Phoebe !!

hiii! as I've gained some followers here, i decided to introduce myself!

in the internet I go by Phoebe. I'm 22, cancer to be precise, uni student on my final year rn AND I'm a writer! started when I was 14 and had done a lot of staff since then. changed fandoms, imporved my writing style, wrote long fics, started working on my first original BUT! now I'm here, exploring, writing, living. and I am happy to interact with other creators and readers out here!

my requests are OPEN now, and there is a little something about what I do and do not write:

DO

- call of duty (ghost, soap, gaz and price), mcu (bucky and loki), got (robb stark and cregan stark), akotsk (ser duncan the tall, bealor targaryen) and the pitt (jack abbot and parker ellis)

- flm and mlm

- fluff/cozy staff

- nsfw

- omegaverse

- some short stories or mid ones (depends on the request)

DO NOT:

- underaged charachters

- hybrids (sorry, just not knowledgeable enough to be sure i could write it as needed)

- in terms of kinks: bdsm, choking, spitting, piss kink, humiliation, degradation, binding, knife play, hunting play

- anything that romanticizes abuse, homophobia, sexism, racism

also my masterlist!

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY // fantasy!au, orc!simon, human!reader, f!reader, curvy!reader, helding hostage

It was what you brought on yourself unknowingly.

The stocks of moss that you used to make decoctions for colds ran out, and one day you decided to leave your usual lawn, where you collected ingredients for potionss, and took a walkt to the big forest. There you could also pick mushrooms and flowers, which, if you were lucky enough, will retain fresh bee pollen. Humming one of the folk songs to yourself, with a basket in the crook of one elbow, you did not immediately notice how you crossed the border and found yourself in a territory that you had no right to visit.

There were two of them. They were so tall that you had to tilt your head back to see their faces, and with those huge tusks coming out of their lower jaws. They were talking in their own language, and you did not understand exactly what was happening, but by the way they were pushing you forward and shouting after you, you knew that nothing good could be expected from this.

***

“She is dangerous!”

“She is a witch sent by humans to exterminate us!”

“She is too small and soft for a warrior.”

“She is a woman!”

Simon did not like going into the center of the village. Since the day he settled on the outskirts, in a hut built with his own hands, no one touched him. The orcs were divided into two groups: those who were afraid of him, unsociable, with a scar cutting through his left eyebrow; and those who were imbued with quiet respect when he brought a lot of meat in difficult winters and patrolled the forest at night from strangers.

Simon has never been a part of this village. And he was certainly not the one who listened to the words of the shamans, who were now talking to the raging people, who were ready to throw stones at a human woman who was sitting in a wooden cage.

You were different. At least during his intersections with humans, he had more contact with men. Swordsmen who asked where he found such good steel for his axe; wealthy landowners who ordered the murder of a merchant who owed them money. But you were a woman. A scared, shivering from the cold woman with big eyes. You were trying to understand what the creatures in front of you were saying, but you could not understand Orcish.

The elder stood from his wooden sit, his beard long and grey, his hands thin and nails on his fingers long.

"We should sent a massage to humans. Her people will want her."

"We will not waist parchment on some letters to humans." The Chief clicked his tongue.

Simon never truly liked him. Too brave, too cold-blooded, too bold with his words. He was elected after his father, the previous Chief, passed away during winter sickness, and there was simply no one to challenge the claim.

"Just let her be outside. The lesson for her folk to never cross out boarders again." He stood up, chin raised up, fur on his cloak thick, and everyone watched him walk out to his hut without sparing a glance to the Elders.

The people began to murmur, speaking of their fear and shock of seeing a human on their territory. Simon was the one responsible for always checking with the Lord of nearest settlement whether his people knew not to bother Orcs. But, yet, here you were. Either stupid or naive.

His body stiffened when he heard the first squeak. You moved into the opposite side of the so-called cage, trying to dodge the stones and sticks that children were throwing at you. Their tusks have not yet grown out properly, but they were laughing, looking at your terrified expression and raised hands when you tried to shield yourself.

It was the moment Simon felt the change in his chest. Something was as if scratching his skin from the inside, the fire blooming in his ribs, and he strided to the cage.

