MNAGE .

⇝ MÉNAGE .

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

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

STATUS: ongoing!

Also on Ao3!

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

— CHAPTERS:

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

I ; Midnight ; [ 10.1k words ]

II ; Shadow ; [ 10k words ]

III ; Together ; [ 9.2k words ]

IV ; Refuge ; [ 11.2k words ]

V ; Resolution ; [ 8.4k words ]

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

— BLURBS + BRAINROT:

Brainrot tag !

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

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

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

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

— EXTRA:

Tommy's age across the chapters!

⇝ together .

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

PART THREE OF MÉNAGE.

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

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

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

WORD COUNT: 9.2k

MASTERLIST.

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

Also on Ao3!

"'m blaming this on you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck…

Of course he hadn't left.

You were just being paranoid.

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

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

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

"What happened?!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, that cemented it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry."

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

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

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

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

"That's fine."

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

"D'you want to stay?"

What?

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

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

But surely, he wasn't suggesting that.

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

"Yeah, stay."

…It made you want to accept.

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

But you couldn't. You knew that.

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

You couldn't risk it.

So, you didn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'Night."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simon had seen you like that.

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

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

"Fuckin'-"

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

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

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

Stop!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, you really felt awful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Laswell called."

Laswell?

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

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

Oh.

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

"Gotta be there by 1."

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

"You should get going, then."

"I should."

Neither one of you moved.

"Did you say goodbye to Tommy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Simon! What the fu-"

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

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

"Do you know how to shoot one?"

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

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

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

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

"Take it."

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

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

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

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

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

Use it.

Use it!?

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

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

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

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

"Oi. Lovie, look at me."

That immediately caught your attention.

"Tell me you understand."

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

"Tell me. You understand."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— I think he misses you.

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

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

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

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

— More.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

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

He had to print some of those.

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

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

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

"Your nephew?"

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

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

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

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

"So."

"So?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They trusted each other.

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn't a bad father, right?

He wasn't like… that.

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

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

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

And Simon wasn't perfect. He knew that.

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

Just like him.

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

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

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

Simon wasn't a monster.

He wouldn't hurt you or Tommy.

He wouldn't let anyone hurt you or Tommy.

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

And he would protect. No matter what.

"S'alright, lovie… Jus' me."

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

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

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

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

What had you even been dreaming about?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

So whoever was walking around your house was not Simon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"—ce gaf. Didn' expect this from ya."

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

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

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

It's okay. Deep breaths.

You can do this.

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

"Steamin' fuckin'-"

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

"What the fuck are you doing!?"

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

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

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

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

Viper // Part 2 // MAX VERSTAPPEN – N.01 (N.033)

Author’s Note: Wow you guys, the response to the first part I posted for this literally blew my mind. I’m so glad you guys liked it. Sorry it took so long to get this next part up, it’s been a busy couple of weeks. I’m probably gonna create a masterlist for my posts shortly, once I figure out how to do that lol

For those who missed Part 1, find it here.

Summary: Y/N fills the vacant Red Bull seat at the beginning of the 2019 season, craziness ensues.

Characters: Max Verstappen x driver reader, Daniel Ricciardo x driver reader (besties).

Word Count: 11.5 K

Warnings: Fluff, Comfort, Drama, Angst. All the good stuff. Mentions of sex, Language, etc.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

After the post-race debrief where Christian had spent most of his time shouting at his drivers for their stupid actions (Max for causing the crash, you for your public confrontation) and you refusing to acknowledge the other driver as the team worked on some new PR strategies to get you both out of this mess, you’d booked it back to your hotel to pack up your shit and get the hell out of Germany.

You’d hid away at Dan’s apartment in Monaco for those few days before you had to go to Budapest for the next race, having the place to yourself because he was expected at the Renault factory for testing and simulator work. You knew if you’d gone back to Milton Keynes, you would’ve been hounded by the press, and that was the last thing that Red Bull wanted. You’d explicitly been told to keep a low profile for the time being.

On the Tuesday morning, you woke to the news that the FIA had come to a decision after reviewing the incident. Max was handed a 3 place grid penalty for causing the accident (which was bullshit…) and you were given a hefty fine for your misconduct, which was to be expected. But, that wasn’t the only thing the FIA wanted from you. They also asked that you attend some mandatory anger management sessions, and sentenced you to a few days of community service.

You’d immediately called your manager to see if there was any way to get out of these stupid anger management sessions. You didn’t have anger issues… just irritation towards a certain driver who’s reckless driving had taken away your win. For fucks sake, Max had been in her shoes last year with the whole Ocon incident and hadn’t been subjected to anger management sessions. Between the two of them, surely he would benefit more from those. But no, now you had weekly calls with a therapist to teach you ways to channel your frustrations into something more productive. The whole thing was so stupid.

You’d then caught a late flight out to Budapest on your own on the Wednesday night, declining Grosjean’s invitation to join him and a good chunk of the grid on a chartered flight. You had no interest in showing up to the airport with half the Formula 1 drivers, knowing that it would be swarming with paps. You definitely hadn’t declined because you were avoiding the other Red Bull driver who was going to be on that flight.

 Thursday morning, you’d been one of the last to get to the track. Partially because you wanted to avoid the media for as long as you could, and partially because you knew it was going to be a long day. One of the perks of arriving last minute was that you got to avoid the journalists lingering around the paddock as you rushed to make your first meeting. But, you couldn’t avoid them forever.

Now you were sitting in a press conference with the Renault and Mercedes boys, Daniel plopping himself down in the seat between you and Max in the first row and rearranging the name tags (because that was supposed to be your seat). You’d been briefed by the Red Bull communications team with responses when the inevitable questions came up and warned not to get snappy.

As expected, it wasn’t long before a question came your way.

“Y/N, you had a very public altercation with your teammate at the last Grand Prix. Should we expect any more fireworks this weekend?”

Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t roll your eyes. Smile. “I’ll admit, that wasn’t my finest hour.” You paused, hearing a chuckle rumble through the room. “Emotions run high during a race, for every driver on that grid. My race ended earlier than I would’ve liked, and I didn’t deal with that in the best way. I’ve since apologized publicly and privately” a lie, but you doubted Max would call you out on the lie in front of all the reporters “to my teammate for my actions post-race. We’ve moved past what happened, and we’re focused on getting the best result for our team in this upcoming race.”

“Max, care to comment?”

You didn’t turn your head, keeping you gaze straight ahead as Max leaned in towards the microphone. “Y/N said it all. It’s in the past, and we’re focused on winning the next race for the team.”

The PR team will be thrilled with the fact that they were able to pretend so well. No one would know that you hadn’t spoken a single to your teammate since the incident.

“Y/N, any thoughts on the fine and recommendations you received from the FIA?”

Your smile dropped, but at least you managed not to roll your eyes again. “It is what it is.” You answered diplomatically, instead of voicing that you thought it was a gigantic waste of your time.

Daniel didn’t hesitate to jump in with a joke to diffuse some of the tension in the room. “You’re going to have to share any tips you learn with me. Renault would probably be happy if I stopped breaking doors after a bad session.”

“Will do.” You smiled at your best friend.

The conference was pretty standard after that, the focus shifting back towards the upcoming race. You kept your head down unless called upon, ready for this day to be over so you could focus on the race that was quickly coming up.

You had a point to prove.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

If people hadn’t figured out that you meant business after securing pole position for the first time ahead of Sunday’s race, they definitely did after you won the Hungarian Grand Prix. You’d raced a perfect race, making no mistakes. Max had wound up in P3, fighting with Hamilton for most of the race quite a few seconds behind you. You wouldn’t have been able to remove the smirk from your face if you’d tried, as you jumped out of your car after parking it behind that #1 sign and ran over to your team to celebrate.

You rolled your eyes from behind your helmet when you pulled back from your team to find Max waiting to give you a fist bump in front of the cameras that surrounded you. Knowing that a big deal would be made out of it if you ignored him, you bumped your first against his. But then you quickly turned, leaving him standing there as you went off to do the post-race interview and make your way into the cool down room to get ready for your podium.

Standing on that top step while your national anthem played, you really couldn’t think of a better way to wrap up the first half of the season. And after spraying champagne with the other two drivers up here with you, you couldn’t resist making a comment to your teammate as you posed for a picture.

“You were right, the champagne does taste sweeter from the top.”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” Daniel said from behind you, as you sat quickly reading over the leasing agreement in front of you, trying to decide if you should sign it or not.

It was the first Tuesday of the summer break, and you’d dragged him along to a few apartment viewings that you had booked today, determined to find a place of your own. So far, this was the best of the units you’d seen today, though you still weren’t 100% sold on it. It had everything on your list… but just didn’t feel like home. Still, you’d asked for an application because you weren’t sure this one would be topped.

You glanced up from the pages, rolling your eyes at your friend. “We went over this already, Danny. I’m not crashing in your guestroom forever.”

The older driver pouted at you. “It’s not crashing if you move in as my roommate. I can even charge you rent if you want.”  

“Dude, it’s not like I’d be moving far away. This place is literally two blocks away. Don’t you want your own space back?”

Daniel shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve been living with me for months now and we haven’t killed each other yet. There’s plenty of space, you already have a bunch of stuff there, and you can even have a sim set up in the office if you want. It would be fun.” He mumbled that last part, and you could tell that this wasn’t just out of the blue. He’d given it a bit of thought.

Now that you thought about it, he had been the one to point out most of the flaws in the apartments you’d seen today. “Are you just asking cause my dad asked you to look out for me?” You asked, narrowing your gaze slightly to make sure he’d tell you the truth.

“Fuck no, we all know you’re fully capable of looking after yourself. You proved that to everyone when you were 10 at your first karting race” Daniel laughed lightly, before his face became slightly more seriously. “Look, as much as we love what we do, our jobs are some of the loneliest, most isolating ones out there. Not a lot of people get how exhausting the whole circus is. It’s been nice to come home after a race to someone who understands and just chill. So yeah, I’m not asking cause I feel like I have to. I’m asking cause you’re one of my best friends and I like having you around.”

A smile rose to your lips, warmth spreading through your chest. “Well when you put it like that…”

Daniel shrugged off the soft moment, a smirk lining his lips as he presented his closing argument. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to live in this building. Max lives a couple of floors down.”

Your smile dropped, and you turned your attention back towards the leasing agent who was trying to sell you the place. “Yeah, this one’s not going to do. Sorry.” The last thing you wanted out of your apartment was to be bumping into the one person you couldn’t stand on a regular basis. You’d think that Daniel had just won the World Driver’s Championship with the victorious grin that crossed his face as you turned down another apartment.

The agent looked disappointed, but still politely walked you out of the unit and out to the street, wishing you luck in your search.

“Are you being serious about the roommate thing?” You asked once you were safely back on the street and walking back towards Dan’s place to get lunch.

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t.”

You thought about it for a couple of minutes as you continued to walk and had to admit that Dan was right. It made sense. Your lifestyles were similar so you wouldn’t be getting in each other’s way. It had been nice to come back to his place after a shitty race and just chill together, forgetting all about it. Daniel was practically family, so it wouldn’t be weird. You had already essentially been living there since the start of the season anyways, and Daniel had always made you feel welcome. It already felt like home.

It was an easy decision.

“Guess you going to have to make room in that trophy case for some of mine too.”

“You’re gonna move in?!” You weren’t sure how it was possible, but somehow Daniel’s smile grew.

You smiled back at him. “No take backs.”

This would be interesting.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

The full-on move to Daniel’s house hadn’t been that big of a deal. You’d slowly been bringing more and more of your things over to Monaco over the last couple of months with each of the trips back and forth from Milton Keynes, so it wasn’t like you had much to do. Daniel’s place was already fully furnished as he’d been living there for a while. The only thing was to have that simulator brought in, and you’d made space in the living room for a piano (something you did to relax, you’d been playing since you were a kid.)

It only took a few days to get fully settled in, quickly establishing some ground rules so that you wouldn’t actually end up killing one another. Simple things, like reminding Daniel not to leave the toilet seat up and him reminding you not to leave half empty coffee mugs on every available flat surface. You also had a rule for non-judgemental communication, where if the other person was doing something that was getting on your nerves, you were supposed to talk about it instead of bottling it up. To be fair, you didn’t really see this as being an issue considering how easy going you and the Aussie were, but you also didn’t want to risk losing your most valued friendship over moldy leftovers that stayed in the fridge.

You’d quickly settled into a new routine, but it felt like nothing had really changed. Just like that, Monaco was your home.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

Your two brothers and their girlfriends had come out to Monaco during the second week of summer break. It had been nice to get to know your both of your brother’s significant others too, considering that you had only met them a handful of times in person since you were barely ever in Canada. It wasn’t nearly as hectic as the last time you’d seen everyone at the Canadian Grand Prix because you had nothing else to focus on but getting reacquainted.

Daniel had rearranged the office to fit another bed, so that everyone could fit in his 4-bedroom apartment. (You’d offered to take the couch while they visited but he’d told you not to worry about it). Michael and Blake had spent a good chunk of the week with you guys as well, getting the old Australian gang back together from your childhood. You’d even spent a weekend in northern Italy, on a little wine retreat that Daniel had organized for everyone (the guy liked wine even more than you, which was saying something.)

 Those couple of weeks turned out to be exactly what you needed to forget about Formula one, enjoying your time spent in the sunny weather with your family, recharging and relaxing.

