lunamoonbby

[lunamoonbby]

no bc why did his tan disappear

[lunamoonbby]

Tattoo artist Simon Riley x pretty little bird Reader

So tattoo artist Simon, who has his favorite customer she's a pretty bird who gets cutesy tattoos but that's not his specialty so he learns how to do cutesy tattoos just for her. Simon doesn't charge her for his service he just says something like "I like to do free tattoo lotteries" which is a lie cause he doesn't give up free tattoos much less discounts for his services he just loves her and hopes that she loves him back but she does and she always brings him warm chocolate chip cookies everytime she gets a tattoo done or just on random days

That's it that's the post

[lunamoonbby]

[lunamoonbby]

The way how I'll be on this man 25/8

Ripped ghost truthers come to my doorsteps to die.

[lunamoonbby]

Wait for Me Masterlist

Zoro x F!reader x Law

Summary: you, a fellow Straw Hat, and the crew are separated at Sabaody. Saved by Law, you have to decide if you’ll accept his help or cut your losses and handle things on your own until your crew reunites.

CW: MDNI, NSFW, Angst, Canon divergent, eventual smut, AFAB reader, use of Y/N, hidden baby trope (kinda? lol), descriptions of violence, blood, and vomit, pregnant reader, established relationship

A/N: Hi again everyone! I had this story pop up into my head and decided I wanted to see where it goes. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed writing it! Once again, I don’t know what I’m doing. This series is barely proofread. Reader’s thoughts are in italics

MDNI banner by @cafekitsune

Heart banner by @@saradika-graphics

Chapter One

Chapter Two (NSFW)

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

[lunamoonbby]

Unexpected Hormones!

Monster Trio (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji) x AFAB!Reader. 2082 words.

Desc: Pregnant Reader wants something and they struggle to get it.

CW: Missus used once in Sanji's (couldn't find a gender neutral term.)

Luffy

“But that’s fish.” Luffy’s confused. You asked for a meat and fish dish, they have both, but Chopper stopped Sanji during the cooking process.

“The fish we have right now is too high in mercury. They can’t eat it!” The reindeer explains for the 5th time, starting to get desperate. “We can eat it just fine, but (Y/n) can’t. It’s bad for the baby and for them.” Luffy frowns and his eyebrows furrow.

“Can’t you just wash it off?” The captain says and Chopper almost falls to his knees. You asked for a meat and fish dish, Luffy’s been cutting back on meat for you, but now you can’t eat the fish because of this “mercury” thing.

“That’s not how it works..” Chopper sighs. “It’s not like I like denying this either, but it's a fact that it’s bad for a pregnant person to eat fish high in mercury.”

“..Okay...” The captain mumbles. The doctor knows best even if Luffy doesn’t like it, he wouldn’t want to risk harming you or the baby. Luffy walks out to the deck where you sit on the grass peacefully.

“Oh, Luffy!” You smile at him and he smiles back, though a bit nervous to break the news to you. “Is Sanji still cooking?”

“Oh umm…” He hesitates and your smile falters.

“What is it?”

“Ermm.. uhh..” He grips onto his shorts and rocks back and forth on his feet. “You can’t.. eat the fish we have right now.” He can’t meet your eyes. Even if it isn’t his fault he still feels guilty. “It’s too high in mercury.”

“Mercury..” You mumble then look down at your stomach. This is bad, you’re getting distressed. “It’s okay.” Your voice is shaky though and before you know it there are tears in your eyes. Once Luffy sees that he panics.

“You can just have double meat!” He suggests but you shake your head, letting out a sob. It’s not the same, you wanted that fish with the meat, not just the meat. Your love crouches down next to you and asks, “Is this that big of a deal?” only realizing his mistake when you cry harder. “Sorry! Aaaaa” He stands and hops on each foot like he’s on fire, running to Usopp. “Fish!?”

“They aren’t biting, I think they don’t like the bait we have or they’re too smart.” Usopp is lightly panicking too, looking over the edge to make sure but finding there are still no bites. You whimper and they flinch. Luffy runs back to you.

“You can’t wait?” You put your head in your hands and Luffy stares at you. He’s made his decision. He puts his hat on your head and immediately jumps off the ship into the ocean. You’re too busy crying to notice, disassociating with the small comfort of his hat on your head. Unlike Zoro, who jumps in after Luffy with a curse. A few moments later the both of them haul over onto the ship deck, Luffy’s stomach is bulging with sea water, a single big fish in between his teeth.

“What the hell were you thinking!?” Zoro yells and Luffy finally drops the fish then coughs and spurts water from his mouth. When he hit the water the first thing he did was suck in as much of it as he could, forcing the fish towards him like a vacuum so he could grab one with his teeth. “Chopper!” The reindeer comes out from the kitchen to see Luffy.

“AHH!” His eyes go to a suddenly full-of-water Luffy. “What happened!?”

“F..ish.. the fish..” Luffy coughs out and Chopper looks at the fish flailing around on the grassy deck.

“Oh! This one isn’t high in mercury! She can eat it!” Chopper grabs the fish and runs back into the kitchen. Sanji quickly cooks it along with meat while Zoro presses on Luffy’s body to get any remaining water out. Finally the cook comes out with the food, presenting it to you.

“H-Huh?” You look at the dish, confused. “Wasn’t the fish bad?”

“We got a good one.” Sanji decides not to mention how they got it for your sake. “You can eat this one.” Your eyes twinkle and you grab the plate before digging in. Once you bite into it your crying stops and you let out a pleased hum. That sound reaches Luffy’s ears and he grins widely, giving a “shi shi shi”

“You could’ve drowned.” Zoro mumbles.

“It was worth it!”

Zoro

You sit next to Zoro, glancing in his direction while he meditates and nervously shifting around every so often. You want to ask him something but you’re hesitant. Eventually he sighs and stops his meditation to look at you.

“What is it? Are you alright?” He did sigh but it was more to regain his awareness than exasperation. However, you took it as the latter.

“Oh, I wanted to ask if.. um.. I could, maybe.” You stutter nervously, glancing at his swords. His eyes follow yours and he grabs two of them, excluding Enma, then hands them to you. They’re sheathed, so they won’t harm you. You happily examine Zoro’s swords, whispering a small thank you to them for being good swords.

“They don’t have ears, you know.” He teases with a fond smile and you pout a bit.

“You’ve talked to them before but it’s weird when I do it?” Your eyes trail to Enma, staring holes into the sword.

“This one is dangerous, it’s better you don’t touch it.” He says, patting it lightly.

“But others have touched it, I thought it was only if you wanted to wield it.” Zoro lets out a low hum.

“Yeah, but it’s better you don’t risk it. This one’s a troublemaker. For you and the baby.” You hear that and start to get bummed.

‘For me and the baby…’ Ever since you’ve gotten pregnant the things you’ve been able to do have only gotten less and less. Now you can’t even try to touch Zoro’s sword because of this baby in your body. It sucks. You feel so.. helpless. Like all you are now is the fact that you’re pregnant. Everything you do is controlled by the baby like you aren’t even your own person anymore. Tears well up in your eyes and you sniffle. Immediately Zoro’s expression turns to shock and then nervousness. “H-Hey, you don’t have to cry about it. It’s just too risky since you’re weak right now.” You put your face in your hands and whimper, holding in wails. The swordsman’s mouth presses into a long awkward line, what does he do about this?

“It’s okay, I know I’ve only been getting more useless lately. I won’t even recover after birth, it'll still take a while.” You say with a shaky voice. You’re devastated. Zoro thinks quickly, looking around and trying to figure out what to do. Eventually he sighs and gives in.

“You can touch it.” He tells you with a slight grumble. ‘This is a bad idea.’ You wipe your eyes.

“B-But-”

“But nothin, I can’t have you crying like this. I’ll keep it in check. I won’t let it hurt you.” His eyes are determined, reassuring. You nod and he slowly grabs Enma by the handle. He can do this, this is his sword. You scoot closer and Zoro focuses while you run your fingers along the sheath, Zoro feeling the sword protest lightly.

“It’s really cool looking.”

“It is.”

“I think it suits you.” You smile and his cheeks tint just a bit.

“Are you satisfied yet?” He mumbles, looking away. You think about it and he closes his eyes.

‘He doesn’t seem to be struggling too much..’ You note to yourself, deciding to ask. “Can I touch the handle?” The swordsman’s eyes open again in shock and you flinch before deflating at the body language. “I’m sorry.”

“Er…” ‘Dammit, I can't say no to them like this.’ Your disappointed and insecure expression, like you did something wrong and he scared you. It’s hurting him. ‘It’ll help me learn to control Enma, I won’t have it hurting the people I love.’ So he decides to think of it as a challenge. His grip switches to the sheath, exposing the handle. When you grip it Enma suddenly struggles more as if rejecting even the thought of being wielded by you. Zoro quickly closes his eyes in focus. ‘You aren’t hurting them.’ He wills to the sword as you continue to hold it, even giving it some little swings while your husband forces any harm it has towards you down despite the increase in difficulty. After a few minutes of this you finally let it go. He sighs and opens his eyes again, seeing you smile brightly.

“That was fun!” You lean in and kiss Zoro on the cheek. “Thank you, my husband.”

“Yeah yeah..” He kisses you back on the lips, ignoring his newest sword’s fussy behavior. You’re more important.

Sanji

Sanji looks inside the fridge, panic filling his mind. He was confident he could make ice cream, and he can, but there’s a problem. There’s no milk. He’d forgotten he used the last of it yesterday on another one of your cravings, which was just a glass of milk with pickles on the side. “And to think I was happy they’d asked for something normal this time.” He mumbles to himself. How is he going to break this to you? That out of all the complicated food he’s made he can’t even make you ice cream.

“Sanji?” He freezes, shutting the fridge door.

“Y-Yes?” What is he supposed to do?

“Are you done yet? I don’t want to rush you but the craving is getting bad.” He goes pale, not only is he denying you but it’s a strong craving.

“Um, listen. My love, love of my life. There’s a problem, okay?” He’s trying to be gentle but you’re already getting sad.

“You can’t make it?”

“It’s not that I can’t make it! I can! It’s just, there’s no.. milk.” He says the last part quietly, looking away. Despite his prayers that you’d take it well, when he looks back his heart stops. Tears. You’re crying. “(Y/n)!” He runs to you and frets. “It’s okay, we can get some at the next island, we’ll be there soon.” That doesn’t stop your crying, you want it now. “Shit!” He picks you up and runs to Franky’s workshop.

“Woah, why’s the missus cryin-”

“Use coup de burst. Now.” He raises a brow.

“It’ll only be a day or two till we arrive.” The cyborg explains and you burst into tears. “Woah! Alright I got it.” Sanji holds you close, going to your room and sitting down in the corner with you held securely in his arms.

“Shh it’s okay, it’s okay we’ll be there soon.” He whispers to you as the ship bursts into the air towards the island. Even when everything goes chaotic he takes all of the brunt force while kissing your head and face softly; just so you feel little to nothing even as the ship crashes back into the water. He runs back outside, the island is in sight, though it’ll still take a bit to get there. However, it is within sky walking distance. He gently puts you down and Robin notices your distress.

