#places to dine in new england

[thaliawashere]

Clarke Cooke House on Bannister's Wharf, Newport, RI. Great place to grab a bite after you win the America's Cup.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Chase

Lucy Bronze x Sister!Reader

Summary: It's impossible to catch up

You were always a few paces behind her.

Always two steps back whenever she took a step forward.

Always trailing behind as she soared.

But that was the life of the youngest sibling.

Always chasing after the older ones.

Always a moment within reach before it's snatched away again.

Always fated to trail behind, always fated to be just not good enough.

Not good enough for a college team. Not good enough for a WSL team or any team in the big leagues of Europe. Not even a bottom table team.

You scrape by in a Championship club. Not even a team fighting for promotion. A mid table team that no one really has any expectations for.

Lucy soars high. Champions League, league titles, World Cup finals, Euros wins.

She's up in the sky, soaring with the clouds on wings that spring from her back whenever she wants. Always reaching new heights.

You're stuck on the ground, blinded by the sun whenever you try to look up at her. Blinded by her triumphs and victories.

There's never any respite and you're always fielding off the judgemental looks. The 'oh you're Lucy Bronze's sister? Really? You? Seriously?' and the 'where's your ambition? You sister's played for the top European clubs, you know? What are you doing in the Championship?'.

Your name hasn't appeared on the team sheet for any England youth teams apart from that one time when you were sixteen and got called up after someone got injured, chained to the bench for two matches.

Lucy has endless England caps. She's got the trust of the manager. Her place in the team is practically concrete. She's irreplaceable to the system.

You're fated to run after her for eternity, an impossible fate where you chase and chase but can never reach her.

She's constantly outpacing you, constantly just out of reach, constantly in the sky while you fight through a forest of roots that trip you for just wanting a glimpse of her.

Jorge has his own family to deal with. Sophie's built her own life.

You're the only one still left at home.

Twenty years old and trying to juggle university and your rapidly fading football dreams.

You still sit up sometimes, watching your phone, hoping for a call. It doesn't matter if it's not from Sarina. Any England manager will do. Any youth team will do.

Anything to show that you're not wasting your life trying to chase after Lucy.

To chase after any of the victories she possesses.

To chase after even a fraction of her triumphs.

But the call never comes.

And hope dwindles.

Your degree isn't even anything to write home about anyway. Just Mathematics because you're good at that, because numbers have rules and they're easy to learn.

It's not a lucrative degree.

It's not a degree that will earn you lots of money.

But it's something.

It stops your parents looking at you in sympathy.

It stop your parents from remembering they've only raised three successes. Three out of four is still good but it's hard to forget when the failure looks back at you everyday.

It's hard to forget when the failure sits at your dining room table, silent and quiet as she eats the food you've cooked at her.

It's hard to forget when the mirror image to that failure is reaching new heights and you're reminded when you pushed the failure to keep going when she was eleven and wanted to quit.

It's hard to forget when they're side by side at the kitchen table.

One silent.

One talking.

"And then Millie comes over with like a froth moustache and she wipes it off and the sharpie moustache Erin did earlier was still there!"

Lucy's always joyous, her energy infectious. She always makes people smile, unable to stop herself from making people happy.

Everyone but you, of course.

You seem impervious to her charms. Impervious to the way her smile infects people. Impervious to how she spreads happiness to everyone she meets.

She's Lucy Bronze.

No one can hate her.

No matter how much you try.

No matter how even your own meagre achievements are drowned out by her triumphs.

"You not eating?" Lucy asks you, the first time she's addressed you since popping her head into your room to say hello hours ago.

You push your food around on the plate a few more times before pushing the plate away. "I'm not really hungry."

"I can have it?"

"Yeah. Go ahead."

Lucy takes your food, loading up her plate as you lean back in your chair.

Even the kitchen seems like a shrine to your sister.

One of her England shirts is still up on the wall from years ago. A few solo pictures of her and a few more of her with your brother and sister.

You stare down at the table cloth.

Today was meant to be a good day for you.

You were meant to tell your parents the good news.

But then Lucy came for a visit and like always, anything you say needs to take a backseat.

Lucy wolfs down your food like always, still talking as you block out her voice.

"When am I going to see you in the squad with me, huh?" Lucy teases as you finally zone back in with a rough jab in the ribs from her. "I'm waiting."

You manage to let out a small laugh, hoping that it doesn't sound as awkward to your family as it does to you.

"Grace is already settling into the squad. She's only a year older than you."

"Grace?"

"Clinton?" Lucy says," You were on the youth teams together."

You let out another laugh, eyes looking down at the tablecloth. "Oh, yeah. Clinton."

You don't know why Lucy doesn't remember you've never played a game with Grace Clinton in your life.

"Well I'm glad she's settled in," Are the words you finally settle on.

You wonder what your parents must think, watching their biggest success and their greatest failure interact.

It's not that you're a bad player.

It's just that everyone is so much better than you.

You're always chasing. Always trying to catch up. It's like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands.

There's already a Bronze going down in history.

The world doesn't need two of them.

"I can see it now," Lucy says, still in that little world of hers that she gets in when she thinks of her future," Us. Playing for England together. Lifting a trophy together."

The words are stuck in your throat, begging to come out.

But this is the closest you've been to Lucy in years.

This is the most she's spoken to you in months.

You can't ruin this for her.

But you already have.

The England call up will never come for you. There's too many better players. Too many players that can take your position. You're never going to break into the England squad.

There's never going to be two Bronzes on the pitch for England.

Because you can chase as much as you want to.

You can try as hard as you want. You can build yourself your own wings, to finally soar high like Lucy. But Lucy's wings are natural. Yours won't be.

Yours will always be second rate. Yours will never be as beautiful as Lucy's.

So you look up at her, the way that sun glints off her and makes her glow. You look up at her in the sky and you turn your back on her.

On your desperate need to chase after her.

You walk back through the forest, no longer tripping over the roots that blocked you, weaving through trees and foliage, quiet and soft footed as you've always been.

Someone else is there with you though.

A hand out in offer.

A jersey being held out to you.

You take it.

They're not the colours you grew up hoping they would be. They're not the colours that your family envisioned they would be.

But that's okay.

Because they've got Lucy, soaring high in a shirt of white and blue, soaring high with England.

Red and green seem to suit you better though.

kika.nazareth: Hey! Just saw you got called up for the first time! I'm looking forward to meeting you!❤️

[moonwoodhollow]

The Old Courthouse - a cc lot by moonwoodhollow

It's time for my August build download and I think this one perfectly fits into the season!

The Old Courthouse is a mostly unfurnished residential lot that is best placed in Brindleton Bay. This lot was inspired by various houses in Salem, Massachusetts and I hope I captured the 'old' New England vibe accurately. It's a perfect family home for your sims, who enjoy spending their time in the garden, gardening, lounging on their patio or inviting friends to a barbecue or an afternoon tea.

More screenshots, info + download link under the cut!

So what do you get?

The Old Courthouse is a 40x30 lot best placed in Brindleton Bay on the Tail's End lot. The building is mostly unfurnished, meaning only the garden area with the greenhouse and garage is mostly furnished, while the actual house is completely empty except for flooring and wallpaper. What could be playtested, has been playtested. Also: this lot was created without the Tool mod.

The house has a sitting room, living room, dining room, small/guest restroom and a kitchen on the ground floor.

You'll find 3 bedrooms on the 1st floor, one master bedroom with an ensuite and a walk-in closet, and 2 bedrooms connected by a bathroom (lots of potential for drama with 2 teen sims!). The last room could be used as an office or hobby room.

In the attic, you'll find another bathroom and 2 larger rooms, that could be used as a guest bedrooms or something else entirely!

Uses items from the following packs: I will update this, once I hop back into game, but I own almost all packs.

Download: Google Drive(360 MB) | Also up on the gallery: aeromantica (but you’ll need the cc files from the Drive folder!)

Is the CC included? Yes.

Also a BIG THANK YOU to all the CC-creators, without their creations, I wouldn’t have been able to build this!

-> Info: I’ve included a few optional files but put them in a separate folder with an info file, so you can decide whether you want to use them.

TOU: Please don’t claim as your own or put behind paywalls etc. If you find any issues (wrong/missing files, etc.) please let me know + tag me if you’ll use the building, I’d love to see it in your games.

If you like what I do and want to show your appreciation, I have a ko-fi!

[nats--sw]

Gold chain (pt2) | Leah Williamson

Leah, among other things, can be a bit of a distraction for your game… but just a bit. warnings: none, just fluff and slow burn note: a short one for today,, thanks for all the love in the pt1 :( pt1 - pt3 my masterlist

It had been three days since Leah had received the Instagram notification. Every morning, she took a moment to think about whether it was a good idea to text you or not. So far, you had liked her latest post, and Leah was hoping to return the gesture, but unfortunately for her you hadn't posted anything new since your picture holding the Roland Garros trophy. Not even a story she could react to. Nothing. 

“So... how's it going?” her mother asked that afternoon. Leah had gone to visit her, finding herself with more free time now that the season had ended, not much to do aside from the occasional interview and events, nothing too physically demanding for her.

“Well, I have an interview with the BBC in a couple of days, so that's keeping me busy” Leah said, pacing around the dining room, her eyes wandering over the photographs on one of her mother’s many shelves.

“I'm not talking about work. I'm talking about your girl!” Amanda shouted from the kitchen.

"Stop calling her that. I still can't believe you embarrassed me in front of her” Leah retorted. Just then, something over the fireplace caught her attention. 

Right in the center, where her picture holding up the Euro usually was, now stood a small transparent box. Inside was your autographed tennis ball. Leah picked up the box and couldn't help but smile at the sight of your signature, along with a smiley face.

“Hey, leave that there” her mother scolded as she entered the dining room with the two plates of food for dinner. 

“This should be mine, I'm her fan,” Leah said, fiddling with the box in her hand.

“Did you help Y/N win her trophy?” her mother retorted.

“Well, I got you there in the first place” Leah defended herself, placing the box back in its spot.

"Too bad that gift was given to me. If you want a ball, ask her for it." Amanda teased.

“You're my mother. You should be nicer to me.” Leah countered, taking a seat. 

"Yes, I am your mother, but I didn't raise a coward," Amanda said with a teasing smile. “Now eat”

Leah bit her lip nervously as she stared at her phone screen. The chat with you was open, and a picture of the autographed ball at her mother’s house was ready to be sent.

God, why was she so nervous? She had captained the England women's team to their first major title in history, yet now she was afraid to send a simple message.

“Screw it,” she muttered, hitting send.

“My mom won't let me touch the ball you gave her.”

Leah panicked as soon as the text was sent and quickly locked her phone. She glanced at her watch, it was past eleven o’clock at night, and she didn’t even know where in the world you were right now. The best thing to do was to go to bed and try not to think about the message. Maybe, if she was lucky, you would read it and respond in the morning. 

Within half an hour Leah was in bed, with her ipad in her lap, checking emails. Suddenly, her phone vibrated.

She had tossed it onto the bed ten minutes ago, and now it was lost somewhere among the sheets and the pile of pillows she had. She rummaged around looking for the phone, but couldn't find it, that was until her foot got tangled in the sheets, causing her to tumble to the floor. That's when she saw her phone, on the edge of the bed, covered by a pillow.

Without bothering to get up from the floor, she grabbed the phone and smiled when she saw the notification: a message from you.

“Aww, I seriously thought she would give it to you.”

Would it be too intense if she responded immediately? 

Leah decided to go for it. “My mother is not that kind of mother,” she typed and sent the message, then relaxed as she saw you had immediately read it. The bubble with three dots appeared instantly, confirming you wanted to keep the conversation going.

"Ah, my mother is similar. I understand," you replied.

Leah was taken by surprise when the next message popped up.

“What are you doing at this hour?”

She realized she was still sprawled on the floor of her room. She got up, climbed back into bed, and opened the first streaming app she saw on her ipad, choosing an old movie she had been trying to watch for days. She took a picture, making sure to show only the ipad and part of the bed, then sent it to you.

“Watching something.”

Leah shook her head,feeling like a teenager sending things like that. It reminded her of what she used to do years ago. But she wanted to sound interesting to you. What would you think of her if you knew she was actually just checking emails and watching old football matches, trying to figure out if she could play like she used to?

"What about you? I don't even know what time zone you're in."

“I’m in Italy, just an hour difference :)”

“Italy?”

"Resting. Back to my workouts tomorrow."

"Oh, right. What’s next for you now? Berlin?"

This time Leah was surprised to see that your response was not a text, but a voice message. She hesitated before playing it, then hit the button and heard your voice.

“Wow look at you, you really are a fan,” you said in a teasing tone. Leah blushed immediately. She couldn't send you a voice message because she was sure she would get too nervous. Leah Williamson, the same woman who had spoken at the UN months ago, now felt like a schoolgirl with a crush.

She took a deep breath and replied:

“Of course I am. I’ve watched almost all your matches since Wimbledon last year. I told you I was your fan when I met you. My mother made sure to emphasize that too.”

“I just thought it was to flatter me if I'm being honest... Not that I'm that self-centered, but it wouldn't be the first time it's happened.”

Leah could tell you were walking during the last voice message; there was background noise. You obviously weren't in a room.

“Where are you at this hour?”

The next thing Leah received was a photo of a couple of tennis courts. From the angle and the small table with a glass of water, she deduced that you were sitting a few feet away from the courts.

“I thought you were training from tomorrow?”

"On grass. The grass court season starts soon. Now I was just playing with my racket.” You explained in the message. Leah didn't have a chance to respond before receiving another voice message from you. "But it's getting late now, and I need to rest up for tomorrow's training session. Say hi to your mom for me please." 

"Of course, have a good rest," Leah replied, understanding the importance of proper rest for training sessions, especially during the season.

Days had flown by since that chat, and Leah was getting antsy. She was really hoping you'd reach out first this time, just to ease her mind that she wasn't bothering you. But as she sat at Alex's place,  enjoying a glass of wine over dinner before going out, she couldn't help but feel a bit silly constantly checking her phone for a message that never came.

As far as Leah knew you had already arrived in Berlin for the upcoming Open, not because you told her, but because she'd seen some snapshots of you during training sessions thanks to some tennis websites she followed.

Leah didn't know it, but your mind was fully consumed by the upcoming tournament with Wimbledon just around the corner. It was the topic of discussion throughout your entire day: grass, Berlin, Wimbledon, Leah no, wait, focus on that WTA ranking.

"Ready?" Lucas, your coach, asked, checking his watch. It was the last day before the tournament started.

"Huh?" You looked up, putting your phone down.

Lucas gave you a concerned look. "You okay? You've seemed kinda spaced out for a few days now."

You shook your head, trying to brush it off. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good."

"Is something up? You look kinda off," Lucas took a seat next to you, his concern evident in his expression. “You're not hiding some injury from me?"

"It's nothing. I'm fine, just tired” you lied, standing up and glancing at your phone once more. Lucas caught your glance.

"Don't tell me there's a girl," he said, rubbing his temples.

"What?! No! Of course not!"

"God, I knew it. It's that Italian girl, isn't it? I saw you chatting with her at the hotel."

"That was a waitress, Lucas. I'm serious, there's no one," you said, grabbing your bag from the floor. "I've got my priorities straight."

"Good. What you have to worry about now is Berlin. Remember, Wimbledon's around the corner" said Lucas, standing up and grabbing his bag. "If you want, after that tournament, you can sleep with whoever you want, Italian or not. But for now, you must keep your eyes on the grass. Okay?"

"Okay"

The next morning, as you sat down for breakfast, Leah's face caught your eye while scrolling through your Instagram feed. She had posted some photos, seemingly from a night out. 

It struck you how you hadn't come across Leah until the Roland Garros final; she seemed like an incredible person. You had even done a quick Google search when you first started following her on Instagram, impressed by her contributions to her sport back home.

It wasn't your fault that your family never showed much interest in football, so it wasn't surprising that you couldn't recognize any of the people beside Leah in those pictures. In the final photo, Leah was wearing a top that exposed her abdomen, wow, with a hand from someone you didn't recognize resting on her waist.

“Hmm?” You quickly tapped on the tag on the other woman's body. Her Instagram profile revealed that she was a football player too. Leah was in many of her photos, often seen next to her or hugging her. 

“Hey, Y/N” Lucas intervened, taking the phone from your hand and turning off the screen. “I've been trying to get your attention for minutes, your match starts in an hour.”

You nodded your head. Lucas didn't seem to notice the tension in your jaw, you tended to be serious before matches, so it wasn't unusual.

As you warmed up on the court, your mind couldn't shake the thoughts about Leah.

"Who was that other woman?"

"It doesn't matter. Leah is just a fan, maybe a friend, not someone you're going to marry."

"Exactly. Whether she has a partner or not shouldn't affect anything."

"But I couldn't help but find her cute."

"She's undeniably beautiful."

"Focus on Wimbledon."

Despite the game starting, your mind continued its internal debate.

Your opponent secured the first game at 40-0. Now it was your turn to serve. Just as you tossed the ball into the air, a nagging thought intruded again.

“Does she have a girlfriend?”

The ball hit the net. An irritated sigh escaped your mouth, knowing you had to make this serve count, aiming to avoid a double fault.

Shaking off the distracting thought, you prepared for another attempt. Gazing ahead, you focused on your opponent's movements, determined to regain control of the match.

"Her mother played matchmaker when we met," you mumbled to yourself, the distraction causing you to miss the hit once more. This time, it sailed over the net but landed wide, giving your opponent an unexpected point.

Even your opponent seemed surprised by the unforced error you just made, giving her a point without any effort on her part.

"I need to find out who she is," you muttered under your breath, feeling the pressure with each lost point.

Your serve had enough power behind it this time, but your return lacked precision, sending the ball flying into the stands. As the ball sailed out, your opponent glanced at you in disbelief, clearly surprised by the unforced error you had just made.

"Wälti, that was her name," you murmured to yourself, the name lingering in your mind like a persistent echo. 

With the score now at 40-15, your opponent was on the verge of breaking your serve.

You needed to get rid of the doubt, but you couldn't leave the game, you weren't that crazy. But you could do something else, win the game in record time. Focus on winning to satisfy your curiosity and anxiety. You adjusted the gold chain that hung around your neck and took a deep breath. You had to hurry.

The match ended 0-2, with you taking the sets at 2-6 and 1-6. Your best result on grass.

"Where'd that come from?" Lucas asked once you were alone. "Since when is your backhand so killer on grass?" he wondered. "I've never seen you pull off moves like that on grass."

"Just got inspired," you said, tossing your visor aside and slumping into the chair. "Can I have my phone now?" Lucas hadn't given it back to you yet, not as a punishment, but because you'd asked him to keep it. 