A couple of stones thrown into him was enough for little orclings to stop, their eyes wide with fear. You saw his back, covered in fur that covered his torso only for a half, his skin grey-ish shade of green, hair blonde, cropped short.

But it was his voice that made your heart beating faster. The strong, loud roar that he made.

"Mine."

The children scattered, rushing to their houses or parents, some of them witnessed the scene, the statement.

Simon was claiming you, taking full responsibility for your future. And no one dared to say no to him.

only the first part. let me know what you think of whether i should continue this

part 1

You can clearly remember how you ended up here.

The film was too boring, the full night was ahead and the crisps were already gone. Simon's palm slid under the hem of your tanktop almost nonchalantly, as he did so many, many times before. And firstly he didn't have any intention other than rubbing your tummy and feeling your skin under his calloused palm.

But soon you were on him. Kissing his lips, devouring them, feeling how his light stubble scratched your chin and moaning into his mouth. Your left leg swung over his hips and he squeezed your ass cheeks, the fat in his arms all too familiar.

The film continued playing as a background noise now, as Simon laid you down, t-shirt and panties already gone, his mouth sliding down from your lips to firstly your neck, kissing, licking, sucking, making you whimper and scratch his scalp so good it made his cock twitch in his boxers. Your brests were his second victims, and you arched your back, giving him all, almost begging him to take in his mouth the full globe of your tit (that was impossible).

When Simon slid inside you, you both exhaled. The stretch, already familiar, made you swing you legs and cross your ankles upon his ass, and the closeness made him groan into your ear.

"Fuck-"

He gave you little time before he started moving. His cock burying deep inside you pussy, the cervix being a magic button that made you gasp every time he reached it. Which meant everytime.

But Simon felt that something was different.

You were a puddle, all slick and jelly-like under him, swinging your hips to meet his thrusts. He already learnt that you liked when he held you under your ass, in the slight dip that made you ticklish and obedient at the same time.

It was just a regular sex, he wasn't in a rut, you weren't due for your heat for the next two weeks.

But somehow, is was still different.

You moaned right into his ear, making him skip the beat of the movements of his hips. But Simon was quickly back on tracks when you whimpered.

"Si! Ngh, I-"

"Yes..."

He felt the flutter of your walls that enveloped his cock, slick and tight and so, so good. You screamed when he tension became too much and he kissed you, swallowing your moans and fucking you through your peak.

And it was that moment when he felt it.

The slight, small pull in his balls, being transferred up to his shaft.

"Si-"

"Don't move." Simom stood buried deep inside you, not daring to move himself as his scenes became too alarmed, making him feel every note of your scent.

And then it happed.

Small at first, but growing bigger, stretching your pussy wider, making you catch your breath when the unfamiliar, unexpected fullness of his knot bottomed you out, joining you two together.

A knot. Simon's knot inside you, the swelling, the sting, it made you speechless for a second.

But then you felt something wet on your shoulder.

"Si?"

"Don't move. Just-" He sighed, heavy and abruptly, and held you closer, as if trying to dissolve himself in you. "Don't."

And you didn't. You held him, palms on his neck, legs on his hips.

Simon sobbed, like a pup, into your shoulder, ignoring the sensation of his seed gushing into you. He thought he was broken. A useless piece of shit, not worthy to be assigned an Alpha, who claimed a beautifully healthy Omega, you. He thought he would never be full, be okay again.

But it was you who was patient. You who did the scent therapy assigned by a doctor. You who sneaked your clothes into his gym bag. You who spend every second of your heat with him.

"Thank ya..."

It was you who brought his long-lost Alpha back.

GOD WHAT A MAN 😤

Anyway….thanks for listening to me scream in your inbox and I hope you’re having a fabulous day~ 🫡✨

THANK YOUUUUU

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY // mafiaboss!simon, mafia!au, f!reader, pregnant!reader, posessive!simon, slight angst, m@rder

part 1 and part 2

When all the people had already gathered in his office, Kyle was the first to notice that this would not just be liie any other meeting where they would discuss the supply of new weapons. Simon's face always expressed little emotion, he was focused only on business and brought nothing but anger and persistence to it, but this time his jaw was tense and his palms were clenched into fists on the table. And there were photographs nearby. And the contents made Kyle hold his breath for a second.

