your mind, his laughter, his smile. You’d made sacrifices to ensure his safety, to keep him hidden. Refusing this assignment could risk everything.

"Fine," you said quietly, your voice laced with reluctant resolve. "I’ll do it."

"Good," Winfred said with a curt nod. "You’ll begin immediately. His Majesty is in the nursery. Introduce yourself and make yourself useful."

As you turned to leave, you paused, glancing back at Winfred. "And if he doesn’t want me there?"

The butler’s gaze was steady. "He will. He may not realize it yet, but His Majesty needs help. Even the Morningstar has limits."

With a heavy heart, you made your way toward the nursery, each step feeling heavier than the last. You could only hope that stepping into this new role wouldn’t unravel the delicate balance you’d fought so hard to maintain.

You inhaled deeply, steeling yourself before heading down the hall. Every step felt heavier than the last, your mind racing with what awaited you in the nursery. As you neared the corridor, you spotted Carrie fussing with some picture frames hanging on the wall, clearly stalling to catch you on your way out.

The moment she caught sight of you, she bounded over, her tail swishing nervously behind her.

“What in Satan’s name was that about?” she demanded, her voice a mix of curiosity and worry.

You avoided her gaze, keeping your expression as neutral as possible. “It was… nothing. Winfred gave me a new task to do, nothing more.” Your tone was curt, and you resumed walking further down the hall, hoping she’d take the hint and drop it.

“Nothing?” she repeated, hurrying to keep pace with you. “I thought he was going to skin you alive! What did you do? Forget to polish the silver? Spill something in the banquet hall? Oh, wait—don’t tell me it was because of the time I—”

“It wasn’t about any of that,” you interrupted sharply, cutting her off before she could start confessing to crimes you didn’t want to hear about.

Carrie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she darted ahead to block your path, forcing you to stop. “Uh-uh. You don’t get to brush me off like that. What did he want?”

You hesitated, weighing your words carefully. Carrie had been your closest friend in the manor, but even she didn’t know the full truth about your past—or your son. "It’s nothing you need to worry about, Carrie," you said firmly. "I have it handled."

Her tail flicked, and her brow furrowed as she crossed her arms. “Oh, really? Because you’ve got that look on your face. You know, the one you get when something’s bothering you but you’re too stubborn to say anything.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "It’s just… Winfred assigned me to assist with Miss Charlie."

Carrie’s jaw dropped, her tail stilled in disbelief. "What? You? Of all the imps in this cursed place?"

"Yes, me," you said dryly, stepping around her to continue down the hall.

"But why?" she pressed, falling into step beside you. "You’re not even a nanny! I mean, I’m sure you’re good with kids, sure, but this is different. This is the Morningstar’s kid! If you so much as sneeze wrong, he’ll—"

"Carrie," you interrupted, your voice laced with irritation. "I don’t have a choice, okay? Winfred made it clear this isn’t optional."

She fell silent for a moment, processing your words. Then, with a sly smirk, she elbowed you gently. "So, you’re telling me you’re going to be spending quality time with the big boss himself? Maybe you’ll even get on his good side."

You shot her a look. "That’s not how this works, and you know it."

Carrie shrugged, the smirk never leaving her face. "Hey, I’m just saying—if anyone can charm a grumpy king, it’s you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," you muttered, quickening your pace.

As you neared the nursery door, Carrie finally stopped trailing you, her teasing expression softening. “Hey… seriously, though. If you need anything—or if it gets to be too much—just let me know, okay? You don’t have to deal with this alone.”

You paused, her words catching you off guard. Turning to face her, you managed a small, genuine smile. “Thanks, Carrie. I’ll keep that in mind.”

With a deep breath, you pushed open the door to the nursery, stepping into its quiet warmth. The room was dimly lit, with soft golden hues spilling from a nearby lamp. Inside, Lucifer sat in a rocking chair, his posture both regal and relaxed as he cradled Charlie against his chest. The infant was sound asleep, her tiny hand clutching the edge of his jacket.

Lucifer’s gaze shifted to you the moment you entered, his crimson eyes sharp and watchful. There was no mistaking the subtle narrowing of his gaze, the unmistakable glint of protective wariness that only a father could carry.

Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “Your Majesty,” you said softly, inclining your head in a respectful bow. “Winfred sent me. He thought you might need… assistance.”

Lucifer’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, the air in the room seemed to grow heavier, his presence suffocating in its intensity. “Did he, now?” he said coolly, his deep voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. “And what makes him think I need *help*?”

You hesitated, carefully choosing your next words. “He thought… perhaps it might ease your burden, even just a little. Raising a child is no small task, especially with everything else you’re managing.”

The room fell silent, save for the faint, rhythmic sound of Charlie’s breathing. You could feel the weight of Lucifer’s scrutiny, his piercing gaze dissecting every word, every twitch of your expression.

At last, his eyes dropped to the sleeping infant in his arms. His features softened imperceptibly, the harsh lines of his face easing just slightly. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, though no less commanding. “And what experience do you have with children?”

Your heart pounded, memories of your son flickering through your mind like a distant flame. “I… I’ve cared for children before,” you said carefully, the words deliberate as you skirted around the full truth. “Being an older sister, I’ve learned how to handle their needs. I’m… patient.”

Lucifer studied you for a long moment, his tail swishing lazily behind him, though his gaze remained sharp and calculating. The seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity before he finally exhaled, a low sigh that carried both weariness and reluctant acceptance.

“Fine,” he said at last, though his tone remained guarded. “But don’t worry about today. You’re free to go.”

Relief washed over you, though you kept your expression neutral. You bowed respectfully. “Of course, Your Majesty. Thank you.”

Lucifer didn’t respond, his attention already returning to his daughter as he gently adjusted the blanket around her. You took that as your cue to leave, stepping back into the hallway and closing the door quietly behind you.

As the door clicked shut, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You made your way toward the staff area where everyone’s lockers were tucked away. The dimly lit corridor offered a brief respite from the tension you’d been carrying, though your chest still felt tight. Slipping inside the locker room, you let out a heavy sigh, the weight of the day pressing down on you.

You quickly began to change out of your uniform, swapping it for your usual attire. As the fabric slid off your shoulders, the familiar comfort of your clothes helped ease some of your nerves. Tugging your shirt over your head, you brushed your hair back, smoothing the strands that had been tousled and fixing the bits that stubbornly pricked upward at the base of your horns.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed someone entering the room. Carrie stepped in, her arms folded, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. She caught your gaze and gave you a small nod.

“Hey…” you greeted softly, your voice subdued as you grabbed your bag to stow away your dirty uniform.

“Hey yourself,” Carrie replied, leaning casually against one of the lockers, though the tilt of her tail betrayed her curiosity. “You okay? You looked like you were walking to your own execution earlier.”

You let out a dry chuckle, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you muttered, shoving the uniform into your bag.

“Well, I mean, you walked into the devil’s den,” Carrie teased lightly, though her tone grew more serious. “So? How bad was it? Did Lucifer breathe fire? Throw you out the window? Blink and disintegrate you?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, nothing like that. He was… intense, sure. But he didn’t kill me.” You slung your bag over your shoulder, leaning back against the locker with a sigh. “He’s just… protective. Can’t really blame him for that.”

Carrie studied you for a moment, her usual snark giving way to genuine concern. “Still, that’s no small thing—being asked to help with his kid. Winfred must think you’ve got nerves of steel or something.”

“More like he didn’t give me a choice,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “It’s not like I volunteered for this.”

Carrie tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “You sure you don’t think it’s a punishment or something, do you? Like, ‘Hey, you annoyed me today, so go deal with the King of Hell’s kid’?”

You shook your head, though her words made you pause. “No… I don’t think so. Winfred was weirdly insistent, like he thought I’d be good at it. It’s just—” You hesitated, the weight of your secret hanging heavily on your mind. “It’s a lot.”

Carrie gave you a long look, her tail flicking thoughtfully. “Well, if anyone can handle it, it’s you. You’ve got that whole ‘calm under pressure’ thing going on. Plus, you’re good with kids… right?”

Her words struck a chord, and you glanced away, pretending to adjust the strap of your bag. “I guess,” you said quietly.

Carrie didn’t push further, instead offering a small smile. “Well, good luck with it. If nothing else, you’ll get some great stories out of it. ‘The Day I Survived Lucifer Morningstar’ has a nice ring to it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head. “Thanks, Carrie. That’s… oddly encouraging.”

“Anytime,” she said, giving you a playful salute as she turned to head toward her locker.

As you made your way out of the staff area, her words lingered in your mind. Despite the weight of the task ahead, there was a strange sense of resolve building within you. Whatever came next, you’d face it—one day at a time.

"I’ll see you later," you said, managing a small smile, though exhaustion was already tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"See you later!" Carrie called back, her voice cheerful as she headed in the opposite direction, her tail swishing as she disappeared down the corridor.

You sighed softly, adjusting your bag’s strap and stepping out into the streets of Hell. The evening air was heavy with the scent of sulfur, mingling with the distant din of chatter and the occasional scream. Finally, you spotted the bus stop just up ahead and felt a wave of relief at the sight of the bench waiting for you.

I can finally rest my feet, you thought, eager for even a moment’s reprieve after such a long day.

But, as luck would have it, your relief was short-lived. A hulking shark demon plopped down on the bench just as you approached, sprawling out and taking up every inch of space. His massive tail swayed lazily, nearly knocking over the trash can beside him.

You stopped in your tracks, an internal groan echoing in your head. Great.

Awkwardly, you hovered a few feet away, clutching the strap of your bag a little tighter. The demon glanced up, his beady black eyes locking onto you, and a slow, toothy grin spread across his face. You could feel the weight of his gaze, predatory and calculating, making your skin crawl. Still, you kept your eyes straight ahead, trying to focus on the road.

Hailing a cab wasn’t an option—you’d spent nearly every spare cent on bills and essentials for your son. That left you with one uncomfortable choice: waiting here in silence, no matter how unnerving it felt.

“Just wait it out,” you muttered under your breath, casting another hopeful glance down the road. The bus had to show up soon, right?

The demon’s grin widened, his jagged teeth gleaming in the dim light. “What? Too good to sit by me, girlie?” he sneered, his voice deep and mocking.

You stiffened but didn’t look at him. “Just waiting for the bus,” you replied evenly, keeping your tone calm and distant.

Your tail swished behind you, betraying your unease as you heard the demon shift on the bench. His heavy footsteps thudded against the ground as he stood, his towering shadow falling over you.

Fuck me, you thought, shoulders tensing as you braced yourself for whatever was coming next.

The demon leaned closer, his breath foul with the stench of decay and whatever he’d eaten last. “Waiting for the bus, huh?” he rumbled, his voice dripping with amusement. “Seems to me you’ve got nothing better to do. How ’bout keeping me company, sweetheart?”

You shifted your weight, gripping your bag tightly. “I’d rather not,” you said sharply, forcing yourself to remain composed as your eyes flicked to the horizon.

Where is that damn bus?

He laughed, a low, guttural sound that sent a chill up your spine. “Aw, don’t be like that. Bet you’re more fun than you look,” he teased, his grin widening as he leaned in even closer.

Your patience snapped like a taut wire. Turning sharply, you finally met his gaze, your eyes narrowing. “Back off,” you said, your voice firm and unwavering. Your tail cracked loudly like a whip, the sharp sound cutting through the tension. “I’m not interested. Move along.”

For a moment, the demon looked surprised, his grin faltering. Then he laughed again, louder this time, a sound that grated against every nerve in your body.

But before he could say anything else, the rumble of the bus engine filled the air. The headlights cut through the haze, and the bus rolled to a stop with a hiss, its doors creaking open. Relief flooded you as you stepped forward quickly, ignoring the demon entirely.

“Catch you later, sweetheart,” he called after you, but you didn’t spare him a glance as you climbed aboard, finding a seat near the middle of the bus.

Sinking into the worn cushion, you let out a long breath, the tension finally melting from your shoulders. You glanced out the window, catching a glimpse of the shark demon glaring after you, his face twisted in annoyance.

Safe at last, you leaned back and allowed yourself a moment to relax. The familiar sights of I.M.P City rolled past the window, the vibrant chaos of Hell’s streets a strange sort of comfort. As the bus rumbled along, a small smile tugged at your lips. Home was close, but there was one more stop to make before you could call it a day.