Lucas handed it over, eyeing you. "You're keeping something from me," he noted, scratching his beard. "But if it's what's making you play like a champ, I'm all for it," he said, grinning.

You brushed off your coach's voice, fingers darting to your Instagram. With a few taps, you found Leah's chat, eager to shoot her a message.

"Heyyy! How was your night?" you typed, your leg bouncing with impatience. Though you needed to hit the shower, the excitement of hearing from Leah consumed you.

"Hope you're not feeling too rough today; starting the week hungover would be nasty," you added, fingers hovering over the screen in anticipation. But as the moments passed, there was still no response from Leah, leaving you hanging in suspense.

A cold shower seemed like the perfect remedy to clear your mind, and thankfully, it did the trick. Lucas egging you on for extra drills, especially to fine-tune your backhand, also helped to distract you.

By dinner, any hope of hearing back from Leah had evaporated. You were so disinterested that you didn't even bother bringing your phone along. It wasn't until nearly ten, when you reached for your phone to set the alarm, that you noticed Leah's message—a voice message.

"Hey, fancy hearing from you!" Leah's voice chimed in, carrying that distinctive lilt that hinted at a potential afternoon spent dozing off. You could practically imagine her, wrapped up in blankets, nursing a post-party hangover. "Yeah, went out with some friends. We were celebrating the end of my mate's long-distance thing. Was fun, until they started getting all soppy, reminding me I'm the last single one in the group."

A groan slipped out before she continued, "I may have had a bit too much to drink," she confessed with a sheepish chuckle.

Those messages had been sent around 4 pm, while you were deep into your training session.

The rest of the voice messages were sent after 7 pm.

"What the heck was up with your game today?!" came the first, followed by a chuckle "Just watched the highlights of your match. Seriously, what did that poor player do to deserve such a thrashing from you? She ain't an ex, is she?"

Then, a last voice message added, "Sorry if that sounded a bit too nosy. Just curious, you know?"

You chuckled, enjoying the sound of Leah's accent. It had this magical way of making you grin like an idiot, even when you were just staring at your phone screen.

But now, what really mattered was Leah's relationship status, she was single, confirmed without even having to pry. Knowing she was single now seemed like a game-changer. Suddenly, that whole thing with Wälti didn't matter anymore, Leah's path was crystal clear. Not that you were planning to make any moves to win her over; that was definitely not on your agenda, at least not for now.

“Remember, Wimbledon”

Oh… the other thing that hit you: Leah truly proved herself to be your fan. It blew your mind that someone recovering from a hangover would bother to watch highlights of your match just to chat about it later. She was the first person to do that, apart from your coach or family.

"Hey, I'm free tomorrow, at least from the matches. What do you think if I call you tomorrow?" you typed, feeling a rush of anticipation mingled with nerves as you crawled into bed.

Before closing your eyes, you couldn't resist checking your phone one last time. And there it was, Leah's response: "Sure, call me anytime tomorrow. I'll be waiting for you."

With a grin stretching across your face, you drifted into the most peaceful sleep you've had in ages, feeling a sense of warmth and excitement settling deep within you.

[purplereina11]

New Signing, New Beginning

Mia Larsen was Barcelonas new summer signing

Alexia Putellas is a club legend who just can't seem to talk to her

Mia Larsen was awoken gently by her grandmother cooking her favourite breakfast the smell filling her senses filling her body with warmth and comfort. She’d had a tough couple of weeks moving her whole life from England to the outskirts of Barcelona, to live in the spacious bungalow, it was an adjustment. She went from living alone following her rules and schedule to having to consider her grandparents and there strictly set regime they followed to the minute. If you didn’t know her grandfather was in the army it wouldn’t take you long to figure it out.

She threw the blankets off her body and set her feet in the slippers waiting at her bedside, the tiles were always incredibly cold on the bottom of her feet something in the mid-day heat she was thankful for. But when she’d just woken up, it was not appreciated especially since Mia wasn’t a morning person. Something her Grandparents learned the hard way.

She saw her Grandparents growing up, she was aware of them, she felt comfortable with them. But the two visits a year and the posted Christmas and birthday money didn’t make her comfortable enough to relax in there company when living with them.

Mia caught sight of herself in the pyjamas her grandfather spotted on the market and just had to buy them as he knew his little néta would just love them. It had been a long time since Mia had worn long sleeved pyjamas especially with animals plastered all over but never Donkeys on a lilac silk, they were hanging off her body her Grandfather getting a size to big.

She hated them. But she did find a little smile whenever she found they’d been washed and put back in her drawer.

“Bon dia estimada” Her Grandmother smiled, Mia smiling through tired eyes kissing her cheek.

“Bon Dia” She spoke softly back pouring herself the black coffee her Avia learned she had of a morning that was like a magic potion making her less grumpy so always made sure to have a fresh pot made for when she rose. “Bon Dia Avi” she spoke spotting her Grandfather at the dining table in front of the window with the view she’d never tire of, his glasses on his nose as he tried to complete todays crossword.

“Bon Dia amor” he smiled as Mia took her place on the bench under the window clutching her coffee cup.

“Don’t forget our neighbours have invited us for a barbecue this afternoon” Mia rose her eyes, “There’ll be people your age there, maybe you could make some friends”

“Yeah..” Mia lifted the mug to her lips before muttering, “Maybe” she trailed off in to her own thoughts of the significance the day held tomorrow.

She was officially signing for FC Barcelona after spending her entire career since the age of 14 playing for Arsenal.

+

Mia didn’t make friends, but when she was dropped off at the Barcelona training facility by her Grandfather like a kid on there first day of school she kissed his cheek and exited the car to a chorus of encouragement. It was a big deal Mia playing for Barcelona this season, her grandfather a life long Barcelona fan had spent his summer familiarising himself with the women’s team. He bought the scarfs the flags. He had his favourites. It was cute really, that he felt pride in her.

Mia was met with staff all very welcoming, she did all the formality all the shots for the media and even was taken on a little walk around of the facilities with Pere who was incredibly easy to talk to. She stood on the training field one leg outstretched in front of arms folded. She smiled as they spoke some of his coaching staff there also, her nationality was brought up when asked why she didn’t play internationally, “That’s a confusing one” She scratched her face, “My mum was born in Barcelona, my grandparents to, they still live here, my dad he was was from Norway and I’m technically English with being born there and living there my whole life.”

“So who you represent?”

Mia laughed her body moving as she did, she shrugged, “You tell me, it’s a mind field who’d I even choose”

“Ah Alexia”

Mia’s eyes were averted to the blonde Spaniard with tired eyes approaching with a small smile gracing her lips, she greeted the coaching staff before her attention was moved to Mia. Mia caught Alexia give her the once over before her hand outstretched in front of her as she approached.

“Mia, Encantat de conèixer-te” Alexia as she shook Mia’s hand looked a little taken a back then amusement showed on her lips her eyes softening.

“You speak Catalan?”

Mia shrugged, “A little, think saying I speak it is a stretch”

Alexia scratched her face moving to stand beside her, “Had me fooled” Alexia mumbled, she even had the accent with it, “They’ve shown you around?” Alexia reverted to English being told she was English, before shaking her head, “No?”

Mia nodded, “Yeah, pretty impressive facility, with a view to match” Alexia continued to make small talk with Mia, who felt a little bit of satisfaction when she made La Reina laugh even if it seemed a little forced from the stoic Catalan native. Ok laugh might be over doing it. She pushed air out her nose the edges of her lips curling ever so slightly as she looked at the ground arms folded. Did that count as a laugh?

Mia told her grandfather on the ride home she didn’t feel comfortable around Alexia, but that was just purely of who she was and her stature in the game and the fact you didn’t really get much back from her. She was on guard with her watching every word, how she held herself, she was her captain after all. And quite possibly the best female football player in the world. She was intimidated.

Mia was all smiles over dinner as her Grandmother had invited her Aunt Uncle and their children over to take her mind off the big day tomorrow. Her first training day with Barcelona, it was also a celebration dinner. It was a big deal there little Mia was now playing for the best club in Europe if not the world after the 6 months she had. It was nice to see her smiling.

On the other side of the city Alexia was at her Mami’s leaning on the kitchen counter in a death scroll on Instagram when she was supposed to be preparing the vegetables in front of her. Alba peeked over her elder sisters sister, “She’s cute.. who is that”

“New signing” Alexia muttered locking her phone putting it down and started the task she was set before her mami noticed and she got into trouble.

“Why were you on her instagram?”

“Research” Alba rose her eyebrows at Alexia as she sipped her water, clearly not believing her, “Met her today, just wanted to see what kind of person she is”

“And you couldn’t achieve that with the conventional method of a conversation?” Eli smiled chancing a glance at her girls, Alexias face spoke volumes, she didn’t like to be questioned.

“She was guarded”

“Wonder why” Alba was sarcastic as she turned, “Need me to do anything Mami?”

“Help your sister with that veg so we can eat this side of midnight”

Mia was dropped off by her Grandfather, “We’ll have to take you car shopping, you can’t keep getting dropped off by your L’Avi Mia”

Mia hummed looking out her window seeing many faces she’d watched play on the TV many times heading in all smiles greeting each other as they were excited for the new season to get going, Mia kissed his cheek opening the door, “I’ll see you later” she bolted out the car before all her resolve left her and she was left in the car with no confidence to walk into the club.

“Have a good day, show them what your made of”

Mia smiled “T’Estimo” she spoke leaning her head down to look into the car and shut the door, she didn’t hear her Grandfather drive away as she sorted her bag onto her shoulder and was making the walk to the entrance. She did however hear a car door

“Oh look what the cat dragged in”

Mia looked and smiled, Keira Walsh was heading towards her, her Grandfather smiled seeing her be greeted by one of the players with a warm hug, put his car into gear and left her to her first full day feeling less nerves for her.

“It’s good to see you” Mia spoke warmly as they parted from there embrace, Mia did play for Arsenal previously and was close friends with Leah Williamson, Keira’s best friend so they’d got to know each other over the years through Leah. She’d consider Keira a friend, they’d text often checking in. 

Mia and Keira conversed, one that was constantly interrupted as Mia was getting players coming up to her to welcome her and do introductions. “I can’t believe you’ve lived here nearly 3 weeks and your yet to ask me to hang out with you” Mia smiled as she took a seat in her cubby that was thankfully next to Keira, Mia sent a little smile to Alexia who would be the other side.

“Bon dia” Alexia said with a little nod

“Bon Dia” Mia spoke before Keira noticed the interaction, “Well I can’t believe I’ve been here nearly 3 weeks and you haven’t asked me to hang out” Mia rebutted

“It’s kind of hard when you don’t follow people back on Instagram or give them your new number” Keira folded her arms sitting back Mia rummaging in her bag for something. “.. Katie McCabe” Mia paused her search, “I thought better of you than that Larsen”

Alexia moved her eyes from Mia to Keira then back again, “Yeah well, we all have lapses in judgement”

“That was some big lengthy lapse”

Mia sat up finding her drink finally, “I’d be careful, you know she’s your besties bestie” Keira just rolled her eyes as Pere came into the locker room to welcome them all back or welcome them entirely to the new season. He clapped when he was finished the girls following suit before he urged for them to get out onto the grass.

Mia finished tying her laces as the girls round her all rose to her feet, she wasn’t delaying the inevitable but she was making a meal of tying her laces. She needed to settle her nerves, something she didn’t often feel but she felt out of her depth surrounded by the greats of European football. She rose to her feet, Keira hovering at the door to the grass, as Mia stepped out she noticed Alexia was only just slightly ahead fixing her hair. “Ale” Keira called Alexia turned to the brits walking backwards, “Have you met Mia?”

Alexia simply nodded, “Yesterday” she turned and took off in a jog

“She’s not a morning person” Keira made the excuse jogging after Alexia asking her why she behaved the way she did, and she didn’t get a lot back from her captain. Mia lowered her head before picking up her pace, she was handed a bib on arrival assigning her to other players. Mia missed Alexia spotting Mia pull her bib on, removing her own and handing it off.

Over the next two hours, Alexia always seemed to be where Mia was, not once did she strike up a conversation with the new striker, Mia on a few occasions had caught Alexia looking at her. All she got was unsolicited advice or direction when Mia made eye contact. Some had been useful others were just plain obvious. Alexia seemed more bothered marking Mia than attacking with her team.

Mia felt it by the end of the training session, it was different to the last 13 years at Arsenal, she sat packing her bag up texting with her cousin about where she managed to pull up to collect her.

Mia bid a goodbye to the girls remaining in the locker room, most wanting to touch her hand, Patri with a big smile even gave her a hug, “Gets easier from here on out.. promise” seeing what kind of day Mia had, she held her own and impressed for her first day. But it seemed she struggled momentarily on each new task before Alexia had a word and then she took it in her stride and did her best, despite the looming captain always there. Watching and judging.

Mia paused ever so slightly as she was coming through reception and saw Alexia perched leaning on the desk. “Si uno” Alexia spoke.

 She moved by her without a word before deciding to turn to her, “Alexia” she spoke softly, Alexia moved to face her, turning her whole body as she was addressed, “Thanks for your help today”

Mia felt her heart crunch in her chest when it appeared Alexia smiled ever so slightly, she put a fist towards her, “No problem” Mia touched it with her own pierced her lips together turned and left. She had hoped for a little encouraging word like Patri had.

Little did she know as she was met with a excitable hug from her cousin Alexia moved closer to the exit watching on wondering who she was hugging and why she got a hug and Alexia didn’t despite her admission she helped her today.

Over the week Alexia still seemed to keep Mia close but not seemingly making an effort to get to know her in anyway keeping it limited and formal the interactions. Mia had developed a friendship with a few of the girls, she felt more comfortable in the routine, she now knew where she needed to be what with without having to ask Keira constantly.

Keira looked as Mia came into the gym, “Mia” she waved her over across the gym, Mapi Leon made her laugh with a comment on the way over. Seemed they’d got an inside joke already. “What you doing after training?”

“Well” Mia popped a hip, “I’ve got a sudoku puzzle that’s calling my name back home”

Keira smirked, shaking her head, “You need to calm down” Keira smiled. Mia missed Alexia walking behind her but her perk ass caught her attention from Keira if only briefly when she was leaning over to grab a weight

“I really do” Mia smiled something that gave Alexia butterflies when she stood up straight weight in hand seeing it in the reflection of the mirror she stood before. She never smiled at her, Alexia probably would self combust if she did. It really made those Green with little flecks of blue eyes sparkle.

Mia looked to Alexia as she turned around, “Bon dia” Alexia spoke almost inaudible

“Bon dia” Mia said with a little nod, Keira just stared at Alexia as she seemed to want to start a conversation, Keira was thankful Ingrid called her name so she could leave the awkward situation. She needed to speak to Mia, Alexia was nothing but warm and welcoming with her.

“Your girlfriend’s cute” she said, her muscles pulsating with her holding the weight not that Mia would know she was in pure agony keeping her exterior calm as always. Mia was actually impressed she could hold the weight so casually. It made her bicep pop.

“My girlfriend?” Mia questioned with furrowed brows

“She picked you up from training Friday no?”

Alexia furrowed her own brows when Mia seemed to laugh at her even if it was gently also like she was trying to have a level of respect, “No, that was my cousin Julia.. she’s single”

Alexia jutted her chin in recognition, “She’s not my type” and with that Alexia turned to leave

“You said she was cute” Mia spoke stopping Alexia in her tracks, she caved and put the weight down before her arm dropped off.

“Yeah?”

“I assumed-“ Mia could see she wasn’t giving much back and to be honest her face held no expression which made Mia think she was pissing her captain off and gave up, “Never mind” Mia took a step, “I best go.. do” Mia sighed as she turned to go across the gym, she had no idea what she’d done. Alexia seemed to at least tolerate her the first day they met and now she could barely even do that. As she did her program she spent the whole time in her head replaying all the interactions in her head to try and figure out what she’d done wrong.

It wasn’t because she was new because she laughed and joked with the other new signing and overtly made an effort to speak to her and welcome her under her wing. Quite literally, like know the girl was tucked under her arm as they spoke with Pere.

She just seemed to be sizing Mia up and the more she did the more she seemed to not like what she saw. Maybe her Ex Katie was right, she wasn’t good enough for a team like Barcelona and it’ll be career suicide.

Alexia watched Mia, she seemed in her own head, she certainly wasn’t present in the room, she was doing what was supposed to. She wasn’t slacking by any means but the minute no one engaged with her, back into her head she went.

Once they got on the pitch Alexia resumed her normal habit, but this time it seemed Mia was catching on and would move away. Not so obviously but Alexia could tell a little glance in her direction and Mias feet would carry away to ask someone a question when she could have just asked her. Alexia grabbed a bib when Mia wasn’t provided with one. Mia looked over her shoulder when she heard Jana complaining she didn’t want an extra layer on when it was unseasonably warm. “I’ll take it” Mia smiled when Jana thanked her with a soft smile their hands grazing getting an electric shock making Mia laugh. Now that was music to Alexias ears almost so she almost missed her queue to join the mini match

Mia slipped it on as she stepped on the pitch in the mini match, she saw Alexia spot her and could see she didn’t seem to like the fact they were on the same team. If Alexia couldn’t even hack this how would she feel if Mia got game time which was feeling less and less likely with the attitude Alexia displayed towards her. Surely the captains word held validity some weight within Pere’s ear.

Mia got the ball in midfield after Alexia passed to her, she almost fumbled it not expecting it to come to her from that source. She one touched in between Mapi and Ingrid to Alexia running behind. “What a ball!” Pere exclaimed clapping as Alexia placed it in the back of the net, Mia turned smiling when Ingrid pretended to be pissed at her. Pere clapping exclaiming about Alexias finish.

Mia was walking fixing her hair, “Mia” she looked it was Alexia. “Good pass”

Mia nodded, “Gràcies” Mia missed the little smile Alexia mustered in her direction as she looked to Pere who was shouting directions at her.

Mia controlled the ball with one touch from Aitana in the centre out to her on the left hand side. She lifted her head spotted the move Alexia would make before she made it and hung the ball up in yet another perfectly weighted pass into the box for Alexia to get on the end of. And just that she did.

Pere blew the whistle and the teams switched Mias team getting a break, she was first to the water cooler grabbing her energy drink and moving away so the other players could get in to get to the drink container.

Mia looked as Keira touched her side, “Leah told me what happened, you ok?”

“Same drama different day” Mia smiled softly, “I’m fine, you don’t need to pander on your friends behalf, it was just a couple of texts”

“You should of told me”

Mia laughed softly putting the bottle back into the cooler, “I’ll be sure that you’re the first to know all about my dating life’s dramas”

Keira smiled greatly, “Please do.. it’s juicy”

“Fuck off” Mia shook her head with a smile as she turned around, Alexia didn’t like that Mias smile dropped as her head did when there eyes connected.

