Anything V (Knig X Reader)

Anything V (König x Reader)

The 5th instalment in the Anything-Verse

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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

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Series Summary:  A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: Ya’ll are in for a treat with this series. I just figured out the plot like 10 minutes ago hahaha

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Unrequited Pining || Tension 

Warning: Graphic Language 

You glared at the woman before you, fury simmering beneath your skin. You felt like you were on fire, you felt like you could commit heinous crimes- you knew that you could kill them.

“I understand that you may feel like this isn’t needed,” the stupid fuck soothed. “But therapy is a proven solution. I can help get you back up and running.” 

Therapy. 

Your fingers dug into the armrests.

“They told me this was training.” You were chewing on the words, jaw tight and eyes narrowed. Deep down you’d known that this was coming, you’d declined ‘help’ after the initial incident but now there was no hiding the darkness that plagued your mind. Everyone had seen it. 

Weiterlesen

📸: deni.gfeller

Anything III (König x Reader)

Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

A/N: I was really fighting for my life with this chapter y'all. It's more to set up for the next coming chapters.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic language, graphic description of PTSD, graphic violence, graphic description of gun violence, graphic description of injury.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

"That fucker needs to go." 

"He's not going anywhere, Simon."

The Lieutenant spun on his heel, reeling on Price with startling speed. He didn’t budge, though. Not when Ghost stopped only inches away and not when a finger rested on his chest- a warning. A threat. 

“Birdy’s my responsibility,” his voice was dangerously low and the Captain’s eyes narrowed. 

“And you’re all my responsibility,” Price’s words were slow and enunciated, spoken through gritted teeth. The heat rolling off his body was tangible, he was fucking furious. He was torn. “You think this was my fucking idea? I get orders from up top just like you do, Riley. They got their own plans in mind.”

Ghost inhaled sharply, dropping his hand to his side. Up top. If the rank has been anything, it’s been consistently shit. 

“When someone tears their own fuckin’ face-off, the plan needs to change,” Simon murmured, the images of the incident drifting across his vision. The man was no stranger to intrusive thoughts but these were particularly vivid, they splattered across the carefully cleaned plains of his mind- taunting him. 

“I know.” Price lit a cigar, his gaze trailing across the rooftops. “Been working on it.” 

“And?” 

“Baby steps, Simon. Baby steps.” 

_________

Inhale, exhale. Again. 

Bang 

Then again. 

Bang 

And again. 

Bang

One, two, three, the hole never widened; not even by a millimetre. The target stood strong and unwavering, and you were doused in hot anger. You’d selected the biggest one you could find, it wasn’t as tall as you wanted, but you supposed the chances of finding a nearly seven foot soldier on the battlefield were slim. 

You were grateful that the one thing that hadn’t changed over the recent horrors of your life, was your aim. You were still a sniper.

Bang 

You were still the best. 

“We got another unit comin’ in for their assessments, Birdy.” The range supervisor’s voice was loud over the speaker and you forced yourself not to jump. “You gotta clear out or pick another lane, mate.” 

Your eyes trailed over the aisles beside you. The rear of their booths were all open, designed for trainees to have an instructor standing over them. Those days of needing direction were over, as were the days of leaving your back vulnerable. 

The lane you had chosen was at the very end of the range, a locked booth designed for soldier’s shooting assessments. It was a bi-annual event, where your marksmanship was tested in order to deem you competent and qualified. No instructor, no target indications, just you in a locked booth with a rifle and a target. 

Now, it was the only place you felt safe enough to shoot. 

You heaved your body up, clearing your weapon before slinging it over your shoulder. It seemed that your time was up. 

As you stepped out of your haven and into the aisle, you tried to settle the anxiety in your chest. It was a burdensome feeling that only faded when you were looking down the sight of your rifle, plaguing your every move and every thought. It was all-consuming. 

A shot rang a few lanes ahead and you flicked your gaze up to the screen as you walked. They were half a centimetre or so off from the central aiming mark but the next shot was dead on. You snorted. 

As you moved to pass, you spared a curious glance at the shooter. 

Your body locked up. 

Right in front of you, lying on his stomach with those long legs sprawled out, was König. 

You seethed. You were suddenly overcome by a rage that, for once, did not wash over you with a flush of heat. Instead, you were cold. Ice trickled the length of your spine and your fingers went numb, pins and needles pricking at your nails. 

Your face stung at the sight of him. 

He was the reason you couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror anymore, he was the reason you looked like a fucking abomination. Your face was deformed and mutilated and here this fucker lay, his back turned to the world because he was not the one that got destroyed.

König ruined you and got away unscathed. 

You waited for him to take another shot, using the cover of the resounding gunfire to put down your rifle. He had no idea that you were there, he was entirely unsuspecting. He was vulnerable.

Before you could comprehend what you were doing, your body had moved to stand over his prone figure. You could hear his breathing, see the rise and fall of his chest.

 In, bang, out. 

They had chosen this fucking imbecile to replace you? He couldn’t even breathe right, everything was wrong. His form was wrong, his breathing pattern was wrong, his shooting was wrong, and he was not built to be a sniper. He was built to destroy with his hands, with no finesse, no pinpoint accuracy- just a bludgeon. 

There was no honour in what König was. 

Again, your face stung beneath the gauze. A reminder. Encouragement. 

You reached for the Glock strapped to your belt, cold sweat trickling down your neck.  König took a breath in and you flicked open the buckle. But he didn’t take a shot as you had predicted, and he’d heard the noise from above him. 

When König turned, you let him see you, just as he’d given you that mercy. 

Then you struck. 

Unlike before, König hadn’t been given the chance to kick the weapon from your hands before you descended upon him. A startled rasp ripped from his mouth as you dropped onto his body, bringing the butt of your firearm to strike his temple. 

His head knocked back, bouncing off the mat beneath him. 

How merciful, that it was not concrete? How gracious, that you didn’t grab his head and crush it? 

König groaned, his hands flying up to defend himself, stunned by the sudden impact. You knew that his vision would be spinning, a loud buzz ringing in his ears. You knew too well. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

You pushed his hands away, bringing the gun down again. You felt his skin render from beneath the metal, a wet thud echoing through the booth as you split the skin of his cheek. The blood made your eyes widen. It wasn’t enough. 

You would give him your scars. You would peel his skin from his bone. You would shatter him until he was unrecognisable. 

This wasn’t enough. 

König’s eyes flickered open, hard and betrayed. 

You knew that the element of surprise had run out, but you were not finished. You’d just gotten started, the purple of his cheek and the red dripping down his temple only marked the beginning. But you couldn’t overpower the man below you. 

When his hands gripped your biceps and he opened his mouth to yell, you pushed the barrel of your handgun past his lips until his teeth scraped the steel.

Everything fell still, his hands frozen on your body and his eyes wide. You hoped that he could taste the gunpowder, you hoped that he could taste his death. The sound of the safety flicking off resounded in the booth and the man beneath you flinched. 

His fingers shook against your skin, his breath rattling in his chest. 

König was afraid. 

And at that realization, for the first time in over a year, a genuine smile twisted your lips. The soldier’s eyes widened, his body twitching beneath yours, groaning around the barrel in his mouth. 

“How do you like it?” You whispered, the words a snarl as you leaned down close. 

König’s emerald gaze was steady on yours and you could visibly see him attempt to calm his breathing. In, out, in, out. He was breathing wrong, everything was still just wrong, wrong, wrong. You pressed harder on the gun. 

This wasn’t enough. 

He wasn’t bruised enough, he wasn’t bleeding enough. You moved your left hand to cup his cheek and his eyes flickered. König wanted to buck you off, he wanted to disable you, maybe he even wanted to murder you. You hoped he did, you wanted to see the same hatred in his eyes that you saw that damned fucking night. 

You wanted him to look into your soul and know that you were going to ruin him. 

That you were going to kill him. 

“You feel guilty?” You hissed, your fingers slowly digging into the skin of his cheek. “You feel bad for what you did?” 

König’s eyes softened. 

Don’t want your pity. 

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. 

Finally, he hummed his affirmation around the barrel in his mouth. Your nails dug into the flesh of his face, dragging a jagged scratch inch by inch across his features. The man didn’t flinch, he didn’t move, and he didn’t make a sound- he only watched you. 

When you leaned in to brush your lips against his ear, he knew what was coming. 

Satisfaction flooded your senses, righteous anger gripping you by the throat and forcing the words that you’ve wanted to say for so long from your lips. 

“Your fight is finished.” 

König took in a sharp breath. 

You pulled the trigger. 

The sound was deafening and for a sweet, beautiful moment, you felt vindication. You’d  won. You’d bested him. The man that had ruined your life had gotten what he deserved and he needed to die, die, die. That was the only thing that would settle his debt, the only thing that would serve the justice you felt owed. 