Pulling out your phone, you tapped out a quick message to your son’s babysitter, confirming that everything was still fine on that front. Within moments, a thumbs-up notification popped up, and you felt a surge of gratitude.

The bus slowed to a stop, and you hopped off, your shoes clicking against the pavement as you made your way to the nearby grocery store. The doors slid open with a mechanical hum, and you stepped inside, heading directly for the aisle you needed.

Your hand found the familiar box on the shelf, and you smiled faintly, tossing it into your basket. It wasn’t much, but it was one of your son’s favorites—something small to make him smile after a long day.

After a quick trip through self-checkout, you stepped back out into the warm evening air, the receipt crinkling in your pocket. With your purchase in hand, you started the final leg of your journey, your thoughts already drifting to the warmth of home and the sound of your son’s laughter.

No matter how difficult the day had been, you reminded yourself, it was worth it for him. Always.

As you rounded the corner, your apartment building came into view—a modest structure that had seen better days. The paint was peeling, the windows were slightly fogged, and the steps groaned underfoot, but it was yours. No palace in Hell could match the comfort of the home you’d built within these walls.

You climbed the familiar flights of stairs, each creak of the wood a sound you could trace blindfolded. At the top, you paused in front of your door, the muffled sounds of cartoons and soft giggles filtering through. A smile tugged at your lips as you pulled out your keys and unlocked the door.

The hinges squeaked as the door swung open, and the lively chatter of the cartoon characters greeted you, mingled with the unmistakable sound of your son’s giggles. The sight of him on the living room floor, cross-legged with his favorite plush toy clutched in his tiny hands, made your heart swell. His eyes, wide and bright, flicked to you instantly, and his face lit up with sheer joy, revealing his sharp little teeth in a grin that mirrored yours.

“Mama!” he cried, springing to his feet with surprising speed and charging toward you, his small arms spread wide.

You crouched just in time to scoop him into your arms, holding him tight as his arms wrapped around your neck. The exhaustion from your day faded into nothing against the warmth of his embrace. "Hey, sweetheart," you murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Were you good for Ms. Ella?"

He nodded so enthusiastically you thought his head might pop off, and from the kitchen, you heard a chuckle. Turning your head, you saw Ms. Ella wiping her hands on a dishtowel as she stepped into view. Her kind, wrinkled face softened as she watched the two of you.

“An absolute devil, as always,” she said with a knowing smile. “He helped me set the table for his snack earlier. I’d say you’ve got a proper little gentleman in the making.”

You laughed, ruffling his messy hair, and he beamed with pride. “Couldn’t do it without him,” you said, your tone warm as you gently set him down. Reaching into your bag, you pulled out Ms. Ella’s payment for the evening, handing it to her with a grateful nod.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Ella. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She waved her hand dismissively, her smile unwavering. “Oh, it’s no trouble at all, dear. He’s a delight, as always. You just make sure you get some rest tonight, alright?”

“I will,” you promised, seeing her out with a final wave.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, your son tugged on your sleeve, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Mama, can I have it now? Pleeease?”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion. “Have what, exactly?”

He pointed at your grocery bag, practically bouncing on his toes. “The Greed Seeds! I saw them!”

You laughed, reaching into the bag and pulling out the small box. His delighted gasp filled the room, and he clapped his hands together like he’d just won the lottery. “Yes!”

“After dinner,” you said firmly, holding the box just out of reach as he pouted dramatically. You scooped him up again, carrying him toward the kitchen. “Now, how about you help me cook tonight, huh? Chef’s assistant, as always?”

He nodded eagerly, the pout vanishing as he threw his arms around your neck again. Together, you began working on a simple dinner, with him passing you ingredients and ‘taste-testing’ bits of veggies when he thought you weren’t looking.

The kitchen was small, but it felt vast and alive with the sound of his laughter. When the food was ready, the two of you sat down to eat at the little table by the window. The meal was simple but hearty, and as you listened to him animatedly describe the latest episode of his favorite cartoon, you couldn’t stop smiling.

It wasn’t a glamorous life, but it was your life. Every late shift, every exhausting day, every run-in with the rougher parts of Hell—it was all worth it for this.

Later, after dinner was cleaned up and his small hands had claimed their prize—much to his uncontainable delight—you tucked him into bed. He clutched his favorite plush toy tightly, his eyelids heavy but his grin still bright.

“Love you, Mama,” he whispered sleepily, his voice barely audible as he snuggled into the blankets.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” you replied, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead before pressing a kiss there. “Sweet dreams.”

As you turned off the light and quietly shut the door behind you, you stood for a moment in the silence of your small apartment. Exhausted but content, you let out a long breath and smiled.

This was home. And nothing else mattered.

Tag list: @diffidentphantom

[rinrinx2]

Could you do something where reader takes renzo shopping with her and she's at sephora for the last place and she takes him in the Nars section and she tries to cover his eyes so he doesn't see the makeup names and when they get home he blurts a name out from bars dyk what I mean ?

Your wish is my command 🫶

.

Reading is fundamental

Rindou x reader

Warnings: innapropriate language, none really

Going shopping with Renzo wasn't an uncommon thing to do. You and Rindou brought him almost everywhere that allowed children. So, when Rindou had told you that he had business to attend to with Ran and that you would need to take him with you to the mall you had no complaints. It would just be a mall outing for the two of you.

You and Renzo had started off strong at the mall, going from store to store with little fuss. Renzo wasn't really a nagging child and you where forever grateful for that, making your shopping experience a lot easier than most moms with kids.

You and Renzo were continue your shopping journey, as the two of you walked passed Sephora. Stopping in your tracks you decided to go inside, but before you entered you had spoken to the little boy who held your hand with his own smaller one.

"Ren honey, don't touch the things in store" you said in a tender voice warning the young boy to be wary of the items. You knew Renzo was at that curious age were anything shiny he needed to touch, and the last thing you needed was him breaking a foundation bottle and you have to pay for it.

The small boy nodded in understanding, as the two of you entered. you walked passed the various sections in the store, looking at the different lipsticks, eyeshadows, facial lotions and concealers, with Renzo following you. The little boy eyeing all the colourful items but not daring to touch them as to test your warning.

"You think this colour looks pretty on mommy?" You asked the little boy as you puckered your lips at him, watching as he giggled.

"Maybe no" He answered honestly.

"Ouch, didn't realise you were as truthful as you uncle Ran" You replied back putting the lipstick back on its place.

You and Renzo continued walking, deciding to go to the Nars section hoping to find a lipstick or blush, as you were quite fond of their products.

You had arrived in the Nars section, finding where the lipsticks were. You let go of Renzo's hand reminding him of your warning.

"Remember no touching" you reminded him as you went to try on the lipstick in your hand infant of the small vanity mirror.

While you were preoccupied Renzo had taken a few steps away from you, not to far for concern but still a good distance.

Your words played over in Renzo's head.

'No touching'

But you never said that he couldn't read the product names, as the shiny packaging had his full attention. You see as much as Renzo was at the age of curiosity he was also at the age were he could read and thanks to you and Rindou putting him into a prestige school his reading skills was remarkable something that you were proud of.

You looked away from the mirror to show Renzo the new lip colour you dawned, but when you turned you realised the young boy was no longer where you left him. Panicking when you walked around the aisle to find your son holding a box as more panic set in as you feared he would drop the item, but before you could even get a word out you heard the little boys voice.

"DEEP THROAT BLUSH!" the little boy loudly read, as nearly every woman in the store turned their heads looking at Renzo.

"Renzo" you whispered quietly trying to get the boys attention without gaining anymore.

As you continued to walk over towards him you watched him pick up another makeup product, and you watched as his mouth opened and you felt your legs speed up in pacing. Hand out about to grab him when you heard.

"ORGASM BLUSH"

And once again all eyes were on Renzo and now on you.

"Put it down honey, and lets go" you said urging the boy on to put the blush back as you grabbed his hand and went to the counter to pay for your things so that you could leave with whatever little dignity you had left.

You stood at the counter paying for your items while Renzo looked around the shop. You had just finished swiping your card when you felt a little tug on your jacket, when you heard the question.

"WHAT IS BETTER THAN SEX MAS- KAR- RA?" Renzo asked loud and clear.

You gave the cashier a smile grabbing your bags, seeing the young woman pull her face into a tight smile as blush rose to her cheeks at your sons question.

You grabbed Renzo and made your way out of Sephora, mentally noting that you'd never take Renzo there again.

"So, how was your day champ?" Rindou asked the young boy who messily ate his spaghetti.

"It was fun" The little boy replied not even looking at his father as he pulled a spaghetti high up in the air.

"We had too much fun" you said looking over at your husband with that expression that already told him you were drained from today.

"I think I'm going to take a bath after dinner"

"You deserve one baby" Rindou said with a smile.

Rindou looked over at Renzo seeing that the boy was occupied with his pasta not even noticing the two of you as Rindou whispered over towards you.

"And when I put champ to bed maybe I can join you"

You smiled at Rindou's words, as you felt heat rise to your cheeks, and then

"SEX BOMB" Renzo said loud, Rindou froze internally freaking out wondering how his son heard him whisper that to you.

"A bath bomb you should use that for you bath mommy"

.

.

.

Hope you liked it

All rights reserved to @rinrinx2

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

TW: detailed description of: violence, scars. mentions of: domestic violence, overdose, infant death, family death. a man's way of thinking.

[Please read while listening to this.]

“Simon me boy, ye need to burn to survive in this world.”

Once, a horrible man, with breath tainted by the acrid stench of tobacco mixed with the remnants of a newly drained liquor bottle, said to Simon. Bloody ‘ell, the amount of shit that came out of that bastard’s mouth, acting like he was some kind of philosopher instead of a wife-beating alcoholic who made his sons’ lives a living hell.

Young Simon didn't understand what it meant; he couldn't think much other than that his father was telling him to burn himself alive. Something he would do, something he would find temporary pleasure in until he stole the next alcohol money his wife earned during her 12-hour nursing shift.

Entering his teenage years, he didn’t think much of those words anymore, thinking of them as just another addition to the incredible amount of shite that came outta that bastard’s mouth.

But it returned when he joined the military. He thought that's it—that “burn” his father spoke of was the passion to serve, to protect. To combat the injustices that had lingered since the dawn of time. He wanted to be the one to make at least one change, a difference. To be the best. It served him well, that fire, all through his rookie training.

Or was it fury?

That white-hot rage that burned his gut, driving him forward as the soil crumbled and leaked through the planks of his coffin. It was that very rage that kept him alive, even when he was condemned to suffocate in his own grave. The spark coursing through his red blood cells, filling his fingertips as he dug with someone else’s jawbone for thirteen hours.

It was his unbridled fury that had stayed steadfast by him when he pledged his vengeance for the blood of his family. It was fury that had carried him out of Roba's burning mansion—another one to add to his record of outwitting the Grim Reaper.

Simon went on with his life thinking that that was it—he needed to stay angry to survive in this world. Nothing else matters but getting out, getting vengeance for every cut, every drop of crimson on the dirty tile beneath his combat boots. He had nothing left to fight for—no family, no home to protect anymore. So, fury had to be the answer. Simon just had to stay an angry man.

And he grew rotten. A stray dog always baring his canines. Ill-suited for domestic life, dropping in only when he needed sustenance—something, anything to hold between his teeth to chew and tear.

Those fingers were corrosive—fluoroantimonic acid in human form, but he did his job even better than he had when he was Simon Riley. Perhaps it was his identity that held him back. Now that he was just an old soul in miraculously intact flesh, there was nothing chaining his feet.

Simon is given three primary roles: hunter, judge, executioner.

Meeting his towering figure means never going home again—any poor bastard who has crossed paths with him is presumed dead. For he has grown rotten; sometimes more corrosive than fluoroantimonic acid, even. He gets the job done, quick and clean.

Simon Riley walks through this world in fury. He is fully conscious, with a dying heart that still beats, filled with deep, deep envy for those who don't have to be angry all the time. Because as much as he needs to keep burning, this is not something he does willingly. It leaves more harm than good. But men like him never have a choice.

Because the pain reminded him that he was alive.

With every blow of the gunstock to the back of his head, he was reminded again and again. As his fist swung at the other guy and the knuckles beneath his gloves connected with a jaw, he was reminded again and again that he was alive.