“Can i be next?” Maria asked with her sweet smile Mia couldn’t help but reciprocate.

“Sure” Mia touched her arm on the way past, “But it’s not that interesting”

Keira nodded, “It is, i’ll tell you later” Maria seemed intrigued as they headed back out to play yellow team this time.

Mia looked as Alexia went jogging by, Mia worked hard, she so desperately wanted to impress Alexia. She played balls she got into positions and set up so many of Alexia’s goals. She didn’t even take her own oppurtunties always squaring it for Aleixa. But she felt then maybe now she was sucking up and would that annoy just as much.

She felt like she couldn’t win.

Aitana gave her a high ten and hugged her, “You did good today”

“Thank You” Mia smiled moving along to smack other hands, she seemed to be following Alexia through the players and in the end she was the only one she didn’t high five.

It was really getting to her.

Everyone else spoke to her, said how well she was doing, some even asked if she wanted to hang out outside of training knowing she had no friends.

But she got nothing from Alexia.

+

Mia was sat in her room doing another sudoko, her phone lit up, it was Julia.

Get dressed, i’m coming to get you. We’re going for a drink.

I have training tomorrow

Don’t get drunk then, i’ll be 10 minutes

Mia felt self conscious as she sat in the bar with Julia and a couple of her friends, it was a pretty bar better than the dives she went to in London. The atmosphere was chill sophisticated beautiful decorated, every detail clearly meticulously planned and executed to high level. She felt a bit out of her depth but like the only other aspect she had in her life currently.

Mia even appreciated the wine glasses she ran her finger up and down the stem as she zoned out of the girls swooning over some girl they knew but couldn’t place.

“Mia” she rose her eyes to Julia, “What’s wrong? You’re not still pineing over Katie are you”

“God know, never did pine over her” Mia pulled a face, “My captain hates me and i don’t know why”

“It can’t be that bad”

Mia sighed and rambled about all the ways Alexia makes her feel inadequate like she doesn’t belong how she was an annoyance. How obvious she was making it she was sizing her up and disappointing her at every possible moment.

“It’s probably like an initiation or something to see how you react”

Mia stared at Julias friend, “She’s not like that with the other new signings”

“I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news but, i’m pretty sure she’s just walked in”

Mia looked over her shoulder, she swallowed. Yeah that was Alexia all right. Heading to the bar chatting to an older woman. Another a similar age to herself wandering behind.

“I need the toilet” Mia grumbled finishing her glass getting to her feet, she felt eyes bore into her as she walked through the bar. She was in her pink jacket short black skirt and biker boots her white socks just showing because apparently thats how the kids wore there socks these days. She was feeling herself so enjoyed the feel of someone paying her attention.

She was washing her hands delaying going back to the table in the hopes one of the girls would have gotten a round in so she wasn’t met with an empty glass.

She rose her eyes when one of the doors behind her opened, she gave a polite little smile to the women emerging that had been following Alexia.

“Disculpeu-me, teniu un tampó?”

Mia smiled nodding, “Si” she said to the woman’s request pulling a tampon out her bag, Mia laughed softly at the women telling her she was a lifesaver quickly dipping back into the cubicle.

Mia was drying her hands, she wasn’t stalling. At. All. This Putellas seemed a lot more friendly and for research purposes wanted to see if that was the case. As the women washed hers, her eyes rose in the mirror “I love your jacket by the way”

“Thank You”

“Where’s it from?”

“Zara” Mia told the exact store in Barcelona she found it in since she had the trauma of going to three as the others didn’t stock it when she’d popped into those.

“Gracias” The women slipped by as Mia held the door and they walked together, Alexia rose her eyes to see her little sister smiling with Mia at whatever she was saying to her.

Mia then laughed, “Si si” Mia pointed, “Si en necessiteu un altre, sóc allà mateix” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, telling the woman where she was if she needed another tampon from her, she felt Alexia watching her as she turned to leave there eyes fell on each other. Mia never noticed how kind her eyes were before.. shame the facial expression she got didn’t match.

“Bona Tarda” She briefly pulled the corners of her mouth back very quickly that if Mia had blinked she would of missed

“Bona Tarda” Mia nodded the once before heading off, probably being friendly with her family was a nail in a coffin she was well and truly settled into with Alexia.

Alba sighed looking to Alexia, “Are you not playing nicely at work?”

“What did she mean if you needed another one?” Alexia asked a mix of confusion and annoyance on her face glancing to see Mia walking, she couldn’t help notice just how short the skirt was, her eyes running down her legs before them meeting back with Albas.

“I borrowed a tampon”

“Also” Alexia’s face scrunched her head shaking like something had just resinated in her brain, “Why do you automatically think it’s my fault?” Her hand came to her chest

“I know you and she was kind enough to lend a total stranger a tampon and tell me where i can buy her jacket because i really liked it”

Eli Alexia’s mother handed her a drink, “If i didn’t know any better i would think you looked nervous around her Ale”

“As if” Alexia pulled a defiant face sipping a drink, “Shall we go sit down?” Alexia walked away, Alexia had always been a little bit shy, her career helping massively with that but there were still shades of it at times. She’d never had to be worried about being shy around a woman, if she had been they’d made all the moves, started all the conversations. No matter how many times she made herself near Mia, Mia just didn’t seem to want to start a conversation. Everyone always wanted to talk to Alexia have her attention have a piece of her. The one person she found herself wanting to talk to and find all about, the English woman that could speak Spanish and Catalan, and according to Ingrid Norwegian as well. Just wouldn’t engage. It was infuriating, resulting in a somewhat sour mood with Alexia when she was around Mia. Mia was different. She was intriguing, not like the rest.

“Think you hit a nerve Mami” Alba smiled at her mother’s face as they sat with Alexia deep in her thoughts when they’d found where she stomped off to.

“Is she not fitting into the team Ale?” Eli asked hoping the blonde wasn’t the way she was because it was falling on her to try to intergrate someone who either wouldn’t or didn’t want to.

Alexia nodded, “No she is.. I was only saying to Pere today how seamless is seems, she’s picked up our style so quick, it takes others months to get it, also she makes me look great plays some great balls, she’s also gaining a lot of favour that she actually seems to understand the language”

Alba furrowed her brows, “What are you talking about?”

“She’s English”

“Fuck off!” Alba exclaimed, “I did not get that from our conversation”

“She only moved here 3 weeks ago”

“Oh wow” Alba seemed impressed, “Do you know what I did get from our conversation?”

“Go on” Alexia sipped her drink before placing it back down as Alba leant on the table.

“She’s hot and if you don’t do something about that.. I will”

“How many times? No more teammates, you make it so complicated when you get bored and ditch them” Alba laughed at her elder sister looking to there Mami for help, “I’m being serious Alba. No.”

“I’ve always stayed out of your drama and I will continue to do so” Eli sipped her drink, “Just talk to her Alexia.. you have something in common, football, start there its clearly bothering the girl. You don’t have to get into the personal, keep it about the team.”

“Thought you were staying out of it” Alba looked to her mother, who gave her youngest a look that sent her retreating into her self, “You do you mami” Alexia smiled and got a kick under the table for her trouble

Alexia looked over her shoulder her eyes landing on Mia almost instantly, Alexia was going to have to pull her big girl knickers on if she was to talk to her new teammate.

Part 2

[chilling-seavey]

Love Thy Neighbour (gr63) - Part One

↳ A/N Still waiting for Apple to invent the iTimeMachine so I can go back to the 80s when Andrew Ridgeley was in his prime. Anyway, please enjoy house husband George slaying the 1980s suburbia. Comments, reblogs, and predictions are always welcome!!

↳ Inspired By: 'Everything She Wants' by Wham! and 'Heartbeat' by Wham!

↳ Summary: It’s the end of summer 1984 and you and your perfect little family moves into a quaint suburban neighbourhood to escape the hustle and bustle of the Manhattan lifestyle. Your next door neighbours are a picture-perfect family of their own - or so it seems from the outside. But, as you spend more time with the handsome husband, the cracks in your own 'perfect' marriage start to come to light.

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Neighbour!Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 22.6k

↳ Warnings: 18+, smut, slow burn, cheating/adultery (i don't condone this but, boy, does it make for a juicy plot), use of explicit language, female masturbation, non-consenting voyeurism, oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, choking, unprotected sex (and extramarital creampie)

September 1984

The house was straight out of the recent issue of Better Home magazine and even as you stepped out of the passenger seat of the station wagon, you were in awe of the New England architecture. Crisp white siding and red painted shutters over spotless picture windows; it was hard to believe it was all yours. It was nowhere near the small ancient apartment that you were used to in the city - although you certainly wore that place thin until the seams were bursting. It was about time you made the move out of Manhattan and into the nearby suburbs. The American Dream was in the palm of your hand. 

Your husband, Andrew, set his hand on the small of your back and dangled the set of shiny keys over your shoulder with his other, “Want to test the locks?”

You smiled back at him and grabbed them out of his hand before hurrying along the front path to the modest porch and welcoming front door. He followed behind you closely, glancing over his shoulder on the way in expectation of a follower of his own, but the young boy was already busy rushing across the freshly mowed lawn. 

“Richard,” your husband called for him as you turned the key in the lock, the faint remnants of his English accent ghosting through his words, “Come see inside!”

Unbothered, your five-year-old son didn’t even look up as he dropped to his knees beside the garden bed, “No thanks!”

You glanced across the sprawling green grass yourself, “Don’t you want to see your room?”

The little boy’s head perked up in your direction at your very convincing offer and his big brown eyes shone in the sunlight. He shot up from the ground, “Okay!” 

He took the four front stone steps with ease and rushed right past you into the house, making a beeline right for the straight run staircase just inside. You called a reminder after him to hold the handrail but he was already at the top by the time the final word left your mouth. 

Still on the front porch, you and your husband shared calm little smiles over your shared adoration for your little boy, and then he was gesturing you inside first. You stepped over the threshold onto the hardwood floors and you took your time soaking in the modern floral wallpaper that trimmed the foyer and led into the formal living room through the archway to the right. It looked so empty without furniture but it also held so much promise and possibility within the brand new walls. 

Through the living room you could loop into the dining room that overlooked the spacious backyard framed in lush trees and a wooden fence separating the property from the neighbours on either side. The backyard view was perfect from the kitchen sink, giving you a perfect spot to keep an eye on your son playing while you could do the dishes or prep dinner. You had fallen in love with this house the moment you saw it in the real estate section of the newspaper - a new build in a quaint suburb of Connecticut - but at first glance you had figured it would only be a dream. It was hard to believe that your husband and your finances were on board. With a growing little boy, it was time to move out of that tiny one-and-a-half bedroom apartment in Manhattan. Now, with three full bedrooms upstairs, the future was far more open. 

You hadn’t realized you were daydreaming at the empty kitchen sink before your husband gave your shoulders a squeeze, bringing you back to your content reality, “The moving truck should be here soon. Should we start unpacking the car?”

Leaning back into him, you agreed with a smile, “Alright.”

He wrapped his arms around your middle and pressed a kiss to your cheek before he was pulling away just as quickly and disappearing into the foyer and towards the front door.

Andrew always lived a lively life and somehow you managed to keep up. He always wanted to be out doing things such as date nights on the town rather than picking up after-hour client dinners just to socialize and bring in more money for his company - and, ultimately, himself and your family. It was so nice when you were younger and you were in love and willing to follow him to the ends of the earth but the reality of parenthood made you more tired than you used to be. Suddenly, nights out felt tedious and the airtime was always filled with business talk or discussions of Richard’s school. It all felt a bit like a chore. But maybe that just came with growing up. You were loved, you were secure, and you had a beautiful roof over your head. You swore you had nothing to complain about. 

The moving truck pulled into your driveway not long after your trusty station wagon had only been unpacked about halfway. It was going to be a long day but you tied your hair back and made sure your son was kept busy when you could and Andrew and the movers took over most of the heavy lifting, leaving you to rearrange boxes and direct them inside the house. It was always your responsibility to take care of your son so it wasn’t unusual for you to keep busy with finding him a snack from your cooler once that was brought in from the car. The kitchen table followed not long after from the moving truck and the two of you sat at the table together with Jell-O cups. 

Richard would be starting kindergarten in only a week and part of you was worried about what on earth you were going to busy yourself with once he was gone. Being a stay at home mom, your sole job was caring for him and since there were no other kids on your agenda as of yet, you were painfully preparing to be completely alone from 9-3 every week day. You tried not to worry about it as you watched your five-year-old eat his cherry Jell-O and you reached out a hand to brush through his frazzled dark brown hair, trying to pet it down into some sort of order. Even the gel that you had slicked through it that morning seemed to not be doing its job anymore but that seemed to be common with a lively little boy. You truly loved him with everything in you and those big brown eyes could just melt your heart with one look. He was his father’s son through and through. 

Being an only child, Richard got bored pretty easily on moving day so it wasn’t long before you sent him outside to the front yard to play while the truck was finished unloading and you and Andrew tended to the organization inside. With the windows open, the late summer air breezed through the freshly painted house and one of the first things you set up was your record player in the living room so you could have some music while you worked. 

Soon, Richard came rushing back inside and across the carpeted living room floor in his outdoor running shoes, earning a lightly scolding “Ritchie” out of you. 

“Mommy, there’s kids next door. Can I play with them?” he asked, ignoring your quiet scold of his name as he clutched onto the hem of your sky blue shorts pleadingly, batting those sweet long lashes up at you. 

You pet your hand over his soft hair, “Sure, baby. Stay close though, okay?” 

“Okay!” 

He was already halfway out the front door again before the single word reply was even completely out of his mouth. With a few trinkets in your hand that you had been taking out a box of arrange in the curio cabinet, you drifted over to the large picture window overlooking the front lawn. Two kids around Richard’s age were playing on the quiet tree-lined street on big wheel tricycles and your son ran over to them to introduce himself. You smiled fondly at the sociable nature of your son that was quite unlike your own traits, watching the children play for a few more moments as Richard was given a turn on the bike, before you were moving back to your boxes. 

As the afternoon wore on and you grew tired, you had just enough energy to make dinner - something simple and quick - and soon you were stepping out onto the front porch to call your son back in to eat. He said goodbye to his two new friends and then hurried over to you just as you noticed two people crossing over your lawn towards you. 

“Hey there!” the woman called politely. 

Richard stood in front of you nosily, watching them, and he wrapped an arm around your leg. Your next door neighbours approached you across your lawn, a man and woman maybe only a few years your senior, and the man held a white bakeware dish covered in tinfoil in his hands.

“Hi.” you greeted them with a smile. 

They were clearly a well kept pair as if they had been cut from a magazine themselves with the husband in tidy blue jeans and a tucked in button up and the wife with her blonde hair tied back in an impressive updo. She had on dress slacks and a blazer with posh shoulder pads, earning a lighthearted envious glance out of you at her style as you accepted her handshake and she spoke again, “I’m Jennifer and this is my husband, George. We just live next door and saw you moving in so we wanted to introduce ourselves.”

“How lovely.” you smiled, moving on to shake her husband’s hand, trying not to be intimidated by the electric blue eyes staring back at you as you introduced yourself and your son.

Your five-year-old peered up at them behind waves of dark hair that tumbled over his big brown eyes despite the way you swooped it out of his face yet again. 

“Are those your little ones?” you asked, gesturing over to the street where the two kids were still playing. 

Jennifer glanced over to the children before looking back at you, “Yeah. Those are ours. James and Nancy.” 

“It was really nice of them to let Ritchie play today.” you started. 

The adult conversation got boring quickly for the five-year-old so he slid out from under your maternal touch and slipped inside without a word or goodbye. 

“He’s an only child,” you explained, “so he sometimes gets a little lonely…especially in a new neighbourhood and all.”

“Oh, of course.” Jennifer tisked.

“Is he starting school this year?” George asked.

It was the first time you heard him speak apart from a brief greeting drowned out by his wife but it didn’t phase you. The hint of a British accent across his words didn't either, all too used to the same from your own husband. How likely that the suburbs of America brought two Brits as next-door neighbours. Comedically written in the stars, or something of the sort.

“Yeah, he’ll be starting kindergarten next week.” you exhaled, “Big steps.”

“So is James.” George said, “I’m sure they’ll be in the same class. Would be good for them to have a little friend before being thrown into a classroom.”

“Oh, that’d be great.” you sighed thankfully, setting a hand to your chest, “Even that alone brings so much ease to the conscience. I’ve been worried about how he’d transition to this whole new place.”

George smiled knowingly, “And especially when your first is going off to school for the first time.” 

“Definitely.” 

Footsteps across the foyer floor behind you pulled your attention away from your new neighbours to your husband stepping out onto the porch with you to see what was taking so long - undoubtedly you were tattled on by your five-year-old. You welcomed his arm around your waist as you introduced your new neighbours to him and him to them and they shared brief pleasantries. 

“We won’t keep you.” Jennifer took a step back, “I know it’s probably close to dinner time.”

George took one step up onto the stone stairs of your porch to offer out the bakeware, “We just wanted to bring you a little something to say welcome to the neighbourhood.”

“That’s so thoughtful. Thank you so much!” you took it from him.

“Such a nice change to have nice neighbours after the nightmare of living in Manhattan.” Andrew joked. 

“Oh, totally. We don’t mess with the city-dwellers.” George waved his hand casually, rising light laughter among your little group. He took a step back towards his wife who was already clearly trying to urge him back towards their house, but he reiterated honestly, “Anything you need, we’re right next door. Don’t be strangers.”

“Thanks a lot!” Andrew raised his hand up in a brief wave and you wished them a good night as they herded their two kids back towards their house and you were gently steered back inside by your husband. 

The apple crisp was placed on the kitchen counter and you served some for dessert to your little family. It wasn’t chocolate, candy, or ice cream so Richard wasn’t too impressed, but as adults, you and Andrew both swore it was the best dessert you had in a while - even surpassing your own. You made a mental note to find a way to thank the neighbours next time you saw them.

Having just moved in, your available time was few and far between throughout that weekend and into the beginning of the following week. Your plethora of boxes that needed unpacking as well as your young son who needed to be prepared and set for his first day of school kept you busy and it didn’t help that after the weekend, Andrew was back to work full time, needing to leave earlier to commute into the city and ultimately getting home later for that same reason. You were just appreciating the last few days you had with your son before he was going to be in school for the next two decades. The looming loneliness almost had you craving another baby but the time just never felt right. 