“Find a photographer. Bring 'im to me alive.”

The rest of the men in black suits nodded, realizing that for the next few days (they didn't have the luxury of putting it off for longer) they will search every corner of the city, enter the buildings of all news outlets and find a person who can track the camera model from which the photos were taken.

When only Kyle was left in the office, he spoke first.

“It can't be someone from London.”

“Lina's father values 'er too much ta make such a mess." Simon agreed.

He remembered that moment. When he left the club in the city center, having received the report on the past month, he was about to get into the car to finally go home. He left here unexpectedly, he was originally supposed to spend the evening with you, you two were planning on going to go to your favorite restaurant, but Kyle informed him about a possible leak, and he left to find out if one of his people had betrayed him.

She came too fast. It was as if she was standing next to him and waiting for him to come out. Her hand was on his forearm instantly, her lips stretched into a smile, as if he had said something funny. But Simon quickly pushed her away, and then Kyle put out his hand so that the girl would not approach him again.

Simon thought she was just mistaken. Drunk, she probably confused him with someone else. Because if she was someone from mafia circles, she would never have approached a man alone.

But he was wrong. And now he was paying the price for his disbelief and ignorance. With your tears.

***

People are weak and cling to their lives until the very end. All Simon had to do was threaten the photographer with a knife and a shaking old man immediately told everything.

Sebastian Rourke. The junior boss of Ireland, who once was also trying to claim your hand, trying to gain your favor, and was apparently unhappy that you chose Simon instead of him.

It was easy to find him. The bastard didn't even hide, staying in his cottage in Oxford, on neutral territory. Simon went there alone, despite Kyle's pleas that at least he should go with him, stay outside in the car to know that everything would be under control.

But Simon didn't need anyone else. It was his family's matter, and he wasn't going to invite anyone else to a mess hosted by one pitiful man.

Sebastian was sitting on one of the armchairs, a glass of whiskey in his hand, and looking at the fireplace burning in the living room in front of him. Simon got into the house quietly, no locked doors, not even an alarm system that could detect him. Easy. Stupid.

He didn't even try to get up and run out when Simon's tall figure blocked the light from the floor lamp, and a large shadow reflected on the brickwork of the fireplace. Sebastian froze, the glass of whiskey halfway to his mouth, and swallowed hard.

“Riley.”

“Rourke.”

Simon's voice cut through the silence that hung between them, and in that silence, the only sound was the crackle of logs in the fireplace, the wood engulfed in flames, which reflected what was happening inside Simon right now.

There was no point in running. There was no point in hiding. Simon was already here, he already had all the evidence of what this man had done. This man, who did not even have the intelligence to hide from the indispensable justice, that now clenched its fists and had a gun tied to its loincloth.

Sebastian set the glass down on the table, and the clink of glass against wood cut through the silence.

“She should have been mine. I could have given her everything, money, protection...”

Simon grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him off the chair, pulling his face to his and spitting the words right into his face:

“Ya didn't even bother to install a bloody alarm in yer own house.”

Rourke's eyes bulged and he instinctively grabbed the man's wrist, as if trying to loosen his grip.

In vain.

“I gave her everything. I gave her gifts, and an alliance with Ireland would have given her father extra protection.” He was pushing.

“But ya didn't ask what she wanted." Simon growled.

This man didn't deserve a single breath of yours. Not a single touch of your fingers, which you always used to look for Simon's palm under the table during social gatherings and at your parents' house, where you and Simon came to wish your brothers a happy birthday. Not a single tear that you've shed in the last few days, imagining for a moment that he might break his promise and let another woman near him while you were carrying his child.

Sebastian was only a semblance of a man. And his death will not be a loss either for his father or for the entire Irish mafia.

“She was cryin'. Cryin' when she saw the girl ya sent, whom ya ordered ta make it look like we were fuckin'.”

“Don't pretend you didn't want to. Everyone, and she, knows that you never gave up on the opportunity to stick your dick into any tight...” He croaked the remaining words as Simon raised his other hand and closed his fingers around his throat.

“Keep 'er name out of yer bloody mouth.”

Simon felt that the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat was reverberating in his temples, his veins were bulging, as if the blood was about to burst out and, hot, thick, spill. But there won't be any blood today. Not his, not this pathetic excuse for a man's.

