#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

[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"

.

.

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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

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[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.

[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."

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

[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.

[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

[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.

[plus-size-reader]

Never Ending Proposals

Steve Harrington x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2267 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: Steve really wants to marry the reader, and will NOT give it up but at a certain point, he has to face reality.

—————————————————————————————————

“Steve…no”

“No”

“No Harrington”

“God, what is wrong with you? We are not getting engaged”

With the way you just kept repeating yourself, you were sure that someone was going to have you committed but it wasn’t entirely your fault.

He just wouldn’t drop it.

No matter what you tried to tell him, Steve refused to accept that you weren’t ready to be his wife yet.

You got it, you really did. You had heard his fantasy over and over again, about all the kids and the camper van and all that.

It sounded nice… after you had secure careers and could actually afford a camper full of Harrington's. Until then, you were just going to keep saying no, and it didn’t matter how sweet Steve was, or how much he genuinely meant each proposal.

As far as you were concerned, Steve Harrington was still a child, and so were you. Neither of you had any business getting married or starting a family yet.

Just last week, you’d lost Dustin in the mall, and you were confident he was easier to handle than an infant. At least, you hoped he was, considering how much trouble he caused the two of you all by himself.

How were you supposed to juggle everything you already did on top of marital responsibilities? You couldn’t.

There was no way to feasibly make it work.

Not that your partner saw that as clearly as you did, as evidenced by the fact you were once again talking about it, this time driving down the road.  

“I just think it would be nice, y’know?” Steve hummed, getting that dreamy look in his eye again, even though you’d already shot this particular fantasy down once this week.

You smiled in spite of yourself, enjoying the fact that he’d clearly given the more romantic parts of his plan some decent thought. In every way except the practical, he knew exactly how it would go down if you agreed.

Unfortunately, you had your focus placed firmly in reality, where there was no ring on your finger and you liked it that way-for the time being, at least.

“It would be nice, but we aren’t ready” you reminded, resting back fully against your chair, turning your head to meet his gaze before he returned his to the road.

That wasn’t he wanted to hear.

Part of you felt bad for shooting him down so readily. You understood the sentiment, and it would be a lie to say that his insistence on being with you was romantic but it was also crazy.

If you went through with it now, it would be like playing house. It wouldn’t actually be something you could sustain all on your own, and that was just the marriage part. You were even less ready to be parents.

You didn’t even have reliable parents of your own. You wouldn’t know how to be them.

“Why not? We always make it through, together,” he kept going, muscle memory almost entirely driving him now, as he ran his left hand through his hair, only partially focusing on the road.

From where he was sitting, it made perfect sense.

Sure, getting married young like you were was a little unorthodox, but it wasn’t entirely uncommon, especially in a small town like Hawkins. Besides, if anyone had any hope of making it work, he was sure it was you.

The two of you, getting through things together and making it work, no matter what. That was who you were and who you’d always been, for one another.

Marriage was just a formality.

A way to make it permanent, forever.

“We could definitely handle marriage” Steve shrugged decidedly, taking your silence as as much of an answer as he was going to get for now.

He knew you weren’t ready, but it didn’t bother him. You were worth waiting for and if waiting was what you wanted to do, you would do it.

…but he wasn’t going to stop proposing.

Steve made up his mind. He wanted to marry you more than he’d wanted anything in a long time and he wasn’t about to let you forget it.

Not that you could even dream of something like that.

You were painfully aware of the situation at hand, sometimes to the point that the pressure nearly crushed you. After all, Steve had dated a lot of girls before you, and of all of them, you were the one he chose to propose to and not just once.

He had proposed to you more times than you could keep track of, though the most memorable ones had certainly carved out a place in your mind.

The first time, for example, you and Steve had gone to the park and halfway through your walk, he’d made up his mind, and dropped to his knee right there.

Then there were the most elaborate schemes of all; like the time he’d sent a single slip of paper to your house every day for a month, all with the same proposal penned into the paper in blue ink, or when he’d hidden his grandmother’s diamond in a soda can.