Simon still hadn’t decided whether he was the luckiest or unluckiest bastard alive.

To be tortured, only to realize that he had survived worse—that he would survive this one and would have to live through the aftermath. And so on until it created a never-ending loop of hell that felt like some twisted form of divine retribution.

“Simon me boy, ye need to burn to survive in this world.”

It was just one of the many bollocks his father spouted. The old man probably wanted to leave some grand, motivational words—to leave a mark. But the truth is, he didn’t need to do that. He’d left enough on him. Like all the times Simon stood in front of the mirror, shaving cream around his jaw—almost scared the shit out of his own mum, thinking he was his father.

And he despised that—the fact that he would be reminded of that pathetic excuse for a father for the rest of his life. That even after years since his father left home to lie in the hospital, counting his days from that bloody cancer, his mother still had the same fear every time she saw his father in him.

“Simon me boy, ye need to burn to survive in this world.”

He needs to burn.

He needs to…

Burn.

The burning ember at the end of the cigar flares up as Price takes a deep drag of it, holding it in the cave of his mouth before exhaling the remaining smoke and mixing it with the alcoholic aroma of a London pub they visited to “celebrate” another successful mission.

As if this was anything close to a celebration. Though Gaz and Soap were indeed deep in their pints and laughing like a pair of drunken fools, the way the Captain and Kate Laswell bend close together tells him that they have already begun discussing some hints about the next op.

Simon massaged the bridge of his nose, feeling the unfamiliar emptiness where his hard-plate mask would usually dig, but instead he found wire beneath the polypropylene. He tapped his fingers boredly on the aged wood, feeling the itch to hold a cold glass in his grasp but having decided not to order anything—there was no point; he wasn’t really planning on staying for too long anyway.

Instead, he tried to find a distraction by doing what he did best – people watching. He watched the bartender serve some fancy cocktail to two birds at the end of the bar, probably those fruity, overpriced drinks that made his throat sore.

Turning his gaze to the far corner, he saw a couple sitting in awkward silence. Looks like some first date gone wrong—judging from the bloke's fidgeting and the lass staring down at her drink, not saying a word. Bloody painful to watch.

Simon glances out the window, watching the steady stream of more people passing by. London is always busy, no matter the time of the day. A city of millions, with each person having their own life, their own stories—the things they wake up to and go to sleep to.

Often, he compares it to old, half-dead Manchester for familiarities, something that might help him blend in with this city. But it’s always the same ending—the differences far outweigh anything he recognizes. The bright lights, the bustling streets, the life—all of it foreign. Seems like the gritty, depressing streets of his youth still suit him after all.

For an hour, he sat there before feeling himself growing more and more restless. Finally, he pushed himself up, ready to make his escape. Soap and Gaz protested, which he ignored before he gave a nod to Price and Laswell, who didn't question him further, already knowing him well enough by now whenever he wasn't in the mood for socializing.

Simon made his way towards the door, stepping out into the soaked streets of London. The rain is coming down hard, and judging from the dark clouds hanging low, it's only going to get worse and more gloomy. Finally, something that reminded him of Manchester.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he walked beneath the raging sky, trying his best to stay under the awnings and overhangs whenever he could. Droplets of water began to wet his leather jacket, but he kept walking, deliberately letting the rain soak him to the bone.

Self-preservation kicked in as he turned the corner onto another block; Simon was about to try to flag down a cab. However, his eyes landed on a lone figure, almost blending into the shadows, standing under the awning of some shop, trying to stay dry.

Simon knows he wasn't a good man, sure as hell not a gentleman. So is this sudden surge of concern some sort of sympathy, or is it because of all the times he's played the hero—saving countries from missiles, taking down terrorists, all that stuff—that now he can’t turn it off? He walks, long strides stretched out without hesitation even when he knows he’s more likely to do her harm than good—as evidenced by the growing fear in her eyes, her whole body tensing up like a frightened rabbit.

“Nasty night.” He said, being first for the sake of a conversation. That's new.

“Uh, y-yes, quite a storm,” she stammers out, those big doe eyes of hers flickering up to meet his for just a moment before darting away again.

And bloody hell, if that doesn't just about do him in. The way she tried so hard to act innocent, as if she hadn’t just snuck a glance at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Sweet little thing. It’s enough to set his blood on fire.

“Subway, yeah?”

“Yes, the subway. Though it may be closed by now with the weather.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, taking one out and lighting it. The familiar burn and taste of nicotine soothed his nerves, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why he was so bloody on edge in the first place. He had planned to avoid any socializing tonight—that’s why he left the lads so quickly, trying to get back to his blessed silence.

And yet, here he was, in the middle of a storm, talking to a strange bird he didn't even know.

It wasn’t like he was looking for a quick fuck or anything like that—he really wasn’t in the mood for any of that tonight. So why? He took a long, slow drag of his cigarette. Do you enjoy playing savior, Simon? To make sure she gets home safe and sound before a bad man comes?

And who’s to say he’s not the bad man in question?

“Subway's closed, like you said. No sense waiting in the wet.” He threw his cigarette butt into the gutter. “Come on then. Pub's the best place for now.”

The woman shook her head, managing a small smile. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I'll be right here. Best not to trouble you further on such a night.”

Smart girl, he admitted. Turning down offers from a sketchy-looking man like himself—she has a good head on her shoulders. But as he watched the rain pouring down and the wind howling louder, he couldn't help but wonder if her self-preservation only applied to men and not to the bloody storm and the fever she's definitely going to get if she keeps on insisting on staying here.

“Really, I’ll be fine,” she said, trying to force a laugh. “The rain can’t last forever.”

And he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed at her refusal. But there was a crack in her answer—the way she wasn’t entirely sure, the uncertainty clear as day. He knew the kind like her, the ones who needed someone to turn their back on them and walk away to make them think they’d made the wrong choice.

It’s just how some humans operate, and he’s eager to test that theory.

“Suit yourself, love,” he said, watching her eyes widen slightly. "But you'll catch your death waiting in the rain."

Simon started to take a few steps away, counting the seconds in his head. One, two, three…

“Wait!”

When he heard it, he felt a victorious feeling swell up inside. Pausing like some considerate, concerned bloke, he turned to face her, waiting for her to speak.

And when she does, shame leaks from her voice. “I'm coming with you.”

On that stormy night, Simon ends up sitting opposite the skittish bird in a pub, her eyes sweeping around the room with a mixture of curiosity and unease. She looks like she doesn't belong here, probably the first time she's ever set foot in a place like this, judging from the way she keeps glancing at the shelves of liquor bottles behind the bar.

The stranger ordered “something light,” and while he gives in and orders bourbon, his drink of choice for as long as he can remember—a therapist he once saw told him it’s some sort of control thing, the need to stick to the familiar, not the kind that appreciates changes.

As he took a sip of his bourbon, the woman started making small talk. She gave a name. Sweet girl asked about his job and apologized before getting an answer, saying she didn't mean to pry, that she was just making conversation.

Too sweet, he thought. Worrying about small things like that.. How do you manage to get any sleep at night?

Simon says he’s in the military, leaving out details about which part of the military he’s in. She feels obligated, then tells him she’s a ballerina—and he wonders if she sees the differences between them. The stark contrast between her delicate, graceful world and the dark, violent one he’s used to.

It's a shame that you have to cross paths with the likes of him – a man like Simon Riley, who's no better than a stray dog ​​with the need to hold something between his teeth.

Worse still, he's a sweet tooth, too.

And so, Simon managed to fuck you on the second meeting.

Fucking hell… His tongue flicked against your swollen clit, bringing you to climax, tasting your juices against his taste buds. But nothing could compare to when he was finally inside you—the tightest cunt he’d ever had the pleasure of defiling. A virgin – the thought of being the first to breach that delicate, untouched flesh—the faint crimson around his condom like lipstick stains—set his blood on fire.

Tears in her eyes as her nails dug   on his naked back. Pretty girl tried to play tough, trying to hide the searing pain as the head of his cock continues to press into you, walls fluttering in surprise at the unexpected intrusion. Lips parted in a cry that turned into a moan. Then, his name is uttered in the most vulgar way.

“Ah! O-oh, Simon! Simon!”

Something snapped inside his mind—but Simon didn’t have time to care, not when he was buried deep in your warm flesh, watching himself slide in and out of that wet hole like cinematography. Your smaller form flushed and glowing, hair spread in a halo above your head. He held back another growl as you pulsed around him, only to follow with a climax that burned through his entire body.

When it was over, he shouldn't even think about coming back. That's not how he operates; after all, he's the type to jump from one body to the next, never looking back, never a second time.

But the second time happens anyway.

Straight to London after deployment, driving his truck like he has an absolute purpose, like he doesn’t hate the city. He parks in front of a grand Neoclassical building and leans against the door, pulling out a cigarette from his leather jacket pocket. He lights it up and waits. He doesn’t know your exact schedule, doesn’t know if you’re coming to work today, and doesn’t know anything about your life outside those two nights. But still, he waits.

As the minutes ticked by, his cigarette began to shorten, the smoke swirling around it. Something wet touched the back of his palm.

“Fuck.” He looked up at the sky, realizing it was starting to drizzle.

Then, out of the corner of his eyes, he caught a rushing shadow. Simon turned around just in time to see you emerging from the building, coat wrapped tight around you as you sneezed. He saw you walking, so rushed, like you got somewhere to be. What's got you so worked up, sweetheart?

You walk fast, as if on a single-minded purpose, eyes ahead but mind elsewhere. And that’s when he sees it—a car barreling towards you at an alarming speed, and you still don’t realize it until the blinding headlights catch the corners of your eyes.

Without a second thought, Simon rushed forward, pulling you out of the road before the red image in the back of his head became a reality. The car blares its horn, and the driver shouts a string of curses before speeding off again. He felt the cold air seep into his airways too quickly, painting him dry inside yet his body wet with a mixture of sweat and rainwater.

“Christ, pay attention will ya?”

At the sound of his voice, you finally look up, snapping out of whatever nearly cost you your life. Simon watches your eyes widen like you’ve just seen a ghost—some sort of apparition that’s just materialized out of thin air.

Someone who shouldn’t be here, and he can’t help but think the same way.

In the second instance, Simon has you pressed up against the kitchen counter, his hands nomadic on your skin, feeling every rise and dip of your body. He groans as your warm, raw walls clamp down on his cock longingly. Once you’re both sated, he slings a wet towel around your inner thighs, and you return his gentleness with a bottle of bourbon you pour into two glasses.

Simon heads out in the morning, but not without letting you help him find his missing device. The damn thing was hiding in the cushions of your couch. He shoves it into the pocket of his jeans, and that nagging, controlling voice (the one that despises changes and relies on familiarity) keeps reminding him to leave no trace, just like he had done with every previous one-night stand.

Against the itch in his brain, he didn't even bother deleting his number from your log afterward. Instead, he let you save it in your contact list.

(The wandering stray dog ​​froze when the door of a house opened.)

“Will you at least call? Or text, if you can. You have my number now.” You say.

(Warm light seeps out from within, bathing his brown eyes in a goldish hue. That stray dog of his has stopped its roaming, has stopped its restless pacing. It loosens its jaw, saliva dripping down its chin. The tension in its body starts to mellow. Something delicious inside. He should have known better than to get carried away—the last time he did, someone kicked him in the shins and hung him by the ribs.

The last time he did, his house was transformed into a gruesome showcase of all he held dear, ending in a bloodbath. His olfactory receptors still remember the scent of iron. Little Joseph’s socks soaked in crimson.

You're just a rotten mongrel, Simon.

But-

That sweet, intoxicating scent spreads like pollen carried by anemo. And before he could stop himself, his legs moved towards that warmth—)

Simon ended promising a text, then disappeared behind your door.

(—like a moth to a flame.)

The pretty girl takes him to a family event—your cousin’s wedding in the picturesque countryside of England. He finds himself surrounded by happy people—people who don’t need to be angry to live. They simply love and are loved, their smiles, laughter, and kisses genuine, fueled by the bonds of affection and not by selfish pursuits.

You introduce him to your cousin—the bride—named Sabrina, then to your aunt, Joyce. For people you call a family, you look pretty wound up tight, sweetheart.

And then, just as he thinks that, your mother comes strolling into the conversation, all smiles and pleasantries. But, he doesn’t miss how the tension in your body skyrockets, your smile turning into something more forced.

