Viper // Part 3 // MAX VERSTAPPEN N.01 (N.033)

Viper // Part 3 // MAX VERSTAPPEN – N.01 (N.033)

GIF by writingaslan

Author’s Note: Thank you guys so much for being patient with me for this next part. I’m so glad that you’ve all enjoyed the previous 2 parts. Again, let me know what you think cause those comments always make me smile! Also if you’re not in the taglist, it’s cause the username wasn’t working when I tried to put it in.

Find the previous 2 parts on my masterlist, here.

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

Characters: Max Verstappen / Driver Reader, Daniel Ricciardo x Driver Reader (besties).

Word Count: 11k

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

You missed out on a podium in Russia by a couple of tenths of a second, Leclerc just barely managing to push his car across the finish line first. Though you’d forced a smile onto your face through your post-race media rounds, the smile vanished the moment you’d stepped into the debrief room and had it out with your team because a mechanical error on the last lap (you hadn’t been able to use your DRS) cost you the podium.

You’d feel bad about yelling later, but in the moment you felt like you’d lost so many valuable points in your bid for the Championship. The gap between you and Lewis almost seemed impossible now. Based on the resigned looks that crossed your team’s faces… you knew they’d accepted the fact that it was essentially out of reach going forward.

Granted, you should be happy with the way your rookie season in Formula 1 was turning out. Already, with 2 wins and multiple podium finishes, you’d done so much more than what everyone had been expecting of you. You were currently back in second, just a few point ahead of Max, but with 5 races left to the season and an over 50 point gap between you and the championship leader… odds weren’t in your favour because you highly doubted Lewis would have 2 DNFs to let you catch up.

It didn’t change the fact that it was a hard pill to swallow.

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Japan was a weird one.

You already knew that some of your friends on the grid had a hard time at this circuit, because of what had happened in 2014. Daniel had a little bit less of that usual sparkle in his eye, the young driver clearly on his mind through the weekend. You felt bad for Charles in particular, who had to field questions about Jules from the media, because it was no secret that Charles was living out his godfather’s dream with the seat in Ferrari.

Then on Friday, it was announced that all sessions on Saturday would be cancelled, and the Qualifying session would be rescheduled for Sunday morning, in anticipation of a big typhoon rolling in on Saturday. It led to a weird atmosphere in the hotel on Saturday, drivers having an unexpected day off in the middle of the race weekend and having no idea what to do with themselves. You, and a few other drivers and performance coaches, had wound up in Daniel’s room watching movies and eating smart popcorn. Not your typical race weekend Saturday at all, but it seemed no one wanted to spend it alone.

Sunday you woke up to some beautiful clear skies, heading off to the track at the crack of dawn to get to work. It was easier that expected to get back into the swing of things after that impromptu day off, diving right into qualifying. Both you and Max had made it into Q3, and even weirder, you set the exact same qualifying time (he’d wound up in the lead because he’d set the time first), starting P5 and P6 on the grid. You’d done your post-qualifying interviews together, before heading back to the garage to go through your preparation routine ahead of the race.

The weirdness of the weekend didn’t end there. Once the lights went out, you’d managed to gain a few positions from the start and wound up in P3. Max wasn’t as lucky, involved in some contact with Charles that spun him off the track and damaged his car. Though he’d tried to carry on with the race, the team eventually decided to retire Max’s car from the race when they realized that wouldn’t make up pace and put all their focus on you.

The pressure didn’t bother you, instead motivating you to do whatever you could to get the most points for the team. And somehow, thanks to some fantastic pit strategies and a little bit of luck, you’d crossed the finish line a few seconds ahead of Bottas and Hamilton, taking the win. The celebration was a little bit bittersweet for the team, considering the DNF, but it was also their 5th win of the season.

After the podium celebration and team photo, you’d convinced your PR officer to give you a couple of minutes to change out of your champagne-soaked suit before heading to the media pen, so you’d quickly made your way through the garage, intent on getting to your driver’s room as quickly as possible.

You never expected to bump into Max and his father Jos, the latter essentially reaming out his son for the poor outcome on the race. You’d taken a few steps back to avoid being seen, not wanting to interrupt something that clearly wasn’t meant for your eyes.

That didn’t stop you from overhearing the gist of Jos’s cruel words. “-didn’t even fight to stay in the race. I taught you better than that. You’ll never become champion if you keep letting that hoer ahead of you! I thought you’d learned after Germany, but it’s clear that you’d rather be on that slet’s good graces than winning races. Ik ben teleurgesteld in jou (I’m disappointed in you.)” Oh great, they were talking about you. You didn’t know what Jos had called you, but you doubted that it was anything nice.

“Leclerc’s the one who ruined my race today by running me off the track. Y/L/N had nothing to do with it.” Max’s tone lacked the… confidence it usually held.

Jos wasn’t having it. “You gave her the better line off the start.”

“She beat me to it.” Max argued, accent strong as he continued to voice his argument. “I don’t let her do anything. She’s a fucking good driver. Red Bull wouldn’t have given her the second seat if she wasn’t.”

Jos laughed menacingly. “We all know she’s only on the team for the PR benefits of having a girl in the sport. Red Bull is making millions in additional brand deals and sponsorships. She’s a commodity. You’re just soft for her. It’s making you look like a fool on the track.”

 You didn’t know what insulted you the most out of what Max’s dad had just said, but it’s not like you could defend yourself without giving away the fact that you’d been eavesdropping for longer than you should’ve been.

“Je hebt het fout (You’re wrong).” Max snapped.

Jos only laughed. “En je bent een hopeloze dwaas (And you’re a hopeless fool.) She’ll ruin you, and you’re letting her do it.”

You’d had enough of this. You took a few silent steps further back in the hallway, before loudly reopening the door and pretending to walk through. You kept the best poker face you could as you turned the corner towards your driver’s room, pretending to be surprised to find another two people standing in the hallway, walking until you were stood in front of your door.

“Max, Jos.” You nodded to them.

“Y/N.” Max wouldn’t meet your gaze, unlike his father who was openly glaring at you.

You didn’t falter, cocking your head to the side in challenge. Jos Verstappen didn’t scare you, you’d dealt with worse in the past. “Sorry about the DNF. Super unlucky but at least the stewards gave him a couple penalties. He wound up in P8.”

Max couldn’t hide his surprise. You never expressed sympathy after a bad result. In fact, you usually avoided him in these cases. You hadn’t been awful to him lately, but you also weren’t friends. “Oh, yeah. It sucked. But, congratulations on your win. I saw a couple of good looking overtakes on the replay screens.”

“Yes, enjoy the win while you still can.” Jos added, attempting to look intimidating.

Too bad you couldn’t care less what this man thought about you. “That’s the plan, Jos.” You smiled, sugary sweet. “Actually on the theme of enjoying victories, a bunch of us are heading out to a karaoke bar tonight. Daniel’s idea, obviously. You in, Verstappen?”

“We’re flying back to Holland tonight.” His father answered for him.

“Niet (No.)” Max stood slightly taller. “Would I have to sing?”

“Most definitely.” You smirked, enjoying the fact that Max’s dad seemed to be getting more frustrated by the second. “But, only after copious amounts of alcohol have been consumed. I’m sure they have plenty of gin for you.”

“I guess I can’t leave Daniel hanging.” Max’s smirk almost matched yours. “I’ll be there.”

“I’ll let him know.” Your smirk softened into a smile. “I’ll text you the details. See you later, Verstappen.” You added, before finally making your way into your room to change. You could hear more muttering in Dutch between the two men you’d left behind in the hallway, but paid it no mind as you changed out of your champagne soaked race suit into some other team branded clothes.

You shot Daniel a text as you’d been braiding your wet hair back, giving him a heads up that Max would be joining you guys tonight. His response was almost immediate.