With the simplest pull of the trigger, you had been avenged. 

Then, you realised that the blood that had sprayed aross the space between your bodies wasn’t his. It was yours. 

König was on top of you. The gun was gone, his mask was on, and your face was crushed. You couldn’t breathe you couldn’t think and the only thing you could feel was the searing pain of the knife twisting in your chest. 

No, no, no, no. 

This was wrong, this wasn’t what was meant to happen. Why were you back here? His hand was on your face before you could protest and you felt your head lift from the ground. 

“Even in victory, you are nothing.” 

Crack

“You will always be nothing.” 

Crack

You were screaming, you could hear yourself doing it but your mouth wasn’t moving. Your teeth were caved in, your jaw had collapsed, you felt as though your face had melted from the bone. Yet you could hear the shrieks, hear the wailing. 

The back of your head was wet, your skull felt like it was falling apart at the seams. The breeze tickled against your brain and your nerves were on fire. 

You were broken, broken, broken. 

“Birdy!” 

This time you could feel every crack of your head into the concrete. This time you felt your brain matter smear across the floor. 

“Wake up!” 

Wake up.

Wake up. 

You sat up with the gasp of someone who’d been drowning, clawing at your throat for air. Sweat trickled down your spine, the room was hot and the blankets were tangled between your legs but you were in your bedroom- you recognised it instantly.  

“That’s it, sweetheart,” a rough voice murmured from beside you. There was a hand pressed flat against your chest, firm and grounding. “Breathe.” 

“Simon,” you sobbed. The man hummed in response, his other hand rubbing your back with enough force to rock your body. He was trying to keep you rooted in reality, give you something physical, something tangible to hold on to.

“I’m losing my mind,” you gasped, your chest caving at the realisation. You didn’t know what was real or not, fact or fiction, tangible or imaginary- you lived on a plain of uncertainty. You were lost, you were broken and you were unreliable. 

Price was right. You had become a liability. 

“You’re late to the party,” Simon loosed a soft chuckle, pulling you close against his body. “I lost mine years ago, kid.” 

You relished in his touch as you tried to regroup. You were in your room, you were in your bed, it was the middle of the night and you’d had a nightmare. Your clothes were soaked, sticking to your skin uncomfortably; and you had the horrid realization that maybe it wasn’t all sweat. You sucked in a breath, scrambling to push the blankets from your body. 

“What-” 

You ignored anything that the Lieutenant might of said, scrubbing your hands over your limbs, neck and face. The sweat threw you off and you checked your fingers in the dim light for crimson stains. You couldn’t deal with it again, you couldn’t cope with more damage. You were already disgusting, you were already mutilated and scarred. Unloveable, untouchable, irreparable, irevevocable, irremediable-

No more, no more, no more no more no more-

Simon gripped your hands, tugging them towards his chest and jerking your body forward. You dragged in a sharp breath, eyes wide and frantic. 

“You didn’t hurt yourself,” the words were urgent and low, his gaze holding you still just as well as his grip. “You’re alright, Birdy.” 

You took in a rattling breath and his grip tightened. 

“You’re alright, kid,” Simon reinforced, that ocean gaze compelling you to calm your heart rate. He left no room for discussion with the way that he looked at you, there was no option to disobey. You pushed air into your lungs, following the pattern he’d set for you. “It was just a nightmare.” 

You frowned. “Only at the very end.” 

Not when you had been shooting, not when you’d been atop of your enemy with a gun in his mouth; that was not the nightmare. You’d felt vindicated, you’d felt insane but satisfied. During those moments in the dream, you were not afraid of König. You were not shaking, you were not whimpering or begging for your life. 

You were strong. 

Stronger than him. 

“How’d you know I was–” You cleared your throat. “How’d you get in here?” 

The silence that followed had you on edge, as Simon’s hand worked methodically across your back.  He didn’t answer for a long while and your thoughts began to sober. Why was he in your room? How had he gotten there? How did he know you were having a night terror? His quarters were nowhere near yours, he was in the hallway over, divided by thick concrete walls; he most definitely couldn’t have heard your screams.

“Someone tipped me off,” the words were spoken through clenched teeth and his minsitrations against your back faltered. Your chest tightened at the implication. “They thought I’d be better suited to come help you.”

“How-” 

“He’s down the hall, Birdy.” Simon interrupted and you could feel his fingers curl into a fist against your spine. “Everyone in this fuckin’ corridor could hear you.” 

Your breathing began to pick up and heat flushed against your skin, the blood boiling from beneath the surface.

“That doesn’t explain how you got in,” you rasped, gripping the blankets at your side. You needed to ground yourself, you needed to be calm. 

“He thought you were being attacked or somethin’ with the way you were yellin’,” Simon sighed. It wasn’t a direct answer but it was a good enough indication as to what had happened. 

You let your gaze drift to the door, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight before you. The hinges had been ripped from the wall, the frame torn straight from the brick. The door itself was missing completely, and as you slowly leaned over to get a look at the floor, your heart dropped to your stomach. 

Your bedroom door lay in pieces, the splintered remnants splayed across the floor like shattered glass. 

_

NEXT CHAPTER

⇝ together .

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.

PART THREE OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: A month after his return, you start warming up to Simon, only for him to ruin it.

WARNINGS: AFAB!Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N!), Fluff for once, Angst, mild nsfw, mentions of child abuse and abuse in general, canon typical violence, choking (not in a sexy way).

A/N: Finally finished!! I'm so sorry I haven't been able to get this out sooner, these past weeks have just been chocked full of assignments I had to finish 😭 I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations!!! Please don't forget to reblog and leave a comment, it helps a lot!!

WORD COUNT: 9.2k

MASTERLIST.

If you want to be tagged on future works, please follow and activate notifications on this account! — @lilynottaken !

Also on Ao3!

"'m blaming this on you."

You grumbled to Simon as you watched your son clap his hands against his father's, happy coos and gurgles leaving him.

"What?" He turned away from Tommy to look at you with a confused look, well, you assumed it was confused by the way his eyes were squinted. "How is this my fault?"

"He's copying you." You yawned, curling into the foetal position and pulling up the blanket over your body, head almost rolling off the sofa as you continued to pay attention to your son and his father's every movement. "You don't sleep so he doesn't."

"Not sure that's how his brain works yet." You could hear the amusement in his words, rolling your eyes as you switched your gaze from them up to the telly, that was playing some football game Simon had put on a few hours ago. "Think he's just not tired."

You know you should've expected this, Tommy's doctor had warned you at the last appointment when he'd gotten his first shots that he might experience some type of sleep regression, which meant more hours of staying awake while watching your son. And maybe it would've been worse for you if Simon wasn't there experiencing the same stress as you were. Weirdly, it felt nice to have another person in the same boat as you, even if he didn't really seem that keen on needing to sleep like you did.

Tommy seemed to had taken a liking to his father ever since the first day they'd both met, but that was kind of a given after Simon had spent the whole month after that coming over almost every single day (except for the days where he'd warned you before time that he'd be gone for work) and spending it all with his son.

You kind of hoped that Tommy had started to recognise him as a father like he did with you as a mother, since he was at the age where he was able to recognise caregivers; but even if he didn't, he did still cling onto Simon's hand every time it was time for him to leave like he did to you, tears bordering at his glassy eyes when you stood at the door with him in your arms waving goodbye to Simon.

You almost started crying every time he'd start making grabby hands at Simon, who'd rest his face against his son's tummy and let his chubby hands pull at the cloth of his balaclava, sometimes even pulling it up over his lips so he could press a quick kiss to his cheek, hiding his face immediately once you came in, unknowing that you'd been watching them before.

It wasn't like the bad blood that you had with Simon had magically been solved, you were still sometimes on edge or a bit snappy at him when it came to Tommy or your "relationship" with him, but you weren't as furious with him as you were when he first showed up.

"Not interestin' enough for you, am I?" Simon grunted as Tommy's attention drifted from the clapping to the telly above him, eyes wide as the presenter talked about some red card.

"You've bored him." You snickered, outstretching an arm to click your fingers, the sound immediately catching your son's attention. "Hi, duck!"

"He's not a bloody cat." Simon grumbled, picking up Tommy carefully from his spot on the blanket you'd draped on the floor for him to lie on, moving him onto your chest so he could cuddle into you.

You were about to snap back when Tommy interrupted you both with a wide yawn, chubby hands clinging onto your sleep shirt and eyes threatening to droop closed, although they were still stuck to the image of the footballers running across the field on the TV.

Both of you froze, Simon having been mid way to getting a toy he'd dropped not so long ago so he was stuck in that position, eyes wide and staring at his suddenly sleepy son.

You placed a soft hand on his back, pressing him further into your chest so the sound of your heartbeat would lull him to sleep easier.