Wednesday was Richard’s first day of school and he was that perfect expected mix of nervous and excited. He was already eating his cereal at the kitchen table with his eyes glued to the TV in the adjacent family room when Andrew returned from his early morning run to get ready for work before the sun had even passed the horizon. With a five-year-old, every morning was an early morning but a commuting husband only stressed that fact further. 

In his white t-shirt and short white Fila shorts, Andrew was quite the looker as he joined you and your son in the kitchen for good morning kisses before he had to run upstairs to shower and get ready for the day. The white clothing stood out against his tanned skin and dark features right down to the white socks and running shoes. He was still that tall, dark, and handsome stranger you fell in love with those few short years ago and the way your eyes trailed after his legs in those itty bitty shorts only had the desire to fill the second bedroom upstairs heating across your cheeks. But you quickly turned back to your work at the counter prepping Richard’s lunch for school. 

Andrew was gone in under an hour and your driveway was left empty as he took the family car for his commute to the train station where he would then take transit into the city. Since the car would be gone every day, Richard was set to take the school bus to school which was a whole new experience for both the five-year-old and yourself. You held his hand as you closed your front door behind you and started on your short walk down the front path of your house and along the curb of the street to the bus stop. Richard’s blue backpack looked almost huge on his back and he carried his metal Flintstones lunch box in the hand that wasn’t claimed by yours. 

At the nearest intersection in your quiet suburbia, a few parents and kids were already standing there and waiting for the bus. Richard tugged at your hand and when you looked down at him, he took his hand out of yours to point to the small forming crowd, “I see James, Mommy!”

“You can go run and say hello. I won’t go anywhere.” you promised. 

He rushed across the street to the sidewalk and met up with his neighbourly friend he had met on moving day. Sure enough, James’ father was also waiting for the bus to arrive like some of the other parents with his daughter sitting in his arms, and as you approached, you shared quiet ‘good morning’s. 

“First day jitters?” you asked lightheartedly. 

“Yeah,” George sighed with a melancholy smile, “Although more so me, apparently.”

“Preaching to the choir.” you agreed. 

There was a pause as you both stared fondly at your boys talking excitedly together with their seemingly huge backpacks and perfectly styled first-day-of-school hair. You sensed yourself being stared at so you looked back to him only to find the culprit being his young daughter perched in his arms. 

“Good morning to you too.” you said sweetly to her. She smiled shyly and leaned her head against George’s as if to hide from you as a stranger. 

He rubbed her back and coaxed her, “Say ‘good morning’, Nance.”

She shook her head and tightened her little arms around his shoulders. 

“Oh, I wanted to thank you and your wife for the delicious apple crisp.” you said, steering the subject away from the unwanted attention to the shy little girl. George glanced at you as you continued, “Andrew and I agreed that it was the best we’ve ever had.”

“That’s great to hear! I’m glad you enjoyed it. I just found the recipe in the recent issue of Home Cooking magazine and thought I’d give it a try.”

Your eyes widened, “You made it?”

George chuckled, “Yeah. I made it. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Well…no…I guess not.” you stammered, trying to collect your words before you embarrassed yourself, “I’ve just never seen my husband pick up a measuring cup yet alone a whole recipe in all six years we’ve been together. I’m impressed.”

He simply shrugged modestly and gave his daughter a little bounce to try and bring a smile to her face, “Baking is just something I like to do in my spare time when I’m not running after these two crazies.” 

“I’ll get that bakeware back to you this week. Don’t want to keep you from your passion projects.”

“No rush!” George promised, “I have plenty.”

“Mommy!” Richard ran right into your legs, burying his face against your thigh, and you only had to glance up to find the cause of his panic was the yellow school bus turning the corner. 

“Aw, Ritchie.” you smiled fondly and crouched down in front of him to take his soft face in your hands, “You and James are gonna have so much fun today! And when you get home, I will meet you right here in this very same spot and we’re going to have spaghetti and meatballs for dinner…your favourite.”

He threw his arms around your neck and you held him close as the bus stopped by the curb and opened the doors for the kids. The older few got on with no issues but a few of the younger ones were facing the similar sense of anxiety as Richard was. Even James was lingering close to George despite the way he tried to play it off. 

“Okay, my handsome boy.” you gently guided your son away from you and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “The faster you go, the faster you come home!”

He nodded sadly. 

George added with a pat to his son’s head, “You two stick together today, alright?”

The boys nodded.

You told your son you loved him and left him with one more kiss before he and his new friend were getting on the school bus together with the rest of the kids. You and George waited there until the bus was long gone around the corner and the other parents started to disperse. Since you were next door neighbours, the two of you walked back towards home together with the added company of George’s daughter still in his arms. 

“What are your plans for today?” he asked you casually as you navigated the tree lined street. 

“Still unpacking a little.” you confessed. “I feel like it’s been going on forever.” 

“I don’t miss that.” he chuckled faintly, “When Jenn and I moved here when we were expecting James it felt like we were never going to get out of the hoard of boxes.” 

“Truly. But I just put on my records and get busy.” you shrugged, tucking your hands in the pockets of your blue jeans. 

“Are you much of a music listener?” George asked. 

“Oh, yes. I’ve been playing Bryan Adam’s album on basically repeat since it came out last year.”

“Cuts Like A Knife?”

You looked over at him with a grin, “Yeah! You know it?”

“Of course. I’m quite into music myself.”

“So is Andy.” you looked back to the street beneath your feet with each slow step side by side, “We met in a music club one night back in ‘78 and you could say he literally swept me off my feet. He plays some guitar but I can’t play an instrument to save my life. We’re hoping Ritchie gets his talent.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of George’s lips but he nodded modestly, “That’s great. Jenn and I have the same mindset for our two - although I don’t know if she has any musical talent because she claims she never has the time.”

“Maybe I should use that excuse.” you chuckled, “I might deafen you if I ever pick up Andy’s guitar - or if he ever lets me. So if you hear anything that sounds like a dying cat from the next house over, that’s just me and my wonderful musical renditions.”

Stopping by the curb between your two houses, George shared in your smile and your gaze lingered on the way his light eyes shone in the morning sun. He hiked his daughter a bit higher on his hip and readjusted his hands under her bum as he replied smoothly, “I doubt you’re that bad.”

You waved your hand passively as if to brush off his niceties, “You don’t know the half of it. Anyway, all you’ll be hearing is my record player. Please tell me if it gets too loud and disruptive. I can get carried away sometimes.”

“I won’t, but it’s a kind offer.” he smiled with a cock of his head. “Seems you like good music anyway so who am I to complain?” 

You set your hands on your hips with an up-turn of your nose in his direction, a mirrored amused smile on your lips at his playfulness, “Well then, I take my role as neighbourhood DJ very seriously. Any requests, you know where I live.”

“I might take you up on that; watch out.” 

Your conversation naturally faded out under the waving shade of the lush trees that stretched over your suburban street like a canopy and Nancy tapped George’s cheek shyly to get his attention. He looked at her expectantly and she leaned in to whisper to him under the presence of a stranger - you. The quietness of his youngest had George smiling fondly and he rubbed her back with a soft “okay” before looking to you, 

“We have to head back - important date with cartoons and snacks are awaiting us.”

“Of course.” you took a step back towards your lawn, “It was nice seeing you again.”

“You too. And I’m sure we’ll see each other again in the same spot at 3pm sharp.” 

You nodded, “That we will.”

Then, he headed across the lawn towards his house that was nestled closely beside yours and with the satisfaction of a nice conversation with your new neighbour fresh in your heart, you made your way into your own house to start your first day all alone. 

It wasn’t until the next day that you were able to bring over the bakeware to your neighbours’ since you wanted to make a point to wash it first. Richard was off at school again and after lunch you walked across your shared lawn to the house beside yours, sparkling white dish in your hands. You ascended the few stone steps to the front door and knocked against the glass, hidden from the inside by sheer curtains. After only a few moments, someone appeared behind the door and then it was opened to reveal George. 

He smiled warmly at you, “Hey, neighbour.”

You couldn’t hide your slight startle from seeing him, trying to play it cool with a friendly smile and the bakeware held out towards him, “Hi. I brought back your dish. Washed up and everything.”

“Oh, thanks so much.” he took it from you, “You didn’t have to wash it. I’m sure you already have enough on your plate.”

“No trouble. It was the least I could do.” you assured him.

“Did you want to come in?” he asked, “If you don’t have more boxes to unpack.”

You chuckled softly, “I could actually use a break from that overwhelming presence of cardboard.” 

“Yeah?” he stepped aside with a warm smile and a cock of his head, “Come on in.” 

The wood paneled foyer welcomed you in and you stepped over the threshold with a quiet thank you, your flat shoes landing dully against the linoleum tile floors. George shut the door behind you and led you straight through the modest house towards the kitchen, passed the foyer console table that was lined with photographs of his children around a centred wedding photo of him and Jennifer. Your eyes skimmed them on the way past as you followed him into the kitchen. 

“I couldn’t help but expect your wife to answer.” you confessed once you passed by the stairs and entered into the kitchen at the back of the house, the fluorescent lighted ceiling tiles really brightening the space with that 1984 modern touch, “Are you taking the day off?”

“Nope. Everyday is a work day for me. I’m a stay at home dad…Jenn brings home the bacon.” George explained as he opened one of the wood cabinets and crouched down to stack the clean bakeware with the rest under the counter. He then walked around the small island to the corner of the kitchen where the kettle was resting on the stove, “Would you like tea or anything?”

“Tea would be lovely.” 

He filled the kettle at the kitchen sink before setting it on the stove again and turning on the heat to boil the water. You stood just out of the way, head whirling with the concept that he was the one who stayed home while his wife worked. You couldn’t help but be nosy. 

“So what does Jennifer do for work?” 

George opened the fridge to take out the carton of milk, “She’s an executive assistant to some big shot CEO in the city. He’s pretty demanding so she’s always somewhere or another.”

“That’s impressive.” 

“Yeah, I’m proud of her.” George pulled a tight lipped smile as he fetched two mugs from one of the cupboards and set them on the counter as the kettle boiled. “We knew when we got married that we wanted at least one of us to be home with the kids as they grew up and her job was already pretty set in stone and secure so we agreed that I’d take the at-home responsibilities.”

“Hence the apple crisp skills.”

“Exactly.” George leaned back against the counter opposite you and he crossed his arms over his chest casually, “Although with two little ones, I’m surprised I have time for much of that. It’s so hectic sometimes. I guess that’s the one good thing about James going off to school now; one less kiddo to chase after during the day.”

“Oh, gosh, I’m sure.” you agreed politely before glancing around the unfamiliar house, “Where’s your other?”

“Napping. We went to the park earlier then had lunch and she was knackered. I’m sure she won’t bother us.”

“Never a bother.” you tisked, “I love kids.”

“But you only have one?” George asked before quickly following it up with a, “Sorry if that’s an invasive statement.”

“No, no. You’re fine.” you shrugged, “Where we lived before was a tiny apartment in Manhattan that Andrew had bought when he was a bachelor after moving from London. Ritchie was literally sleeping in the den with the desk and filing cabinet and things. There was literally no room for another kid.”

“And the time was right to move into a proper house?”

“Yeah. We didn’t feel totally settled in the city and with a young kid I felt like he needed a yard to run around in.”

“I understand that. That’s why we moved out here after we were married. The appeal is just so much nicer than Manhattan when thinking of settling down.” 

There was something about George that felt so trustworthy and kind and you found yourself easily relaxing in his company enough to confess, “We didn’t have the luxury of planning. Our relationship was a little…out of order.” 

The whistle on the kettle blew and George turned to take it off the stove and shut off the heat while also continuing your conversation, “Out of order? What do you mean?”

“Well…we got married because I was pregnant.” 

George’s lips formed a silent ‘o’ in realization and he glanced over at you for a brief moment as he filled the mugs, not quite knowing what to say.

“Married at 20 isn’t totally ideal.” you chuckled, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the tile floor. “But we were in love so it was okay. And Richard is the best kid we could have asked for.”

“All worked out then.” George said with a kind smile in your direction. 

You nodded faintly, “Yeah.”

“Milk? Sugar?” he asked with a gesture to the filled and steeping mugs. 

“Milk would be great, thanks.” 

George prepped the tea and even grabbed a few cookies from the cookie jar to place on a plate for your early afternoon snack and then you followed him back down the hallway and towards the formal living room adjacent to the foyer, passing the photographs once again. The built-in bookcases along the far wall housed more pictures and trinkets from over the years and your eyes lingered on them as you sat on the blue upholstered couch and George arranged your drinks on coasters on the cherry coffee table. With you on one end of the couch, he sat on the other end with a respectable distance between you. 

“I was just admiring your photographs.” you confessed when you finally tore your gaze away from the collection across the shelves and you leaned forward to grab your tea with a quiet thanks to him. 

“Yeah.” he smiled fondly as he glanced over the frames he was all too familiar with, “I like having them around.” 

“The wedding one in the foyer was really sweet.” 

George sipped his tea with that gentle upturn of his lips and an acknowledging, “Mhm.”

“How long have you two been married?”

George leaned back on the couch and looked to the ceiling in thought, his mug held at a rest on top of his blue jean clad thigh, “We were married in ‘77 I think…the years seem to get a little foggy. And Jenn doesn’t like to make a big deal about anniversaries so it’s not like we diligently keep track.”

“Oh. Why doesn’t she like to make a big deal?”

He shrugged, “Dunno, really. I think she’s so busy all the time that having one less thing to worry about is easier. The first few years were celebrated and even planned the odd stay-cation but after the five year mark and having kids…it’s just easier to not really bother as much.”

“I guess so. I think Andy and I are the same way…although we never really had the money for stay-cations or elaborate gifts anyway. He’ll just buy me flowers.” 

“Flowers are good.” George smiled over at you. 

“Yeah.” you exhaled.

“I’m more of the romantic one in my marriage but Jenn isn’t into the whole bit of gifts and time and whatnot so I’ve had to learn to cut back or she gets so overwhelmed.”

You frowned and met his gaze, “That makes me sad.”

He shrugged with a melancholy smile, “Eh, it’s okay. We had our share of mushy love in high school anyway. Maybe we’re just too old for all that now.” 

“High school sweethearts?” you pried. 

“Mhm.” George’s eyes sparkled. “Met her in our first year of high school when my family had just moved here from London. We were the graduating class of ‘73.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to do the mental math for a moment before finally asking, “So how old are you then?”

George cocked his head to the side with an amused expression, “How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t want to answer that.” you laughed, tucking your hair behind your ear as you looked down to your steaming mug of tea held in your lap. 

He spared you with his answer, “I’m 29.”

“Okay, not far off from us. We’re both 26.” you added. 

“Still young.” George bantered lightly, “Did you want more kids? Now that you have a bigger house and all.”

“Yeah. I’ve always wanted a whole bunch…Andrew not so much though. He took some time to warm up to Ritchie when I told him I was pregnant the first time so I’m not sure how he’d feel about the pitch of a second.”

“Doesn’t hurt to ask. Marriage is all about give and take, right?”

George’s statement inflicted a bit of ache in your chest as it forced you to reflect back on your six years with Andrew and the desires and plans of your own that you had pushed down to help him thrive in his own life and career. You sipped your tea quietly without a reply, taking a second to daydream about the filled house you had always wanted ever since you were a little girl. A house full of kids and a little job for yourself on the side and a husband who treated you like a queen. You were treated well by him - that was never a question - but everything always felt as if it was falling short to your expectations. 

“Sorry.” George’s voice tore you from your thoughts, “I don’t mean to force my way into your marriage as some sort of psychologist.” 

“No, no. That’s okay. It just has me thinking.” you looked over at him again with a melancholy smile, “We were just so young and I didn’t really have a chance to know myself or what I wanted before we got married. Andy’s such a good guy but sometimes there’s some sort of disconnect in what we both strive for.”

“That’s fair. But even time doesn’t guarantee that perfect connection. Like how Jenn and I differ with what we want in terms of romance and showing our love. I love the words, the gifts, the intimacy…whereas she just likes when I do her laundry or make her lunch.”

“Got those reverse gender roles, huh?”  

George cracked a half smile, “That’s actually very true. I finish tidying this entire house by the time she gets home from work, the kids are already bathed and in bed, and she’s ‘too tired’ to spend any time with me. Honestly, I don’t even know how we ended up with two kids.”

You both shared faint laughter behind casual sips of your tea. 

“That’s not much different on our side of the fence.” you agreed. “Must be that working world that just absolutely obliterates someone’s intimacy desires. Is it that tiring?”

“Commuting an hour and a half into the city there and back every day doesn’t help.”

You tisked, “Of course not.”

“It’s easy to feel lonely. I didn’t understand it when I was growing up…seeing my mom being a homemaker and all…but when you’re in it…”

It was the first time someone truly acknowledged how you felt - and a man at that. Even your husband didn’t quite get it, but why would he? But suddenly this stranger was speaking the words that you were too ashamed to even think about and you felt like a weight of a cloud was pulled from your shoulders. 

“Yeah.” you breathed, sharing the air across the couch with your unwavering gazes, “That’s exactly it.”

“And then your kids grow up…”

“And then what do you have?” you concluded his sentence, “What is your purpose after that?”

George tisked lightly and scooted slightly closer so he could set his hand on your knee, “You have purpose, okay? You’re not just a mother and not just a homemaker and not just a wife. You’re a woman too.”

You bit lightly at your bottom lip, staring into his gorgeous blue eyes that suddenly seemed to push a warmth through your chest and up to your cheeks. 

“You have purpose and you have value.” he told you like he was telling you the most honest truth. 

“Thank you.” you mouthed back, worried that if you spoke out loud, your voice might break. 

He gave your knee a gentle reassuring squeeze, “Of course.”

You both stayed there, frozen, for a moment, just staring at each other. You felt some sort of warmth all around you from more than just the half empty mug of tea still clutched in your hands, realizing how close you were now. Tearing your gaze away from his light eyes, you naturally glanced at his lips and watched as they perked up at the corner in a gentle smile, moulding the shape of his soft lips and his precisely shaped cupid's bow that you couldn’t help but stare at.

The moment you got the urge to lean in, you turned your head away from him and cleared your throat as you set your mug on the coffee table. His hand was removed from your leg. 

“I should go…” you mumbled. 

George stood when you did, “Okay.”

“Thank you…for the tea and the company.” you said to the ground as if scared to look at him in fear of feeling those strange warm flutters again. 

“Of course. I’m always here…whenever you want to talk or anything.” he promised before leaning down to pick up the plate of untouched cookies, “Biscuit for the long journey home?”

You smiled at his playfulness and when you grabbed one from the plate, you finally looked him in the eye again, “Thank you.” 

“Let me walk you out.” 