“I’ll stay here with them.” She says and Sanji nods, running into the air and towards the island. When he reaches ground he immediately runs as fast as possible around the shops, skidding a stop in front of a milk vendor.

“Milk! I need it now!” The vendor is a little shocked but holds it out, Sanji fumbles for money and they shake their hand in dismissal.

“You look like you’re in a rush, just take it and pay later.” They say and Sanji bolts before they can even finish, going back to the ship. You’re still sobbing in Robin’s arms and Sanji runs into the kitchen, working as fast as possible to make the ice cream. Once it’s done he goes onto the deck with the bowl, handing it to you. You notice it and take the bowl with a sniffle. Everyone watches with bated breath. You take a bite.

“Mmm~” Once it’s in your mouth your stress melts away and you sigh in relief. So does the rest of the crew.

“Thank the stars..” Sanji mumbles and he falls back onto his bum. He did it.

Here you are! [excited]. I was nervous about the missus thing but it fit so well i just kept it, so in your head hopefully replace it with mister if you're a guy. I go back to my nap now.

[lunamoonbby]

Except I'm actually a virgin

I feel like a virgin when I search up “x Reader” with a new character I like

[lunamoonbby]

I can't keep watching slashers where the villains are just the writers trying to recreate billy and stu but they're straight this time

[lunamoonbby]

Can you make CEO Law?? (I need him be my sugar daddy)

Sugar & Scalpel

ceo!trafalgar law x gn!reader

a/n: I'm not that good at smut or similar so I hope it's like you wanted it, if not let me know, I'm always open to constructive criticism to do better next time!!

tags: ceo law, sugar daddy au, slightly spicy

word count: 1.3k

masterlist || ko-fi

The first time you met Trafalgar Law, it was at a high-profile gala you had no business attending. A friend snuck you in, promising free champagne and an escape from your dull reality. What you didn’t expect was to lock eyes with the most dangerously handsome man in the room... tall, dark, and exuding power in a sharp, custom-tailored suit. His tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, a contrast to the cold elegance of his demeanor.

“You’re not on the guest list” he murmured when he finally approached, voice deep and smooth like aged whiskey.

“Neither are you” you shot back, emboldened by the champagne.

That earned a smirk “Is that so? Then how about we make a deal?”

And just like that, you found yourself entangled with Trafalgar Law, the elusive CEO of Heart Industries, a multi-billion dollar medical tech empire. He didn’t just buy you gifts, he owned your time, your presence, your pleasure.

Now…

Law sits across from you in the penthouse suite of a five-star hotel, long fingers tapping idly against a glass of expensive whiskey. You know that look, calculating, possessive, teasing. He’s been watching you all night, like a predator deciding when to strike.

“You’re getting too comfortable” he finally says, tilting his head.

You raise a brow, reclining on the plush velvet couch “Isn’t that the point? You said I should ‘relax and enjoy the benefits’.”

He scoffs, setting his glass down before standing. In two slow strides, he’s in front of you, leaning down, trapping you between his body and the couch “I meant that in moderation” His voice drops lower, almost a growl “You’re not supposed to make me want to keep you.”

Your breath catches “And if I do?”

He exhales sharply, his tattooed fingers brushing along your jaw before tilting your chin up “Then you’ll have no choice but to be mine. Completely.”

The warning in his tone sends shivers down your spine. Because with Law, this was never just about money or luxury. It was about control, temptation, and the undeniable fact that no matter how dangerous this game was—you wanted to play.

Trafalgar Law isn’t just rich—he’s dangerous. Not in a violent way, no. But in the way he looks at you. The way his fingers linger on your skin, the way he owns every room he walks into.

And right now, he’s looking at you like a man who doesn’t just pay for what he wants, he takes it.

“You still haven’t answered me” he murmurs, thumb stroking along your jaw. His touch is deceptively gentle, but his golden eyes are anything but “What if I don’t want to let you go?”

Your heart pounds. This was supposed to be a simple arrangement. Lavish gifts, fancy dinners, a little fun behind closed doors—nothing more.

But Law has never been the kind of man to settle for anything halfway.

You swallow, licking your lips “Then what happens to our ‘business arrangement’?”

A smirk tugs at his lips “Oh, sweetheart, we passed that stage the second you let me touch you.”

His hands slide down, fingers ghosting along your waist before gripping. Firm. Possessive. Your breath hitches.

He leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear “You still think I’m just your sugar daddy?” His voice is low, teasing “Cute.”

Your body burns under his touch, anticipation curling in your stomach “I—”

But you don’t get to finish. Because Law kisses you.

Not soft. Not sweet. But deep, slow, intentional. Like a man who’s already claimed you and is reminding you of the fact.

Your fingers tangle in his silky black hair as he presses you against the couch, his knee slipping between your thighs, forcing you to feel the heat of his body against yours.

“You belong to me, y/n” he murmurs against your lips, voice dark and dangerously addictive “And I don’t share.”

Your head spins, but you know one thing for sure.Trafalgar Law doesn’t just want to be just your sugar daddy.

He wants to be your everything.

Trafalgar Law doesn’t love halfheartedly.

He doesn’t do meaningless. He doesn’t do casual.

So the moment you let him in, let him touch you, kiss you, own you in all the ways that mattered. You should’ve known he wouldn’t let go easily.

And right now, as you sit in the passenger seat of his sleek black luxury car, you feel exactly how trapped you are.

His hand rests on your thigh, thumb idly tracing circles against your skin. It’s a simple touch, but it burns. Because Law doesn’t touch just to touch, he touches to claim.

“You’ve been avoiding me” he finally says, voice low, calm. Too calm.

You exhale “I haven’t...”

His fingers tighten ever so slightly on your thigh. Not painful. Just enough to remind you who’s in control.

“Don’t lie to me, y/n”

Your breath catches. He’s not angry, not exactly. But there’s something dangerous in the way he’s looking at you, golden eyes sharp beneath the glow of the city lights.

You swallow “I just needed time to think.”

He scoffs, drumming his fingers against your skin “Think about what? Whether or not you actually want me?”

Your silence answers for you.

Law exhales through his nose, jaw ticking as he stares out at the road ahead. And then, without warning, he pulls over, parking the car on a secluded stretch overlooking the city skyline.

Before you can say anything, he’s leaning over, his presence overwhelming as his hand cups your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Let’s get one thing straight” he murmurs, voice soft but deadly firm “You can try to run, you can tell yourself this is just a game, but we both know that’s not true.”

Your pulse pounds “Law...”

His thumb traces over your lower lip, silencing you.

“You’re mine, y/n. You know it... I know it.” his eyes burn into yours, daring you to argue “So if you need time, take it. But don’t pretend you don’t already belong to me.”

Your breath shudders. He’s right. And that’s the problem.

Because you were never supposed to belong to anyone.

But with Trafalgar Law… you never had a choice.

You should walk away.

Every rational part of you screams it—tells you that getting tangled up with Trafalgar Law is dangerous. That he’s too much—too intense, too possessive, too utterly consuming.

But as he stares at you in the darkened car, fingers still resting on your chin, you realize something terrifying.

You don’t want to.

“You’re scared” he murmurs, not as an accusation, but as a fact.

You swallow hard “You’re not exactly the easiest person to deal with.”

A smirk tugs at his lips “And yet, you’re still here”

You hate that he’s right. Hate that you do still want him, even knowing that once you truly give in, there will be no escaping.

Law doesn’t do temporary. He doesn’t do casual.

He keeps what he wants. And he wants you.

He leans in, his breath warm against your lips “Tell me to stop,” he whispers “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll let you go.”

Your heart pounds. He’s giving you an out. A chance to run.

But you don’t take it.

Instead, you exhale shakily and whisper “I don’t want you to stop.”

His eyes darken “Then don’t run from me again”

And before you can second-guess yourself, before doubt can creep back in, his lips crash onto yours.

It’s not a kiss—it’s a claim.

You don’t know if this is love or something far more dangerous.

But as he pulls you closer, fingers threading through your hair, you realize it doesn’t matter.

Because Trafalgar Law has you.

And he’s never letting go.

[lunamoonbby]

── .✦ Trafalgar D. Law - Masterlist

anime masterlist ~ ao3 ~ ko-fi

GUIDE: ♡ = fluff/humor || ☆ = angst || ⟡ = spicy/smut

•:°.★ One Shots:

✦ paths diverged, hearts united ♡ ✦ in the shadow ♡ ✦ ghosts of us ☆♡ ✦ a new perspective ♡ ✦ time travel ☆♡ ✦ threaded ♡ ✦ (accidental) pda ♡ ✦ jealousy in the switch ♡ ✦ 1st anniversary ♡ ✦ trapped in his cage ☆ ✦ sugar & scalpel ⟡ ✦ unintentional couple behaviour ♡ ✦ undercover affection ♡ ✦ surgeon’s soft spot ♡ ✦ breaking down his walls ♡ ✦ if only she knew ☆ ✦ please kiss back! ♡ ✦ shambles of the heart ☆♡ ✦ fake proposal ♡ ✦ fool ☆♡ ✦ run wild and free (feat. luffy and kid) ♡? ✦ terminal: part 1 - part 2 ☆♡ ✦ the hero beneath the waves ♡ ✦ tolerate it ☆♡ ✦ poison queen ♡ ✦ shadows of the dragon ♡ ✦ echoes in silence ♡ ✦ bite-sized affection ♡ ✦ overboard ♡ ✦ three boats, one heart (poly!) ♡ ✦ tell me no lies ⟡♡ ✦ busted! (secret relationship) ♡ ✦ tides of fate ☆♡ ✦ I hate goodbyes part 1 - part 2 (coming soon) ☆♡ ✦ captain loser ♡ ✦ without the hat ♡ ✦ between the devil and the deep blue sea (feat. kid) ♡ ✦ captain ♡ ✦ clingy combat cuddles ♡ ✦ I'm your husband ♡ ✦ under the surface ♡⟡ ✦ bound by pain (coming soon) ♡

•:°.★ Series:

✦ traitor : part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 - end ☆♡ ✦ heartstrings : part 1 - part 2 - part 3 ♡ ✦ borrowed hearts : part 1 - part 2 ☆♡

[lunamoonbby]

The soldier sneers at you, your rejection stinging his ego.

"Listen here you bitch, you think you're hot shit?"

You rolled your eyes, "Just move on, I said no."

"Everyone knows why they call you Mama, fucking wh-"

Captain Price's deep voice cuts in, "What's going on here then?"

It's Gaz that steers you away and into John's office. Ghost and Soap are there on the couch leg to leg. The 141 does in fact call you Mama, you just figured it was because you well mothered them. Alway on them about making sure to eat or if they'd drank any water.

You've heard the real reason three days ago. Drunken voices in the hall, soldiers taking about things they shouldn't. About how the 141 thinks of you as their wife, how they want to knock you up, how they're sharing you amongst themselves.

They've never done anything to you though. Not so much as holding your hand, so it couldn't be true, could it? You were just one of the bases secretary's, sat at the front office. It's true you've been seeing them more and more. Needless to say, you're very confused.