- I thought you didn’t like the guy. – Danny

- I don’t. – Y/N

- But if anyone deserves to get hammered tonight, he’s up there on the list. – Y/N

- I already know *exactly* what song I’m making the two of you sing together. – Danny

- Fuck off, I’m not singing. – Y/N.

You were smiling as you made your way back out to face the media, telling yourself that it was because you’d just won your third Grand Prix of your rookie season. You didn’t doubt that tonight would be one of the more interesting victory celebrations you’d been a part of. You couldn’t wait.

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GROUPCHAT: Y/L/N Offsprings

Dumb: You’re internet famous, Y/N!

Dumb: *insert link to youtube video of you singing karaoke in a random Japanese bar with Max*

Dumber: Holy fuck that thing has thousands of views.

Jesus Christ I’m going to murder Daniel for posting that. :Y/N

It’s got more views than the elevator video… :Y/N

Dumber: We always knew you were destined for fame.

Dumb: Who needs to win the WDC. Just keep singing off key with all the drivers. That’s the way to do it.

I’m going to block you both. :Y/N

Dumb: It’s the start of something new!

Dumber: It feels so right, to be here with you!

Dumb: And now looking in your eyes

Dumber: I feel in my heart……….

Forget about those Paddock passes to the Austin GP :Y/N

Dumber: Whatever. Dan will sort us out.

I’ll have you banned. :Y/N

Good luck getting through security then. :Y/N

Dumb: Love you too, Gabriella.

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After the race weekend in Japan, you’d made your way over to Canada to spend the off week with your family ahead of the next couple of North American races. Your family had delayed Thanksgiving by a week so that you wouldn’t miss it, and you were even there to celebrate your dad’s birthday. It was nice to have a little break away from it all, knowing that the last couple of races were going to be interesting.

However, you hadn’t been able to get a certain conversation with a Dutch driver out of your head. He’d tracked you down when you’d been ordering another round of drinks at the karaoke bar in Japan, taking you by surprise when he offered you a sincere apology for that run in with his father earlier in the day. You’d easily brushed it off, because you couldn’t give two shits about what Jos Verstappen thought about you. The guy was an ass, and everyone knew it. You also somehow managed to keep your mouth shut about the part of the conversation you’d overheard, knowing that the middle of a karaoke bar in Japan probably wasn’t the best place to hash that out.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when your dad appeared beside you, placing his hand over yours that had aimlessly been stirring your coffee for a while now. “What’s on your mind, Y/N?”

“Huh? Nothing.” You shrugged it off, grabbing your mug and taking a sip of the slightly sweetened coffee.

The look your dad gave you told you that he clearly wasn’t buying it. “You’ve been quiet all weekend. You love Thanksgiving and seeing all your cousins that you don’t usually get to see.”

You found yourself looking down at your coffee again, because your dad was right. You had been distracted for a good chunk of your visit. You didn’t want to talk about what was really on your mind, so you deflected with a semi-relevant question instead. “Do you think I only got my spot at Red Bull because I’m a woman and they can leverage me to get better sponsorships and brand deals?”

“Is that what you think?” Your dad answered the question with another question.

You shrugged a shoulder, hoping you appeared unbothered, but your dad knew you better than that. “It’s what other people think.”

“I thought you didn’t care what other people thought about you.” You dad slowly said, refilling his own mug of coffee now that you’d stepped away from the coffee machine.

“I don’t, it’s just…” You trailed off, biting at your lip. “That conversation is still happening whether I care about it or not, no matter how many podiums or wins I get.”

“Let’s get one thing straight here, Y/N. You didn’t get those podiums or wins. You earned them. Regardless of what people say, it won’t take away from the fact that you went out there and won Monaco your first time around. It won’t diminish the fact that you’re having the best rookie season in recent years, consistently outscoring your more experienced teammate. It definitely won’t take away from the fact that you’re putting up a fight for the championship when no one ever thought you’d even score so much as a point. Red Bull might’ve signed you initially for the good PR, but you’re easily one of the better drivers that they’d ever signed.”

Your dad’s encouragement brought up some warm and fuzzy feelings inside of you, instantly quelling your doubts. You wished he could come out to more races, because it would be nice to have him around more often to help you block out all that stupid noise. But still, the egotistically part of you couldn’t help but fish for another compliment. “Better than Danny?”

Your dad smirked, but indulged you anyways. “Daniel didn’t win three races his rookie year.” Damn fucking straight. “What brought all of this doubt on? You’re usually far more clear headed.”

“Something I overheard in Japan that I shouldn’t have.” You mumbled, taking a large gulp from your coffee. “Jos Verstappen was quick to blame me for his son’s DNF, and overall lower standing. He thinks Max is letting me win cause I’m a girl.”

“Did you tell him he was full of shit?”

You smirked. “I thought it.”

“Good.” Your dad was smiling again, before that serious look was back on his face. “Jos couldn’t be more wrong. Max is easily the driver who gives you the hardest time on track, if the German GP was anything to go by… I’d even go as far as to say that Max was one of the first to take you seriously.”

Wait… what? “Huh?”

“I keep forgetting that you don’t watch the press things on race weekends” Your dad chuckled to himself. “Ahead of pre-season testing, he was making comments about being unsure about you, but then after he saw what you could do during testing he quickly changed his tune. He’s had your back throughout the season.”

“Max has had my back? Max… Verstappen?” You said his last name slowly, to make sure you were talking about the same person.

“Yes.” Your dad seemed confused by your surprise. “I thought you guys got along? Seemed like it in at the Montreal GP, when he was talking with us in the garage.”

At that point, they had been getting along. It was right after their temporary truce in Monaco. You’d even go as far as to say that he’d been like a friend to you, letting you use his travelling simulator so that you could get out of your head before a race. But then again, everything had changed in Germany and you’d backed off entirely, preferring to ignore him. Then that thing happened in Monaco, and you were now in this weird limbo with your teammate where you didn’t hate him or like him. “It’s… He’s complicated. He wants to win just as much as I do… so we butt heads a lot.”

Your dad laughed at your explanation. “I think it’s safe to say all the drivers on that grid with you want to win. Daniel wants to win just as much as you do, and yet the two of you are still the best of friends through it all.”

“I guess…” You trailed off, feeling a headache coming on. Daniel was different though, because he wasn’t your teammate. He wasn’t your constant line of comparison, like Max. Besides, Daniel wasn’t having the best year with his new team, so you weren’t racing him as much as you would’ve liked to.

 Urg, this was too much thinking for this early in the morning. It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. You just wanted to be able to turn up to the track, get in your car and race. Fuck everything else.

However, you’d been wrong in thinking that this was the end of the conversation. Clearly, your dad wasn’t ready to drop the first heart to heart conversation you’d had in a long time, bringing up something that you rarely every talked about. “You know, your mom would be proud of everything you’ve accomplished this year.” Your gaze snapped up to meet your dad’s, hoping you could silently convey that you didn’t want to talk about it. “I mean, I don’t think she envisioned her baby girl regularly hurtling herself around a race track at over 300kph, but you can bet she would be so fucking proud of you for carving out a space for yourself doing what you love.”

“Fucking hell dad, give a girl a warning before diving into the deep stuff.” You rebuffed, trying to avoid the topic. It was no secret that you didn’t like talking about this. Your mom was a whole other can of worms that you did not have the mental capacity to deal with this morning. Barely anyone outside of your immediate family knew about it. Daniel only knew because you’d met him a few months after it had all happened, when you packed up your Canada life and moved to Australia for a couple of years. “Can we please not do this now?”

Your dad sighed, but nodded. He’d probably seen this coming, because you always responded the same way.

One of these days you may be more willing to talk about it, but that sure as hell wasn’t today.

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You landed in Mexico on Wednesday afternoon, Daniel insisting that he be the one to come pick you up from the airport.

