Prodigy [Daddy!Izaya x Mommy!Police!Reader]

Izaya Orihara was a father.

If that fact alone wasn’t a sign of the coming apocalypse, you didn’t know what was.

After nine months of no work at the station, aches, pains, and headaches, both literally and figuratively, you produced a gorgeous child with jet black hair and huge, hazel eyes. Despite being the child of an angry policewoman and Izaya Orihara of all people, the boy, whom Izaya promptly dubbed Akira, has always been a quiet child, crying only when he felt hungry or tired. All understandable you assumed.

As he aged, he revealed signs of a brilliant mind concealed behind that mess of black hair. He picked up words at a rapid rate, which meant you were required to watch your language. He began fiddling with puzzles and putting them together no later than a year and a half. With Izaya’s constant reading to him all his life, he followed in those footsteps, picking up his own books off choice, flipping through them with interest.

You hated to brag, but you were almost certain that he was a genius, a prodigy of some sort.

But, as the years quickened by, he spoke less and less, so by the time he was ready for kindergarten, he spoke only a few words.

In the middle of the year, he hardly spoke at all.

Izaya assumed Akira was nothing more than a quiet child, speaking only when he wanted. But, you, of course, concocted all the worst possible scenarios: had he been traumatized in some way? Was he being bullied? Was he sick? Did he possess some kind of mental or emotional problem that would require all sorts of medication and therapy?

Thoughts like these slowly dominated your ability to sleep.

So, it was time for you to sit down and discuss it with your husband.

Another day, another evening gone by, and as soon as Akira finished his meal, he slipped from his chair, quietly sauntering to his room. You watched carefully, his head sulked, his dark hair shielding his face. As soon as you perceived the door to his room click, you turned back to Izaya, who was scanning over a newspaper article.

“Izaya,” you started. “I’m really worried about Akira. He seems really down or anxious or something and he won’t say a word.”

His eyes shifted towards you, brows raised.

“I’m just afraid something’s wrong,” you ruffled the back of your hair. “But, every time I try to ask, he just shrugs it off. He obviously won’t tell me,” sucking in your bottom lip, you lowered your head. “Do you...do you think you could ask? Maybe get something out of him?”

Clearing his throat, he gingerly placed his paper on the table.

“I don’t see how I can do any better,” he stated plainly.

“Just try,” you reply curtly. “He’s your son too, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he scoffed. With a grunt, he rose from his seat and stretched his long, gangly limbs.

A crack of his neck, a brush of his clothes, and you knew immediately he was stalling on purpose. You pursed your lips and rapped your fingers against the table.

A yawn. A rub of his face. A long drawn out sigh.

Your fingers insisted.

But, he never moved.

“Izaya.”

No reply, except the slow removal of his jacket.

“Izaya!”

“Yes, dear?”

“Move your ass,” you hissed, taking the dirty dishes from the table.

With a low chuckle, he watched as you departed to the kitchen, observing your own ass sway to the beat in your head.

“Ah, some things never change,” Izaya chuckled before proceeding to the bedroom door of his son.

The lad was sitting at his computer in the dark, eyes practically peeled open, which looked rather terrifying in the dark. His fingers clacked away at his computer obviously hard at work.

Izaya cocked an eyebrow and shook his head. Then, he tapped his knuckle against the door frame.

“Knock, knock, Akira,” he said in a sing song voice.

His big eyes widened at the sudden intrusion, and his little hands fell to his side. With a little bounce in his step, he strolled over to the desk where he knelt at the boy’s side.

“Well then,” Izaya said, cocking his head. “Always so busy, just like Daddy.”

The boy sucked in his bottom lip and glanced away, just like his mommy.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “Tell me something, Akira,” his stomach turned just a little. Damn, he sucked at this sort of thing. “How...how are you doing?”

His eyes glistened as he stared back at his father, face blank as a sheet.

For once in his life, his face softened just a hint as his hand encircled the little shoulder.

“I know I’m not the best at this,” he told him as delicately as possible. “But, you can always tell me anything. Is...Is something bothering you?”

Just as he expected, the boy remained quiet, lowering his eyes to the ground. There was no point in asking him again.

But, instead, he felt a tug at his jacket sleeve. Without speaking another word, the boy pointed at his computer screen.

“What’s this?” Izaya muttered. “Are you being bullied or something?”

He shook his head.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, he knelt before the little desk, eyeing his son suspiciously as he twiddled his thumbs. A long document was opened, and so, he read:

“To the faculty at Raijin Academy,

It has come to my attention that your conduction of school activities and responsibilities is far from appropriate for such young children. My son returns home overwhelmed and exhausted from excess assignments. What kind of school is this! I refuse to cease my e-mailing until I see this altered immediately. If know anything about my current reputation, you know very well I will take action. Extreme or not, it will end up unpleasant for you.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Izaya Orihara”

The man simply blinked allowing this to sink in. Akira simply gazed into his palms.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “Akira, how long have you been doing this?”

“Three months,” the boy finally whispered.

“And,” he crossed his arms. “have you noticed any changes?”

He shrugged. “Some.”

Suddenly, causing the boy to jump in his seat, Izaya burst into fits of laughter. Akira gawked at him with utter horror. He wasn’t about to be destroyed? Had his father completely lost his mind?

To prove the matter worsened, the man gathered his child in his arms, nuzzling his warm, little cheek.

Truth be told, he was absolutely terrified.

“I knew you were a prodigy!” he cheered. “A genius! You truly are my child!”

Upon hearing these words, his horror slowly melted away, and nothing but love and pride remained.

“You...you’re not angry?” he asked in his soft voice.

“Angry?” Izaya chuckled, ruffling Akira’s hair. “I was afraid something bad had happened to you, but all this time you were showing your true potential. I’m proud of you, son.”

With a little giggle at the contact, he latched his arms around his father’s shoulders.

“Thanks, Daddy,” he muffled into his shoulder as he was carried out of the confinements of his room.

And though Izaya never fully explained the conversation between himself and his son, you at least felt a breath of fresh air when you finally saw the lad opening up and conversing normally with you and his father.




It wasn’t until you started receiving angry letters from Akira’s school that you started getting suspicious...