“My father-” Sebastian was already twitching, trying to free himself from Simon's grip, his face flushed, bordering on purple.

“Yer father got all the evidence of what ya did." Simon replied, squeezing his fingers harder, feeling the cartilage of Adam's apple under his palm, the muscles in his throat, which were contracting from the pressure.

He understood that Sebastian's murder was unlikely to go quietly. It had been a long time since he had shed someone else's blood with his own hands, and sending a message to the elder Rourke, who would certainly pass the information on to the boss of Ireland, would certainly cause a stir.

“I can start a war." Simon said, almost pressing his face against Sebastian's. “But for ma wife, I'll do it.”

He didn't care how much his relationship with Ireland would deteriorate. He didn't care who else found out that he had killed the junior boss of another clan, that he had done it with his own hands and in cold blood.

Because it will be a lesson for anyone who could even think about hurting you.

***

You were waiting for Simon at the front door. Barefoot, in your nightgown, you nervously bit your nails, wondering when he would return.

A few hours ago, the front door slammed, but you didn't hear it, trying to fall asleep in your bedroom. In a bed that felt too cold the last few days. The pain squeezed your heart, the tears dried up, and now you felt only emptiness, a hole that had formed in your soul from the absence of Simon by your side.

You tried to find him, wanting to finally break the silence on both sides. Simon wanted to prove his loyalty to you, you understood that, but you didn't need this proof, because inside you believed him. It seemed silly to think that he might have been unfaithful to you now.

This man has proposed to you four times. He asked you four times, without giving up, or stopping to seek your consent, but never crossing the line. He was gentle with you from the very first day you met, and this tenderness only intensified when you became pregnant.

You couldn't stand the emptiness on his side of the bed anymore, and your pregnancy hormones were making you hungry for physical intimacy. But when you found his office empty, you realized that he wasn't at home. And all that remained was to wait for him.

Your head jerked towards the front door when you heard the sound of a car engine in the driveway. A minute later, Simon came into the house.

You exhaled in relief when you finally saw him, but when you noticed how his shoulders were tense and the gun glinted on his hip, you tensed up.

Where was he? Why did he come back so late? Why did he take a gun with him?

“Ya should sleep, it's late.” His voice was heard, gentle, worried, and he stepped into the light from the lamp in the hallway.

“Where were you?” You asked, raising your head at him, looking at his focused face and intense gaze.

Simon raised his palm and cupped your cheek, running the pad of his thumb over your skin, feeling the softness and warmth. He saw the worry in your eyes, and he wanted to erase it, erase all the pain and anxiety that this bastard had caused you.

“He's gone.”

“Who?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Rourke.”

It took you a few seconds to figure out who he was talking about. Rourke was the name of one of Ireland's junior bosses. But the eldest, Niall, was, as far as you knew, too old, and had long ago handed over the position to his eldest son. And then it dawned on you. Sebastian Rourke. The one who tried to win your hand when you were only sixteen. The man who didn't stop coming to your house in London even when your father wasn't there, annoying and ignoring the warnings of the guards.

But what did he have to do with Simon?

“I didn't do it.”

You remembered Simon's look, how he clutched the photos, as if ready to punch through the wall, seeing your tears when you showed him what you found in the bathroom at the event. The distance he kept with you these past days, how Kyle appeared in your house much more often and only nodded when your eyes crossed.

“Simon...”

“He'll never bother ya again.” Simon took a step closer and put his other hand on your stomach, feeling the bump. “No one will ever bother ya again."

That night you finally fell asleep in the arms of the man you love. He didn't bring the blood of his enemy into the house. But he left an important message for the rest of the world.

Hurt you? Only through Simon's steel-hard hands.

My english is kinda messed up hisr!! I’m sorry 😭 Thank you so much!!! 😭❤️

JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH // established relationship, f!reader, pregnant!reader, mention of a bag injury, memory loss, angst, simon being the best of friends

"I packed you some snacks."

When Simon arrived, you didn't know it was him. Hearing the doorbell, you rushed to the door as fast as your pregnant belly would allow. Five weeks ago, you'd sent Johnny on another mission. He, of course, didn't want to leave you alone, especially not in your condition, with the twins already kicking vigorously and you sometimes having trouble getting out of bed. But that was his job. And by marrying him, you'd accepted his job, too.