He’d gotten here a day ahead of you, and was clearly experiencing some sort of separation anxiety because this was the longest you’d gone without seeing one another in a while (and it was only 9 days…) Regardless, a wide smile still made its way onto your face as you dragged your suitcases behind you in the arrivals section of the airport, easily spotting the Australian in the sea of people, even though he wore shades and a hat.

He immediately started talking your ear off about what he’d been up to this past week in Los Angeles. Whereas you’d taken the week off to spend time with you family, Daniel had been bouncing from one thing to the next, running from one sponsorship event to the other. You raised your brow when he started talking about initial meetings to launch his own brand of wine, but at the same time that seemed like a very Daniel thing to do. The guy barely new what relaxing was. That’s why you weren’t surprised when you parked up outside a restaurant instead of going straight to the hotel, meeting up with Michael and Blake for dinner. Then again, you wouldn’t change a thing.

Thursday had been rather uneventful, going through your standard media routine. You’d been put in a press conference with Lewis and Max, seeing as the three of you were the only ones still in contention for the championship. It was clear from the beginning that the three of you would rather be doing just about anything else, almost turning the conference into a game of who could answer the question the best without actually providing an answer.

The Friday practice sessions hadn’t been your best, but you chalked it up to this being your first time driving on this track. It was the only track on the calendar this year that you hadn’t raced at before, and it was showing. You were a little bit more cautious than usual, trying to memorize the turns and braking points as quickly as you could and get comfortable with the feel of the track. Others had caught on to your hesitancy, if your P15 and P12 lap ranking at the end of the two sessions was anything to go by.

“Are you feeling alright, Y/N?” Christian was there the second you got out of your car at the end of the second practice session. You’d barely taken off your helmet and balaclava, setting them down on the workbench before turning your attention back to your team principle to answer his question

“I know my lap times were shit.” You got to the point. “It’s a new track for me, I’m still figuring it out. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

Christian nodded, seemingly happy that you were on the same page. “Well then, get some rest and we’ll smash it tomorrow.”

If only it was that easy.

You’d gone straight to your hotel room after leaving the track, ordering some room service that followed your nutrition plan, not in the mood to go down to the restaurant with the rest of the team. Instead, you spend hours reviewing data and mentally running through the track, really trying to engrave it into your brain. And even then, after a couple of hours of review you felt like you hadn’t done anything at all, anxiety about the situation slowly rising.

If only you could take the car out for a spin without the pressure… Oh wait.

A quick glance at the clock was enough to tell you that it was a bad idea, but that didn’t stop you from grabbing your phone and room key and marching down the hall, stopping in front of what you hoped was the correct room from what you could remember this morning when you’d both been picked up to head to the track. It would’ve probably been a better idea to text him first, but you also didn’t want him to say no. He couldn’t turn you away, face to face… right?

You knocked at the door before you could change your mind, waiting a couple of seconds to hear if there was any movement. After about 30 seconds of silence, you started knocking more incisively. The second round of knocking was met with some muffled Dutch cursing, revealing that he was in fact in his room. The cursing didn’t stop, even as he swung the door open.

The cursing didn’t stop until his eyes landed on your crossed armed figure, a frown making its way onto his face. “Y/N?”

Only now did you realize how stupid this was. But, it was too late to back down. “So, I’m having an existential crisis because I’ve never driven on this stupid track before and I can’t wrap my head around it… My lap times were shit today and I’m kind of freaking out thinking they aren’t going to be any better tomorrow and I fucked up by not going to Milton Keynes last week to practice… And then I remembered that you have that nifty little traveling simulator. Any chance you’d let me run a couple of laps before I actually lose my mind?”

He didn’t say anything, simply pulling the door open further and stepping aside to let you into the room.

You walked in, immediately noticing the messed-up bedsheets, oddly placed pillows and the fact that only the bedside lamp was on. “Fuck, I woke you up. This is stupid, I can go…”

“No, I’m awake now. Sit.” He shrugged, before gesturing to the sim that was tucked into the corner of his room.

“Are you sure?” You questioned, eyeing his haphazardly thrown on sweater and joggers.

He nodded. “Track is already programmed and all. Do what you need to do.”

You shot off a thankful smile, before making your way over to the simulator. You pushed the seat forward slightly in account of your difference in height, powering it up. Then you settled into the leaned back seat, adjusting the settings to your specifications. You got into the zone so quickly that you barely noticed Max standing behind you, silently watching as you dove right into some practice laps.

“Brake later for turn 12, the car will carry you through if you stay on the line.” You hadn’t been expecting him to give you tips, but you weren’t about to ignore them if it would help put your mind at ease. You did as instructed, finding a few tenths being shaved off your latest lap time.

“Any other helpful hints?” You asked, more as a joke.

But to your surprise, Max actually gave you more tips. He showed you a different line through turn 6 that would give you a better launch after the turn and pointed out spots where you could downshift one less gear. You couldn’t quite believe that your biggest competitor was helping you out like this, knowing that his father would be absolutely livid if he ever found out about it. You appreciated it a lot more than you were willing to admit., continuing to practice on the simulator until you felt like you could do it with your eyes closed.

“Feel better now?” Max asked, once you’d topped your lap time for the third time in a row.

“Yeah…” You answered sheepishly as you powered down the simulator and pulled yourself out of the seat, stretching out your shoulders out slightly. You caught sight of the time on the clock next to the bed, eyes growing wide as you realized your performance coach was going to come knocking at your door in less than 6 hours. “Oh my god, it’s almost 2:00 am! Why didn’t you say anything!? We should definitely both be sleeping right now”

Max shrugged, holding back a yawn. “It’s fine, Y/N. Don’t worry about it.”

“I… Thank you for helping me… again.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a half smile. “Does this mean we’re back to being civil?”

You considered his question, unconsciously biting at your lip. You thought about the conversation you’d had with your dad, and how Max was one of the first to respect you on the track even when he had a weird way of showing it. Max didn’t have to be your enemy… You could be civil, at least until it all blew up again. “I guess so… until we inevitably piss each other off again.”

With that, you left your teammates room and fell asleep the moment your head touched your pillow back in your own hotel room.

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Your lap times had dramatically improved throughout the final practice session at the track ahead of qualifying. Christian pulled you aside after the session, letting you know that he hadn’t doubted you would come around that morning. You’d even wound up getting pole after qualifying by the slightest of margins, after Max had been given a three place grid penalty for exceeding track limits.

On Sunday, you’d somehow managed to keep your lead through the majority of the race, ensuring that Hamilton couldn’t clinch the title this weekend. He was still only a few points short of winning the whole thing, but it felt nice to be the one to make it that much harder for him. Logically, you knew that there was no way you were going to beat him now, seeing as the only way it would be mathematically possible was for Lewis to DNF the last 3 races and you to win them all, but still. A race win was a race win.

Max on the other hand, hadn’t had the best race. He’d been off to a decent start, only to finish 6th. Still, he’d stuck around with the rest of the team to celebrate your latest win, congratulating you with a knowing smile before you’d gone off to fulfil your media duties. 

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You understood from the moment the plane touched down in Texas why Austin was one of Daniel’s favourite race weekends on the calendar. The atmosphere around Austin and at the track was so different from any of the other ones you’d been to this year.

Every night, you had some kind of barbecue dinner booked at some of the best restaurants in town with your friends and family. It was one of the closer Grand Prix’s to Canada, so a good chunk of people you knew from back home were coming to visit over the weekend. The whole couple of days leading to that first practice session were a good time, filled with lots of laughs and stereotypical American moments.

You’d even let Daniel talk you and your family into going to a haunted cornfield maze on Halloween, which had been an interesting experience… You might’ve clung onto your oldest brother and covered your eyes through most of it, because you absolutely hated scary things like that, but you’d survived and laughed it all off afterwards. You had to admit, if you ignored the scary bits, it was the most fun you’d had leading up to a race weekend in a while.

