Anything V (Knig X Reader)

Anything V (König x Reader)

The 5th instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist 

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

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Sunshine Masterlist  || Saint Masterlist

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

⇝ shadow .

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

PART TWO OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: All Simon wants is to explain his disappearance to you, but he can't really expect you to be willing to listen.

WARNINGS: AFAB!Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N!), Mentions of NSFW, Angst, Pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy complications, Soft!Dad!Simon.

A/N: Second chapter!! Almost exactly a week after the first one LMAO. No smut in this one, I'm afraid, but some very fluffy moments between Simon and Tommy! <333 Once again, please reblog and comment if you enjoy this, it helps a lot!!!

WORD COUNT: 10k.

MASTERLIST.

Also on Ao3!

You were pretty sure your fingers were about to snap.

The grip you had on the door could rival that of a professional arm wrestler, your whole body stiff and frozen in place as your gaze locked onto Simon's.

Was it even Simon? His eyes didn't hold the same warmth it had the last time you'd seen him, his body wasn't as relaxed as it had felt beneath your touch, his whole frame covered in dark clothing that left his eyes as the only source of light that shone through that shadow of a man.

Well, you couldn't even consider them that, his blue orbs lacked that speck of light you'd grown accustomed to seeing in your son's; it left him looking like a ghost, a shell of a man. But maybe that was appropriate, he never did look like the kind of bloke you'd expect to be kind or sweet, he suited more the idea of a cold, ruthless man that had abandoned you and your son.

Even after having spent a night in his arms, felt the touch of his lips on your skin, memorised the feeling of his cock inside of you; he was still a stranger to you, a man you had idolised so much during the first days after your encounter that he had begun to form into someone completely different in your mind.

And now that he was in front of you, you knew. This wasn't the Simon from your dreams that held you in his arms, the Simon from your dreams that pressed kisses to your swollen belly whenever the baby would kick, the Simon from your dreams that hadn't left.

It was like a slap in the face.

One that brought you back to reality, that flushed away any daydream or idealised version you had of him from your mind, and forced you to focus on the man standing in front of you.

"You-"

"Did you keep it?"

As if you'd been sucker punched right in the gut, you felt the air leave your lungs, the words you had intended to speak sitting on the tip of your tongue like the bitter taste of black tea.

"It? Wh-"

"Him. Our son."

Our son.

It was funny, how he'd managed to say the two simple words that immediately made your blood boil in rage, tears forming at the corner of your eyes out of frustration as.

"Oh, so he's our son now?" You willed yourself to keep calm, but you couldn't help how your voice wavered when you spoke, this whole situation baring to be too much to handle along with your already declining mental state. "You didn't seem very interested before."

"I was gone."

"Oh, trust me, I know." You snarled, your harsh tone causing him to look away from you, whether it was in shock or fear, you didn't care. At least you couldn't feel small beneath his stare if he wasn't looking. "How long has it fucking been, Simon? A year. 9 months carrying your child and 3 months raising him. You have no fucking right to come knocking now and asking to see him."

"You don't understa-"

"I don't need to fucking understand, Simon!" You cried out, your voice ringing down the hall and in Ghost's ears, "I was alone! I am alone! I went through a terrifying pregnancy on my own because you couldn't bother to pick up the goddamn phone! Where were you when I needed you!? Where were you when the doctor told me that the birth might leave irreparable damage on my body!? Where were you when I almost lost him!?"

Silence filled the building, dull ringing in Ghost's ears from how loud you'd shouted, his gaze shifting up from the floor to you, his heart skipping a beat at your dishevelled state, your flushed face and tear stained cheeks, the hand that had been resting on the door now clenching your shirt right above your heart, as if the simple act of talking to him pained you to no end.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't fucking cut it, Simon. Sorry doesn't make up for this past year, for all the fucking pain I went through while you were, what, ignoring me the whole time!? Waiting until an 'acceptable' time to show up and fucking demand to see him!?"

"I'm not demanding." You flinched as one of his hands came to slam onto the top of the door that separated the both of you, his hand clenching around the wood hard enough to break it, and you knew that if he wanted to, he could. "I'm asking. I'm asking to see him, for you to let me explain why I was gone."

Your lower lip quivered at the way he spoke, so calm and composed compared to you, who'd let your emotions take control of your words and had just

"I don't know what you went through. I don't think I'll ever be able to understand. And.. I'm, I'm sorry, that you were forced to go through it alone," The apology that slipped through his lips sounded almost forced, like it was his first time hearing and speaking the words out of his mouth. "I'm not here just to see him. I'm here because you deserve an explanation on why I wasn't here. And I know it won't take away the pain, but I ho-"

The door slammed shut.

Ghost was left outside of your apartment, hand still testing on the flimsy wood of your door, staring at the point where your eyes had been mere seconds ago.

You'd closed the door on him.

You'd ripped any chances he'd had of seeing his son and explaining himself to you in half.

He'd gone through his speech for hours in the car, making sure that he wouldn't come off as rude or mean to you, that everything was explained slowly and coherently, but you'd just… Closed the door on him.

It was a funny sight, really. A giant of a man standing in the corridor of a beat down building in the middle of Manchester, outwardly looking like a kicked puppy if it weren't for the fire that was burning inside of him, bubbling beneath his skin as he got the urge to rip the whole fucking door off just so would fucking listen to-

The door opened again, properly, this time. No little gap where he could barely see your full body, where you were able to hide from him in fear that he'd do something disastrous like he'd just been thinking of.

You were letting him in.

That much was obvious, by the way your shaking frame was glued to the wall of the small corridor, allowing him space to cross through into the apartment he'd spent the night in a year ago.

No words had to be spoken, the reluctant look on your face telling him more than enough.

The few steps he took to enter your apartment felt like crossing a border to another world, one that he couldn't recognise as much as he tried to think back to the last time he'd been there.

Everything had changed. The wallpaper with the flowers that reminded him of his grandma's old home had been striped, replaced with a more cool paint over; the dingy sofa where he'd ripped your tights open was replaced with a much more softer and plush looking model, one that could no doubt be pulled into a bed; the bookshelf he'd gotten the sticky notes from had been ridden of many of the books that had littered it, replaced with children's books and a few pictures, baby toys strewn across the floor in front of it.

It felt like a whole different place than what he remembered. He didn't know what he had expected, for you to have a child and for nothing to change? He was aware of the chaos that a child brought, remembering how annoyed he himself had been as everything started to change around him when his brother had been born, the need it brought to rearrange the whole house to accommodate the baby and not have any dangerous items lying around.

Ghost made a mental note to himself as he picked up one of the picture frames from next to the small telly to clean up his own house before bringing his son there (if he was even allowed to), recalling the dust and grime that covered the corners of his rooms, the glass shards from the last time he'd drunk and passed out on the sofa littering his floors.

You pushed the door closed behind you both, shaky hands pressing onto the cool wood in an attempt to ground yourself, trying not to focus on the silent yet imposing footsteps of your son's father.

You don't know what possessed you to open the door, to let him into your space, that he'd now taken over like a shadow. He looked so… out of place.

A demon along the angels, a ghost along the living.

His dark clothes contrasted heavily with the bright colours of your son's toys that laid strewn across the floor, with the soft colours your walls were painted in, with the colourful blankets that you'd tried spicing up the sofa with, despite no one being able to appreciate them other than you.

It didn't feel right.

It didn't feel right to have him here, walking around your home like he belonged there, like he'd been there all along. It was wrong.

You felt like you couldn't breathe, like your throat was closing off and preventing any air from reaching your lungs properly. Your nails dug into your own palms as you clenched your hands closed, trying your best to even out your breathing and focus on anything but the impending conversation you'd have to have with him.

You could hear him say something, but your brain was so caught up with trying to stop yourself from spiralling that it didn't even comprehend what he was saying. The balaclava over his face was moving, indicating that he was speaking, but not a single sound was reaching your ears.

Your body was trembling at this point, mouth gasping for air as your throat continued to constrict, your eyes going blurry with tears as you watched him come closer to you, mouth still moving.

"Breathe." Two hard hands grabbed onto your shoulders, shaking you out of your stupor bordering on what you could easily identify as a panic attack, ones that you'd been prone to ever since you gave birth. "Look at me. Breathe."

Simon immediately knew what was happening without even having to look at you.

The laboured breaths that were leaving you were enough to activate the alarms in his head, recognising them immediately. He'd heard them many times before coming from him, his teammates, the people whose heads were pressed against his gun. You were spiralling, falling into the harming grasp of your anxiety and letting it infect your body.

When he got a panic attack, Simon rode through it. The therapist that Price had assigned him a few years ago had advised him to consider doing breathing exercises whenever he showed signs of having one, but during the year he'd seen her and the years to come, not once had he considered doing them. Sometimes, he felt like he deserved to feel like that, like he was suffocating, like his heart was about to be ripped out; for all the pain and suffering he'd inflicted on others, he deserved to feel at least a sliver of it.

But the thought of letting you experience that same pain, the same panic, the same hopelessness he felt whenever he'd cave into his depression, it wasn't a good one.

So despite his initial lack of remembrance of the exercises his therapist had offered, he tried his best to talk you through it, hands grasping at your shoulders and squeezing every time he saw you start to slip away back into that pit of anxiety, keeping his eyes on yours through the whole thing, not letting you go until you'd stopped shaking and your breath had become even once again.

You'd been so focused on the anxiety coursing through your veins that you hadn't even realised who was helping you through it, blindlessly following orders and breathing along with him, your brain subconsciously recognising his voice as something to cling onto, to pull you out of your own plunging thoughts.

But as soon as you realised whose eyes you were gazing into, whose hands were holding you down, you panicked again. Your own hands came up to push him away, the action catching him off guard and making him take a few small steps back from you, eyes still fixed on yours.

"Are y-"

"Shut up." You breathed out, interrupting him for what seemed like the 100th time that night, mimicking him and taking a few steps away from him and wrapping your arms over your upper body. "Sit."

Ghost finally tore his stare away from you to look down at the sofa, hesitantly taking the first steps forward like a cat meeting its owner for the first time before finally taking a seat on the sofa, sinking into the plush pillows thanks to his weight and looking around from the new perspective.

"Do you normally have panic attacks?" He spoke up, thankful that you didn't interrupt him this time, voicing his concern.