Simon knew that. Because he’d been there himself, growing up with a father who was more interested in the bottom of a bottle than he was in his family; the father who taught him to laugh at a dead prostitute because he thought she deserved it—“She’s jus’ some dumb whore, a drug addict. She was hell-bent on a bad end.” Nothing good in that man, and nothing good in your mother either when you throw up everything you’ve eaten after a conversation with her.

Funny how he used to react the same way. Until something changed, that is. The fear and the shame morphed into something else. Fury. Rage.

“Ye need to burn to survive in this world,” and maybe for once in his detrimental, too-long life, the bastard was right. And as much as Simon despised staying angry, he stayed angry because it saved him.

When the big day arrived, Simon stood in front of the mirror and stared at a reflection he didn’t recognize. Dressed in that damn suit he hadn’t worn since God knows when, the jacket clinging to him like a skin that just didn’t fit right. He fidgeted with the cuffs, trying to loosen them a little.

It's like Tommy and Beth's wedding all over again, back when he was his brother's best man. Everything smells just as sweet and flowery as it did then, and it's making him sick to his stomach.

“All set then?”

Simon turns his head at your voice, watching you walk out of the bathroom, your hair styled and your makeup done in a dark and smoky way that suits you so well. Christ, the way it makes him feel.

You spot his tie on the bed, then pick it up and approach him, closing the distance between the two of you. As you stand in front of him, so near that he can feel your breath on his skin, something begins to creep up his chest. It settles beneath his ribs, burning, spreading like a wildfire. But, it's unlike the fury and rage he's familiar with. This one leaves a warmth, a pull towards you that makes him ache to touch you, to hold you.

Simon couldn't take his eyes off you, watching the way your fingers worked in and out to tighten the knot. The way you bit your lip in concentration.

When you ask him to lean down a little so you can reach the back of his neck, he’s made even more intoxicated—the mix of shampoo and soap you’re devoted to, the delicate yet familiar fragrance of your favorite perfume that always trails after you. Sweet, but the kind of sweet that leaves him wanting more, like a wild animal who's just discovered a gourmet feast.

It’s a hunger, a need, to plant kisses on the pillar of your neck and feel the thrumming pulse that lives beneath your soft and supple skin. The ache to hold you, to keep you within his orbit. Something grips his heart—and before Simon can register, he’s leaning in, brushing his lips against yours in a fervent, greedy kiss. He guides you towards the bed, his bulky frame poised to envelop your smaller form.

“Simon me boy, ye need to burn to survive in this world.”

Made to cry, his pretty girl, by the woman who brought her into the world.

In this world, there are many kinds of mothers. The ones like his, all smiles and kindness, baking good pies and forgiving, perhaps too forgiving. And then, there are the ones like yours—all faux smiles, pretending to be an angel of a mother when he knows full well she’s the reason you turned out the way you did.

Dependent, easy to manipulate, always trying to please everyone. You thought you could maintain a distance from others, but all it takes is a single act of kindness to dismantle them completely—the seemingly impenetrable walls were actually brittle.

A kitten masquerading as a lion, only to purr and melt at the slightest touch.

It annoyed him sometimes, because he knew you deserved better. But it’s also the reason he stayed, he thought. Because he loved playing the hero, especially to a woman who didn’t know any better.

(Something, anything to hold between his teeth for him to chew and tear.)

As you wait in the car, he hurriedly gathers the last of his things, shoving them carelessly into his duffel bag. The embers of anger still simmer within him, but Simon chooses to be the wiser—getting you out of here as soon as possible is a priority.

“I know men like you,” the devil behind him spits. “You think you’re protecting her—you think you’re saving her, but all you want is a girl to use and toss aside once you’ve grown bored.”

And Simon stops. It strikes a chord within him, punches him right in the gut.

Though, he doesn’t say anything. He wants to lash out, to defend himself and his intentions, but doesn’t. What’s the point? He thinks it would be a waste of time, and you’ve been waiting for him in the car for too long. It would just be a waste of breath.

Yet, another part of him knows the real reason.

That she might be right. That she might be right, and he did not like that.

It was always easy to turn away from reality. He pretended to be the wiser man, leaving pointless conversation for good reasons. But the voice in his tainted head always reminded him of what he was made of, what was left of him. He was a rotten man, selfish. Full of desire without the consistency to commit—

Pretending to stay when he knows he is nothing more than a stray dog who loves to wander.

Simon slashes, rips, and kills men as sport; feasting on the raw hearts of women like his own personal dinner, collecting their teardrops like diamonds on his crown. And yet, he has the bloody nerve to think he can keep something as soft as you in his calloused hands without laying a wound.

(A predator wearing the skin of a man.)

A voice in the back of his head began to whisper, telling him to let you go, to walk away before his teeth sank in too deep and caused you even more pain. Before he became too ensnared, too intertwined.

But he couldn't. He just couldn't.

Not when you're sensually rolling your hips on top of him, your jaw slack as those pretty, plump lips make sounds that cause his cock to twitch in his boxers. The sight of your puffy eyes, the soft curve of your lashes, and the furrowed brows. He groans as you grip his thighs, anchoring yourself to him.

The moans you let out—oh, love, what is this? Why does it feel holy when they're sinning? Like some kind of ablution. He is reborn. He is being sent to heaven, and it is between the plush of your thighs—the divine liquid dripping down your folds.

You drag your fingers across the raised tissue of his skin, and he is blessed. He observes as your eyes glide over every part of his body, recognizing the differences between the scars he bears—guessing how they were created. Fire, knives, hooks.

And fuck, angel.

That sickening clench clutches his chest again as he gazes upon your tear-streaked face. This perfect creature is mourning his scarred flesh, once burned and healed, textured. Your lips quivering as you sob.

What are you grieving for, pretty?

Probably thought he was some sort of good guy who didn't deserve this. So consumed by her turmoil, she forgot that every cut and burn meant he survived; he won and survived. Can't say the same about the other guy, though. Not that Simon would—no.

He's too selfish to share your attention.

Because what if mentioning others who died in his hands makes you pity them instead? Something a sweet thing like you would do.

“Why... why would anyone want to hurt you?” You ask, and Simon answers in his mind: Why wouldn’t they? “Is… is this from your time in the military too?”

“Yeah,”

“What happened?”

“Got meself ‘anged by the ribs once,”

Simon was given three primary roles: hunter, judge, and executioner, but you didn’t know this. Nor did you know that the bastards who had caused these scars had long since died in the slowest and most gruesome way possible. That house fire he told you about didn’t spare them like it spared him.

All of this was evidence that he had hurt and killed—a mortal sin, darlin'. But you let another fat tear slip, thin red roots spreading across your sclera.

Oh.

There was always the other side of the moon that Simon never realized until now, until you did. His God—you—are all-forgiving and shed tears because the other side of the story is that he has been hurt and almost killed. So far, Simon has only seen himself in three main roles: hunter, judge, and executioner. Never the other way around: prey, defendant, and victim.

And oh—oh.

The “God” on his pelvis rocked her hips, taking him to many pleasant places—places a sinner would never have the luxury of visiting. The burn inside him twisted into something different—something warm that pulsed in the chambers of his heart and spread and crawled across his chest.

This wasn't the old fury. So, Simon convinced himself this was lust.

The conclusion must have been made in a hurry, or more like in desperation to see past the truth. He tried to bury it in the depths of his mind where he wouldn't have to acknowledge it. But Simon knew lust shouldn't last this long, nor should it leave him feeling invigorated simply because you had smiled at him.

This was—

“Gonna watch a ballet, LT.?”

Simon snaps out of his thoughts, blinking back to reality. Between his bare thumb and index finger is the special pass you gave him a week ago—the same piece of paper Soap was questioning just now. He turns in his chair to face his sergeant, greeted with that infuriating grin of his.

“Didn’t know you were the artsy type.” Soap added.

“You should’ve knocked, Sergeant.”

Soap laughed. “Aye, I did. But you were too busy starin’ at that ticket to notice.”

The lieutenant didn’t respond, just shoved the pass into his drawer, shutting it with a snap. Soap raised an eyebrow, a sign that he was still curious, but had no intention of voicing his questions, at least for now anyway.

“What’s this about?”

Soap's grin faded. “Ah right. The Captain’s askin’ for ye.”

Johnny watched those brown eyes flicker to the flip phone and then to the skull glove on the table as Simon considered something. Unfortunately for him, that was all—the damn balaclava prevented him from seeing the slightest glimpse of expression that might have been hidden behind it.

“I’ll be there,” Simon said, dismissing Soap with a wave of his hand.

The sergeant narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips in that way he always did when he was trying to figure him out. Then, he walked toward the door, twisting the doorknob. Just when Simon thought he was finally gone, Soap stopped, pausing for a moment.

“Yer obsession is gettin’ worse, sir,” he commented.

At first, Simon didn't understand what he was referring to until he followed Soap’s gaze, and his own brown eyes landed on his duffel bag. Where the skeleton charm you bought him was hanging.

Simon didn't say anything. The door closed with a click.

The voice of his old therapist echoed in the back of his head, saying how he had this need to always be in control, that he hated feeling like he was losing it, like there was something out there that he couldn’t predict or manage. That’s why he clung to what he knew and hated changes.

But as he sat in his office, surrounded by the same four walls, the same desk, the same chair, the same bloody routine he had followed for years, he felt something twisted itself inside him, grafting itself into the tissue of his scars.

It triggered an itch in his skull.

Simon stood up from his chair, jaw clenched, as he strode over to where his duffel bag sat. That voice was louder, the words he had heard playing back like they were on a cassette tape—“there’s gonna be things in life that are out of your control. An’ that’s okay. You don’t have to be in charge of everythin’.”

“An’ when that happens, you just have to let it happen. You can’t avoid it forever, Lieutenant. Avoidin’ it doesn’t mean you’ve solved it—”

Clenching his fists, he tried to deafen himself, only to end up inviting another sickening voice. “Simon me boy, ye need to burn to survive in this world,” at that time, he didn’t understand what the hell his old man meant by that, searched the whole world for answers.

Now, after all this time—after mistaking it for passion, for fury, for lust—the answer stared back at him, daring him to face it. He let out a scoff, thinking how that was the most uncharacteristic word to ever come out of that man's mouth. Fuck.

“—it just means you’re signing yourself up for more pain—”

Simon yank the skeleton charm off his bag, the metal clinking against the zipper as he tears it free. He exhales, his chest empty after he’s done what he’s best known for.

“—an’ self-destruction.” The voice finishes.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson @chipsbuttercream @arrozyfrijoles23 @pastel-devil-06 @rroseskull

SUPPORT ME THROUGH KO-FI! CHECK MY WRITING COMMISSION. SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS HERE.

[babygirl-riley]

Hiiiiii sorry to bother- but i'm OBESSED with dad!Simon. have you seen those tiktoks of dad's crying while their baby girls get ear piercings? They look more in pain than the kid themselves?? I'd like to ask for a short drabble please!! ❤️❤️😩

Silent Treatment

Simon and your baby girl are shunning you after getting her ears pierced

A/N: ANON ANOOOON! Those tik toks make me laugh because it’s like damnnn those dads wanna fight mom soooo bad. 😭 But yes yes I love this idea!

simon x reader guide

simon x reader family

You felt bad truly, you stood in the door frame as Simon didn’t look at you. Same with your infant daughter. “Si, we talked about it.”

Simon shook his head. “Doesn’ matter, she was in pain. Almost took the bitch’s head off,” Your daughter clanged to her father as she sighed into his shoulder. “We are not happy about it, aren’ we princess.” Simon said whispering to Millie.

You chuckled low before sighing. “Simon she is fine now. She isn’t even crying.”

“Her ears say oth’r wise.” He commented looking at her subsiding red ears.

You smirked as you saw Simon smirk, he was milking it now. You glared at him still smirking as you fold your arms. “You can’t gate-keep her forever you know.”

Simon’s smile grew bigger as he looked at Millie than you. “You try to take her for me and see who’s gate keepin’ who.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling. He was right, she was the one clinging onto him without any hesitation. When you tried to get her out of her car seat she screamed for her daddy. You really pissed her off, you knew she was daddy’s girl but never has she refused you getting her out.