You couldn’t have had a better summer break if you’d tried.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

The last Monday of the summer break, you’d been summoned back to Milton Keynes for some simulator work and media obligations at the Red Bull Racing factory. As much as you’d enjoyed the past few weeks off, you were looking forward to getting back into your race car.

You’d gone in early with your performance coach, fully planning on taking advantage of the state-of-the-art gym at the facility. It felt good, getting back into the swing of things. You’d hadn’t stopped training over the break, working through some programs your performance coach would send you, but it was far more motivating to have him here in person to push you through the session. Your neck would be feeling it tomorrow, you were sure. You wrapped up the training session with a run on the treadmill, popping your headphones in to tune out the world around you and setting a comfortable pace.

It wasn’t until you powdered down the treadmill sometime later that you noticed you weren’t alone with your performance coach anymore. You had turned to step off the machine, almost hesitating when you spotted your coach chatting with Max and his own performance coach, James.

You removed one of your earbuds when you realized that James had said something to you but you hadn’t heard him. “Sorry, what?”

James didn’t seem to mind, repeating his question. “Running from something? You put Max’s pace from our run this morning to shame.”

A smirk automatically appeared on your face as you shrugged a shoulder. “Seems to me like that’s been the norm all season.” Both your trainer and James chuckled, assuming you were just joking around. You weren’t. Max certainly hadn’t been a fan of the comment, if the sour look on his face was anything to go by.

“Did you have a good summer break?” James asked, not noticing the tension between the two drivers.

“Yeah, it was good.” You answered shortly, but it became very clear from the expectant look on James’s face that the four-word answer wouldn’t cut it. “Did some apartment hunting in Monaco for the first week, only for Daniel to somehow convince me to move in with him to his oversized apartment. Once that was settled, my brothers and their girlfriends came out for a visit, and we just made the most out of those couple of weeks off. Nothing too crazy.” You wrapped up, taking a drink from your water bottle.

“Oh.” James seemed surprised, and you could swear you saw disappointment sweeping through his gaze. “I didn’t realize you and Ricciardo were together.”

You almost choked on your water. “God, no. We’re not.” You cringed, huffing out a breath when you realized you would have to explain your friendship with the grid’s most likeable driver to yet another person. But before you could get another word out, Max scoffed at your answer. The sound wiped away your decent mood and had you turning a narrowed gaze towards him. “You got something to say, Verstappen?”

“There are no cameras around, Y/N. No need to lie.”

You couldn’t help the look of disbelief that crossed your face. Besides you, Daniel was probably closest to Max out of the drivers on the grid. Max should know, better than most, that the idea of a romantic relationship between you and Daniel was laughable. Surely, he was just saying that to press your buttons… and it was working. “You know damn well that I’m not lying.”

Max’s smirk was all the answer you needed.

“Y/N.” Your performance coach cut in, before you could really dig into your anger. “We’ve got to get you ready for the Puma shoot. They’ll be expecting you soon.”

You tore your gaze away from your irritating teammate, nodding at your coach. He was right, you didn’t have any time to be wasting on this. So, you left without another word, putting all your energy into getting on with your day.

The Puma shoot had been straightforward, modeling pieces of the company’s upcoming fall and winter collection for their social media pages. Sure, you’d spent more time that you would’ve liked in hair and makeup after a quick shower, but that was part of the deal. You still weren’t super comfortable when it came to photoshoots like this, but considering you were now a high-profile athlete, it was just another facet of the job when it came to keeping the sponsors happy. It took a little bit of time, but eventually you settled into the rhythm of the session and even managed to enjoy yourself a little bit.

The next task for the day was modeling some of the new Red Bull Racing merch for the second half of the season, showing off some of the new items that would become available as of next week. Joggers and shirts with updated sponsorship logos, a couple of new hat collections, and other random things.

Once that wrapped, the PR team was quick to track you down and let you know that they wanted to film some content for sponsors and the online media, seeing as both you and Max were in the building today.

“I thought I was meant to do some sim training today…” You mumbled, knowing that the longer to took to get around to the sim training, the later you would be stuck at the factory tonight because it needed to get done.

The PR team lead shot you a sympathetic smile, knowing that this wasn’t your favourite way to spend your time. “It shouldn’t take more than an hour… if you two behave yourselves.”

You scoffed. “I’m always well behaved.”

Half the PR team laughed at your statement; the other half raised their brows at you. Okay, maybe you weren’t always well behaved. But it wasn’t your fault that you hated anything media related. You were convinced that it was all a gigantic waste of time and avoided it as much as you possibly could. Besides, the thought of having to spend the next hour sitting next to Max reciting lines for sponsored videos was enough to make you want to claw your own eyes out.

It was very clear to everyone in the room that you and Max hadn’t worked your shit out over summer break like they’d been hoping. Quite frankly, you had no intention to. You were perfectly fine with plastering a fake smile on your face when the camera was rolling and dropping it the moment they cut. You could be just as fake as the rest of them when you had to. You were still giving them the content they wanted. But behind the scenes, neither you nor Max would be the first to fold.

The last video you filmed was one that was basically a Dutch language lesson for you ahead of the Belgian GP, where Max would translate a sentence and you would attempt to repeat it. It got a couple laughs out of the team, as you butchered certain common phrases. You didn’t mind, because you had zero doubt that the role would be reversed if you tried to teach Max French or Spanish.

Still, you couldn’t help yourself when the perfect opportunity arose. “Wait, how do you say ‘I’m the world’s biggest idiot’?”

“Ik ben 's werelds grootste idioot.” Max didn’t even hesistate to provide the translation, waiting for you to repeat it.

“Oh no, I’m good.” You smirked. “I just wanted to hear you finally admit it to the world.”

Max’s gaze narrowed at you as the PR team burst into laughter all around you, knowing that he’d absolutely just walked into that one himself.

The smirk remained on your face for the rest of the video.

Hell, you’d even say it helped to boost your mood when you spent the next several hours sitting in front of a simulator running through countless scenarios.

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The first race back after the summer break was the Belgian Grand Prix at Spa, and you were very quickly reminded how dangerous your passion was. Everyone was quiet after that crash in the Formula 2 support race, instantly knowing that it wasn’t going to be good. You’d been sick when it was confirmed that Anthoine hadn’t survived.

It had been your first time dealing with something like this since joining the sport. Sure, you remembered Jules’s accident in 2014, but you hadn’t been there when it happened. You hadn’t had to figure out how you could possibly get in your car and race, not even 24 hours later. You hadn’t had to walk by a broken family, publicly grieving the loss of their son.

It broke your heart.

You’d spent the night before the race in Daniel’s room, neither of you really saying much but not wanting to be alone. You’d barely slept, stuck in your head as you realized that it could happen to any one of you at any time. You wondered if you were crazy, for still wanting to race even after knowing that. Before heading out to the track the following morning, Daniel had pulled you into one of the tightest hugs you’d ever experienced and quietly reminded you to be as safe as possible during the race. You squeezed him just as tightly, repeating the sentiment back to him.

The atmosphere at the track was heavy, which was to be expected. The media were as respectful as they could be, not being quite as invasive as they usually would be. You weren’t the only driver who seemed to be stuck in their head that morning, people mainly keeping to themselves, even through the routine driver’s parade. You’d managed to hold it together until the moment of silence, dedicated to Anthoine. Everyone was stood around his helmet, his mother and brother front and center.

You’d made the mistake of looking towards his family, and suddenly you weren’t able to hold it in anymore. Your throat ached and your eyes burned, a couple of rogue tears rolling down your cheeks. You bit harshly at the inside of your cheek, because now was not the time to have a full-on breakdown. You trained your gaze back towards the bright pink helmet, trying to reel everything back in. You wiped the tears away, letting out a shaky breath. At least no one could see the other tears threatening to spill over behind your sunglasses.

During the national anthem, Max subtly bumped his shoulder against yours to get your attention from where he was stood next to you. You shook your head at him, not wanting to deal with that right now. You already had enough on your mind. It wasn’t until you saw your car lined up on the grid with your team around it that you were finally able to slip back into your race weekend mindset, focused entirely on the race ahead of you and what you needed to do.

You put everything behind you and focused only on driving.

You focus almost cracked when you saw the other Red Bull veering off the track in your mirror and into one of the tire walls at Eau Rouge. “Is Max okay?!” You immediately asked through your radio, competition be dammed on a weekend like this one. Your engineer quickly confirmed that he was fine, having sustained damage in the first corner that disabled his steering.

Once you received the confirmation that everything was fine, you put everything you had into getting this race over with. The podium finish behind the Ferrari and Mercedes didn’t feel nearly as good as it usually did.

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Monza wound up being a forgettable race weekend.

Your engine had crapped out in the middle of Q3, so you hadn’t been able to set a time and were set to start the race in P10. It was miles ahead of your teammate, who started in P19 because of grid penalties for using new power unit components ahead of the race weekend. But, that didn’t matter because after a shit race you’d wound up finishing just ahead of Max in P7, him in P8.

The pair of you were equally frustrated about the weekend outcome, getting through your media duties as quickly as possible and not saying a word during the post-race debrief. The minute the meeting wrapped, you both made your way to the airport to catch a flight back to Monaco, ready to go home and forget about this weekend.

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Your impromptu date was late.

You glared at the clock, watching the seconds slowly ticking by. You could think of a million better ways to be spending a rare, free Saturday night between race weekends.

You already weren’t really in the mood to be going out tonight, but when Daniel had informed you that Max was coming over that night to watch a UFC fight, you decided to make yourself scarce. That came in the form of agreeing to go on a date with a guy you’d met the last time you’d gone out in Monaco with your friends. You’d been hoping to be out of the house long before Daniel’s company was supposed to arrive, but that wasn’t happening.

In fact, you’d heard a knock at the front door while you’d been in your room slipping into your dress for the evening, so you knew that Max had already been here for a little bit.

You didn’t leave your room until you received a text that your date was a few minutes away. You grabbed your phone, letting out a long breath as you pulled your bedroom door open and started the journey towards the front door. You wanted to make it to the entrance unnoticed, but the clicking of your heels against the hardwood floor made it impossible, two sets of eyes on you the moment you stepped into the living space.

Daniel’s jaw dropped, shamelessly checking you out.

Max’s gaze hardened, his eyes burning through you.

“You’re going out dressed like that?!” Daniel jumped up from the couch, snapping himself out of his stupor.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Why, is there a problem?” You knew that you looked good tonight, not one to half ass it. You’d dressed in a lovely silk emerald dress that hung off your toned frame perfectly, showcasing your tanned skin and sharp features. Your hair was pin straight, pinned back behind your ears and falling smoothly down your back. Your makeup was on point, with a killer cat eye and a not-so-subtle red lip. Like you said, you knew you looked good.

“No, no problem, you do you.” Daniel was quick to recover. “I kind of feel bad for your date. Poor guy won’t be able to think straight, you’re going to blow him away. Right Max?” Daniel added, realizing half a second too late the whole can of worms that he’d just opened.

You narrowed your gaze slightly as Max’s assessing gaze wandered up and down your body once again. “Looks a little desperate from here.”

 What. A. Fucking. Dick.

“Guess you would know all about being desperate, eh? What with your habit of running your competition off the track and into walls to beat them.” You bit back, smirking as his face seemed to become even redder in frustration.

“Would you fucking let that go already?!” Max snapped, Dutch accent really coming through as he continued to shout. “Jesus fucking Christ. Your crash happened two months ago. Get over it already!”

“Yeah sure, I’ll just conveniently forget about that time I almost died because my teammate was being a desperate asshole. No biggie.” You muttered sarcastically. “Especially when said teammate refuses to acknowledge his responsibility in the aforementioned crash and has yet to apologize, two months after the fact.”

Barely a beat passed before Max came back at you with his next retort. “Is that what you need to stop acting like an entitled bitch? A fake apology?”

You almost laughed, but not because you found this funny. “No. Honestly, I don’t need anything from you. Quite frankly, even if you did apologize, I wouldn’t believe you. So, just fuck off.”

Your phone chimed at the perfect time, your date letting you know that he was here. You turned on your heel before Max could get another word out, giving Daniel’s arm a reassuring squeeze to let him know that you weren’t that bothered by what had just happened in the last few minutes, before finishing the trip over to the front door. You called out a “Don’t wait up for me, Ricciardo!” before letting the door slam shut behind you, relieved breath escaping you. You never saw Daniel smacking Max upside the head for his stupid behavior.

Determined not to let the last 5 minutes throw off your entire night, you forced it to the back of your mind and threw a practiced smile on your face as you met up with your date, letting him whisk you away for a pleasant evening.

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Your date was a flop, reminding you yet again why you hated dating.

You’d started out by going to dinner, spending the entire time talking about his career and his recent move to Monaco and everything about him, while you’d barely been able to get a word in. When the food had arrived and he’d seen the salad topped with chicken that you’d ordered, he’d made a comment about you trying to watch your weight, thinking you were kidding when you told him that you actually were because of your job. He barely asked you anything about yourself.

In fact, he didn’t even ask you what you did for a living until you were recognized by a fan who’d asked for a photo outside of the restaurant. “What, are you a well-known model or something?” He’d automatically assumed.

“Me, a model?” You couldn’t help but laugh, even if you found it a little flattering. “God, no. I’m a driv-”

“Oh! Car’s here.” He cut you off before you could even finish your sentence.