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking down at your fuzzy socks as you thought back to all the times you'd had to go through them on your own sitting at the doctor's office, lying in bed after putting Tommy to sleep, looking at yourself in the mirror after your labour…

Your doctor had warned you about the rollercoaster of emotions your body would go through after giving birth, including the depression many women suffered that unfortunately had affected you too during the first few weeks; but you hadn't expected it to continue until this late.

"...sometimes." You mumbled, hands running up and down your arms as you squirmed beneath his glare. "It's normal. For a lot of women."

He didn't answer, nodding in response instead before turning his head to the side table, where a small picture of a very tiny Tommy sat, his hand itching towards it to take it in properly.

The silence that followed what you could barely call a conversation was unbearable. The tension that hung in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, the silence almost suffocating you as you tried to muster up the courage to speak up if he wasn't going to, despite him having almost broken down your door in order to talk.

"...so? Are you going to explain?"

Simon stayed quiet, the whole speech he'd rehearsed back in his car suddenly fizzing away from his mind like a shooting star in the night sky. He was left with barely an outline of what he wanted to say, a vague idea of everything he'd tried his best to put into words before seeing you.

But actually having you in front of him, sitting on the same sofa he'd once pressed you against, gazing into the eyes he'd once thought so much about before the start of that god awful mission, made every last thread of sanity that remained in him snapped.

He was sure that without the mask he'd look like a fool, mouth slightly open and half lidded slate blue eyes fluttering with every blink, transfixed by the vision that was you, in front of him.

"Look, if you're not even going to fucking talk, you can just go right back out the fu-"

"I can't tell you exactly what happened." You stopped mid-rant, cheeks burning in embarrassment after being the one who was interrupted this time. "My job doesn't allow it."

His job? Was he really blaming everything on his job? What kind of goddamn profession forced you to go radio silent for a whole year?

"What do you work in?"

"..." Simon regarded you with a poignant sheen in his eyes, clearly at odds with deciding what to say, the truth or what he had been taught to recite in a situation like this. "I protect."

Even if he didn't outright say what his vocation was, you could do more than assume.

Protection could mean many things, like working at one of those security alarm companies to working as a bodyguard for some fancy rich guy, but with one look at the man sitting in front of you, you could tell.

And it was terrifying.

You'd assumed he was some type of bodybuilder when you'd first saw him, but as you recalled his tactical steps as he walked you down the street, the way his hand flew to his belt when you'd pass some creepy looking guy, as if he was expecting something to be hanging from there, it all started to click.

You had two options before you. He was either a fucking mercenary or military. And although both options were terrifying on their own, you hoped to whatever god that was looking down on you that it was the latter. You wouldn't know what you'd do with yourself if the father of your sweet baby boy was some type of criminal.

"You protect?" You let out, careful with your words in case you said something that you shouldn't, terrified with the prospect of him getting annoyed or angry now that you had an idea of what he did for a living.

"I protect." He parroted, lifting his hand to shove it into one of the pockets that adorned his jacket, pulling out a slim laminated piece of paper, what you could only assume was some sort of identification. "Here."

You took it hesitantly, flipping it over to scan your eyes over the confusing words that lettered the ID, mostly all words you'd never heard before in your life, but you were smart enough to grasp the concept of it.

"You work in the army?" You question, finger running over his title, repeating his newly discovered last name in your head, cursing at yourself for even thinking of how normal it would sound led by your son's name.

"SAS. Lieutenant. Can't say more than that." His gloved hand came back up to hopefully grab his ID back, but you dodged him, taking a few steps back and flipping it back over so he could see what you were pointing at.

"There's no picture." You finally referred to the black space that filled what was supposed to be a headshot of whichever soldier's ID it was. "How… how do I know this is real?"

You watched the mask move as he furrowed his eyebrows, the hand that had fallen onto his knee now gripped at the cargo pants, his eyes showing the disbelief that shot through his body.

"Y'think I made a fuckin' fake ID?" He grunted out, lifting himself from his spot on the sofa and glowering down at you, who did your best to not stand down almost immediately out of fear of his massive frame. "I don't carry 'round a picture of my face, defeats the whole purpose of my fuckin' mask."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried coming up with some type of rebuttal that would shut him right up, but you ended up once again asking another desperate question.

"That doesn't explain why you were gone."

Silence.

The crickets that sang from downstairs, the sound of the creaking from upstairs with every step one of your neighbours took, the suddenly suffocating feeling of your tiny apartment, everything seemed to increase ten fold with every second that passed.

"I can't tell you much." He leaned his head back, twisting his neck to a side to reveal some of the hair that had grown down to below his chin after a year of not properly shaving, making you look away from what almost seemed like an invasion of privacy.

"Oh, fuck you." You let out an amused scoff, unbelieving that still after everything that had happened in the short amount of time he'd been back, he still refused to say anything. "Go to hell, Simon."

"I was on a fuckin' mission. A long one. I wasn't allowed any devices, like always, so I couldn't get back to you." He looked back at you with a glare that easily rivalled yours, voice rising in volume with each word he spoke, clearly pissed off at how you were acting with him despite having tried to explain himself, but deep down he knew that it was expected from you after what you'd gone through, yet he still couldn't help but feel disappointed deep down.

"Don't raise your fucking voice at me, I'm not the one who's at blame here, Simon!" You shoved a finger into his stiff chest, doing barely as much 'damage' as you pretended to, but you did your best to get your point across.

"I'm not raising my vo-"

A high pitched cry cut through both of your raising voices, Simon's hand immediately going to his belt out of instinct while you whipped your head in the direction of Tommy's room, wincing in both fatigue and shame for having forgotten about your poor, sensitive to noises baby boy.

You put a finger up before Simon could even get the idea of heading there first, an authoritative glare on your face as you grew 10 times braver now that it came to your son's mood and well-being.

"Stay." You hissed, almost like you were reprimanding a mutt instead of a grown man. "Don't fucking follow me."

Once you were sure you'd gotten the message across, you pulled yourself away from his gaze and quickly entered your son's nursery, cooing and shushing at him as you neared his crib.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, duck, I'm sorry." You whispered, carefully picking up his fidgeting body in your arms and pressing him to your chest, rocking him as gently as you could in your told. "Mommy's sorry, she didn't mean to scare you."

His crying didn't cease, only getting louder as you desperately tried to get him to quiet down, terrified of the racket he was no doubt making for the next door neighbours, who'd probably come by tomorrow with some not very nice words.

Your hands were shaking as he still didn't calm down, a shiver running up your spine while goosebumps racked your body as you saw the light that came from the living room be blocked by a large mass of what you could only assume was Simon.

"I told you not to follow." You kept your voice small as he took slow steps towards you, not wanting to agitate Tommy even more than he already was, knowing how enervated you'd be in the morning if that was the case.

"I want to see him."

You bit down on your tongue before you shot out a snappy response, realising that this was not the time nor the place for snarky comments, as much as you wanted Simon to finally get a hint and leave you both alone.

"You haven't even told me his name."

Screwing your eyes closed, you pressed Tommy to your chest a bit tighter, both to calm the two of you down and in an attempt of caging him away from the shadow of a man towering behind you.

"You never asked for it." You felt him stop behind you as you spoke, his eyes staring holes into the back of your head, as if that would finally get you to move so he could see his son.

He stayed silent once again, looking over every single detail in the nursery, from the row of knitted stuffed animals to the plastic fluorescent stars stuck to the ceiling above the crib, eyes trailing over the bookcase that looked a bit too unstable for his liking, the screws too loose to be holding up all that weight properly.

"Did you build these yourself?" Simon watched you turn your head over your shoulder to see what he was referring to, glowering at him crossly as you looked over the furniture.

"Didn't have anyone else to do it, did I?" You snapped, going back to the crying baby in your arms as he continued to look around, gloved fingers running over some of the spines of the books that laid on the shelves, recognising some of them from his own childhood bookshelf.

"You still don't believe me, d'you?"

A beat.

The finalising sound of his footsteps exiting the room made a weight you hadn't realised was pressing on your chest dissipate out of relief, only to come back heavier than ever as he pushed the duffle bag he'd been carrying towards you with his foot.

You looked down at the spilling contents tentatively, almost worried that there was some type of danger in there that would force you to take cover or cower in a corner, but all you found were military pants and clothes, a gun hidden in its holster, and in the hand that slowly appeared in the corner of your vision, dog tags.

"Look." He brought them up closer to your face so you'd be able to see even in the dim lighting that came from the fluorescent stars stuck on the ceiling and the small nightlight, the name engraved in it identical to the one you'd found on the ID. And although most IDs were pretty easy to fake, you were pretty sure dog tags like these weren't. They had the SAS' inscription on them along with a few codes and numbers you were too ignorant about the army to understand; but for all you knew, they could be as fake as the ones some men wore as fashion.

Maybe that still wouldn't have been enough, if it weren't for the gun. England was very strict with gun laws, and the only people you'd ever seen handle one were the police and the military. So he'd either gotten one very illegally or was truly who he said he was.

And as much as you wanted it to all be fake, for him to be the random bloke you'd had sex with that had no connections to anything dangerous, you knew it wasn't. It was blatantly obvious now that he'd laid down everything in front of you like a puzzle, he was telling the truth.

And god, how much you hated it. You hated that the so-called excuse he'd used before was close to being set in stone by now, that everything was falling into place.

"They're real. I promise."

His promises meant nothing to you, and he knew that, but he had to try anything he could for you to finally believe him, to pull down the walls you'd built and let him in.

"..." You looked away from him and his outstretched hand, pulling your still weeping baby closer to you as you debated on what to do, mind torn between two headspaces.

A shaky sight left your lips as he finally started to tone down, his small pudgy hands grabbing at your sweater in an attempt to ground himself, to find a smell and feel he knew brought safety.

"...his name's Tommy."

You felt him freeze behind you, the aura around him growing cold almost immediately, like you'd just blatantly insulted him without any remorse.

"Tommy." He echoed, voice scratchy as if he was dying of thirst, body suddenly feeling like it had been dunked under tiding waves. "Why?"

"Why?" It was your turn to repeat what he'd said, turning around fully and allowing him the first proper look at his infant son.

Any feeling of displeasure or uncomfort left Simon's body as his eyes landed on the small boy whose teary eyes were trained on his mother's, soft hands clinging onto her like all hell would break loose if he weren't, pudgy body wrapped up in soft blanket decorated with a tiny duck print, the animal something he'd heard you refer to him as before.