He held his arm out for you to urge you to lead the way and you slid between him and the coffee table to make your way to the front door, trying not to focus on the scent of his cologne as you drifted by him so closely. You needed to get out of there. 

You barely remembered saying goodbye or the ghostly touch to your arm he offered in passing before you were out in the fresh air of your neighbourhood and you were trying not to stumble down his front path. The cookie was still held in your hand and your startled eyes darted back over your shoulder to his shut front door before you broke out into a brisk walk across the lawn and onto your own property. 

In the peace of your house, you shut your own front door once back inside and you leaned against it heavily, your chest rising and falling in your half panicked breaths. Nothing had happened but it felt like it had and the strange feeling of guilt bubbled up in your stomach. You had never before had thoughts of another man apart from Andrew but you pinned it to George’s manners and how he only said what you wanted to hear. There was nothing to feel guilty about because absolutely nothing happened. Just because you thought something didn’t mean you did anything wrong. 

The cookie was still in your hand and you pushed yourself away from the door to take it straight into the kitchen and you tossed it in the garbage bin, closing the lid loudly. 

Andrew got home around 6:45, just when you were putting dinner on the table. Richard hopped out of his chair to greet him with an excited hug and your husband crouched down to meet him with a wide grin and open arms. He asked his son how school was and half listened to his youthful explanation of his day as he greeted you with a kiss to the corner of your mouth and drifted past you to his seat at your dining room table. 

You ate together as a family like you almost always did and then when Andrew retired to the family room to wind down and watch some TV, you took Richard upstairs to get ready for bed. The little boy was bathed and dressed and afterwards he rushed downstairs to say goodnight to his father before you were tucking him into his single bed in his blue wallpapered room. You always loved watching your son fall asleep; there was something so peaceful about it and gave you a moment to admire his soft features without him running away with youthful exuberance. With a kiss to his head, you left him to sleep and shit his door behind you before making your way back downstairs. 

MTV was playing on the chunky TV across the family room and Andrew glanced up at you from the couch when you entered. He held his arm up and you gladly took the spot beside him and cuddled up close. He rested his head against yours with a soft sigh as he focused back on the music video he was watching with the host of MTV counting up that week's hits from the charts. 

“Imagine if I was #1.” he spoke quietly, almost dreamily. “Making it big in some internationally known band rather than rotting in some office in Manhattan. We’d have the money to afford an even bigger house.” 

You hummed plainly in acknowledgement and slid your arm around his middle as if in some desire to melt completely into him. 

Your lack of response had him looking over at you, “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” you mumbled.  

You weren’t looking at him but you could feel how he stayed staring at you for a few more seconds before he turned back to the TV too, not wanting to press you further. But then you shifted at his side so you could tuck your legs under yourself on the couch and face him properly. 

“Andy.”

“What’s up, sugar?” he rested his head back against his couch so he could look at you again. 

The random pop music video played on in the background. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” you confessed, trailing the hem of his collared work shirt with your finger. 

“Alright.” he leaned forward to mute the TV and the smiling dancers danced to nothing on the screen, giving you his full attention. 

When he was settled back in his spot on the couch, his big brown eyes on you and his hand on your thigh right where George’s had been earlier that day, you just blurted it out, “I want to have another baby.”

Said big brown eyes blinked at you once, twice, then his eyebrows furrowed for a half second before he spoke, “Oh.”

“We have a bigger house now and that empty room upstairs has been just calling to me or something. And I’ve always wanted many kids and Ritchie is the best we could ask for…where’s the harm in having a second of him?”

Andrew sighed and gave your thigh a squeeze just like George had, “I dunno, sugar.”

“Why not?” you frowned and leaned in closer to him, almost pleadingly. 

“Well, work is busy so I won’t be home much and we just are getting settled in this new place-”

“We’ll still have nine months to prepare!” you reminded him quickly. 

Andrew laughed lightly towards the carpet, “Yes, I know, but now Ritchie’s away at school and he’s already big and-”

“Which means I won’t have my hands as full taking care of a baby and a kid at home.”

“I don’t think we need another. I am perfectly happy with our little family as is. Aren’t you?”

You nibbled at your bottom lip as you stared at him while he looked at you expectantly and everything in your heart wanted to tell him no but your quiet voice abandoned you with a soft, “Yeah, I guess.”

Andrew lifted his hand from your lap to tuck your hair behind your ear before pulling you close by his arm around your shoulders, “Maybe you’re just saying this because you’re not used to being alone since Ritchie started school.”

“Maybe.” you muttered. 

“I am very happy with the life we have. I don’t need anything more.” he tried to be sweet about it but your heart ached and even as he kissed the corner of your mouth, you had to force the smile to come to your lips. 

Andrew rested his head against yours as he unmuted the TV and the top hit pop song filled your family room and the big house that felt empty in your heart. Your eyes drifted away from the screen to peer through the adjacent window that looked out towards the neighbour’s property and although only looking at red brick and white siding, you silently and guiltily wished you had what they had.

Since Richard had no siblings, you knew that it would be important for him to socialize outside of school with kids his own age at various activities. He had expressed interest in baseball not long before so you jumped on the opportunity to sign him up for the local little league team just before the fall season was set to start. You, yourself, were excited for a bit of a distraction after the ultimate letdown that was your conversation with your husband a few evenings prior although Andrew went about his days like nothing was wrong. 

On Tuesday evening, you were getting Richard into his baseball uniform for his first practice, making sure that the shirt and pants fit him properly on his young body that seemed to be growing faster than you could buy clothes for it. He stood proudly in his mirror in his room as you adjusted his navy blue baseball cap over his dark hair and swooped his messy bangs out of his face. Grinning up at you in approval, he didn’t even have to say a word for you to read exactly what was on his mind. 

“You look so grown up, Ritchie!” you gushed, crouching down to his height for one last shirt adjustment, “You excited?”

“Yeah! I’m gonna get a home run!” he announced. 

“I bet you are!” you held up your hand and he smacked his little palm against yours for a high five. “Come now, let’s show Daddy and then get your shoes on.” 

Richard rushed right out of his bedroom and hurried down the stairs in his socked feet, “Daddy, I’m ready!” 

Andrew was already waiting by the front door and seeing his son coming down the stairs brought a beaming grin to his face, “Looking so spiffy, little slugger.” 

You passed over the baseball shoes to your husband, “Can you put his shoes on for him while I get the snacks?”

“Of course.” Andrew took the pair from you and crouched down in front of the little boy who obediently rested his hands on his father’s shoulders and stuck one foot out for a shoe. 

You returned to the kitchen that still had the dinner dishes in the sink in need of washing but time was already cutting it close and you were already in a bit of a rush to get to the field in time. The cooler was packed and sitting beside the fridge and you checked that the watermelon slices and Hi-C juice boxes were tucked away with some bags of ice before locking the lid and carrying it back down the hallway to your family. Andrew took the cooler from you to carry it to the car himself and you ushered your excited five-year-old out of the door after him so you could close up the house. 

As you walked down the front path to the driveway, you couldn’t help but glance over to your neighbours’ and notice their family car was missing from their house. You forced yourself to ignore the curiosity that was getting the better of you as you had been in a constant strive to pretend absolutely nothing had happened between you and George. In reality, nothing did happen, but the strange feeling of guilt was eating at your heart. Some distance would do just the trick, you were sure. 

It was nice to have Andrew able to come to Richard’s first little league practice, especially after he was tired from a long day of commuting and work, but you thanked him silently with a quick kiss to his cheek as you climbed in the passenger seat of your station wagon. His warm smile back at you still managed to bring that little flutter to your heart after your six years together and you broke his gaze to glance to your son in the back seat. Richard gave you two thumbs up and a beaming grin that was all his father’s, making his big brown eyes scrunch closed at the corners, all ready to go to his first event. 

The community park was only about a five minute drive from your house and once Andrew pulled into the gravel parking lot, it appeared that there were still some families pulling up. The baseball diamond looked busy though so you hurried to get your son all signed in and so he could meet his teammates and coach. Andrew took the cooler and your hand while Richard ran ahead in his own determination to socialize. You joined the queue of parents by the team dugout who were signing in their sons and as you waited, you both watched Richard help himself to the group of boys who were playing in the red sand of the baseball diamond, all in matching navy blue uniforms with their own chosen number on their backs. 

After a few moments, Andrew gave your hand a squeeze to get your attention, “I’m going to put the cooler down and find us a spot on the bleachers. You okay to sign him in?”

“Of course.” you agreed. 

He left you with a brief kiss before heading off to the metal bleachers that were already dotted with parents and families alike. You watched him go for a few seconds before turning back to the lineup you were in, only to find yourself face to face with George himself. You were so startled that you nearly choked over your breath but he just smiled cooly. 

“Hello, neighbour.”

“Hey.” you stumbled out. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

George glanced down at his blue baseball jersey and then back to you with a casual wave of the clipboard in his hand, “I’m the coach.”

“Oh, right, of course you are.” you chuckled faintly. 

“Your boy signing up?”

“Yeah, his name should be on the list. Richard Ridgeley.”

George, who had looked down at his clipboard after his initial question, only glanced back up at you with his eyebrows raised. 

“What?” you asked worriedly.

He licked away his smile and looked back down to his list with a half shake of his head, “Nothing.”

If it was anyone else, you would have been mad, but it was George and you knew he meant no harm. You couldn’t help but smother a smile of your own in return, “Are you making fun of my son’s name?”

“Not at all. I love alliteration. Very poetic.” 

“Okay, shut up.” you laughed. “I bet your last name is no better.”

“Russell.” he told you smoothly with a playful glance. 

You scoffed teasingly, “Of course…George Russell…what a champion kinda name.”

“Who knows…maybe I’ll be MVP before you know it and you’ll be seeing my face everywhere…getting totally sick of me.” 

“Mhm.” you tried to steady the racing of your heart at the realization that you were already trying not to see his face everywhere, desperate to change the subject, “So is my kid on the list or not?”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s here.” George crossed his name off, “I also see you’re down for snack duty.”

“Sure am. Brought my cooler and everything.” you gestured aimlessly towards the bleachers.

George looked back up at you but his eyes drifted past you with a tight smile. Before you could look over your shoulder to see what he was looking at, Andrew appeared beside you and set his hand on your back. 

“All signed up?” he asked. 

“Yeah. We’re all set.” you answered calmly. 

“Hey, mate, good to see you.” George held his hand out to your husband and they shook hands politely. 

“You too.” Andrew smiled, “It’s been a while.” 

“Sure has.” 

“Well we should let you get set up.” you said, taking a step away from George and closer to Andrew. 

“No worries.” George adjusted his cap on his head with a smile, “See ya after.”

Then he was walking off into the baseball diamond to corral the little boys to begin their practice. You and Andrew headed back to the bleachers and to the spot he had saved for you with the cooler and you sat on the metal bench between the other interested parents. It was surprising that so many parents wanted to stay and watch even if it was just a practice but it reinstated your good feelings about your new neighbourhood and how involved everyone was with the community. 

While George directed the boys through throwing drills and showing them how to swing the bats, you found yourself staring more at him than you son. There wasn’t really much to watch when the other kids were taking their turns anyway and there was something about George in those light wash blue jeans that just drew your eyes in shamelessly. They just fit so nicely over the curve of his ass and you habitually licked your lips with a focused cock of your head. 

Andrew’s arm draping around your shoulders made you jump and you pressed a hand to your heart despite his grinning face and you huffed, “You scared me.”

“That into the practice, huh?” he chuckled.

“Yeah.” you mumbled and looked back to the field for a moment, pulling Richard out of the crowd of boys with ease before you glanced back at your husband, “I’m glad you could come.”

“Of course.” Andrew smiled over at you in the evening sunshine, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, I dunno. With work and the longer commute and all…you’ve seemed more tired…busy.”

Andrew sighed and pulled you closer by your shoulders and you rested your head against his as he spoke to you quietly, “Yeah, it has been a lot to get used to. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much and if you feel like I’m letting you down.” 

“Oh, you’re not letting me down.” you assured him, lifting your head up again so you could give him your full attention, “I’m proud of you for sticking with it even when it gets hard. You work so hard for Ritchie and for me and I really do appreciate it.”

Andrew reached his free hand up to tap your nose lightly and you shared in his calm smile before he was guiding you towards him by the chin for a kiss or two. 

“I love you.” he whispered against your cheek.

Your eyes drifted back out to the field, “I love you too.”

At the halfway mark, George called you over with the snacks and Andrew let you slip out of his arms to do your little job. You helped to hand out the juice boxes and watermelon slices to each little boy and most said thank you - and your son even gave you a kiss with his thanks. George stood beside you to watch as his little players ate their snack and relaxed on the grass for a few minutes and once your stock was empty, you closed up your cooler. 

“Thanks again for bringing the snack.” George said as you stood up. 

“Any time.” you smiled, “Is it a rotation thing or is it one parent for the season?”

“It depends. Why, are you willing to be the designated snack-bringer?”

“For you, sure.” 

It was out of your mouth before you could think about how it would sound and George’s expression rose into a hint of amusement. 

You cleared your throat, “And the boys, of course.”

“Of course.” George nodded. 

You stared at each other for a few seconds. 

Then, his hand was on your arm, “I should get back to practice. I will expect you here with snacks next week then.”

He was gone before you could process the warmth that his touch left and you just smiled and nodded after him as he herded the snacking boys back to the diamond, the sunshine yellow '63' printed boldly on the back of his jersey. You carried your empty cooler to the bleachers again and sat yourself stiffly beside your husband who was oblivious to anything going on and, instead, was waving to your son from across the field. 

For the next week or two, you ran into George more than you’d have ideally wanted. Between school drop off and pick up, little league baseball practice, and the casual neighbourly run-ins, it was starting to feel nearly impossible to avoid him. And, at the same time, the more you saw him, the more you didn’t want to avoid him. There was something so charismatic about him that made him so easy to talk to and to confide in and you hated to confess that you took him up on his offer for tea once or twice during the week. While you sipped in his living room, there was never a silent moment as there was always something to talk about and even little Nancy was starting to warm up to you just a little. 

Despite your fluctuating feelings towards your neighbour, your guilt was something that stayed stagnant. You loved Andrew with your whole heart and you never once doubted that, but the strange warmth that spread across your skin at a mere glance at George was unlike anything you had felt before. You swore it would be something you would take to the grave. No one - especially not George or Andrew - needed to know the internal battle you were facing. 

Since your first conversation with George at his house two weeks earlier, you only started to see more and more of the truth behind your honest chat. Andrew was working himself exhausted between the commute into the city and the lengthy hours which left almost no time for you to relax as husband and wife the way you would have appreciated. You tried to talk to him here and there about it but you also didn’t want to make him feel badly - you knew he was trying his absolute best and for that you were grateful. But still, at the end of the day, you were still a woman with needs and it was growing increasingly more frustrating to sit around and wait for him to give you the satisfaction that you needed. 

The one good thing about Richard being off at school was that you had more private time which, with children, often was incredibly few and far between. With your record player on, you were listening to Madonna’s album as you vacuumed the main floor of your house, letting your mind wander on its own. Maybe it was the emptiness of your house or maybe it was a certain time in your hormonal cycle but as the seconds ticked by, your desire to tend to the house diminished greatly. Finally, the vacuum was turned off mid chore and you rested it down on the carpet before flopping back onto the couch with a huff to the ceiling. Your music played on from the other room, the familiar scratch of the vinyl record bringing comfort and you closed your eyes for a moment to let yourself be taken by the celestial voice of Madonna. 

As if with a mind of their own, your fingers inched their way over your thigh and up to the waistband of your straight leg blue jeans and you popped the button, taking an habitual glance towards the front door as if someone were going to walk right in unannounced. But you were in the complete privacy of your own home, away from the paper thin walls of Manhattan apartment buildings, and you could do as you so pleased. Your jeans were dropped to the carpeted floor. 

Propping your feet up on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, you got yourself situated comfortably within the warm embrace of the sofa cushions and your eyes were drawn to your framed wedding photo that sat on the fireplace mantle directly in front of you. Licking your lips and then your fingertips, you didn’t tear your eyes away from it as you slipped your hand down the front of your underwear and refamiliarized yourself with your body. 

It had been so long that the first graze of your fingers had your lips parting in a soft gasp, working yourself slowly without any sort of prior build up, gentle circles over your aching clit. You hadn’t realized how many weeks had gone by without any sort of touch like this until you got yourself in that position. Under slightly furrowed brows, you stared straight ahead at your wedding photo, eyes boring into those of your husband without so much as a blink; almost as if you were reconditioning yourself to direct your full entire attention at him and him alone.

No more nonsense thoughts of the neighbour. 

Even though you spoke that line to yourself in warning, the concept just tasted so good to your mind with your hand down your panties and your legs spread in the middle of your sun-bathed family room. Flashes of him at the last little league game filled your head; the way his arms looked in that snug navy blue t-shirt standing out against his lightly tanned skin…his blue eyes sparkling every time he looked at you. You couldn’t help but let your eyes flutter closed and your head fell back against the couch with a soft whimper, shutting out the framed photo with the curse of your own mind. 

Little did you know, said neighbour was on his way over to your house at that very moment with a sealed Tupperware container in hand and a whistle on his lips. The faint muffled sound of Madonna leaking through your walls brought a fond smile to George’s face as he crossed over onto your property and made strides over your perfectly trimmed grass. His attention was caught by the sight of you through the single paned front window and he went to send you a smile and a wave until he stopped in his tracks at the realization of what he had stumbled upon. 

There you were, lounged back on your couch, socked feet propped up on the coffee table with your legs spread and your hand nestled between them. The look on your face was nearly erotic as you faced the ceiling with an angelic furrowed expression and made yourself writhe under your own touch, any sounds muted by the music that filled your empty home. 

George stepped away from the front window so as to not be caught and he turned to head back home to give you your privacy but before he crossed over the property line again, something stopped him. Almost like he was held by an invisible force, he stood dumbly at the edge of your lawn, staring at his house, the Tupperware container of homemade banana bread held in his hands. Everything in him knew it was wrong but he couldn’t help but glance back to the side of your white paneled home to the side window that gave him a direct glance inside and to the couch on which you sat. 

If anyone drove by, they would have thought this man looked absolutely ridiculous just standing there, but he was captivated by you, watching you touch yourself to whatever thoughts were taking up your mind. Little did he know, but they were thoughts of him. 

His name fell from your lips when you came, almost startling yourself in the process. As your body shuttered through the small waves of your orgasm, your eyes snapped open to land on your wedding photo again as if your husband had seen the whole thing. A furious blush came to your cheeks and you panted heavily as you tried to catch your bearings and process the realization of what you had just done. Sitting up a little more on the couch, you found yourself unable to look at the framed photograph again, instead, staring wide eyed into the darkened fireplace beneath. 