It wasn’t any different on the Thursday, your knee bouncing in place as you knew you were late to meet your family for dinner. You’d gotten held up at the track, filming some extra bits for some social media content with the team. Max had tried talking to you on the way back to the hotel, when he’d noticed your knee bouncing in the seat next to his, but you’d kept your response short. You didn’t like being late and keeping people waiting on you, especially your family that had flown in to spend this time with you.

“There she is!” Your dad spoke up when he spotted you rushing into the hotel lobby, having booked it from the van the moment it had parked in front of the hotel.

“Sorry I’m late!” You rushed the words out. “I just need like, 5 minutes to change out of the team gear and I’ll be ready.”

“Gosh Y/N, so tardy.” Daniel chimed in, glancing up from his phone where he was waiting around with your family, knowing that it would get on your nerves.

“It’s not entirely her fault.” Max surprised everyone by speaking up. He’d come inside at the same time, obviously. “We got held up by the social media team. They sprung another one of those dumb ‘on the couch’ videos on us.”

Daniel let out a pained groan, recalling having to film those throughout his time with Red Bull. Forced questions about the season so far and what the drivers thought about it. They usually took a while to film because they’d get severely off topic or make too many dumb jokes throughout filming. You didn’t envy your media director’s role, trying to keep you and Max on topic as you continuously complained about the weirdly cold weather or wanting to be doing just about anything else.

“In that case, you probably haven’t eaten yet either. Why don’t you join us for dinner, Max?”

You gaze shot over to your dad’s, completely missing the way that Max’s gaze widened like a deer caught in headlights. “Dad, I’m sure Max already has his own plans.”

Your dad shrugged in a way that implied he was trying to be nice to your teammate, before his gaze returned to Max as he waited for the Dutch driver to respond. “Uh, well… I was just going to order some room service.” Max mumbled, eyes flickering over to yours making it clear that he didn’t want to intrude. You nodded along to Max’s words, hoping that your dad understood that this was completely unnecessary.

He didn’t.

“Well then, that settles it.” Your dad exclaimed, looking rather proud of himself and leaving absolutely no room for argument. “You two go on and get changed, and we’ll get this show on the road.”

You turned, shaking your head in disbelief at your dad as you walked off towards the elevator, continuing to ignore your brothers’ comments about hurrying up. You were aware that Max had silently followed you, the pair of you stepping into the elevator together and heading off to the same floor. It wasn’t until the doors closed in front of the two of you that you turned your attention towards the Dutch driver.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” You offered him an out, figuring that this was probably not what he wanted to do with the last of his free time before the weekend ramped up tomorrow.

But to your surprise, Max simply shrugged. “I don’t mind.” He paused, uncertainty crossing his face. “Well, unless you don’t want me to come. I know you don’t get to see your family as much as you’d like…”

You could already picture the look of disappointment on your dad’s face if you managed to scare Max out of coming to dinner with your family tonight. You didn’t really mind, because you’d had dinner with Max and the team plenty of times throughout the year, not to mention the many dinners with other drivers. It wouldn’t really be that different, would it? Besides, you were being civil right now, so there was no reason to be this hesitant towards your teammate joining in on your family dinner.

“My dad would kill me if I scared you out of coming…” You eventually mumbled, trying to diffuse the weird tension that you suddenly noticed in the elevator. “And Daniel’s been raving about this steakhouse for weeks. I’m sure it would beat the room service here by a long shot.”

Max’s chuckle lightened the tension significantly. “You’re not wrong.”

You let out a breath as the elevator doors finally opened on your floor, sparring half a glance at Max to tell him that you’d meet him back in front of the elevator in a few minutes before taking a right turn towards your room.

You got ready for dinner in record time. It helped that today had mostly been a media day, so your hair was still in relatively good shape unlike when you raced. You brushed through it, content with the way that it had held up through the day. You quickly touched up your makeup, before rushing to your suitcase to change into a more dinner appropriate outfit that consisted of a forest green silky tank top tucked into a pair of black high wasted skinny jeans. You dug a pair of basic black heeled sandals out of your suitcase, buckling them around your ankles. You shrugged into your trusty leather jacket, shoving your phone and room key into your pocket before hastily making your way back out of your hotel room.

All of that in under five minutes.

“You weren’t kidding.” Max commented, when he spotted you rounding the corner to the elevator.

You took in his simple light blue button up that really brought out just how blue his eyes were and dark jeans that fit perfectly, and the grey jacket he wore on top. Not to mention the lack of flat ballcap on his head, you’d almost say he looked… handsome. What?

You shook that thought out of your head, responding to Max’s comment with a smirk as you pressed the button to call the elevator once again. “I grew up with two older brothers. I had to learn to be quick if I didn’t want to get left behind. And as you’ve probably figured out, I hate being late and making people wait.”

Max nodded, because he’d picked up on this months ago. You were never late if you could help it. Nothing else was said as you both stepped into the elevator.

You all took off the moment you rejoined your family in the lobby, everyone getting into a van that had been hired for the evening. You sandwiched yourself between Daniel and your dad in the very back, Max sitting with your brothers in the middle row. Your dad kept the conversation flowing throughout the car journey, asking you about your day and what you’d been up to. You answered each of his questions patiently, jabbing your elbow into Daniel’s ribs when he started telling an embarrassing story on your behalf from your recent time in Tokyo.

Your obviously eavesdropping brothers did not need any more ammunition to use against you.

When you got to the over-the-top western themed steakhouse in the middle of Austin, you weren’t that surprised to see photographers outside waiting to snap pictures of the three Formula 1 drivers who were heading inside for dinner. Formula 1 was growing in the states, thanks to that Netflix series that had premiered at the beginning of the season. You paid the cameras no mind, weirdly already used to having them around whenever you did these types of things on race weekends. You’d learned to be aware of when they were around, yet ignore them at the same time. Even though you didn’t feel like it, there was no denying that as a driver, you were a public figure.

“That’s still so weird.” Your oldest brother mumbled, once everyone was safely inside the restaurant.

You, Daniel and Max shared an unbothered look, because this was your life. “I guess it’s what happens when you race every other week with the 19 other best drivers in the world. They don’t call it a travelling circus for nothing…” You said nonchalantly to your brother, as Daniel made his way over to the host so you could all be seated.

You were led to this big round booth towards the back of the restaurant, out of sight from most of the other patrons. You slid in first towards the back of the rounded booth, surprised by the fact that Max wound up sitting next to you, sandwiched in by your brothers on one side and your dad and Daniel on the other.

You didn’t pay much attention to the conversation happening around you, still a little weirded out by this entire situation, choosing instead to focus on the menu in front of you even though you already knew what you were going to order.

“What’s up with you?” Daniel asked quietly, leaning in towards you to talk. He’d clearly noticed that you were in your head.

“Nothing.” You mumbled, still putting all your focus on reading the menu.

You didn’t have to look up to know that Daniel had rolled his eyes at you. “You’re getting the New York strip with the house salad. You get the same thing every time. Stop eyeing the menu like it’s written in gibberish.”

Before you could come back with a smart retort, he snatched the menu out of your hand. “Hey! Maybe I wanted to try something new.” You pouted at him, even though that wasn’t true.

He only raised a brow, waiting for you to tell him what he wanted to hear.

You looked over to Max, who was laughing and joking along to whatever your brothers were saying and paying you no mind. So, you let out a long breath and quietly answered the question, telling him one of the things that was on your mind. “I’m just thinking about the race. Most of my media questions today were people asking me if they thought I could get a third win in a row… like it’s impossible. They were also asking why I’m even bothering, considering how likely it is that Lewis is going to with the WDC this weekend considering her only needs like, 4 points to seal the deal… I just want a good outcome while everyone is here.”