Each and every one was crafted with so much effort and care, and he’d put so much time into every individual moment and detail.

It was a beautiful testament to how much he cared for you, and part of you wanted to say yes.

…but you couldn’t.

Wouldn’t. Not until you knew the time was right.

“We could. But first, we have to handle the video store” you reminded, pressing a soft kiss to Steve’s cheek before ducking out of the car entirely, leaving the man you loved to once again ponder over another failed conversation.

“I can handle the video store” he muttered, content to enjoy another day by your side, even if it was just as your boyfriend.

~

“Hey Steve” you called, rounding the corner to the horror section where he was restocking inventory, finally making up your mind, once and for all.

As endearing as he was, and as genuine as his feelings were for you, something had to change.

The pressure of all this marriage and babies stuff was going to drive you crazy, and you couldn’t feel like he was just constantly waiting for you to say yes, like you were keeping him from the one thing he really wanted.

Like being his girlfriend wasn’t enough anymore.

As soon as he heard your voice, the man stopped dead in his tracks, glancing at you over his shoulder, a huge grin on his handsome face.

“There’s my favorite girl. How were the romantic comedies?” he hummed, referring to the section you’d been assigned for the night.

Right now, it was just the two of you on the floor, given the fact Robin had drawn the short straw and was currently locked in the back room. Normally, that would mean a fair amount of sneaky kisses and misquoted movies, but not tonight.

Tonight, you couldn’t stop thinking about the talk you’d had on your way in and you needed some closure, before you drove yourself crazy.

“They’re fine. I was just thinking and I wanted to run something by you” you tried, watching as Steve immediately put down the box he’d been working on and turned his fullest attention to you, as if there was nothing else in the world.

Which, to be fair, there may has well been, in Steve’s mind.

“Sure, what’s up?”

His words hung in the air for only a moment before you finally blurted out what you’d been thinking about all day, without any of the tact you’d been hoping for.

“I need you to stop proposing to me” You started, slightly panicking now that it was all out in the open. Almost instantly, you felt that weight on your chest, no doubt punishment for crushing whatever happy family dream your boyfriend had for the two of you.

Understandably, there was silence between you for a moment as Steve tried to process what you were telling him.

Thankfully, you stepped in again before he could let his brain run wild with this new information. You wanted to make sure that he understood that you weren’t telling him no forever, or ending things, all you wanted to do was wait a little bit longer.

After all, you had ever intention of marrying him, as soon as you reasonably could.

“I love you, more than anything, and one day, you will be the most amazing husband. I just want to wait a little while longer” you cooed, speaking as quickly as you possibly could.

More silence.

By this point, you were sure that you’d upset him, maybe more than you ever had in the course of your relationship.

There was no way to know for sure considering Steve, the most expressive person you’d ever known, wasn’t actually saying or doing anything.

Until, of course, he did.

All at once, the man you loved was standing in front of you, holding your hands gingerly in his own as if you may actually slip through them if he wasn’t careful.

“What is it? Are you worried about your parents? Or my parents? Is it money? Because I can take more shifts. I’m just saying, I could definitely support you, we can figure it out” Steve assured, squeezing your hands, his face so close to your own that you could see the slight flecks of green in his eyes.

Which, of course, nearly melted you.

While you knew it was a bad idea, it was moments like this that made you want to marry him that much more.

He was so amazing.

You knew that there was nothing Steve wouldn’t do for the people he loved, and somehow you’d found yourself in the middle of that…you were lucky to be in love with him, you knew that.

All you were asking was to be with him, in this moment, instead of constantly yearning for a future that you weren’t prepared for yet.

“It’s none of that. I just can’t handle the pressure of it. I don’t want to feel like I’m letting you down” you sighed, deflating at his earnestness.

You loved him so much, and you just needed that to be enough for now.

Steve nearly scoffed at that before forcing it down. Clearly, even though it made no sense to him, that was how you were feeling and he had no right to take away from that.