A flutter through the window beside the fireplace caught your eye but when you looked, there was nothing there. You hurried to tug your jeans back on and buttoned them up before making a beeline to the kitchen to wash your hands and splash some cool water on your face. What was wrong with you? Your husband was going to walk through the door in four hours and you were going to have to kiss him hello with the mouth that just moaned another man’s name. You were going to have to face said man at the bus stop in an hour and that was the last thing you wanted to do.

Before you knew it,

“Hey.”

“Hello.”

Silence. 

“Did you have a good day?”

“Huh? Oh, me? Yeah…fine. It was fine. Nothing…important.” you looked to the sidewalk beneath your feet. 

George nodded, “Nice.”

Silence. 

“How was yours?” you asked. 

“Fine. It was good.”

“Good.”

“Good.” 

Silence. 

You urged the bus to round the corner with the pleading glance of your eyes, desperate to escape the horribly awkward situation that was completely one sided. George cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to another at your side. Neither of you knew what the other knew and somehow it made it that much worse. You swore that even a few of the other parents at the bus stop were catching onto your horrible tension and you tugged at the collar of your shirt habitually to try and get some air. 

In reality, it was all in your head but, to be fair, George was all in your head too and that was the root of your issue. As you stood there, your mind taunted you with the thoughts that had clouded your mind that afternoon - curious imagination of how his lips would feel or how his hands could grab you or how his body would feel against yours, traced by your fingertips. You discreetly stepped away from him. 

In perfect time, the bright yellow school bus rounded the corner and you took that opportunity to step even further away from George, feigning it as simply excitement to see your son. Like every afternoon, Richard ran off the bus and right into your arms and you hugged him tightly with your warm maternal greeting. You barely gave George a goodbye before you were encouraging your son to race you home - a perfect excuse to get as far away from George as possible…and as quickly as possible. Of course, despite the way you ran down your street in the afternoon breeze, you still let Richard get to the front door first and you let him inside with a ruffle to his hair and one last glance from where you came, almost as if you were hoping to see your neighbour trailing after you. 

Later that evening, once Andrew was home and dinner was had and Ritchie was tucked into bed, you were desperate to repair the damage to your mind that you had caused by your own actions. Your husband was sitting in the same spot on the couch as you had been earlier that day, already in his pyjamas, a magazine in his hand as he read quietly by the light of the table lamp. He was oblivious but you felt as though just him sitting there would cause him to realize what you had done so the only way to prevent that was to bring your full and entire attention back to him - where it rightfully belonged. 

You plucked the magazine from his hands and tossed it onto the coffee table, urging his eyes to raise to your face as you tossed a leg over his lap and sat yourself down on his thighs. His hands fell to your hips just as you swooped in to kiss him purposefully, lingering on his lips for a few seconds before offering him a bit of tongue. He humoured you for a few seconds before he was tilting his head back with a soft chuckle to break your kiss. 

“What are you doing?” he asked playfully. 

You slung your arms around his shoulders and leaned forward against his chest until your noses were almost touching, asking him almost pleadingly, “Have sex with me.”

Andrew’s hands gave your hips a squeeze, “You know I love you,”

“Mhm.”

“But I’m far too tired for that right now, sugar, I’m sorry.”

“Andy.” you dropped your head back in frustration, staring at the same part of the ceiling that you had earlier that day.

“I’ll be nothing but completely disappointing to you.” he argued lightly. “You deserve my best.”

You frowned and slid off his lap onto the couch beside him with a sigh. 

“I’m sorry.” he repeated, leaving his hand on your waist to keep you close and he kissed up your neck, “It was just a really exhausting day today. Maybe this weekend, okay?”

“Since when do we have to plan it?” you tisked. 

“Since we got old.” he teased. 

A small smile perked at the corner of your lips and you swatted him gently with the back of your hand, “Speak for yourself.” 

Andrew kissed over your cheek and to your lips and you shared a few brief kisses before he replied softly, “We are the same age, in case you forgot, and thus we are going to get old together.”

Never before did that statement bring a tinge to your heart but in that moment it did and you could only pull a tight smile and nod in reply and he gave you one more kiss before shifting off the couch and taking you by the hand to lead you to bed. 

By Friday, you seemed to have fallen back into your usual routine of pretending that George didn’t exist. The few times you saw each other in passing or at the baseball games were few and far between and conversations didn’t stray farther than a polite hello or shallow discussions about your sons or the weather. Your initial guilt due to your solo situation on your couch from earlier in the week seemed to die down and you were very thankful for that. George was a great guy and you appreciated him as your neighbour and wanted to keep it that way. 

That might also have been a reason why he was the first person you thought to call when your washing machine flooded all over your basement floor just after lunch. If nothing else, he was kind and reliable. He came over right away with his tool box in hand and you opened the front door for him and led the way into the basement where the flood was occurring. The unfinished concrete floor was covered with a thin layer of cold water that only seemed to be leaking more from somewhere behind the washing machine. 

“I haven’t even used it since we moved in!” you said as you stepped cautiously through the water to your laundry basket that was sitting protected on top of the machine. “First time and of course it goes to shit.”

“It’s okay.” George set his tool box on top of the adjacent dryer and then leaned over the two machines to see down between them and the wall, flashlight in hand. “Good you called. Wouldn’t want you flooding away.”

“My new house at that.” you added. 

“Exactly.” George wrapped his hands around the sides of the washer and warned you politely, “Step back a bit.”

When you did, he heaved the machine away from the wall with a tight grunt and your eyes widened at the bulge of his biceps under his t-shirt. It certainly wasn’t a light thing to move so you coloured yourself impressed and you stayed out of his way as he managed to give himself enough space to get between the washer and the wall with a wrench from his tool box. You clutched your hands together and held them anxiously in front of your mouth as you watched him crouched down working, focusing your attention on hoping there was no damage done to your house rather than how his jeans fit him so nicely over his thighs.

“Nothing major.” he called out with his head still hidden by the washing machine, “Just a loose pipe. Guess they weren’t installed correctly.” 

“Damn.” you tisked.

“Yeah,” George chuckled, his voice tight as he worked the wrench around the pipe to fix it for you, “That’s what you can expect from these installers on new builds. They’re getting sloppy.” 

“You seem to know what you’re doing.”

George straightened up carefully from behind the washing machine, “Same thing happened to us when we moved in, if you can believe. I actually liked to pay attention to what the plumber was telling me…and guess it helped to save you $30.”

Your eyes widened, “$30? My Lord.” 

“Yeah,” George chuckled and set his wrench back in his tool box, “Should be all set now. If you have some towels we can use to mop up the floor that could be good. I can restart this load for you.”

“Sure. Thanks.” you headed back upstairs and traipsed your damp footsteps up to the second floor to retrieve all your towels you owned from the linen cupboard in the main bathroom. 

Bringing them all back to the basement, George had restarted your load of laundry that you had attempted to put on - including detergent and fabric softener and even set it to the correct wash cycle for your blouses. He then showed you the most efficient way to mop up the water with the towels without allowing it to leak into the foundation of the house and you couldn’t help but be impressed by his knowledge base. 

“I can’t thank you enough.” you said with a relieved sigh as you both stood on the bottom step of the basement stairs and admired the organized mess of towels soaking up the water.

“No problem at all.” George assured you modestly, “Was the most interesting thing to happen today.”

“Yeah, I bet.” you chuckled, “Nothing like a damsel in distress call to really shake up the lunch hour.”

“Hardly a damsel in distress.” George brushed his hand over your back casually, “You’re perfectly capable in many ways.”

You met his eye in the dim basement lighting before turning to look back up the flight of stairs as you cleared your throat, “Did you want tea or anything?”

“Sure. If you’re offering.” 

As you led the way back upstairs and into your kitchen, you realized that was the first time he was in your house. Of course, it was when your basement was flooding and you had breakfast dishes still in the sink and Richard’s toy cars scattered all over the family room and part of you felt embarrassed as if you had to impress him for some reason. 

“Sorry that the place is such a mess.” you rushed out as you hurried across the kitchen to try and make the mound of dishes in the sink look less disgusting. 

“No need to apologise.” George tisked, “Realities of parenthood. I get it. I don’t judge.” 

“Yeah.” you sent a calm smile over at him in silent thanks before focusing on filling up the kettle in the sink, ready to make you both tea just like he did for you that first day you truly talked. 

George set his tool box on the round kitchen table and stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans as he walked slowly around the kitchen and took in your shiny new house that was already starting to look like a home. The counter by the hallway archway was covered in pens and stamps and opened mail on which your address was written on each and addressed to ‘Mr and Mrs Andrew J Ridgeley’. George looked away, walking across the linoleum floor towards you and he leaned against the counter beside the stove as you turned on the burner and set the kettle down on top. 

“Where’s Nancy today?” you asked casually. 

“Oh, sometimes she goes to work with Jenn on Fridays and spends the day at the daycare in the office building. She has a few little friends there and whatnot so she likes it.” George explained. 

“That’s nice.” you replied, “So on Fridays you really feel like an empty-nester like me, huh?”

George laughed faintly, “Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“Good thing I saved you then today.”

“Very good thing.” George agreed smoothly. 

There was a calm pause between you as the kettle boiled on the stovetop and you looked away from his light-eyed gaze with a casual lick to your lips. You tapped your fingers against the countertop. 

“Y’know,” George said, “I was worried you were avoiding me recently or something.”

You looked back at him, “What?”

“I just felt like you’ve been going out of your way not to talk to me or something so getting your call today kinda reassured me that we’re still on good terms.”

You let out a half laugh and rested your hand against your forehead for a brief moment in near embarrassment, “Actually…I kinda was, honestly.”

George’s eyes widened, “Oh? Did I do something?”

“No, no.” you assured him quickly, “We have just been spending a lot of time together and I didn’t want Andy to get the wrong idea.”

“Did he say something?”

“Well…no…but-”

“Then what wrong idea is there to get?”

You let out a soft nervous laugh without looking away from the steaming kettle but you didn’t offer him any sort of response. George cocked his head to the side slightly in acknowledgment that he was listening for your reasoning. You had his undivided attention. Why did it make you nervous?

“You’re just…” you sighed despite the anxious smile that you couldn’t lick away, staring unwaveringly at the stove, “Really sweet and really personable and I don’t want to get too comfortable and too close to where Andy might feel uncomfortable or suspicious. Or Jennifer, for that matter. There are boundaries, you know? I don’t want to overstep.”

“And if there weren’t boundaries? What would be different?”

The kettle whistled and you stalled in answering his question by taking it from the stove and turning off the burner so you could pour the water into the mugs to steep. Finally, you set the empty kettle back down and forced yourself to look at him, “I don’t think it’s appropriate to be talking about this.” 

“You started it.”

“I didn’t say anything.” you countered quickly, covering your bases. 

“It’s not what you’re saying…it’s how you’re saying it.” George said smoothly. You were suddenly very attuned to how warm and rich his voice was and your eyes flicked across his face like they always did when he was around, wanting to look at every inch of him. He continued purposefully, “How you can’t stop staring at me, especially.”

You scoffed and turned away from him with a blush rising to your cheeks, “I’m not staring at you.”

“You were. You often do.” George teased. “I’m not a complete idiot, I know when someone is checking me out.”

“I don’t-” you laughed nervously down to your steaming mugs of tea, your hands falling gently onto the edge of the counter, “I don’t check you out.” 

“Yes, you do.” George laughed just the same. “It’s okay. I don’t mind it. It’s flattering.”

You opened your mouth to reply with some defence but no words came to mind and you shut your mouth with a frustrated little huff and you pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes for a moment. With your cheeks so warm they could keep your tea hot, you almost wanted to leave if it wasn’t for the fact that it was your own kitchen you were both standing in. 

When your hands dropped loudly to your sides, George leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest as he asked in retaliation, “Do you mind when I check you out?”

Offering a disbelieving laugh, you glanced over at him, “You don’t check me out.”

“Why do you say that?” he questioned. 

“Why?” you were taken aback, “Because I dunno. Because why would you?”

“Because you’re beautiful.” George answered. “And I most definitely stare at you…although I must be better at hiding it than you are.”

You kept your eyes on his, eyebrows furrowing for a brief moment, and you let a faint smile prick at your lips as you gave him a faint shake of your head. 

“Can I confess something?” he asked. 

“Sure.”

“The other day I came over here to bring you some banana bread I had baked but…I saw that you were already occupied on the couch.” he gestured haphazardly behind him towards your family room. “And I might have stared at you a little then.”

Your eyes widened and you raised your hands to your cheeks in realization, “Oh my God.”

“I’m really sorry, I should have just left when I first noticed but…” George sighed, “You looked fucking gorgeous when you were touching yourself like that.”

“That’s so embarrassing.” you mumbled despite your smile and the eye contact you kept with him. 

“No, it’s not.” George shrugged, “We’re human…we can do whatever we need to in the privacy of our own homes.”

“With peeping neighbours in our windows.” you teased. 

“Hey, now.” he laughed, reaching out to gently nudge your arm, “Not like I was standing out there with binoculars in one hand and my dick in the other.”

Your smile faltered for a second as if he had completely read your thoughts from that day and how you shamefully fantasized about him as you made yourself cum on your family couch. George’s hand grazed down your arm and his finger linked in the sleeve of your blouse for a brief moment as if he were debating something in his own mind. 

Then, his eyes focused on yours once more and he asked as casually as the weather, “What were you thinking about?”

It was a question that would ultimately change the course of your life depending on how you answered but at the moment, you didn’t think that deeply about it. He was right there and he already confessed that he liked it when he stumbled across you like that, the least he deserved was an honest answer. Not to mention the gorgeous blue of his eyes was so mesmerizing that maybe you were a bit dizzy by him as you breathed out a soft, “You.”

Pin drop silence. 

Unbreakable eye contact. 

And then he was grabbing you by the back of your neck and yanking you towards him for a kiss that burned every inch of your skin. 

Your hands grasped the front of his t-shirt to hold him as close as possible, letting your lips mould sloppily together in some sort of semblance of a kiss that easily progressed into more. Standing at the counter in your kitchen, you grabbed onto each other like you were life preservers and he kissed you with so much passion that you had nearly forgotten what it had been like to be craved so carnally like that. He nearly took the breath from your lungs, bending over you until your back was arched and your body took the shape of his. Your hands tangled in the back of his hair as your lips smacked together wetly, tongues pushing together for a greedy taste of infidelity; although your spouses were the last things on your minds. 

The steeping tea was forgotten about as he guided you backwards blindly across the kitchen and you gently hit the edge of the opposite counter, giving him the chance to grab the backs of your thighs and hoist you up onto it. Right away, your arms and legs were slinging around his body and yanking him closer all without breaking your kiss, sharing hungry moans into each other's mouths. Your fingers tightened in his soft hair but your aggression just pulled a handsome groan from his throat that tasted like heaven against your tongue. 

With your ankles linked behind his back, you used the heels of your feet to pull him closer to the counter as you rested near the edge so the front of his blue jeans were pressed up snugly against yours, getting your fix of that fiery touch after so long, regardless of who it was. Your eyes were shut tightly with greed, taking what you wanted from his lips with your body arching against his. George’s hands on your hips pressed indentations of his fingerprints into your flesh and he held you against him as he grinded against you faintly. 

The sweet moan that fell from your lips had him moving like that again, rutting the front of his jeans right up between your spread legs, creating that friction that satisfied the craving of pleasure that you ached for. You moved with him faintly, grinding against his body in return from your spot on the edge of the kitchen counter until you both were turning more and more desperate from it. 

George broke away from your kiss first and his hands shoved up the bottom of your blouse and lifted it over your head so it could be tossed aimlessly to the floor. You panted heavily to the kitchen as he moved his kisses down your neck and over your breasts that were tucked in your unflattering bra but he didn’t mind one bit. He groaned against your chest as he sank to his knees in front of the counter, “You’re fucking sexy.” 

“Holy shit.” you exhaled, lifting your bum off the countertop when he popped the button on your jeans so he could yank them off you. 

“That’s it.” George licked his lips as he guided your feet back until your heels were tucked on the edge so you were spread open for him, only separated by your underwear. He leaned in close and dusted his nose right up between your legs before his tongue was following, teasing your pussy over your underwear with the faintest of touches that still managed to make you squirm. He stared up at you from his knees, sending you a teasing wink as his fingers linked in the hem of your panties and he started to pull them down too, “I’ve wanted to do this for too fucking long.”

Once they were dropped to the floor too and your feet were back in place where he wanted them, you could barely rush out a reply, “Me too.”

In reality, you hadn’t truly realized you wanted that until you were put in that position but the images that your mind pictured earlier that week certainly might have proved otherwise. 

He touched you like you were a masterpiece, gliding two fingers down between your glistening folds with his lips parted in near awe, watching how your wetness clung to his fingertips greedily. You raked a hand through his hair to guide his face in too and he gladly obeyed, nustling his tongue alongside his fingers with a gorgeous exhale that sent shivers up your spine. The caresses of his tongue were devine and he teased around your clit and down across your pussy in gentle strokes that had your head lolling to the side. 

Being in that position wasn’t new to you - you had a husband after all - but you weren’t aware of how limited your experience might have been until George had you there. His first few touches and licks were expected and you offered him soft hums in appreciation, your teeth sunken into your bottom lip faintly as you watched him between your thighs. But then his large hands were sliding around your thighs and his fingers pressed into your flesh, his wedding ring on his left hand shimmering in the early afternoon sunlight, and he was nuzzling his face deeper with quick laps of his tongue. Your mouth fell open at his insistence and your hand in his hair gripped tighter in surprise. 

“Oh-” you stumbled out faintly. 

George tugged you closer to the edge of the counter as he slurped at your cunt until he was sucking on your clit and your head tossed back with a sharp gasp and your back straightened up. 

“Fuck!” you squeaked.

He hummed against you, blue eyes staring straight up your body to gauge your every reaction as he tongued at your clit in quick strokes. The feeling was intense and you didn’t know what to do with yourself as you gaped dumbly into your kitchen and almost choked over your breath, eyes struggling to stay open, and your hand that wasn’t tangled in his hair ended up slamming flatly against the side of your refrigerator. The upper cabinets caught your head as you let out a loud moan to the ceiling, toes curling over the edge of the countertop, and George only grabbed tighter to your thighs to hold you on his mouth. 

Your hand tightened in his hair although you couldn’t decide if you were pulling him closer or wanting to push him away with how strong the pleasure was that he built within you. You mouthed a silent chant of “fuck, fuck, fuck-” to your kitchen ceiling, gaping dumbly to the light fixture. George took his right hand back just long enough to slip two fingers in his mouth before he was guiding them slowly inside your leaking pussy. 