Daniel never got the chance to say much more about that because your dad gathered everyone’s attention so that he could take a group photo, asking everyone to squish together even more. You shuffled slightly closer to Daniel, only tensing for a split second when Max pushed himself closer to you on your other side. But, that split second was enough for a lightbulb to go off in Daniel’s head, your best friend now eyeing you with that stupid shit eating grin plastered onto his face.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” You muttered lowly towards Daniel, making it clear that you didn’t want to talk about any of this anymore.

Thankfully, he backed off as your dad’s phone flashed, momentarily blinding everyone at the table again as he took the photo. The phone flashed a handful more times, your dad making comments asking everyone to at least try to look like they were enjoying themselves, earning some chuckles and more genuine smiles from around the table.

The waitress came to take the orders around the table, pouring everyone some generous glasses of red wine at the same time. Ryan knew that she should take it easy, but the first glass went down way too easily for her to care. So did the second.

Her third glass was finished as the mains came out, the waitress happily topping up her glass.

“You know Horner’s going to be mad if you show up hungover tomorrow.” Max warned quietly, so that no one else would hear.

“I’m fine.” You didn’t hesitate to roll your eyes at the Dutch driver. You could’ve sworn he’d sighed, almost like he was disappointed by your response, but also convinced yourself that it was only the wine getting to your head on a nearly empty stomach. You really should’ve calmed down with the wine…

“You keep saying that.”

“Well, that’s cause I am fine.” You said, cutting up a piece of your steak and stuffing it into your mouth.

“You never drink the night before you get in the car.”

“That’s not true.” You hummed, even though it mostly was true. There were a few exceptions to that rule, but you usually didn’t want to risk feeling like garbage when you were in the car. You’d gone to plenty of team dinners on Thursday and passed on the drinks being served. Why was tonight so different? “Why are you and Danny so convinced that something’s up?”

Max’s brow raised in surprise, seemingly surprised that Daniel had been concerned as well. “We’re being civil. Aren’t I allowed to be worried about my teammate when something’s up with them?”

“No.” You deadpanned, finding it weird that Max was implying that… he sort of cared about your wellbeing. “Nothing’s up, so there’s nothing to be worried about.”

“Right.” Max didn’t believe her. “Is it the track? You can use the SIM later if you want.”

 “It’s not the track, I’ve been racing here since I was a teen.” You sighed, taking another large swing of your wine. You would later blame the wine for the honest words that followed. “Maybe I’m just itching to get back in the car and get this race over with so Lewis can officially have his crown and people can stop hounding me with stupid questions.”

Max took a moment to consider your revelation, each of you eating another couple of bites from your meals. You soon decided that as good as the steak was, you weren’t all that hungry, moving pieces of your salad back and forth on the plate. Max noticed this as well, silently gesturing for you to continue eating. “I thought that Viper didn’t give a shit about what the media said about them?”

 “I don’t.” You quickly agreed. “But it doesn’t change the fact that those questions are annoying. They don’t ask you that.”

“I’ve never won two in a row so they’ve never been able to ask me that question.” Max stated bluntly with a shrug.

You mouth snapped shut at that, realizing just how crazy this was all sounding. You had been annoyed this entire evening, because a question about the possibility of you winning a third race in a row had been brought up, amongst other things. But, you’d won the last two. You’d won four Grand Prix’s in your rookie season, and had given the 5 time reigning world champion a run for his money. You’d known long before you’d ever started racing in Formula 1 that people were going to talk shit about you whether you were successful or not.

“Give them a reason to ask about a 4th.” Max added, that shit disturbing grin etched onto his face.

“I’ll fucking drink to that.” You hummed, raising your wine glass up to meet his, feeling a whole lot better now that none other than Max Verstappen had managed to get you to pull your head out of your ass.

The rest of the evening was a whole lot more fun for you, finding yourself finally letting go of the stresses of the day and enjoying the limited time that you got to spend with you family. And, as the night went on, you stopped thinking of Max’s presence as slightly strange, finding that the Dutch driver fit in rather seamlessly with your little crew of people.

Instead of questioning it, you enjoyed the moment.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

You were all smiles as you walked through the paddock on Friday morning, despite the pesky not-so-little hangover that was the result of far too much wine consumed over dinner the night before. You weren’t going to announce to the whole world that you’d had a bit too much to drink the night before. You’d walked in with your dad, your brothers opting to sleep through the first practice session as they’d carried on drinking long after you’d called it a night. He’d stuck around in the garage, much like the last Grand Prix he’d attended in Montreal, chatting with anyone and everyone.

Max had been rather amused when you showed up to your briefing with your suit half done up and sunglasses still resting over your eyes, the ‘I told you so’ look clear as day on his own face. Still, you absorbed every word spoken by the engineers and strategist, determined not to let this affect your performance.

Spoiler alert, it didn’t. The second you slipped into your car for that first practice session, adrenaline took over and your hangover faded into a thing of the past. You put down some solid times, keeping your lap time ever so slightly ahead of Hamilton’s throughout the entire session. You’d never know how much wine had been consumed. That being said, you called it a night significantly earlier than the night before in anticipation for qualifying.

Then on Saturday, qualifying turned out fine. You got caught in some traffic during you last flying lap which ruined the lap. You had to settle for a P5 start tomorrow, knowing that you could’ve pushed onto the front row. Still, you didn’t find yourself too bothered by it. You knew logically that you weren’t winning the championship, so you felt like this weight had been lifted from your shoulders and you were free to just enjoy the last three races of the season, results be damned.

You were feeling pretty good.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

That good feeling disappeared before the race on Sunday.

You’d been cornered by a reporter in the paddock as you’d been walking alone to your garage after a fan event you’d popped into for Red Bull. You plastered a fake smile onto your face, answering a couple of questions about your expectations for the day. You thought that would be it, but the reporter had a different idea.

“We’ve seen some of your family in the paddock, supporting you this weekend. How’s it been, having them around?”

“It always makes the weekend that little bit extra special when your people are there to support you.” You kept the answer short, hoping they’d leave it alone. They did not.

“We couldn’t help but notice that your father and brothers have been the only ones in the paddock. Is it safe to assume your mother doesn’t support your career choice?”

You fully stopped walking, smile falling from your face as you wondered how in the hell the reporter had gotten the nerve to ask that very out of line question. “Pardon me?”

“Well, we’ve never seen her in the paddock.”

Do not freak out. Do not snap. You’re on camera. Compartmentalize, deal with it after. It’s not their fault, they didn’t know. You’d been very careful in the past when talking about your family to avoid this ever coming up. It wasn’t something you liked to talk about, with anyone, much less with the media. You couldn’t help your dry tone as you glared at the reporter across from you. “Considering that my mother’s been dead for almost twenty years, it would be quite the surprise to see her in the paddock.”

At least they had the decency to look like they’d fucked up, gaping at you like a fish out of water. “Y/N, I’m sorry. We didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well…” You sighed, head spinning as you ran a hand through your hair. You wanted to avoid this becoming a big deal, so you decided to try and talk the reporter out of using the last little bit of footage. “Can we… forget about this? It doesn’t have anything to do with the race, and family’s on my list on no-go topics.”

“I- Of course… Good luck with your race.”

“Mhm.” You mumbled, taking off towards your garage again.

You didn’t acknowledge anyone, heading right through the garage and out the back towards the motorhome. You fully ignored your brothers who were sat having lunch, breezing past everyone and up the stairs towards your drivers room. You kicked out your shocked performance coach who’d been working on their laptop in the private room, locking the door the minute they’d closed it behind them and shutting off the lights.

Now that you were totally alone, you caved in on yourself, completely losing control.

