Quinn Kane

Simon Riley

Demon au

I'm finishing this at 2am and scheduling for some random time because I am so tired im barely awake enough to type so enjoy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You did not sleep that night, not really anyway.

Even after Simon left just before dawn, after promising in that low rough voice that he would come back, your mind refused to settle.

A demon, an actual demon.

Every logical part of your brain insisted you had imagined it. Stress. Exhaustion. Too many horror movies late at night.

But your apartment still smelled faintly like smoke and rain after he left.

And when you checked the hallway security camera footage through your phone the next morning, the screen glitched every single time Simon appeared.

You stared at it for nearly ten minutes.

Everyone else in the footage looked normal, clear.

But Simon looked distorted, like static wrapped around a human shape.

Your stomach flipped.

The worst part was that you still wanted to see him again.

That should have terrified you more than anything.

Instead, you spent the entire next day distracted.

At work you burned your coffee twice and nearly sent an email to the wrong client because your brain kept replaying the way Simon looked at you.

Like you mattered, like he had been starving for centuries and suddenly found something worth wanting.

By the time evening rolled around, rain clouds had gathered again outside.

You found yourself glancing toward the door every few minutes.

Waiting.

Which was ridiculous.

You barely knew him.

A knock sounded at exactly eight o'clock.

Your pulse jumped.

You opened the door to find Simon standing there holding a paper bag from a local takeout place.

“You eat?” he asked.

You blinked.

“That depends. Is it poisoned?”

One side of his mouth twitched.

“No.”

You stepped aside to let him in, trying very hard not to notice how good he looked tonight.

Black henley.

Dark jeans.

Fingerless gloves.

Like some unfair combination of dangerous and exhausted.

“You remembered my favorite place?”

“You mentioned it once.”

Your chest tightened a little.

Most people forgot things about you almost immediately.

Simon remembered tiny details after one conversation.

He placed the food on the counter while you tried to act normal despite the fact he was apparently a supernatural being.

“You're staring,” he said quietly.

“I’m trying to figure out if I should be more concerned about the demon thing.”

“Fair.”

You crossed your arms.

“So are you gonna explain anything or just keep appearing mysteriously during thunderstorms?”

Simon leaned back against the counter, arms folded over his chest.

“You really want the truth?”

“Yes.”

A long silence followed.

Then he sighed.

“I wasn't born human.”

Not exactly the comforting start you hoped for.

“There are different kinds of demons,” he continued. “Some feed on violence. Some on fear. Some on pain.”

You swallowed hard.

“And you?”

His eyes met yours.

“Punishment.”

The word landed heavily between you.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I was made to drag bad people where they belong.”

Cold crept down your spine.

Hell, he meant hell.

Simon watched your expression carefully like he expected you to bolt for the door any second.

“You kill people?”

“Sometimes.”

Your stomach twisted.

But before fear could fully settle, Simon added quietly, “Only monsters.”

The answer should not have comforted you as much as it did.

“You're serious.”

“Aye.”

You sat down slowly at your tiny kitchen table.

“This is insane.”

“Probably.”

“You're telling me Hell is real.”

“Yes.”

“And demons are real.”

“Yes.”

“And you're one of them.”

Simon nodded once.

You rubbed both hands over your face.

“This is officially the worst dating experience I've ever had.”

To your surprise, Simon barked out a laugh.

A real one.

Deep and rough and startlingly warm.

The sound caught you so off guard you started laughing too.

Soon both of you were sitting in your tiny kitchen laughing like lunatics while thunder rattled outside.

It felt strangely normal.

That terrified you most of all.

Eventually the laughter faded.

Simon looked at you quietly across the table.

“You aren't reacting the way most people do.”

“What do most people do?”

“They scream.”

“Tempting.”

A faint smile touched his face again.

Then it disappeared just as quickly.

“You should still stay away from me.”

The softness in the room vanished instantly.

You frowned. “Why?”

“Because eventually something from my world is going to notice you.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What does that mean?”

“It means demons don't form attachments often.” His voice lowered. “And when they do… others use it against them.”

A horrible realization settled over you.

“You're saying someone could hurt me to get to you.”

Simon said nothing.

That silence answered enough.

You looked away first.

The kitchen suddenly felt too small again.

“I knew this was too good to be true.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Immediately Simon's expression changed.

Not anger.

Pain.

Real pain.

“Don't say that.”

“Why not? Every single time I finally meet someone who actually seems to care about me, something goes wrong.”