[lunamoonbby]

I've been a fool - PART3

Pairing: Alpha!Kirishima x Omega!BakugouSister!Reader

Warnings: Omegaverse, cheating? pregnancy,

Word Count: 5100+

A/N: I had read/seen a scene like this in one of my favourite omegaverse mangas, Kiraide Isasete or Hate me, but let me stay and just had to try and put my own spin on it. On a side note it one of my absolute favourites and would rec it to anyone that wanted to dive into mangas! hope you like it - Tiff <3

Summary: Kirishima was a strong alpha. Everything you could want a partner. There had been multiple times in which you had almost kissed, but you both knew what it was. Both of you are too afraid to speak about it. But what happens when the door is opened and somebody forgets.

Permanent Taglist: @jasmine2042003 @jazzylove @amypop122 @misssugarless @plutounderbridges @butterscotch-babie @backoftheletter @gojosslvt @himi-yuu @ebiharachan @black-rose-29 @kenzi-woycehoski @ally-glow @tati-the-fangirl @theobsessedreader @ebiharachan

BNHA/MHA Taglist: @hornehlittleweeblet2 @mystiqueewrites @belzeblitz @moonygeno413 @ace-the-side-character @unlogical-ella @moonseye @vaellee @corruptowlette @pasteldaze @24-7-multifandomsimp @yetoadet @ninetyeightrins @kirissluttypebble @elaineplayz @phantomalchemist @tigerd-draws @kunaigirlx44 @jujutaku @adventures-in-a-heartbeat @cmars59 @upinacloud @yourdragonsfire @uwiuwi @burningbluegalaxy @kirislilwhorewife @kuzusouda-and-terumaru-blog @kat-perdue @lazyafgurl @bratty-fics @eraserheads-sleeping-bag @eijiandkatspebble @queerest-monster-luver @sjhanny @falling4fandoms @lunamoonbby @carriebell1515 @atsushiki @caydetoshinori-jakeryder @corruptowlette @ariallaisawesome @moonroyalt @mushi42 @katbug37

TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

Four months, four whole months of you and your little bean. You had gotten full confirmation shortly after the boys went on their mission. There have been some small adjustments to your life but nothing major. The doctors want to sort out your omegain hormones sooner rather than later, as the sire was not around they want you to have an alpha sub in to balance you in the pregnancy. It didn't have to be random, it could even be a family member. But they wanted to use real pheromones rather than synthetic ones. If it wasn’t sorted soon your bean could be at risk of under developing, but you assured them that your brother and his best friend will be home soon and they would help. 

The only person who knew was Midoriya, he caught you leaving the clinic. Him being an omega, caught on instantly and you begged him not to tell Bakugou or Kirishima while they were on mission. To which he promised. 

Putting the finishing touches on your outfit you left your apartment to go to Midoriyas. He was having a Welcome home party for the pair.  Arriving at the door, you flattened down your dress, rubbing your bump. There was no mistaking it, you definitely looked pregnant. No point running now, you knocked on the door. 

The door flung open, and you saw Midoriya beaconing you in. “Guys, look who's here.” He announces and you make your way in. Looking at Bakugou first, he’s frozen in place, you flick your eyes to Kirishima, he is the same, his eyes are fixed on your stomach. Crystal you recognise beside Kirishima is trying to get his attention which you try to ignore. 

“Okay you’re scaring me now?” You say and step closer. 

“Holy shit, y/n, CONGRATULATIONS” Mina screams, and rushes into your arms. Fussing over you. 

“Where is this Alpha? Too nervous to show himself?” Bakugou says and makes his way to you, and pulls you into a hug. “There is none, out of the picture.” You respond. Bakugou looks you in the eyes, his face softens and pulls you in tighter. “We’re here, for all of it, for anything you need.” He whispers to you. 

Kirishima finally moved, and stood behind Bakugou. Still in shock, his heart was being pulled in two. His alpha screaming at him for not being the one that got you pregnant, for not having you as his, for having stupid Crystal who was more of a pain in his ass than anything. But more importantly his heart was broken that an alpha would get you pregnant and leave. 

You pulled away from Bakugou, who pulled Midoriya into his arms. You could hear your brother raising his voice, something along the lines of “bastard you knew, all along.” You look up at Kirishima, he held his arms to you and pulled you close. “I knew something was wrong, but my god you smell so amazing.” he breathes you in deeply, and you let him. Slowly but surely he begins to scent you. sire sire sire sire sire sire sire safe, safe, home, need alpha, “How could an Alpha walk away from you, from this, pathetic.” He mumbles into your neck, getting lost in your scent. “It doesn’t matter.” You say back to him. “Wait, you’ll need a scent sub for bean, won’t you.” Kirishima asks, your heart flutters at the fact of him calling the baby, bean, like you but also at the fact he knows what you need. “Well, yes actually.” You reply to him. “I’ll do it, I’ll be there for all of it.” He says again, pulling you into his neck again. 

“Ehmm, Eijirou.” A voice sounds behind you. You look over at Crystal, who is standing there awkwardly.  He pulls away, and looks at her. “Yes, oh I’m so sorry babe, what’s up.” He says and makes his way to her, leaving you alone. Sighing, you take a step back and look around the room. Denki makes his way to you, all smiles and congratulations, the same with Sero and the rest of the group, but your eyes are focused on Kirishima and Crystal. 

***

Ever since that day, Kirishima has partially lived in your house. The first couple of nights he slept on your couch but as time moved on, he began to sleep in your bed and enter your nest. You didn't mind it at all, it’s what you always wanted in life. Kirishima in your arms, scenting you, keeping you and bean happy. You also had to keep reminding yourself that he was not yours to keep either, that in his mind he is only doing this to help regulate your hormones. 

He attended all your appointments, handled all your work leave requests, he did all the cooking and all the cleaning. After that day in Midoriya’s you never saw Crystal again, or even smelled her on him either. You also never asked what happened. 

After a long tiring day working in your brother's agency, you made your way to his house. There was a group meet up and as you already knew Kirishima was there, there was no harm in going. Entering, you looked around at the table, to see who was there and who was already sitting. You could see Kirishima's large frame sitting up to attention, his eyes immediately making their way to yours. A huge smile breaking across his face and he held out his hand to you. You quickly waddled over and he pulled you into his lap, not giving you the option to sit anywhere else. 

“Hey omega.” He whispered into your neck, kissing your scent gland. You giggled back at the intrusion, “Hey to you too.” Kirishima pulled away, and continued his conversion to the left of him. 

Looking up to see your brother across the table, he squinted at you but you just shook your head and you broke eye contact with him looking to Midoriya to your right. Midoriya began to talk to you about something but honestly you were not listening, your mind drifting off to other things. 

A hand came into view and made its way to your stomach, your omega immediately forced its way to the surface, a growl leaving your throat and you launch forward to bite the intruding hand. Kirishima reacted quicker, placing his arm out in front of your mouth. Your teeth driving straight into his flesh. The hand jumped back, Midoriya eyes burst into tears, apologies falling out of his mouth. Bakugou was at his side in an instance, you continued to growl. Your omega taking full control. 

Baukgou was trying his best to get Midoriya to stop crying and mumbling his apologies. Kirishima continued to whisper words to you, and continued to purr. Slowly but surely you omega started to calm down, you released Kirishima’s arm and began to lick at the wound. You’re omega chanting to you over and over again about being safe, when you finally got back control. Kirishima had noticed your shift and spoke, “See, there she is.” You turn to look at him and he smiled. You then turned to look at the room, looking at Kirishima's hand and then to Midoriya whom was still crying, you quickly piece two and two together and begin to cry yourself. 

Kirishima very calmly rubbed his free hand down your hair, his alpha puring to you telling you it was safe. Blood started to pool from the bite but you still wouldn’t let go.

“It’s okay omega, you’re okay, no one is taking bean.” He whispered to you, trying to calm the omega and bring you back to them. Kirishima looks at his worried friends. “It’s okay, Doc said this might happen from time to time, with no sire around her omega is lost. Doesn’t happen frequently, just give her a moment.” 

“Mi–mi–doriya.” You cried, the green haired omega, looked up and you. “I—i—-i–i’m so so-sooryyy” you say barely. “No, no, noo y/n, it’s my fault, I should never have-.” He begins and leaves Bakugou's arms. You hold your arms out to him, and he wraps his around you. 

Kirishima moved his eyesight from you to look at Bakugou, who rolled his eyes and sat down again returning to his coffee. Kirishima carefully moved his hand up and down your spine, as you and the other omega spoke and cried together. As one of his hands moved up your spine, the other made its way around your stomach, gently caressing the bump. Oh how the red head longed to have you forever, that he could create the perfect family for you both. Be everything you could ever want but this was temporary. At the end of this pregnancy, you would no longer need him and he will just be best friend Eijirou. That if the true sire came back for the pup and you, he would have to give you up. All he could do now was to be selfish and pretend that you are his, that the dream he has everynight of spending his rutt with you was real. That, that was how you were pregnant, that it was all some miscommunication but he can’t, it was only a dream… wasn’t it. 

[lunamoonbby]

Turning Page

You work at the library Simon and his daughter frequent.

single dad! Simon Riley & Librarian! Reader

tags | alpha! Simon Riley, Omega! Reader, mentions of abusive relationship, noncon, forced mating

ch. 4 | masterlist | ao3

Birthdays.

Birthdays meant absolutely nothing to Simon; they were just another day to celebrate a life not worth living.

That was before his bundle of citrus and sunshine, before May 15th. After her, birthdays became sacred, another year of his baby being healthy and safe, another year of his baby growing.

Previously, her birthdays weren’t difficult, but now when he sees his pup, curled up in her fuzzy blankets and plushies, he feels it in his heart. He can see the growth, how much taller she's become, how much she’s stopped relying on him for certain things, how easier it is for her to communicate with him.

He’s proud of her, obviously, by an immeasurable amount. His smart girl, so big and brave. He loves who she’s become, but it still makes his throat a little tight. Afraid of the moment she won’t need her dad anymore.

He won’t lie, the first time he threw a birthday party he was a little overwhelmed, didn’t realize how much went into planning such an event. He likes to think he has it down just a little bit more, it’s been five years; he has quite a bit of experience under his belt by now.

Still, he’s up at the crack of dawn preparing the food and decorations, laying out Mint’s princess outfit, wrapping all the last-minute gifts he’s bought her so she can have just the day she’s imagined. He thinks he might’ve gone a little overboard considering it’ll just be a few of Clementine’s friends from the library and the rest of his pack, but Clementine spent all yesterday making tiaras and flower crowns for everyone.

Tiaras that she presents to Johnny, Kyle, and Price when they arrive with a proud smile, pulling them down to their knees so she can place them atop their heads with a giggle. He’s already got one of his own pinned in his hair.

It’s almost comical how Clementine has a pack of alphas wrapped around her tiny fingers. She doesn’t know the second life they live, the life he used to live before her. A cruel world that didn’t have room for innocence such as her and she’s got them in hand-made tiaras, a bundle of gifts in their arms, and all their devoted attention.