Millie looked over her shoulder and her head was still laying on his shoulder. Her brown eyes looking right through your soul. You could feel the anger on the toddler. God how much both Millie and Simon were alike, even in her toddler years. That look that she was baring into your soul was the same look that her father gave the lady that pierced her ears.

“Okay dad you can go on the other side so I can just snap one on,” The lady said pulling out the piecing gun. Your mom did it to you when you were younger, easier to do it when they won’t remember it. Raise your daughter to have a routine of having earrings. Millie looked up at you as you sat her on your lap. She was confused, first having a stranger holding her ear and mom letting the stranger holding her ear. The lady smiled up at you. “You ready?”

Simon looked over at her. “It won’t hurt her too bad yeah?” You swore he was more nervous than how Millie looking on your lap.

You smiled holding her closer. “She will cry Simon but it shouldn’t hurt too much. It will feel like a pinch.”

Oh how wrong you were, once the piercing went in she screamed. Simon snapped his head up to the lady before giving her a death stare, as he moved over to the side to see her ear red. Millie kicked and tried to pull you off of her. You watched as Simon’s hands clenched into fists. “One more! I know baby.” The lady said walking over to the other side cautiously.

You saw Simon watch carefully as the lady lined up the piercing. You swore you saw fire in his eyes but also pain. You haven’t seen Simon express that emotion in years, it made your heart hurt to see him in pain as well. Millie started to lift herself as she reached for Simon. Simon tapped his foot waiting for the session to just end.

You tried to grab her hand to soothe her but instead she batted away. She tried to reach for Simon once again as you held her still. You looked over to see tears in his eyes, which made your heart drop. “Simon,” You soothed. “She is okay.”

Simon snapped his head to you. “She doesn’ look okay to me.” You frowned as he looked back to Millie as you petting her head until the lady got her gun in place of her earlobe.

After the last snap, Millie screamed again, having her arms raised to Simon. It was like flash of lightning when Simon was right in front of you. Simon grabbed her immediately, bounced her up and down. Shushing her, soothing her, rubbing her back.

Simon left the store immediately, leaving you in the dust. You sighed as you handed the money to the lady. “Don’t worry all husbands do that with their babies. The good ones at that.” The lady whispered to you. “Some of them actually shed tears.”

You smiled and thanked her, however she was wrong about him not shedding a tear. You knew why he stormed out with her, you saw the single tear leaving his eye when he snatched her.

You paid the lady and thanked her as you watched Simon hold Millie closer. Both of them gave you the silent treatment, like you did the piercing. You rolled your eyes as you tried to hold Millie but she refused you as she clanged onto Simon all the way to the car.

After getting out of the car he went straight to her room as he rocked her. Holding her. Soothing her. You followed him into the doorway, as you listened to him mumble sweet things to her. It wasn’t until then he started to speak to you.

“I’m not mad at ya,” He said sighing. “Didn’ like my babygirl cryin’ like that.” His voice lowered even more as he rubbed her back on soothing motions. Holding her even closer than he already had her before.

You nodded. “I know you don’t. I am sorry you felt that way. My heart hurt too, I didn’t expect her to scream cry,” You fell silent as you watched Millie turn to cuddle more close to his neck. Gripping his shirt. You chuckled having Simon start to smile looking at you. “I think you scared the lady as well.”

Simon scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Good she hurt Mills, should have just stared at her the whole time to have her stop.”

You chuckled coming in more, Millie watched as you walked up to her and Simon. “Then she would only have one earring.”

Simon followed with his eyes as you stood in front of him. His eyes softening as he chuckled. “That’s the new thing isn’t it?”

Now it was your time to roll your eyes as you giggled. “I’m sorry baby,” You whispered kneeling down, rubbing the top of her ear. “Think you will be the only one to have pierced ears if we get you a sibling.”

She cooed as you leaned up to kiss her forehead. She laid back into his chest. It was quiet for a moment before you stood up. “Damn right.” Simon mumbled, smirking down at you.

[crybaby-magic]

Our Past

sun wukong x daughter reader

based off of the song:The Horse and the Infant

Traveling with Macaque,Mk,and the Monkeys was not doing you any good.You can feel the raging headache waiting to tear your skull apart while yall travel through the semi fixed scroll to find Wukong.From Wukongs memories to the tears that randomly forming throughout the place.You really just want to hurry this up so they can defeat the overgrown lion and you can get your much needed sleep.

Honestly you kinda curse at Mk for finding the damn stick that soon lead to all this but at the same time you know it destiny.At the same time it could be jealousy that he hangs out with your dad more than you and you been with him for centuries.Signing out once more you travel on with white monkeys hanging off of you. “ What's with all the sighing girly”Macaque asked while slowing down to walk beside you.

“Nothing, just the whole situation sucks.And I might be slightly worried about the old man.”You muttered the last part slightly embarrassed.Macaque gruffly laughed at your antics while shaking his head.

You soon felt Mk jump onto your back making you slightly stumble. “Hey don’t worry we'll find him in no time then we can leave then we can beat up Azure lion then we can…umm we can do something i don't know what but we'll find out later.”He said in a reassuring cheeky voice. “A good side is weeee-” grabbing Macaque,you,and the monkeys in a hug “Get to see how Sun Wukong was through his memories”

Macaque shook his head “I really don’t care for relieving some of the memories” while heading ahead of the group.Mk pouted a bit while still hanging off of you before facing you.”What about you,aren’t you a little interested?” he said in a pouting voice.Smirking you nodded your head that got an ecstatic reaction from him.He hopped off of you and headed ahead.With a slight distant look you looked around in Wukongs memories shaking it off you head towards the two that were near a crack that a tiny monkey kept pointing at.

“Hey look, this little guy is pointing us somewhere i think he knows where Sun Wukong is at” Mk said.Nodding your head you wander through the crack hoping not to fall into another memory.

————————————☆————————

That damn monkey is going to get it when you see it.It didn’t lead you to wukong but to a village at night.From observation nobody was out it looked like a ghost town almost.Through another problem was that nobody could figure out where y'all are.Mk surprisingly had no knowledge seeing as he knew everything about his past and Mac really couldn’t tell you anything.

The group was going to leave till you heard noise standing behind some trees yall peek out at the village.Then it happened chaos ensued In the far distance(the front of the village) fire started to arise.Then the scream,clashing of weapons,crying too where the hell were you guys and what the hell did Wukong do in his past.

Still peeking from the tree yall soon saw Wukong in his battle gear covered in blood.His staff dripping though something seems odd looking closer it seem that he was lead by his golden vision.All the while he holding someone's dead body by their head,from the looks of it the guy looked like the villages leader or something of the sort.He dropped the body and walked over him into the house.

You soon tuned everything out and headed to a window ignoring Macaque’s and Mk’s voice.Something felt familiar or strange you couldn’t- didn’t want to find out but…why.Macaque and Mk with some monkeys came to the opened window too.Observing the situation it seemed to be a plan room with a few hand sewn teddy bears on the floor.In the center of the dark room was a bassinet being lit up by the full moon.You felt your heart dropped a babies room.You had the thought of oh great jade empire he wouldn't,couldn’t it's a literal kid.Then again the other thought of yeah he probably would the amount of times he nearly killed you as a kid is embarrassingly high.

“Hey the door opened.”Mk pointed out snapping you out of your thoughts.Wukong entered the room eyes illuminated by the moon his eyes looked so empty that it actually scared you.Wind brushed past you forcing the door opened wider making it slam into the wall startling the baby making it start crying.

His eyes sharpened at the noise coming from the bassinet.He walked very slowly to it before staring down at the baby.He seemed to be having an eternal battle with himself before he lifted his staff in the motion that he was going to hit the baby.Everyone in the group looked disturbed your eyes widened with tears and let out a squeak that Macaque covered when you saw him swinging down.You closed your eyes hard tears falling at this soon to be gruesome scene.You knew he had a fucked up past at times but this honestly scared you.

Suddling you heard his staff falling then the sound of a child giggling.Looking up you saw Wukong’s gripping the edge of the bassinet.Slowly he reached in picking up the baby.The baby was in a long night dress that fell over there feet.The baby had the shortest hair but on the back of its neck you saw a serpent mark.A snake that was in a circle eating it own tail kinda.Subconsciously you rubbed the back of your neck realizing why this seemed so familiar, you’re the baby.

It’s hard to believe when he told you ‘he found you randomly one day and decided to pity your mortal existence’.(that you did hit him across the head for his ignorant tone in the end)You must have mumbled it out loud cause you heard Mk’s dramatic gasp and if Macaque had any reaction it was well hidden behind a scowl.

Observing the scene before you,you saw how he interacted with you, bouncing you and smiling while you giggled and pressed your tiny hands on his nose.Tears must have been falling from your eyes when you felt Macaque mess up your hair as he walked away gruffly saying “ let's go find your idiot dad.” Mk and the tiny monkeys soon followed after him.Turning around to follow them you heard wukong speak up so you turned your head to listen.

“It's hard to believe that something as cute as you could be dangerous in the future,so why don’t you come with me little on.Wanna go see a pretty mountain with pretty flowers.”A trail of giggling babbles followed.A small smile formed on your mouth though you’ll never reveal that.

[ashlynlovestlou]

you and ellie find a baby while patrolling

꩜ CW: mention of gore , mention of infertility , father figure! ellie , fem! reader , pet names

꩜ synopsis: you and ellie find a baby while patrolling

sfw!

masterlist

☆—-------------------------------------------------------------—☆

No one knows how it happened. One patrol that was supposed to be normal ended up with you and Ellie finding an infant abandoned.

Ellie heard it first. The sound of clickers lurking in the heavily wooded forest just outside of Jackson. Of course, she never worried about it. Killing Infected was like stepping on bugs to her, but when she saw a group of people being torn up by them, she knew something was off.

You saw it all happen. A man had his entire arm dismembered, his screams piercing to yours and Ellie's eardrums. A woman's face was mutilated, her limp body making you feel sick. The third person of the group ran for a good while, managing to kill one of the clickers with a puny blade that didn't last long.

By the time you and Ellie had shot and killed the clickers, the people were all dead. The two of you were left alone in the forest, the only sound coming from the lacework of leaves above you and the crunching snow under your feet.

"You think they've got any loot on em'?"

You nod your head, already advancing towards them, trudging through the crunchy ice.

You both hear a noise, making you stop in your tracks first, Ellie right after. Your heart hammers in your entire body.

"Ellie, I thought you killed them?" You whisper, your voice caked with urgency.

"I did, babe!" She whisper-shouts, slowly approaching them with her gun drawn.

The noise happens again, this time more clear. It sounds like a cry, but not one that could've came from an adult.

You put your hand on top of Ellie's gun, slowly lowering it once you realize neither of you are in danger.

"Is that...?"

Sure enough, huddled by the cluster of dead infected and people, is an infant, kicking it's legs and squirming to be held. You heart instantly shatters into tiny bits and pieces, and you don't hesitate to scoop it up.

"What if it's infected?" Ellie says, thus receiving a dirty look from you.

"It's a baby."

"Have you seriously never seen the movie Gremlins?" She stifles a laugh, but you're too busy staring at the baby in your arms.

Ellie can see the look on your face. The motherly one that you've always had ever since she met you, even though you both know you can't have kids of your own. Ellie knows how much it broke your heart, knowing you can't have a baby. She always tried to tell you that it was okay and that she was happy just with you, but your heart always yearned for a child.

And now you're holding one.

"Babe..." She says softly, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder, "Let's just bring her to Maria."

"Ellie." You quickly say, looking at her with pleading eyes, "We were the last people to see her mother before she died." You motion at the woman with a bullet hole wound in her chest, and the swaddle wrapped around her body.

"What are you-"

"Can we keep her? Please?"

"Whoa, Y/N... this is a huge commitment, we can't just—" She stopped short when she saw the tears in your eyes, the baby leaning on your chest as if she had already warmed up to you. The look of you holding a child made Ellie's heart swell fuller than a river during a flood.

"Ellie. We can't just... leave her with Maria."

"Why not?"

"Because we can't." You say, sniffling and biting your lip, "Please."

She sighs, her shoulders dropping. She hates to tell you no, especially in a situation like this when she knows how upset it's making you, "Fine. Fine, okay, we'll take her home."

Your face lights up as you look at the little human leaning agains you, "Thank you thank you thank you! God, Ellie, I'm going to make this up to you."