“You could never let me down,”

Say what you may about Steve Harrington, but he was nothing if not determined to be happy and nothing brought him more happiness than his girl. You were his everything, and if he had to give up every other one of his vices to make you his, then he would just have to learn to live without the rest of it.

It was unbelievable to him that you were actually his girlfriend, and even a smile from you could brighten his whole day and send away the rain.

No matter what you two went through together, you had always been by his side, and the truest love he’d ever had.

The least he could do was try to return that favor for you.

That being said, this morning when he brought it up, he knew that you weren’t going to be happy with him but he didn’t really care. He wanted you to be his wife, and would do whatever it would take to get to that point.

Which wasn’t fair.

At some point, he should have considered the position he was putting you in, and since he hadn’t, Steve was grateful you’d brought it up.

The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable, or make anything harder for you. That was quite literally the reason he wanted to marry you in the first place, so that he could make sure you were always content.

“I love you, that’s what this whole thing is about. So, if you aren’t ready, we’ll wait” he decided, a flood of relief washing over you in an instant.

That was all you needed to hear.

That he wasn’t angry with you, and that he was okay with putting off any greater life planning until you were actually prepared for them.

Steve wasn’t thrilled about it, of course, but he knew what you were saying. In fact, this was one of the reasons he loved you so much. You were so much more realistic than he was, and if he didn’t have you, it was possible that he wouldn’t be able to function even half as well.

“I love you” he repeated, wrapping his arms around you fully now, in what had to be the most comforting hug you’d ever shared.

Not that you could be shocked, even now.

Everything that Steve ever did made him feel that much more irreplaceable to you and he really was. It warmed your heart to know that he was so serious about all of this, and that he really did love you as much as he claimed to.

“I love you! We’ll get there. I promise” you whispered back, giving him a strong squeeze before pulling away almost completely, though not far, considering the fact that you could still feel his breath fanning your face.

“Okay, then I have a promise for you,” Steve grinned, tapping his chin, almost as if deep in thought, before he finally made up his mind.

“I promise that the next time I propose will be the last time”

[vampyrial]

A World For Her Alone | Stranger

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

cw (chapter specific): emotional infidelity, abuse, murder, suicide, misogyny

pairing: claude x fem!reader

summary: in which Claude completely loses his head.

He opened his eyes once more to the dimness of his bedroom. His despair did not break, it lengthened like a long red string from one life to the other. His body was whole, reset again to perfect health and he knew that the ringing of his ears with the sound of an infant wailing was only an illusion. However, that reality only made things harder to bear than if there were medicine to be taken to rid himself of the noise. He laid in bed for a while longer, gazing listlessly at the sliver of sunlight that slipped through his heavy curtains. He gave himself over to the utter despondency of one who simply has no choice but to go on. That darkness was very tempting, he could give his strength over to it, he could fall backwards into it and know it would embrace him like a mother. But Claude was not so used to his helplessness, so somewhere in his mind, he held a small flicker of determination which kept him from falling completely. He had but wax wings to fly with and the sun was indeed approaching but he had some thought that he could reach you before they melted. 

He set eyes on Diana yet again, and yet again with childish glee. He looked deeply into her ruby eyes and saw nothing but the blood which was still wet on the bedsheets you laid cold and lost to the world on. He thought of the violence of it, your marriage. Even still, the muddled euphoria of being in Diana’s presence raged on, desperately trying to smother everything else. The memory of you remained a cold corner in his mind, a cell to lock his inner self inside as if it would help anything. As if that was the person who needed to be contained, needed to be reminded. But he was just so disgusted with himself, from his past life and watching his current one from outside a body that no longer seemed to be his own that he needed a place to take everything. He needed someone to punish…and he had no one who would obey but himself. He had no one to blame but himself regardless of the fact that he no longer even knew who that was. A ghost perhaps, unable to rest and unable to move forward, to be better. He would always be that man who died under the sword of your knight, always the last to realize. Always too late to save you.

