La-de-vil - Lust For Life

ՏͲᎡᎬᎪᎷᎬᎡ ᎽΝ

°•Streamer yn on QMSP

Author's Note:ᴡᴇʟʟ, ғɪʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ, ɪᴍ sᴏ sᴏʀʀʏ ғᴏʀ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ɪɴᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs, ɪᴛs ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇs ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴsᴘɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ, sᴏ ɪ ᴇɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴜᴘ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ. ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘʀᴇssᴜʀɪɴʜ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ᴀʟsᴏ. ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏs, ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴏʀᴋs💓

~

°The announcement.

Y/n ᴡᴀs sᴛʀᴇᴀᴍɪɴɢ ʀɪɢᴛʜ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴɴᴏᴜɴᴄᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄɪᴘᴀᴛᴇ ᴏɴ ϙᴜᴀᴄᴋɪᴛʏ ᴍɪɴᴇᴄᴛᴀғᴛ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ϙᴍsᴘ.

ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴛ sᴇᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴀsᴋs ʜᴇʀ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʜᴏᴡ sʜᴇ ғᴇᴇʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ.

sʜᴇ sɪɢʜs,"ᴏʜ ᴍʏ ɢᴏᴅ, ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ғᴇᴇʟ, ɪᴍ ᴊᴜsᴛ sᴏ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ, ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ, ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ sɪɴᴄᴇ ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴍɪɴᴇᴄʀᴀғᴛ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ sᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ, ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪғs ɪᴛs ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ʜɪsᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ɪᴛ, ᴏʀ ɪғ ɪᴛs ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴏɴʟʏ ʙᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ" sʜᴇ sᴀʏs ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴄ,"ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴs".

-

°ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ.

ʀɪɢᴛʜ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴀᴢʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴏɴ sᴇᴠᴇʀ, ʏɴ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ sᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴇʏ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴀʟ, ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sʜᴇ ʜᴀs ᴀ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏғ ʜᴇʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴇɢɢ sɪɴᴄᴇ sʜᴇ ɪs ᴀ sɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛ.

ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ғᴏʀ ʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴇɢɢ y/n ᴛᴀʟᴋs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴇɢɢ ᴀʟsᴏ, ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴀs ʜᴇʟᴘɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ʙᴜɪʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴄᴛʜ ɪᴛᴇᴍs.

"ɢᴜʏs, ɪᴍ ᴏғғɪᴄᴀʟʏ ɴᴏᴡ ᴀ sɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴅɪғғɪᴄᴜʟᴛ ɪs ᴛᴏ ʀᴀɪsᴇ ᴀ ᴄʜɪᴅʀᴇɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴅᴜᴄᴀᴛᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ, ɪ'ʟʟ ᴛʀʏ ᴍʏ ʙᴇsᴛ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀ sᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ʟɪғᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʙʀɪɢᴛʜ ғᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ."

Cheerytree69: why you sound so dramatic lol.

riveryn:watch her kill her egg on the first day.

"ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴀʀᴇ ᴄʀᴜᴇʟ,sᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴜʀᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs, ɪᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴋɪʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴅᴀʏ, ᴛʜᴀᴛs sᴏ ᴍᴇᴀɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀᴛɪᴄ, ᴛʜᴀᴛs ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟ sᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇ, ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏғ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴇɢɢ ᴡʜᴏ ʜᴀs ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴅɪᴇ, ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴀʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ sᴇᴇ ʜᴏᴡ sᴇʀɪᴏᴜs ᴛʜɪs ɪs?"

Slaylishous: They dont have a name yet?.

"ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴡᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴀ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴏғ ᴀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇʏ, ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴄᴀɴ ʟɪᴋᴇ, sᴜɢɢᴇsᴛ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴄᴜᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴏʟ ᴏɴᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄʜᴏᴏsᴇ ᴡɪᴄʜ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇsᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ."

Finegirl:what are the plans you were talking about in the announcement stream?

"ᴡᴇʟʟ, ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴘʀᴏᴍɪssᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ɪɴ sᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ?, ᴡᴇʟʟ ɪᴍ ᴘʟᴀɴɴɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀғᴜʟ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ϙᴍsᴘ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ʙᴇ sᴜʙᴍɪssɪᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ, ɴᴏᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ʀᴇsᴘᴇᴄᴛғᴜʟ ᴡᴀʏ."

Flowerboy:How was interacting with the other member of the server?

"ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɪ sᴛɪʟʟ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇ, ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀʟʏ,ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄʜᴀᴏᴛɪᴄ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴏғ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ sᴇᴇᴍ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ᴄᴏᴏʟ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ɪ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ, ʟɪᴋᴇ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʀᴇᴅʏ ᴍʏ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs, sᴏ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪs ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ɴɪᴄᴇ ғᴏʀ ɴᴏᴡ.

°•°•

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋs ғᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ, ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ, ᴀʟsᴏ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀғʀᴀɪᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴇɴᴅ ᴀsᴋs, ᴏʀ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴘɴɪᴏɴs ᴏɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴏʀ ᴊᴜsᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ sᴇɴᴅ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ.

ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴡ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ ʏɴ ᴏɴ ϙᴍsᴘ.

they forgot ~ corpse husband

word count: 2022

request?: yes!

“Corpse husband asks his S/O why they are upset two days before their birthday and they reply, “I just got a text from my parents saying to have a happy birthday today.” ”

description: in which an early birthday text sends her mood on a downward spiral just days before her actual birthday

pairing: corpse husband x female!reader

warnings: swearing, shitty parents, some self hatred/insecurities due to shitty parents

masterlist (one, two, three)

Continuar lendo

INFINITY WARD I'M CALLING MY LAWYER!

just give me a day, or two…

in which y/n and harry have been broken up for a while but the internet is still rooting for them. featuring a footballer and lots of tweets.

liked by masonmount and others

yn 🇮🇹 :-)

view all 10,332 comments

gemmareacts a hard launch… 🫣 congrats!

harrysatellite the “m” necklace 😫😫😫

spinningouttt not calling him dad :(

ynskitten PLEASE 🫣🫣🫣🫣

narryhearts LMAO

ynspasta she can wear an “m” necklace but the “h” tattoo on her hip is permanent 🫶🏼 we stay winning

masonmm19 get over it 😘 they’re happy

phoebebridgers you’re unreal.

taylorswft im not calling him dad

clarajohns you got a new lifeeeeee am i bothering u 😫 do u wanna talk? 🥹

harry_lambert angel!

hearteyesforyn stop 🥹🥹🥹🥹

liked by yn and others

harrystyles Satellite. Out now.

view all 783,499 comments

gemmastyles 🛰️♥️

niallsfart @yn 🥹

heezushrist @yn are u- nvm.

perrieeeeeele im crying over a robot

annetwist 🛰️❤️❤️❤️

ynsbralette give me a day or two…years????

barkingforyn girl just take him back at this point………

⇝ shadow .

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

PART TWO OF MÉNAGE.

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

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

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

WORD COUNT: 10k.

MASTERLIST.

Also on Ao3!

You were pretty sure your fingers were about to snap.

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

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

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

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

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

It was like a slap in the face.

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

"You-"

"Did you keep it?"

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

"It? Wh-"

"Him. Our son."

Our son.

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

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

"I was gone."

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

"You don't understa-"

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

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

"I'm sorry."

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

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

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

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

The door slammed shut.

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

You'd closed the door on him.

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

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

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

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

You were letting him in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It didn't feel right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are y-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you work in?"

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

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

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

And it was terrifying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not raising my vo-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want to see him."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They're real. I promise."

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

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

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

"...his name's Tommy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How d'you pay for all this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let me help you."

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

"Help me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could… he could really get used to this.

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

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

"-mon."

"Simon!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Right. You were the one speaking.

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

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

"Alright."

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

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

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

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

"O-okay."

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

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

You hoped it was the latter.

"...okay. Goodbye, Simon."

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

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

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

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

"Right, I'm s-"

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

"Well you can shut him up-"

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

"N-no, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

He'd be back. He promised.

TAGLIST: @selfassassin @ess-perspective-blog @crazyfandomist @webreathfandoms @warners-wife @prodyng @gaycrystalbitch @warrior-of-justice @uhhely @mentallynot-here @jordanwalkersworld @skepticalleo @bratsukisworld @screamingoverfiction @comedinewithmeyeh @gojosbucket @mikasakuchiki @jonhswife @tea-effect @thelittlejinx @cafesho @daddylorianisastateofmind @63sucker (if your name is in italics it means I couldn't tag you!)

cherry pie → Vinnie Hacker x best friend!female!reader

summary: in which Vinnie risks it all whilst baking a cherry pie on stream

warnings: friends to lovers trope, Vinnie being insecure, few swear words. fluff ofc :)))

a/n: stopped writing because I got no engagement with my writing, no reblogs or comments, something that creators on this platform thrives on. This is not Instagram, you can’t spam like a creators posts and think that it’ll do anything, because honestly it’s all discouraging. with that in mind, i will block spam liking because it does nothing.

word count: 0.9k

masterlist

You loved Vinnie, ever since you two met it was love at first sight. You both were shy in nature, but the moment you were introduced you were so sure you’ve met someone from your past life. The conversation between you two came easily, no awkwardness, just a melody each time your eyes met.