Ellie rolls her eyes, a smile on her face as she creeps up behind you and rests her chin on your shoulder. Her hands hold your waist and she peppers gentle kisses on the length of your neck, "I like to see you happy, mama."

☆—-------------------------------------------------------------—☆

[hauntedhokage]

kiss prompt: kissing tears from the other’s face from this list

word count: 616

There wasn’t any kind of injury that could be considered less than a catastrophe in Sae’s world. He worked so hard to keep his body in top shape; extensive hours of stretching, never skipping a warm up or cool down, and intentional focus and care into recovery all to ensure that he didn’t get injured and have to miss any practice or match time. Lost time meant lost progress, and lost progress made for a very grumpy Sae. 

The ankle sprain of 2020 was an event his manager would never forget and something you’d been given the in depth story on as a warning for what you would be getting into by dating Sae. 

But this was worse than a sprained ankle during practice; that was something explained off without going into detail about the extent of his alleged injury. The scene you were watching was so much worse. He’d lost traction on the grass due to the rain and mud while mid pass, and from where you sat it looked like he had twisted his knee in the fall. This was horrifying, and you hope to never see him look so pained ever again. 

He’s bitter and volatile while getting evaluated by the team’s doctors, less so with the nurses when you’re sitting in a hospital room with him, and eventually he simmers down to just being bitter and frustrated when you're arranging him in the hotel room to keep his leg elevated the way you’d been instructed to. He wouldn’t need surgery, thankfully, but a week of bed rest followed by two-to-four weeks of only light solo exercise and physical therapy before he could be cleared to get back on the field was the equivalent to his life ending. 

He's quiet as he watches you navigate the room to make sure your bags were packed, you think he’s trying to figure out how to navigate public spaces without using the crutches he’d been told to use. You know he’s miserable, and if you could fix it you certainly would, but nothing you could say would have a high rate of success in making him feel better so you don’t know what to really say. 

“Babe, do you think my neck pillow around your knee would help?” you ask, turning to face him with your adjustable neck pillow in hand while you try to adjust it to how big you thought Sae’s knee was. What you see is Sae looking back at you, bottom lip caught between his teeth with his brow furrowed. This was a face you’d seen on a few very rare occasions, which has you dropping the pillow on his gear bag in your hurry to get into the bed with him. The tear streaks are clear now that you’re closer to him, your hands settling on his cheeks as you lean in to kiss his nose. 

“Crying like an infant, it’s shameful,” he mutters, making you shake your head as you tilt his head back to look up at you properly. “I’m not supposed to make mistakes.”

“You did today, but you’re human and that’s okay,” you whisper, kissing his cheek along the trail of fallen tears. “People thought you were playing like a true European and selling hard for the other team to get carded.”

That earns a snort from your frustrated midfielder, and you kiss his cheek once more before pulling back to rest your forehead against his. Your request that he stop beating himself up is met with a sigh, his eyes leaving yours momentarily as he tells you he’ll try - which was close enough, you weren’t expecting even an attempt at getting over this for another two weeks.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! All of you do fantastic work! Do you have any fics with like magical curses and true loves kiss? I don’t really care about rating. Thank you again!!

Hello! You can fics along these kinds of lines on our #fantasy au tag. Here are some curse/true love's kiss specific fics...

The Fairy Prince, the Toad and the Snake by KannaOphelia (T)

Aziraphale supposed it was interesting that his flaming sword still managed to flame while underwater, but there were better ways to find out than dropping it down a well. He craned over the side and gazed down, seeing the glimmers of red and orange, far beyond his reach. "You've done it now," said the snake, watching him from the apple tree. "I suppose I have, yes." Aziraphale wondered if he could hook a rope around it or something, and draw it up. He wasn't quite sure how it would work. "Bound to happen," the snake said, not unkindly. "Don't want to go waving a big killing thing like that around. Sssssupposed to be a weapon." A Good Omens retelling of The Frog Prince, for Fairy Tale Inspired 2021

Fairest by lilliankayl (T)

(Snow White Retelling AU) Aziraphale has no memories of his father and very few of his mother. His father died when he was an infant and his mother remarried shortly afterwards. When his mother died just before his seventeenth birthday, his stepfather’s true colors were revealed. Now on the run and taking shelter from those who will help him, Aziraphale must never let the king find him, for it will surely mean his death if he is found.

The Dragon's Greatest Treasure by Sir_Bear (T)

Once upon a time, the kingdom of Eden was protected by the eternal knights. One of these ageless warriors, the healer Raphael, disappeared hundreds of years ago after saving Sir Aziraphale’s life. Now, while escorting prince Gabriel across the kingdom, Aziraphale is captured by the dragon Crowley. The two begin to fall in love, but can a relationship like their's work, when all Crowley sees himself as is a monster, and Aziraphale feels bound by his duty to the knights? *** He shrugged his scaly shoulders, his eyes looking about as if trying to find a change of topic. “Didn’t you have a magic sword?” “Uh…” “You did, you were waving it about and everything. What happened to it?” Aziraphale’s throat made a croaking noise, unwilling to answer. “Lost it already have you?” “Gave it away…” He muttered, despite himself. “You what?” Crowley’s golden eyes went wide, tilting his huge head to the side. “They’d be in danger without it!” He burst out. “There are dangerous creatures out there, not to mention you!”

A Demon's Guide to Love and Curses by cyankelpie (G)

(Crowley has been cursed by a witch, cut off from his powers, and trapped in serpent form. Only a True Love’s Kiss can restore him to his former self. There’s just one problem: demons can’t fall in love.) “So what’s your plan?” Crowley said at last, sounding resigned. “You want me to ssslither into town, find some random human, and see if I can fall in love with them? And get them to fall for me?” “Goodness, no. That would never work.” Aziraphale crossed the floor and pulled his cloak off the coat stand. “My plan is to take you into town, and then, together, we’ll find someone for you to court.”

(Someday I'll Be) Part of Your World by Pearl09 (T)

Aziraphale is a merman who likes human things a little too much. Crowley is a human who just wants to leave the awful place he’s at. A chance meeting, a surprising rescue, lead to more than the two of them ever imagined. Would they truly risk their own souls to be with each other? And, more importantly, will they meet the necessary requirements on time to keep them? A Little Mermaid au/fusion featuring two pining idiots.

hearts and thoughts fade away (I swear I recognize your breath) by Melime (M)

Due to a clerical error, Crowley is cursed by Hell, losing his memories of the past six thousand years. Now, Aziraphale has to regain his trust and find a way to cure him, but the only way to do this is by confronting his own prejudices regarding demons' capacity to love.

- Mod D

[council-of-beetroot]

My crack AGZSC headcanon is that the group all tries to introduce Sephiroth to the concept of celebrating his birthday except their descriptions become progressively more unhinged so it starts of with Angeal discussing how birthdays were a simple but nice affair in his family with a cake.

Genesis: They were truly magnificent experiences!

Angeal: what Genesis fails to mention is that these parties were more elaborate than your average wedding and cost more than some in the village made in a year..

Sephiroth: it seems peculiar that there would be so many guests for such a function. Perhaps the partygoers were incentivized by the prospect of securing the small fortune contained in the gift bags that you said were distributed.

Genesis: Are you implying that the only reason people showed up to my birthday parties was because of the gift bags?

Sephiroth: That is a possibility!

Genesis: Excuse me! Everyone showed up because they wished to celebrate such milestones and recognize the achievements of a young blossoming prodigy!

Sephiroth: peculiar indeed.

Genesis: people came to my parties because they liked me!

Angeal: Why does it matter. You didn't even like most of the people there either!

Genesis: I suppose that's true... none of my peers had the same appreciation for the arts...

Zack interrupts: Hey! I heard we were talking birthday parties! Who are we surprising?

Angeal: No one at the moment, we were simply discussing various birthday traditions with Sephiroth.

Sephiroth: I have obtained a plethora of information regarding birthday traditions across the planet and wish to confirm if my research into the traditions of your hometown is correct and if the traditions persist today.

Zack: Birthdays in Gongaga were epic! There was music and presents, decorations, cake!

Sephiroth: I have investigated further into the matter and came across a peculiar tradition in Gongaga where the children are blindfolded and made to strike a papier-mâché creature until it releases the confections inside?

Sephiroth: that seems unwise

Zack: nah, we take precautions, that's why they aren't made out of ceramic pottery anymore!

Zack: it was the best!But to really have fun you gotta spin the person around a bunch so that they end up getting all mixed up! Once I got knocked unconscious because a kid went the wrong way! It was hilarious!

Genesis: I had theorized for ages that you must dropped on the head as an infant, and it appears that that theory isn't far off from the truth.

Zack: Hey Cloud! What do you and other people in Nibelheim do for their birthdays.

Cloud: some people had parties but I didn't, didn't think anyone would show up. Ma always made birthdays truly special, she would find the perfect gift and would bake a really good cake. It was nice just to spend time with her.

Zack: Ha! That reminds me in Gongaga, it's tradition for your friends to begin chanting before grabbing you and shoving your face into the cake! Good times!

Angeal: wouldn't that ruin the cake

Zack: Yeah that's why you get three cakes!

Sephiroth: Cloud, Your traditions appear simple yet adequate and therefore seem appealing

Cloud: hmm, what else, oh there's an ancient Nibelheim custom to slap someone's ass with a belt on their eighteenth birthday as a rite of passage.

*everyone stares at him*

*This is based on an old rural polish tradition called pasowanie. Not widely practiced and some frown upon it but nonetheless a thing. Obligatory discretionary note that some see it as hurtful while other see it as a humourous welcome into adulthood and people usually don't full on beat up someone in this tradition. People always headcanon Nibelheim to be a very rural very old fashioned place with odd traditions so I felt this fit. While I based Gongaga's on Mexican traditions Because my best friend is Mexican so her birthdays were incredibly fun always with a piñata but her family never did mordida (the cake tradition) and it makes sense as it ruins the cake often in my opinion.

[muzzlemouths]

Were the DMD boys ever witnesses to a baby's firsts? Like first words or first steps?

Superstar Shopping Center, circa 1977

“Did you need help with that?”

Sun moseys up to a mother who looks like she’s got her hands full – literally. Four shopping bags balanced on one arm and a baby in the other. A second child — five or six, if he had to guess — clings to the tail of her mother’s jacket in lieu of a free hand, dressed in her Sunday Best. She ducks behind her mother’s arm as Sun nears and addresses him with a look tied between awe and apprehension.

Contrarily, her mother regards Sun with nothing but relief, handing over all but one of her bags the moment his hands extend to take them. “Well, thank you!” She reorients the remaining bag to sit at her elbow so the little girl at her side has a proper handhold and gently scolds her for continuing to hide.

“It’s quite alright,” Sun assures her with a kind smile. He crouches to be more at eye-level with the child and offers her a little wave, taking no offense to the way she peeks only slightly out from behind her mother. “That’s a very pretty dress,” he says. It’s a Carter's collared plaid, Christmas-time red, with a white dog-eared collar and rabbit embroidery. Perfectly suited for the season. “Are you headed somewhere special?”

“Just down to Shutterbug,” the mother laughs, answering Sun’s question when her daughter doesn’t budge. “I know it’s still early in the season, but I have an endless list of things to get around to before the month’s end, so we’re just going to get our photos done now, and the family will just receive their cards a little early, this year.”

“Oh, certainly,” he nods sagely, as if he’s even once sent a Christmas card himself, “better to get it over and done with before everyone and their mother realizes they’ve forgotten to sign and seal their envelopes!”

“Exactly!” She laughs again. “I figure, well, I might as well get some gift shopping done since I’m already here, but–”

Right on cue, the infant in her arms begins to wail his poor little head off, and she grimaces.

“Finding it hard to get anything done with your hands full?” Sun asks, waiting for her nod before continuing. “Well, that’s nothing I can’t fix! I could carry your other bags for you, or–”

“Could you babysit?”

He straightens with a jolt, nearly dropping the bags he already carried in the process. “Oh! Well, um, company policy doesn’t exactly allow me to–”

“It would just be for a few minutes. An hour, at most.” She gives him a pleading look. “You’re coded with childcare protocols, aren’t you?”

“I–” Sun scrambles for an answer. “My training extends to some childcare etiquette, but–”

“Perfect!” She lofts the infant into his arms like he is nothing more than a small sack of potatoes. “This is George. He’s nine months old as of last week, was just changed, and ate an hour ago, so he should be an angel for you.”