“Oh God-” you whined tightly. 

“Good girl.” he praised warmly against your cunt as his fingers started to thrust into you shallowly but strongly. “This what you were thinking about?”

“Mhm-” you could only nod cluelessly, barely able to make out what he was saying thanks to the ringing of your ears that was brought on by the pleasure he introduced to your body. 

His tongue flicked faster at your clit and his fingers nudged up against that warm spongy spot just inside you at a perfect consistent pace. The moans that tumbled from your lips were nearly involuntary, coaxed out of you by his generous touch, until you were sure the neighbours could hear - if it weren’t for the fact that your neighbour was the one between your legs at that very moment. All your stresses and anxieties from the prior few short weeks seemed to fall away and the rush of pleasure that tore through your body completely made up for it. 

You felt dizzy and you rested your head back heavily against the upper cabinets behind you with your eyes screwed shut, barely able to choke out a, “Yes-”

George gripped you tighter and kept his pace going, keeping his eyes on your face even if you weren’t looking at him. He analyzed your every flutter of expression to see just how you wanted it, smothering a half smirk at the displeased huff that you let out when he gave his tongue a break to suck on your clit instead. The change up took a second to get used to but you had never been so catered to before so you weren’t one to complain, tightening your fingers in his soft hair while he worked wonders on you. 

Then that build up was forming again, flushing warmth across your skin, and you gaped down to him, “Yeah, yeah, yeah-”

George didn’t move a muscle from exactly where you needed him even as your legs started to quiver from where you were held open. You choked over your next breath as the first wave of pleasure tore down your spine and George gripped onto your thighs to hold you steady on the edge of the kitchen counter as you came on his mouth. His name fell from your lips like it was second nature and it truly felt so much better when he was there to hear it himself. 

He pulled away once you started to get sensitive and he pulled his fingers out of you as he stood up and he rubbed along your messy cunt in lazy strokes. Your hand in his hair slid around the back of his neck and pulled him in for another open mouthed kiss, instantly sharing the taste of you that lingered on his tongue and you sucked on it greedily. George blindly unbuttoned his jeans while he kissed you, barely able to drop them and his underwear to the floor before you were tucking your legs around his waist again and tugging him closer. 

“No one’s ever gone down on me like that before.” you confessed breathily between feverish kisses.

“No?” George chuckled cockily into your mouth, kicking his jeans off his ankles and across your kitchen floor, “Well good thing you have me.”

You offered a sweet “mhm” in reply that was quickly swallowed up by his lips once more. 

He grabbed your thighs again and tugged you closer to the edge of the counter, “This okay?”

“Yeah.” you slung both your arms around his shoulders, leaving one hand in his hair and the other grasping onto the back of his shirt. 

“You want this?” he asked breathily. 

“You have no idea.” 

The two of you shared faint laughter that was swallowed up by a few more sloppy lustful kisses before George was breaking away from you long enough to look down between you so he could angle the head of his cock against your slick cunt. You shuttered slightly in anticipation, clinging onto the back of his shirt as you breathed him in greedily with your nose pressed against his cheek. 

George pushed inside you slowly and once that aching stretch came to spread across your hips, your eyes met closely as your mouth fell open with a soft gasp. His eyes darted across your face before his lips were capturing yours in a sensual kiss and he slid deeper inside you with his hands grabbing at your doughy hips, sinking himself into your body. The wavering breath he let out into your mouth was laced so perfectly with the faintest moan and you felt it right through your body, making your muscles flutter around him. 

“Holy shit.” George slid a hand around the back of neck, his fingers nestled in the roots of your hair, and he pulled your lips harder onto his with an underlying sense of urgency that burned hot over your skin. And, as he did, he started to thrust into you hungrily, sharing in your whimpering moan that blessed your kiss. 

“Fuck.” you choked out, your grip tightening on the fabric of his shirt as if to pull him impossibly closer. 

Your kisses were messy from the quick aggression with which he fucked you on your kitchen counter but you kept at it like you never wanted to stop, unable to get enough of each other and the addictive drug of sin that joined you together. When even what he gave you didn’t feel sufficient enough, you pressed your heels into the flesh of his ass to try and get him to give you more, whining desperately against his tongue-led kisses. He stopped completely, nestled as deep inside you as he could fit, and your head dropped back against the upper cabinets behind you with a warm moan at the glorious fullness he offered you. George grabbed your ass and pulled your body right up against his so he could lift you up off the counter and into his arms. 

You gasped in surprise but clung onto him tightly, trusting him entirely to do whatever he pleased, and your hands splayed across his back over the thin material of his shirt to feel the way his toned back flexed as he held your body weight. He carried you through the adjacent doorway into the dining room and through the spacious archway into the front living room, the afternoon sun streaking in through the large picture window at the front of the house. The carpet was soft beneath his feet and hid his footsteps as he blindly navigated his way to the couch, still taken up by your lips that kissed him like he was more important than air. George sat himself down heavily on the couch with you perched perfectly on his lap, his dick still tucked warmly inside you. 

“Mm, my God.” you withered, driven by humanistic lust, and you were right away starting to bounce on his lap. 

“Holy fuck, you’re sexy.” George groaned, slumping back comfortably on your couch that had been a wedding gift to you and your husband. He stared up at you with dilated blue eyes and he licked his lips at the sight, his large hands on your hips following your eager motions. But despite the obvious intent you held, he still reminded you politely, “You tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s not.” you insisted strongly, grounding your hands flat against his chest so he was held down on the couch and you had the leverage to ride him harder. You had wanted that for what felt like weeks now and even though you had initially wanted it from your husband, you couldn’t be completely blamed for finding it elsewhere. 

“Oh my God, look at you.” he breathed in near awe, “You want it so bad.” 

You couldn’t bite back the sly smile that pricked at the corner of your mouth even if you scrunched your eyes shut and tilted your head back in some effort to keep him from seeing the effect he had on you. Your skin clapped lewly against his thighs with every bounce, tainting your marital home each and every time. The feeling of his hand around your throat startled you slightly. 

“This okay?” he asked. 

“Fuck, yeah.” you stumbled out. 

That wasn’t new either and you had your fair share of more kinky interactions with your husband before he was your husband and before parental responsibilities and careers started to diminish the passion. It had been far too long. 

“Harder.” you ordered. 

George’s hand squeezed your throat a little tighter, “Better?”

“Mhm.” you withered, still messily bouncing on his lap. 

“What do you say?” 

His demand took you by surprise but it was invigorating and you looked down at him and his handsome lust filled expression, offering him an angelic, “Thank you.” 

“Thank you, sir.” he corrected you smoothly. 

You nearly choked over your breath and the obvious reaction to that simple demand had Georges smirking proudly under you as you tried to keep riding him on your couch. 

His hand tightened around your neck a little more, ordering you strongly, although his voice could never get rid of the undertones of gentleness, “Say it.” 

“Thank you, sir.” you exhaled. 

“Good girl. You’re doing such a good fucking job.” 

“You feel so fucking good inside me.” you whimpered. “I don’t wanna stop.” 

“Don’t. Keep going until you make yourself cum.”

A soft chuckle left your lips as you confessed, “I can’t cum like this.”

“No?” George tugged at your neck to urge you down on top of him so you were chest to chest and he could kiss you. 

You took that opportunity to rut yourself against him greedily, rocking your hips back and forth on his lap with your clit rubbing faintly against his pelvis just enough to get a little huff out of you against his lips. George let go of your throat to take two handfuls of your ass instead and he guided you into stronger motions against his body, keeping you on his cock even as you used his body to stimulate your aching clit. Your fingers fisted the front of his shirt tightly, moaning into his mouth while his tongue pushed insistently against yours until you were falling breathless. 

When he slid his hands up your back, you tried to keep yourself going the way he had started for you but it wasn’t the same. Before you could beg for him to help you again, he was swallowing you up in his arms and smoothly sliding one of his legs under him so he could flip you over and drop you both lengthwise across the living room couch with him rightfully on top of you. 

“Fuck.” you squeaked, throwing your arms around his shoulders just as he started thrusting into you roughly, forcing your head back against the arm of the couch with a choked, “Sh-Shit!” 

“Better?” George taunted against your cheek.

“Yes, sir.” you whimpered. 

His chuckle was low and warm and your toes curled at the sound, legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close. But he would never dream of stopping, not when he had you where he had dreamt of having you for as long as you had imagined the same about him. 

What had started as a somewhat cautious rendezvous had quickly moulded into a carnally lustful hookup, entirely trusting of each other, and he wasn’t holding back as he fucked you on your couch harder than you had been in a while. You couldn’t even manage to form words as you stared up at him above you with your mouth agape and your eyebrows furrowed with intense pleasure, stupid little moans tumbling freely from your throat as language abandoned you. His icy stare was steamy hot and you refused to look away for even a second, raking your nails across the back of his t-shirt until the fabric was definitely being creased and wrinkled. 

“Want me to make you cum, sweetheart?” 

His voice was ethereal and you could have finished from that sentence alone, the pet name causing your swollen cunt to tighten around him for a moment. 

“Use your words.” George teased. 

“Please,” you forced out, “sir.” 

“Can you cum like this?” he asked softly. 

You nodded quickly, already feeling the seeds of an impending orgasm blossoming inside you, “Yeah.” 

“Yeah?” George chuckled, nudging his knees across the floral couch cushion to be a bit closer to you, keeping his thrusts so perfectly deep, and when he sat back from you just enough to get his hand around your throat again, he was at the perfect angle to hit your g-spot dead on. When you took in a sharp breath at the quick rising pleasure from his minor adjustment, he smirked down at you, “You needed it that bad, huh? Already gonna cum for me?” 

“Yes, sir.” you repeated dumbly up to him, swimming in a euphoric haze, “Please don’t stop.” 

“No way, baby.” he promised, keeping your unwavering eye contact, “Wanna feel you cum all over my fucking cock.” 

“Please.” you breathed, face scrunching up from the intense sensations. “Please-“

George was on the same wavelength as he was blessed with the glorious feeling of your body, already feeling himself falling into his own rising pleasure. His hand that wasn’t taken to your throat was gripping the arm of the couch beside your head and with every thrust, his hair was falling farther over his forehead on beautiful messy waves. You wanted to kiss him again but you wanted him to make you cum more, so you didn’t dare move him from his positioning, taking the view gladly instead as your attention was all on him and your fingers stayed locked around the fabric of his shirt. 

“Fuck, that’s a good girl, I can feel you tightening up already.” George spoke down to you, his voice so rich and heavenly you swore it made you dizzy. 

“I’m gonna cum.” you whimpered loudly, head lifting from the arm of the couch so you could peer down your body and watch how he fucked you, the sight of his dick disappearing inside you before pulling back out almost all the way covered in your glistening wetness in rapid succession only making your impending orgasm feel stronger and stronger. You were almost sure you were going to rip his shirt right off him as you squeaked out, “Fuck, fuck fuck, right there, right there-“ 

“Uh huh?” George’s jaw clenched as he tried to hold himself back for the sake of you as the priority. You had to finish first. 

The moment that the first wave of pleasure hit you, your entire body shuttered and your head tossed back against the arm of the couch with a silent gape to the ceiling, eyes screwed shut. Then it was all let out with the most beautiful trembling moan George had ever heard and you filled your silent house with the sounds of your euphoria and the praise of his name, painting the walls in sin. You hadn’t cum that hard in a while to the point where you almost blacked out from the strength of it and your body wrapped itself around George to yank him down on top of you for something to hold onto. 

That just made it even more impossible for him to stop as he kept fucking you right through it, groaning loudly against your cheek as he fought against your vice-like grip around his aching cock. He was getting sloppy with it, losing himself in the warm wet heaven of your pussy and the lewd sound it filled the living room with. Your ankles linked behind his back and pulled him in deeper, gasping and whimpering in sensitivity that you pushed aside to bask in the glorious and reliving pleasure he brought you. 

“I…” George choked out, dipping his face into your neck as you held each other tightly, “I’m gonna fucking cum.” 

“Gimme it.” you pleaded. “Please, sir.” 

Forward thinking was not your priority in that moment as all you craved was for him to claim you completely, filthily, beautifully. For all you cared, this could have just been one perfectly intense dream and you wanted to make the absolute most of it. 

With a few more thrusts, George was shoving hard into you once more and as his dick throbbed inside you, he came strongly, spurting thickly as deep as he could reach. Your mouth fell open at the feeling and one hand flew to his hair to tangle in the soft strands and hold his face in your neck as he moaned heavenly against your flushed skin. He ground into you greedily, giving you everything he had and it made your mouth water, your head tilting back to stare up at the living room ceiling with a mouthed ‘oh my God’. 

“Fuck.” George huffed, gently allowing his body weight to rest on top of you completely. 

You welcomed him gladly and enveloped him in your embrace and even kissed his head and his faint breathy chuckle at your action had you smiling. The pleasure hormones swirled around your mind and body and before they could fade away, George was sliding his hand over your cheek and guiding your lips to his for a slow, sensual, breathless kiss. 

The two of you made out like that on the couch for a few minutes, what was once such a rush now dimmed down to lazy yet purely passionate kisses in the silence of your marital home. He was still tucked inside you and feeling his body so close with yours was addicting. Your fingers scratched through the back of his hair and he broke your kiss to rest his head against your collarbones. 

“I needed that so fucking bad, oh my God.” George sighed. 

“Me too.” you confessed lightly. 

“It’s been way too long.”

“Tell me about it.”

There was a moment of silence as the reality of your situation settled on your minds. 

“We really did that.” you exhaled. 

“Yeah.” George sighed. 

“Do you regret it?” 

George lifted his head from your shoulder to look at you properly, “Do you?”

“I asked you first.”

A faint smile pricked at the corner of his mouth and he answered with a soft, “No.”

You trailed your hand out of his hair and down the side of his neck to guide him in for a chasté kiss, “Me neither.” 

George gave you one more kiss before he was carefully sitting back from you, “Our tea is probably cold.”

You giggled softly, “Probably.” 

“Want me to get you your clothes?”

“Please.” 

He carefully pulled out and you let your hand take his place, staying on your back to keep from leaking out onto the couch, and he disappeared back into the kitchen. For the few seconds he was gone, you stared wide-eyed out the front window to the tree-lined street, the heavy side of reality settling onto your consciousness. If you had felt guilty about your thoughts the last weeks, then this was unimaginable. You committed arguably the ultimate sin in marriage - how would you ever come back from this? 

“Here you go.”

George held out your underwear to you first and you glanced up at him - now fully dressed himself - and you took them from him with a soft thanks. He helped you up from the couch and you hurried to shimmy your clothes on while he watched you. 

“This should be a one time thing, right?” you said after a moment. 

“Yeah, probably.” George sighed. 

“And…just between us?” 

“Of course.” he agreed quickly. “We don’t want to…mess everything up.”

“Yeah.” you smiled faintly, thankful that he understood. 

You could see him hesitate for a moment before he was taking your hand and leaning in to kiss you again. Despite the events that had just happened, the move made you a little shy and you pulled away a second later with a bashful smile to the ground. His thumb brushed over your skin lazily and as you stood together in your living room face to face in the afternoon sun, you felt drawn into him to steal another gentle kiss from his plush lips. Without sharing a word or any additional touch, you kissed softly, innocently, for a few long seconds before breaking away from each other again. You licked your lips that tasted like him and he noticed with a fond smile. 

“The school bus should be here soon.” he said. 

“Mhm.” you hummed, only half paying attention as your gaze was transfixed by his swollen lips. 

“We can walk together if you want.” 

“Mhm.” 

There was another momentary silence between you and George’s faint bite to his bottom lip had your eyebrows naturally peaking for a split second. He could read your face like it was the front page of the morning paper. 

“This isn’t going to be a one time thing, is it?”

You shook your head and took the half step closer to him as you leaned in for another tender kiss. 

He was everywhere in your house now. Everywhere you looked it was tainted with George and you were worried that it showed all over your face. The kitchen...the living room…everywhere you looked. That very same night you stood in the kitchen preparing dinner while Richard watched TV in the family room and you tried not to think about the memories that the counter behind you held or pay attention to the constant leak that dampened your panties under your jeans. Andrew would be home in no time and you had only that long to compose yourself enough to face him like nothing was wrong. 

The phone on the kitchen wall rang loudly, startling you dramatically and your head whipped around to it. You set the knife down on the cutting board and wiped your hands on your apron as you made your way over to it. Without thinking twice, you answered it with a casual, “Hello?”

“Hey, my love. It’s me.”

Your grip tightened on the receiver at your husband’s voice and you cleared your throat before answering, “Hi, Andy. What’s going on?”

“I just heard news that the boss wants me to come out for dinner with a potential client tonight so I won’t be home until a bit later. Nothing crazy but we’re hoping to get them onboard with this pitch and apparently bottomless wine is the way to do it.” his soft chuckle acted as a way to cover up his disappointment - you knew that well after your few years together. 

“Oh. Okay.” you looked to the ground, silently grateful you wouldn’t have to face him until later. 

“I’m really sorry, sugar.” Andrew said softly through the phone, “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“No, no. That’s okay. Do what you gotta do.” you pulled the most chipper voice you could. 

“I’ll make you proud.”

You slouched your shoulder against the wall, “You always do, Andy.” 

“Tell Ritchie I say hello and I love him. I won’t be back before his bedtime.” 

“Of course. Be safe, okay?”

“I will. I love you.”

You nibbled your bottom lip for a half second before answering through the guilt that burned within you, “I love you too, honey.” 

It was almost 11pm when you heard the front door open. Richard had long been put to bed - although not without asking for Andrew a half dozen times and trying to stall bedtime so he could see him before he slept - and even you had retired to bed yourself. With a book in hand, you were in your nightgown on your side of the bed in the warm light of your bedside lamp, trying to look as nonchalant as possible for when your husband would return home. He didn’t need to know a single thing and especially not how often you had been thinking of how George’s night was going since you had parted that afternoon. 

Each quiet footstep on the stairs had your heart racing but you had all evening to calm yourself so you had belief that you were definitely able to play it cool. So, when the bedroom door opened and Andrew stepped inside in his black work slacks and pale blue button up, you offered him a loving smile. He closed the door behind him again so as to not wake your son and it was then that you noticed the small bouquet of flowers in his hand. Your smile faltered for a moment, feeling an uncomfortable weight settling in your chest. 

Andrew just kept his warm grin and he walked over to your bedside to lean down to greet you with a kiss and the flowers, “Happy anniversary, sugar.” 

You didn’t know what to say for a moment, using all your willpower to keep the smile on your face despite the fact that you completely forgot it had been your wedding anniversary of all days. But you closed your book and set it on your bedside table, “Aw, thank you, my love.”