“You think I don't know that?” His voice roughened suddenly. “You think I don't know what I am?”

The lights flickered hard enough to make you jump.

Shadows moved unnaturally along the ceiling.

Simon stood abruptly, turning away from you like he was trying to regain control of something dangerous inside himself.

“I should leave.”

You stared at his rigid back.

For the first time since meeting him, Simon looked afraid.

Not for himself.

For you.

And somehow that hurt worse.

“Simon.”

He did not turn around.

“You're the first person who's ever looked at me without wanting something from me,” he said quietly. “Do you understand how dangerous that is for a creature like me?”

Your chest ached.

Slowly, you stood and walked toward him.

Simon stiffened the second your fingers touched his arm.

“You keep saying I should stay away,” you whispered. “But you came back anyway.”

He finally looked at you.

Dark eyes.

Tired eyes.

Lonely eyes.

“You make me forget what I was made for.”

The confession hit harder than it should have.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs.

“You scare me,” you admitted softly.

Simon nodded once like he expected that.

“But not because you're a demon.”

His brow furrowed slightly.

“You scare me because I think I could actually fall in love with you.”

Silence, complete silence.

Even the storm outside seemed quieter.

Simon stared at you like he had never heard those words before in his entire existence.

Then very gently, almost reverently, he touched your face.

Again.

Another date that started with promise and ended with disappointment.

At this point it almost felt laughable. Your friends called it bad luck. Your mother called it poor taste in men. You called it exhausting.

You had spent years trying to make yourself easier to love.

Softer voice. Smaller opinions. Less emotional. More patient. More forgiving.

None of it worked.

One cheated on you with your coworker. One forgot your birthday three years in a row. One left halfway through dinner because his ex texted him.

After enough heartbreak, you stopped expecting good things from people.

Still, loneliness had a way of creeping in during quiet nights.

You tossed your ruined makeup wipe into the trash and shuffled toward the kitchen, flicking on the small lamp above the sink. The apartment glowed warm amber against the storm outside.

Then the lights flickered.

Once, twice, you frowned.

“Please do not die on me tonight.”

The bulbs steadied.

A knock sounded at your door.

You froze.

It was nearly midnight.

Another knock. Slower this time.

Your stomach twisted as you moved carefully toward the door, checking the peephole.

A tall man stood in the hallway.

Broad shoulders.

Dark hood.

Black gloves.

The overhead light buzzed strangely above him.

You hesitated before cracking the door open slightly.

“Yes?”

The stranger lifted his head.

And your breath caught.

He was handsome in a way that almost hurt to look at. Harsh features softened only slightly by tired eyes. A scar cut across his face, pale against tan skin. Blond lashes shadowed eyes so dark they looked nearly black in the dim hall.

“You dropped this downstairs.”

His voice was deep and rough like gravel dragged across velvet.

He held up your wallet.

Your eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

You snatched it from him, immediately checking inside. Everything was still there.

“You could've taken the cash.”

“Aye.” One corner of his mouth twitched. “Could've.”

You laughed quietly despite yourself.

“Thank you…?”

“Simon.”

The name settled strangely in your chest.

His gaze lingered on you for half a second too long. Not in a creepy way. More like he was trying to memorize you.

Then the hallway light above him burst with a sharp pop.

You jumped.

Simon did not even blink.

“Sorry,” you muttered nervously. “This building is falling apart.”

“Seems that way.”

Another silence settled between you, oddly comfortable despite the fact you had never met this man before.

You noticed rain soaking the shoulders of his black jacket.

“You can come in for a minute if you want,” you said before thinking too hard about it. “Until the storm calms down.”

His expression changed slightly.

Almost surprised.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

You stepped aside.

The second Simon crossed your doorway, the warmth in the apartment seemed to shift.

Not colder.

Heavier.

Like the air itself had thickened.

He removed his gloves carefully, revealing scarred hands and silver rings. Your gaze snagged briefly on one oddly shaped ring that looked ancient compared to the others.

“You live alone?” he asked quietly.

“Unfortunately.”

His eyes flicked around the apartment before settling back on you.

“You should get a better lock.”

You laughed nervously. “You sound like my dad.”

“Smart man.”

You made tea mostly to keep your hands busy. Simon stood near the kitchen counter, massive compared to your tiny apartment. Somehow he looked completely natural there, like he belonged in shadows and dim light.

“You always rescue strangers during storms?” he asked.

“No. Usually I make objectively terrible choices with men.”