The preparation almost makes Simon forget you’re coming. That your mate who left those shallow indents on your neck will be on your arm, but Johnny doesn’t let his mind stray too far.

“And whose mom is that?”

Simon glances up, following Johnny's line of sight. It’s you, walking through the gate, who seemed to take the fairy princess theme quite seriously. You’re wearing a milkmaid sundress, floral cloth billowing around your heavenly figure.

Maybe Simon’s been deprived of pretty flesh for so long, but the slope of your breasts makes him feel a little crazy, mouth watering at the sight like his alpha is preparing to devour you whole. It doesn’t help that your hairs pinned up, leaving your collarbone and shoulders bare, mating bite on full display, but there’s no mate by your side.

“Clementine’s.”

Johnny laughs, smacking him on the shoulder, “Ye dirty dog!”

Simon ignores him, walking over to prolong introducing you to the rest of the 141 men. You smile that same smile that makes his teeth ache when you see him, waving as he makes his way to you.

“You made it.” Simon says, stopping once he reaches you, massive frame towering over your smaller one.

“I did!“ You respond, beaming up at him.

“I see you took the theme to heart.” He teases, doing a dramatic once over of your outfit.

You laugh, doing a twirl to show it off, “Well, do I look like a princess?”

The act has him biting his tongue, inhaling deeply because the whirl sends a thick whiff of your jasmine scent straight to his head, making him a little dizzy.

“You look beautiful.” He breathes the words like he fucking means it.

You pause, heat rushing up your neck and cheeks, “You’re one to talk with that get up.”

“Mint insisted anyone can be a princess, so she made all of us tiaras.” He replies, placing his hand on the small of your back, slowly guiding you to the gift table.

A chuckle leaves your lips, falling into place next to him like it’s normal to have his palm on your warm skin, “Well, you make a very pretty princess.”

“So do you.”

He’s putting it on a little thick, but he can’t find it in himself to care. There’s no mate by your side and he has every intention to take that empty place.

Clementine runs over at that, doesn’t give them much room to dwell in the tension he’s built, gasping in shock when she sees you, “You look like a princess!”

You lean down to speak to her, “You are a princess! Happy birthday, sweetheart!”

Clementine giggles, holding out the skirt of her dress, “Do you like my dress? Daddy helped pick it out.”

“Of course I do. You look so pretty!” You agree, nodding your head earnestly.

Clementine drags you away at that, animatedly showing off the decorations and the massive birthday cake she’s been waiting all day to eat, placing a crown on your head as well. Simon just watches from afar, rolling his tongue over his teeth to hide the smile threatening to spread on his lips at the sight of you and his girl.

Eventually, Johnny manages to pry you from Clementine’s death grip on your hand, doing his own dragging of sorts to the rest of them. It’s not easy to face four alphas at once as an omega, especially his pack, colossal and threatening. You have to crane your neck to look at them, fluttering your eyes to diffuse their pungent scents.

It’s not as bad as he expected; you exchange small talk with them, laughing along with their exaggerated banter. You’re behaving quite brave, confidently poking back at their teasing, but he can see the hidden anxiety veiled behind your pinched bottom lip and clenching fists. Though, he supposes it’s pretty easy not to take any of them seriously when they’ve got princess tiaras on.

The party goes by in a bit of a blur, eating turns into singing happy birthday while cutting the cake turns into opening gifts. There’s an abundance of gifts for Clementine to open, a range of books, toys, and clothes, but she bursts at the seams when she opens your gift, a teddy bear. A teddy bear just like Corduroy.

Clementine exclaimed loudly when she realized it was Corduroy, hugging the bear to her chest tightly. It’s the loudest reaction she’s given the whole night, the brightest smile smeared across her tiny face. She doesn’t let it go the rest of the party, carries it with her while she walks everyone out until it’s just you, him, and her.

“Papa?” Clementine says, pattering her way to his side while he cleans the mess of all her opened gifts.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can we read my bedtime story?” She asks, small paws rubbing at her eyes.

“Of course we can, Mint.” He turns towards you, “I’ll be right back.”

You nod in understanding, giving both of them a small smile before you wish Clementine a good night. It’s been a long day for her, running every which way with her uncles and friends, so he isn’t surprised she’s drained, crashing out from all the sugary frosting she’s stuffed her face with.

“You tired, pup?” He hoists her in his arms, tucking her head into the crook of his neck, “Hard work being a princess?”

She just yawns a hum in response, snuggling deeper into his hold. He chuckles, maneuvering both of them onto her bed.

“Corduroy?” He proposes, because it’s been their routine for a month now, the books already at her bedside.

She shakes her head, “Angelina Ballerina.”

“Ohh, our new birthday book from uncle Kyle, huh?”

He doesn’t finish the story, doesn’t even get close to the ending before Clementine is asleep in his arms, hand fisting his shirt, the other holding Corduroy snug against her chest. He stays after she’s fallen asleep, dwells in the warmth just a little longer, stamping a kiss on her forehead, clinging on to the last few moments he gets of her birthday.

When he returns you’re in the kitchen, back facing him as you wash the excess dishes in the sink. He stares for a second, storing the image of you in his home after he’s put Clementine to bed like it’s where you belong, fit into their life’s so perfectly.

“You don’t have to do any o’ that.” He says walking over to shut the water off.

“Oh— it’s okay!” You start, shaking your head “I don’t mind helping.”

He leans against the counter, positioning himself in front of the sink so he’s staring up at you. “She already loves that damn bear. She’s not gon’ want to go anywhere without it.”

“Yeah?” You laugh, drying your hands with a towel because he’s blocking you from doing anymore unnecessary labor. “I’m glad she likes it.”

“So,” There’s a long pause, the real question he wants to ask you heavy on his tongue, “You didn’t bring your mate.”

You inhale, glancing at him, “I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t,” You stop, fingers fidgeting with the towel in your hand like you’re thinking of the right words to say, “I don’t have one.”

He tilts his head, eyes darting to the bite on your neck in confusion.

“Well, I mean I did, obviously.” You explain, gesturing to the bite, “I just— not anymore.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, brows furrowing.

“It’s a long story,” You sigh, turning your attention to your hands, “It’s from some shit alpha I was dating at the time. Helped me through my heat, but I told him not to bite me no matter what. Wore a bite guard and everything.”

“And the asshole just did anyways?” He scoffs.

“Well, I don’t remember all of it. I was in heat, everything was hazy up until I felt his teeth.” You huff a laugh, but it’s anything but humorous, “You know, they say you’re supposed to enjoy it, that it creates this unexplainable bond between the pair, but it just fucking hurt. Hurt so bad that I blacked out, woke up in a hospital bed.”

You stop to catch your breath, eyes fluttering shut to work up the courage to continue. He doesn’t push you, lets you take your time to form the thoughts swirling around in your mind.

“That was it. I didn’t have a choice after that, I was bonded to him. What was I going to do? Walk around with a bite on my neck and pretend I’d ever find another mate?”

You’re picking at the seams of the towel now, licking your lips between sentences anxiously.

“And my family— my pack, insisted I stay with him despite it all. Told me I’d be shunned from the pack if I did leave, he was my mate, bonded and signed. So, I stayed, even though he was a shitty alpha, treated me like shit, didn’t let me nest, didn’t help me with any other heat after that, didn’t even let me bite him back.” You fist the towel, words spat with anger, “I was forced to walk around with a claim, this bite that I didn’t even want while he got to walk away bite free from the situation.”

“Why did you finally leave?” He asks, wrangling the towel from your grasp, so he can smooth his hands over yours.

“My mom.” You answer, finding his eyes and swallowing thickly, “I stayed in the pack for her. The moment she passed, I packed my bags and left. Never looked back.”

You give him a sad smile, doesn’t quite reach your eyes like it usually does, “It’s fading, clearly, the bond severed and fraying after being apart for so long, but it hurts. The bite stings every day, like my body is rejecting it and purging it from my skin.”

“I’m sorry.” He says it for multiple reasons, for being a proper ass, behaving possessive towards you, pointing the bite out multiple times when he didn’t know your story, “You didn’t deserve that, any of that.”

“Sorry, kind of just dropped all of that on you.” You chuckle, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“No don’t be, I’m glad to know. You shouldn’t have had that right taken from you.” He brushes his thumb over your knuckles soothingly, dipping his head to make direct eye contact with you, “You deserve a better alpha than that.”

You flip your palm over, tangling your fingers in his. “I do, don’t I?”

You deserve him.

@weeping-treee @lumilily @tessakate @shitaaba @lucienofthelakes @nocturnal-nyx @aphinthestars @muraaaaaa @night-shadowblood-writes2 @thetastewassweeter @eremika104 @animegamerfox @oaksgrove @dawnnightshade666 @chaieanne @trulovekay @appalachianecho @grossitsluca @noonespecial2347 @spidersuneee @ihe4rtme @lunamoonbby @iaozuyiling @aggiesramble @novthewolf @irondreamerface @callsignpxnguin @flowerluvr @whatdoyxumean @sleepybunnygirly @cd-mr @cod-bin @crackheadwithtoes @diasnohibng @bookies16

[lunamoonbby]

[lunamoonbby]

REWARD ME, WON’T YOU DARLIN’? II

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

“You cannot stay in here! I demand privacy!”

He crosses his arms over his chest, “You lost your right to privacy the moment you decided to make a run for it,”

You fluster, “What you expect me to bathe in front of you? That is barbaric!”

Fool him twice shame on him, shouldn’t have done that Princess.

Part I

You had never been this far out from the castle before. You weren’t even sure how many towns over you were now, but the lack of hunters made you feel a little more at ease. You know you didn’t have long before you had to move on, but hopefully a few days respite would last here.

The town was quiet, a peaceful change from the other stops on your journey so far. When you booked your room at the inn there was no chirpy check in girl, just an efficient worker. Everyone here seemed to mind their business from first impressions. Which was a nice change of pace compared to the peering eyes of the last few towns. When you entered your room you took a deep breath and tried to collect your thoughts.

Where were you going from here? You couldn’t outrun the hunters forever, especially not that last one you saw on your way out. The mere thought of him sends a shiver down your spine. Maybe getting a job would help you shake off the rest of this princess identity you’re trying to get rid of. There was a tavern downstairs, how hard could it be to be a barmaid? With a restored sense of confidence you set your mind to marching down there tomorrow.

For now you needed sleep. Dreams of that masked man made it a restless night.

Being a barmaid was tough. It was busy and gruelling, especially at night when the tavern filled with weary travellers. You had no idea how anyone could do this forever, and each day you are reminded how far from home you are, how far from your life you are. You love it here, amongst the rowdy crowds, and the constant darting back and forth between drinks service. You’ve never seen people so in their…element. Back home in the castle everyone had a role, titles, and expectations. There are no manners here, it’s completely barbaric at times when the men think they can get away with a squeeze of your arse. Luckily the owner of the establishment is not afraid of throwing out the wayward customers when they overstay their welcome.

It was the third night of service when you knew you pushed your luck too far.

“Serve that fellow a drink, will you?” The owner ordered, jerking his thumb towards the left side of the bar.