God, he wasn't even listening anymore, too enamoured with the small being that lied in your arms, his hands itching towards him in hopes of taking him in his own.

His stomach sank as you stepped back in tandem with him, shielding Tommy from him like he was a monster.

"I, uhm…" you looked up at him through glassy eyes, clearly having been taken aback by his sudden advance towards you both, ending with you pressed against the wooden crib's side. "I didn't really think about it. It just… felt right. It sounded nice. There isn't really any… meaning behind it, as far as I know."

And that was true, as far as you knew, Tommy was just one of the names you'd underlined in one of the many baby name books your mother had brought over with her. But for Simon, it was oh so much more than that. It brought back memories that he hadn't thought about in a very long time, including those rough times he'd spent cooped up in that godforsaken house trying his best to take care of the only family he had left.

And although he hadn't heard from his brother in a long while, he couldn't help but feel slightly hollow at the simple thought of him, who now unknowingly shared his name with his new nephew.

"...right." Despite everything that was whirling around in his brain, every single memory and doubt he wished he could share without destroying himself inside out, that single word of confirmation was the only thing he could get out.

Tommy let out a whine, small hand tugging at your shirt as he instantly pulled your attention back to him, small body fidgeting in your hold in a way that would make you drop him if you weren't used to his urge to not stay still.

"Yeah, I get it, duck." You said, balancing him carefully in the crook of one of your arms before picking up the half-empty bottle you'd placed next to the crib, knowing he'd wake up within the little time the milk could sit out and demand to be fed with his startling cries. "It's here, don't worry. You're not going to starve."

Simon watched from the shadows as your son immediately latched on to the bottle, acting like he'd been starved for over a week, when his last feeding session had been barely an hour ago.

"He's very greedy." You mumbled, mostly to yourself, but looked up at Simon as he let out a humoured exhale.

"Most babies are." He said, remembering how needy his own little brother was when it came to feeding, whining and screaming until everyone in the house had woken up.

Silence fell upon the room, the only conceivable sound in the house being the sound of Tommy drinking and the soft jingle of the crib mobile whenever a soft gust of wind came through the parted window.

For the first time in the hour Simon had been back in your life, you felt calm. Your heartbeat had come down to a normal rate, your body had stopped jolting and shaking every now and then, and there was a small smile tugging at your lips as you watched your son cling to the bottle in your hands.

Even Simon's presence had stopped putting you on edge, since now he was just silently gazing down at his son, who's eyes were fixed back on his father's, almost like they were both having a staring contest, and it was unclear who was about to win.

Tommy normally bursted into tears when he was near a stranger, too many new scents and sounds around him since he was used to the calmer and soother environment that was his nursery, so apart from the short strolls you'd take down the streets, he barely went out with you, and when he did, he didn't get to met many new people. You remember how embarrassed you'd been when one of your neighbours had come by to help with fixing a light and Tommy had started bawling at the mere sight of the unfamiliar man standing in the doorway.

So it was a bittersweet surprise when you realised he must've taken an instinctual liking to his father, despite not properly having the brain capacity to regard him as such, and although you'd have plenty of time to go over that later, for now, you were relieved that he hadn't turned to wailing as loud as he could and bursting all three of your eardrums (although if Simon did work in what he said he did, you were sure he'd be used to loud noises by now).

"How d'you pay for all this?"

"What?" You said, the calm expression that had graced your face quickly forming back into the pissed one he'd gotten so used to seeing in the past hour, the innocent yet aggravating question instantly spoiling your mood. "What do you fu- what do you mean?"

"The furniture, the clothes, the nappies." He nodded towards every single thing he listed, only adding onto your annoyance even more. "Where d'you work?"

You snapped your head down to Tommy in order to avoid his damaging questions, meeting the cute scene of your son fast asleep, probably having passed out after such a long staring contest with his dad and finally having a full belly. You ignored the weight of your impending answer as you placed him down carefully back into his crib, letting his chubby cling onto your fingers for a bit before slowly wrenching his grip off, turning back around to his father.

"I don't work. Not anymore." You kept your voice hushed, picking up the empty baby bottle along with a bag of dirty nappies, standing next to the doorway until he got the memo to walk out before you. "Got fired from the bar cause I was too distracted and I messed a lot of things up…. Had to use my savings to pay for everything during my pregnancy."

He watched you walk around the kitchen and put everything away like it was routine, like it was some sort of art that you'd perfected, while thinking over the information he'd just received from you.

He felt horrible. The mere thought of you, pregnant and alone with no job able to support you, working on the crib and nursery on your own was enough to tear his cold heart in two. And he didn't even want to think about how much money you had left, which by the sight of the very expensive-looking cot and all the toys that laid strewn across the bedroom floor, wasn't much.

He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back onto one of the walls and thought about the next words that were going to leave his mouth, the next words that would either end up with you both growing closer together or you continuing to push him away.

"Let me help you."

You stopped dead in your tracks while rearranging one of the cupboards, turning around with a look of disbelief painted on your face, beyond bewildered at what he was even starting to proffer.

"Help me?"

Simon had more money than he knew what to do with. Albeit, a small part of it was sent to his brother and his family at the end of every few months, he was still left with a huge amount of money he didn't really know what to spend it on apart from on the bottles of alcohol that littered the floor of his apartment.

But now that he'd learned about his own family, seen the state your flat was in despite you trying to save face by decorating it as much as you could, about as much information as you had given out about your financial situation, he finally knew what to do with all that money that was left over.

"Help you. Financially. Tommy's my son too." Simon raised a gloved hand up as he watched your mouth open, immediately shutting you up like a teacher would a student. "As much as you want to deny it, s'true. And I'm going to help you." His finger landed on the small island counter, accentuating his point with every word he spoke. "Whether you like it or not."

Now, you'd be bellow stupid to even refuse an offer like this (even though he'd made it quite clear it wasn't an offer, more like an insistence), especially since your bank account was quickly reaching negative numbers with every day that passed, not a lot of jobs being open to a new mother who'd either have to take her baby everywhere or leave between shifts to take care of him (and a nanny was of course out of the question, with what money would you pay them?); and pushing aside your still initial distrust towards him, you couldn't say no to him. Both, because he wouldn't let you and because you needed the help, as much as you didn't want to admit it.

Very deep down, you wanted to say no, to push him out of the flat like you should've done when he had first taken a step inside, that he'd had his chance with both Tommy and you and that his bloody stupid excuses weren't going to work… but god, would you have been a moron to even consider letting those words leave your mouth.

You closed the cabinet shut, turning around to face him properly despite the absolute nerves that were coursing through your body, looking out the window across from you instead of at the imposing figure of the man standing before you.

"Simon, I… Look, just…." You tried changing subject, grasping at straws in order to keep yourself from falling to your knees and thanking him for helping you, to break down again like you'd done within the first quarter hour of seeing him again. "...thank you."

He didn't reply, only nodding in response as he turned away from you, letting you stare at his back as he cocked his head to a side to subtly look into Tommy's room, your small baby boy still fast asleep with his clingy hands holding onto one of the many toys you'd placed in there for him to stay entertained with.

"It's, uhm… it's getting quite late." You pointed out as you looked back out the window, rain pattering against your window as another one of England's classic showers hit your city, your arms wrapping around your torso and running your hands up and down the exposed skin. "How about we just… call it a day and talk about it tomorrow?"

Simon grunted, shrugging his shoulders like he really didn't care, but before you had chance to comment on it, he spoke over his shoulder, his head tilted in a way that the shadows curved around the balaclava covering up his face, his blue eyes slightly brighter than when he'd first shown up.

"I've got some stuff to attend to tomorrow." He muttered, nodding towards the duffle bag that he'd brought out with him when you'd both left the nursery, indicating that he wasn't fully finished with work. "It'll be a while 'till I'm able to just sit down with you."

God, you hated how much fear that single sentence struck in you. Like almost the thought of him leaving for more than a day after finally showing up and explaining everything to you was enough to raise up the anxiety that wrapped around your chest and travelled across every single nerve in your system.

So fucking pathetic. You thought to yourself before looking over at the sofa, the new one you'd bough and arranged yourself a few months into your pregnancy, when you were barely showing and could still handle physical work like that; remembering how much the salesman had insisted on that the pullout was the best option for when you had guests over, it was moderately comfy and big enough to fit up to two people.

And Simon kind of… He kind of counted for two people, right? With that bloody stature of his and his darned accentuated muscles you'd been so in awe of that fateful night.

"You can just take the sofa for tonight. Then we can talk in the morning before you leave." Your mouth acted faster than your brain did, but this time, you didn't really feel embarrassed or disappointed in yourself, I mean, it was the logical solution to this sort of problem. He'd made it quite clear that he wanted to be in his son's life, so if that was true, you'd have to get used to him being around you, invading the safe space you'd worked so hard to create for you and your son, as much as it tore your body and mind apart thanks to your mixed feelings about him.

"You sure?" He pushed himself off the doorframe which he'd been leaning on, getting back to his full height so he could tower over you, glancing at the tiny sofa. "You think I'll fit?"

"It pulls out." Unlike you. "You'll fit."

Once again, it seemed that he couldn't even get the words out to thank you, nodding in response before turning back to look at his sleeping son in the nursery's background. You pushed past him to get to the cupboard that sat in the corner, rummaging through it for some relatively clean and warm blankets, keeping an ear out just in case decided to walk a bit too close to Tommy, still a bit on edge when it came to him spending time around your son.

"D'you have a balcony I can use?" He cut through the silence, dangling a packet of cigarettes in front of your face to make his advances clear.

Although you weren't a chronic smoker yourself, you had indulged in a cig once in a while, and you knew that it sometimes did help soothe your anxiety or stress, and by the looks of how Simon was fidgeting in his spot and his fingers were clearly itching towards the lighter in his pocket, it was quite clear he was in need of one.

"I don't. Use the window furthest from Tommy's room." You pointed out of the room towards the window you'd been staring out of before. You watched him stroll out, opening up the window and letting in a gust of cold wind in the process, making you speed up your work so you could close the door faster and Tommy wouldn't get a chill.

"You can't smoke around Tommy, you know that, right? If you're really going to be in his life, I'm going to need you to quit while you're here." You commented as you placed down the blankets onto an armchair before moving onto the sofa bed itself, removing some of the cushions before resuming.