You don’t know why you did it (definitely not because you were avoiding your own apartment…) but the next thing you knew you suggested going to a club for a bit of dancing. Your date agreed, probably thinking that the more drinks you got into your system the more likely you were to go back to his place with him at the end of the night. You suggested Jimmy’z, knowing that there was a high chance you could bump into some of your friends and ditch your date for the rest of the night. He’d seemed surprised by your suggestion because it was known for being one of the more exclusive clubs in Monaco, but if he’d bothered to pay attention to anything you’d said tonight he’d know that you were pretty much a regular there.

You found that your date wasn’t the worse company when he kept his mouth shut, his one redeeming quality being that he was good on the dancefloor. So that’s how you spent the next little while, sipping on vodka sodas and dancing the night away.

“Y/N?!”

You didn’t stop dancing as you turned, your smile becoming genuine as you spotted your favourite Monégasque and French man from the grid. “Charles! Pierre! What are you guys doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Pierre smirked, eyeing your suddenly starstruck date. Of course, he would recognize the male drivers. Charles and Pierre politely introduced themselves, identical smirks on their faces as they turned their attention back to you.

“It’s a long story.” You mumbled, before sending your date off to refill your drinks. “I would’ve just hung out with you guys if I’d known you were going out tonight.”

“Not having a good date?” Charles leaned in, eyes lighting up at the prospect of hearing some gossip.

You sighed. “It’s fine when he’s not talking. Unfortunately, he hasn’t shut up for most of the evening. I’m not one to brag about my career to strangers but like, he hasn’t even asked me what I do for a living… And he knows something about Formula 1 because he clearly recognized the two of you.”

Charles immediately looked unimpressed. “Then why are you wasting your time?”

You weren’t sure how to answer that one at first.

Telling other people that you’d gone out to avoid being at home while your teammate was visiting your roommate would lead to all kinds of questions that would end up annoying you. And that wasn’t the only reason you’d decided to give this date a chance, right? So, you took a moment, thinking over an appropriate response, one that you were sure would kill any further line of questioning, before speaking. “He’s easy on the eyes and everyone has needs Charles.”

Charles made a face, grossed out by the prospect that you’d been looking for someone to hook up with. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction. You and Charles had gotten quite close your first year competing in Formula 2 back in 2017, him becoming almost like a little brother to you on the track. His reaction didn’t surprise you at all. Pierre seemed amused by the whole thing, probably having assumed that from the moment he’d seen your date.

You stood there chatting for another couple of minutes until your date came back with some fresh drinks in hand. He immediately started up a conversation with the other two drivers, all but forgetting about you as he revealed he was actually a pretty big Ferrari fan. Your brow rose at that one, because he was only digging himself a deeper grave. There was no way you were going home with a Ferrari fan.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Pierre nudged your arm and yelled out a “There they are!” You turned your attention towards where he was now pointing, eyes widening significantly as you spotted the last two people you wanted to see right now quickly approaching your little group.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Daniel had a shit eating grin on his face as he spoke over the music, Max trailing behind him.

“What the fuck are you doing?! I thought you guys were watching the fight?” You muttered, jabbing his chest. Your date was now looking at you like you’d grown another head when he realized that you knew yet another two Formula 1 drivers. “I can’t believe you fucking crashed my date.”

“Charles said you were miserable.” Daniel looked so beyond amused right now.

You quickly mentally plotted a way to get rid of the Monegasque without leaving a trail, not surprised that he’d spilled the details of your dinner date as quickly as he had. “So you thought it would be a good idea to come save me?”

“Yes.” His grin widened, like he was doing you a favour.

“And you brought Max?! The one person on this fucking planet that I cannot stand?” You hissed, quietly enough so that only Daniel would hear as you jabbed your finger into his chest again.

“Ow, stop that.” He muttered, swatting your hand away. “I wasn’t going to just leave him alone at the apartment.”

You narrowed you gaze, hoping that Daniel could see that you were actually a little annoyed with him right now. “So, you brought him with you, to crash my date. You’re such an idiot.”

“He can hear you.” Max spoke up, unimpressed.

“I don’t care.” You snapped back with an eye roll.

Realizing that your date was still gawking at you, you forced a very fake smile back onto your face and introduced him to Daniel and Max too. They were nice enough to indulge your date in a little bit of small talk as you mentally ran through a couple of scenarios to get yourself out of this situation.

“Y/N, how do you know all these drivers? Do you work in Formula 1 as a reporter or something?” Your date eventually asked, glance shifting between everyone in the group.

Max and Daniel laughed, thinking that the guy was joking. You wanted the ground to collapse under you as their laughter faded and looks of disbelief crossed both of their faces when they realized he was being serious.

“Mate, she’s a fucking driver too.” Max looked way too thrilled to be the one filling your date in on your day job.

“What? Girls can’t-” He paused when he noticed everyone’s gazes narrowing at that train of thought, yours included. Great, another misogynistic man… you sure knew how to pick em.

“Girls can’t what?” Max apparently wasn’t going to let your date off the hook for that.

“Well… Isn’t it too dangerous?”

“Last I checked the danger factor doesn’t change if it’s a man or woman driving the car.” Pierre had your back, as always. Most of the drivers did at this point, you’d proved yourself after that first pre-season testing session after all. They saw you as one of them, just as passionate about your day job as the rest of them.

“You might want to google the driver rankings. Y/N’s crushing all the boys.” Daniel prompted.

“Maybe if you’d spent less time talking yourself up and paid attention to the girl sitting across from you at dinner, this awkward situation could’ve been avoided.” Max jumped in too, satisfied smirk on his face as your date seemed to crumble before the group.

Part of you felt bad, but they had a point. Your date looked towards you for help, but you shrugged a shoulder. “You went on and on about having a box above the pits at the Monaco GP. Not to sound vain or anything, but I literally won that race…”

“I might have exaggerated a little…” Your date mumbled.

You sighed, not that surprised. You were over this disaster of a night, ready to go home, regretting ever having agreed to this in the first place. Your distraction had totally backfired. “Pro tip for the next time you convince a girl to go out with you: don’t bullshit your way through the date. You just wasted both of our time.”  

Your date’s shoulders sunk. “So, no chance at a second date?”

“No.” The four drivers around you simultaneously answered the question, and you had to fight to keep a straight face. You almost felt bad for the guy, but not really. He’d been a crap date.

“Probably best you head out, mate.” Daniel added, amusement evident on his face.

At Daniel’s suggestion, your date seemed to realize just how badly he’d messed up tonight. You couldn’t tell if his disappointment was because the driver’s he’d recognized wanted nothing to do with him or because he finally clued into the fact that he’d missed his shot with you. He quickly turned and fled from the scene; figurative tail tucked between his legs.

To your dismay, the boys immediately started laughing the second the coast was clear. You closed your eyes and threw your head back, vaguely gesturing for them to get their stupid comments out of their system and get it over with.

“He seemed like a solid bloke.” Daniel was the first to chime in. “Definite boyfriend material.”

You rolled your eyes at your best friend. Daniel had been around the last time you’d attempted to have a relationship and had seen the whole thing go up in flames when your ex refused to take your career seriously. You’d sworn off dating for as long as you’d be in Formula 1, partially because you didn’t want the distraction and partially because no one outside the sport understood why you devoted your entire life to it. That, and you had a strict rule about dating anyone inside the sport because you wanted people to take you seriously. You were strictly a one-night stand kind of girl with a stranger you’d never have to see again. “Oh please, you know I wasn’t looking for my fucking soulmate. I just wanted a fun night out.”

“And a good fuck.” Max added, shamelessly scanning your dress that left very little to the imagination. “Girls don’t get dressed up like that for nothing.”

You wanted to be annoyed at the blunt statement and the fact that Max had figured it out so easily, but you didn’t say anything to that because he technically wasn’t wrong. The other guys’ jaws dropped when you shrugged a shoulder in agreement, and you found your gaze narrowing slightly at their shocked reaction. “Don’t look at me like that. The double standard right now is gross. I deal with enough of that at work, I don’t need it when I’m trying to have fun.”

Charles was the first to hold his hands up in mock surrender, the same look on his face as earlier when you’d told him why you’d tolerated your date for as long as you had. “I’m deeply uncomfortable with where this conversation is going. Drinks?”

“Tequila.” You smiled widely, happy to move on. “Lots of it.”

“You two sticking around?” Charles then asked Daniel and Max, to make sure he brought back enough drinks. Both boys immediately nodded, never turning down drinks that would be on someone else’s tab. The entire group migrated over to the VIP section, Charles quick to order multiple tequila shots for everyone. You’d downed them all in quick succession, toasting to failed dates and unmet expectation.

You were determined to still have a good time, even with the turn your night had taken. There were still plenty of fish in the sea, or in this case, at Jimmy’z.

“I could do with a dance.” You spoke up a little while later, happily buzzed thanks to the alcohol flowing through your system. Pierre was quick to offer up his services, leading you out onto the dancefloor. Charles followed along, happy to dance with you as well. Daniel and Max stayed behind at the VIP bar, chatting away as they continued to work on their beers.

The three of you danced for a couple of songs, bass thumping through your bodies as you moved to the heavy electronic beats. It was fun, letting go and dancing your worries away with some of your favourite people. Charles in particular, had you laughing you hard you were clutching onto your stomach because of his silly dance moves. It was the most fun you’d had in a while.

It became even more fun when you easily caught the attention of a good-looking man who’d been dancing with his friends nearby. A few flirty smiles and gazes were exchanged, and the next thing you knew, his hands were on your waist, bodies pressed together as you moved in sync to the loud music. Your friends found their own dance partners, lost in their own worlds too.

As the dancing grew increasingly suggestive, you couldn’t help but feel like you were being watched in the overcrowded club. You’d turned in the man’s arms, pressing your back into his chest and swaying your hips against his as your eyes slowly scanned the club. You almost lost your footing when your gaze met Max’s intense one, the Dutch driver fully glaring at you, mouth drawn in a tight line. Why the fuck was he looking at you like that?

Determined to forget about it, you turned around to face your dance partner again. But you weren’t able to ignore it, feeling Max’s eyes on you as you continued to dance. The guy you were dancing with picked up on how you’d gotten a little stuck in your head, offering to get you another drink. You easily agreed, following him over to the main bar, ordering another vodka soda.

You spoke to him for the first time at the bar as you waited for your drinks, surprised by the Canadian accent you heard. It wasn’t every day you found other Canadians in Monaco, so you immediately jumped into a conversation about which part of the country the other was from, getting rather quickly acquainted with your fellow Canadian named Logan. The familiarity instantly put you at ease, any reservations disappearing. Maybe this night wouldn’t be a total bust after all.

*Trigger warning: non-consensual drug usage*

You’d gone back out onto to continue dancing in the middle of the dancefloor with your fresh drinks in hand, carefully holding your glass behind his head when his arm wrapped around your waist to pull you in close again for another dance. Caught up in the moment, you never noticed his sleezeball friend slipping something into your drink while it was out of your line of sight.

You smiled as you were twirled on the dancefloor, bringing your glass to your lips to take a sip of your drink. You’d only managed the smallest sip, as the glass was unexpectedly ripped from your hands and its contents dumped onto Logan.

“What the hell!?” You gasped, finding yourself face to face with your teammate.

He ignored your question, rushing his own question out instead. “Did you drink any of that?”

The urgency was clear in his voice, compelling an answer out of you before your irritation fully settled in.  “A couple of sips.”

You watched as clear fury settled on Max’s face, but it wasn’t directed towards you. Instead, his gaze traveled over your shoulder to Logan, who was still sputtering as he wiped what was left of your vodka soda from his eyes. Max stepped around you, shoving Logan’s chest and causing the latter to stumble back a few steps.

“What the fuck man?!” Logan slurred, clearly thrown by the sudden encounter.

You didn’t understand what was happening, wrapping your hand around Max’s arm to pull him back before he caused even more of a scene. “What the fuck are you doing?! Is it your new mission in life to ruin everything for me?”

“This fucking kut spiked your drink, Y/N.” Max said, glaring daggers at Logan.

You eyed Max for what felt like a long time but in reality was only a few seconds, knowing that he wouldn’t lie about something like this just to ruin your night. He might be an asshole to you most of the time, but he wouldn’t cross that line. “What are you talking about?” You asked quietly, the gravity of his accusation instantly killing the happy buzz you’d been floating around in for the last few hours.

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair, gaze softening significantly as he spoke to you. “His friend put something in your drink while you were dancing.”

Logan chose that moment to interject. “Oh, come on, this jealous asshole is full of shit. We were having fun!”

Max looked about ready to kill the guy on the spot, hands clenching into fists at his side. He shrugged off your arm, getting right back into Logan’s face. “What the fuck did you put in her drink?!”

Your nice new Canadian friend smirked at Max, your stomach twisting as you watched everything unfolding. “Chill the fuck out, dude. It’s a party!”

“I’m going to ask one more time.” Max’s voice was eerily calm, but you’d come to know your teammate rather well over the past few months so you knew he was about to snap. This tone was far more intimidating than any yelling he could’ve been, Logan’s gaze widening slightly as Max got even closer. “What did you give her?”

Logan smartly chose not to deflect this time around. “It was just a little Vitamin K to help her loosen up. She didn’t have enough for it to do much.” Your blood went cold, balance faltering. This guy had tried to give you a full dose of a common date-rape drug, and luckily you hadn’t had more than a small sip of your tainted drink.