But as luck would have it, a goal was scored right at the moment where his eyes finally fully closed, the commentators shouting out excitement and forcing your son back awake with a cry.

Simon and you groaned in unison, the man finally picking up the toy and collapsing on the ground, lying on his back right next to the sofa and glaring up at the ceiling, listening to you try and calm your son down from his abrupt awakening.

"Who scored?" You grumbled, masking your annoyance with interest.

"Not Manchester." Simon grunted back, raising a hand to take Tommy's, his fingers brushing against your chest in the process. "Haven't had a bloody win in a while."

"Sorry." You mumbled, remembering the disappointment that had shone in his eyes when you'd told him about some of the losses of the teams he liked he'd asked you to take a note of while he was away for work.

He'd done well at keeping his promise, sending you messages every time he had to leave, no longer disappearing without a trace, even if it was just a single day of paperwork or a check up at base. He sometimes also sent you pictures, whether it was him in his car showing you that he was close to your flat in case you weren't prepared for him or the takeaway menu at your favourite fast food place, asking for your order. They were always dark and a bit out of focus, but you couldn't deny that you hadn't let out a laugh when you'd seen the failed attempt of him trying to get out of frame, his skulled balaclava peeking out from a corner of the picture.

He'd been gone for a week this time, which explained why he was being so clingy towards Tommy ever since he'd arrived, takeout in hand and arms itching to wrap around his son, and had spent the whole last hour catching up with the both of you.

"Are you sleeping here tonight?" You yawned, closing your eyes for a moment and trying to ignore the squirming boy on your chest, his hands digging uncomfortably into your clavicle.

"Yeah. Though I probably won't be doing much sleepin'." He rumbled, letting Tommy wrap one of his chubby hands around one of Simon's big fingers. "Y'know I can just take over. Go get some rest."

You bit the inside of your cheek at that, looking away despite still having your eyes partly closed, your grip unintentionally tightening around Tommy's small body.

You were still put on edge whenever you left Tommy alone with Simon, even though he'd shown no ill towards you in any way, you just couldn't help it, the thought that something might happen to your sweet boy when he wasn't under your supervision was enough to strike an unexplainable fear into you. You knew that he'd noticed how your face turned sour whenever it was mentioned, but he hadn't ceased asking completely, knowing that sooner or later you'd have to entrust him with your son like you'd both agreed.

"Is that okay…?" You whispered, your voice barely audible over the cheers and cries of excitement from the telly, but by the way he turned his head towards you and squeezed Tommy's hand, you knew he heard you.

"Yeah. Don' worry. You need some rest."

You both stayed put for a few seconds, your hands slowly falling from their place on your son's back and scooping him up carefully before pushing yourself off the sofa, forcing Tommy's hand out of Simon's in the process.

You watched carefully as he shifted off the floor to sit next to you on the sofa, his built arms moving to cradle his son in their crook, rocking him slowly as you got up, anxiously fidgeting with your fingers as you stood and watched them both for a moment, almost terrified of taking a step out of their vicinity.

"Go." Simon commanded, getting comfy on the sofa as he turned his attention back to the game playing on the telly, the assertive tone that his voice took enough to send shivers running down your spine, nodding your head out of instinct before scurrying away like one of the rookies Simon was oh-so used to ordering around back at base.

After having a well deserved shower and pulling on some of your cosiest pyjamas, you let your body collapse onto your bed, curling into the middle where the mattress dipped and covering yourself up with your countless amount of blankets due to the chill that had overcome the country after a few rare weeks of warmth.

You smiled as you remembered how happy Tommy had looked when you'd taken him out in his stroller and let him bask in the sunlight for a bit while sitting next to him at the park, trying your best to focus on his giggles and not on the shadowy figure of his father standing behind you, more like a bodyguard waiting to take out any threats to you both instead of the father he claimed to want to be.

You let out a huff at the memory of how cautious Simon had been at first around you both, almost like a stray cat getting used to their new family: always standing around you but never too close, bringing you small gifts (i.e. takeout or groceries he thought you'd need or Tommy's new favourite teddy bear he now slept with instead of his duck), slowly making your home his own unconsciously by leaving some of his clothes packed away in a small corner of your wardrobe or packing the fridge with some of how own personal food items.

You'd noticed, of course. How could you not?

At first, when you'd found some of his clothes in the midst of the batch of laundry you were tending to, you were struck with fear. Fear that everything you'd worked hard to build was going to be invaded by this barely known presence you were just starting to get used to, but as time went on, you realised there was nothing scary about it.

It was oddly comforting, in a way. It made you feel less alone when you spotted the extra toothbrush he'd plopped in the glass next to yours, the mug he'd brought over after he'd exclaimed his concern that all of yours were fit for coffee and not for tea or the hoodies he left lying around that Tommy loved curling into whether Simon was wearing it or not.

You pulled a pillow into your arms, simulating the feeling of your son in your arms you'd gotten so used to in order to fall asleep, closing your eyes and letting the muffled sounds of the football game still playing on the TV and your son's faint giggles lull you slowly to your first proper sleep in a while.

You were pulled awake by the sound of your phone going off, your whole body jerking up and rushing to grab it out of instinct, the bright screen illuminating your room and forcing a groan out of you at the disturbance, letting your eyes focus until you were able to properly read the notification.

A frustrated sound left your lips at the message from one of the dating apps you'd forgotten you had informing you that you'd matched with someone, angered that it had been something so stupid that had woken you up from one of the best sleeps you'd had in a long time and not something important.

You fell back down onto the mattress, planning on closing your eyes and curling back into the pillow you'd been spooning moments before, but as your body slowly calmed down from the initial shock that had filled it, you were met with nothing but silence.

Your eyes had adjusted enough at this point that you were able to turn your head over to your door, frowning at the lack of light that normally came from under the door when the living room was lit, raising your head from the pillow slightly in an attempt to catch out any sounds that might be originating from anywhere in your flat.

But once again, silence continued to rule over your home.

You could've just closed your eyes and willed yourself to fall back asleep, but the creeping feeling that it was too quiet for how it normally was, that something might have happened in the few hours you'd let yourself rest was slowly burrowing itself in your mind.

And fuck, what if Simon had done something? What I'd you'd misjudged him? What if he'd taken advantage of your tired state and just fucked off with your son in his arms, leaving you broken and abandoned once again?

The fear that struck your body at that train of thought was enough to wake you up properly, allowing your body to act like it had just consumed countless amounts of caffeine and rush over to the partly open door, slowly pushing it open before looking around frantically, eyes landing on the back of the sofa and on the turned off TV in front of it.

Your hand landed on the headrest, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes landed on Simon's sleeping body, his arms protectively wrapped around Tommy, who was resting on his chest like he'd been with you before you'd gone to rest.

You made it fully around until you were standing in front of the sofa, one of your hands coming up to grab at your thin sleep shirt right over the place your heart was currently hammering against out of relief.

Fuck…

Of course he hadn't left.

You were just being paranoid.

Simon had shown you no ill will the whole time he'd been here, but you were still on edge, assuming the worst from him…

A staggered breath left your lips, your hands coming up to cover your face as you willed your body to calm down, your legs trembling as the adrenaline that had rushed through you momentarily started to fade, leaving you confused and exhausted.

One of your legs threatened to give out, and as soon as you were getting ready to collapse, a warm hand grabbed at your thigh, a silent scream threatening to leave you until you realised who it belonged to, staring down with wide eyes at your son's father, one of the hands that had been cradling Tommy now holding your leg with the same care.

"What happened?!"

You could see the panic in his eyes despite the darkness that enveloped the room, his thumb slowly rubbing up and down your skin, his best attempt at soothing whatever pain you were harbouring that he had no idea about.

He called your name, pulling you closer to the sofa so you were kneeling on the free space of the plush sofa, staring down at Simon's chest and raising one of your hands up to your son's little head, running through his thin hair.

"What happened?" He repeated, more assertive this time rather than the panicked tone he had taken before, his hand moving from the back of your thigh up to your waist, almost like it was natural to do so.

"Nothing…" you finally let out, blinking away some of the tears you hadn't realised that had formed at your waterline. "Just… Uhm…"

"...Nightmare?" He offered an easier excuse than the real reason you'd pulled yourself out of bed at such an hour, slowly nodding your head in agreement and causing him to let out a sigh. "Do you-"

"I'm okay. Just… shaken up." By the way you were anxiously running your fingers through Tommy's hair as if to assure yourself that he was real, that he was indeed lying there asleep (something you hadn't realised up until that moment, Simon had somehow actually gotten Tommy to take a nap.), he assumed that whatever nightmare you'd had was related to him. "Needed to check that he was okay."

Yeah, that cemented it.