“Who?” You asked, peeking your head over his shoulder trying to catch a glimpse.

“Can’t miss him, he’s wearing a mask over his face.” he says gruffly as he pours another drink.

It feels as though ice has been thrown over your shoulders and soaked you through, you try to pass it off as silly paranoia but you haven’t seen anyone else wear a mask since that day. When you look again, more cautiously this time, you can see it’s who you dreaded it would be. He’s got his arms resting on the bar, looking expectantly in your direction. You quickly look away, clenching your hands by your side.

“Actually, I’m not feeling so well, could I be excused for the evening? I’ll make up my hours tomorrow,” you rush out.

The owner frowns but doesn’t look in your direction as he continues to hand out drinks over the bar, “Serve that gentleman and then you can clock off.”

It’s not what you want to hear, but you’re not going to argue. You exhale deeply through your nose and go about pouring him a drink. As you walk over you duck your head down in what you hope looks like casual shyness and place the drink down in front of him.

“Your drink, Sir,” you say softly.

You can barely hear his deep hum in thanks. Just as you take off your apron and move to walk away he speaks up, “Enjoying your stay?”

You glance over at him through your periphery and offer him a small smile, “Oh yes, it’s been amazing. Would highly recommend the inn’s services,”

“Are you ready to go home?” He asks.

Your fingers freeze, holding the ties of your apron. You turn to face him fully, his drink is still untouched on the bar. You smile gracefully and tilt your head in confusion, “I’m sorry Sir, I’m not quite sure what you mean, I am home,”

He raises an eyebrow, “Grew up here did you? On what street?”

Your smile drops, “I don’t see how that’s your business, stranger,”

The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly at the venom in your tone and outstretches his gloved hand towards you, “Ghost.”

It’s a mockery, a joke to him that makes your blood boil. You slam your apron on the bar counter and make a run for it through the kitchen doors. You weave your way through the stuff, and push through the back door into the alleyway behind the venue. If you could just run to your room and gather your things, you could make it out of here. As you sprint towards the entrance of the alley, a sudden shadow blocks your path and sweeps you off your feet with the force you run into it with.

“C’mon princess, fun’s over,” a gruff voice cuts through.

Trapped in a tight squeeze you resort to kicking and flailing, “Let me go you brute!”

The man huffs at you strained effort to slip free and begins to drag you out of the alleyway, “Stop squirmin’ you brat,”

With all the effort you can conjure up, you concentrate on driving your knee into his groin in with all the strength you have. The man drops you like a sack of bricks against the dirt and clutches his knees as he groans in pain. You can barely hear the cuss words he’s throwing out as you make a mad dash for your room at the inn. You’ve barely slammed the door shut behind you and secured it with the flimsy lock when the door handle begins to rattle.

“Open up,” he demands.

“No!” You shout, back away from the door.

“No? I don’t think you realise what trouble you’re in sweetheart. You don’t just kick a hunter in the fucking balls and get away with it,” he seethes.

You start gathering all your belongings, “All the more reason for me not to let you in,”

There’s a shuffle outside your door, the rattling has stopped, “Oh, got a mouth on you do ya? I’ll kick this door down if I have to,”

You look around in search for something to get you out of here, “The owner is quite fond of me, I don’t think he’d appreciate that,”

“Five,” he starts, at first you think he’s gone mental until you realise he’s counting down, “Four,” you quickly grab the sheets off your bed and throw them in the corner of the room near the window, “Three,”

You run to the door and cautiously open it with the latch still in place to keep some sort of flimsy defence in place, “Please, Ghost is it?” You ask politely as you peek out at him. The man looks furious with his hands placed on his hips, “Is it money you are after? I can pay you out,”

He raises an eyebrow, “With your dwindling funds? Your father has placed a heavy bounty on your head, one that you would not begin to match even with a well paying job,”

You sigh defeatedly, tears springing to your eyes, “Will you at least let me collect my thoughts? You have no idea what it’s like there, please give me one more night here before I have to be dragged back,” you sniffle.

He rolls his eyes and sighs, “I will be here as soon as the sun rises, have your things ready by then,”

You wipe your eyes, “Yes of course, thank you so much for your generosity, Ghost.”

As he turns away you listen to the sound of his heavy boots stomping down the hall until you cannot hear them anymore. Softly you click the door shut behind you once more and start thinking about how to not only get out of here, but evade that bloody hunter. You walk towards the sheets your previously abandoned, the room you’re in is too high to jump from without a leverage but it is facing empty paddocks of land where no one but the farmers walk through during the day. You start fastening the ends of each sheet together to form one long rope, the night is still young so you do not test it yet, you must be patient and wait for the perfect moment.

It’s well past midnight before you decide to crack the window open. The air is brisk against your cheeks, but thankfully the cloak you’re wearing covers most of your body. You toss the sheets you fastened into a rope out the window until they dangle against the brick wall. It doesn’t touch the ground but from here it’s looks long enough to take that gamble. You peer out for one last look of that hunter before carefully climbing out, it’s terrifyingly high to your mind and for a moment you have second thoughts, but you know it’s either this or an escorted trip back to the castle.

The climb down is slow and nerve wracking, every gust of wind has you clenching harder onto the sheets and pausing to stop the swaying. When you reach the end of the rope, the jump down is still quite high but you shut your eyes tight and count down from three before letting go. With a huff you land harshly on your knees against the soft grass, you give yourself a quick once over and breathe a sigh of relief at the lack of injuries— save for the future bruises you will have.

You stand to your feet carefully walking along the brick wall to the entrance, in the stables you can see an unfamiliar black horse. It must belong to the hunter, you duck back behind the wall and walk towards the back road leading out of the town. Hopefully you can hitch a ride on the way, but for now you need to use as much moonlight as you can to make your escape.

Dawn has cracked by the time you make it to the next town and you are exhausted. Thankfully you had managed to find another traveller in the early hours of the morning to give you a ride the rest of the way in, but you had spent a lot of time afoot during the night and honestly had no idea how you had not gotten attacked by some sort of wild animal.

You couldn’t stay here long though, that hunter would already be on his way and much faster with a personal steed. Out of habit you look over at the stable just in case, and deflate once you see it— a black horse. It couldn’t be, how would he get here so fast? How would he know you’re here? You swing your head around, looking in all directions for his recognisable mask.

“You have to get off the cart, Miss,”

You whip your head around to look down at the driver, “Sorry?”

“The cart. Get off, I need to sell this hay.” He repeats.

You nod and climb down, pain shoots up your legs once you set your feet on the ground, a soreness from travelling so far on foot. You see no sign of Ghost amongst the dispersed crowd of people milling around about their day. The cart drives off without you further into town, you watch absentmindedly as it goes already mourning the thought of being without a ride once again.

A sigh from behind you snaps you out of your thoughts, “I underestimated you,”

You spin around on your heel, Ghost peers down at you with his hands clasped behind his back making his shoulders seem even broader. You can only grit your teeth in frustration of already being caught.

“Oh don’t look at me like that darlin’, it’s not your fault, no one escapes me,” he explains, as if that’s a worthy answer.

“I escaped you once, I can do it again,” you hiss.

He leans closer, “You will not fool me again Princess, you have my full attention. I will get my bounty.”

You start to thrash when he grabs ahold of your arm but this time he doesn’t ease up as he drags you towards this town’s tavern. No one even bats an eye as he hauls you over to a free table and tosses you into one of the chairs, you rub your shoulder as he moves around to take a seat across from you. Ghost lounges back with his arms crossed over his chest and thighs spread wide as he watches you with a calculated gaze.

The barmaid comes over to take your order, when you don’t speak he does for you, asking for whatever is being served on the menu before shooing her away. He’s not kind, and seems a little rough around the edges, you can only imagine the horrors he’s seen or been apart of.

“We’re leaving as soon as you finish eating,” he states.

Your eyes widen, “What? We can’t!”

“We can and we will,” he replies, undeterred by your rising tone.

“But!” You frown, “I haven’t even bathed, I need a night here to get myself sorted,”

He leans over with his arm propped against the table, “That excuse won’t work on me again, sweetheart.”

The barmaid places down your food in front of you. It’s some sort of stew you can’t even begin to think of stomaching right now, you slump back in your chair and cross your arms over your chest, refusing to look at him.

“Eat,” he demands.

You scrunch your nose into a sneer, “I do not take orders from the likes of you,”

He scoffs, “You do not have a choice, Princess.”

You try to match his stare but his gaze is unwavering, he doesn’t seem the least bit affected by your hatred for him as he waits for you to make the first move. He looks completely self-assured of your capture except for the way his shoulders seem to be stuck in a tense line, ready just in case you try to make a sprint out the door once again. It’s a small victory that makes your lips curl into a smirk, you could make a fool of him once again you’re sure.

The bowl of food goes untouched, you’re stubborn enough to refuse anything he might buy for you. Ghost doesn’t seem the least bit bothered if you take care of yourself or not, his only criteria is that he keeps you alive to cash in his bounty. After a moment of no movement from either of you he stands to his feet.

“Let’s go,” he rumbles.

You frown, crossing your arms over your chest, “I’m not going until I have a chance to bathe,”

“Get up now before I drag you out,” he’s becoming impatient with your demands now.

“Let me order for a bath, or I’ll make a scene,” you repeat.

He hunches over and he grips the back of your chair to turn you until you’re facing him, “You are not making the demands here, understood? Now get the fuck up,” when he grips your arm once again you scream as loud as you can, everyone looks over in your direction to see what’s happened. It’s completely shocked Ghost into letting go of your arm.

“I’ll only be ten minutes,” you bargain.

His eyes are wide, “You’re a fucking loose screw aren’t you?”

You smile politely and stand up, you’ve got him now, for a minute at least. Before he can think better of it you march over to the front desk and ask for a room and some hot water be brought up. Once the key is handed over you walk down the hall to find it, Ghost follows hot on your heels up until you try to close the door on him.

You frown at the way he’s wedged his foot in between the doorframe to permit you from closing it fully, “I’ll be out in just a moment,”

He shakes his head, using his strength to push you aside and enter the room, “Not happening,”

You hold the open door confusedly, following his movement as he makes himself comfortable on the edge of the bed. Your expression turns into one of embarrassed contempt, “You cannot stay in here! I demand privacy!”

He crosses his arms over his chest, “You lost your right to privacy the moment you decided to make a run for it,”

You fluster, “What you expect me to bathe in front of you? That is barbaric!”

“Hot water?” One of the inn workers calls softly, looking at you expectantly.

Ghost looks to you with a lazy hooded gaze, his eyebrow quirks up in question. What are you going to do about it? You breathe out and let the lady in, she makes her way over to the tub which thankfully, although there is no sort of door or divider, it is sectioned off in a covered corner of the bathroom. It’s not as much privacy as you would like but it’s enough that only one corner of the tub would be visible from Ghosts’ view.

You look over at Ghost once more, the hunter is watching the worker as she pours the hot water in, god knows what’s running through his mind— probably the quickest route to get back into your father’s hands. You kindly thank the lady on her way out before closing the door behind her. Without even looking the hunter’s way you walk into the bathroom and round the corner to wear the tub is, you really do want a bath after all the travel you did just to get here. The warm water is inviting enough that you undress despite there being a man— with a watchful gaze—in the next room.