In the corner of his eye, casting a shadow over Diana’s eyes, he saw you stumble to the table. You were a sight that shocked his body into moving as he would if only he controlled it. He had never seen you this way, you stumbled clumsily like you were drunk but your face was harrowed and tense. Words of concern left his mouth but he knew, he knew what the truth was. For once, he knew without doubt what had been done as it unfolded. He looked into your eyes and knew. 

Had you come back the same as he had?

“Where are they?” You muttered. His heart dropped. Your eyes were unfocused, forever staring at a point past both he and Diana, at an unreachable figment. He saw your chest rise and fall rapidly with your breaths. He saw your body tremble. 

“Sister?” Diana called, her eyes clouding with genuine confusion and unease. Her lovely face went slack with surprise as she watched her sister mumble like a madwoman.

“Where is my child?” Words that bit a hole through his chest. He had desperately hoped that what he believed couldn't possibly be but just those words alone had consumed him completely. You confirmed the nature of this reality, the true extent of his sins. The you who had given birth to his copy, who had died knowing her husband was at the side of another woman, who had died believing he doubted her fidelity, was the same you who stood before him now.

He remembered the eyes of your daughter, those teary eyes without malice that he thought would damn him. He was wrong to think the girl was his complete copy, no, right now he felt her eyes and yours were the same. Crying for something lost, a hazy, clouded little memory. A warmth that dissipated into nothing, a weight that held them to the earth.

But the resemblance was fleeting for your eyes quickly filled with anger. You seized Diana by the shoulders and you looked into her eyes unflinchingly, although Claude’s body rose on instinct, the him within only wondered if you saw in those rosy eyes the very same thing  he did.

“It wasn’t enough for you to have him, you wanted the only thing—” He didn’t let you finish, he was grabbing you and pulling you away from Diana like an animal. He felt his hand take your arm into a forbidding grasp. He could not stop, it was useless but if it were inevitable he wished to retreat inside. At very least he did not want to watch himself hurt you, not as he carried the knowledge that you had every right to go mad. Every right in the world to rage against him, rage against Diana even if in her eyes was an utter guileless that he could not deny.

“You don’t have a child yet. No one has taken anything from you.” Uselessly cruel words from a thoroughly and uselessly cruel man. They were more than lies, they were violence. He knew he was robbing you of any right to mourn the loss of a child who never had the chance to even have a name of her own. Forcing you to pretend, he was dragging you from your child just the same as death had. He was twice as forbidding as the universe, far more cruel, far more violent because unlike the universe, he knew your pain inside and out. And he watched himself wound you again.

You wilted, went limp in his grasp, your eyes went blank and confused. Your eyes were big and teary like your daughter’s were. “Please help me….I….” You muttered. He knew you were seeing her in him as you pulled away from his hold and he thinks, just for a moment, he might have been the one to soften his grip. To open his hands. It had felt like a long time since he could control his body in any meaningful way, he could no longer be certain. You were swaying on your feet, teetering away from him. He was still arrogant enough to want to comfort you, even knowing he was the source of your pain. His limbs almost trembled to hold you. To tell you that he had known your daughter too.

Instead, your knight stepped forward and gently caught you before you fell. He felt such a relief to see you caught even if his own body would not move at will. And then he felt…a sickness he could not place. “I’m afraid my lady isn’t feeling well, I’ll see her to her room” He said, without looking at Claude. He spoke informally, inconsiderately. Before he could respond, Felix was already walking away with you. A hollow hearted feeling came over him as he watched your body lean against his as if he was the only thing keeping you tethered to earth. He ought to have been relieved and the darkness that grew on him mostly felt annoyed at your outburst but it wasn’t the only thing there…his heart was sinking too. The one that was his own.

This life, despite the revelation he’d been shown, was much the same except that he was far more brazen than he’d ever been before. He came over to your parent’s manor without even hiding the fact that he only intended to see Diana. You stayed wherever you were, he wasn’t even sure you knew he was there. Your mother led him up to Diana’s room without question, not once did she utter your name. Nor did he. 