Simon would be lying if he said he hadn't a few nightmares of his own about Tommy ever since he'd met him properly, whether it was him forcibly being taken away from you by one of the many enemies he'd made across his life or a freak accident ending any hopes he'd had of all of you being a family.

And maybe they were a bit out of pocket, he'd made it very hard for anyone to trace you or Tommy back to him by always parking his car a few blocks away, making sure that Tommy had your last name instead of his and that the military had no idea about his offspring.

He couldn't have any records that would link you two to him, he couldn't even risk taking that chance, he knew that as soon as two of his weaknesses were revealed, it would only be a matter of time for them to be exploited by his enemies.

So, he understood. He understood the fear that came with a nightmare about your son, the need to see him and reinforce the fact that he was okay in your head.

"He is. Tired 'imself out a few hours ago." He moved towards the back of the sofa, allowing you space to sit next to them both, his hand still continuing to rest on your warm skin and pulling you along carefully, ready to pull away the moment you showed any signs of uncomfort.

"How come he sleeps for you?" You mumbled, more of a thought to yourself rather than something you wanted to share, but it caused Simon to smile beneath his mask nonetheless, raising his other hand up to Tommy's head to run a finger down his little nose, ignoring the way his heart rate spiked when it brushed against yours.

He thought about making a joke about being his favourite, hoping that it would brighten the mood a bit, but then remembered the look of dismay that would come over his teammates' faces whenever he made one about anything, and on second thought, maybe he'd have to wait a bit until you were both comfortable enough to enjoy his stupid jokes.

"Guess he's bored of me. You're much more entertainin' to be awake around." He rumbled, a soft chuckle leaving your lips at what you assumed was an attempt to lift your spirits.

"Yeah…" you smiled, leaning your body on the arm that was propping you up, your hand ceasing its brushing of Tommy's hair and simply resting on his small head, your heart growing bigger as he let out a little coo, snuggling further into Simon's hoodie.

You hadn't even been thinking about the hand cupping your waist, too focused on your son's sleeping figure and the warmth that it brought you, unconsciously wriggling a bit further into the touch, but you froze once Simon's hand immediately snapped back from you, as if he'd taken that as an immediate sign that he had broken a few boundaries by getting too close.

"Sorry."

You bit on your tongue, not wanting to full admit how much reassurance his touch had brought you and how much you'd give to have it back (you blamed the neediness on how exhausted your body was and the delirium that came with the lack of sleep you'd been subject to recently), not making any move to answer and instead focusing fully on your son.

"You want to take him?" Simon offered, leaning further up the sofa so he was kind of sitting, kind of lying on the arm rest. "Don' kids sleep better with their mams?"

"I… I think that may be a myth." You breathed out a chuckle, shaking your head as he made a move to hand Tommy over to you. "No, it's okay. I move a lot at night, I don't - I don't want to hurt him, you know?"

Simon turned down to the fragile little human he was holding, remembering the exact moment he'd realised that you were both in charge of taking care of him, of keeping him out of danger and stopping anyone and anything from shattering the little being that seemed to be made of glass.

"That's fine."

Silence fell over the both of you, an awkward atmosphere forming as you didn't move, feeling as time went on that you were invading the little personal space he was allowed to have in your flat.

"D'you want to stay?"

What?

Your brain short-circuited, blinking at him owlishly, as if he'd just spoken in an unknown language, the words still processing in your mind.

"Stay?" You managed out, looking down at the space between you both, a space where you could easily fit into if you were to snuggle into his side and let him hold you.

But surely, he wasn't suggesting that.

Memories of how he'd held you that fateful night flooded your mind, his warm calloused hands sprawled out against the bare skin of your waist, the sound of his heartbeat drumming against his ribcage lulling you to sleep…

"Yeah, stay."

…It made you want to accept.

Made you want to melt into his side and wrap an arm around his wide chest, tangle your fingers in your son's soft hair and lie there with them both, making sure that no harm could come to Tommy thanks to the protective shadow that was Simon Riley.

But you couldn't. You knew that.

The walls you'd built while carrying Tommy in hopes that you'd never be hurt or abandoned again, the walls that had kept you relatively safe within the expanse of your mind refused to crumble, refused to make way for the man that had come barreling back into your life and threatened to destroy them.

You couldn't risk it.

So, you didn't.

You pulled your hand away from your son as if he burned, cradling it against your chest and looking away from Simon's imposing stare, the look in his eyes making you want to squirm and cry and adhere to anything he wanted.

"No." If you'd still been looking at him, you would have noticed the way his shoulders slumped, the way the dim light in his eyes proceeded to disappear at the single word that left your mouth. "Thanks."

It seemed every little step of progress you'd both taken together the whole month immediately dissipated away thanks to his idiotic question.

Of course you'd fucking refuse his stupid invitation, what was he thinking? That you were both a happy couple who didn't pass on any chance to hold each other in your arms? That he was your husband, the proper father of your son who you loved and cared for, who you enjoyed having pressed right against you? He was a fucking idiot. He couldn't contain himself for once in his life and he'd gone and ruined everything.

"Okay." Despite the inner turmoil that raged inside of him, that simple word of affirmation was all he could get out, and he hoped to whatever god was up there (that apparently loved torturing him) that you'd both wake up the next day without a single recollection of what had happened last night.

"Good night." You whispered, pushing yourself off the sofa and wrapping your arms around your chest, immediately regretting every single one of your actions that night as you gazed upon how truly comfy and warm Simon and your son looked snuggled together, wishing that you had the emotional capability to let your resentment go and indulge in Simon's touch.

"'Night."

You willed yourself to take the first step back, tearing your gaze away from them and heading back to your bedroom, your face erupting into warmth out of a mixture of embarrassment and sadness, a clear sign that your body wanted nothing more than to just burst into tears and let Simon wrap you up in his arms and soothe you down like you knew he could.

You buried your face into your pillow as soon as you made it back into your now-cold mess of sheets, tugging one of the pillows back into your arms and doing your best to imagine that it was someone else, someone else who was as willing as you'd imagined Simon had been before to have you in their arms, to stroke your hair and calm you down because they loved you, because they cared about you and wanted nothing more than to see you as happy as you'd been a mere few hours ago.

You passed out soon enough, a few tears running down your cheeks as you subconsciously wrapped yourself around the pillow like a koala, the tear stains quickly disappearing during the night and lacking any evidence that they were once there when Simon walked through your door in the early morning, standing at the side of your bed for a few moments before he leaned over, pulling up the covers and tucking them around your sleeping body.

The sound of the shower coming alive and the pipes groaning was the thing that pulled you awake, struggling a few moments to rid yourself of the covers that pushed onto you, wondering to yourself when and how you'd tucked yourself in so aggressively, turning your head towards your bathroom and listening to the clinking of shampoo bottles and the water as it hit the tiled walls.

Your bathroom was unfortunately directly connected to your bedroom, so in order to get into the shower, Simon would have had to pass by your bed and… tuck you in? Did he really tuck you in?

You pulled languidly at the covers, looking down at your nightwear and growing warm as you saw how transparent your shirt looked in the morning light, leaving almost nothing to the imagination of whoever were to look down at your chest.

Simon had seen you like that.

You squeezed your eyes closed out of embarrassment, as if he was right there judging you with his stupid thousand yard stare, lifting yourself off the mattress and looking around your wardrobe for a shirt, restoring to a band one you'd stolen from one of your ex boyfriends you'd never had the heart to throw out.

You were mid straightening it out, your previous night shirt now pooling at your feet, when the door to the bathroom opened, your immediate response being to wrap your arms around your chest and let out a cry of warning, turning around so he was facing your back.

"Fuckin'-"

"Go back in!" You cried out, wanting nothing more than for the earth to burst open and swallow you whole, feeling too tired to be dealing with this kind of embarrassment at such an early hour of the morning.

You cracked an eye open as the door closed, letting the grip you'd had on the shirt go as you faintly heard Simon curse, trying to erase the memory of what had happened out of your brain.

As you pulled on the shirt, you willed yourself to think about anything other than the glimpse of flesh you'd seen before turning around, the wide chest that had been littered with the scars he'd once let you trace over, the towel around his waist that had barely cov-

Stop!

Unknown to you, Simon was having a similar dispute with himself from inside the bathroom, resting his flushed face on the cool tiles of the wall as he listened to you shuffle around your room, cursing himself out for being so goddamn stupid and exiting the bathroom without even checking if you were awake or not.

That wasn't the only reason he should've checked, he thought you'd still be asleep, so stupidly, he'd gone out with barely any coverings, including the one on his face, so he was pretty sure you would've seen the way his eyes almost immediately darted down towards your chest if you hadn't been busy enough with covering yourself and ogling at his chest.

"Fuck…" he breathed out, running his fingers through his hair and looking at himself in the foggy mirror, the tired, broken stare of a being he could barely consider a man staring back at him.