That earned a low hum from him.

“Bad history?”

“Catastrophically bad.”

The words spilled easier than expected.

Maybe because Simon listened instead of waiting for his turn to talk.

You told him about the cheating, the lying, the way every relationship somehow left you feeling lonelier than before.

“You start wondering if maybe something's wrong with you after a while,” you admitted softly.

Simon went still.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

The certainty in his voice startled you.

“You don't even know me.”

“Don't need to.”

Your face warmed.

Rain thundered harder outside.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

Then Simon looked toward your window sharply.

Not casually.

Alert.

Like he heard something you couldn't.

“You expecting anyone tonight?”

“No?”

His jaw tightened slightly.

A cold shiver crawled across your skin.

Then came three knocks at the apartment door.

You frowned. “Who the hell…”

Simon was already moving.

Fast, too fast.

One second he stood beside the counter. The next he was near the door.

You barely processed it.

He glanced through the peephole and his expression darkened into something genuinely frightening.

“Stay back.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What is it?”

“Stay behind me.”

The deep tone in his voice left no room for argument.

The knocking came again.

Harder.

Your pulse hammered as Simon unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway, pulling it nearly shut behind him.

You heard muffled voices.

Low.

Aggressive.

Then silence.

A horrible silence.

You crept closer before the door opened again.

Simon stepped back inside calmly, shutting the door behind him.

Your eyes widened.

There was blood on his knuckles.

“Oh my God.”

“Not mine.”

“What happened?”

“Drunk bastard had the wrong apartment.”

Something about the explanation felt thin.

Still, Simon looked completely unbothered.

Not adrenaline high, bot angry, just cold controlled.

He noticed your expression and sighed softly.

“Scared of me now?”

Strangely, you weren't.

You should have been.

Every instinct said something about this man was dangerous beyond reason.

But beneath all of that danger was something else.

Something lonely, something aching.

“No,” you answered honestly.

Simon stared at you like the word physically hurt him.

“You should be careful saying things like that.”

“Why?”

His eyes met yours fully then.

Dark, endless, not human.

The lights flickered again violently.

For one impossible second you saw something behind him.

A shadow stretching too large across the wall.

Two massive horns curling upward.

Golden eyes glowing from darkness.

Then it vanished.

Your breath stopped.

Simon closed his eyes briefly like he knew exactly what you saw.

The apartment suddenly felt too small.

“What…” Your voice trembled. “What are you?”

Silence.

Rain hammered the windows.

Finally he spoke.

“A bad man.”

“That isn't an answer.”

“No.” His gaze lowered to the floor. “It's the safer one.”

You should have run.

Any sane person would have.

But instead you whispered, “You brought back my wallet.”

Simon looked almost amused by that.

“Your standards are low, sweetheart.”

“They've had to be.”

A quiet sound escaped him. Not quite a laugh. Not quite sadness.

Then he stepped closer carefully, like approaching a frightened animal.

“You keep picking people who hurt you because part of you thinks that's all you deserve.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“How would you know that?”

“Because creatures like me can smell loneliness.”

The room went cold.

Creatures, plural.

Your heart raced but Simon remained perfectly still.

“I haven't lied to you,” he continued softly. “I just haven't told you everything.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

His expression immediately hardened with something fierce.

“No.”

The answer came so fast it felt instinctive.

“Never you.”

Your breath caught again.

Simon lifted one scarred hand slowly toward your face, giving you every chance to pull away.

When his fingers brushed your cheek, warmth spread through your skin despite the storm around you.

“You're the first good thing I've wanted in a very long time,” he murmured.

His thumb traced beneath your eye gently.

“And that's dangerous for someone like me.”

You should have pushed him away.

Instead you leaned into his touch.

Because for the first time in your entire life, someone looked at you like you were precious instead of temporary.

Mother's day

Sorry its late and probably trash its been crazy busy lately

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing you noticed when you woke that morning was the smell of coffee drifting through the flat. Warm sunlight slipped through the curtains in soft golden streaks while the quiet sound of movement came from the kitchen. For a moment you stayed curled beneath the blankets with your eyes closed, enjoying the rare peace that settled over the room.

Then you heard muffled whispering.

A small giggle followed.

Your lips curved into a sleepy smile.

Simon was home.

That alone already made the day feel special.

The past few months had been difficult for your family. Simon had spent more time away than at home and each deployment left a little more exhaustion resting on his shoulders. He never talked much about what happened overseas, but you could see it in the tired look behind his eyes and in the careful way he held your daughter whenever he returned.