"'lright." He muttered between a few inhales of the smoke, his voice much clearer now that he'd pulled his mask up to his nose, letting you gaze upon the beard that had grown over his lower face, something that hadn't been there before. But you assumed that a year-long mission wouldn't really allow you to take time to shave. "Jus' really needed this."

"I get it." You grunted as you grabbed onto the flimsy handle at the bottom and pulled out the second part of the sofa's mattress, almost landing on your behind if it weren't for one of Simon's hands on the small of your back, helping you regain your balance before he went back to taking puffs of his cigarette next to the window.

Soon enough, Simon's cigarette burnt down to a stub, flicking it out the window and down onto the concrete below, turning back around to where you were finishing up what would be his bed tonight, tucking in some of the ends of the sheets and stuffing pillows into covers.

"Here." He spoke, his voice back to being muffled as he pulled the mask back down, taking the pillow from your hands and pushing it into the cover without any effort.

"Pillows might be a bit stiff. These are really old." You didn't even bother thanking him, taking the pillows and fluffing them up to the best of your ability, before propping them up on the armrest. "Do you want to, uhm." You gestured towards the black smudged paint around his eyes. "Clean up?"

"It's fine. I've slept worse."

He started to pull off his jacket, his shirt going with it for a moment and exposing his midriff and happy trail, immediately snapping your head away from the sight.

That's how Simon ended lying on the pretty well made sofa, shoes and jacket discarded next to him with a thin blanket draped over his tired body, balaclava still resting over his face despite being plunged in the darkness that was broken whenever a car passed by outside or by the soft glow of his son's fluorescent stars that decorated his ceiling.

Simon was aware of how long he'd gone without having a good night's sleep, that he should at least try to catch a few minutes of sleep at best, but he couldn't find the energy to even close his eyes. He knew that after such a long and exciting mission his body had to come down from it slowly, taking a few days of getting used to the sudden serenity that enveloped him before he could fully relax and find some sleep.

And so he lied there, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling and listening to the snores that came from his son's room and the shuffling and incoherent murmurs that came from yours, the constant affirmation that you both were fine enough of a substitute for the sleep he was missing.

And he was… content like that, for a while. Listening to the both of you sleep and tapping his fingers against his chest in an attempt to ground himself and to shove away any unwanted thoughts that would forcibly make their way into his already broken mind.

Until one of the cars outside backfired, a sound Simon had gotten used to after driving all those barely working cars they'd find in the way during missions, producing a sound that echoed throughout the living room, making Simon instinctively flinch, his fingers gripping down on the blanket hard enough to rip it, not having expected to hear a sound so akin to a bomb or a grenade while he was lying down calmly near his newfound family.

Fuck, he was pathetic. It was horrible how such an innocent sound made his instincts go haywire, his skin prickle with goosebumps and his heart skip a beat.

But clearly, as Tommy's cries rang out through the flat, he hadn't been the only one to be disturbed.

"Fuck." The blanket pooled down onto the floor next to his discarded clothes, pushing himself off the sofa and passing by your bedroom, where you were still presumably sleeping, your body wriggling beneath the covers as your brain attempted to keep you asleep.

You'd mentioned that Tommy had gone down easily this time, so it was relatively early for yourself to go to bed, and he'd heard you mutter to yourself as you climbed into bed that you were going to enjoy your rest, so staying on the sofa and waiting for you to wake up, was not going to happen, especially after all the trouble he'd gone through with convincing you to let him in Tommy's life.

This was part of being a father, a parent, waking up at ungodly hours of the night to take care of your fussing baby.

He carefully made his way towards Tommy's crib, removing his gloves in order to not scare him with an unknown touch, although he doubted that his calloused fingers would be any better substitute.

"S'alright." He murmured, a finger softly prodding at his chubby belly in order to catch his attention, the boy's wails only getting louder as he caught sight of his father's skulled balaclava. "Oh, fu- Look, hey, look at me."

Without any hesitation, Simon ripped off his mask, his hair getting messed up in the process but he couldn't care less, only focused on getting his son to recognise him as a human man and not the goddamn grim reaper who'd come for him.

Tommy sniffled as he toned down the fussing, blue eyes darting all over his father's face as if committing it to memory, chubby fingers leaning down to grab at the one Simon had woken him up with, and much like he did with any other thing he found lying around, shoved it right in his mouth, drooling around it.

A breathless chuckle escaped Simon's mouth as he watched him roll and fuss around his finger, resting his other arm on the crib and lying his head against it, transfixed with the sight of his small son.

A few tears were still running down his chubby cheeks, but he seemed to have calmed down now, Simon's finger acting like some sort of replacement for the pacifier that laid abandoned next to him.

"C'mon. Stop cryin'." He grumbled, pulling his finger out of his grasp and placing his large hands beneath Tommy's small body, carefully picking him up (making sure to support his little head like he'd seen you do) and propping him up in the crook of his arm, letting him squirm around for a bit until he found the perfect position. "You're a wriggly one aren't you?"

As expected, he didn't get any response apart from the thousand yard stare his son looked up at him with, similar to the one he occasionally gave Johnny to watch him freak out. Now that he did look at him closely, he could pinpoint how many features he'd inherited from his father's side, his shaggy hair, his blue eyes, his slightly crooked nose, even the chubby rolls and fingers he remembered seeing in his little brother.

"That's a boy." Tommy's eyes started to droop with every second he spent lying in his father's arms, his tears drying out and coos leaving his mouth instead of the agonising cries. "Feelin' better?"

He blindly walked over to the small chair he'd spotted in the corner of the room when he'd first walked in, grunting like his grandfather did as he sat down, careful to not squish or drop Tommy in the process, his hands tightening around him as the chair slightly reclined, the chair's feature catching him off guard and instantly activating the instinct to protect the small human in his arms that depended on him.

But Tommy didn't even flinch, giggling at the warmth that enveloped him and snuggling further into the blanket and his father's arms in the process, eyes still fixed on the dark paint that adorned his father's.

Finally, after their second staring match of the night, Tommy's eyelids finally closed, losing the battle and falling prey to sleep, something Simon silently wished he could too. Resting him in one arm, he pulled his balaclava back down, feeling a bit too exposed now that the need to have it off had ceased. He leaned his head back on the rest and stared up at the dim glowing stars, focusing on the steady breaths that racked his son's tiny body and the faint feeling of his heartbeat against his arm.

He could… he could really get used to this.

Having such a small thing in his arms, something he was responsible for, something he was supposed to love and care for, a purpose to continue the dangerous life he'd thrusted himself in. He was a father now. And although he knew barely nothing about being one, he'd learn. He hoped it wasn't a one time thing and that Tommy had truly taken a liking to him, that he was going to be able to take at least a bit off the load that you carried by helping in whatever way he could, whether it was bonding with his on or simply financially if that's all you wished of him.

He was a bit too lost in his thoughts as he reclined further in the plush chair, pressing Tommy to his chest so he was half lying on him, half still resting in his arms, a pretty comfortable position for the both of them.

"-mon."

"Simon!"

The blond was jolted awake by a pair of hands shaking him, his immediate instinct being to search around for the baby he remembered falling asleep with, blurry vision darting around to find him cooing and gurgling in your arms, hands latched onto your sleep shirt.

He turned to look out the window while cracking his neck, disoriented and confused about what time it was, the subtle sun rays that shone through the clouds and into the nursery telling him enough.

Had he fallen asleep? Like, actually slept for over an hour without waking up or any disturbances?

"'m sorry." His voice was deeper after a good night's rest, you noted as he rubbed his eyes with the bottom of his palm in an attempt to clear the blurriness, choosing to ignore the click of your tongue against the roof of your mouth. "Time?"

"'bout eight." You said, bouncing Tommy in your arms as you nodded towards the clock that hung up above him, eyes darting back down to see him hunched over, hands beneath his balaclava rubbing away the sleep in his eyes and no doubt spreading the face paint everywhere. "Tommy needs to have breakfast so I just assumed you'd want to be woken up as well. But, you're, uhm, welcome to sleep longer, I guess."

"No, I'm fine. I have to get up." Within a second, he was at his feet, Tommy staring up at him in awe as if he were gazing upon a giant, one of his chubby hands leaving your shirt to try and grab onto his, but Simon had left before he could even make first contact.

"You stayed here to talk, remember?" You said snappily at him as you followed, watching him pick up all his stuff. "We should talk."

His shoulders deflated mid tying his boot, a solemn nod in response like even talking to you was a chore, and after the night you'd had the day before, any little irritating thing like that was going to be enough to set you off.

"I want to be a part of Tommy's life. I've made that clear."

"I know. And that's… fine. But we're going to need boundaries."

He sighed, turning around with his other boot dangling from his hand, leaning his side on the wall opposite what had been supposed to be his bed for the night (the horror you'd felt when you saw him gone and your son's door open was unmeasurable), and nodding once again, eyes looking down at you expectantly.

Oh. Right. You were the one speaking.

"Well, for starters… if you really can't tell me more about your job than you already have, I want you to at least keep me updated whenever you leave for work. I.. I don't want any more surprises."

I don't want to feel the way I felt during that year again.

"Alright."

You nodded, pulling Tommy closer as he became enamoured with the necklace that dangled from your neck, trying his mighty best to pull the charm in his mouth as you talked. "And, if you stay over, you take the couch. And not taking Tommy out without me. Until… further notice." You feared you were being a bit too strict with him, but simply reminding yourself that this was in fact, basically a stranger who just happened to father your child, and you'd have to take preventive measures until you were sure that you could leave Tommy alone with him.

Simon ignored the slight pain that stabbed at his heart when you said that, but… it was understandable. You'd been with Tommy longer than him, hell, you'd carried him for a whole 9 months, you had a stronger bond with your son than he had. For both of your safety and his, he'd go along with anything you'd say.

After agreeing with a simple nod and finishing tying up his shoes, he walked up to you both, fingers brushing against your clavicle as he pulled your necklace out of Tommy's mouth, blue eyes fixated on yours. "Send me your bank details later. I'll deposit some money for you both. As much as you need."

He hesitated a few moments before pulling his fingers away, instead running them down Tommy's nose bridge before pulling away, pulling a giggle out of him.

"O-okay."

He nodded, leaning down to zip up his duffle bag before strapping it over his shoulder, jacket in his other arm since it was relatively warm outside for a morning in Manchester. "Text me if y'need anything. I'll answer this time… I promise."