You can’t help the sigh of relief that leaves your lips when you sink in, Ghost looks away even though he can’t see anything except for your feet which sometimes dangle off the side of the tub.

“How much is my father paying for me?” You call out.

“A lot,” is the gruff response you get back.

You roll your eyes, “Care to be more specific?”

“It rises the longer you’re away from home.” he’s getting desperate, is what goes unsaid.

You look up at the ceiling, allowed the warm steam fill your lungs. There would be nothing to convince this hunter to let you go, he is determined, that much you can see. Your only chance at freedom is to throughly think out a plan of escape, something that would go under his nose.

“Is that black horse yours?”

“Yes,”

You hum, “Must get paid a lot as a bounty hunter,”

“Is there a purpose behind all your questions?”

“Ill-tempered,” you comment, “That’s undesirable in a gentleman you know,”

“Good thing I’m not going for desirable then.” he mutters.

You finish the rest of your bath in silence, the only sound is the swishing of water within the tub as you climb out. You doubt the man will give you time to wash your clothes, so you slip the dress back on once you’ve dried off.

When you reappear you’re dressed again with a sour look on your face. Ghost doesn’t comment on it as he stands and walks towards the door. You watch as he opens it while you fasten your cloak around your shoulders, you’re about to brush past him when he grabs your upper arm. You look up at him expectantly when he doesn’t let go.

“I don’t need to be escorted,” you state firmly.

“Better safe than sorry, wouldn’t want you getting lost again,” he emphasises.

The innkeeper wishes you both safe travels as you walk out, you try to send her a pleading look but Ghost has an already tugged you along out of sight. When his horse comes into view it’s bigger than you imagined—definitely bigger than the horses you’ve seen around the castle. But he’s beautiful, sleek black hair that’s neatly maintained and a good weight. He’s definitely well looked after, you can’t help but reach your hand out towards him.

“Wouldn’t do that if I wer—” he cuts off when his horse unexpectedly knocks his nose affectionately into your hand. Anyone else would have had their finger bitten off by now, he watches you skeptically.

“Hello handsome,” you coo, momentarily forgetting your woes as you rub up and down his muzzle, “What’s your name?”

“Ash,” he grunts as he unties his reins.

Ash is very affectionate you realise as he rubs his nose against your cheek. You laugh and use both hands to give him a scratch until Ghost clears his throat. You step back, smile fallen as he gestures expectantly for you to hop on.

When he reaches forward to grab your hips you raise your hands in defence, “I don’t need assistance.”

He backs off instantly and watches as you attempt to climb on. It’s somewhat clumsy only because you’re not used to a steed as big as Ash, but triumphantly you managed to seat yourself and adjust your dress so it’s draped appropriately over both your legs as you sit on the left side. Ghost grabs ahold of the reins and guides you out of town by walking ahead with Ash. You watch the town one last time before looking down at your lap, with each step back feels a stifling weight of defeat in your chest.

“How did you find me anyway?” You ask curiously.

He looks up at you from over your shoulder, “Hair pin,”

You frown, “What—how?”

He looks back at the road ahead, “Vendor couldn’t forget the pretty face that swapped her earrings for one of his low quality hair pins,”

You clench your eyes shut. Foolish. That’s what you were. A naive little girl that didn’t know what she was doing, letting herself stand out when she was trying to blend in.

“Was a smart thought,” he adds on, “Pawning off your jewellery,”

“I don’t need your sympathy,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest.

Ghost shuts his mouth and steers Ash off course towards the forest beside the road, “Where are we going?”

“Shortcut,”

“Through the forest? What about the wild animals?” You ask cautiously.

“Not worried,” he replies shortly.

“Not worried? I am worried! Why can’t we take the road?” You look around trees for any signs of bears.

“Shortcut,” he repeats, “We’ll get there quicker this way,”

“Should I remind you if I die you will not receive your bounty?”

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t worry Princess, nothing will kill you out here. Harm you, maybe, but not kill you,”

“Are you seriously teasing at a time like this?” You ask incredulously.

“Yes, because you are uptight,” he responds.

“I am not uptight, I happen to be quite the opposite,” you argue, crossing your arms over your chest.

“According to who?”

“Friends if you must know,”

“Were these friends after something?” He questions.

You frown, “I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

He chuckles but doesn’t respond. The walk through the forest is peaceful, you can hear the chirping of birds and for the most part there are no dangerous animals leaping out at you. Ghost is ahead steering Ash like it is a second nature to him, you wonder how far he has travelled and how much of the world he has seen in his line of work. You can’t help but feel a crawling sense of jealously travel up your arms. The sensation is so lifelike you can’t help but look down at your arms, only to see it is not your sense of jealously but a spider crawling up towards you.

You shout and flail your arm around, Ash kicks up a bit of a fuss at your reaction causing Ghost to whip around as see what all the trouble is about. He tugs the reins to still Ash and walks over to you.

“What is it?” He asks, looking over you for any sign of pain.

“Something’s on my arm! A spider, I don’t know where it went,”

Ghost blinks, “Are you serious?”

You look at him incredulously, “Are you stupid? Why would I not be serious!”

He sighs and grabs your arm, instantly you still as he inspects it for any sign of spider. “There’s nothin’ th—” he pauses to look at your cloak.

“What?” You ask, “What? You’re making me nervous,”

“I found it,” he mutters, reaching a hand out.

You clench your eyes shut, “Get it off me, please,” you beg.

He takes a moment to look at your terrified expression before focusing on the spider on the outside of your cloak. It is not poisonous, or particularly big in his option but he reaches out anyway to flick it off.

“Gone,” he finalises.

You peek an eye open and look over your cloak where Ghost’s hand is hovering, “Are you sure?”

“As the dead.” he promises.

You clutch your cloak tighter around your body and nod. Ghost resumes walking ahead towards the next town. The rest of the journey goes without any issue, before you know it, you’re back at the town you previously had a job at. Instead of stopping at the inn you stayed at previously, Ghost travels further in until you reach a different inn, a much smaller one with more room at the back for Ash.

You take his hand to jump down out of habit but immediately draw your hand away once necessary. Ghost doesn’t acknowledge your behaviour as he ties Ash up to his post. He only hovers beside you as walk towards the inn’s entrance, its warmly lit and much quieter than the one you stayed at.

“Good evening,” the woman smiles, “Room for two?”

You return her smile, “Two separate roo—”

“Yes.” Ghost cuts in.

You whip your head around to face him, does he even know what he’s asking for? Before you can explain the lady is already handing over the room key.

“Enjoy your stay.” She hums.

Ghost leads the way down the hall looking along the doors for the marching number, “Do you even know what you’ve done?”

He sighs, “What have I done now, Princess?”

“She,” you gesture to the innkeeper, “Thinks we’re together— like courting,” your voice trails off into a flustered whisper, “Why did you say yes to one room?”

Ghost stops in front of your rooms door, inserting the key into the lock before looking down at you with a quirked eyebrow.

“Courting huh?” He muses, “Suppose a princess could be worth courting if she came with a decent dowry,”

You look at him with disgust, “What a shameful thing to say.”

He swings the door open, gesturing for you to walk in. The room is nice enough, except it is what you feared it would be with only one bed in the middle. Ghost closes the door behind you, making himself comfortable by throwing his minimal belongings on one of the side tables.

“You should get another room,” you insist.

“So you can get thrifty and make another rope out of sheets?” He asks.

You glare at him, “Where are you to sleep? There is only one bed,”

His eyes crinkle, “Worried about me darlin’?”

You wave him off with a scoff, “Not at all, you can sleep as the dogs do. On the ground,”

He shrugs his shoulders, slowly beginning to unravel the ties on his leather armour, “I’ve slept worse places.”

His ability to roll with the punches aggravates you to no end when he knows how to push your buttons so easily. With a huff you sit on the end of the bed and watch curiously as he continues to undress. With the armour gone you can see that beneath he wears a black flowy shirt, which he starts to take off alongside his armour.

“What are you doing?” You ask, slightly panicked.

He looks at you questionably, “Undressing?”

“There is a lady in the room, you should not be doing any of that sort in front of me without intention,” you state.

He quirks an eyebrow, “What sort of intention?” He asks, smirk evident in his tone.

You fluster and look away, now realising the trap you’ve fallen into, “Just go to the bathroom, I do not need—nor want— to see you undressed,”

“You sure?” He asks with amusement but walks towards the bathroom, this inn thankfully has doors which close off the bathroom completely, “What if I had intentions?”

You refuse to respond to his petty teasing by pointedly looking away. However, you can’t help but watch out of the corner of your eye as he pauses in the doorway, it’s completely open for you to see everything as he hikes the shirt over his head. I’m in the bathroom. You can practically hear his voice in your head as his shirt drops to the ground.

For a second you’re drawn to the amount of scars you can see imbedded across his back, some are deeper than others and massive as they stretch across his skin. You barely catch a glimpse of them before the door slips shut behind him.

You sigh and fall back against the mattress. What could you do now? Ghost would not let you out of his sights and even if he did, he has proven himself a skilled hunter—perhaps more skilled than the usual one. No one else had even dared come after you so far.

That’s it. You squint your eyes in thought. What if he had competition over your capture? Your head was needed alive so you could not be harmed, but perhaps Ghost could be taken care of by other bounty hunters? You could make a run for it while they fought over who was more worthy of bringing you in.

You lift your head up when you hear the bathroom door open once again. Ghost still has his mask on but his face and hair look cleaner. You trek his movements as he walks across the room to the only armchair available near the window. Slowly you sit up as he makes himself comfortable and closes his eyes.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“What does it look like?” He asks crossing his arms over his clothed chest, “Sleeping,”

You frown, “With your clothes on?” You inquire, “And your mask?”

He peers over at you, “I am not allowed to be undressed without intentions, correct?”

You shake your head, refusing to fluster over his amusement. Instead of replying you take your bag to the bathroom to get changed into your nightgown. It feels indecent to wear so little in front of a stranger—a dangerous one at that. So you slip your cloak on over the top before stepping back out into the bedroom. Ghost has not moved but his eyes watch as you crawl into bed.

You reach for the lamp beside you and plunge the room into darkness.

[lunamoonbby]

DAAAAADDY😫😫😫😫😫

I wanna have his babies

Shirtless Smoker??? FOR FREE??????

[lunamoonbby]

𝐩𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝. [costco misadventures]

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬: it costs nothing to be kind. so you leap at your chance to do a good deed for a clearly irate stranger and in return you’d feel a warm, self-righteous feeling in your heart knowing you’re a good person—though you start to question the depth of your kindness when said stranger asks you for a favour you should, by all logic, refuse.

masterlist | ao3 | mdni | take heed: simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader, afab reader, domestic au, pretend relationship, fake marriage, size difference, love at first sight, dubious consent, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, fluff, angst, stalking, manipulation, dark romance.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢.