Again he was shut into a shared world with Diana. Her love was like climbing ivy, it smothered and it grew until he could not see anything more. But a part of him loved the feeling so desperately, he hoped he’d never breathe again without feeling the leaves brush against his insides. He hoped her love would grow part of him, he hoped that her love would continue to be so evasive that he would feel her vines cage his lungs. The longing for her to be a fundamental part of his life was strong, so strong that he pretended it was already so. When he strode up to your parents’ doorstep, he pretended he was supposed to be there for Diana, that she was his fiancée.  He did not even have to ask her to indulge this charade, she was more than happy to live in one of the romance novels that lined her bookshelf.

It did not escape his notice that you had been imprisoned in your own home. He looked toward your window each time he came over and the bars installed there remained. You did not even leave your room, he knew not whether you’d been forbidden or whether you simply did not want to see his face. The latter was the better, he thought, if you hated him then there was something to be saved. You not been entirely broken if you still had capacity to hate him for what he did. It would mean you understood his fault, it was all his fault. He would tell you as much if he was free to speak. He would say, “Give it to me, give me what pain you carry and leave it there.”

In this life, he saw you scarcely, desired you frequently. He was pulled this way and that by the high of Diana’s love and the time slowly disappeared. There was dread in the days approaching your wedding and he lived in a daze, always in a daze. This devouring thing inside made him feel bleak, numbed all his concern to nothing but the pathetic mourning for Diana. The wedding date slowly approaching was like a noose around his neck slowly tightening and he knew exactly when the platform would drop from beneath him but it did not give him peace. He could not enjoy his final moments. In other words, he was burdened on both sides.

The day your parents arrived hastily, hands clasped and eyes on the floor, informed him that you’d run away, the first thing he felt was relief. It hit him like the first burst of cold air from outdoors, it stunned him that his own consciousness was forefront for once. But before he had the time to wonder, there was more to be said.

Your mother, her eyes on the floor, had more to confess. She looked like a scolded little girl and frankly, he wanted to laugh at her until she opened her mouth. “It seems she has run away with her personal knight.” She was near choking on the words as if they made her sick.

A strange feeling came over him. A unbearable burn searing through his chest at the thought of you with Felix, alone and out of reach. But his lips curved into the barest hint of a smile, a bitter and hateful smile. “Our knights will take over the search for them.” The anger of his greater self, took him over with ease. It buried and twisted into him. It grew to a flame that cast his own consciousness into shadow. You betrayed him, you ran away with another man after promising to spend your life with another. He grabbed onto the fragments of thoughts his empowered self was too angry to finish. “How could she…” “A whore, nothing but a whore…” “If I ever see her again–”

Wherever you went, he hoped it was too far for his men to reach. He hoped you’d never be close enough for him to reach again. The darkness churned up thoughts to quell itself. Thoughts of the violence he felt owed.

In the days without you, he stewed in his own thoughts. The silver lining was being given reprieve from Diana, at least most of the time. She still sent her letters and he still answered them and enjoyed the brief moment of peace they bought him. The first letter, a hateful thing of pretty lace and ribbons, he wanted to throw out without reading but his hands worked against his own interests and he was treated to Diana’s apology. She apologized for her sister running away and disgracing him. ‘Disgrace?’ he remembered thinking. ‘Am I the one who has been disgraced?’ His fingers traced the lace decorating the letter, as he remembered what he’d accused his wife of in their very earliest life and the life directly after. Death by prison filth and deprivation, death by birthing the child of a man who left her alone. A disgrace? What did he know about being disgraced? All he knew was the very opposite.

All of these were whispers, of course. His greater self was soothed by Diana’s words, words he felt negated his responsibility. For what had he done other than be an exemplary fiancé? What did you have to be displeased with? What was he lacking that any other nobleman had? What was so bad you would run away with another man and have him made into gossip fodder? Her words fortified him, they justified his anger not as an ugly thing eating away at him but as righteous outrage. Diana was comforting him as no one had, not even your sniveling suck-up parents. She understood the value of a promise better than anyone. He held the letter up to his lips with shaking hands and he pressed a kiss to the place where her hands must have been when she pressed the ribbon into place. 