Ketamine. You’d been drugged with a very illegal substance. It didn’t matter that you’d barely had a sip, it would still be in your system. Someone had spiked your drink with a date-rape drug. Even though he claimed you hadn’t had enough for it to really effect you, just the fact that it was in your system could ruin your whole fucking life. If the FIA showed up at your door tomorrow and demanded you take one of those random drug tests… you’d be done and it wasn’t even your choice. And… what would’ve happened if Max hadn’t been here?

You shuddered at the thought. Wasn’t that just the cherry on top for this shitshow of a night? You’d been so wrapped up in your internal freak out that you hadn’t noticed Max’s fist connecting with Logan’s face.

It wasn’t until a familiar dark brown head of curls popped up in front of you, grabbing onto Max and forcibly pulling him back that you caught on to the fact that a fight had broken out right in front of you while you’d numbly stood there processing everything. “Mate, the fuck are you doing!? You do not need anymore headlines following you and Y/N right now. There are camera phones everywhere.” Daniel hissed, struggling to keep Max back.

Max’s angry gaze settled upon you, silently asking you if it was okay to fill Daniel in on the situation.

You nodded you head, not sure where your voice had gone.

“Y/N was drugged. He” Max’s sharp glare snapped towards Logan “spiked her drink with Ketamine when she wasn’t looking. She had a couple sips before I could get the drink away from her.”

Daniel tensed, face falling as he took in the situation. If you’d thought that Max looked intimidating, it didn’t even compare to the look that came across your best friend’s face once his own anger set in. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly, panic starting to set in. “Danny, I fucked up.”

“You did not do anything wrong here.” Daniel was quick to shake off your last statement. “This-” he paused, shaking as he struggled to find the right words “miserable excuse of a human being is solely responsible. This is not your fault.” He stressed, forcing out a long breathe so that he wouldn’t spontaneously combust. “How do you want to handle this? Cops?”

You quickly shook your head, not sure if it was all the alcohol you’d consumed prior or that one stupid sip that made the room spin around you. “No cops. Cops means reports, and reports are made public. No one can know.”

Daniel nodded once. “Then you need to get in contact with the legal team and get some NDAs, asap. Might be a good idea to loop Christian in, just in case.”

“You want to sweep this under the rug?!” Max exclaimed, clearly not agreeing with that idea. “This shithead deserves to be in jail for this shit. If he tried with Y/N, there’s no doubt he’s done it with other girls.”

The thought sent a chill down your spine.

“It’s Y/N’s choice.” Daniel argued with Max.

“It’s a stupid choice.” Max rebutted.

“Max.” You said his name so quietly that you were surprised when his concerned gaze turned towards you. “I don’t have any other choice. If I file a police report, I’m going to get drug tested and the results will eventually be made public, and even though it’s not like I chose to get drugged, I will lose my job over it. NDAs are the best bet.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“I know.” You sighed, still feeling sick to your stomach about the whole thing. “But it’s also the only way I don’t get torn to shreds by the media.” You said quietly.

You could only imagine the shit storm that would ensue if the media ever got word of what had happened tonight. Though you were sure some people would have your back, it didn’t change the fact that a majority of them would use this as a point to prove that you didn’t belong and try to pin the whole thing on you. You were the one who wore a short dress. You were the one who drank, danced and flirted. You were the one who hadn’t noticed until it was too late. You were the one who’d gotten yourself into this mess. They would find a way to place the blame on you.

“Max, get Y/N out of here.” Daniel snapped you out of your thoughts, clearly watching this whole blame game playing out on your face. You realized that the club security had shown up, pulling a protesting Logan towards the back. “I’m staying to handle this and make sure the fucker signs the agreements, so none of this ever gets out.” He added, casting a dry glare in his general direction.

“Don’t like… kill the guy.” You mumbled, meeting Daniel’s gaze. “Need you in the paddock.”

Daniel’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

“I mean it Danny. It’s not worth throwing your career away over some assault charges.” You said, taking a very wabbly step towards him, both him and Max automatically reaching out to steady you. “I’ll call Horner, we’ll figure out how to bury the… cunt with so much fucking legal paperwork he’d rather be dead. Besides, if anyone deserves to kick his ass it’s the girl he actually attempted to drug and…” You didn’t finish that sentence, but the implication was still heavy.

“Okay, Viper.” He said, slightly more convincingly.  

 Max took this as his cue to start leading you out of the packed club, immediately reaching out to steady you when your first couple of steps were a little too wobbly for his liking. He wound up hoisting one of your arms around his shoulders and wrapping his own arm around your waist and pulling you along with him through the crowd of people who carried on dancing like nothing had happened. You didn’t have it in your to be annoyed by the fact that Max was doing most of the heavy lifting right now, because you were in a bit of a state.

The minute the doors shut behind you and you were outside, you were almost overwhelmed by the stark contrast in setting. Outside was quiet, spacious, dark, the cool breeze from the harbour drifting over your shoulders. It was so different from the bright, stuffy and loud atmosphere of the club that it was practically a shock to the system. Your ears were ringing loudly, struggling to adjust as Max started walking you both towards the taxi stand.

“No, wait.” You protested, and to his credit Max stopped right away. “Can we sit for a minute. I just… need to breathe.”

He didn’t question you, leading you to a nearby bench that overlooked the water instead. He carefully sat you down, not saying a word as you patted the space beside you, silently asking him to join you. Though his brow furrowed slightly, he still took up the empty space next to you. You cast your gaze onto the harbour ahead of you but found that you were having a hard time focusing on things in the distance.  Again, you weren’t sure if that was because of all the alcohol or something else, so you turned your attention back towards the Dutchman sitting beside you. “I’m sorry for fucking up your night.”

His brows rose in surprise, probably because you weren’t in the habit of apologizing to him for anything. “Don’t apologize… it’s not like this was your fault.”

You frowned at his words, because you knew that it was. But before you could reaffirm your statement, Max spoke up again.

“If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me.” He sighed. “I’ve been a dick to you since Germany… I know that the crash was my fault. You’ve been having this… incredible rookie season and I wanted to win. I pushed harder than I should have, knew the risk and regretted it immediately when I saw you spinning off the track. Believe it or not, I was coming to apologize in the garage before you… yelled at me in front of the entire Formula 1 world.”

You were stunned, not having expected this. “You… Are you just apologizing to me because you know I’m very likely not going to remember it in the morning?”

Max made a sound that almost sounded like a laugh. “No, heerlijk. I’m apologizing because you were right earlier. I was desperate and took it out on you.”

“Oh god, I think we’re in trouble, because there’s no fucking way Max Verstappen just admitted that I was right.” Your filter had been gone for a while now, so you weren’t that surprised by the words that came out of your mouth.

“Don’t get used to it.”

The two of you sat in silence for another couple of minutes, as you sat contemplating your next move. You knew that you needed to call your boss to fill him in on your current situation so that it could quietly be resolved, but a big part of you didn’t want to do it. You knew that the moment you called Christian, this little bubble where you were pretending that everything was fine would break, and it would become real. At least you were still pretty drunk, it helped with the nerves.

“We have to call Horner.” Max sighed, clearly on the same page as you.

You nodded, a chill running through your spine. Max noticed, shrugging out of your jacket and draping it over your shoulders, probably assuming it was because you were cold. “I really wish I didn’t have to do this.”

“Give me your phone.”

You unceremoniously pulled the device out of the side of your bra, ignoring Max’s raised brow as you typed in the passcode and handed it to him.

Max had wound up being the one to call Christian, on speakerphone for you, in the middle of the night. Though your boss hadn’t been impressed about being woken up, the second that Max spoke the words “something’s happened…” Christian immediately stopped complaining and you had his full attention.

“We’re out in Monaco,”

“Do not tell me one of my drivers had been arrested.” Christian interrupted.

“Not yet…” You mumbled, still feeling sick. “It’s worse.”

“What could possibly be worse!?”

Max ripped off the metaphorical band-aid. “Y/N was drugged by some asshole in a club.”

The silence on the other end of the line only made you even more anxious, so you took the phone from Max’s hands. “Well, not completely. I only had a sip before Max showed up and threw the drink in the guy’s face. I don’t know if I had enough of it for it to show up on a test… But yeah, it’s been a shitty fucking night and it’s not like we can report what happened to the police so we need your help and the legal team on this to make it disappear.” You babbled on, not surprised when Max took the phone back to stop you from speaking aimlessly.

Expecting your boss to go on a tirade about how irresponsible you’d been to even get into this position, you were genuinely surprised by his first question. “Are you okay?”

“Not really but I drank a lot tonight so it’s hard to tell if I feel weird because of the tequila or because of a small sip of a Ketamine laced drink.” You found yourself answering honestly.

“Fucking Christ.” Christian cursed, and you could hear some shuffling in the background. “Max, I need to know exactly what happened so I can properly relay the information to the legal team and figure out how we’re going to proceed.”

Max obliged, providing a far more detailed account of the evening from his point of view. He mentioned that as far as he was aware, he didn’t think that anyone had gotten pictures or videos of what had happened, but the altercation had been public. He gave an account of things you weren’t able to see, like your blown pupils and unfocused gaze, and how even sitting down you were swaying more than you should. Apparently, you were a fucking mess, enough to make the one person in the world you were supposed to hate concerned about you.

“Y/N, are you sure you don’t want to report this?” Christian asked, now that he had all the details. “It should go without saying, but the team would have your back. The FIA would understand.”

“No.” You said, surprised by how firm your voice was. “I don’t want this to become my story. I want people to talk about me because I’m a good driver, not because I was drugged and god knows what could’ve happened… That’s not me. I just want to forget about it.”

“If you’re sure…” Christian trailed off, giving you a second to change your mind. When you didn’t, he launched into a detailed explanation of how they were going to proceed. Lots of legal jargon that you were struggling to follow along with, exhaustion seeping into your bones. Hell, even if you’d been stone cold sober, you would’ve struggled to keep up.

You cut him off when he started talking about contingencies just in case their legal plan didn’t work. “Christian, honestly just do whatever has to be done to make it go away. I’m… I’m done with it.”

The call ended soon after that, Christian making Max promise that he’d keep an eye on you for the next couple of hours to make sure that you were really okay. Max agreed without complaint, before pocketing your phone and helping you over to the taxi stand so that you could finally get home and get some rest.

You didn’t say a single word the entire (short) taxi ride back to you and Daniel’s apartment.

You didn’t protest when Max helped you all the way up to your unit and into your room (how he knew which one it was without having to ask, you’d never know), giving you a minute to change into something more comfortable while he went to hunt down a water bottle for you. By the time he’d made it back to your room with a water bottle and some painkillers (for the inevitable horrific hangover in the morning), you’d already gotten under your fluffy duvet cover and pulled it up to your neck.

“I’m going to stay in the living room, until Daniel gets home. Just… let me know if you need anything.”

You nodded, thankful that you wouldn’t be left here all alone. Max turned to make his way back out of your room but stopped when you spoke up. “Hey, Max?”

“Yeah?” He faced you from the doorway, wondering what else you needed.

“Thank you.” You said, hoping that even through your inebriated state, he could see how much you meant it. “Things would’ve ended very differently if you hadn’t… Thanks for looking out for me even though I’ve been horrible to you for months.” You paused, realizing how soft that sounded. “Don’t think that this is gonna change things though, I’m still going to kick your ass, on track.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, heerlijk.”  

“You ever going to tell me what that means?”

“No.” You could hear his smirk, even though your eyes had drifted shut at one point. “Goodnight, heerlijk.”

Despite everything that had happened tonight, you fell asleep with a smile on your face.  

 <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

For the next week, Daniel didn’t let you out of his sight.

You’d woken up the morning after the club incident, and as predicted the details of everything that happened after you’d had that sip of your last drink were a little fuzzy. Especially once you left the club. You vaguely knew what had happened, thanks to a conversation with Daniel that following morning, but now that you knew it was handled you were happy to completely forget about the whole thing and focus on the remainder of your debut Formula 1 season. You were still in contention for the championship. It was dependant on a couple of bad outcomes from Hamilton, and a bunch more race wins for you, but it was still a chance. Considering that you were still in your rookie season and this close, it only fueled the fire. You wanted to pull out the best results possible for your team.

But in the couple of days leading up to the Singapore Grand Prix, Daniel wouldn’t leave you alone. It didn’t matter how many times you told him that you were fine and okay with the way that everything had been handled that night (with the NDAs instead of going to the police), he wouldn’t drop it. It’s like he was just waiting for you to break, but there was no way you were going to let that happen.

On the Friday between practices, you’d snapped and told Daniel to fuck off for the rest of the weekend. You were fine, and you wanted to focus on the race, not this stupid thing that had almost happened to you. He’d backed off for the rest of the day, but you could still kind of see him around at a distance.

You were kind of happy that Max was steering clear of you, giving you the space you needed. Though you couldn’t remember exactly everything that had been said between the two of you that night, you didn’t feel as angry towards the Dutch driver anymore. How could you be, when even after you’d been a bitch to him hours before, he’d had your back through everything that night. He wasn’t making a big deal out of it, unlike everyone else who knew.

You still wanted to beat him, but that was more so because of the competition aspect of your job now.

So when you’d finished the race in P2, just ahead of Max who’d finished P3, you’d made your way over to him after getting our of your car and congratulated him on his result with a genuine smile on your face. No snide remarks or sarcastic comments. You weren’t friends, but you didn’t feel the need to rub it in his face. You were still proving your point, but far more subtly. Just enjoying the double Red Bull podium with Sebastian on that top step.

You wondered how long it would last, this unspoken truce. You were both far too alike for it to be like this for very long. One of you would inevitably fuck it all up again.