Vinnie was special, his hand grasping yours so he wouldn’t lose you in the crowd. Always keeping a napkin in his pocket since you always seemed to spill something. He often found himself comparing you to the sun, but quickly realized that not even the big star above his head came close in comparison to you. Vinnie loved you too.

Both of you kept silent, choked laughs and glances to one’s direction when the other wasn’t looking.

It was clear to everyone else, the love of which was growing everyday keeping you both prisoners in its grasp.

Vinnie was convinced he’d die if he never admitted it, his chest tightening as his heart grew and doubled its beats when you were around. But he was terrified of losing you if he spoke the truth, so he hid, despite his world crumbling every time another content creator asked for your number, which you always declined with a reserved smile, the smile you promised Vinnie was his.

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Vinnie wanted to do something different for his upcoming stream that weekend. Instead of playing the usual games he wanted to bake a cherry pie with you, and you immediately agreed before the tattooed blonde finished his sentence. So there you were, flour coating your cheeks and clothes after Vinnie decided to throw some at you.

The whole kitchen was a mess, eggs and crushed cherries staining cupboards and clothes. Vinnie’s eyes were on you whilst you spoke to the viewers. You were a mess, but you looked so fucking beautiful with that smile that Vinnie would die for. He scolded himself when his thoughts crafted a world in which you stood before him, dressed in white and his ring on your finger. It stung, so deeply that he had to take a deep breath to come back to reality, the reality where you were only his friend and nothing more.

He remembered Noah telling Vinnie how he was his own worst enemy, and now he wholeheartedly agreed as he watched you in this perfect light, a beckoning for him to tell you his deepest secrets, but yet his tongue remained still and a bitter feeling grew in his stomach as he continued to watch you.

You were his opposite. Vinnie bore a dark cloud over his head, sometimes it’d rain or thunder, but now it was merely there, darkening his thoughts while you radiated sunshine and warmth. He stood no chance.

You gave the blonde a soft tap on his inked arm to bring him back from wherever his mind traveled to, something you were used to see happening. “You still with us?” You whispered, a smile on your lips but your eyes held a spark of concern.

To play it cool, the blonde gave you a wink with a cheeky smile, “for you? "Always." He looked back to the monitor so he could read the chat, but every time you let out a laugh his mind wandered to that special place again.

“Honestly, it looks pretty good,” you spoke as you glanced down at the cherry pie. “Why do you sound so surprised?” He laughed, knocking his shoulder softly into yours.

“Vin, have you met us?” He had to agree on that one. “Besides I’m no chef, and you’re always distracted,” because of you, he wanted to interrupt with, but he bit his lip to force the words back down his throat. “And when you’re not; you play around too much.” You continued.

He turned back to the chat with a exaggerated smile and waved his arms around, “you heard it here folks, Y/n and I are no longer friends,” you quickly grabbed his arms with a giddy laugh, “finally!” He stopped and turned to look down at you. “Bullshit, you love me too much.” He looked serious, but the corner of his lips twitching gave it away.

“Yeah, of course I do. Gonna marry you one day.” You mumbled but Vinnie heard it loud and clear. “Don’t say that.” He quipped. His heart was doing painful somersaults in his chest. “I’m serious, don’t joke about that.” He was sweating as he spoke, his voice shaking with each word. His stream had been long forgotten as you stood in front of him, eyes staring into his.

“Vinn-“ He didn’t let you finish. He compared it to blacking out as he told you how much pain he was in simply because you existed, and how he didn’t mind the pain because it made him feel alive. He came to when you told him how important he was to you too. “I can’t lose you Vin, I’m so scared that I’ll-“ he grabbed your face and quickly pulled you into a toe curling, passionate kiss. A kiss that warmed his heart and he could feel the cracks patching together. Your hands gripped his waist as the kiss continued to grow more passionate, and then you quickly pulled back in panic. “The stream!”

“Fuck em’” he smiled and pulled you back in for another breathtaking kiss. He couldn’t help the laughs escaping him as the kiss continued. He never felt like this and he knew that he would do anything to keep you in this life.

———-

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