The waiting for you to be found was the hardest thing for him. Perhaps if you were not found in a decent amount of time, it would be more prudent both fiscally and emotionally, to wed Diana who was also a daughter of your house. Oh, how he reveled in that thought. His mind conjured such pretty, bloodless thoughts of marriage to Diana. It almost combatted the thoughts he had about seeing you again, the words he’d bring forth to shame you in a place where you could not do anything but accept your own fault. Your indecency, your infidelity, your selfishness. The irony of his anger and his eagerness burned no one but himself, who lay paralyzed in his own mind as he settled into the fact that if you were found, he might truly have to watch himself beat you. For something he was far more guilty of, no less. He couldn’t so much as grit his teeth to express the anguish, all he could do is call upon god, the well in the sky he poured desperate wishes into.

‘Dear god, you seek to punish me, I know. But do not punish my bride, let me go hollow from missing her, from wanting to retrieve some of the person I used to be but do not hurt her to show me your wisdom. Tear me apart as you will but do not use her to do it. Let her stay lost to me.’

The sky really must have been empty, there really must have been no god to hear him, for you were found on a rainy night and brought to his mansion. Felix was dead, slain as a matter of course. A sick delight came about as he heard the report that your new lover had been killed where he stood. He heard himself speak in a low voice that suppressed none of his malice. “Let me see her, then.” 

But his mother stopped him, assessing at him with serious eyes, sizing him up. “No. You’re too angry. You might do something to damage her.” She was right and the inner self rejoiced for the prolonged distance, for the fact that although his mother clearly considered you more product than woman, she would not have him harm you. 

He kept you like a prisoner, sequestered to some bedroom at the center of the manor, locked from the outside and served by maids who watched you carefully as their jobs would not be spared if you were to pull the same trick again on their watch. The greater part of himself did long to look into your eyes, to feel the rage inside bloom and overflow and finally, finally allow him to release it. He nursed this hate like the phantom child he had left behind.

He allowed for one visitor, the young lady betrothed to Felix, who beseeched him. He wanted you to feel as he did. This woman who’d been forced to only partly display her mourning through plain black clothing rather than the true mourning garb of one whose loss was as great as hers, was a perfect tool for it. It was to show you who your actions hurt besides him. The extent of your selfishness brought consequences for more than just him, he wanted you to know that. He could tell you himself but showing you was all the better. If you hated him so much you’d run away short of your wedding, his emotions likely meant nothing to you. So let you have the hatred of someone else you hurt, let you see what you’ve done through the tears of a woman you’ve hurt just as badly.

The day of your wedding was a humiliation, for both of you. A farce that became the den of gossips gawking at your stiff steps down the aisle. He was relieved to know that you were the target of insult but displeased to be pitied. Still, such was worth it, if only to show a woman who seemed to think she was above having loyalty to her betrothed that you were not even above being gawked at on your wedding day like a caged animal. If he had to put up with being humiliated the inevitable moment everyone found out you fled with another man, you would put up with this. He would have his pound of flesh before you were married, before he’d have to forgive you.

Still, though he wanted your pain, he was caught between that motive and the fact that it still severely angered him that you thought you had the right to pity yourself. When he saw tears in your eyes as you reached the altar, he snapped at you in a whisper. Why were you of all people crying? If anything, it should have been him. You did this, what right had you to cry about it now? In the time you were far from home, living with that knight, what had you done together? Living in the squalor among commoners, had you found some pleasure in that? He had no choice now except to marry a woman who ran about with another man short of their wedding.

Claude rejected the notion of your culpability, but that didn’t matter when the loudest voice within his mind did not belong to him. He knew he had no right to be jealous and bitter as he was, he knew it was ludicrous for him to act like you were the one to betray him as if he wasn’t always alone with your sister, coming to visit her while neglecting you. Never mind the fact that he knew what you had lost, what he had stolen from you. But what did knowing that do? All that mattered to this darkness above him was that you existed and therefore had sinned. The more he pondered this thing which plagued him, the more hopeless he understood his situation to be. This thing, this darkness, its separation from his true self only mattered to him at this point. All you could see was a cruel husband, a man who hated you, who would leave you to die alone. Did it matter if there was more to him, if all he could show you was the most hateful part of him? It might not have been his true self that tormented you for so long but…they shared one body and it was still his hands that dripped with your blood.