Only time would tell.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Read part 3 here!

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lewis at the neat burger in nyc 😵‍💫

⇝ refuge .

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

PART FOUR OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: After a mission goes wrong, the 141 seek shelter in Ghost's so-called "safe house".

WARNINGS: Canon typical violence, blood, wounds, stitching of wounds, mentions of abuse, first fluff in a while.

A/N: My fingers hurt I'm actually going to pass out now goodbye <3 (PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED IT HELPS A LOT!!!)

WORD COUNT: 11.2k.

MASTERLIST.

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Also on Ao3!

Ghost’s hands were covered in blood. 

Although this was nothing out of the ordinary for a trained soldier like him, as he’d washed away many gallons of blood off of him in the time where he’d been on the field, this was different. 

It wasn’t the enemy’s blood that covered him, no. It wasn’t even his soldiers’ blood. 

It was civilian's. People that had been going about their day. Casualties in the mess that had erupted with a single missed bullet. 

It was his fault. 

If he hadn’t let himself grow distracted with the banter that erupted from his ear piece, if he had paid more attention to the target Laswell had given him, he would’ve been able to game end them right there and then like he had many before, instead, the bullet lodged right in his chest above the heart, enough time to stun the man but not enough to stop his other hand from clicking the detonator. 

The chaos that had followed was indescribable. He could still feel his ears ringing from the explosion that had occurred, the screams of the people he could have saved, the panicked shouts and roars from Price as he ordered them about. 

Ghost followed the order mindlessly, his body on some type of autopilot that had been turned on after the shock, taking out the other targets that had been lingering around until the bomb had gone off, his emotion-fueled mind taking out it’s anger on them by tearing them apart in the most gruesome ways possible. 

But he knew that covering himself in as much enemy blood as he could wouldn’t wash away the innocent’s. 

It wouldn’t wipe away the countless deaths he’d caused. 

But as he watched his final victim bleed out on the ground, ignoring their screams of pain and the insults that were being hurled at, Soap’s voice came through his earpiece. 

“Bastard’s gone. Cannae find him anywhere.”

Ghost’s blood boiled, combat boot slamming down onto the man’s head to finally shut him up, a last act of mercy and a way to express the anger rushing through his veins.

Even after they’d retreated back to the base they’d made theirs in the outskirts of Berlin during their mission there, Ghost couldn’t shake his disgusting feelings off his shoulders.

He’d never been the one to cause such a massacre like this. It was always some rookie or other, never a seasoned Lieutenant like him. 

Soap and Gaz’s conversation was just static to his ears, his mind spiralling as he thought about all the people around the city who had lost a family member today because of him. 

It wasn’t the first time in a mission where there’d been casualties. But never as many as this. And never had it affected him like this. 

The empathy he’d lacked almost all his life had suddenly made itself known in his mind, the little voice gnawing at the back of his head as it fed him scenarios linked to the mission they’d just failed, impossible if he were to think about them clearly, but right then, he couldn’t stop his heart from beating as fast as it could against his ribcage as he thought about the possibility of you or Tommy being involved in something like that, of having to carry the guilt that would no doubt haunt him all his life if that were to happen. 

He fucking hated it. 

He’d been deep in thought when they finally arrived at the base, the humvie’s doors opening as the other three stepped out, Price the only to take note of Ghost’s dishevelled state. 

“Lieutenant.”

…

“Ghost.”

…

“Simon!” Along with the bellow of his real name, the captain’s hand came down to slam onto one of the leather seats, finally pulling Ghost out of his stupor. “We’re here.”

“Copy.” He grunted, pushing himself out of the car and following his captain and the other two back to base mindlessly, almost like a zombie. 

It didn’t get better from there. Even as Laswell reassured him that it hadn’t been anyone's fault, that they hadn’t planned on the man wearing a gun vest, that even if he had succeeded in shooting him down, he wouldn’t be the only one with a detonator as found in one of the man’s lackey’s front pocket, that the explosion would have happened either way… He couldn’t help but still feel horrible. 

“Any idea where he is, then?” Price asked, looking through some of the files they’d been given on their runaway. 

“Probably went back home.” Gaz suggested, pointing out the address for a flat he had somewhere in the outskirts of Manchester.

“Called the airport, they told us a man with similar build and looks boarded a plane for Liverpool over two hours ago. He’s probably already out of the airport.”

Soap clicked his tongue, looking down at the address Gaz had mentioned before. “That’s his maw’s flat. Reckon he’d put ‘er in danger?”

“Doubt he’d care. He was happy to kill countless people for his cause, including his men and himself, what’s one more?” Ghost grunted, throwing the file down and leaning back in his chair, sharp gaze focused on the digital map Laswell had brought up, looking at the location of the terrorist’s house. 

“It’s not near any major buildings and isn’t close enough to the city to cause a commotion.” Laswell noted as she looked over the hills and lakes that surrounded the small house. “Good hiding place.”

“And if he’s not there?” Gaz asked, handing all the files back to Laswell, who gave him a solemn look. 

“We keep trying. Go get ready, I’ll call for a heli to take you all back to England. Try and get him, preferably alive, but be wary of any more guards or lackeys he might have brought with him. You’re all dismissed.”

Everyone was armed to their teeth by the time they’d made it back to English territory, night vision goggles pulled above their head as they had realised the trip took a bit longer than expected due to the cargo they had been asked to bring back to England in the process, the sky darkening even further with every second they spent on the helicopter. 

“Ghost, how copy?” Price shouted over the sound, elbowing Ghost in the side when he didn’t seem to hear him.

“What?!” Ghost shouted back, forcing out the pressure that clogged up his ears in order to hear properly. 

“How are you?! Never seen you this melancholic!” 

Ghost huffed out a laugh, tightening the straps of the seatbelts around his chest, as if they were the one putting pressure on his lungs. 

“Fine, captain!” He snapped, turning to look out of the small window row behind them. “Just ready to kill this fucking bugger!”

“Copy that!” Price slammed one of his burly hands onto Ghost’s shoulder, an act of encouragement the captain found himself giving to each of his members every time they went on a mission. 

After that, the helicopter went quiet, focusing on the mission ahead of them. 

Which in foresight, was expected to be relatively easy, a copy of many before them where they’d all come out victorious. 

But this one differed. 

The target wasn’t even that dangerous in itself, he was just some bloke who had had the brilliant idea to make an organisation that had somehow ended up planting bombs in almost every major city under the government and army’s radar. It hadn’t been up to now where they had finally learned who was behind it and where their next target was, but even then, they’d failed in protecting the civilians. 

Something they had spent almost a year investigating, fighting, taking down so many factions across the world to get to the top of the pyramid, the man behind it all. 

And fuck, if Ghost wasn’t going to make all the time he’d spent stressed and infuriated out of his mind on a wild goose chase for this fucking guy worth it. If he’d never fucking existed, the task force wouldn’t have gone through all that just to lose him, he wouldn’t have ruined the relationship he’d began with you, he would’ve had a proper go at being Tommy’s dad from the get-go. 

But a group of people that had afforded to build and plant so many bombs across so many countries, were to have enough money to hire bodyguards en par with the skill the 141 had. 

And that’s just what they had. 

Just like them, they were well-equipped with as many guns and weapons that the group’s money could buy, and while normally most men like these were just random guys picked off the street who had had guns shoved into their hands, these weren’t. They were trained, skilled enough to almost knock Soap’s gun out of his hands, and although that wasn’t what had happened, it had given them enough time for one of their bullets to graze his leg, not enough to fully bury itself into the flesh but enough to make him bleed and buckle to the ground. 

Ghost grabbed Soap by the scruff of his jacket, quickly disposing of the man that had shot him and pulling him up, letting the scot lean on him for balance. 

“Captain, Soap’s been hit!” Ghost roared into his radio, letting Soap lean on the wall while he grabbed some bandages they were always advised to bring and helped Soap in stopping the bleeding that the graze had caused. “Can you walk, Johnny?”

“Feckin’ adrenaline’s runnin’ through me, LT., could carry a horse if ye told me to.”

“Atta boy.” He handed him his gun so he could defend himself while they got out of the top floor. “Sir, the first floor’s clear. Taking the sergeant back to the car.”

“Roger. Be careful, fucker’s nowhere to be found down h- Fuck, Gaz!”

The sound of a gun going off and the roar from their captain made both men freeze in place, the dying grunts of someone coming through the radio before Gaz finally spoke, voice wheezy and hurt. 

“‘M fine, just- Fuck, that cunt stabbed me!” 

They made their way to the bottom of the stairs, where unfortunately, one of the men was waiting for them, stabbing their tactile knife right into Ghost’s shoulder thanks to the fact that he’d switched off his night vision goggles moments before, and wouldn't have seen them in the dark.

“Fuck, where do they keep comin’ from!?”

“Captain!”

“I see ya! Ghost, Soap, meet us outside, there’s not enough of us to take these fuckers out!” Price commanded, all of them responding with a “Roger!” before barreling their way out of the house, shooting a few more men in the process until they both shoved themselves into the car, Ghost immediately grabbing at the keys and pushing them in, getting everything ready while they waited for the other two, that quickly retreated into the back and slammed the doors shut, the captain slamming his fist into the back of GHost’s seat and ordering him to drive.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Gaz cried out as he held onto his wound, planting his feet on the floor as he realised who was driving, both him and soap squeezing their eyes shut as the blond slammed onto the accelerator, bringing the car out of the rocky driveway of the house and back out into one of the main roads. 

As the adrenaline started to fade from all of them, Price lazily raised a hand to grab at Soap’s shoulder, looking down at the bullet wound. “Still in one piece?”

“Yeah… Don’ think Lt. can say the same.” He pointed over to the stab wound in Ghost’s shoulder, that luckily had been right over his tactical gear, so it hadn’t caused as much damage as the perpetrator clearly intended. 

“‘M fine, Johnny. Worry about yourself.” He grunted, trying to ignore the pain that came with taking a turn with the steering wheel, every single time he moved his arm striking pain into the wound, the adrenaline from before having done a good job at keeping him from realising the amount of pain he had been currently in. 

“What about you, Gaz?” Soap called out, turning his head to look at the other as Price got his radio out, planning on informing Laswell on the second failure of the day. 

“Not dead.” He joked, tightening the bandage around the cut on his arm. “Gonna need stitches or something.”

Everyone went silent as Laswel’s voice came through the radio, broken and incomplete, but they could slightly understand what she was saying. 

Of course, the terrorists had also managed to hack into their servers while the task force was on their way and had made preparations for when they had inevitably barged into their house to arrest the man. 

The base back in London was almost a four hour drive away, and they doubted that their wounds would be in perfect condition after that long of a time, they needed to be disinfected and treated as soon as possible. 

“Any safe houses ‘round here that we might have access to?” Price called out, listening to what he assumed was Laswell looking through files.

“None that they don’t have access to.”

“Hospital?”

“Too far.”

All of them collectively sweared, Ghost’s grip tightening around the wheel as he took a right into one of the roads leading towards Manchester, the same road he took every time he came back from base to see you. 

You…

“Don’t you live in Manchester?” Gaz called out, kicking Ghost’s seat like a kid asking if they were there yet. 

“Not safe. If they have the locations of our safe houses, they have the locations of our own.” Price called out. “Unless one of you has a secret house off the grid or some James Bond mansion.”

Silence filled the car. 

Now, it had passed through Ghost’s head when they first started talking about safe houses, but it wasn’t really his house, after all. It was yours, Your space, your flat, your building. Not his. He was nothing but some sort of weird tennant. 

And his flat would have been the first place to take them to if it hadn’t been compromised, but now that he knew that that idea was out of the picture, he couldn’t help but continue thinking about your flat. With the safety kit he’d given you once after Tommy had gotten a scratch; with the pullout sofa he used every time he was over; with all the warmth and comfort he wished for every time he finished a mission. 

And he knew it wasn’t fair on you, it was extremely late compared to the times he came back in the night, you were probably fast asleep curled in your bed like you always where when he checked up on you; and it wasn’t fair to suddenly just shove three more men into your personal space, but as he took another turn and his shoulder throbbed, as he heard Gaz hiss whenever the car bumped a little, as he watched Soap try his best to stop the bleeding occurring from his wound, he knew that the worries Simon had couldn’t overcome the panic and danger Ghost was in. This was an emergency. 

“Know somewhere, sir.” Ghost spoke out, his voice hoarse, as if he’d been keeping the secret deep inside of him for longer than a minute. “Safe house, I mean.”

“You’re certain it’s safe?” Price questioned, Laswell going silent on the other side of the radio as well. 

“Positive.”

That’s how he found himself copying the exact route he always took to your place, passing the same pubs, the same shops, the same flats… Up until he parked a few blocks away from yours like he always made sure he did. 

“This it?” Gaz asked concerned as he gazed upon a closed Greggs, Ghost letting out a huff of amusement. 

“No, a bit further up.”

Since Ghost and Price were the only ones who were able to walk without limping, they took it upon themselves to be the ones to help the other two reach the building, Ghost’s hand inexplicably shaky as he stuck the key in like he’d done over a dozen times before, shoving them all into the elevator. 

“Quiet.” He hissed to them as Gaz let out a small pained cry, not wanting to wake up the ever-so irritable neighbours or cause you any alarm if you were still awake. 