You winced, the subject of his disappearance still a touchy matter despite everything you'd both discussed the night before, but by the way he hesitated before speaking, the way he was awkwardly standing in the main corridor, he was either very obviously lying or telling the truth.

You hoped it was the latter.

"...okay. Goodbye, Simon."

The moment the door opened, the doorbell rang out, making you and Tommy flinch at the loud sound and Simon grumble at being the main victim of the ringer.

Your neighbour was standing there, finger on the bell, furrowed eyebrows glaring up at the intimidating man.

"Good morning?" You poked your head around Simon's large frame, Tommy hiding his face in the crook of your neck as if able to sense the confrontation about to happen. "Is everything okay?"

"Uh, no. Sorry, just. I think I speak for everyone in this building that we'd appreciate it if you'd keep that baby o'yours quiet once in a while. Barely gotten any sleep these days 'cause of his bloody crying." He frowned, glaring down at the baby in question, as if he was truly to blame for something he was barely able to control. Your cheeks warmed in embarrassment, having remembered that you'd already expected this last night when Tommy had burst into tears the first time, and then the second time when you were asleep.

"Right, I'm s-"

"Babies cry." Ghost interrupted, glare fixed on the man in front of you both, hand tightening around the doorframe much like when he'd been trying to convince you to let him in. "Y'can't really help it."

"Well you can shut him up-"

"And we did. Wondering if I'm going to need to do the same to you." He said gruffly, almost puffing his chest out of pride when he saw the man's colour drain from his face. It was a bit of a shitty rebuttal, in hindsight, but when it came from the beast of a man that he was, it was enough to make a grown man like the one in front of him piss his pants. "'m I?"

"N-no, sir."

"Sorted." He watched the neighbour scurry off back into his apartment like a bug of sorts, turning back to you with an amused glint in his normally inexpressive eyes. "Bother you often?"

"Yeah." You said breathlessly, actually impressed with how quickly he'd been able to get rid of him, like your own personal pest exterminator. "Thank you."

"He won't anymore." He stepped out into the hall, sparing you and your son one last glance before awkwardly lifting his hand up in an attempt to say goodbye, Tommy immediately trying to reach over to him with a plump hand, fingers flexing as if trying to use the force to pull his dad back.

"He'll be back, duck, don't worry… he's not leaving."

Ghost pressed the button to the elevator, willing himself enough strength to not turn around immediately at the sounds of his soon cooing and whining at him, the soft words you spoke plunging a spear into his cold heart.

He'd be back. He promised.

TAGLIST: @selfassassin @ess-perspective-blog @crazyfandomist @webreathfandoms @warners-wife @prodyng @gaycrystalbitch @warrior-of-justice @uhhely @mentallynot-here @jordanwalkersworld @skepticalleo @bratsukisworld @screamingoverfiction @comedinewithmeyeh @gojosbucket @mikasakuchiki @jonhswife @tea-effect @thelittlejinx @cafesho @daddylorianisastateofmind @63sucker (if your name is in italics 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:

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Lewis in NYC

⇝ resolution .

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

PART FIVE OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: A letter in the mail changes everything.

WARNINGS: Mentions of canon typical violence, gore, blood, death; angst, fighting, slight NSFW, a really big rollercoaster of emotions, I'm sorry.

A/N: AFTER ALMOST THREE WEEKS!! I AM SO SORRY IT'S HERE IT'S HERE SOUND THE BELLS!!! Please don't froget to reblog and comment if you enjoyed, it helps so fucking much!!

WORD COUNT: 8.4k

MASTERLIST.

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

Also on Ao3!

“You know you can just go to bed, right?”

“Mmm...” You yawned, leaning your head on the cool porcelain of the bathtub’s edge as you watched Tommy try to grab at one of the toys you’d placed in the water for him, leaning over to push it towards him. “...’m fine.”

“You haven’t slept properly for a few days.” Simon tried again, arms crossed over his chest as he tried his best to not just grab you and shove you into bed and finish Tommy’s bath on his own. 

“Noted…” You said, voice groggy and throat sore but still with enough energy to snap at him. “Just go…”

Go where? He wanted to snap back, but kept himself quiet, looking away from your body slumped on the floor to your bed, letting out a frustrated sigh. 

It’d been a few days since he’d come back from the mission that had ended with him and the task force in your home, and despite the warm farewell you’d both shared, when he came back, you’d seemed to have grown colder towards him for no apparent reason, and God, did he hate how much it reminded him of the first few months of whatever this was, insisting to do everything by yourself and leaving no room for discussion, taking up almost all of Tommy’s time with yourself. 

Which was fine, you were his mother, after all, but it just felt a bit like… You were pushing him away, keeping him from your son all over again.

He didn’t like it. 

“I got some curry, go eat and let me finish him up.” He took a few steps towards you, leaning down and placing a hand on your back, immediately being taken aback as you jumped away from his touch, arm placed protectively over yourself as if he’d just tried to attack you.

“No!” You all but screamed, staring up at him in shock before seemingly realising what you’d just done. “No. I- I said it’s fine, Simon. Go eat, I’ll finish.”

He furrowed his eyebrows beneath the mask, clenching his fists at his sides as he watched you turn around again to call out softly at Tommy, who turned his head to you with a bright smile, unaware of the tension filling up the room between his parents. 

“Fine.” He said gruffly, not missing the way your shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice. 

He really didn’t fucking understand what had happened between you two, what could’ve occurred in the span of the few days he’d been gone to change the way you acted towards him completely…

It was worrying, the whole scenario that was playing out making him sick to his stomach as he took out the food he’d bought, making you a plate before his and pouring you a drink, simply staring at his own food while listening to you whisper to Tommy through the walls, suddenly having lost all his appetite. 

You hadn’t even gotten to talk like he’d promised when he came back, you’d dismissed any and every attempt to start a conversation, keeping it to short words and sentences, seemingly not wanting anything to do with him apart from the things you were basically obligated to talk to him about. 

And god, did he fucking hate it. 

“Let me feed him.” He spoke as you walked out of your bedroom with Tommy in your arms, his hair damp and curly from the water, chubby hands clinging onto one of his toys. 

“I can-”

“I’m going to feed him.” Simon snapped, walking over to you and reaching for his son, his towering figure and the fire in his eyes immediately shutting you up as you didn’t put on more of a fight, letting him take the small boy. “And you’re going to eat and then go to bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Tommy was placed in his chair, a plate of rice in front of him. “You need rest.”

“Maybe I don’t want to rest.” You retorted, voice almost gone, crossing your arms over your chest and turning your head away from him, yet still keeping a watchful eye on him and Tommy, once again insinuating further that you didn’t trust him anymore anywhere near your son. 

Keep it calm. Not around Tommy.

You saw it by the way he clenched his hand around the fork in his hand, he was trying his best to not snap with your son present, not wanting to subject the small boy to that kind of spectacle. 

And yes, you didn’t either, but you couldn’t just act like everything was normal around him, you knew how you were acting now was just a trauma response to what had happened in the time he’d been gone, that it would all hopefully be better if you told him about it, but the mere thought of the files you’d received in the mail that were currently sitting in one of the cupboards’ drawers made you feel nauseated. 

You just… couldn’t see him the same. 

Yeah, you were once a kid with unlimited access to the internet, yes you accidentally saw some gore shit online, you’d heard some disgusting things thanks to your grandfather that had served in the military, you’d seen all the mess and blood after you’d given birth, you weren’t fully desensitised to gore or blood, but you’d seen it across the years. 

But those pictures, fuck. It wasn’t any surprise that you’d immediately thrown up after opening them, having expected maybe some letters about rent or something, not- whatever that was. 

What you’d been able to discern after flipping through them a few times was that they were not the original military’s file but copies, which by the way the ink was smudged on a few of them and the lettering was off, seemed to have been made under a lot of pressure and on a time limit. 

You didn’t understand at first, why they had been sent to you, too in shock and terrified of the images amongst them to even connect it to Simon until you saw his callsign. And as you started to read through them more carefully, you realised that it was everywhere. 

And fuck, you’d never been more terrified in your life. 

Of course, you were aware of what a man in his position did, but you’d never explicitly asked him about it, never wanted to actually be exposed to whatever things he and the task force did to protect your country. 

But seeing it written down, all the specifics along with the pictures, it was traumatising. 

You hadn’t even realised how much time you’d spent staring at them until Tommy alerted you with a cry, snapping you out of it and forcing you to put the files down (although putting them down anywhere in your house made you feel sick), body shaking and bile rising into your throat once again. 

Obviously, there was no name on the envelope and of course, no return address, so the person who sent the files to you remained a mystery, but it didn’t take a genius to deduce that it was someone who’d been close to everything that had been depicted in them, someone who’d figured out who you were and what relationship you had to the SAS Lieutenant, and either wanted to send some type of message that you were to shook up to decipher or to simply toy with your emotions, all you knew was that somehow, they’d figured out Ghost’s oh-so secretive double life out. 

How, you had no idea. But you did know what that meant. 

You and Tommy were in danger. 

And you didn't know how you were supposed to react. 

Seriously, how?

Everything was too much at once, the files, the pictures, the fear, Tommy, Ghost, you- 

And then he came back. 

Acting like he’d never done anything of what you’d seen, holding your face in those warm hands and being so sweet towards you and your son, conflicting you even more. 

You didn't feel safe anymore, not just around Simon, but in general. And seeing him lean down to pick up Tommy with those hands, those hands that had caused what you’d seen, you just jumped into action, scooping Tommy up before he could reach him and insisting he would need to have a shower before touching him. 

You just couldn’t fathom how a man like that could treat you both with such kindness, how his hands could go from doing that to someone and then holding you softly at night, it was confusing and sickening and all you wanted to do was get rid of everything, go back to before where you had no idea of what happened while he was gone and you could indulge yourself in his touch without that sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

How were you supposed to bring up a topic like that to him? How were you supposed to look him in the eyes after that information, hand him the files and receive confirmation that they were in fact real and true? And what would you do? Force him to explain himself like a wife confronting her husband over an affair? This wasn’t anything like that, this was his job, something he’d been doing for ages and needed no explanation, especially to you. What, would you force him to apologise to all the people he’d hurt? 

Of course not. 

But still, you couldn’t just act normal. 

Even if you felt slightly bad. 