When he woke one morning and his consciousness had swam up to the surface of his mind, allowing him to control his own body for the first time in ages, he knew that something was wrong. He felt it in the pit of his stomach, in the quiet of his room with the faded rays of sun reaching through the curtains after a stormy night. The moment he realized he was free, he went to your room still wearing his pajamas, his hair disheveled. Each step was his own doing and yet it still felt as though the path was fated, there was nothing to be done except go to you. See what this life had made of you, pray to a god who wasn’t listening. When he opened the door, what he saw struck him so hard his vision went white.

You were hanging from the center of the room, your body was still and cold. He knew it was too late to save you but stupidly he fumbled with the sheets around your neck, trying to get your body down. Murmuring little words of comfort to ears that could not hear him. If only he could just get you down, he could save you. This time, this time, he had to save you. How foolish he was. How could he not see that such was not the way things worked for him?

Your body was not even warm when he set you down on the floor, when he put his head on your chest, he heard no heartbeat not even a weak and staggered one. Your eyes were open, unblinking and looking constantly at a point in the distance away from him. You had been dead for some time, for your body had not even been swaying from where you hung. He couldn’t feel you anymore. But he could not let go of you either, he stayed with your body until the steward was firmly pulling him away. “My lord…please leave her to us.” His head had been lain again your chest, his tears wetting your chemise for how long? He did not know. 

Even after your body was taken, he remained kneeling on the floor where he had held you. 

He was not even coherent enough to kill himself but for the state he was in, the doctor recommended he take sedatives. They made the days pass like minutes and often he was in the dark with his misery, not able to speak it, show it. Not allowed the reprieve or the punishment of a knife against his throat. He was in the dark with your body hanging in front of him. He was in the dark every day until the morning he was woken up for your funeral. That day he awoke by a caress, a warm hand against his cheek and for a confused, bleary moment, he thought it was your hand. His heavy eyelids opened and caught a glimpse of golden hair. 

He was besotted again. Diana was beautiful even in mourning garb, dressed in delicate black lace, inches away from him with tears in her eyes. “Lord Claude” Her voice wavered. “I’m sorry, but it’s time for you to wake up. The funeral is soon, I’ve already let you sleep as much as you can.” He couldn’t help the enormous love that came over him as he saw her trying to be strong before him. He stretched his stiff limbs around her and held her to his chest. She did not refuse his comfort, she fell apart in his arms and cried. Her face was nuzzled into his neck as he ran his hand up and down her back. Yet again, something had bloomed from the void inside. The honey of her love had sweetened everything and it was reaching inside him to claim control once more. What defense had he against her, his consolation and mercy?

The funeral service was carried out at the marquisate. A lady should be buried in her husband’s family plot after being married, after all. A marchioness is a marchioness, not even the part of him that despised you could deny as much. He’d relinquished himself to that greater instinct again, he was sure it had happened while he was in Diana’s arms. The moment his control was undone indefinitely was when remembered his love for her.

Diana cried throughout the funeral and held to his arm, looking at the coffin which cradled her sister who looked fitful as if she were having a bad dream even in death. She trembled to see her sister, young and newly married, dead. Perhaps she saw herself in the coffin next and the thought of that made Claude hold her closer. No one commented on him embracing his sister-in-law so intimately at his wife’s funeral, least of all your parents who looked more burdened than bereaved. They apologized to him for the inconvenience caused by the whole ordeal from your wedding to your death and offered to take over the planning of the funeral at some point. They apologized to him for your death. Instead of mourning you, their firstborn daughter. You, your mother’s only daughter, a loss that should have shaken her to her very core was being treated as a matter of political burden. You were no more to her than a fallen knight, a matter of replacement or compensation. A financial headache, perhaps a political one but never a mother’s heartache or confusion for a daughter who took her own life. 