He felt bad as he slotted the second key into the door, thinking about how scared you could be if you heard him coming, pushing it open with his healthy arm and letting it creek open. “Don’t open any doors. Find a place to sit. Don’t move, don’t make a sound, don’t interact with anything.” 

The three nodded at his warning, Gaz and Soap slumping onto the sofa as soon as they could and Price taking a seat at the island as Ghost slowly closed the door and turned on the light, dimming it down so it wouldn’t alert you nor Tommy. 

As Gaz and Soap whispered between themselves, wondering how the hell Ghost kept a house in such a tidy and pretty state (“Reminds me of my maw’s.” Soap had commented, making Gaz nod and laugh.), Simon pushed open Tommy’s door, listening in to the telltale sound of his son’s breaths to make sure that he was okay, turning around to find Price looking at a small stuffed animal sitting on the counter along with a dummy, his eyes wide in realisation as he turned to his lieutenant.

“Simon-” 

“Yeah.” He brushed past, tapping on the back of Soap’s head to catch his attention. “Up, I’ll deal with you first.”

“Oh, I’m honoured!” He said in a faux-british accent, lifting himself off the sofa with his help and leaning against one of the walls Simon had placed him against. 

“You’ve got a really nice gaf, didn’ expect this from ya.” Gaz commented as Ghost looked through some of the drawers around your flat, trying to remember where the hell he’d seen you put the medkit last. 

“Yeah, you're a classy one aren’t ya, Lt.? Place’s better than mine, I mean, have ya seen your sofa?” He chuckled, signalling towards the plush pillows Gaz was leaning against now, the cute crocheted blanket hanging on the back. 

Ghost ignored all of their remarks, slamming one of the drawers shut and pulling himself up, nodding towards your bedroom door. “Shut up. I’m going to check the bathroom. Not a word.”

Soap seemingly assumed that the door Ghost had gestured towards was the direct entrance into the bathroom, so in order to help his lieutenant out a bit, his hand moved towards the doorknob while Ghost started pulling off his combat boots, not wanting to make a sound when he went into your room. 

But, apparently, the small sounds they’d been making should have been his main priority, by the way you were almost waiting at your bedroom door with a gun raised to Soap’s forehead, ready to shoot just like he’d taught you in a situation like this one. 

“Steamin’ fuckin’-”

Ghost couldn’t rid himself of his boots fast enough before Soap’s hand was instinctively around your neck, the adrenaline that was rushing through both of your veins making it easier for him to ignore the pain shooting through his leg to defend himself and for yourself to scratch and pull at the hand around your throat. 

“Soap!” Price shouted as he pushed himself off his seat, noting the panic that had filled Ghost’s normally stoic eyes at the mere sight of you in pain, slowly putting two and two together. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” Ghost roared, abandoning his shoes as soon as he saw your eyes roll back into your skull, a telltale sign that you were about to pass out due to the scot’s strong grip on your neck, while normally it would’ve taken way longer for someone to pass out. 

The sight of your legs going limp in Soap's grasp was enough for Ghost to see red, moving like he did on the battlefield to reach Soap, grabbing him by the neck and throwing him onto the ground like a ragdoll, secretly hoping the grip he’d grabbed him with was strong enough to cause him the same pain you were undoubtedly in, arms immediately rushing towards your flailing body and pulling you into his chest, one of his gloved hands holding the back of your head as the other pulled your shaking legs up. 

He didn’t really care that he might’ve seriously hurt Soap, gaze and attention fixed on the tears running down your cheeks and the paleness to your normally warm skin, the wheezing breath leaving you as your body tried its best to regain the breath Soap had just stolen from you, your hands clinging to his tact gear instinctively as you coughed with every attempt to breathe.

Once he made sure you were definitely still awake and breathing, he brought you closer to him, the hold on you similar to some desperate attempt at the bridal style, almost like a mutt protecting its territory.

“What the fuck, were you thinking, Saergant!?” He shouted, glaring down at the man, who was rubbing at his neck looking up at you both in confusion. 

“Well, I’m sorry for protectin’ myself against someone who was armed, Lt.!” He shouted back, being helped back up by his captain, who seemed torn between who was in the right and who was in the wrong. 

“Did you even stop to think-”

“Oh, because you feckin’ warned me about the armed woman who’d be waitin’ for us!” Soap interrupted, coughing out.

Ghost clenched his jaw, turning to make eye contact with Price, who just shook his head at him, imploring him to just let go. 

“We’re all stressed. It slipped Ghost’s mind to tell us about her and you shouldn’t've had reacted like that. You’re both in the wrong.” 

Neither of them spoke, knowing that the Captain, as always, was right. 

“Go take care of her.” 

He didn’t have to tell Ghost twice. He and Soap shared one final glance, one that only they knew what meant, full of words neither of them would dare to share out loud, but they understood. 

The gun luckily hadn’t gone off during the whole kerfuffle, letting Ghost lean down and pick it up carefully, clicking on the safety before sliding it into one the spare holsters, not trusting himself enough to carry a loaded gun while you were still in his arms. 

He pushed the door open, your coughs continuing as your eyes started fluttering open, trying to drive away the flurry of tears that were still streaming down your cheeks and wetting your clothes, a broken croak of his name leaving you. 

“It’s me, don’t worry. Just me, love. Just me.” He reassured you the whole way back to the bed, propping you up onto the soft mattress and letting you fall back, kneeling onto the carpeted floor and letting his head rest against the sweet-smelling covers, lifting his head as one of your hands pawed at his mask. 

He tried ignoring you for a few moments as he took the gun back out and expelled the mag, squeezing his eyes shut as another one of your sobs reached his ears, shoving the gun and mag back into the drawer it had been in before finally turning to look at you properly.

“Simon…” You managed to get out, cringing at the sound of your voice, still slightly delirious from the lack of air in your brain. “What… It- It hurts…”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” He whispered, grabbing at your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Just breathe f’me. It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you.”

He didn’t even know what he was saying at this point, just reacting to every single thing he usually told himself when he was in the midst of a panic attack ever since he was young.

“Who…”

Your eyes darted over to the door, where both of you could still hear the other talk, flinching as one of them spoke a bit too loud. 

“They’re with me. Soap, he was the one to… I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you before coming, we were in the middle of a mission and-”

“Oh my god, Simon!” You cried out, startling the both of you. You propped yourself up, shaking a bit due to the dizziness but grabbing onto his non-wounded shoulder all the same. “You’re bleeding!”

In the midst of everything that had just happened, he seemed to have forgotten the stab wound, his free hand coming up to touch at the now drying blood with a hiss. 

“It’s fine. Listen, you-”

“No! It’s not fine, oh my god!” You felt a bit queasy as you noticed the blood that also stained his hands and tact vest, hoping to god that it was his even though deep down you knew that it wasn’t. “What- How are you so okay with this!?”

He grabbed both of your hands before they reached to grab at his wounded shoulder, staring deep into your foggy eyes. “Don’t worry about me.”

Don’t worry about him? 

He was fucking freebleeding in the middle of your bedroom like it was a goddamn hobby! How could you not worry about him!?

“I’m fine. How’s your throat?” He let go of one of your hands to bring it up to your neck, fingers softly grazing against a few darkening spots adorning your skin, reminders of what had happened before. 

“It… It still hurts to speak. Kind of.” You closed your eyes as the tough material of his gloves brushed against you so gently, surprised that such items that had been used to rip countless people apart were capable of a touch so sweet, so soft, so caring…

You swallowed, the movement of your throat beneath his hand quickly alerting himself of what he was currently touching, holding, and making him let go, going back to search for your other abandoned hand, making it easier for him by raising it and meeting his halfway.

“I’m sorry. For not telling you we were coming.” The apology seemed to slip from his lips oh so easily, compared to when you’d first let him in to explain himself, when he’d clearly physically struggled to speak those two damned words…

“‘We’?” You repeated, feeling his hands tighten around yours. 

“Soap’s not the only one. Price and Gaz are also here.” He explained, his eyes motioning towards the door. “We were compromised, in a way. Needed somewhere to go, and I just…”

You looked away, already knowing the ending of the short recap of the night, looking down at your linked hands, gaze darting back up to the blood staining his arm. 

“It’s… Fine.”

It really wasn't. You knew you had every right to be angry with him and the three other men he’d brought along, this was your flat! Your home, your building, your living room they had no doubt made their own in the small time you’d been in the bedroom with Simon, and without even thinking about the bruises forming at the base of your neck you already had enough reasons to let your anger boil over. 

But you stayed silent as he waited for you to snap, to scream at him, to add even more salt in the wound that had formed both mentally and physically tonight; silent as he took your hands and helped you climb out of bed and cling onto him for balance as you regained the feeling in your legs (that were being invaded by the stabbing feeling of pins and needles); silent as he pushed the door open and walked out with you concealed behind him like some tactical weapon. 

You were pleasantly surprised to see that unlike your fears the men had seemingly not touched a single thing in your living room, standing next to the kitchen island despite one of them clearly having problems with standing. 

He made eye contact with you, your blood running cold as you realised that he had been the one to cause the soreness that now racked your throat, immediately moving to tear your gaze away from him but stopped as he did it first, looking down at his shoes as if ashamed, and by the way he stayed silent while the other introduced themselves, he was. 

The captain was nice enough, he clasped your hand in a firm handshake, one that you assumed he’d been practising for longer than you were alive, and he had a very kind face despite the work you knew the four men did, but you couldn’t help but feel at ease in his presence, an effect you assumed he had on everyone by the way they seemed so lax instead of freaking out over the wounds littering their bodies like you would. 

Gaz gave you a smile and a nod, not even attempting to outstretch either of his hands to you due to the tear up his arm and the other hand pressing a bloody piece of cloth to the wound in hopes of keeping himself from losing too much blood. 

“Soap.” Ghost’s voice came out low and gruff, a tone of voice you’d never heard from him, and you thanked whatever god was up there that you’d never heard it directed to you, because clearly you weren’t as strong as the Sergeant in front of you and would’ve immediately crumbled into fear.

“I’m sorry.” He immediately spoke out, his accent thick around each word as he outstretched his arm, poised out for a handshake. “I hope I didn’ hurt you t’much.”

Although the burn from his hand was still there, a constant reminder for the rest of the night of what had happened, and though it would take a bit of while for you to let go of it, you still raised your hand up to his, clasping it in a much weaker handshake than his Captain’s, but it was firm nonetheless, confirming your “acceptance” to his apology for now. 

“I would have done the same if I had your strength, don’t worry.” You tried lightening up the mood, despite the anxiety that still tugged at your mind, letting go of his hand and going back to standing next to Simon, your arm pressed right against his, hoping that his massive frame would do something to help hide you. 

A warm hand came up to your waist, the hairs on your body standing on end as Ghost’s breath hit the shell of your ear. “Go check on Tommy.”

Tommy.

Your stomach dropped at the realisation that you hadn’t even thought about your poor son in the whole time you were awake, too focused on yourself to even think about what fear he could be going through after hearing more than the two voices he was used to in the small apartment, your breath hitching as the hand slowly pushed you towards the nursery door, like you were a dog in need of direction.

“Tommy?” Gaz breathed out as Ghost led him to the kitchen sink, letting the man run his arm under the stream of cold water, washing away any of the crusty blood that stuck to the skin, while Ghost continued his search for the medkit.

The man stayed quiet, not even bothering to even think of beginning to explain Tommy, and by association you and whatever relationship you had, already having had struggled enough when deciding to open up to Price about it, not needing to do it two more times. 

“His son.” Price answered for him when he saw that Ghost was making no move to answer, the skull-faced man turning to send a quick glare in his captain’s direction before being shot down with one of the same calibre. “Don’t ask more, though. Bugger still likes keeping his secrets.”

Both Soap and Gaz turned to Ghost with matching expressions, dumbfounded by the information they had just been fed, unbelieving that the man they knew as Ghost, the Ghost that they had watched kill people with a single hand, the Ghost that seemingly felt no emotions towards any of them or anyone, the Ghost they’d worked so hard to even get a sliver of information out of him was indeed a father. An actual father, with a real son who had a mother who lived in a nice and cute-looking flat taking care of said son. 

After the confrontation between you and Soap, they had quickly assumed that Ghost harboured some type of feelings towards you, whether they were romantic or platonic was still yet to be known (though by the way he had held you so protectively against his chest, they assumed that they already knew the answer to that small conundrum), but they would’ve never guessed that you were the fucking mother of his son, a son he’d kept pretty well hidden from everyone, except Price, like many of the details of his oh-so mysterious life.

“That’s… Nice.” Gaz croaked out, throat having gone dry by the absolute shock that had filled the two Sergeants, gulping as Ghost stood back up to his full height, suddenly intimidated by the man more than usual. 

“Yeah. Stay.” Once again, not even bothering to say it in a nicer way, commanding all of them like dogs before entering the room you’d just retreated to and slamming the door closed. 

He immediately regretted it, though, by the way you snapped your head around like the girl from the ring furiously, clutching a fussing Tommy to your chest, reminiscent of the first night he’d spent in your flat.

“Sorry.” He didn’t wait for you to respond, taking a few long strides until he was at your side, gazing down at your sweet boy, who was moving around in your arms like he was actively trying to escape you. “How’s he?”

“Fussy. I mean, he’s been sleeping all day, no surprises there. Probably wants to watch some telly.”

“Can’t really do that lying down now, can he?” A gloved finger came down to tickle his tummy, causing him to move around more as he burst into a fit of giggles, seemingly not caring about his father's sudden change of appearance, hopefully assimilating in his tiny brain that all skull patterns equaled dad. 