“W-What about his shoes?” He tucks the child against his shoulder and gestures worriedly towards his itty little toes, clothed in nothing but the navy blue footie he wears.

“Oh, don’t be silly, he’s still too young!” The woman insists, “George has only just learned how to crawl, I doubt he’ll be walking any time soon. You have nothing to worry about!”

“But–”

“I’ll come find you in an hour when I’m all finished up. Thank you again!”

The mother turns on her heel like she’s being chased out by fire, leaving Sun there in the center of the mall aisle, still as a statue and stunned into silence.

There was a kernel of truth to his words. Both he and Moon had been programmed with the know-how in terms of child rearing basics, and in fact it was the very first frame of coding that he recalls having. For what purpose, he isn’t sure. It has lied dormant beneath layers of more relevant protocols for years and only ever makes an appearance when he’s interacting with the few children the mall sees from time to time. Even still, it is nothing in the way of proper training for how to care for an infant so small, and for so long.

Needless to say, he was panicking.

The first thing he does after quieting the infant’s cries is find another employee and hand off the bags, instructing them to be brought to Shutterbug and kept behind the desk for the time being.

With his hands freed he can focus all of his attention on the child who, for what it’s worth, has been a perfect angel in the short time since he was haphazardly carted into Sun’s arms. Quiet as a church mouse after that first little outburst, and just as cute, too, the little bundle of joy looking up at him with big brown eyes full of wonder.

Sun returns his gaze with a long sigh. “Now then, what are we going to do with you?”

The protocols that once were dormant now rose to the surface and screamed at him to engage the child in “stimulating activities“, whatever that meant. Instructions for playtime involved everything from games like peekaboo and patty-cake to more developmental activities, such as playing music, coloring, or toying with building blocks. Sun doubted that Bee Gees’ hit single “Stayin’ Alive” was anything in the way of educational for the tiny tot as it played over the speakers, and — to the best of his knowledge — he can’t recall ever having access to building blocks or coloring books. That left nothing but the traditional baby games, tried and true, and easy enough!

He borrows a small blanket from a store nearby and finds a cozy spot on the floor, tucked safely between two plant boxes, to set him down. Sun finds that playing these games comes almost naturally to him — but that’s a given, isn’t it? He follows the instruction manual in his code to the letter, pride and joy overwhelming his stint of uncertainty each time he comes out from hiding behind his hands to the sound of shrill laughter, every “Peek-a-boo!” earning him a motley of giggles and a baby-toothed smile.

Distraction arrives in the form of an employee struggling to carry a stack of boxes into the store behind him. He’s on his feet and across the room in an instant as one protocol briefly overrides the other, and it’s only for a moment — just a moment — but when he turns around again it is to the sight of an empty blanket.

His charge has gone missing.

Panic overwhelms every one of his sensors, rushing along his circuits like adrenaline through veins gripping him with a fear so potent it threatens to shut down his system right then and there.

No, think! His mother said he had only just learned to crawl, which meant little George couldn’t have gone far. Unless the infant hadn’t gone anywhere by himself at all, and rather, someone had come along and–

Sun shut down that train of thought the moment it struck him. He would never forgive himself if something so terrible happened on his watch, saying nothing of what management would do to him if a child was abducted right from under his nose.

He decides the best course of action right now is to follow the same protocol he would use for any other “lost” child. Yes, lost, that’s all they were. It’s so easy to get lost in a mall as large as this one. Sun comforts himself with the knowledge that he has never let a lost child go unfound before. His success rate is a perfect 100%, and he intends to keep it that way.

First, he scans the security cameras for any sight of the child. He is sure to look in every nook and cranny, and he deflates with growing dread when that little navy footie doesn’t appear anywhere on the screens. His voice cuts through the employee radio a moment later and describes the child with every possible detail he can think of, asking that any sighting of the little straggler be reported to him immediately. He hopes against every star in the sky that the mother doesn’t happen to overhear from an employee nearby.

Lastly, he heads out in search of help.

Moon is meant to be working on the upper floor today, helping Sun handle the usual holiday rush, and his lack of response to the radio call is concerning. Not too concerning, though, given that Sun finds him right where he’d been expecting to.

That is, sprawled atop the lockers in the employee break room, one arm dangling over the side, the other resting casually over his waist, and a VOGUE magazine draped over his face.

‘Lazy’ doesn’t even scratch the surface of the words Sun wants to use. They’ve talked about this, the bad habit having put Moon in trouble a number of times already, but that’s an argument for another day.

There’s no time to mince words right now, and so he doesn’t. Instead, Sun stalks across the room and slams his fist against the lockers beneath his sleeping coworker, who sits upright with such force that his head makes contact with the ceiling and crashes through like a train into glass.

It might have been funny if Sun wasn’t as whipped up into a panic as he is, but as it stands he can hardly even keep from raising his voice when he addresses Moon with a scowl. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Sun hisses, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. “I take it you didn’t hear my radio call?”

Moon serves him with a glower of his own, snarling deep within his voicebox as he runs his hand over the glassy side of his faceplate to ensure that it’s still intact. He has the decency to look a little guilty, if only for a moment, cerulean blue eyes lowering to the radio attached at his hip that is visibly turned to OFF.

“Of course not,” Sun tuts.

Griping, Moon dusts the ceiling powder from his shoulders. “What could be so important that you had to–”

“I lost a baby.”

The words render him speechless, a long, uncomfortable silence taking up the space between them for all of a minute before Moon blurts out, “Sun, you don’t have a baby.”

“That’s because I lost him!” Sun shrills, beginning to pace. “I was helping a mother with her bags, and she asked me to babysit, a-and I know we aren’t technically allowed to, but– but it all just happened so fast!” His arms flailed for emphasis. “She said he wasn’t even walking yet, I thought it’d be easy! Everything was going so well, too, we were playing a game of peek-a-boo and then – then someone needed help. I only had my back turned for a minute, Moon. Maybe even less! But then I turned around, and…”

“You lost a baby,” he mutters to himself. Moon runs both hands over his face, sighing into his palms. “You lost a baby,” he repeats. “How do you lose an entire child?”

“I don’t know!” Sun answers, voice cracking with guilt. “Will you help me find them?”

“Obviously.” Moon hops down from the lockers (pointedly ignoring the massive hole in the ceiling – he’d come up with an excuse to tell management later) and is already crossing the room when he speaks again. “Management will take it out on both of us if they find out, so you need to get a grip. Your face looks like you just watched someone plummet to their death, for fucks’s sake.” He pauses at the door. “Did you get a scan of their face?”

“O-Of course!”

“Good. Transfer the image to me along with any other information that might be helpful. I’ll search the exits, you take the first story department stores.”

“What about the second floor?”

He fits him with a quizzical expression, going as far as to form an eyebrow with the stars on his faceplate screen and arch it pointedly. “You said this kid wasn’t walking yet,” Moon reminds him. “If someone ‘napped the little guy, they aren’t going to stick around, much less be caught shopping. They’ll head for the exits, first.”

“I guess that’s true…”

“And if you just coincidentally happened to have been babysitting the world’s fastest crawler, they would still be stuck on the first floor,” he continues, “which is why we’re checking there first.”

“Right. Right. You’re right.” Sun’s nod is shaky at best. His hands wring together with a tension that threatens to pop the joints out of place with each anxious tug.

Moon sighs and crosses the room again to place a hand on Sun’s shoulder. “We’ll find him,” he comforts, giving the shoulder a gentle squeeze, “but we need to go now. You won’t fix anything by standing here worrying.”

“Right,” he repeats, working to smother his nerves for the sake of focusing on the task at hand. “You check the exits, I’ll check the department stores. We’ll meet up at the fountain in thirty minutes if neither of us find anything?”

“Ten minutes,” Moon asserts. He wastes no further time, leaving Sun with only that and a firm nod before pacing out of the room.

Sun hopes they aren’t already too late.

-

Their search yields nothing but more disappointment. Ten painfully long minutes of searching that ends with them meeting at the fountain equally empty handed and with no further leads.

“We’re too late,” wails Sun, already catastrophizing. “How am I going to explain this to their mother? She’ll never forgive me, I’ll never forgive me–” His fingers hook around the rays beside his chin, the thin metal groaning beneath the force and threatening to snap right then and there, “–and management — stars, Moon, we’re going to be dismantled over this!”

“Lower your voice!” Moon snaps. He looks around, ensuring that that their crime — Sun’s crime — hasn’t been overheard. Luckily, it appears the fountain has drowned out their conversation sufficiently. “You need to calm down,” he continues. “I’m sure they’re somewhere around here.”

“We’ve checked everywhere!” His left ray bends under the pressure, molding to the shape of his fingers, slowly but surely. “I should have never let this happen. What was I thinking, turning my back on them? Now they’re all alone, o-or hurt, somewhere, or–”

“Hey, hey.” Moon takes him by the wrist, careful yet firm as he pries Sun’s fingers away from his mangled ray then holds his hand at a distance, so he can’t hurt himself further. “You made a mistake,” he agrees, “but it’s not fair to hold all of that blame yourself. You have no frame of reference for this sort of thing, we aren’t meant to be taking care of children in the first place.”

“I should have known better!” Sun insists. “How can I be expected to run a daycare if I can’t even look after one kid?”

Moon freezes, his optics flickering in a blink. “We–” slowly, he releases Sun’s wrist, “–we aren’t a daycare, Sun. We’re a mall. Are…are you feeling okay?”

“I…” Alarms and notices flood his screen, blocking Moon from view. Corroded files long since forgotten behind firewalls and newly instated protocols. He looks for answers in their overwhelming code and finds nothing but more questions; a lingering sense of awareness always just out of his reach. Then they’re gone, swept away all at once as his system tidies itself up, and he can think clearly again. “We’re in a mall,” he echoes, nodding to himself, “we run a mall. We’re mascots, not – not–” He faces Moon with a calmer disposition, forcing a smile, “I’m alright, now.”

“I always preferred the term Icon,” says Moon, “’mascot’ makes us sound like those people in animal suits waving around signs outside of businesses.” He laughs, and Sun laughs, too, but it’s strained. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He sighs with the last crumb of uncertainty. “I’m fine, just…confused, I guess. I think the anxiety is getting to me.” When he straightens again it’s with newfound gusto, a determination to make things right. “None of our employees have reported seeing anyone carting off with a baby that fits George’s description, so he must still be here. Do you want to try the second floor after all?”

“I guess it’s worth a shot,” says Moon. He takes another look around, eyes scanning the area for any possible lead, until his star-studded eyebrow arches downward. “You said he was wearing a blue footie?”

“Navy blue,” Sun nods his confirmation, “with a little white pocket on the front.”

“Like that?”

He follows Moon’s point all the way to the escalator, where good ol’ George is sat, halfway up to the second story, already, suckling at his thumb like this is any other Tuesday.

“That’s–” Sun feels like he’s going to scream, “that’s him!”

“Huh. Baby on an escalator,” he mutters inquisitively. “Never seen that before.”

“Moon!”

Not wanting to risk any more dillydallying, Sun rushes past him and beelines through the crowd, anxiety pulsing through him tenfold as he gets caught up in a group of customers gathered on the escalator themselves.

Moon takes an alternative route, opting to skip the escalator steps all together. Instead he leaps directly onto the handrail, steady and practiced, and carefully avoids his customer’s fingers as he races upward.

Sun meets him at the top an excruciating few seconds after and feels his composure slip further upon seeing him empty handed. “Where–?”

“I don’t know,” Moon interrupts, looking just as confused. “He was already gone when I got up here.”

“Seriously?” He braces both palms across his arms, hugging himself tightly so he doesn’t just rip out his rays all together. “He’s a baby, for Pete’s sake. How far could he have gone? How does this keep happening?”

“There!” Moon points a little ways off, where little George — somehow, someway — is spotted riding a runaway janitor’s cart, its wheels spiraling uncontrollably forward and headed straight for the wall.

“Stop that cart!” Shrieks Sun, already halfway across the room and hot on the cart’s tail.

The crowd is thick, clusters of customers all aiming to get their holiday shopping in before the real chaos begins, and it makes the already out of hand situation that much harder.