Even if he looked at you like that, the way he’d done at the beginning of your relationship.

You… Couldn’t…

You didn’t even process the tears running down your cheeks until he shot up from his spot and his warm hands came into contact with your cheeks, pulling your head up to look at you properly, making you stumble as the exhaustion and overwhelm finally caught up to you. 

He called your name with such confusion and care, despite how mean you’d treated him these past few days, your hands coming up to grab at his arms for stability as he asked you what was wrong, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. 

“Hey, listen t’me, come-”

“I can’t- I’m sorry, I can’t-” You sobbed out, your breathing erratic as you tried your best to stop yourself from crying, but once the dam had been broken, there was no way of fixing it. “Simon-”

“Come ‘ere.” He let go of your face, arms falling to your body and wrapping around you, pulling you into a hug and letting you grab at his shirt, despite that repulsive feeling stirring deep within your chest once again at his touch. “Fuck, lovie…”

“Don’t…” You murmured into his shirt as soon as the pet name had slipped out of his lips, squeezing your eyes closed. 

“What?”

“Don't” You repeated, pushing yourself away from him and taking a few unsure steps back. “I- I can’t I-” You shook your hands as if there were muck on them, confused and anxious as you tried to breathe, spiralling further and further into a panic attack. 

You weren’t really there for what happened next, Simon could tell as he held you almost limp in his arms, trying his best to calm you down from whatever was happening. Panic attacks for the both of you weren’t unnormal, he knew that, you’d both been subject to anxiety for a long time, so this wasn’t completely new, but you fainting from the exhaustion and him having to bring you to bed was. 

And because you were asleep, he had no way of figuring out what had happened, what the cause of this whole mess was and how he could help you through it. 

He’d placed Tommy in the crib you'd brought into your room a few days ago, letting you both take a well-deserved nap while he cleaned up the abandoned food outside. And well, after that, he picked a beer out of the fridge, convinced that he was deserving of one too after everything. But of course, the bottle opener was nowhere to be found, so he was forced to look through all the different drawers in the kitchen and living room until he found it. 

But… He didn’t. Instead, he was greeted with a file envelope messily shoved into one of the cupboards beneath a few pictures of Tommy you’d put up, blank and very much looking like some of the files that they kept back at base. 

He pulled it out, looking down at the drawer that was filled with little trinkets, stones and incense, definitely not the drawer where you’d stick something like this. 

Maybe he should have put it back, but he finally decided against it, pulling the contents out and spilling them across the wooden top of the small cupboard, fear immediately being stricken within him as he laid eyes upon the papers. 

What the actual fuck. 

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen them, some of these he’d written him fucking self, all the reports for recent missions where he’d been the one to finish off most of the enemy’s team. 

He recognised each and every picture that came along with the textual description, remembered the face and the voice of the person who had been unfortunate enough to meet him during a mission. 

He knew them, he’d had them in his hands at one point, that didn’t fucking explain why you had them. 

A thousand scenarios rushed through his brain as he stared down at them, hands gripping at the edges of the wooden piece of furniture in order to keep himself from breaking his hands from the force he was clenching his fists with, a shaky sigh leaving his lips as his mind went down the deepest rabbit holes to explain why you had this. 

Had you been using him to get inf-

No.

Was this all a game to y-

No!

No, you weren’t… You weren’t a fucking enemy. You weren’t his enemy. You weren’t that type of person. You wouldn’t just fucking babytrap him to get information. 

No one was sick enough for that. 

…right?

“Fuck!” He roared, slamming his hands down onto the wood and staring deep into the picture of the soulless eyes of one of his victims, chewing nervously on his bottom lip. 

No. He wasn’t going to think of you like that. You loved Tommy too much for it all to be an act. He loved y-

Simon raised his hands up to his face to press them into his eyes until he saw flashing lights, trying to calm himself down. 

He turned around as soon as he heard the squeak of the floorboards, furious eyes landing on your dishevelled figure as you clung to the doorframe, staring at him like a deer caught in headlight as you saw what he’d been looking at. 

“Sim-”

“Why do you have this?” A shiver ran throughout your body at the sound of his voice, calm and calculated, like he hadn’t just woken you up with a shout loud enough to shake the building. 

“Si-”

“Answer.” Ghost replied, eyes focused solely on you as you looked down at your feet, a pressure building in your chest as you tried to speak. 

“They were sent to me.” You finally choked out, flinching back as Simon made a move to pick them up, unknowing of the connotations that answer could have.

Silence. 

“Do you really think I’d go out of my way to find those? Do you think I wanted to see you like that- like Ghost?” You started, voice wavering. “Fuck, Simon, those- I couldn’t even look at them a second time, I feel sick just fucking thinking of them!”

“Then why didn’t you tell me!?” He shouted, turning around in a flash and taking a few jarring steps towards you, files all bunched up in his shaking hands. “Why didn’t you think to mention that you were being sent shit like this!?”

“Because I was fucking scared, Simon! I was fucking terrified that this meant that they know who I was, who Tommy is, who he’s related to! That they know about us and therefore can use us as leverage against you! Unlike you, I’m not that fucking desensitised to pain, to whatever you do, to the fear of getting hurt so that they can get to you! I’m not part of the fucking military, I’m just a fucking civillian who is clearly very much in danger thanks to a fucking mistake she made with you!” You screamed, tears streaming down your cheeks and blurring your vision as you shoved a finger into his chest. “So I’m sorry, okay!’ I’m fucking sorry that I was too afraid to bring this up! To bring up the fact I can’t see you the same, that I’m scared Tommy’s going to be hurt and I won’t be able to do anything about it, I’m fucking sorry!”

You let out another sob as you finished, your voice sore and throat dry from letting all of that out. 

“‘M not like you, Simon.”

Fuck.

Everything came crashing down onto him, guilt the only thing weighing Simon down.

“I’m… scared.”

“Of me?” He finally breathed out, raising his free hand to cup your cheek, relief flooding his body as you didn’t move away but immediately being crushed as he saw the fearful look on your face. 

“...I don’t know…”

A beat.

“...Should I be?”

Maybe.

“...I’d never hurt you. I told you once, and I’ll tell you again. You and Tommy are my family, and I’m going to protect you both no matter what. I won't let anyone ever lay a hand on you. You need to know that. The man I’m out there isn’t the same as the one I’m here. But neither of us would hesitate to rip apart whatever bastard is making you feel like this.”

He let the files fall, cupping your face with both hands, shaking you slightly so you got the message to look up at him. 

“I know I can’t undo this, what you’ve seen, what I’ve done, but I want to be here for you. You know I’ll always be here for you.” He said, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I know.” You said, voice breaking. You couldn’t fully express what you were feeling right then, you… you didn’t hate him, it would be impossible to truly hate Simon, after everything he’d done for you; you just needed time and space. His view of you might’ve not changed in the whole time he’d been with you but yours definitely had, and that was normal, considering everything he did. You just couldn’t act like everything was normal after what you’d seen.

“...go back to bed. We’ll talk this out once you’re rested.” He let you go, watching you walk back into your room with a guilty look on your face before turning to his now still beer, the appetite he’d had for one having vanished. 

“...Simon?” You whispered before closing the door, hand clinging onto the wood. 

“Yeah?” He replied, a bit gruffly. 

“...Tommy’s going to be okay, right?”

“Yeah.” He repeated, giving you a reassuring look, one he hoped you caught despite the mask. “‘Course he is.”

He watched you hesitate at the door for a split second, almost like you were deciding whether or not to say anything to further the conversation, but seemingly decided against it, closing the door after a quick nod and leaving him in silence. 

Silence. 

Something he used to enjoy before, when he was alone at home or at base with only himself for company, letting him unwind and think about whatever he wanted to. Now, it was overwhelming. 

It felt like every single thought rushing through his brain was out to catch him or hurt him, showing him the most horrific scenarios and ideas of what could happen thanks to whatever fucker had decided to play some sick joke on you. 

Was it even a joke? It could be hundreds of things, a joke, a message, a threat… 

Or just a form of psychological warfare, a way of messing with you and no doubt hoping to distance you from him, to leave him weak and defenceless like the enemy anticipated. That was the more credible reason, even if the mere thought of someone sending you shit like this in hopes of breaking you drove him insane to the point of wanting to catch and dispose of that abstard with his own two hands, ironic considering that those acts of anger and violence had been the whole reason for your dispute. 

It pissed him off to no end. 

But, even though a lot of people would’ve acted on the current emotions rushing through him if they were in his place, Simon knew that focusing solely on finding the bastard wasn’t the most important subject at hand. As much as he wanted this threat on your happiness and safety disposed of, he couldn’t just fuck off and leave you here to deal with the damage and Tommy all on your own. 

He’d repeated it to himself countless times before going on a mission, he was a protector, he was your protector, even if in the future you decided you hated his guts or something happened between you two, you’d always be safe and secure with him, no matter what. 

And so, he swallowed that horrible need for retaliation and picked up his phone, dialling in his captain’s number.

“What’d you do with them?”

“Burnt them.” Simon grunted, wiping away the mess Tommy had made around his mouth. “Best way of disposing shit like that.”

You hummed, clearly out of it, staring at the news playing out on the tv. 

“I told Laswell about it. ‘Said she’d do her best to find out who was the one who made the copies.” 

“Right…” You drummed your fingers against your mug with feigned disinterest, truly not knowing what to say back. 

“And, until whoever it is is caught, I’m not going anywhere.”

That caught your attention. You turned to him with an inquisitive look, confused. “What?”

“Asked her to stop givin’ me missions until they’re sure you’re not in danger.” He clarified, picking Tommy up from his high chair and straddling him to his side. “So I’m here in case anything happens.”

Tommy was carefully handed to you, Simon’s body plopping down onto the sofa next to you a few seats away, his feet coming up to rest on the coffee table as he picked up his own tea. 

“‘That okay? Figured you’d feel better if it was me and not some random guy sent by the SAS. Though Gaz was pretty up for it when asked…” He mumbled the last part, showing you did indeed have an option if you truly didn’t feel safe with him around anymore (his heart stung a bit at the thought of it, but it was what it was), but you soon shut it down with a simple shrug, pulling Tommy closer to you so he could rest his head on your chest, rubbing his back with your free hand. 

“It’s… okay. I’m just going to need some time.”