After a few more moments of staring at himself he couldn't bear it anymore, grabbing his discarded balaclava and pulling it over his what he considered broken face, his other clothes continuing as he did his best to cover every single patch of skin he could, hand landing on the doorknob once he was finished and asking for confirmation.

You'd about finished putting on the shirt when he'd piped up from inside, letting out a small "you can." before he opened the door again, face now covered and eyes darting down at the oversized shirt you'd pulled over your bottoms, closing it behind him.

"Didn't know you'd be changin'." He grumbled, his way of apologising without saying the exact words, eyes scanning the band on your shirt. "Y'like Joy Division?"

"Huh?" You looked down at the shirt, straightening it out to properly look at the band you'd forgotten was plastered on the front, shrugging slightly. "Yeah, they're good. I'm, uh, not the biggest fan. This was my boyfriend's."

"Boyfriend?" He spat out, almost with malice.

"Ex." You clarified, pulling at the ends of your shirt out of nerves, the way he was staring down at you reminiscent of how you'd assume higher ups looked down at their soldiers when they were in the wrong.

"Right." He grunted, looking away from you and training his stare at the bedroom door, nodding towards it. "'M gonna go check on Tom."

He brushed past you, leaving you standing in the middle of your bedroom twiddling your thumbs, confused and embarrassed due to the interaction you'd just shared.

You walked into the kitchen, stopping in your tracks when you noted that the dishes you'd left last night after Simon had brought take away had been cleaned right up, the plastic bowls from the curry thrown away in the recycling along with the other trash you'd used when making Tommy formula (you resorted to using that instead of pumping or breastfeeding when Simon was over).

God, now you felt even worse for what had happened last night.

You rubbed your hands all over your face, digging your nails into your scalp as you ran them through your hair, snapping your head up as your heard your son giggle, going back a few steps to look through the crack of the door, your chest tightening as you watched Simon feed Tommy, murmuring a string of words you were too far away to understand.

Fuck, you really felt awful.

You pulled out a few ingredients, acting almost on autopilot as you fried the sausages and toasted the bread, making his tea subconsciously the way you know he liked it (he'd never forced you to make tea, you'd seen the sticker on a takeaway cup he'd left on the counter), and pouring it into the cup he always used.

"You didn't have to." Simon mumbled as he walked out of the nursery, holding the empty bottle of milk in one hand and a plastic bag with a dirty nappy in the other, looking down at the plate of food you'd made him.

"I wanted to." You mumbled, taking a bite out of your own buttered toast as you watched him walk around the kitchen, throwing away the bag and cleaning out the bottle before starting on his breakfast, standing at the island instead of sitting like you were. "As thanks. For, uhm, cleaning up."

"It was nothin' deserving of this." He mumbled underneath his breath, shoving a spoonful of the baked beans into his mouth, now visible thanks to him pulling up his balaclava, the taste of the normal breakfast he'd have at whatever café he normally went to complete shit compared to yours.

"It's fine. I went a little overboard, it's been a while since I've cooked for someone."

He let out an amused huff, nodding his head. "Yeah, babies don' really need a full brekkie."

You both went silent after that, your eyes looking around at everything but at him, secretly hoping that he was enjoying the food, wishing you would've put on the radio or the news so you weren't sitting in complete silence.

The tapping of his fingers against the counter finally pulled your gaze towards him, watching him carefully as you continued to eat.

"Laswell called."

Laswell?

The face you made must've made him realise you had no idea who he was talking about, his hand coming up to grab the mug of tea and take a long sip before speaking again.

"Station Chief Laswell." You nodded along, hoping that he'd believe that you actually knew what he was saying. "She's got a mission f'us."

Oh.

"When?" You spoke out, a bit choked up as you tried your best to focus on the food instead, you always got unexplainably nervous when he left for a mission, despite the fact that he always came back.

"Gotta be there by 1."

You turned to look at the time on the microwave, the 09:00 displayed there striking unexplainable fear in you.

"You should get going, then."

"I should."

Neither one of you moved.

"Did you say goodbye to Tommy?"

"I did." He took a final sip of his tea, placing the cup down and turning to look at the nursery, the strangling pain he felt every time he left you coming back to haunt him. "Changed his nappy too. Like y'taught me."

You smiled at the memory. A few days after he'd first shown up you'd tried your best to teach him how to change Tommy and you'd gone through almost 10 nappies by the time he'd been able to put one decent enough (you'd quickly changed it yourself after he'd turned around, you didn't want the nappy to cut off your baby's circulation), so you hoped that he'd actually done it properly this time.

"Thank you…" You offered him a small smile, looking down at your own cuppa, wrapping your arms around the now lukewarm mug. "Go get ready. I'll clean up."

Simon really didn't want to, he wanted to continue standing there talking to you, gazing at your tired face and how cute you looked taking small bites out of the food you'd made that you'd undoubtedly wouldn't finish and would slide over to him like you'd done all those times before.

But he couldn't. He was a soldier. One that was trained to kill and follow orders no matter what and no matter the circumstance, one that would be laughed at if he called in saying he wanted to stay with- well, whatever you were to him.

He was about to zip up the duffle bag he'd left in your room during his small stay when he caught a glimpse of something he'd forgotten about.

The gun was relatively light in his hand, one that was smaller than the ones he was used to carrying out in the field, but could quickly figure out how to use in the span of a millisecond.

He called out your name, rapping his knuckles against the counter to catch your attention, raising his arms in surrender as fear filled your face, dropping the plate into the sink and taking a step back as soon as you caught sight of the gun.

"Simon! What the fu-"

"It's not loaded." His other hand waved around the magazine, placing them both down on the island in front of you both. "I'm not going to use it."

"I would fucking hope so!" You cried out, wiping off the soap suds on a towel and pressing your back into the counter, gripping the edge of it as if he was really threatening you with the gun.

"Do you know how to shoot one?"

You shook your head. You'd never even seen one this close apart from the rare policemen that carried one, let alone held one.

"Come." He picked them two items up, walking back into your room and waiting for you at the door to follow, worried about what he was planning on doing. "Where would you keep a gun?"

You turned to him with a raised eyebrow, once again expressing your confusion with a single stare before turning to the bedside table closest to the side you normally slept in, pulling the drawer out and immediately growing warm as you gazed down at the string of condoms along with some other items.

"Here, I suppose…" You watched him sit down on the bed, the mattress immediately sinking beneath his weight as he raised the gun and magazine up into your line of view.

"Take it."

You shakily did as he said, the gun feeling heavy in your palms in contrast to how easy it had felt for Simon, turning it around a few times as he continued to speak, pointing out every single detail and part of what he had soon let you know was a Glock.

"It's the one most policemen carry. Not very heavy, but still capable of takin' down a man." He murmured, almost letting out a chuckle as he took the gun and cocked it, making you jump at the sudden sound.

"Why would I want to take down a man?" You asked tentatively, taking it back from him and trying to fit in the magazine like he'd instructed you to.

A warm hand came up to cover yours, stopping you in your tracks and allowing him to get up and take the firearm from you, pulling out the magazine and placing them both in the drawer, trying his best to ignore the other items that were scattered around.

"Listen to me." He turned his head as he slammed the drawer shut, staring directly into your eyes to make sure that you were paying attention. "I cannot ensure your safety while I'm gone. There's tons of fucked up people who'd take whatever change to tear me down and would not think twice about using you or Tommy to do so. This is just in case. You only use this if you or Tommy are in imminent danger. If there is someone threatening any of you, you do not hesitate, you take the gun and use it."

Use it.

Use it!?

His hand came up to cup at your cheek, pulling you out of your swarming thoughts so he could be sure you were listening.

"I- Simon, I can't- I'll go to jail if I use it, I can't-"

"You won't." He interrupted, shaking his head. "I won't let them. You're under my protection, this is just in case of emergency when I'm not around."

You nodded, not knowing what else to do, the gun that had been in your hands mere moments ago feeling like a burden despite it being locked away.

"Oi. Lovie, look at me."

That immediately caught your attention.

"Tell me you understand."

Your mouth had gone dry, the combination of the shock behind his little surprise and the nickname that had slipped out of his mouth proving to be too much to handle.

"Tell me. You understand."

You took a deep breath, nodding your head. "I understand, Simon."

Even after he'd left, you couldn't shake yourself off that foreboding feeling, terrified that the moment where you'd have to use the gun would arrive sometime soon, the thought of you or Tommy coming into danger while Simon wasn't around enough to make you want to crumble into tiny pieces.

You'd stood by the door like you always did, although this time Tommy was fast asleep in his crib and your arms were empty, leaving you to say goodbye to Simon (although looking up into his eyes, you knew he wasn't Simon anymore) all by yourself.