"Snacks, huh? Those better be chocolate bars."

But when Simon showed up at the door, balaclava-less, in civilian clothes, your smile faded. Your husband, your Johnny, should have been in his place.

But he wasn't here. He was in a coma.

"Don't screw up your teeth while you're away, okay? I know you."

Shot to the head. To the temple. At that moment, you felt like those fussy mothers who urge their children to wear helmets, even if they were already seventeen and about to ride their bikes to their friends' house just next door. Because it would have saved him. A simple helmet would have saved him from a bullet.

"No sweets cannae ruin ma teeth. Only thin' tha' threatens me with cavities's ye."

You cried so so much, curled up on your big bed, clutching his T-shirt to your face. Simon was standing outside the door, you were sure, but he still didn't dare enter, didn't dare disturb this small world you'd immersed yourself in, this grief you'd fallen head first into.

You were preparing to become parents. Johnny burst into tears right in the ultrasound room when he found out they were twins. He kissed your face all over in the car and whispered that you made him the happiest man in the world. He personally searched for cribs and car seats, ensuring the highest quality for the safety of his wee bairns. From the moment your belly began to show, he talked to the babies, stroking your stomach and whispering, "Already love ye both, even if ye're kickin' ye momma from tha inside."

And now he was there. In a plain hospital room, hooked up to monitors, with a wound on his temple and unconscious.

You kicked, trying to break free from Simon's grip.

"I want to see him! He's my husband, I have to see him, I have to!"

But Simon held you tight, not letting you break free. He was there, every day, coming in and watching his friend lie there, his chest barely rising, his eyes closed. He knew that if he was barely holding back tears, you would simply collapse on the floor in hysterics.

Simon promised Johnny he'd take care of you and the children if anything happened to him. And he would do anything to keep that promise. Even if it meant getting punched and being screamed at for being a "bloody heartless bastard."

But when Johnny finally woke up, you were the first to enter his room.

He was pale, paler than usual, his head was bandaged, and a lump of gauze was visible over his former wound. He looked composed as the nurse checked his eyes and the sensation in his arms and legs to make sure he was physically fine. And he was. Until he looked in your and Simon's direction.

"L.T., mate, ye brought ye lass 'ere? How selfish."

You and Simon froze. He didn't recognize you. Johnny didn't recognize his own wife, the mother of his future children; he thought you were with Simon.

And that made your heart break all again.

***

It was harder to return to a house where everything reminded you of a life you don't remember.

Johnny entered the apartment, the interior of which he remembered, but inside, everything was different. The kitchen was cleaner and more furnished. A large, soft blanket lay on the sofa in the living room. There was an extra toothbrush in the bathroom, a larger bed in the bedroom, and an extra closet. And another room, which had previously served as his home gym but was now closed off. He knew what was in there.

A nursery. Probably already furnished, judging by the size of your belly. Two cribs, two changing tables. Or one large one? A closet filled with tiny clothes for the boy and the girl.

He saw the doctor discussing something with you, and you nodded, unable to stop the tears from pouring from your eyes. You probably wanted to hide any traces of that part of his life that had been stolen from his memory with the bullet that had flown through his temple.

But Johnny still opened the door.

Unable to watch, you turned away, hiding your face again as tears welled up in your eyes. How were you supposed to live on? Under the same roof with the man you loved so much, but who didn't remember you, didn't remember all the moments you shared together, didn't remember the anticipation of becoming a father.

"Hey."

Johnny gently touched one of your wrists and pulled your hand away from your face. You looked into his eyes, those incredibly beautiful, familiar blue eyes.

"Don't remember ye. Don't remember... all of 'is." He gently stroked his thumb over your pulse. "But that doesn't mean I'm gonna give up everythin' that brought me happiness."

And even though he didn't remember you in his head, his body definitely did. Because he always did this when you were worried, always checked your pulse.

JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH // established relationship, f!reader, multiple children, fluff, johnny being a caring father, a flirt and a bit naughty (nothing unusual)

correct me if I'm wrong but I think you mean this post of mine of soap on kinktober. so yeah! more johnny with that typa energy!

You were pregnant. Again.