You were a bit ashamed of how you’d reacted last night when he’d confronted you about the files, but you still stood by everything you said, even if you’d said it a bit too harshly, it didn’t matter. You weren’t like him, after all, you were still afraid of things happening to you and of course, your son, and just needed some time to process what you hadn’t in all the months of knowing Simon: that whether you liked it or not, you would always be tied back to him, even if the mere thought of being hurt just because of who you’d randomly decided to go back home with one night.

“You said something last night.” He began, outstretching a hand towards you both so Tommy could grab at one of his fingers. 

“I said a lot of things last night.” You tried to humour, but stayed quiet as the expression in his eyes didn’t change. 

“You said that you were in danger because of a mistake you made.”

You flinched at the words, biting down on your lower lip as you recalled back to the outburst you’d subjected Simon to last night, that particular part having slipped out in the heat of the moment.

“...did you really mean that?”

“Fuck! Of course not!” You whisper-shouted, not wanting to disturb Tommy any more than you both already had in the last few days, shaking your head to further your point. “No- Fuck, tat- that was so disgusting of me to say. It might’ve been a mistake back then when it first happened-” You saw his shoulders slump slightly, so you moved to grab at the arm he’d put out, catching his attention. “-but I’d never change it. Not for anything in the world. If that didn’t happen, I wouldn’t have Tommy, and he- God, Simon, he’s my son, of course he isn’t a mistake, he’s my everything…”

He let out a relieved sigh, nodding along with your words as you both looked down at Tommy, curious big eyes switching between you two as if able to understand the conversation that had just transcurred, giving you a toothless smile. 

Well, not really toothless, since he had been crying for almost a month now due to the pain of his teeth coming in, so there were a few flashes of white across the smile. 

“Yeah, you’re my everything too.”

“Huh?”

You’d expected him to immediately backtrack on his answer and say he was talking to Tommy, but he simply shrugged again, eyes darting from you to Tommy with a fond look reflecting in them as he did everything but take back what he said. “Both of you. Might be corny, but it’s true. I told you.”

His everything.

Simon’s everything. 

That shouldn’t have made you as happy as it did. 

Everything was going to be okay. 

Yeah, it would take some time for you to adjust like you’d told him, but he was okay with that. He’d wait for you.

"Come on, please, wake up."

Simon's hands were shaking, gripping at your lifeless body as if you were the only thing that mattered in the midst of this living nightmare, his mask growing wet as tears formed in the corner of his eyes, his breathing growing erratic as your body slumped in his grasp. 

He called your name desperately, your body shaking in his hold from the way his own hands were trembling and in a feeble attempt at getting you to wake up, to open your eyes, to say his name in that fucking beautiful voice of yours, anything. 

His gloved hands came up to cradle your paling face, running it over your features to rub off the dust and ashes that had stuck to the now drying blood, dropping your body in horror as instead of the grime he wanted to wipe off, he was left with nothing, his hand growing warm as the blood from your now horrifying carcass started to flow. 

He was drowning, he was choking, he couldn't fucking breathe, he couldn't think, you were dead, you were gone, his fucking life didn't have meaning anym- 

Simon jolted up as the pressure that had been building in his chest finally exploded, the dam that had been working so hard to keep his fears at bay breaking, letting the tears that Simon always tried his best to contain out. 

Fuck, it felt like he'd really lived it, like he had held your dying body in his hands as you slowly slipped away from him, like his the recurring fears of him causing your end had come true. 

He felt pathetic, like the broken man he really was, lying on the fucking sofa like always trembling like a little kid, the tears a constant stream down his cheeks, all the emotions and stress from the past few months finally catching up to him.

His breathing was raspy and uneven, reflecting the anxiety rushing through his veins at that very same moment. 

He felt awful, he was awful, an awful, destroyed, broken man who had been tipped over the edge by a stupid fucking dream. 

Someone undeserving of everything you’d given to him. 

He was sure his heart was going to break through his chest with how quickly it was beating against his ribcage, one of his hands coming up to clench at the material of his creased shirt. 

He felt like he was about to pass out. 

His eyesight was blurry, his limbs shaky and his mouth dry, clear indications of the oh-so familiar panic attacks he’d been prone to every since he was a young boy, hat he’d grown enough to know how to control, but he knew that right now, he did not have enough willpower to keep himself from spiralling down into his own thoughts. 

He blindly got up, staggering around the living room as the blanket that had been draped over him pooling onto the floor. He pushed open your door, breaths staggering as his teary eyes made contact with your sleeping body, darting towards the crib right next to your bed where Tommy slept peacefully, making sure to stay quiet as he entered the bathroom. 

He didn’t want to wake you up, to annoy you even more than you already were with him after everything that had happened, despite almost a month having gone by after it all, you deserved rest, you deserved fucking better than h-

His hands gripped the porcelain sink as he stumbled into the room, staring at his uncovered reflection in the mirror, his cheeks red and blotchy from having cried mere moments ago, a few stray tears continuing their pathway down his face. 

He felt ridiculous. 

He was supposed to be some hard willed strong Lieutenant, not the pathetic man who cried at a mere nightmare he really was. 

"...Simon?"

The sound of shuffling sheets reached his ears, your muffled voice coming from beneath the covers as you stirred, his panicked footsteps and the light shining through the crack of the bathroom door enough to wake you from your slumber. 

"'S that you?"

Who else would it be? He wanted to joke, but stayed quiet, hoping you would just go back to sleep. 

But clearly, you weren't satisfied with no answer.

He watched the door open behind him from the mirror, freezing like a deer in headlights as you walked in sporting one of his dirty shirts he'd told you once you could wear, hiding the fact he wanted to see you in his clothes behind the pretence that it would be easier to do laundry, sweatpants (his, as well) tied at your waist so they wouldn't slip down your legs. 

"Simon." You mumbled, eyes barely open and vision blurry as you held onto the door frame for stability, a hand coming up to cover your mouth as you yawned. "What's wrong?"

You knew something was off as soon as you'd heard him creep into the bathroom, already knowing from experience that Simon never got up in the middle of the night to go to the toilet, fearing that he'd wake you up like he’d done just now- 

“Nuffin’, lovie. Go back to bed.”

You frowned, squinting at him through swollen eyes, the bright lights from the bathroom and the sleep in them not helping your vision in the slightest, moving your head to rest against the cool wood of the doorframe. “It’s not, though, is it?”

A beat. 

“Simon…” You said, mid-yawn, outstretching a hand to blindly grab at his sleep shirt, tugging at the material. “Tell me.”

He squeezed his eyes closed, willing himself to not break down like he knew he wanted to, his grip on the sink slowly growing stronger as you stumbled towards him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing the side of your face to his warm back, giving him a comforting squeeze. 

"I said it's fine." He whispered, hand coming up to yours and attempting to peel it from his body, giving up once it immediately snapped back. 

Part of him wanted you to stay like that, but the other, more reasonable part knew that it would be best if he didn't burden you with his nightmares and if you just went to bed.

"You wouldn't be crying if it was." You murmured, unlinking your hands and running them over his chest, feeling his muscles tense beneath his shirt. 

"'Not crying, lovie."

"You have to stop lying to me, Simon. It isn't healthy." You mumbled angrily, pulling yourself away and looking up at him, feeling the blood leave your face as you realised you were staring at the back of his actual head instead of the black material of his balaclava like you'd gotten used to. 

Simon had never explicitly told you that he was uncomfortable with you seeing his face, but you could only assume after all the time he spent with his face obstructed, even with Tommy. 

So you looked down at your feet, making sure to not peek at the mirror like you knew you really wanted to, not wanting to upset him by breaking his trust. 

"...I know." He sighed, turning on the tap and splashing his face with some of the water, finding it a bit humorous that he did it with you still clinging onto him, placing a damp hand over one of yours and giving it a squeeze. 

"Come on…" you sighed, letting go of him reluctantly and turning your body towards the door, flipping the light switch off before blindly outstretching an arm out to him, letting out an amused huff as you immediately met his own hand, pulling him out of the small bathroom and back into the comfort of your room. "Stay?"

"...'course." He breathed out, following you mindlessly as you returned back into your spot in the bed, almost like routine now after all the times you'd brought him to bed with the same comforting hold on his hands, kneeling on the mattress and all but collapsing onto the soft covers, running his hands over them until they met your warm body, running his fingertips over the patch of skin that had been revealed by the rise of your shirt, letting out a shaky breath as your own hands came up to run over his arms.

He fluttered his eyes shut, closing the distance between you to and letting his body fold into your touch, snuggling his face into the valley of your breasts (he thanked whatever god was up there that his shirt was big enough to expose your cleavage, a very welcoming sight), and grasping at your thighs for stability. 

Your arms came to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer into you until he'd grabbed at your legs to wrap around his waist, fingers running through his coarse hair, stopping at the top of his head every few seconds to scratch at his scalp, and if Simon was a cat, he knew damn well he'd be purring right then. 

"It's okay to cry, you know that, right?" You whispered, voice muffled by his hair as you let out a breath, his short hair tickling your cheek from how you'd pressed your face against it. "Better out than in."

"You sound like my mom." He grumbled, pulling a snort out of you as you ran your nails down his nape. "'Always said shit like that."

You stayed quiet, ignoring the nagging feeling in your chest that wanted you to continue on with the conversation, curious for learning more about his mysterious family. 

"'Said'?" You whispered, almost nervous, scared you'd overstepped. 

He stayed silent, only furthering your fear that you'd insulted him until he let out an elongated sigh, hands pulling you impossibly closer as his warm breath hit your skin, face flushing at the reminder that if was his actual face pressing against your cleavage, not the rough material of the painted balaclava. 

"Don' see her as much. Not in the best condition to have a chat. Tommy takes care of her mostly."

"Tommy?" You said in confusion, eyebrows furrowed as your eyes darted over to your son's crib, the glow-in-the-dark stars you'd stuck to the sides of it illuminating it enough to reflect your sleeping son's cute little face.

He froze in your arms as if he'd said something wrong. "My… my brother."

"Your brother's called Tommy?!" You almost shouted, peeling yourself off of him to look down at him (ignoring the slight whine that formed in his throat at the feeling of your body being torn away from his), despite not even being able to see him. 

"Yeah…" he grumbled, trying to pull you back into his arms, frowning as you slapped at his shoulders to catch his attention. 