All at once, it was like you couldn’t breathe, your body suddenly spiked in temperature, and you became so disoriented you forgot where you were. Your ears started ringing as you struggled to draw in a full breath. You paced blindly around your too small driver’s room, desperately trying to stop this from happening but knowing that it was entirely out of your control. You were stuck, confined, and tumbling headfirst into a dizzying panic attack.

It felt like the walls were closing in around you as the temperature continued to rise. Your balance disappeared and you stumbled into one of the walls, bumping your shoulder rather painfully but at the same time not hard enough to snap you out of it. You slid down the wall rather pathetically, trying and failing to gasp in enough oxygen to stop your vision from blurring. You dug your nails into your palms hard enough to draw blood, but you couldn’t feel it. You couldn’t string together enough though to run through your usual panic squashing tricks, forced to suffer through it.

You tried so hard to pull yourself back up onto your feet but you physically couldn’t do it. You’d pulled at some temporary shelving, only to have it come crashing down around you too. There was nothing you could do. The edges of your vision were starting to go dark, head pounding. The longer you couldn’t breathe, the more you became sure that you were going to die like this. Pathetic and alone, too weak to handle a stupid question. Spiralling out of control.

You were so out of it that you never heard someone knocking at your driver room door. It’s not like you could’ve moved to answer it anyways, you brain not really registering anything at the moment, too busy fucking you over. You could’ve been curled up on the floor for minutes or hours, there was no way to tell the difference.

You were in fucking hell.

And just when you thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, they did.

The door to your room was carefully pushed open, light from the hallway pouring in and making it so that you could only just make out the silhouette of the person who clearly didn’t understand that you wanted to be alone right now. You didn’t move as whoever it was gently shut the door behind them, locking it once again.

It wasn’t until you managed to focus on those familiar blue eyes that you realized just how shit this situation was. Your teammate was sitting on his heels in front of you, concern etched into those piercing blue eyes, making you feel about a million times worse.  

You wanted to yell at him to get the fuck out of here, because you couldn’t think of anything worse than your teammate, and most direct competitor, seeing you like this. But, you still couldn’t really breathe, let alone form any coherent sentences. Hell, you could see his mouth moving but you couldn’t hear anything he was trying to say because of the persistent ringing in your ears. Your stomach sank as the worry on Max’s face only grew, when he realized that you weren’t registering anything he was saying.  

He pulled you up so that you were sitting with you back against the wall, no longer in a crumpled heap on the ground. Then sitting back on his heels, he grabbed one of your hands, turning it so that your palm was facing upwards, exposing the little bloody crescent marks that your nails had dug into your palm. You instinctively tried to pull your hand back and hide the marks, but Max wouldn’t let you, his grasp on your hand firm yet gentle at the same time.

With his other hand, he pinched the tip of your thumb between his fingers, before moving on and doing the same thing to your index, middle, ring and pinky fingers, then slowly started working his way back. At first, you couldn’t feel it, but then at some point you locked in to the steady rhythm of him applying pressure to your fingers. “…. three, four. Out, two, three, four. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Come on, Y/N.”

He was trying to help you breathe.

He pinched your thumb and you sucked in a shaky breath, somehow managing to count along with him as he pressed your index, middle then ring finger. You released the breath when he pressed your pinky, eyes following his hand as he pressed backwards towards your thumb.

You don’t know how long you were sat there, gaze tracking Max’s hand as he continued to run back and forth pinching your fingers. You weren’t sure at which point your mind cleared enough and the panic subsided enough not to leave you feeling void. You didn’t know when your ears stopped ringing, or your body stopped shaking. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Max didn’t stop until you tentatively lifted your eyes to meet his gaze.

You didn’t know what to say to him, as you started to come back to your senses. He’d just seen you at your lowest… you didn’t know what to do about that, so you automatically started to slowly rebuild your walls.

“Don’t do that, heerlijk.” His voice was so quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just been occurring.

“Do what?” You croaked out, voice hoarse. You knew exactly what he was talking about but chose to be ignorant.

“Hide behind your walls.”

“I don’t have a choice…” You let out another long shaky breath, but didn’t flinch away from the eye contact. In fact, you carried on, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “If the people outside this room have any idea what just happened here, I’m as good as done in this sport. They’ll assume they were right, and that I cracked under the pressure.”

The corners of Max’s lips slowly turned downwards. “What happened here?”

You’d cracked, but you weren’t about to say that out loud. But for some reason, even though you were well aware that Max was the last person you should be opening up to, you found yourself being semi-honest. “A reporter cornered me when I was walking back from the Paddock Club. Asked me some questions they shouldn’t have and well… here we are.”

“Questions about…”

Your heart rate spiked slightly just thinking about it. “Stuff on my blacklist of questions that would never get published. Childhood trauma, that sort of thing.” You muttered bitterly.

To your surprise, Max just nodded, not pushing you any further for more details. Instead he pushed himself back up onto his feet, walking around your fallen shelving to grab whatever he was looking for. He was back a few second later, with a bright red first aid kit in his hands.

Neither of you spoke as he opened the kit and pulled out some bandages and disinfecting wipes. Max grabbed one of your hands, turning your palm upwards again, dabbing at the small cuts with one of the wipes and cleaning it up. Your right had was worse than the left, three of your nails having broken the skin compared to one on your left hand. He covered each of the cuts with the smallest plasters in the box, knowing that anything bigger would draw other people’s attention. If you were careful, you could hide this.

“Why do you keep helping me?”

You hadn’t even realized you’d broken the silence until Max brought his surprised gaze back up to you. “Contrary to what everyone thinks about me, I’m not always an asshole.”

You could’ve done him the same curtesy he’d just done you and left it alone, but you didn’t. “That’s not what I meant. I mean… like in Mexico when you let me use your simulator until a ridiculous hour and in Monaco when you noticed what that guy did and stopped things from getting out of hand… and Japan.”

“Japan?” Max asked quickly, gaze widening slightly.

Fuck, you’d just put your foot in your mouth. Max didn’t know that you’d overheard more than you were meant to with his father. “Outside our driver’s rooms after the race… I accidentally heard more than I let on… You had my back.” You explained, noticing his cheeks flushing slightly in embarrassment. “You’ve had my back for a while now… Why?”

“Well, we did agree to be civil…” It was a weak deflection and he knew it, releasing a sigh when you arched your brow in his direction. You could see in the way that he bit down on the corner of his lip that he was debating whether he should say what was on his mind. Even though it was still pretty dark in the room, you could still clearly see just how conflicted your teammate was. You fell into a silent staring contest, just waiting for Max to decide that he trusted you enough to reveal what was going on inside his head lately.

You both startled when sharp knock sounded at your door. “Y/N, five minutes till you have to be on the grid for the Driver’s parade.” It was your performance coach, letting you know that no matter what was going on inside the room they couldn’t afford to fall behind schedule.

Max snapped back into action, taking your left hand in his to clean out that last little cut.

“Thank you.” You murmured quietly as he placed the last bandage on your left hand.

Max nodded once, pulling himself back up onto his feet. He held out a hand for you, carefully pulling you up as well. “Are you okay to race today?”

“I have to be.” Missing the race wasn’t an option. Not without answering questions and disappointing too many people. Missing the race had never been one of the thoughts running through your mind.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

You shrugged, trying to play off how much you were still affected by the panic attack you’d just experienced. The real answer was probably not, because of how much focus was required to drive a Formula 1 car alongside 19 others without making any mistakes or causing an accident. But at the same time, you knew that once you got back into the race day routine, instinct would take over and see you through. So that’s what you told Max. “Once I’m in the car, I’ll be fine.”

Knowing that you were running out of time, you made your way over to your bag to grab a pair of sunglasses so you’d be able to hide your bloodshot and puffy eyes. You also ran a brush through your hair, making yourself look a little bit more put together as you put your Red Bull cap back on your head. You plastered a fake smile on your face, wiggling your brow at Max.