What did he feel? Was it a husband’s grief? No…no, it was impossible for him to only feel a husband’s grief now. He was not just your husband, he was your killer, your jailor, your tormentor. The constant catalyst of your demise. He had not just lost a wife, he had killed one. There was never a time where he had been a husband to you, it was fitting that his grief was not that of a loving, dutiful husband.

Diana insisted upon not leaving him alone so your parents left her in his care. They didn’t flinch when she asked them and she didn’t think anything of spending so much time alone with her dead sister’s husband even though she had flirted with him so heavily while she was alive. Should she not be ashamed to ask this of him? Or did she think it was alright since she believed what everyone else did, that you didn’t love him, that you ran away to elope with your lover and killed yourself because he had been slain in the end? Nevertheless, he welcomed her.

Diana spent an entire week with him, days that comforted his hateful heart more than anything ever had. Perhaps it shouldn’t have, for she was mourning you as he was supposed to be. But it was as if they were playing pretend again, except this time they had the entire marquisate at their disposal instead of just Diana’s bedroom. When he wanted to see her, she was in the library or out in the garden or taking lunch in the guest room. Always in reach, it made him feel better. She was safe, she was healthy this time around and she was his. More than she ever had been before. Perhaps the suddenness of your death made her all the more open, made the need for comfort greater. Either way, the sweetness of her love was falling over him as warmly as summer rain.

But after that week, Diana did need to return home. For the sweet girl did not want her parents to miss her for too long. Claude insisted on accompanying her home in the carriage, under the guise of her safety but in all reality, just to spend even a few more moments with her. 

They were halfway there when the carriage started moving faster than it should have. The horses were whinnying in fright desperately racing forth, Diana’s slight frame nearly flew across the carriage before he caught her and held her. They were run off the dirt road and into the forest. Claude couldn’t understand what was happening, he only caught the glimpse of dark figures out the window before the carriage flipped over. 

He used his body to keep Diana from getting hurt the instant he felt the carriage tip. His head hit the door of the carriage hard but he seemed to be alright, there was only a little blood. “Diana?” He hadn’t the time or the wits about him to form the sentence he wished to speak, he could only call her name, frantic and panicked. “I’m alright!” Diana answered, looking up at him, still in his arms. She was trembling and fear clouded her eyes. He could hear commotion outside, fighting, the clang of swords. His heart sank at the staggered realization that they were being attacked but he was quick to action regardless of how badly his head pained him and how he couldn’t find his balance. 

Still, by the time he’d helped Diana out of the carriage, his two knights were laying on ground before several men, cloaked in black with their swords wet with blood. He pushed her behind him and gripped his own sword to hold out before him. It was at least four swords against one, there was no way for him to live but he still needed to save Diana. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t logical, that he knew in his rational mind that he had no chance, he had to wield his sword against them. They were quickly done in, Diana seized and his sword arm badly injured. Strangely, they did not seem to have any intentions of killing him which gave him hope that it was a ransom situation. Until the man who had Diana, who seized her as she tried to flee to her best bet of survival — the thick forests around them, slit her throat unceremoniously and let her body drop to the ground into the dirt. 

Claude let out a sound of unbridled anguish that startled birds from the trees. He fought against their hold wildly, turned half feral and dripping blood on them. The man who stayed back, took down the hood of his cloak revealing black hair, he seemed to be their ringleader. “Now that we have that out of the way, let me.” He stepped forward and drew his sword. Claude was still fighting, still writhing in the grips of his assailants, uttering curses at them. The stranger pulled Claude’s hair to lift his head and make him look up into his eyes. He wore a soft smile, dissonant from the situation. “Lord Claude, I hope you’d agree you’re entirely too important to be dealt with by just anybody.” 

The stranger, his eyes glittering with joy, stood back and brought his sword down over Claude's head.

author's note: Oh, Claude. Didn't anyone ever tell you the forest is full of wicked things?

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