"When d'you think you'll be back?" You whispered as he opened the door, not wanting to disturb any of the neighbours that might be loitering around (despite knowing that news about the terrifying man that resided in your apartment had travelled quick after he'd threatened your neighbour), handing him his jacket.

"A week, tops. I'll send you a text as soon as I know." He grunted, shoving on his jacket before pulling up his duffle bag, swinging it over his shoulder. "You need anythin', you call base, okay? They'll relay the message if it's necessary."

He'd given you the number to his base a few weeks ago, but you knew you'd never have the heart to call it, too embarrassed that the little problem you were currently having was nothing compared to what Simon was going through, and you didn't want to disturb any of his work if it really wasn't that important.

"Sent you money this morning. You got enough for a month." He went through his mental list of everything he should say to you before going, leaning against the door frame and looking down at you through heavy eyelids. "Get some takeout, don't strain yourself any more than you already are. Doctor said you should take it easy."

You dismissed the urge to roll your eyes, cursing yourself out for even allowing him to take you to the doctor in the first place and listen in.

"I know. I'll be fine, Simon. You just worry about yourself."

"Always do." He said, nodding his head as a form of goodbye before pushing himself off the doorframe, heading towards the elevator and leaving you standing there, only closing the door when you heard the front door close from all the way downstairs.

— I think he misses you.

— Won't let go of the teddy bear even though it's all dirty :(.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

God, if Simon wasn't wearing his mask he was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to contain his smile, zooming into the picture you'd sent him of your small boy lying in your bed fast asleep cuddling the little plushie he'd gifted him.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

— More.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

He hoped you understood what you meant by that, and by the way a few more pictures loaded in within seconds, he was glad you did.

He had to print some of those.

He'd once made a joke about one of the soldiers who wore a picture of their beloved in a small locket to Soap, commenting how it reminded him of the soldiers in WWI, when they were really just on their way to disarm a bomb.

But now he felt the need to have some type picture of you both or trinket that you'd given him right in the pocket over his heart, one that he could easily pull out in the middle of a mission to remind himself of why he was doing this, of why he couldn't let himself get caught by the enemy, of why he always had to come back to you.

He couldn't even bear the thought of his dog tags arriving at your doorstep instead of him one fateful day.

"Your nephew?"

Ghost snapped his head up, meeting the curious gaze of his captain and the bright orange tip of his cigar. "What?"

"Your nephew." Price gestured towards his lieutenant's phone, where the picture of Tommy drooling around one of his toys was still displayed. "You told me about him once at that bar in Vienna. What's his name?"

"Joseph." Ghost answered, shaking his head. "No, he's… Not a baby anymore. Must be a bloody teenager by now."

Price hummed, taking another puff from his cigar before looking away, squinting his eyes from the sun, wishing he'd been as smart as Ghost by bringing a pair of sunglasses.

"So."

"So?"

"Who's he, then?" Once again, the captain looked down at the dimly lit picture, where he could barely make out the features of the little boy, but by the onesie and plushie, he was able to decipher the not so difficult puzzle.

"He's…" Ghost trailed off, taking one last look at the picture before turning off his phone, sliding it into one of his pockets and crossing his arms over his chest. "No-one."

"No-one?" Price huffed out, amused. "So you just have pictures of random babies on your phone, is that it, Lieutenant?"

Ghost flared up at his captain, the frown obscured by the sunglasses he'd put on after the clouds had dispersed, but by the way his body had tensed, Price could only assume he'd pissed him off.

"Name's Tommy. That's all you're getting." He grunted out, looking away from the older man like a child admitting to something embarrassing.

"Like your brother?" Price commented, letting out a groan before sitting down on the wall next to Ghost. "Isn't that a coincidence?"

"No, she didn' know when she named-" Ghost stopped himself from saying anything further, the slip of the tongue already having revealed the existence of a 'she', and he did not want to say any more.

"'She'?" Price grinned, blowing out some of the smoke before bringing his cigar up to his lips. "Come on, Simon. We're not on duty, are we? Not your captain right now."

He'd promised himself to keep quiet. He couldn't have anyone find out about you or Tommy, he couldn't risk having that information out in the open, his weakness out there for everyone to know.

But Price… Well, Price was different. He'd saved him multiple times across the span of time he'd spent working for the army, he'd been the one to pull him out of the deepest of holes, the one to trust him enough to allow him to join the 141.

They trusted each other.

"She's… I don't know." He let his head cock back, looking up at the forming clouds. "I knocked her up."

"Fuckin' hell, Simon." Price breathed out along with some smoke, turning to look at him with a sort of horrified and disappointed stare. "You're a dad?"

"Yeah."

"Christ, you're makin' me feel fucking old." He grumbled, taking the phone from Ghost as he handed it over, squinting at the dimly lit screen. "Cute little bugger, isn't he?"

Ghost smiled beneath his mask, watching Price scroll through the countless pictures you'd sent him across the month he'd been back, resisting the embarrassing urge to point out small details of every picture like an art major in a museum, instead keeping quiet and itching slowly to grab his phone back.

"Think you're a good dad?" Price asked, taking Ghost back a bit as he slid his phone back into the confines of his pocket, shrugging his shoulders as he squinted at two figures in the distance.

"Not the worst. Don't think he's got the mental capability to recognise if I'm good or bad to 'im. Least he doesn't cry every time he sees me." He breathed out a chuckle, snapping his mouth shut as he saw Soap and Gaz approach, the conversation sizzling away as they plopped down next to them both.

As the others started talking about another topic, Ghost thought about the question he'd been asked before more in-depth.

He wasn't a bad father, right?

He wasn't like… that.

Simon would be caught dead before even thinking of inflicting onto Tommy the same pain his own father had inflicted onto his family.

Imagining his small boy going through the same trauma, the same horror, the same fear he'd felt during his childhood was enough to tear his cold heart apart.

And he'd never treat you like his father had treated his mother, he'd never subdue you to the same pain she went through every day, he wouldn't let himself fall into the circle of abuse that had started way before his own father.

And Simon wasn't perfect. He knew that.

But he wouldn't stoop as low as his father had during the beginning of his life, where instead of the love and care a child was supposed to receive from his parents, he received the abuse and pain that no one deserved.

Just like him.

He closed his eyes as he remembered the burning shouts as his father berated him, always comparing the both of them and forcing Simon into tears, the mere thought of ending up as horrible as his father reducing him to sobs.

Even now, he still felt sick when he'd stare at the pictures of his father his mother still kept around her room in the nursing home, horrified whenever she'd point out their similar eyes and same blond hair.

But he wouldn't end like that. Despite whatever physical similarity he shared with his father, they had nothing in common personality wise.

Simon wasn't a monster.

He wouldn't hurt you or Tommy.

He wouldn't let anyone hurt you or Tommy.

He was a protector, a soldier trained to serve his country and the civilians who resided within it.

And he would protect. No matter what.

"S'alright, lovie… Jus' me."

"Simon…" You breathed out, letting your eyes flutter closed as his hands roamed the exposed skin of your chest, broken lips pressing kisses the whole way up to your jaw.

"That's it… Such a good girl f'me… Pretty, pretty girl." His warm hands cupped at your chest, pulling another whine out of you as he toyed with your breasts. "My good girl, right?"

"Mhm…" You mumbled, letting your head loll back onto Simon's shoulder and look up at him through tear covered eyelashes, your brain not functioning properly to process the blurred mass of what you assumed was a man's face staring down at you with those beautiful eyes, his breath hitting your lips as he leaned down to press the kiss you'd been longing for for so goddamn long—

Your body jolted awake, an uncomfortable ache between your legs quickly making itself known as you tossed around in your messy bed, brows furrowed as your brain tried to catch up with your suddenly awakened body.

What had you even been dreaming about?

You rubbed at your eyes with your wrists, digging them deep enough so you saw a few blinding colours, letting go and resorting to staring up at the ceiling.

You didn't even bother checking your phone, already knowing that the only notifications you would have received in the few hours you'd spent asleep were the ones from the dating apps you still didn't have the energy to delete.

None from Simon, of course. He'd been gone for over two weeks by now, which wasn't surprising, since he had let you know that this mission would be a long one and had warned you in advance.

Considering the last mission he'd gone on was almost a month ago (and had only lasted a few days, you think he finished as soon as he could to be back with Tommy, by the way he'd barreled through the house to get to the nursery) and that you and Tommy had gotten him all to yourself for about two weeks straight, you'd expected him to be called sooner or later.

You weren't really looking forward to him coming back, since you'd have to break the news to him that he'd missed Tommy's first attempts to sit up without support and the success that came after.

Luckily, you'd filmed most of it, although you did end up throwing the phone on the sofa to congratulate your son personally, pressing kisses to his chubby rolls and listening to him giggle before accidentally helping him fall back onto your bed, causing him to burst out crying.