No surprises here, at least not for Johnny. He was grinning like a smug bastard, looking like he just won a lottery or received an award from the first minister himself when you presented him the test when he was playing with your youngest, Niall. His heart was full of love and he hugged you tight, causing your middle, Callum, to ask for some attention too.

His team was surprised, though, to put it mildly. Sure, they were getting used to the idea of their sergeant having not one and certainly not just two kids when he married you. The love and passion was so thick between you two, that Simon mumbled something about "it's not the cake that needs ta be cut".

But four? Four children under six?

"Mummy, he hit me!"

"No! No, she lie!"

You sighed, hearing Isla pouting and tugging on your skirt in a shop. Your family was out on a daily grocery shopping trip, and, sure enough, Callum decided it was the time to cause some trouble. The boy decided to make "havoc" his actual second name since the moment he took his first steps, finally getting the hang of how those things of his called legs worked.

And Isla? You sweet girl just wanted some peace and quiet, not being accidentally hit by a stuffed animal her brother took from the shelf.

"Oi! We're not doin' tha'."

Johnny stood between his daughter and son and crounched, balancing perfectly with Niall on his hip. Callum froze, the plush tiger in his hands, eyes big and blue.

"We're not doin' tha', son. We're not hittin' people, are we?"

The boy pursed his lips, understanding that he was in no right in the moment. He was trouble, but he knew when he was starting to cross the line.

"No."

"Good." Johnny nodded and turned so that Isla's face was visible.

The girl was still holding your skirt, but not tugging anymore. She knew that her dad was here to protect her even from the trouble her own brother was causing.

"What'do we say?"

"Sowy." Callum said, shyly, but not lowering his eyes.

One of the many good things Johnny had learned from his parents was that apologizing should be a routine part of his children's life. Saying sorry would never be something that would be considered weak in his house. Never.

Isla nodded, her hand releasing the fabric of your skirt. Callum lowered his one hand with the toy and reached the other one to his sister. She placed her small palm in his, and he smiled.

Just like that, they were best friends again.

"Should I get the salmon 'fore we forget?" Johnny asked you, standing up and placing Niall in the trolley seat; toddler instantly grabbing the handler with his eyes curious.

"Yes." You nodded, standing in the pasta section. "I crave fish so bad."

"And I crave you." He whispered in your ear, getting closer so that the children won't hear.

You elbowed him on the side and he flinched, as if hurt, and then started to push the trolley down the aisle.

Sometimes he was so unbearably blunt, it made you wonder how can he do so and not blush at all.

"Ya in ta mood today or is the baby-"

"Johnny."

"Right." He nodded, pursing his lips, just how Callum did a minute ago.

The resemblance made you chuckle and bite your lower lip, your palm reaching for your still small baby bump and looking at the side, where Isla and Callum were walking, swinging their intertwined hands and giggling without a care in the world.

"Right now I am in the mood to get all the groceries we need without someone throwing a tantrum or a nappy being soaked." You said. "But you know me, I would never deny you the desert."

Johnny smilled and looked at you and that made you feel like you were the most desirable woman on earth.

The weather is radiant, the sun is high in the sky, the wind is slight and pleasantly chilly. Price, Kyle and Johnny are standing near the grill when Simon, as the man of the house, grills the meat.

"Think sausages're good." He says.

"I'd rather have yours." You respond instantly.

The easiness with which you said that, as if it was a rare occurrence, makes Kyle pause while taking a sip of beer. Johnny looks mortified. Price thinks he misheard.

But, well, that is just who you are.

"Can I, tho–"

"Later, luv."

"Sure."

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY // mafiaboss!simon, f!reader, established relationships, age gap (not specified, but I'd say simon is 39 and reader is in her early 20s), pregnant!reader, assumed infidelity (but it's not!), angst, angry!simon, dark(ish)!simon

got you! part 1 is here!

The day was tiring.

Standing in the heels while being five months pregnant was certainly not one of the best decision you have ever made. But, nevertheless, it was needed. The gala was hosted by Honkins, their wedding anniversary turned into this huge eveny, and as usual they invited all the people under the Riley's jurisdiction. And yours jurisdiction as well.