“Do I pass the test of not looking like I just had a breakdown?”

“To everyone else, probably.”

It gave you a weird feeling in your chest to know that this probably wouldn’t have fooled Max if he hadn’t seen you until now.

Regardless, you kept that fake smile on your face as you nodded to his confirmation, before leading him out the room. You completely ignored the way your performance coach’s eyes widened when he saw you and Max walk out of your darkened room together, already making your way through the motorhome to get to the grid. Before you knew it, you were standing on the back of a tracker with the rest of the drivers, making sure to wave to the fans with your less injured hand, your smile slowly morphing into a more genuine one when you saw the amount of support in the crowd for you.

It didn’t even bother you that Max stayed within a few steps of you, chatting mindlessly to the other drivers while silently keeping an eye on you.

The more time went on, the better you felt.

You yourself were almost convinced that you were totally fine as you slid into your car before the race start.

The adrenaline was almost enough to make you forget.

But not quite.

As the lights went out, you found yourself thinking about things you’d long since sworn off. The panic returned, and you lost yourself again. You weren’t aware that you’d veered off the track until it was too late.

Maybe you shouldn’t have raced today…

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

“Which Red Bull was that?!” Daniel asked, having caught every horrific detail of the rollover accident that occurred right in front of him. He didn’t want to see either of the Red Bulls crash, but his gut instantly sunk the millisecond he first saw the car veering off track after contact with a Mercedes. The car had gotten absolutely mangled; from the brief glimpse he’d gotten of it. Deep down he knew who it was, before his engineer confirmed it.

“Y/L/N.” He stated grimly.

Fuck.

If not for the skills he’d honed that had since become second nature to him, he would’ve sent his own car into the wall. He couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt, in the same way…. No, he needed to focus. “Is she okay?”

“We’re listening on the radio but no word yet.”

Daniel let out an unfiltered string of expletives at that. “Just… keep me posted.”

No sooner than he’d gotten those words out, his engineer was quick to let him know that the race had been red flagged. There was debris everywhere on the track and the extraction would be… complex. The minute it took to get back to the pit lane felt like the longest he’d ever experienced, the silence dragging on as he waited for an update.

As soon as he parked the car in the pitlane, he was rushing off to find her family. He completely ignored his mechanics and engineers, because none of that mattered right now. He needed to know that you were okay.

“Any word?” He asked the minute he walked up to the trio comprised of her devastated looking father and extremely anxious brothers.

Her dad shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

He wasted no time, ripping one of the spare Red Bull headsets off the wall and popping it on so he could hear the radio feed for himself, listening to the heartbreaking sound of her engineer asking for anything to let them know she was alive. He didn’t flinch when Max wandered over as well, looking paler than he’d ever seen him.

Fuck, he didn’t know if he could do this again. He couldn’t lose another best friend to this fucking sport. Not the person who’d basically become a second sister to him, the fiery kid that he’d grown up with.

Fuck this fucking bullshit.

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

Read Part 4 here!

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Anything III (König x Reader)

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

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

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

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

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

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

"That fucker needs to go." 

"He's not going anywhere, Simon."

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?” 

“Baby steps, Simon. Baby steps.” 

_________

Inhale, exhale. Again. 

Bang 

Then again. 

Bang 

And again. 

Bang

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

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

Bang 

You were still the best. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your body locked up. 

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

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

Your face stung at the sight of him. 

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

König ruined you and got away unscathed. 

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

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

 In, bang, out. 

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

There was no honour in what König was. 

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

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

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

Then you struck. 

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

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

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

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

But it wasn’t enough. 

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

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

This wasn’t enough. 

König’s eyes flickered open, hard and betrayed. 

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

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

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

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

König was afraid. 

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

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

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

This wasn’t enough. 

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

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

That you were going to kill him. 

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

König’s eyes softened. 

Don’t want your pity. 

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. 

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

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

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

“Your fight is finished.” 

König took in a sharp breath. 

You pulled the trigger. 

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

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

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

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

No, no, no, no. 

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

“Even in victory, you are nothing.” 

Crack

“You will always be nothing.” 

Crack

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

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

You were broken, broken, broken. 

“Birdy!” 

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

“Wake up!” 

Wake up.

Wake up. 

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

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

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

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

Price was right. You had become a liability. 

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

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

“What-” 

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

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

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

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

You took in a rattling breath and his grip tightened. 

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

You frowned. “Only at the very end.” 

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

You were strong. 

Stronger than him. 

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

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

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

“How-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

_

NEXT CHAPTER

Lewis in NYC

Is this it?-lewis hamilton

lewis hamilton x fem!reader. summary: dating a 7time world champion wasn’t easy especially when you have a crawling baby, and lewis? well he was busy portraying an f1 driver lifestyle and partying. but what happens when the press and rumours get a bit too much.(I suck at summarys😫).

big thank you to anonymous to helped me pick a baby name, you was a big help and your a genius⭐️

WARNINGS: angst,a few time skips, lewis being a little bit of a arsehole, cheating bad writing, povs are everywhere like it’s kinda confusing I’m sorry

I really want to do a part two, so let me know people x

(y/n pov)

“this one’s my favourite” I softly speak as I run my fingers over the ink behind his ear as he lays on my chest.

I’m sat up against the head board in lewis white crisp button up shirt, “hm this one’s my favourite” he mumbles into me as his hand goes straight to the tattoo under my boob that says “𝓁𝑒𝓌𝒾𝓈₄₄” “your my favourite, handsome” I kiss the side of his head.

you had been childhood sweethearts you being slightly younger than him since being in his younger brothers Nicolas year at school, it was that much of an age gap but the media loved t rub it in.

i was broken out of thought when lewis phone goes off, “who’s that” I question “nobody” he grumbled as he puts his phone down,but something was telling me differently.

I reached out of the bed to put my underwear back on from the night before, as I got up out of bed and grabbed my phone. “y/n where are you going” lewis shouted as I was already out of the bedroom making my way to silvas Room, silva the light of you life, your little girl she’s just reached 8 months.

“come on sweetie, let’s get some jobs done aye” you lift her up out of her cot.

I had a washing basket in my hand with silvia sitting in it with the clean washing. She was in nothing but her diaper, smiling up at me as I threw warm clothes fresh out of the dryer in the basket with her.

She laughs as I toss a shirt on her head playfully, blanketing her face. She laughs harder and reaches her little hands up to push the black shirt off her face so it just sits on top of her head. She peeks up at me with that big smile and dense dimples.

I pick her up as blow raspberries on her cheek as she giggles, lewis had gone out an ‘important meeting’ apparently he had been on a lot of those lately.

a knock on the door fills your ears as you carry yourself and your little one to the door, a concerned max comes into your eyesight as you open the door surprised, “maxie hey, what you doing here” you smile at him and you welcome him in with a hug as Silvia giggles.

“y/n, are you okay?- oh hello you” his thick Dutch accent entering the room as he pokes her nose.

“yeah of course I am why?” you question him as you lead him into the living room (a little inspo x)

“you haven’t heard have you, oh god” he panics as he searches for his phone in his back pocket, he reaches out for silvia as he passes you his phone.

you couldn’t believe your eyes, but your lew he wouldn’t do this to you just thought you was just going through a rough patch, tears start to well your eyes as max comes and comforts you.

According to People magazine, Lewis and Shakira are getting to know each other better."They're having fun and masturbating," an exclusive source said.Representatives for both did not respond to the magazine.

Shakira was spotted in Miami Wednesday on a boat with the racer, not long after the two were seen running in to each other at a restaurant in the area. see photos..

you couldn’t believe what you was reading, was you so blind to it all?

you feel your throat closing up on you, “y/n breath, breath with me y/n/n” you hear max whisper in your ear, while holding your hand.