The glaring fluorescent lights from above strains his eyes just a little. The clamour of customers busying themselves with their tank of carts from every which way only exacerbated Simon’s growing irritation. He can’t even hear his thoughts above all the noise; if he could, he’d choose to be back in the derrick, suspended high above the rig floor just labouring away through all the mud and chemicals in the height of summer.

Simon is only at the threshold of the large wholesale warehouse, and yet he is already flexing his taut fists, ready for a poor lad to even look at him sideways. The anger in him is palpable. 

Price is the only reason for why he is suddenly at earth’s very own purgatory. Hearing him mention something along the lines of scoring a fair deal on a bulk of premium meats piqued his interest enough to drive ungodly miles for some measly groceries. 

Simon has been meaning to stock up his barren fridge since he got back less than a week ago. The amount of takeout he’s been ingesting was beginning to slow him down. The food was quick, easy and predictable. But there was always an after effect where he’d feel the lull of his energy depleting. He figures he might as well make use of the grill he got for his twenty-ninth birthday that’s been collecting dust ever since. 

Then again, that might not even happen. 

A short elderly woman clad in Costco’s garish red trademark vest is staunchly refusing him entry, pressing him hard about some bullshit membership card. Still, Simon has to commend her, to be able to have gumption at her age against someone like him—even if the shrill of her critical, condescending tone is getting under his skin. 

He’s about to call it quits. Despite wanting—with every fibre of his being—to sock someone in the throat, he’d figure a punching bag was a better alternative for some stress reliever at times like these—mainly for one, they don’t call the police on him. 

The rumbles of an oversized cart emerges close from behind, and with that incessant noise accompanied the sweetest sound he’s heard in his waking lifetime. 

“Honey!” a laugh that sounds strikingly like a gentle, chime of bells follows. “Honey—I thought I told you to wait for me by the trolleys.”

“Silly man.” You shake your head in feigned indignation; the smile on your face never falters.

—And god have mercy, that smile..

Simon wonders if he really is with the land of the living or if he finally kicked the bucket. But too many tell-tale signs reminds him that he’s alive—because the stale air around him still lingers and the obnoxious, blinding lights have finally given him a slight migraine that rings softly in the back of his head. And above all, Simon can feel the blood pumping through his veins; he can feel his heart beating—pulsing so hard he fears you can hear it too.

“Please excuse my husband—he hasn’t listened to me since I told him Liverpool was better than United.”

You dig into your purse before flashing the employee your card. The woman takes a quick scan of your printed picture and back up to your face; her face remains hard and unconvinced. “Why do you not have a household card?” 

Simon raises his brows slightly and crosses his arms, looking down at you expectantly, wondering what you’ll say next to cover up your impromptu façade. Impressively, her question doesn’t shake you. Instead, you casually tuck the card back into the pocket of your purse and stand closer beside him—close enough that he suddenly feels off about himself. Like he isn’t sure why he’s caring about his attire that haphazardly chose this morning—or how the scent of his aftershave that permeates his being might be received. 

So he hardens his face and resolve, flexing his taut muscles as if the tension alone could will away the flicker of doubt he refuses to acknowledge. 

“I’ve just never bothered to change it—especially since he rarely comes with me to do the groceries.” You bump your shoulder against him lightly in playful admonishment. 

Simon is afraid to admit to himself that the touch was electrifying. Quite embarrassing really that you, a pretty stranger, could have such an effect on him. He doesn’t necessarily consider himself a philanderer, but he also doesn't consider himself particularly celibate either. He had his fair share of experiences with women—tasted them enough to kill the mystery.

The countless nights where he tangled with naked limbs in the throes of passion had never reset him back to his awkward youth. But somehow with you, he is reminded of what he used to be; where simple, innocuous exchanges would render him useless. 

Simon clenches his jaw and puffs up his chest. 

“Next time, if you come without your wife you will still be refused entry—doesn’t matter if she is a member, you have to come with her or exchange your membership card for a household one.” She waves the two of you off to continue manning her post with more shoppers trickling in.

You take a furtive look back behind your shoulder before sharing him a knowing smile. 

“They’re very tight on security around here, unfortunately you have to show your card when you checkout as well.”

Simon notices the way you do not attempt to abandon him, keeping close to him like a familiar friend. He bites the bottom corner of his lip to keep it from pulling and looks ahead after stalling his gaze a second too much. 

On your end, your stomach was doing leaps, walking aimlessly with a stranger who you thought would be filled with gratitude. You imagine a scene where you both share a laugh at the whole situation—something along the lines of cheating the system; the man would tell you that it is his first time at this store, tell you that the security was as tight as the military, and thank you for your generosity and quick wit to help out a poor, lost soul like him. 

Instead he passively strolls at a leisurely pace, letting you take the lead of the direction—which makes sense as he has never stepped foot here before—but his silence was overbearing; your previous attempt failed to invoke some sort of conversation from him. 

Perhaps, you have overstepped. 

Perhaps he does not need nor appreciate the help—that he would want to sign up for a membership on the spot and not have a convoluted lie follow him from a stupid, intrusive stranger who gave him an unwarranted favour. Thinking about it much harder, he does not seem like the type to even ask for help. 

Big. Formidable. Intimidating. You’re now all too aware of the tattoos that ran across his arm, the scars and the permanent glower etched onto his face. You’re never the type to make assumptions based on another’s appearance, but the man next to you has you breathing slow and careful—waiting for the moment he’ll cuss you out for dragging him into your needless fabrication. 

Your mind races as you second guess your actions—but he never protests. 

Still, he allows you near and yet you still feel small next to him. Like a stray dog, you are unsure whether he’ll bite your hand if you keep stretching it out. 

When you feel the moment has gone far too long with words unspoken, you instinctively kick your sociable, friendly pretence into overdrive—something to quell this oppressive hold he seemingly domineers over you. You start with your name. 

“I come here once or twice a month, I don’t necessarily need a bulk every time but I guess it’s just the novelty of shopping wholesale—plus their bakery selection is amazing!” You look up at him with eyes wide and hopeful, desperate for just one acknowledging nod.

“Simon.” The man finally utters. You inconspicuously breathe out a sigh of relief and he contains the blood rushing to his cock when you repeat his name to yourself. 

“What are you after? I noticed you didn’t grab a cart, something small?” Your steps instinctually lead you to the fresh produce aisle you religiously start with.

You stop slowly, inspecting the array of fruits and vegetables before you. He adjusts the crotch of his pants when you busy yourself with finding the ripest box of strawberries.

Simon clears his throat before replying, “steak cuts.” 

“Oh I won’t be long then–” He cuts you off by taking a sharp breath through his teeth and shakes his head. 

“Take your time,” Simon says with a gruff, slight upward tilt of his chin—and for some strange reason, you feel the need to comply. It’s as if he was your commanding officer, and he just gave you an order you’re bound to fulfill. You feel comfortable and uncomfortable all the same. He gives you no reason for you to be afraid of him, yet not enough for you to let your guard down. 

You give a frail smile and put down your chosen box of berries. Unexpectedly, Simon grabs a hold of the handle and begins pushing, in which you entwine your fingers at the end of the metal cart, allowing you to resume taking charge of the navigation. 

When you look back to flash him a gracious mien, Simon is suddenly lost in his view.

Time seemingly ceases to exist. The world he once knew unravels before him. His core beliefs—his ingrained convictions after years of moving through life with grit are now being questioned. His soul that is tempered by struggle and unyielding resolve, weathering the harshness of whatever finds him; it slips through his fingers like sand. 

The meaning of life. The purpose of his existence is suddenly here. In a wholesale warehouse. With you.

This sudden domestic bliss. Unfamiliar, surreal, hopeful—it makes him sick and yet he craves it all the same. 

His ghost leaves him for a mere moment, leaving him whole and human. For the first time he is unsure, can someone like him be deserving of something so good—something so innocent and pure? After all he’s done, what he’s seen—does he even deserve someone like you? 

Simon is not above stealing. No stranger to the sins condemned in every house of god. Anything shiny he’ll take—no moral conundrum in himself or as to how his actions would make him seem to those who have the chance to perceive him. 

And yet he is laughably wary and wanting. He wants to earn it, wants it given to him freely, unconditionally—can’t pull your hand in his and drive off in his truck to where you’ll cease to exist to none other than him in this world. No—you’ll run for the hills, won’t look at him the same way ever again, he’ll be lost to you forever. 

This time something is different. He doesn't know what happened—but something happened.

All Simon knows is that he wants you to keep calling him ‘honey,’ introduce him as your big, silly husband to the masses—wants you to want him just the same, and you’re making it so hard for him to stay grounded to reality. 

He doesn’t allow himself to be deluded enough to believe your kindness was only reserved for him—there are others before, and a part of him finds himself resenting you for that. 

It doesn’t matter. In the end he’ll have you on your knees begging for his forgiveness, pleading for mercy for how could you possibly think to be so generous for anyone other than him. Just the mere fact that this isn’t your first time is enough for him to persecute you. There will be no leniency—won’t hear it, doesn’t care if you weren’t aware of his existence prior to this; he’s astute in his jurisdiction. 

Simon slouches languidly against the handles with his arms crossed in front of him. His eyes follow your swinging hips as you walk ahead, blissfully unaware of his perverted fantasy to bend you over his knee and have you atone for the sins you’ve transgressed against him; he’ll make you believe as if kindness and decency were crimes worth condemning. Simon will do proper work to get through to you; a scornful, apathetic woman to the rest, a simpering, delicate bird just for him. 

The cart quickly fills up with time. You begin to feel your shoulders drop, slowly learning to be comfortable with the silence, but you never let it linger long enough for it to be prolonged; always at the ready to share your personal opinion on the products you meticulously choose. You point out their longevity, their taste—hell, you’re sharing with him how much he can save by doing calculations on your phone. 

Your prattle doesn’t seem to exhaust him, even if all he replies is in either a grunt or a nod; his eyes and demeanor tells you he’s ready to receive whatever you have to say. An oddly endearing feeling. 

“Oh–Simon,” you stop him in the middle of traversing into another aisle. “They’re handing out free samples!” You're embarrassingly too excited about this. You catch yourself when he gives you a slight huff accompanied by a faint smile. “Would you mind waiting? O-Or you’re free to go on ahead without me, I’ll catch up with you later.” 

You turn and join the small hoard of customers waiting for the next fresh batch of dumplings to be served. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you do not dare to look back—instead, your attention is now solely on the savoury pieces of steam-fried morsels of assorted meat. You await your turn with impatience, feeling anxious at the time you’re taking away from the man and his one, single item he means to purchase. 

Finally, when you stand at the front of the counter, the woman behind gives you two pieces in lieu of one as per everyone else. When you think it’s just good karma coming your way, she acknowledges you with a gushingly, sweet grin, “you two are absolutely adorable.” 

“Oh..” Your mind works overtime to generate the meaning behind her comment before you grasp it entirely. Simon stands imposingly behind you—eyeing the dumplings wrapped in parchment paper liners in your hands. You look back at the woman to give a bashful smile. “We’re not–” Strong arm winds its way naturally around your waist, guiding you gently into the gravity of his being. The words fall silent at your lips; your eyes search for his, glancing up cautiously and gauging his face to read into his intentions. Simon instead softly envelopes your wrist and leads it to his mouth, easily capturing the sample with a quick swipe. 