Okay, well, maybe you could just edit the final part out.

You were pulling the covers over yourself, snuggling back into the warmth of your mattress before attempting to close your eyes and fall back asleep (hopefully to return to whatever dream you'd been having before), when the sound of the creek of your floorboards snapped you out of it.

Your heart stopped, listening out for any further sounds, breath hitching in your throat as what you feared you'd heard continued, recognising the footsteps going from the living room into the kitchen.

You leaned over to your phone, hoping to God that Simon had finished the mission early and had sent you a quick message telling you he'd be coming back soon, but as you unlocked the phone…

Nothing.

So whoever was walking around your house was not Simon.

You heard muffled whispers, too quiet for you to understand but loud enough to send a cold shiver down your spine.

It terrified you. That cemented the fact that there was actually someone in your home, walking around like it was nothing.

But there was more than one voice. Two. Or was it more?

You assumed the sound that had woken you up had been the door opening, which inflicted even more fear into you at the thought that they must have had a key instead of knocking your door down since the sound hadn't been enough to stick with you after pulling you awake.

Your eyes instinctively darted over to the bedside table, where Simon's gun still laid untouched every since he'd "gifted" it to you, staying frozen until one pair of feet got a bit too close to your door, mind racing and adrenaline pumping through your veins as you scrambled to open the drawer as quietly as possible and pull out the gun and mag with shaky hands, carefully pushing it in before cocking it, hissing at the loud sound it made.

You stepped out of bed, body shaking as you neared the door with the heavy gun in your hand, listening out carefully for what they could be saying.

"—ce gaf. Didn' expect this from ya."

"You're a classy one aren't — your sofa?"

The voices were broken and muffled, leaving your brain to try its best to complete them.

God, this was terrifying. You could feel your whole body shaking, waiting for the moment where it could give out.

It's okay. Deep breaths.

You can do this.

The doorknob rattled, the moment it twisted seemingly happening in slow motion, your heart skipping a beat before you raised your gun up to the attacker, finger grabbing at the trigger just in case they made a dangerous move on you, your frantic eyes meeting the surprised ones of the man you were currently pointing a gun at (which you'd never used before, mind you).

"Steamin' fuckin'-"

You didn't even have time to react before his arm instinctively raised towards you, hand grasping at your throat in an instant, like the only thing he'd been taught to do was to kill.

"What the fuck are you doing!?"

You heard a familiar voice roar as the hand tightened around your throat, the gun now abandoned at your feet as your hands scratched and tugged at your attacker's hand.

The last thing you saw before your eyes clouded over was the large shadow coming up from behind your assailant, their face one that despite the tears that blurred your vision you could tell was ready to rip apart someone.

You didn't even have time to think if it was going to be you or his partner.

TAGLIST: @selfassassin @ess-perspective-blog @crazyfandomist @webreathfandoms @warners-wife @prodyng @gaycrystalbitch @uhhely @mentallynot-here @jordanwalkersworld @skepticalleo @bratsukisworld @screamingoverfiction @comedinewithmeyeh @gojosbucket @mikasakuchiki @jonhswife @tea-effect @thelittlejinx @cafesho @daddylorianisastateofmind @63sucker @simpingforleoandnico @simonsslvt @embers-of-alluring @uriahs-sketchings @alexisv15 @alexkellersleg @jordanwalkersworld @tabalugax @diekoniginvonfernet @thatoneautor0123 @technicallyvirtualmilkshake @littlezarp @crazyfandomist @hypernovaxx @am-3-thyst @madamemelancholysstuff @lylesx @anxietydrogz @jaymum @coacaiyne @emmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaa @ghostsfavhoe @maviee @pedropascalswhore @d4z01 @beakami (if your name is in white, it means I couldn't tag you!)

"Car's Outside" - part 2

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Driver!Reader

Summary: Caught in a whirlwind of unexpected moments and emotions, you find yourself drawn closer to Lewis as he attempts to make amends and sparks a flicker of hope within you, leaving you conflicted yet unable to resist the forces between you.

Word Count: 2468

Trigger Warning/Content Advisory: Contains mature content and explores complex themes. Please be aware that it may also include scenes of high-speed racing, accidents, intense emotions, emotional conflicts, personal growth, and intimate moments. Reader discretion is advised.

You find yourself in the airport, still in shock from this morning. 

It's 6 am, and Anthony's loud voice abruptly wakes everyone up. By 7:30 am, you're all having breakfast, and at 8:45 am, everyone is getting their belongings ready. Finally, at 9am, you leave the house, and now it's 11am at the airport. Your flight is scheduled to depart at 2 pm.

Feeling utterly exhausted from the chaotic morning, you slump down in an airport chair, eagerly awaiting your private plane. The kids spot you in your weakened state and immediately pounce on you.

"Oof," you manage to utter as all the air seems to leave your body. 

"Hey, you guys," you whisper, mustering a smile. 

"Hi, (Y/N)," they greet you cheerfully. 

To your disbelief, Lewis suddenly takes a seat beside you.

"What did I tell you?" Lewis warns the kids, his voice carrying a hint of authority.

"Not to ask unnecessary questions," they giggle, clearly amused.

"It's fine," you assure them, attempting to lighten the mood. 

"I answer those kinds of questions all the time in the media," you say, trying to make a joke. Unfortunately, it flies right over their heads.

"So... Do you have a boyfriend?" They continue with their innocent curiosity.

"If I did, I wouldn't be here," you tease, playing along.

"But you're pretty," they innocently comment, not fully grasping the context.

"Well, maybe I'm just too busy being pretty," you joke, trying to divert the conversation.

"Sir uncle also doesn't have a girlfriend," they inform you, unknowingly leading the conversation in an unexpected direction.

"Well, yeah, he's busy being….. pretty…. too, I guess," you blurt out without thinking, immediately regretting your words. 

What did I say about avoiding awkward or weird moments? Ugh.

The children giggle at your response, not thinking much of it. However, you can also hear Lewis laughing, which brings a smile to your face, even though you cringe at the situation.

After settling into the plane, you were initially searching for a single seat, hoping for some privacy. However, the children insisted on sitting with you, along with their Sir uncle. The plane took off, and the atmosphere was calm and peaceful.

Slowly, exhaustion took over, and you drifted off into a deep slumber. 

Time went by, and you were suddenly awakened by muffled giggles. Blinking your eyes open, you found yourself in a rather surprising situation. Your head was comfortably resting on Lewis's shoulder, while his head rested gently on top of yours. Unintentionally, you had even found yourself holding onto his arm, drawing closer in an unexpected snuggle. Thankfully, a blanket concealed your actions, sparing you from any potential embarrassment or awkwardness in front of the children.

Panic quickly washed over you as you tried to figure out how to free yourself from this situation. Your leg began to jiggle nervously, but to your surprise, Lewis's hand reached out and gently stopped your motion. 

Was he awake? Why didn't he move away?

Absorbed in your thoughts, your mind racing and overanalyzing the situation, Lewis finally lifted his head, creating a brief break in your shocking closeness. You shifted to readjust your position, and a subtle shiver ran down your spine, sending tingles throughout your body. Yet, just as you began to distance yourself, a gentle, reassuring touch caught you by surprise. His hand reached out, placed on top of yours, and a rush of dizziness consumed you. 

Heart-pounding within your chest, echoing in your ears, as a surge of emotions swept over you.

Yet, you couldn't ignore the giggling kids before you. Their amusement is when your head rests on Lewis's shoulder earlier and the undeniable blush spreads across your cheeks. 

Why is he holding my hand? you wondered, feeling a mix of surprise and confusion. Gently, you stole a glance at him, hoping for a clue, but his eyes remained closed.

The kids were called over by their mother, the ruckus settled, and they bid you a small goodbye. 

The cabin crew announced the dimming of lights, further adding to the intensity of the moment. 

Just great, you thought sarcastically.

You shifted your attention back to Lewis, who appeared to be peacefully "asleep." 

Tentatively, you whispered his name, hoping for a response. "Lewis," you called, this time a little louder. 

In response, his grip tightened atop your hand, sending a shiver down your spine once again. You fell silent, your mind overflowing with countless questions.

Suddenly, he began to rub his thumb gently over your hand, creating a comforting and intimate feeling. Being in the position you are in, it is impossible to drift back into sleep. Hours seemed to pass, and slowly, his hold on your hand loosened, he was finally asleep.

✧*̥˚ Timeskip *̥˚✧

When you stepped off the plane, you were greeted by the breathtaking beauty of Bali. The air was warm and carried a gentle breeze, tinged with the scent of tropical flowers and the ocean. Lush green landscapes stretched as far as the eye could see, adorned with swaying palm trees and vibrant tropical vegetation. The crystal-clear turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean beckoned, promising a refreshing escape from the heat.