Sun hears the crash before he sees it, and feels his battery operated heart sink. The sight he’s met with upon finally reaching the end of the balcony is disastrous at best. The cart rests in a broken mess on the floor, having evidently bounced into a pair of trash cans rather than collide with the wall. One of said cans has toppled onto its side from the impact, and the trail of garbage leading out of it paints a perplexing picture.

Moon catches up with him a minute later, fans whirring like he’s out of breath. “Is he–”

“Gone,” Sun answers, aghast. He points to the breadcrumbs (literally) that trail out of the toppled can. “I think he fell into the garbage.”

“Well, that’s better than the wall,” hums Moon. “Maybe it cushioned his fall? And then the trashcan fell over…” he trails off.

“And he just…crawled out?” Sun finishes the thought, then raises his chin. The two share a dumbfounded expression.

“Sun, what kind of mutant child did you agree to babysit?”

“Don’t be rude!” He chastises. “George is just…special.”

“Yeah, specially designed to outwit us. They should have called him Curious George.” His eye follows the garbage trail until it peters out a few feet down. “Where do you suppose he went now?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Sun groans. “Should we split up?”

“Good idea. You take the east wing, I’ll go west. Reconvene in thirty minutes?”

“Ten,”‌ corrects Sun, grimacing at the deja vu. “His mother promised an hour, and it’s already been over half of that. If we can’t find him in ten minutes, then we - we–”

“We are going to find him,” Moon assures, bolstering Sun’s confidence as best as he can. “We just need to focus, alright? No more running around like chickens with our heads cut off.”

Sun nods his agreement. “Right, okay. You’re right. I won’t let a baby run me in circles around my own mall.” His frazzled expressions calms, at that, and he smiles. “Just a nine-month infant who crawls a little faster than normal, that’s all he is. Easy peasy!”

-

What happens next is neither easy nor peasy. In fact, calling it ‘running circles’ is an understatement. In the next ten minutes alone, little George sends both of them out on nothing short of a wild goose chase, appearing in nigh impossible positions each and every time and always just out their grasp.

Sun is the first to find him. Tucked into the one corner of a store that the cameras don’t reach, donning a pair of sunglasses of all things (upside-down, mind you), and playing with a silicone whisk from the kitchenware section. Sun is only a short distance away when a customer taps him on the shoulder and asks where they can find the bathroom. Of course, the little tot is already gone when he turns back around.

A few meters down, Moon discovers some discarded sunglasses on the floor. He spots a familiar pair of white padded feet a moment later and finds George climbing the side of an information kiosk. The employee inside is busy with a customer and doesn’t even notice the little rascal scaling the grounded kiosk sign like he was born to climb Everest. They notice Moon, though, and are all too eager to introduce one of the mall’s very own mascots to the customer who is, apparently, visiting for the very first time. It’s all Moon can do just to act polite in front of the woman as his guest-orientation protocols take over, keeping him paralyzed there even as the infant merrily drops from the sign and disappears from his sight.

Five minutes later Sun hears a shrill of laughter and turns around a corner to see George playing in the plant trough like it’s a sandbox, his navy footie all but smothered in dirt. An internal scream rips silently through his system as he grapples with the knowledge that he’s now going to get an earful even if he does successfully get his hands on the kid.

True to character, George is nowhere to be found when Sun winds up in front of the planter. He calms his nerves and protocols alike by fixing the poor flowers back into their proper position from where they had been carelessly plucked out and thrown aside. He knows there’s no saving a few of them, and he’ll need to reorder more seeds to make up for it, but that’s a headache for another day.

The current source of his vexation appears to have shown some mercy, at least. Sun finds a trail of muddy footprints leading out of the trough and down the aisle. An employee glances up from their storefront desk upon seeing him and points to the right, towards the candy store, knowing exactly what he was looking for, already. For the life of him, Sun cannot understand why they — or anyone else for that matter — hasn’t thought to stop the runaway infant. Apparently, a nine month old crawling around without parental supervision is nothing to bat an eye at to anyone in the mall’s entire vicinity.

Moon is passing by Waning Lights theater when he hears a small commotion inside. On a hunch he peeks in, expecting nothing in particular, and instead sees two enormous baby hands covering the screen. That is, two very small baby hands waving in front of the projector.

He’s up the steps in a matter of seconds, mechanics racing with the adrenaline of having finally caught the little devil, only — of course — the little hands have already disappeared, and the seat is empty, leaving only a confused employee where he once was. “You’re joking…” Moon whispers, exhausted. An already irritated customer shushes him from somewhere downstage. Distantly, he hears the telltale sound of infant babbling and begrudgingly follows it out of the theater again.

He bursts through the door and right into Sun, colliding with a loud clatter of metal and recoiling, each holding their heads respectively and groaning in perfect unison.

“Did you find him?” Sun asks around a wince.

“Technically yes, but–”

“He got away from you too?”

Moon nods. “What is it with this kid?”

“I don’t know, but we need to figure out a different plan soon. We’re already over our ten minutes.” He looks around once more for good measure, knowing the child couldn’t have gone too far, already, if they had both just spotted him a moment ago.

That’s when he sees it. Little George, nine months old, walking down the balcony aisle. Rather, the little tike is running like he’s off to the races.

“Well, that explains why he’s been able to get everywhere so fast,” says Moon, following Sun’s gaze. “I thought you said he was only starting to crawl?”

“He’s, um, a fast learner?” Sun answers sheepishly. He watches George go for all of one long, lovestruck moment — feeling like a proud parent himself — before the swell of pride in his chest shatters to make way for circuit frying terror.

See, little George has shown himself to be quite the impressive little acrobat. He can walk, he can run, he can climb, and at that very moment he is making quick work of closing the distance between himself and a stack of boxes pressed up against the balcony railing.

The only thing awaiting him on the other side is a long, long fall.

Sun darts forward without a word, but Moon is faster, weaving through the crowd with a nimble speed that he cannot compete with. “We aren’t going to make it,” Sun gasps, announcing it to himself, mostly, as horror grips him throughout. Even if they reach the railing on time, George is already at the top of the stack, raising himself onto unsteady feet and peering out into the great beyond. He’ll be over the edge before they can stop him, and they won’t make it to the first floor on time to catch him there.

But then Sun hears it; the whir of a wire, quick and sturdy as it races through its ceiling track to Moon’s beck and call. He watches its metal hook begin to lower from a few paces away, just as the infant topples up and over, and his body seizes with fear as Moon leaps over the railing after him.

He hears a click, the wire latching out of sight, going taut. Sun holds his breath until the sound of giggling follows. Peering warily over the railing, hands shaking, he sees Moon dangling halfway to the floor. Little George bounces in his arms, clapping and cheering and laughing away like this is all just another game.

Moon lowers himself the remaining distance to the floor as Sun scrambles down the elevator to meet him. He looks rightfully shaken, his faceplate screen blank of even stars, but his grip remains persistent. He’s not going to risk putting the kid down for a moment, even if he feels like he’s going to bluescreen any second now. Their landing is celebrated with the undeniable sound of George taking the world’s largest shit, and though Moon wants to be angry, all he manages to come up with in response is “Me too, kid.”

A voice calls over their internal radios right as Sun’s feet hit the floor.

“Can someone ring the mascots?” Asks the employee, “I’m stationed at Shutterbug with a customer and she says they have her baby…?”

“I’m on my way!” Sun answers the radio aloud. He takes the baby from Moon, who extends George to him from a distance, grateful — now more than ever — for their ability to turn off their nose receptors.

“What about the footie?” Moon gestures to the dirt-soaked clothes once his hands are free. “I don’t think she’s going to be happy if he’s brought back all dirty – or naked. That might be worse.”

On a whim, Sun turns George over to check the footie’s tag. Relief floods his system when he reads the name. “We carry this brand – I’ll bet anything that we have this exact footie somewhere in the store. Can you go find it?” He makes a face and turns his own nose receptors off a moment after. “Maybe a pack of diapers, too,” he laughs. “Oh! Can you also pick up a rabbit from Fluff-&-Stuff?”

“What about you?”

“I’m headed to the bathrooms so I can clean the little guy up.” He holds George up, then, wielding him like a stinky little weapon. “Unless you want to try changing a diaper?”

“Navy blue footie with a white pocket, got it,” answers Moon, already turning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction.

-

Ten minutes later, Sun exits the bathroom feeling like a brand new person. A scarred, mortified person, but new all the same. Who knew baby poop could be so traumatizing?

Moon had returned a moment before, toting with him the items that Sun had requested, and together they figured out how to dress the freshly cleaned child in a new diaper. Whoever said it wasn’t rocket science was right. It was somehow worse. Still, they persevered, and at the end of it all they had a clean, happy, freshly diapered baby to show for their efforts. Now it was just a matter of delivering him back to his mother.

“Why did you want the rabbit?” Moon asks as he trades over the stuffed animal, happy to hold little George now that the little tike isn’t a stink grenade.

“You’ll see,” answers Sun, refusing to elaborate. He rounds the corner with Moon following at his heel and steps into Shutterbug, greeting the mother with his best customer-pleasing smile. “So sorry for the wait, ma’am. George here had a bit of an accident on our way back.”

The woman tuts guilty, but is happy to see them all the same. “Oh, goodness, how embarrassing. I can pay for the diapers you used.”

“Nonsense!” He tells her with a casual wave of his hand, “We’re happy to lend a hand, and it’s not like the little guy could help himself.”

“You’re a sweetheart,” she smiles. “And he behaved for you, otherwise?”

Sun glances over his shoulder at Moon, and the two share a look.

Nodding, Moon steps forward and hands the child over when his mother extends her arms for him. “He was an angel,” Moon tells her.

They had both already agreed to keep their mouths shut on the entire ordeal, including and up to George’s newfound capabilities. Aside from how much trouble they would both find themselves in if anyone ever found out about the chase this single child had put them through, it simply wasn’t their place to mention it. Sun, especially, didn’t want to take away that special moment when his mother rightfully deserved to have it to herself.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” she sighs with relief. “Thank you again for watching her. You two are a real blessing, you know that? I wouldn’t have been able to get all my ducks in a row without your help.”

“Anytime!” Sun answers. He spots a plaid dress hiding behind her, and lowers himself into a crouch. “Hello, again,” he calls to the little girl using his kindest voice, and extends the stuffed rabbit for her to take. “I noticed you had some bunnies on your dress, so I thought you might like this.”

Behind him, Moon relaxes into a fond smile.

“That’s very kind of you,” says her mother, who nudges her forward gently. “Go on, it’s okay,” she reassures her. “It’s a gift.”

The child hesitant, but eventually she peeks out from behind her mother just enough to take the offered rabbit, which she tucks against her chest in a great, big hug. “Th…Thank you,” she whispers. Then, feeling brave, she rewards him with a gap-toothed smile.

Moon clears his voice-box. “Well, we should let you get to it,” he says, full-well knowing that Sun would stay here cooing at the children all day if he let him.

And Sun, for what it’s worth, knows exactly what the vocal nudge means, and detaches himself from the family with a wave and some merry goodbyes before the two of them depart together.

“That was sweet of you,” Moon comments once they’re out of earshot. “You aren’t hoping for kids of our own, are you? I don’t think I’m ready for that level of commitment.” He elbows Sun with a smile, getting a hearty laugh out of him.

“Moon, I’ll be honest. I will be the happiest bot in the world if I never have to change another diaper again.” This time it’s Moon’s turn to laugh, and he laughs until his vocals strain with effort. “But, you know, it wasn’t too bad. Taking care of a baby, I mean. I think we make a pretty good team – and decent parents.”

“I’m the better parent,” Moon says around a wide grin. “You’re too much of a stick in the mud.”

“And you’re too spoiling!” Sun laughs, “Don’t think I haven’t seen you giving out candy to the kids that sneak off without their parents.”

“I’m teaching a valuable lesson,” Moon insists, hand flying over his heart like he’s offended by the notion. “If parents want to leave their children unattended, they have to face the consequences. It won’t be me dealing with the inevitable sugar rush.”

A gasp in the distance interrupts their playful bickering. They turn halfway, back towards Shutterbug. 

“Did you see that?” Chirps the mother, loud and clear. Her giddy voice followed immediately by the shutter of a camera. “Look – look! He’s walking!”

Again, the two share a look. Surprise becomes amusement becomes pride, then joy, and they laugh, and laugh, and laugh.