“what am I going to do” you hiccup as you look around your living room seeing the happy photos of yourself and you little family.

“hey let’s put the little one down yeah” max rough voice broke you through your thoughts, you both stood up and went to put silva down for the nap.

Max was like you brother, ever since you both had met you was inseparable,he was always around the corner to pick up the pieces for you, you and lewis had many fights over max, but you two was just like brother and sister.

an hour had passed by the time you had fully calmed down, the hard sobs turned into little sniffing onto George’s shoulders, and in that time the doggy carer had stoped by to drop off roscoe.

“I can’t stay here max, I feel suffocated in here” you soft voice broke out as you lifted you head up out of roscoes body, “you and Silvia can stay at mine, but you can’t hide away from him y/n, you have his daughter, you also have Spanish gp you can fly with me if you wanted to”

“yeah that would be great, thank you m”

you was almost ready to walk out of the door when lewis walked in, your bags by the door silva with max bopping up and down while he tried to get her to sleep.

“y/n?” Lewis voice rung out to you followed by a “max?” When he saw you both, “I’ll go wait in the car” max says while passing the little one to lewis when he reaches out for her, and putting your bags in the boot of his car.

“wait in the car?” Lewis ran over by what he said “I need to go lew” “is this about the photos?” he followed after you when you put you last things together.

"-it was not intentional, y/n, we were both drunk-" his voice broke, you freeze in your place, “so it was true”

"Was I not good enough, lewis ?" He stays quiet, eyes finding the carpet beneath his feet “was you daughter not good enough?” The anger you feeling boils in you.

"Don't you ever say that again" it's his turn to become angry. How dare she think that!? He loved you, and he still does, even though he cheated on you.

"But it's true, lew" you now has tears in you eyes and all lewis wants to do is pull you into his chest and tell her that it's not, that he loves her so much, but he doesn't do that, he just sits there and watches her full apart, all because of one? drunken mistake

“Your missing out on you daughters life lewis all because of this party lifestyle”

You sigh and wipes under your eyes "-let's take a break, yeah? So you can figure out what you want. I'm not letting go of all the effort I've put in the last years"

“I’m going to stay with max for a while, I’ll see you at the gp, I’ll bring silva and maybe you can spend time with her there”

lewis wipes his own tears and nods, he doesn’t need to think about what he wants, he knows what he want, his daughter and you.

you both say goodbyes with one last hug at both on your guys doorstep, tears leaving both of your eyes when you whispers goodbye in the corner of his neck.

“bye silv, I’ll see you soon yeah, daddy loves you” he says when you pull apart from him and presses a kiss on to her puffy cheek.

“I love you” lewis confesses after doing the same and pressing a kiss to your cheek, “I love you”.

lewishamilton ✓

lewishamilton: always you 2 ❤️

comments are turned off

he's a genius ('cause he loves a woman like her) (social media au) - lh44

masterlist

Summary: The one where you and Lewis (attempt to) soft launch your relationship.

Pairing: lewis hamilton x wolff!reader (model used: kiana davis)

Warnings: fluff, some light cursing

Request: "Hi!! I was wondering if you could do a smau with Lewis where he’s dating toto’s daughter and they are soft launching 🥰 she is really kind and smart, takes part in a lot of charity events buuuut she’s also studying to become an engineer (could you make her like 23-25?)"

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

yn.wolff

Liked by susiewolff, mercedesamgf1, and 2,546 others

yn.wolff: who wants to hear a joke?

view all 23 comments

mercedesamgf1: we do, we do!🖐️

yn.wolff: what's a three letter word that starts wit gas?🙂

mercedesamgf1: gas is three letters, baby boss🫣

yn.wolff: car!!

mercedesamgf1: boss says we have to get back to work now.

yn.wolff: is this why i have no friends?😭

georgerussel63: blimey

lewishamilton just posted a story!

yn.wolff just posted a story!

yn.wolff

Liked by lewishamilton, f1wags, and 5,473 others

yn.wolff: welcome to life recently!

totowouffs: lewis?? how'd you get in there man???

georgeporge63: isn't she like... 25🫤

totowouffs: and??

georgeporge63: she is literally a child

yn.wolff: wdym i'm a child i'm paying off student loans 🥲

comments on this post have been limited.

lewishamilton

Liked by yn.wolff, f1, charles_leclerc and 488,347 others

lewishamilton: Miami heat 🥵 #IWCMiami

view all 2,385 comments

yn.wolff: pink!

lewishamilton: 😊🩷

yn.wolff just posted a story!

lewishamilton just posted a story!

yn.wolff

Liked by susiewolff, lewishamilton, landonorris and 28,544 others

yn.wolff: He's a genius tagged users: lewishamilton, roscoelovescoco

hamilhoes: okay but what does toto think?? @yn.wolff

mercedesamgf1: big boss says baby boss can date whoever she wants👊

mercedesamgf1: and to come home for christmas

yn.wolff: booking the tickets🫨

susiewolff: looking good, yn!🩷

view all 7,376 comments

lewishamilton: Never facetiming you again😆

yn.wolff: i need photos to look at when you're away🙂🙂

lewishamilton

Liked by mercedesamgf1, serenawilliams, yn.wolff and 1,235,654 others

lewishamilton: 'Cause I love a woman like you

totosschoes: THIS WAS NOT ON MY BINGO CARD BUT BOY DOES IT EXCITE ME

shmickgrussel: mercedes garage is about to become one happy family, huh?😭

777merc444: i don't know who to be more jealous of🫣

view all 34,762 comments

georgerussel63: crikey!

yn.wolff: i'm begging you to just curse

lewishamilton: 😆😆

⇝ resolution .

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

PART FIVE OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: A letter in the mail changes everything.

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

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

WORD COUNT: 8.4k

MASTERLIST.

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

Also on Ao3!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t like it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And god, did he fucking hate it. 

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

“I can-”

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

“I’m not tired.”

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

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

Keep it calm. Not around Tommy.

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

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

You just… couldn’t see him the same. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Tommy were in danger. 

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

Seriously, how?

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

And then he came back. 

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

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

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

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

Of course not. 

But still, you couldn’t just act normal. 

Even if you felt slightly bad. 

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

You… Couldn’t…

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

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

“Hey, listen t’me, come-”

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the actual fuck. 

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

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

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

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

Had you been using him to get inf-

No.

Was this all a game to y-

No!

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

No one was sick enough for that. 

…right?

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

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

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

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

“Sim-”

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

“Si-”

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

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

Silence. 

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

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

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

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

“‘M not like you, Simon.”

Fuck.

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

“I’m… scared.”

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

“...I don’t know…”

A beat.

“...Should I be?”

Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” He replied, a bit gruffly. 

“...Tommy’s going to be okay, right?”

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

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

Silence. 

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

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

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

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

It pissed him off to no end. 

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

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

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

“What’d you do with them?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...did you really mean that?”

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

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

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

“Yeah, you’re my everything too.”

“Huh?”

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

His everything.

Simon’s everything. 

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

Everything was going to be okay. 

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

"Come on, please, wake up."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Someone undeserving of everything you’d given to him. 

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

He felt like he was about to pass out. 

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

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

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

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

He felt ridiculous. 

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

"...Simon?"

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

"'S that you?"

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

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

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

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

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

“Nuffin’, lovie. Go back to bed.”

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

A beat. 

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

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

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

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

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

"'Not crying, lovie."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...his name's Tommy."

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

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

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

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

"Yeah… I didn't know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me be yours.”

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

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

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

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

And God, did it feel right. 

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

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

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

“S-Sim-”

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

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

“I-”

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

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

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

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

What?

“Properly.”

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

“Wh-”

“Turn the light on.”

You froze. 

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

“Go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jus’ open them.”

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

And fuck… He was beautiful. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always.”

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

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

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

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

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