Your bewilderment must have been plain on your face, seizing your features altogether as he chews absentmindedly to the side and gives a curt nod to the cooing woman before him. 

“It’s good,” he approves with calm indifference. 

You don’t reply; a spell enchants you, rendering you useless in speech. 

You wonder if this is appropriate, whether you both had gone too far for a simple subscription to shop in a discounted store. Granted, you were the one who initiated the ruse of being a married couple—however, with this man, it is difficult to gauge if he is a willing participant in the silly, white lie of your own making. 

So you are entirely blindsighted when he leans in and soothes the sides of your hip with his thumb, casually asking you if you wanted a bag to take for home. 

In the end, two bags of dumplings now sits neatly at the front of your cart—one spicy, the other original. Simon has yet to let go of you, even when you both are far out of line of sight from the woman who enthusiastically asked far too many questions for you to be comfortable with.

It was easy to put out a blanket statement, but turning the lie into something more personal, something more lucrative—knowing you could never back it up if you ever come across her again—made you restless, for this particular Costco was one of your usual haunts. 

When the temperature shifts, indicating that the fresh meat and seafood selection is near, you vacantly pull from his embrace to busy yourself by scanning at the rows of packaged salmon, studying its vibrancy in colour with tunnel vision to conceal the tremor in your chest. 

Too absorbed in your own focus, you fail to notice the disappointment that flickers across his face—how his hand follows the spot he previously occupied longingly; Simon clenches his fist in defeat and lets it fall limp at his side. 

He picks up two packs of Aberdeen Angus in one hand and returns to his post by the cart. You look back and set the kilo of salmon back down to join him readily with an air of ease. A moment of solitude with you and the fishes is enough for you to gather your thoughts and dismiss your need to read into the meaning between the lines that were never written.

“All done?” you ask, pushing the cart towards the entrance to check out. Simon trails behind you, and this time you don’t endeavour to fill in the silent gaps with your small talks—though every part of you inclines to do the opposite—it feels somewhat natural, to leave what is needlessly complicated behind and forgotten on this busy Saturday morning.

Walking up to a slightly less crowded register, you begin to unload your items into the conveyor belt strategically, placing your boxed and compact goods before your fresh and delicate produce. When you’ve empty the bottom of your cart, you take the sizable prime cuts of meat from his hand with a reassuring smile and place it among your other items as well.

Simon lets you, albeit not without a quiet struggle of hesitancy from his end—in which you find rather gentlemanly of his character. He’s even more so when he joins you at your side to help you load the checked items back into the trolley, effortlessly deciphering your preferences and aligning them to your own design.

After you sort the final pieces neatly together, you sift through your purse once again for your membership card to the cashier. He gives your ID a quick once-over, nods in routine satisfaction and hands it back over to you. Just as you’re pulling your credit card from its tight confines to pay, you hear a mechanical beep quickly following suit.

The receipt monotonously rolls out a copy of your invoice as Simon casually slips his wallet back in his back pocket. You’re reeling—you can’t fathom what just happened. He takes the receipt from the clerk without much thought and begins to drag the cart from the register with one hand to make way for the hoard waiting behind. 

“Simon!” You exclaim in quiet, eyes wide-eyed with disbelief, trailing after him as he takes the lead towards the exit. 

He only spares you a sideways glance, waiting for you to continue, as if what he just did were nothing at all; but you wait a beat for him to explain. Comment on the reimbursement of his purchase on your behalf. Elaborate on the efficiency he has done for you as a favour. Give a simple shrug. Anything. 

Instead, his countenance remains still, like he can’t quite understand you’re looking at him like that and calling out his name with such urgency. 

‘This man really has no social cues,’ you think—teetering on the verge of a crash out after a full morning reading into the obscurity of him as a being, second-guessing your words and gestures towards him. Your social energy is spent. And this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

You shake your head lightly and let out a soft sigh of laughter while still settling your gaze at him. Social diplomacy has always been part of your strength; avoiding direct demands and fluffing requests to preserve a sense of decorum is embedded in your speech and character. And now you find yourself getting tired of it—tired of him. He wants you to spell it out for him—and perhaps you should. You should figure by now he probably receives directness better than skirting around niceties. 

“Give me your bank account details.” You pull out your phone and tap your screen rapidly with haste. “I'll transfer you right now, who are you with?”

He’s lost interest entirely.

“Don’t worry about it.” 

You blanch, unimpressed at his answer. “I can’t let you pay for over a hundred pounds worth of groceries for me.”

“Why?” he furrows his brows together. The question is not meant to challenge, but one to understand. 

“Simon,” you hold on to the handle of the cart he’s taken control of before he strays further from the exit. “It doesn’t feel right on my end to have someone else pay for something that substantial–especially when I’m fully capable of covering for it myself.”

He straightens at your words. Looking down at the space where your hand nearly meets his at the handle before looking at your steadfast disposition; he curses silently at your sweet face. 

In the end he could give fuck all about being reimbursed—but Simon isn’t quite ready for this dream to end just yet. And so, he expects this—expects the refusal from you. Fully aware that the unspoken rules of courtesy that you live by will keep you from accepting his act of generosity; tying him to you indefinitely until a similar, if not grander, gesture is repaid. More than that, there is another incentive in this predicament he’s designed; he, a generous stranger who’s overpaid the favour, and you, will keep him in the back of your mind from now, always. 

“You saved me a trip back; I don’t come home empty-handed,” He says simply. “Just paying it forward, alright love.”

You begin to feel the invisible string that entangles you to him—a debt that grows with interest, compounding over time—and you mean to cut it. 

“Where did you park?” 

A quiet conundrum remains with you, restless at the unresolved matter you take an issue with and even more so when your case is denied. In spite of all that, you guide him to your hatchback pulled in conveniently near the trolley bay; your apprehension is easy to see.

Simon helps you load your items into the back when you’ve unlocked it. You peer up at him from the corner of your eyes, looking for any kind of indication of smug—a sense of gratification or doubt that might flicker across his face. And yet he remains composed, simply focusing on lifting the heavier items you struggle to carry on your own and into the trunk thoughtfully.

Once you place the final item inside, you finally find your voice with a vestige of courage to offer him some goodwill to settle the debt there and then. 

“Would you like a membership card?” You ask hopefully. Recalling the reason why you are with him in the first place. It seems like the best outcome for both parties, honouring each others’ generosity and kindness and parting ways with no strings attached. “I would love to pay–in fact, I insist.”

Simon quickly shoots down your offer, head shaking in refusal. Simon sucks the air through his teeth to reinforce his answer. He looks off towards the vast parking lot, hands on his hips before his attention returns to you, “Doubt I’ll be back here.” 

You’re deflated but you accept defeat in his answer, albeit not without one last attempt to repay the favour. Your phone unlocks with a single tap of your thumb as you navigate the home screen to your contacts application, handing it to him with a blank profile at the ready.

“Well, at least give me your number–just in case you ever need the money back, in some way or another.” you explain, unsure in the latter part of your words but you’re hopeful he’s sensibly across the meaning behind them. 

This he does not refuse.

Simon punches his numbers into your phone and dials it for good measure. When he feels the familiar buzz of his cell in his pocket, he presses the end call button before handing it to you.

“Thanks–and yes, call or text me anytime you need anything. And truly, thank you for paying for my groceries–you really, really didn’t have to.” You take a second to laugh softly behind your hands, alleviating the absurdity and the awkward tension of it all when he allows you to ramble by yourself. “Uh.. I hope you enjoyed your first shopping experience here–so much so you might come back? Maybe? Not too late for me to shout you that card.”

With his hands in the pockets of his jacket, he shakes his head again with a slight curve playing in one corner of his lips in a smirk. 

“Well maybe the quality of that steak is so good you’ll dream of it for days and beg me for one when you run out.” 

Your smile strains when he doesn’t join in on your playful quip. Instead he looks amused, almost satisfied with how much you seem to be enjoying yourself in this one-sided conversation. If you were a bit more pessimistic, you would think that he’s making fun of you—but you would ruminate on that later in the late hours of the night when you’re trying to sleep.

“Alright then, it was nice to meet you–and yeah, let me know when.” You take your leave first, turning your feet around towards the driver’s seat, but not without looking back to give him a small wave to keep up pleasantries. “See you.” Your words travel light and fragile, but he receives it all the same. 

Simon nods in acknowledgement before taking his own leave when you shut the door beside you. Taking steady strides to his truck parked all the way across the lot, he repeats your registration plate like a mantra under his breath with an absentminded shadow of a smile painted across his face. 

When he finally disappears from view from your rearview mirror, you let your head fall against the headrest and sigh in relief. As if you’re Atlas, the weight on your shoulders is relieved when you no longer burden yourself with the world. Closing your eyes tight in exasperation before looking up at the ceiling of your car, you take a moment to settle in what you had done to over complicate a simple errand run. 

The feeling is heavy; being monetarily indebted to someone you don’t quite know—none other than that, to someone who is horribly unsociable and taciturn. This didn’t turn out exactly how you would want it to go, and now you sit and wonder just how you had let this happen.

First of all, there is no reason for you to turn the other cheek if it costs you more than you’re willing to give. It seemed simple enough back then. The man clearly intends to purchase from the store, there was no reason for that lady to berate him publicly. The woman must’ve thought that she’s just doing her job—but to you it felt like a power trip. And so you feel for him when he just stands there and takes it. 

Your overly big and sensitive heart felt the inconsiderate reprimand like it was also yours to receive. That’s why helping him felt like second nature to you. In your mind, you had it all planned out. You get to stick it to the needlessly strict corporate rules and he gets to shop in peace. You’ll both share the same sentiment of how cruel the public display was, he’ll profusely show his gratitude through kind words and you would feel a great sense of self-satisfaction knowing you’re a good person. 

Then you imagine the both of you exchanging in some playful banter, turning a rough start to a pleasant shopping experience in the early morning before you inevitably part ways—never to see each other again, but yet look back to think of this encounter as a fond memory to tell others. 

However, this man is different. 

You can’t read him as well as you do for others. You would rather him show his hands freely even if they're not the most agreeable to you. Preferring some kind of sign of indignation even, in lieu of being so reclusive and withdrawn yet—annoyingly rational.

And now he has your number and you’re sitting on the edge of your seat for his call at anytime. 

It’s at these times you catch yourself recognising your weakness in character. Your kindness, it’s performative. You know part of the reason why you help is that it’s so you could also feel good about yourself—and you’re only as good as your last impression, keeping it up is what you struggle with. You could only spare so much of yourself for a stranger before it gets too close for comfort. 

But that’s all meaningless now; your karma has been reversed. 

You strongly believe that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction—and it doesn’t apply to just physics. Your intention to help out a man shop for his own groceries, have him transfer you his fair share has now ended up with you being a-hundred-and-eighty-four pounds indebted towards him. It doesn’t feel good. The feeling still lingers even when you pull from the parking lot.

The balance of the universe is law to you. In short, if something good comes about, then something bad tends to follow.