The announcement was made, and everyone had to go up and congratulate you both on the upcoming addition to your family. Some of them were sincere words, some only forced smiles, but Simon stayed by your side, palm on the small of your back, and you nodded, thanking each and every one.

But your bladder had other plans.

Quickly saying to your husband that you need to go to the restroom, you excused yourself and headed to the nearest one. The door was thick, the tiles shining, and the relief instant. But as you walked to the sink, intending to wash your hands, you noticed an envelope.

An envelope that was certainly not there when you just entered. Quickly looking around and spotting that the lock was in the same exact position you put it, you gingerly reached your hand. The envelope was light, not sealed, and when you reached inside and pulled out a photo, your heart stilled for a moment.

There, clear as day, was a picture of your husband with another woman. A picture of Simon, made as if undercover, showing him outside a building, late at night, with a woman near his side, touching his arm and smiling.

Smiling.

That must be some... That must be a photoshop or something. But looking at the lower left part of the photo, you saw the date. The same day where Simon left abruptly at night, mumbling "Bastards screwed up, sleep tight, luv" near your temple as you were still sleepy.

Did you ask him what the matter was really about when he came back? Did he look disheveled? Did he smell of a different perfume?

You started rushing through your memory, trying to remember all the possible details of that night. Simon never left you home alone, and with Kyle, your first bodyguard, being promoted to the captain, you were assigned a new, more experienced man, whose main task was to keep you, his now pregnant wife, safe.

But was that the only reason? Wasn't Simon trying to keep you in a cage, like a beautiful bird, to shield you from all the things he was actually doing when you sat home, growing his child?

Simon caught your eye across the hall when you walked out, one palm on your belly. He was visibly tired of all the fuss that surrounded him, all those people trying to look good in front of their boss, while all he really cared about right now was you not tiring yourself out. And when he caught that you smiled at him for a moment later than you usually would, he caught it as a sign.

"Let's go home." He hummed, pressing a kiss on your temple, when you came back to him, the envelope with photos burning in your purse.

***

He noticed it from the day you returned home from the gala.

"I'm too tired."

"I'll go lay down. Hormones."

"I need fresh air."

Every time Simon tried to reach for you, to strike up a conversation, you went silent and found a reason to go to the bedroom. The hugs you shared in the bed disappeared suddenly, with you wrapping yourself up in the blanket, leaving no room for him to reach for you, to place his palm on the soft belly, to feel his child growing in you.

He couldn't be more confused. For those two years since your wedding, you never been so rejecting towards him. Simon remembered the panic in your eyes when he brought you to bed, you underwear white, matching the color of your wedding dress. And yet, you trusted him in that moment, knowing fully well what he had promised you.

Keeping your body autonomy. Being a present parent in the future. Being loyal to you.

"What did I do, luv?"

His voice caught you off guard. You were standing in the nursery, the crib and the changing table there, but other than that an almost empty room. You never had the time to go proper shopping together. Will you ever now?

His posture was tense, you could see that. His shoulders shrinked, his hands in his pockets, lips pressed in a line. He haven't had a single good night of sleep, not feeling you near, having you on the other side of the bed, but not being able to hug you, press his nose to your neck and just feel you.

You pulled out the envelope faster than you intended to. The paper always there, always near, the fire that you wanted to burn, yet keep as a potential proof that his words were worth nothing.

Simon took it in his hands, opened, and when he saw the photo, he stilled. There, clear as day, was him. With another woman by his side.

"Is she prettier?" You asked, feeling you voice shake.

You tried not to notice how the pregnancy was affecting your body. How your curves softened, hips widened and stomach grew bigger. You were carrying a baby inside of you, his baby, his future heir, while he was out–

"I didn't." His voice sounded like a thunder, but it was just what made a tear fall down your cheek.

One, then another.

"The nights, Simon. When you- You haven't been telling me where you were going this past few weeks. All I know is that you slide out of our bed, and I'm locked there, with only William left as a guard dog, like I'm some caged treasure kept to-"

"I didn't do it." He said, his voice not raising, but having the same persistent.

Simon wasn't justifying himself. He didn't have to. All his words were pointless.

His world knew only vows, only actions.

And he will find the scumbag who made you cry, made you undermining the love and devotion he had for you since the very first day.

He will find the man. And make him pay.