"That's - Why you reacted like that, right?" You mumbled, thinking back to the night he'd met Tommy for the first time, the way his eyes had gone blank like you'd just reminded him of some painful memory. 

"...his name's Tommy."

You felt him freeze behind you, the aura around him growing cold almost immediately, like you'd just blatantly insulted him without any remorse. 

"Tommy." He echoed, voice scratchy as if he was dying of thirst, body suddenly feeling like it had been dunked under tiding waves. "Why?"

You hadn't thought much about it at the time, since by then, you had more important things to worry about, but now that he'd revealed his brother's name, his shock made sense. 

"Yeah…Was kind of… Tragically funny, lovie." He sighed, running your hands over your waist as you finally pulled him back into your hold. 

"Yeah… I didn't know."

"How could've you? I left before I could even give you my last name." He huffed, rubbing the side of his cheek on your chest. 

Silence filled the room once again, only being broken by the shuffling sounds of the sheets over you or Tommy's occasional whines, continuing your brushing of his hair with your fingers. 

You didn't want to pry further into the topic that had been at hand before you'd interrupted, squeezing your eyes closed as you inhaled his shampoo, shivering beneath his touch as he ran his fingers around your belly button. 

"She's in a home. Near where I grew up. Nice one. I only talk to her on the holidays." He started, running them up to the space below your breasts. "It's better that way. Tommy's the nicer one of us."

"Didn't he used to terrorise you?" You teased, trying to lighten the mood, letting out a cry as he licked a stripe up your clavicle, no doubt grinning into the darkness as you slapped his head. 

"Going to stop telling you things from now on if you insist on using them against me in the future, lovie." He murmured, pressing a kiss to where he'd just licked as an apology, ignoring the way your skin grew warmer beneath his touch. "But… he's cleaned his act up. Not as much as a cunt. Probably afraid I could rip him in two, now."

You snorted, hesitantly pushing his bangs back to press a kiss to his forehead, almost giggling at the pleased hum that left his lips. "Si… you, uh… want to talk about why you were crying?"

Simon noticeably tensed beneath your touch as you brought up the whole reason as to why he was in your bed, another breath hitting your skin. 

He thought about lying to you once again, but finally decided against it, throwing a glance at his son over his shoulder as if the boy would understand the next words that would come out of his mouth. 

"Just… a stupid nightmare. You… I jus’ wanted to make sure you were safe. I didn't mean to wake you, really." He let out all in a string pulled together by one breath, hands coming down to grab at your thighs and rub at them through the material of your bottoms, letting out a shaky sigh as you moved them to wrap around his body. "Fuckin' stupid, isn't it?"

"It's not stupid if it affected you this much, Si…" You tried, not wanting to pry further into the contents of the nightmare, but still not wanting to drop the subject all together. “Even the strongest people need a shoulder to cry on.”

You cupped his face, bringing it off your chest, looking down at what you could only assume to be his face. 

“Let me be yours.”

You didn’t move as he shuffled closer to you, running your thumbs over his cheekbones as he leaned closer into you, feeling his warm breath hit your face. 

“Mine?” He mumbled, your hair standing on edge as you felt his lips brush against yours ever so slightly. 

“Mhm… Yours.” You breathed out, nodding as if he could see you. 

Heat rushed to your face as soon as his lips crashed into yours, swallowing the moan you let out as his hands moved beneath your shirt, tightening at your waist. 

And God, did it feel right. 

Nothing had ever felt as right as this did right then, the feeling of his lips slotted against yours and his hands seemingly everywhere on your body, causing you to go near dizzy and drunk on his touch. 

“Fuck, love.” He said between kisses, moving you onto your back so he was hovering over you properly, leaning down to catch your lips back into a passionate kiss, not even giving you the chance to breathe or let out your own moans, immediately swallowing up each and any sound you made. 

His hands came down to your thighs, helping you wrap them around his waist before he moved away to press pecks along your jawline, moving further down until he was leaving a trail of sloppy kisses all over your upper chest, his stubble tickling your skin. 

“S-Sim-”

He shushed you, sucking on the pressure point of your neck, pressing closer to you as you let out another breathless whine, his eyelashes brushing against your skin from the way he's snuggled his face into the crook of your neck, almost as if he was trying to have you impossibly close to him. 

He stayed there for a few minutes, covering your neck in kisses and love bites, answering with a “markin’ my territory” and a chuckle when you asked why he was so adamant on kissing you everywhere but where you needed it the most, his hands doing wonders as they went over your shirt to cup one of your breasts, immediately surprising you both my the loud moan that left you. 

“I-”

“Christ, lovie. That fuckin’ sensitive? Barely even touched you and you’re moaning like that?” He huffed out in amusement, leaning upwards in hopes of laying his eyes on the mess he’d left across your skin only to be met with darkness, grunting as he raised a hand to run over the marks, feeling the indents from his teeth around your neck. 

“It’s- It’s been a while, Si-” You mumbled out of embarrassment, thankful for the darkness since it was the only thing keeping you from fully breaking down from the shame of being so sensitive after a single touch, but you couldn’t really be blamed. 

It’d been almost a year and a half since you’d last indulged in any type of self-pleasure, the last time ironically being the night you’d spent with Simon before his mission, it was no wonder a simple brush of his warm hand to your breast had you writhing and moaning like a bitch in heat, you basically were. 

“Hm…” He grunted, leaning down to press some kisses along your flushed cheeks, still purposefully avoiding your mouth, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he thought of what to do next. “...I want to see you.”

What?

“Properly.”

You felt his lips brush against yours slightly, knowing full well how titillating he was being. 

“Wh-”

“Turn the light on.”

You froze. 

You were staring up at the darkness of your ceiling, letting out soft breathless sounds as he leaned back down to continue kissing your neck, letting the words he’d just spoken sink in, letting out a chuckle against your ear after a minute or so passed. 

“Go.”

You acted on instinct only, stretching your body over to the lamp on your bedside table with the little space he had given you, the man still insisting on having his hands all over your body, your mind and thoughts reeling. 

It would’ve been different if he had his mask on, the small request would have been just for him to see the marks he’d left on you, to continue whatever you’d started in the light so you’d both be able to see your body’s reactions properly, but this was oh so much more than that. 

He didn’t seem to want to make a move to go get his mask or to cover his face, he was actually telling you to turn on the light so you could see him, see his face, his eyes, his nose, his lips, Simon

As soon as your shaking hand found the switch and had pressed it, your eyes closed in time for the room to be filled with light, a nervous sound leaving your lips as Simon pulled you back into place, his calloused fingers running over the length of your nose before poking at the middle of your furrowed brows. 

“Y’can open them.” He whispered, his own voice sounding slightly terrified. “Please.”

“What if you’re ugly?” You blurted out as a joke, trying to lighten the mood, immediately slapping yourself mentally the moment he didn't laugh, opening your mouth to apologise only for him to poke you again. 

“Jus’ open them.”

The first thing your eyes landed on was the smile pulling at his lips, leading them from the scar that adorned the left corner of his mouth past his crooked nose and up to those beautiful eyes of his, his blond eyelashes framing them perfectly like always. 

And fuck… He was beautiful. 

The stubble covering the lower part of his face, the scars littering his face telling stories and tales of all his time on duty, his cracked lips and scarred nose only complementing his beauty even more. 

It was everything and nothing like you’d expected, it was just… him. 

You didn't know what to say, what were you supposed to? But by the way his smile grew bigger at the sight of your dumbfounded face, you were sure that your expression told him everything he needed to know. 

Now, Simon knew that he wasn’t the worst looking person, but the way you were staring at him like he was a god incarnates, like Persephone herself had given him a piece of her beauty, it didn’t fail to tint his cheek a soft pink, quickly leaning into you to meet you in another kiss in hopes of hiding how flustered he was from you. 

“Mhf-” You tried speaking as soon as you had regained consciousness through his kisses, a giggle leaving your lips as he gave you no time to speak. “You’re- Mm- S- so pretty, Si-”

Pretty? He thought to himself as he continued his kissing assault, the adjective a very foreign concept, never having been referred to in that way in his life. But, it did feel nice when you said it, the way you were looking at him with that sultry gaze as the compliment oozed out of your mouth like honey, it had him grabbing at your thighs for stability, wrapping them around his waist and letting you make contact with the product of your make-out session and cute words. 

“F-fuck!” You mewled, grabbing at the back of his head for stability, tugging at the roots of his dirty blond hair, shivering underneath him as he let out a breathy groan, the sound sending pleasurable shocks down to where you both were connected, despite the amount of clothes that separated you both. “W-Wait- Hng!”

He stopped as soon as the word left your mouth, pulling back and moving his hands to hold your waist, giving you some time to regain your breath before asking. 

“‘vrything okay?” He said breathlessly, looking down at your equally dishevelled state, your lips red and sore from all his kissing and body littered with all the marks he’d left, taking a few seconds to admire his handiwork and how truly fucking perfect you looked covered in his claims before going back to waiting on you. 

“Y-yeah.” You swallowed, breathing and heart pulse erratic, coming down from the sudden pleasure. “I- I’m sorry, I just don’t know if I want to continue- Sor-”

“It’s okay.” He interrupted you, grabbing your thighs and pulling them away from their spot around his waist, pushing them together and placing them away from him, placing a comforting hand on the one that was still pressed next to his. “We don’t have to. Whatever y’want, love. ‘S been a long time, I get it.”

You nodded, sending him a small smile that he returned in an instant, leaning up to press a final kiss to his lips, thankful that he’d understood your fears so quickly. 

“You’ll stay, right?” You mumbled against his lips after pulling away slightly, looking at his through half-closed eyes, his deep beautiful pools staring back at you. 

“Always.”

His arms wrapped around you from behind once you situated yourself back in the bed, arms pressed tight and securely against our stomach as his thumb rubbed over the skin, a constant reminder that he was there and that you were safe like he’d promised, soft kisses being pressed against your nape from behind, a sweet contrast to the bites that now littered your front. 

“‘You going to wear the mask again?” You spoke drowsily, turning your head slightly so his lips pressed against your cheek, his breath tickling your ear. 

“Not unless you want me to.” He mumbled back, half-asleep. 

“Rather you did… Can’t focus with that ugly mug of yours…” You teased, letting out a high pitched yell as he bit down onto the space between your neck and shoulder, immediately soothing the pain with a kiss and a chuckle. 

“Only mug you’ll se ‘round here, lovie, better get used to it.”