Like he was reminding himself she was real.

Like he needed proof that something gentle still existed in the world.

You pushed yourself upright and glanced toward the clock beside the bed.

Eight thirty.

Much later than you usually slept.

Normally your daughter climbed into bed before sunrise demanding cartoons or breakfast or cuddles. The silence in the room felt suspicious enough to make you laugh quietly.

Something was definitely happening.

You slipped from the blankets and padded toward the bedroom door. Before your hand even touched the handle it swung open suddenly.

Your daughter stood there wearing pink pajamas covered in tiny clouds.

Behind her Simon loomed with one large hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

Your little girl grinned up at you with missing front teeth and excitement practically vibrating through her body.

“Happy Mothers Day.”

She shoved a slightly crumpled card toward you.

Your chest tightened instantly.

Simon remained silent behind her but you caught the faint softness in his eyes.

You opened the card carefully.

Inside was a messy drawing done in bright marker. Three stick figures stood beneath a crooked yellow sun. One figure wore a skull mask.

You laughed quietly.

“I love it so much.”

Your daughter bounced on her feet proudly.

“Daddy helped me spell the words.”

You glanced lower and saw uneven writing across the bottom.

Best mummy ever.

The emotion hit you harder than expected.

You crouched down and wrapped your daughter in a tight hug while she squealed happily.

“Thank you sweetheart.”

Simon watched the two of you for a second before clearing his throat.

“There is breakfast too.”

You looked up at him with raised brows.

“Breakfast?”

His expression turned almost defensive.

“Burned the first batch. Second one turned out alright.”

You smiled wider.

“That means you cooked.”

“Unfortunately.”

Your daughter grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the kitchen before Simon could say anything else.

The sight waiting there made warmth bloom through your chest.

The table held pancakes stacked unevenly beside strawberries and whipped cream. A vase filled with wildflowers sat in the middle next to another handmade card that was covered in glitter.

Simon leaned against the counter with crossed arms while watching nervously.

You knew that look.

It was the same one he wore before difficult missions.

Like failure sat just around the corner waiting for him.

You walked over and pressed a kiss against his cheek.

“This is perfect.”

His shoulders loosened slightly.

“Kid picked the flowers.”

“I picked the purple ones because they looked pretty like mummy.”

Your heart melted completely.

Breakfast turned into a mess of syrup covered fingers and laughter. Simon pretended to complain every time your daughter piled extra whipped cream onto his plate but he still ate every bite she handed him.

Watching them together always felt surreal.

Most people who met Simon Riley saw intimidation first.

They saw the towering soldier with cold eyes and a frightening reputation.

You saw the man who braided your daughters hair with awkward concentration.

The man who carried tiny hair ties in his pocket during grocery trips.

The man who checked beneath the bed for monsters every night despite claiming monsters were not real.

Your daughter adored him completely.

So did you.

After breakfast Simon disappeared into the bedroom for several minutes. When he returned he carried his old camera in one hand.

Your daughter gasped dramatically.

“Pictures day.”

Simon nodded once.

“You said last year there were not enough photos of you with her.”

You blinked in surprise.

“You remembered that?”

His gaze settled on you steadily.

“I remember everything you say.”

The simple honesty in his voice left you speechless.

Most people would never understand how deeply Simon loved.

He was not loud about it.

Not dramatic.

Not poetic.

His love existed in quiet things.

Remembered conversations.

Warm hands finding yours during restless nights.

Coffee made exactly the way you liked it.

The side of the bed he always warmed before you climbed in.

He loved through actions.

And every action carried weight.

The three of you spent the next hour taking photos around the flat. Some were sweet while others dissolved into chaos almost immediately.

Your daughter insisted on balancing stuffed animals on Simons shoulders.

Simon endured it with the patience of a saint.

At one point she forced flower crowns onto both of you and declared everyone princesses.

Simon stared at you blankly while wearing tiny pink flowers in his hair.

You nearly laughed yourself breathless.

“Do not start.”

“You look beautiful.”

“I look ridiculous.”

Your daughter planted both hands on her hips.

“No daddy you look magical.”

Simon sighed heavily like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

Then he looked at her tiny determined face and gave up immediately.

“Right. Magical.”

By afternoon the three of you ended up walking through a nearby park with ice cream cones melting faster than anyone could eat them.

Your daughter ran ahead chasing pigeons while Simon stayed beside you.

His hand brushed yours before his fingers laced through them.