At his response, you sucked air through your teeth, causing him to snap his head towards you in fear he’d said something wrong, taking a step back as he watched you place your hands underneath Tommy’s armpits and slowly take him to the ground, his little duck printed socks touching the floor and causing Ghost’s eyes to widen, mind racing with thoughts that your son might actually be some type of prodigy if he was standing up at this age, but let out a humoured breath as his little bum hit the floor, and instead of falling back like he always did, he instead stayed there sitting, moving his arms around in order to shake your grip off. 

“He’s sitting.”

“You don’t sound very impressed.” You said, looking up at him with a bright smile, not being able to help the immense pride you felt as your son ticked off another milestone off the list, sitting down on the carpet behind him and handing him one of the toys littered on the ground, wanting to enjoy this little moment of peace within the confusing and terrifying night you’d had, trying your best to focus simply on Tommy and not with what would come with having four military trained men in your flat. 

“No, it’s… Yeah.” You rolled his eyes at the inexpressive tone his voice took, watching him take a seat in front of you and raise his uninjured arm up to click his fingers in front of Tommy’s chubby face, like you normally did when wanting to catch his attention. “Good job, duck.”

You couldn’t help the way your smile widened as you heard him use the little nickname you’d given him, placing your hands on his chubby tummy and tickling his sides, enticing another few happy giggles. 

But through them, you heard the sharp hiss that came from Simon as he moved to put his weight onto the other arm, eyes going wide as you realised you’d completely neglected the wound you’d fussed about so much earlier, one of your hands moving to grasp his hands. 

“Why haven’t you treated it yet?” You whispered, keeping your distress to a minimum in front of Tommy, but Ghost could still feel the worry that emanated from you, shrugging (as best he could) and looking away. 

“I couldn’t find the medkit.” You raised a brow at his apprehensive words, lifting yourself off the floor along with Tommy and adjusting your hold on him. 

“It’s where it always is.” You started moving, giving him little to no time to react before he had jolted up and started following, almost crashing into you as you stopped in your tracks once you’d opened the door, seemingly forgetting about the company you’d been thinking about mere moments before. “Oh.”

“Is that him?” Soap said with a smile before anyone spoke, gesturing towards the small boy fidgeting in your arms. 

“No. Just some other random kid, Johnny.” Ghost’s hands once again found their rightful place on your hips and pushed you slightly to urge you to continue your walk, a huff leaving your lips at his impatience (although you couldn’t really blame him, you too would be impatient if there were a literal hole in your shoulder), as you made your way back in to the bedroom, feeling Ghost move around behind you as if he were shielding you from the prying eyes of his Sergeants and Captain, who simply wanted to catch a glimpse of the small boy. 

“Here.” You called out as you handed Tommy over to his father, opening up the mirror in the bathroom and pulling out the small yet quite big medkit he’d gifted you. 

Ghost tried his best to ignore the small bottles of pills he spied along the shelves of the little cupboard as you opened up the medkit, looking through all the items. 

“I… I don’t know how to use most of these.” You mumbled, taking it over to him so he could look through it. 

“Don’t worry, we do.” Tommy was handed back off to you, no doubt giving the small boy whiplash from how fast he was being moved from one parent to another like a hot potato. “Might need some help with the stitches.”

Stitches. 

You willed away the look of discomfort that would no doubt try to show on your face at the mere thought of it. 

Now, you weren’t the most horrible person at stitching clothes, you’d fixed a few items for both Tommy and you, and maybe the odd time you’d found a hole in Simon’s hoodie and couldn’t just leave it like that, but the thought of using a needle and string to stitch up a wound instead of the normal cloth made shivers rack your body. 

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” You breathed out, instead of letting out the worries that swirled about your brain. I mean, these men were dealing with blood and gore almost daily, surely you could manage to deal with a little wound, right?

“Hey. We’ve been treated by worse. Won’t be any worse than doin’ it ourselves.” He murmured, opening the door for you. 

And that filled you with some reassurance at first, but as you disinfected your hands and were given the needle and string, you couldn’t help but feel sick, turning your head over to the little playpen you’d purchased a few days ago where Soap was sitting next to looking down at Tommy play. Ghost right at his side glaring down at them, as if Tommy’s personal bodyguard. 

“You don’t have to, really. I can try and do it myself.” Gaz assured you with a smile, starting to move his arm away from you. 

“With one hand?”

“You’d be surprised what I can do with one hand, ma’am.” He grinned, getting a furious look from Ghost. 

You breathed out a laugh, shakily taking his arm into yours and bringing it back to where he had it before, angling the needle to his wound before taking one last look of reassurance up at the man, who only nodded in response. 

It wasn’t as disgusting as you had expected, but the sounds and feelings were still uncomfortable.

You finally finished the final stitch, shakily tying the knot before cutting the thread, disposing yourself of the latex gloves you’d put on. 

“Is- Is that okay?” 

“It’s perfect, love, don’t you worry. Did it better than I ever could.” Gaz encouraged, getting some bandages and helping you to wrap it around his now sanitised wound. “Could easily get a job as a nurse if you ever wanted to, eh? Think Ghost would love to have you on base.”

“That’s enough, Sergeant.” Ghost snapped, pushing himself off the wall and nodding down at Johnny. “Get a move on.”

You shared a smile with Gaz before Soap took his spot, albeit a bit more awkward, and raised his leg up to the sofa (you almost had a heart attack before you realised he’d kindly discarded his shoes before doing so). 

“Oh, do I-.” 

“No need f’stitches. I just need a bit o’help disinfecting it.” He mumbled, always the careful one when it came to cleaning. 

“Yeah, okay.” You did just as he had told you to, carefully pouring the alcohol onto the gauze before wiping away any dirt and dry blood from the graze before sticking a clean one over the wound with the help of a few bandages. 

You couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of your handiwork as you watched him get up, his limp a bit better now that he definitely knew that he hadn’t contracted any types of diseases thanks to the wound, taking back his spot back next to Gaz and Tommy, the other sergeant moving a little toy around in hopes of attracting Tommy’s attention. 

“I’ll help with this one, Lieu-” 

“No need.” Ghost interrupted the captain, sitting down on the sofa and immediately sinking it, the piece of furniture still not used to his weight even after all the time he’d been using it. “I’ll help her.”

You nodded with a smile, although it quickly flipped upside down as you realised what dealing with Ghost’s wound entailed, watching him slowly take off most of his tactical gear before leaving him in one of those damn tight shirts, moving the sleeve off the wounded shoulder and letting you see what you were dealing with in full detail. 

“Clean and stitch it up. Not that hard, lovie.” He mumbled, his words just for your ears, one warm hand landing on one of the thighs you had curled beneath you on the sofa you were kneeling on. “Just going to be a bit more difficult to heal.” 

“Okay.” You swallowed, tugging on another pair of gloves before balancing yourself with one hand on the part of his uninjured shoulder, somehow still feeling the body warmth through the latex. 

This was different from Gaz’s wound. While the other man had been looking away the whole time, you could feel Ghost’s sharp gaze on you even as you thread the needle, your body squirming beneath the uncomfortable stare. 

“C’mon.” He urged, settling himself further into the sofa to make the next part easier for you, letting yourself take a deep breath before starting without a second though, pleasantly surprised as he didn’t even move an inch with every stitch you made, although you could feel his thumb rubbing over the warm skin of your thigh with every second, your hand giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze every time you tightened a stitch, despite knowing he probably didn’t need the same reassurance you did. “It’s okay.”

It almost felt like you were the one getting stitched up, not him. 

You finished with shaky hands, dropping the gloves and needles and patching it up, jolting away when his hand grabbed at the bandages, finishing the job himself. 

“Thank you.” He mumbled, the hairs on your body standing up as you realised finally how close you’d been to him the whole time, slowly letting go of his arm and letting them fall back onto your lap. 

“It’s fine.” You watched him get up, once again not showing a single ounce of pain or discomfort despite the pain you knew a person who wasn’t desensitised to this type of wounds would be in, your eyes following him across the room until he reached the two Sergeants, who were still trying to gain Tommy’s affection.

When you saw them like that, they hardly looked like the type of men whose job consisted on fighting and killing for a living, they just looked like two blokes you’d find at the pub on a random sunday night, despite the tactical gear they still wore, having fun with watching a kid roll around with his toys. 

“Thank you.” Price rumbled from behind you, a hand landing on the headrest of the sofa. “For letting us stay. Feels like no one’s said that yet.”

You shrugged, running your hands up and down your thighs in order to cure the chill that had just run through your body. “It’s okay. I mean… Simon’s done a lot for us, guess I could just repay the favour one way or another.”

Although maybe you would’ve thought of a more traditional way of doing that, one that wasn’t stitching up his men and him in the middle of the night. 

“Hmph. Well, considering what good a job you’ve done, I’d say you’ve paid it back pretty well.”

You smiled up at him, not catching the look Ghost sent to you from the other side of the room, looking down at the small boy he was cradling and then up at the time, not having missed the eyebags that adorned your normally bright eyes. 

He called your name as he came near, his heart missing a beat as you instantly outstretched your arms out at him, stomach sinking as he quickly realised you were gesturing towards Tommy and not him, carefully bringing him down to latch onto your chest. 

“Think we’ll be leavin’ now.” He said, catching both your and Price’s attention. 

“Leaving?”

“Where else are you going to stay?” You prodded for an answer, pressing Tommy further into the jumper you’d pulled on. 

“We’ll find somewhere.” He looked up at Price for reassurance, but got a not so on board look back. 

You looked between the two, who stayed silent enough for you to make a quick inventory check in your head, looking down at the pull out sofa you were currently sitting on and thinking back to the possible inflatable mattress you had stored in your room. 

“Simon.” You said, almost like a child tugging on their parent’s sleeve to ask for something. “You can just stay for the night. I’ve got a few blankets and a small mattress along with the sofa. I don’t mind.”

You always felt like you could drown in his eyes when he looked at you like that, glassy eyes filled with concern and apprehensiveness at your words, as if he was assessing the true nature behind them only to find that you were only speaking the truth.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

And maybe, in the heat of the moment, you’d under planned a bit, since you realised mid unfolding some blankets that both the sofa and the small mattress would not fit four people, even if one decided to sleep on the floor, they’d be far from comfortable curling into some random nook or cranny of the flat. 

You fluffed up some of the pillows, listening to some parts of the conversation Gaz and Soap were having from inside the bathroom, jumping out of your skin as one of Ghost’s hands appeared on your back. 

“I'm going to let Soap and Gaz take the sofa. Price’s alright with taking the mattress.” He explained, hand continuing to rest on the small of your back even as you leaned back up, working on shoving a cushion into its cover. 

“And you?” You asked, almost dreading the answer. 

He looked away, a faraway gaze on the visible part of his face as if he wasn’t really there with you, as if you were just talking to a shell of a man who someone else was controlling. 

“I don’t need to sleep. I’m fine with staying in Tom’s room.” He responded, taking the pillow from your hands and placing it down on the inflatable mattress that lay next to the sofa. 

“What? You’re hurt, Simon, you should be resting!”

Silence. 

“You’re not fucking superhuman, you know that, right?!” You snapped, grabbing at his sleeve and forcing him to look your way. “You need rest like anyone else. Just because you cover your face and act like you don’t care about anything does not mean you’re special.”

God, shut up! Your brain was shouting at you, unbelieving that you were getting so worked up over a man you’d convinced yourself that you wouldn’t let in no matter what, but there you were, horrified that he had such little care for his well-being that he would rather stay awake all night than find somewhere else to sleep. 

“Just take my bed!”

The words were out of your mouth before you even realised it. 

And clearly, you weren’t the only one who was surprised by them. 

Simon was staring down at you with what you could only assume was a dumbfounded look, his eyes swirling with confusion. 

“Your bed?”

“My bed.” You breathed out, horrified with yourself. “It's queen sized, you know that. You’ll fit.”

Silence engulfed the room, a pattern that seemed to follow every single one of your conversations you had in this exact spot of the living room, gazes interlocked together. 

“No-”

“Yes. Get into your pyjamas and come to bed.” You said almost robotically, finishing the final cushion before pushing yourself off, quickly walking back into your room before the man could protest. You placed a hand against the wall in order to balance yourself as soon as you were out of his line of view, a shaky hand coming up to cover your mouth in shock of what you’d just asked, no, insisted him to do.

Soap and Gaz apologised for taking so long in the bathroom, letting you take their place so you could calm down a bit alone and in silence, sitting on the closed toilet with a shaking leg, biting your nails as you stared down at the white tiles. 

You were so fucking stupid. 

What was wrong with you!?

Why couldn’t you just stick to your initial feelings for him!?

Why couldn’t you just have let him do what he wanted!?

Why did you care so much about someone you’d insisted was nothing to you!?

You rested your face against the open palms of your hands, running them up and down until you rid yourself of the urge to want to cry, the opening of your bedroom door immediately catching your attention. 

Ghost knocked at the door, making you jump for what seemed like the nth time tonight, calling out your name. 

“I need to get changed.”

Your heart soared at the implication behind his hushed words. 

Now, you don’t really know what you were expecting for his pyjamas to be, but the black shirt and cargo sweatpants he sported were definitely on brand for a man like Simon.