Your cars have arrived, feeling a bit dazed by the sudden turn of events. Everyone began getting into the cars, and you found yourself lost in your thoughts, unaware of the commotion around you. Lewis noticed your distraction and reached out, grabbing your arm to urge you to get in the car. To your instincts, you didn't move, caught in a brief moment of haze as you locked eyes with him.

"Oh, umm... I'll take the other car," you explained, trying to rationalize the situation.

Lewis's voice took on a hint of sternness as he insisted, "It's already full. Just take this one with me."

You tried to reason further, "But it's just the two of us."

He continued to give you that intense stare, his determination unwavering. Realizing there was no use arguing, you finally climbed into the car.

A few minutes passed, and you heard a loud sigh coming from Lewis, sitting beside you. Curiosity sparked within you as you searched for an explanation for his audibly frustrated sound.

"I understand that you might have liked to take a break instead of being here with us, but... I want you to make the most of it. I've arranged some activities for you that could help... alright?" he proposed.

You responded with a nonchalant "Sure," not expecting much from his offer.

"I want to make it up to you," he added, his eyes filled with sincerity and a hint of sadness.

"Oh..." It suddenly occurred to you that this was only an apology for the accident that happened between you two, an attempt to lessen his guilt…

He was the one who caused the crash that day. He made contact from behind and caused you to crash into the barriers. You weren't angry at him for the accident itself, but for what he didn't do. There was no word of concern or apology from him. You heard a replay of his radio message, blaming you for not watching where you were going and blocking his path. While you didn't want to take it personally, you always had feelings for him. It was difficult to simply brush it off. 

Before that day, you had admired him from a distance, drawn to his unwavering passion for racing, which motivated you to become a better racer yourself. You had looked up to him. However, since then, your perspective has shifted. He appeared to be a different person, and you couldn't help but wonder if his previous display of passion had all been a show.

You reached the charming houses designated for each family member, including your small hut. The atmosphere around you was heavy with a somber mood, and Anthony noticed your downcast demeanor as you stepped out of the car. He shot a displeased look at Lewis, who responded with an innocent "I didn't do anything" expression.

Feeling overwhelmed, you entered your hut and collapsed onto the bed. The weight of emotions brought tears to your eyes. 

"Ughhh," you exclaimed aloud, frustrated with the situation. Seeking relief, you headed to the bathroom and splashed cold water on your face. While gazing at your reflection, you whispered, "Get over it," reminding yourself to move past these feelings and recover composure.

Craving some fresh air, you stepped outside and took a leisurely walk around the area. It was still afternoon, and as you strolled along the concrete pathway, you found yourself surrounded by lush greenery, with a vibrant jungle surrounding the view. 

A sudden beep caught your attention. Turning around, you spotted a golf cart approaching, driven by a friendly staff member. "Welcome to Bali, Ms. [Y/L/N]," he greeted you with a cheerful smile, bringing the cart to a complete stop. "Would you like me to drive you to the beach?" he offered kindly.

"Absolutely! That would be wonderful," you replied, excitement filling your voice. You eagerly hopped on the golf cart, ready to be taken to the beach and absorb the beauty of Bali.

You expressed your gratitude to the driver and stepped off the cart, making your way toward the sandy beach. When you reached the shore, you could feel the refreshing touch of the cool water on your feet and the invigorating scent of the salty air. With each exhale, you released all the troubles and worries that had been weighing on your mind. 

However, despite your attempts to let go, the thoughts lingered.

He feels bad for you. You are a burden around him. He is being nice out of pity. You did something wrong by making him feel this way. Why would they like you? No matter what you do, You can't change how he sees you.

"Just forget about it," you whispered to yourself, trying to convince yourself to move on.

"Who am I kidding? He's Lewis Hamilton. Why would he care about a rookie's feelings?" You berated yourself, believing that it was your fault, to begin with.

Unexpectedly, a tear escaped your eye, catching you by surprise. Hastily, you wiped it away, hoping no one had witnessed your vulnerability. You cleared your throat, casting a glance around to ensure that no one was present to witness it. Finding solitude, you are determined to put on a brave face and push forward, determined to enjoy the beautiful surroundings of the beach.

Night had descended, and you found yourself completely absorbed by the beauty of the starry sky. Lying in the sand, you couldn't tear your gaze away from the twinkling stars above. Lost in the tranquility of the moment, you had lost track of time.

Eventually, you requested a ride back to your hut from one of the staff members, and they kindly obliged. As you entered your room, however, you were taken aback to find Lewis sitting on your bed, arranging what appeared to be dinner for two.

"Um, this is my room," you informed him, unsure of what to make of the situation.

"I know," Lewis replied calmly, not seeming bothered by the misunderstanding. "You weren't answering the door, so I assumed you were asleep. They already ate, and I thought maybe you wanted some company." He gestured for you to take a seat on the nearby chair while he occupied the opposite side of the bed.

You stared at him, unsure of how to react to his unexpected presence in your room.

You took a seat, your face contorted with confusion, while Lewis began eating as if this was a completely normal situation, disregarding the fact that he had hurt your feelings just hours earlier. It baffled you. 

Why would he act this way?

The tension in the room became unbearable, and finally, you couldn't hold back any longer.

"Lewis," you said, your frustration evident in your voice. "What are you doing?"

"I told you I want to make it up to you," he responded casually as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"After months of not caring about anything I do, you suddenly want to talk?!" your voice rose, the pent-up emotions pouring out.

"I didn't want to ignore you," Lewis replied, emphasizing the word 'want' as if he was trying to get to something.

"Well, you weren't good at showing it," you retorted.

"I know, okay? I know what I did. I just thought it was better if I did," Lewis explained, his words sounding perplexing.

"What? How does that make any sense?" you questioned, feeling your anger escalate as he seemed to make the situation even more confusing.

"I care about you, I do. That's why I ignored you," he attempted to clarify as if it somehow made sense.

At that moment, you couldn't take it anymore. Deciding to leave, you reached for the door and began to open it. However, before you could fully open it, Lewis abruptly slammed it shut, startling you. You turned to face him, finding his face just inches away from yours. Fear coursed through you as you wondered what might happen next. 

He placed both hands next to your head, creating a cage that prevented any further attempts to escape. His captivating brown eyes stared into yours, and it was the closest you had ever been to him.

"Please, just trust me with this. I... I don't know how to fix this...," he pleaded, his voice filled with sincerity. "I never wanted it to come to this."

His face drew even closer, his cheek gently brushing against yours before resting on your shoulder. His hands slowly slid down from the door and came to rest near your waist, still holding onto the door.

"Can I hold you for a bit, please?" he asked, his voice laced with vulnerability. You nodded in response.

His hands moved from the door to your waist, their warm touch like a gentle caress, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. The heat emanating from his body enveloped you. The strength and tenderness in his hold created a sense of safety, where the world outside ceased to exist. His touch enveloped you, and a symphony of sensations unfolded. The faint scent of his cologne danced in the air. The sound of his steady heartbeat echoed in your ears, a rhythmic melody that matched your own racing heart. 

At that moment, his touch soothed your tired spirit, urging your tense body to let go and embrace the surge of feelings inside you – a powerful blend of desire, doubt, and the undeniable force of love.

What are you doing to me, Lewis? you couldn't help but think, your mind filled with a blend of confusion, vulnerability, and a flicker of hope.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:• ☆ . ° .• °:.*.·:·✧ ✦✧.·:·..• ☆ . ° .• °:.*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

🌟 Taglist:🌟

@notleclerc @copper-boom @omgsuperstarg @zendayabelova @livster @incroyaux @bbymelsworld @icysdiary @simp-hub @woofgocows

⇝ MÉNAGE .

Simon makes the mistake of spending the night before one of the longest missions of his career in the arms of a woman he met at a pub, unaware of the consequences it would have on his life moving forward.

CW: Unplanned pregnancy, angst, smut, fluff, dad!Simon.

STATUS: ongoing!

Also on Ao3!

If you want to be tagged on future works, please follow and activate notifications on this account! — @lilynottaken !

— CHAPTERS:

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

I ; Midnight ; [ 10.1k words ]

II ; Shadow ; [ 10k words ]

III ; Together ; [ 9.2k words ]

IV ; Refuge ; [ 11.2k words ]

V ; Resolution ; [ 8.4k words ]

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

— BLURBS + BRAINROT:

Brainrot tag !

How Simon would act if reader and Tommy got sick. ; [ Set after chapter 4! ]

How Simon would react to reader getting a text from her ex. ; [ Set after chapter 4! ]

How Simon would react to reader getting a boyfriend. ; [ Set after chapter 4! ]

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

— EXTRA:

Tommy's age across the chapters!