The contact felt grounding.

Safe.

You glanced toward him.

“You seem happier today.”

He stayed quiet for a moment.

Then he looked toward your daughter running across the grass.

“She deserves normal memories.”

Your chest tightened softly.

“So do you.”

A faint shadow crossed his expression.

Simon rarely spoke about his childhood but the pieces you knew painted an ugly picture.

Neglect.

Fear.

Violence.

Pain.

Mothers Day had never meant comfort for him growing up.

You squeezed his hand gently.

“You are giving her something you never had.”

His jaw shifted slightly.

“She gives me something too.”

You waited patiently.

“She makes the world quieter.”

Emotion rose suddenly in your throat.

Simon was not a man who spoke openly about feelings.

Every vulnerable sentence cost him something.

You leaned against his arm as the two of you walked slowly together.

“She loves you more than anything.”

A small almost invisible smile touched his mouth.

“I know.”

The evening settled softly around your family once you returned home.

Your daughter eventually fell asleep curled against Simon on the sofa while a movie played quietly in the background.

You stood in the kitchen doorway watching them.

Simon sat perfectly still beneath the warm light with one arm wrapped securely around her tiny body.

His eyes were closed.

For the first time in weeks he looked peaceful.

Not guarded.

Not exhausted.

Just calm.

You approached quietly and brushed your fingers through his hair.

His eyes opened instantly out of habit.

Then they softened when he saw you.

“She is out cold.”

You smiled.

“So are you almost.”

“Not possible.”

“You were sleeping.”

“Resting my eyes.”

You laughed under your breath before lowering yourself carefully beside him.

Simon shifted enough for you to tuck yourself against his side without waking your daughter.

For several minutes silence settled comfortably around all three of you.

Then Simon spoke quietly.

“You are a good mother.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache.

You rested your head against his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

“She is happy because of you.”

“You helped with that too.”

He shook his head faintly.

“You built this.”

You looked up at him.

The shadows beneath his eyes were still there.

The scars.

The heaviness.

But there was warmth too.

A warmth that only existed when he looked at you and your daughter.

“You built it with me Simon.”

His gaze held yours for a long moment.

Then he leaned down carefully and kissed your forehead.

Gentle.

Lingering.

Loving.

You closed your eyes briefly.

In another life perhaps Simon Riley would have become hard enough to shut the world out completely.

Maybe loneliness would have swallowed him whole.

Maybe he would have convinced himself he was only made for violence and war.

But that was not this life.

In this life he came home to tiny socks scattered across the floor.

To bedtime stories and pancake breakfasts.

To flower crowns and glitter covered cards.

To sleepy kisses and warm hands reaching for him in the dark.

To a daughter who thought he was magical.

To you.

Your daughter stirred slightly in her sleep before mumbling something incoherent against Simons chest.

He immediately looked down at her with quiet concern.

You smiled softly.

“She is okay.”

He nodded once but still adjusted the blanket around her more securely.

The sight made love swell painfully in your chest.

Simon glanced toward you again.

“What?”

“You are good at this.”

“At what?”

You looked between him and your sleeping daughter.

“Being loved.”

For a second he simply stared.

Like he did not quite know how to answer.

Then his hand found yours again.

His thumb brushed slowly across your knuckles.

And in the quiet glow of the living room surrounded by the family he never believed he would have Simon Riley finally smiled without restraint.

Simon Riley x Reader

Soulmate AU

Angst, slow burn, age gap

Sorry if it's trash I have had a stressful past few days and didn't spend a ton of time doing this one

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Growing up, I was always told that I’d know who my soulmate was the moment I met them. They’d have a matching mark, a scar, maybe, mirroring one of mine in the exact same place. It was supposed to be undeniable, something fate itself had carved into our skin.

For a long time, I believed it without question. It was comforting, in a way, thinking that no matter how big the world felt, there was someone out there who was meant for me. Someone I wouldn’t have to search for, because somehow, we’d find each other.

Then I started university.

By the middle of my first term, reality had already begun to wear that belief down. In nineteen years of life, I hadn’t met a single person with a mark that matched any of mine. Not one. What once felt certain started to feel childish, like a story I’d outgrown but didn’t quite know how to let go of.

It used to bother me more than I cared to admit the idea that maybe I just hadn’t found my person yet. That maybe I’d somehow missed them. I was young then, and naïve about a lot of things, especially about how life actually works.

But that was years ago.

Before I joined the military.

Before I met Simon.