It’d been a really long time since you’d caught a peak at his arms, since even in the warmest weather possible, Simon always insisted on wearing at least a long sleeved shirt, leaving the rest of his body up to the imagination (which, thanks to that night, you didn’t really need), but thanks to the shirt he was currently wearing, it allowed you to gaze upon his muscular arms and the tattoo that ran the whole way up one of them, remembering faintly the moment he’d let you look at them for a moment before tugging you closer into his chest. 

It also didn’t surprise you that he was still wearing the balaclava, although this one was different to the skulled one he normally wore, silver lines running over his chin, like the bottom set of teeth of the plastic skull he’d now discarded, leaving him almost naked in a way, after having gotten so used to him all covered up. 

“Are you sure?” He asked one final time, standing at the edge of the bed. 

“Yes, Simon.”

His gaze darted away from you as you called out his name, something you’d noticed he’d done the whole night every time you spoke his real name out, despite him never reacting this way when you were both alone. 

“Lie down.” He did as you said, getting into the bed and pulling some of the covers up to cover his lap, turning to watch you as you leaned over to turn off the small lamp on your nightstand, the room instantly being filled with darkness after the click. 

“You know…” Your voice came out hushed, further down than before, letting him assume that you’d just rested your face against your pillow. “Your skull mask looks silly.”

“Silly?” He whispered back, mock offended, like you’d just killed his entire family in front of him (which would be largely upsetting considering you were his family…).

“Silly.” You parroted, thinking back to the hard plastic skull. “You look like a little kid on halloween.” 

“That was the goal.” He lazily joked, moving down so he too was lying on his own pillow, staring up at the darkness that used to be the ceiling, his hair scratchy against his nape and skull due to it being pressed against the material of his balaclava. “...my brother wore a mask like that. Used to scare the shit out of me.”

You let out a huff, impossible of even imagining a little version of your Simon being scared by his brother. “Isn’t he younger than you?”

“...”

“Oh my god, Simon.”

“I was easily frightened.” He said, knowing that if there were any source of light near you, you’d instantly be able to see the blush that no doubt was dusting his pale cheeks. “I was frail as a kid.”

Why was he telling you this?

“Frail?” You mumbled, moving yourself closer to him in order to hear him clearer. 

“My dad wasn’t the nicest person.” 

He should stop. 

“You mean… He hurt you?”

“In more ways than one.”

You shouldn’t know this about him. 

“That’s… Horrible. I’m sorry, Simon…”

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t. 

“It’s not… You don’t have to act like it is.”

“...”

“Simon.”

Your sweet voice called out to him, your hand brushing against his arm and causing a ripple effect on it, all of his hairs standing on edge at the soft touch. 

“Simon…”

“I’m sorry.” He breathed out, turning around, forcing your hand away from him in doing so, leaving you staring at his back in the dark. 

Silence engulfed the room once again, your hand frozen in place from where it had been pressed against before, clenching it closed and bringing it back, turning around yourself and snuggling into the nice-smelling covers.

You didn’t even bother trying to continue the conversation or bid him a goodnight like you wish you could, instead keeping the silence going until the inevitable grasp of Hypnos would pull you under. 

But you couldn’t seem to fall asleep, even after only having slept two hours that day, even as no sound came through the baby monitor on your bedside table, even if everything was perfectly scripted for you to close your eyes and finally get some rest…

You turned around, feeling around the cold space of the bed that laid between Simon and your sleeping bodies, squeezing your eyes closed before taking a shaking breath. 

It was cold. That was it. It was cold, and you felt bad for him.

There was no other reason for why you wrapped your arms around his chest from behind, curling into the shape of his body and pressing your face right against his warm back, feeling him tense beneath your hands. 

You stayed there, waiting for the unavoidable moment where he’d try and shake you off like you were some kind of leech, but he didn’t. 

Instead, one of his hands came up to rest over the one you had above his heart, squeezing it slightly, his way of telling you that this was okay without openly speaking out. 

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and pulling yourself closer into his warmth, feeling his heart beat slowly grow steady beneath your palm as time went past. 

Simon hoped that the tear streaks down his balaclava wouldn’t be noticeable in the morning. 

This time, when you woke up, he wasn’t gone. 

Although a bit dishevelled compared to the normal composure he kept, he was there. 

The mask had ridden up to his cupid’s bow in the middle of the night, exposing the not very well-kept beard he’d started growing under there, along with tufts of blond hair that peaked out from around his nape.  

It was clear you’d both moved a lot across the course of the night, by the way you’d both ended in a completely different position than the one you'd started in, with you on the other side of the bed wrapped up in his arms, your face pressed into his chest instead of his back.

His warm hands were covering your lower back, brushing lightly against the elastic band of your pyjama bottoms, one leg draped over his waist while the other was between his.

You tentatively raised your hand to run your fingers against the hair at the base of his head, curling a slightly long strand around one of your fingers and letting out an amused huff at the curl that formed there. 

“Ow.” Simon rasped, although his voice was as monotonous as could be, pulling his head away from your hand. “Ticklish.”

“You’re ticklish?” You mumbled, watching him open his eyes before craning his head away from you, a pop coming from the bone as he stretched, moving onto his back and pulling you with him, letting you curl into his side. 

Not one word was spoken during the entire morning about what was going on, about your sudden change of heart (although you knew it wasn’t sudden), about what this night would mean for the two of you moving forward. 

Neither of you said a word, afraid that the conversation that would follow would be the one to ruin whatever had happened, 

You wandered out of your bedroom an hour after you’d officially woken up, wanting to indulge in the warmth Simon had provided all throughout the night, surprised and a bit shocked (you’d honestly forgotten what was waiting for you outside), Tommy fidgeting around in Soap’s arms as he held him with surprising care and ability. 

“Are you some type of expert?” You said with a careful smile, not missing the way his eyes darted down to the bruises around your neck, still feeling bad for what he had done. 

“Uh, kinda’? Got four sisters, each of ‘em with their own set of bairns.” He shrugged, the movement making Tommy let out a giggle through his dummy. “Lad was cryin’, couldn’t just leave him there.”

“It’s okay. Thank you.” You felt a bit embarrassed for not having woken up at your baby’s crying, but you were glad that he seemed perfectly happy, clearly enjoying the attention he’d been receiving the past hours. “He’s starting to teeth, that’s probably why he was crying, my poor-”

The slamming down of a mug interrupted you, staring dumbfounded at Gaz, who’d been the one to cause the noise. 

“Fuck! Sorry, sorry, ma’am, just-” He wiped away some of the spilt tea (you were even more confused as to where he’d gotten the cuppa until you noticed the captain standing next to the stove with your kettle), looking up at you with darkening cheeks. “Sorry, my arm’s still a bit fucked-”

“Clean it up.” Ghost ordered gruffly as he walked out of the bedroom, clad in most of the clothing he’d worn yesterday, hiding once again all the skin and muscles you’d ran your hands over that morning. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not a prick, man.” Gaz grumbled. 

Ghost leaned down to you, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden closeness, in front of his teammates no less, but ended up pressing a finger to Tommy's nose, your cheeks going warm out of embarrassment. 

“You made tea?” He grunted at his Captain, who shrugged, taking a sip of the warm brew. 

“I’ll pay it back.”

“Y-”

“It’s not necessary, it’s just tea.” You elbowed Ghost before he could say anything rude, placing Tommy down onto his highchair before moving to get some of his food and get yourself a cup in the meantime. 

“Can’t thank her enough.” Price grumbled to Ghost as you and the other two started a conversation, watching the masked man pour himself a cup before swigging it all down quickly like it was some type of liquor. “For letting us stay.”

“Yeah. I’m going to have to make it up for her.” Ghost answered, watching you try to coerce Tommy to open his mouth for a spoonful of baby food with Soap’s help. 

“Seems like you already did, she looks real happy.” Price nudged Ghost, like a father teasing his son for getting his first girlfriend, his moustache twitching as Ghost turned away from him, further pushing the thought that it was just like that type of scenario. 

“We should get going. I can’t risk it further.” Ghost responded instead of continuing the banter, pushing himself off the counter and turning to you, Price immediately dropping the funny act and nodding, moving to get some of their things they’d tried to place neatly in one of the corners. 

“We’re going.” He announced, heart sinking into his stomach at the disappointment that washed over your face, placing down the baby food on the table and leaning back up to your full height. 

“Now?”

“Yes. Soap, go start the car.” Ghost ordered, the scot doing just as his captain had and dropping the smile that had been previously adorning his face, getting up and taking his jacket from Price, not forgetting to say a proper goodbye to you and give you a firm handshake that he hoped transmitted the apology for everything he did, and as you received it with a small smile, he hoped it meant that you forgave him. 

“Where are you going?” You asked, watching Gaz and Price reload some of the guns from the other side of the flat. 

“Base. Hopefully, Laswell will have backup and we’ll be able to finish what we started.” He said, gloved fingers running over Tommy's soft head, messing up some of the curls that had started to form. “I’ll call you once we’ve finished.”

The look you gave him spoke a million words. 

“I promise. I’ll be back, you know that.”

You felt embarrassed at how quickly he’d managed to discern what your look had meant, but nodded nonetheless, saying goodbye to the other two (Gaz giving you a bright smile and Price clasping your hand in his once again, his presence washing away any worry you might have just like last time), leaving the three of you alone in your apartment. 

“Duck, daddy’s going now.” You whispered to your son, the small boy clearly having no idea of what you were saying, but giggling up at you as you pressed a kiss to his chubby cheek. “Say bye-bye, now.”

You moved his little hand in a goodbye motion, Ghost’s mask moving over his lips as he smiled, raising one of his hands to wave goodbye back. 

Despite having done this same song and dance for almost four months now, it still didn’t get rid of the bittersweet feeling that bloomed in Simon’s chest, already knowing the drill as you led him to the front door with a solemn look tugging at your pretty features. 

“We’ll talk once I get back, okay? I promise.” He spoke softly as he stood by the opened door, a gloved hand coming up to cup at your face and tilt you upwards so you were both making eye contact. “‘Bout everything.”

“Okay.” You whispered, fighting the urge to lean further into his touch. “I’ll be here.”

He nodded, but his hand still didn’t move. 

You waited, for what, you didn’t know. You were slowly getting lost in his eyes when his other hand came up to pull his mask up over his lips, leaning down and softly tugging you upwards until they met your forehead, the kiss short and sweet despite all the pain and darkness that you knew followed him, always a surprise when it came to how quickly he could change from the personality he showed to you and Tommy to the personality you’d witnessed him show to his teammates not long ago. 

You blinked up at him owlishly, watching him pull the mask back down and let go of your face (though his touch still lingered) before taking a step back. 

“Stay safe.” You repeated like all the other times. 

“I always do.” He replied, and like always, he disappeared down the hall. 

“No.”

“Oh, come on. He’ll like it!” 

“He won’t.” Ghost snapped, taking one last look at the small toy Gaz was waving around, like Ghost was a child to be entertained and he was just being fussy, which really wasn’t that off track. 

“How’d you know?”

“‘Cause I’m his dad!” He looked away, already regretting having brought his teammates back to your place and therefore letting them meet Tommy. Maybe he should’ve just let them bleed out back then. 

“And you’re honestly telling me that a child will not like this?” Gaz moved it around a bit more, almost tantalising his lieutenant. 

Ghost peaked back at the small teddy bear, its fur fluffy and inviting and its black button eyes adorning its little face. 

“Just take it, mate. It’ll make me really happy!”

“I don’t care about your happiness, Sergeant.” Ghost snapped, snatching the toy from his grasp and shoving it into one of his pockets, ignoring the bright smile Gaz sent him and the punch to his shoulder. 

“God, you’re the best, Ghost. Text me if he likes it, eh?”

He never did text Gaz back, but Gaz had apparently ran his mouth to Soap about Ghost’s reluctant acceptance of the gift, since the next time he saw Soap, the scot had kindly brought a little teddy bear with a tiny Scottish flag in its paw. 

And although Ghost wanted nothing more than to rip it up in front of him, he found himself passing them on to Tommy the day he came back to you, “reluctantly” sending each of the Sergeants a picture of the small boy curled up to the two bears.

Anything III (König x Reader)

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

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

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

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

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

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

"That fucker needs to go." 

"He's not going anywhere, Simon."

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?” 

“Baby steps, Simon. Baby steps.” 

_________

Inhale, exhale. Again. 

Bang 

Then again. 

Bang 

And again. 

Bang

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

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

Bang 

You were still the best. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your body locked up. 

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

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

Your face stung at the sight of him. 

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

König ruined you and got away unscathed. 

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

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

 In, bang, out. 

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

There was no honour in what König was. 

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

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

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

Then you struck. 

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

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

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

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

But it wasn’t enough. 

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

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

This wasn’t enough. 

König’s eyes flickered open, hard and betrayed. 

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

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

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

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

König was afraid. 

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

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

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

This wasn’t enough. 

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

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

That you were going to kill him. 

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

König’s eyes softened. 

Don’t want your pity. 

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. 

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

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

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

“Your fight is finished.” 

König took in a sharp breath. 

You pulled the trigger. 

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

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

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

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

No, no, no, no. 

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

“Even in victory, you are nothing.” 

Crack

“You will always be nothing.” 

Crack

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

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

You were broken, broken, broken. 

“Birdy!” 

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

“Wake up!” 

Wake up.

Wake up. 

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

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

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

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

Price was right. You had become a liability. 

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

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

“What-” 

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

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

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

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

You took in a rattling breath and his grip tightened. 

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

You frowned. “Only at the very end.” 

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

You were strong. 

Stronger than him. 

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

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

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

“How-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

_

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