“I’m really sorry I missed most of the day.” Andrew said, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“That’s okay.” you brushed it off easily since you did much worse that day, “You’re here now.”

“Finally.” Andrew took the flowers across the room and set them on the dresser still in their cellophane so he could get ready for bed. “And it’s Friday, thank God.”

You watched him loosen his tie and then slide it off from around his neck and he dropped it on the dresser before starting to unbutton his shirt. 

You tried to keep casual conversation, “How was the dinner?”

“It went really well actually.” Andrew said, “Got them on board and they will be signed with us on Monday.” 

“That’s great! Although I didn’t have any doubts; you’re their best guy anyway.” 

“You flatter me,” Andrew glanced over at you with a sweet smile as he walked across the room and draped his shirt over the back of the armchair. He then unbuckled his belt before it, too, was joining the forming pile on the chair and he dropped his slacks, “But now I don’t want to think about work because it’s now the weekend and it’s our anniversary and all my attention is yours. I told you I’d make today up to you.”

“That’s okay.” you assured him softly. “I’m not upset.” 

“I am.” he protested gently and your eyes followed him back across the room and around to his side of the bed. He pushed back the sheets and climbed in beside you in only his underwear, telling you honestly, “I’ve felt so badly saying no to you so much the last little while.”

“It’s really okay, honey.” you promised, lolling your head to the side to look at him. 

“Nope, not accepting that.” he tapped your nose, “I can tell I was doing nothing but disappointing you and I don’t like doing that. Not that we need an excuse but I think our anniversary is the best time to get back at it, you reckon?” 

You didn’t realize how hard you were biting your bottom lip until the pad of his thumb gently swiped over it to get you to let go and then he slid his hand around the side of your face and guided you in for a soft kiss. You tried to push the guilty thoughts to the back of your mind and focus on your kind-hearted husband at your side who, even after an insanely long work day, still wanted to give you what you wanted. There was no doubt in your mind that you were still in love with him, but you kept your new secret locked away in order to prevent hurting the man you loved. 

Andrew was obviously clueless to your internal affairs and his kisses were just as passionate as ever, still managing to erupt butterflies in your stomach with every lingering lock of your lips. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist of the hand that cradled your face and the fact that he didn’t have an ounce of suspicion from the taste of your lips that had kissed another man made you sure that you could have your cake and eat it too. It was almost thrilling. 

Your husband broke your kiss and reached under the sheets to tug at the hem of your nightgown, “Wanna take this off for me?” 

You gladly pulled it over your head and tossed it to the carpeted floor beside the bed and he moved in again to kiss your neck while his hand trailed down your naked body and traced the shape of your breasts and the peak of one of your nipples. He definitely knew where to touch you and that was never a question, proven by the way your eyes fluttered shut when his lips grazed just the right spot under your ear and his tongue against your skin pulled shivers down your spine. 

You took the initiative to shuffle yourself on the mattress so you could lay yourself down properly against your pillow and Andrew was following after you gladly, laying half on top of you with his forearm holding him up at your side. Your hands guided his lips back to yours and you shared deepening kisses in the warmth of your shared bedroom. With your fingers tangled in the back of his short brown hair, you shared the responsibility of guiding your kisses until his tongue was nudging against yours. Opening up for him was easy but there was that tiny worry in the back of your mind wondering if somehow he could tell who else you had been kissing in his absence. 

In reality, Andrew was perfectly clueless, and he trailed his hand down your bare body and under the sheets and right over the front of your panties. You hummed pleasantly into his kiss and spread your legs a little more for him, urging his hand to rub strongly across your clothed pussy. After a few seconds, he was pulling away from your lips with a faint smile at the corner of his mouth and you met his gaze with your teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“Oh my God,” Andrew chuckled breathily, his hand still helping itself between your legs, “You’re so wet.”

You could only offer him a soft giggle that he kissed away greedily. 

“I’ve kept you waiting that long, hm?” he teased against your mouth. 

You could only manage a faint nod into his kisses.

He didn’t need to know that most of that wetness he was feeling was thanks to your neighbour. 

Andrew pulled away from your lips for a moment so he could focus on shoving down your underwear under the blankets and you blindly helped to kick them off to get lost under the sheets. Once his fingers found your cunt again, you were pulling his lips back on yours by the back of his neck, silently praying he couldn’t feel the remnants of George’s cum still leaking out of you. But he was blissfully unaware as he touched you like that, fingers rubbing at your clit and then sliding between your glistening folds and back up, his lips pulling hungry kisses from your own. 

When he finally pulled away from your lips, you followed his lead to hold up the sheets to let him shuffle himself underneath them, sharing soft laughter at the ungraceful nature of it as he got himself between your legs. You let the bed sheets fall overtop of him and you adjusted your pillow under your head with a nervous lick to your lips as you stared up at the ceiling. You were sure there was no way he could know - it had been all afternoon and evening after all - but a part of you couldn’t help but feel nervous. 

The first touch of his tongue against your pussy had your eyelids fluttering and your breath shuttering in your chest. He nudged your legs open wider and his hands wrapped around your thighs, holding you open for his mouth and the gentle caresses of his tongue. Your eyes bore into the ceiling, focusing on the touches of your husband beneath your bedsheets, shamefully thinking back to that afternoon when George had you up on your kitchen counter and ate your pussy like it was his last meal. Andrew’s lazy and gentle strokes weren’t bad, just…different. Familiar. Expected. 

He moved as if he were cleaning you up rather than aiming to make you messier and although it felt good, it still fell short. You shut your eyes and tried to focus on it a little more, offering a soft hum to the dimly lit bedroom as your fingers grasped the pillow you were lying on. You exhaled to the ceiling, trying to relax yourself into the mattress without thinking too hard about the fact that your husband was pretty much eating another man’s cum out of you at that very moment. 

After only a few more seconds, Andrew pressed a sloppy wet kiss to your clit and then started to move back. Eyes snapping open, you set your hand on top of his head over the sheets, holding him in place as you requested quietly, “Can you put your fingers in me too?”

“Sure.” he chuckled faintly, words muffled by the sheets and duvet. 

You felt him glide his fingers across your slick pussy and then he was sinking two inside you slowly, right down to the knuckle. His tongue followed again and he lapped at your clit while his fingers pushed strongly inside you all the way and back out in slow thrusts. 

“Yeah,” you breathed, keeping your hand on the back of his head, “Faster.”

He followed your demand with fingers and tongue, ravishing you a little faster until his jaw was starting to ache and his hand was cramping up from those quick thrusts. Andrew hummed flatly against you and slowed himself down after a few seconds and before he could stop completely, you were squirming slightly underneath him. 

“Can you only go, like, halfway with your fingers?” you requested quietly. 

There was a pause and then movement as he shuffled his way out of the sheets to let them fall to the end of the bed, exposing your naked body to the air conditioned bedroom. He caressed your hip gently with a quiet, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” you replied almost too fast, “Why?” 

“It’s just…you’ve never had to tell me what to do before. I always usually make you cum.”

“I know, I know.” you assured him quickly, wracking your brain for an excuse, “Was just wanting to try new things.”

Andrew smiled faintly at you and nodded, “Okay.”

You returned his soft smile and he leaned down to kiss your lips, once, twice, and a third time before he was sitting back on his knees and shuffling out of his underwear. You tried to hide your disappointment that he wasn’t going to go down on you some more behind a tightlipped smile as he met your gaze and pulled the sheets up around you both again. Habitually, your legs went around his thighs as he situated himself on top of you and his lips locked with yours again in slow sensual kisses, tangling together as husband and wife in your shared bed like how it was supposed to be. 

“Ready?” he asked softly. 

“Mhm.” you slid your hands up his back and scratched your fingers across his shoulder blades lightly as he got himself situated. 

The head of his cock nudged against your dripping pussy and your muscles fluttered at the sensation, naturally waiting for him to finally push inside you. And, when he did, his eyes stayed focused on yours without breaking away for even a second, watching your expression as he filled you completely. Your hands rested on his back as you stared right back at his face, taking in his dark and handsome features that you loved so dearly, and yet part of you was already missing George’s blue eyed gaze. 

The flicker of a guilty wince across your expression was covered with ease by the first thrust from your husband as he started to make love to you properly. He kissed your lips sweetly, sharing single little fleeting kisses and soft breaths as you tangled under the sheets together. His thrusts were slow and deep and so incredibly loving, something that had been so comforting over the recent few years together. Something you didn’t realize mattered much. Not until George came over that afternoon and shook your very knowledge of reality and pleasure to its core.

Andrew broke away from your kiss to tuck his face into your neck and your arms wrapped entirely around his back to hold him on top of you, whimpering softly against his shoulder as he took you over like that. Your eyes scrunched shut and you desperately tried to stay in the moment, clinging onto your husband’s beautiful caramel skin and the scent of his office that lingered on him; copy ink and paper. His warm breaths fell against your neck in gentle pants in time with his precise thrusts, your bed squeaking faintly beneath you. 

But your mind was straying again, drifting to the house next door and the man who had his way with you that afternoon; the one who somehow made you see stars for the first time in years. That used to be you and Andrew or so you recalled as the memories faded with time, but now it was all so fresh with George and you were drunk on the newfound adrenaline of it all. You tried to hush your mind from begging you to do it again and again and again with the man who had his own wife and his own family and who wasn’t legally bound to you in any way. 

Just because you couldn’t have him didn’t mean you couldn’t think of him. With your eyes closed tightly and your husband’s face still tucked warmly in your neck as he made love to you gently into your bed, you shamelessly imagined him to be George instead. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip and your mind swirled with memories from that afternoon and the dirty words that your neighbour spoke to you. You imagined him saying such things to you now, holding you down on your bed, fucking you like you never knew you needed. 

As you clung onto your husband, your lips formed the words without thought, mouthing them silently to the ceiling, “Yes, sir.”

George took up your mind until your thoughts were so vivid that you swore you could smell him right there with you, taking the place of your husband. Even Andrew’s soft sounds were that of George and you were buzzing off the fresh memory that burned within you, completely encapsulated by the man that wasn’t yours. You could do nothing else but picture him on top of you instead, mouthing his name to your bedroom ceiling over and over as if speaking to him in your mind. 

“That’s it.”

The breathy faint voice that ghosted across your ear tore you from the strength of your imagination but the power that George still held over you kept you going just that little bit longer. 

“Holy shit, you’re gonna cum already?” Andrew chuckled against your cheek, “I can fucking feel it.” 

“Shh.” you pulled his face back into your neck, playing it off effortlessly that you were too close for casual conversation. That wasn’t entirely a lie because the words that George spoke to you in your memory were certainly bringing you closer by the second, urging your muscles to tighten up around your husband’s dick. 

Andrew kept his pace going even as your nails pressed into the muscles of his back and your body fell into pleasure beneath his. Your orgasm certainly wasn’t as strong as the two you had that afternoon but it was still real and it still felt good, regardless of the slight disappointment that filled your guilty conscience. 

“Yes.” you squeaked out, tangling your hand in the back of his hair to grip tightly to his soft brunette roots, “Fuck-”

“Oh my God.” Andrew groaned from over top of you, shifting away from you a little to get a better angle with his hands pressed onto the pillow on either side of your head.

Panting softly underneath him, your hands slid down to his biceps and you held onto him as he thrusted into you a little faster, those big brown eyes staring right into your distracted gaze. He was still as beautiful as ever to you and the expression of pleasure that spread across his face was just as breathtaking as the first night you shared together six years earlier. Only seconds later, he was pulling out of you and coming right across your abdomen with the added help of his own hand, offering quiet moans to your bedroom walls as he finished himself off. You watched him closely, tearing your eyes away from his face to glance down between you under the sheets to get a glimpse at the mess he made across your flushed skin. 

“Shit.” he huffed and carefully shifted off of you. 

You took the sheets from him to hold them up and out of the way as he rolled over to grab a few tissues from the bedside table. He helped to clean you up like the gentleman he was and then you let the blankets fall gracefully over the both of you as he leaned in for a few breathless kisses. 

“How was that?” he asked teasingly. 

You bit back your smile, “Good.”

“Good?” he laughed lightly, feigning offence, “Just good, huh?”

“You know what I mean.” you swatted his chest playfully. 

Andrew tossed the sheets back and swung his legs off the bed, “I’m gonna throw this out. Did you want water or anything?”

“I’m okay.” 

He leaned back down towards you for one more kiss, “Okay. Be right back.”

You tucked the sheets up to your chin as you watched him stand up and shuffle his underwear back on before he was patting across the carpeted floor to the ensuite bathroom. When he was out of view, your eyes drifted to the flowers still resting on the dresser across the room and you nibbled at your bottom lip to try and keep the guilt at bay. Then, you looked straight up at the ceiling instead, trying to settle the rapid beating of your heart over the realization that you had to think of another man apart from your husband to get off. That had never happened before. 

Andrew’s gentle humming came from the bathroom as he brushed his teeth and finished getting ready for bed and you tried to let the familiarity of his voice soothe you but it didn’t do much. Instead, you just kept wondering what George sounded like when he sang or what music he played when he baked or if he was thinking of you as much as you were thinking of him. How ridiculous. How absolutely teenage of you. 

“Alright,” Andrew emerged from the bathroom and joined you in bed once more, “all set.”

You reached over to your bedside table to turn off your lamp before laying beside him again, habitually wrapping yourself up under his arm. He kissed your head and sighed as he settled, holding you close under your shared sheets. 

“I love you.” he said through the dark. 

You rested your cheek against his shoulder, “I love you too.”

Andrew was drifting quickly after a long day but you were still wide awake, staring blankly across the room to the front windows and their shut curtains. You aimlessly trailed your fingertips over your husband’s chest and the faint dusting of chest hair that grew down between his pecs, wondering to yourself that if Andrew still felt like home to you, why did your mind crave to be elsewhere. Mostly, you tried not to think of George.

You really tried. 

PART TWO

My Very Extensive Tag List™:

@wetforwolff

[mapileonxputellas]

Beckham II: 3 Nerves

The third part is finally here! I hope you enjoy.

Masterlist can be found here.

9th February 2023

“Breaking news this lunch time, Sarina Weigman had named her squad for the Arnold Clark cup and included in the squad for the first time in nearly 4 years is Y/N Beckham.” England squads weren’t typically breaking news on the main news channels but this was no ordinary squad announcement. “Widely considered as one of the best players on the planet, Beckham has not been including in an England squad since the 2019 World Cup and her return dominated the press conference.”

Squad announcement press conferences are usually comminated by a few stories, the surprise inclusions, the ones who don’t quite make the cut. However when the list was read out it was immediately clear what all the questions would be about today as the eyes of world football turned to Sarina.

“Sarina can you tell us more about Beckham’s inclusion? Why has this decision been taken now after 4 years?”

“I know you’re all probably very interested in that so I’ll try and answer all of your questions. This hasn’t been a simple process for either party, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been watching her since I became England manager but it’s not that simple and we had to respect the fact that Y/N did not want to be called up. Over the past few weeks I’ve been working closer with her and we’ve agreed that now is the right time to see if we can make progress.”

“The squad has changed a lot since then but there are still players who would were in the squad in 2019, have you spoken to them about this?”

“I have not, I’d like to think that all players support each other and I know my players well enough to know that they will do all they can to make Y/N feel welcome in this environment both on and off the pitch.”

“Do you have any concerns around her desire to play for England and play for the badge. Will she have lost that fight in the past four years?”

“I can not prove that to you and I guess none of us will know the answer until she plays for England again but I would not pick any player I had those concerns about. I’ve watcher her play a lot for Barcelona and over this past year especially I’ve seen a freedom to her play. I just hope that we can all see that side of her in an England shirt.”

“David, were you shocked when the announcement was made?”

“I mean obviously we spoke about prior to the announcement but when she told me I wasn’t exactly shocked. It just annoyed me that people questioned her mentally because she is so strong now.”

…..

Everyone could tell you were anxious. Since the announcement on Thursday you’d been quieter than usual in training, your usual sweet laughter which your teammates loved had been replaced by a strained giggle and they could see you’d been putting pressure on yourself in every department.

Everything had to be perfect.

In the four days since your decision had been made public you’d received support from all your teammates but you could see they were also worried. Many of them had been here when you joined, they’d seen the aftermath and many of them had been your shoulder to lean on for months after.

Many of them watched on now as you retreated into your room, barely giving a second glance to the games currently taking place in the dining room, a tradition you were a usual member of the night before an away game.

Alexia and Mapi had noticed the changes just like everyone else, the three of you had a strong connection both on and off the pitch. Alexia had become an older sister figure to you and Mapi was your platonic soul mate. They knew your habits unlike anyone else and when the notebook you used for anxious tattoo scribblings had been out the entire journey to Mallorca it was clear your mind was elsewhere.

“You grab the pillows.”

“I’ll grab the blankets.”

The two of them scurried off to their own rooms, finding their entrusted items before meeting back at the door which they knew you would be behind. You wouldn’t have gone outside, your shy nature meant you struggled to have confidence in new cities, preferring to explore with others rather than alone as the sun went down.

Alexia knocked on the door, a moment of panic striking as they thought you weren’t going to answer before the door creaked open. Your wide-eyed figure stood in the crack, still in the tracksuit you’d travelled in rather than pyjamas.

“What’s going on?” The tree of you quite often spent the nights in each other’s hotel rooms, though those meetings were usually pre-planned.

Only you knew from the worried expressions on their faces this wasn’t a call to watch the latest film that had been released. “We’re worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

You should have known that answer was never going to satisfy them. “Please can we come in.”

It wasn’t even worth trying to persuade them, not really. “Sure.” They couldn’t miss the sigh you let out as the door swung open. “Make yourself comfy.”

In the matter of minutes you’d gone from sprawling over the double bed alone to shuffling between the two players, being welcomed into the arms of Alexia as the three of you shuffled under the duvet.

“We’re worried about you.” MarÍa admitted, smoothing down the hair draped around your face. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure because I bet if we looked in that notepad we’d find more anxious doodles than before. You’ve barely spoken two words to anyone since the news broke out.”

“I read an article-“

“Didn’t I tell you to stop that.” Alexia scolded you. “Those journalists don’t know anything about you.”

“But they don’t know that.” You argued back. “They’ll be reading about how ‘cocky’ I am on and off the pitch, how I flaunt my money, how I think I ‘own the team’.”

“If they believe that then they really have no eyes. Then they’ll see how you’re one of the shiest players on the team, they’ll learn how you could live in mansion but donate so much money to charity, they’ll see how much you work on the team as a whole. You do everything for football and they need to see that.”

“If they don’t love the person they’ll come to know then that’s on them.” Alexia agreed with her.

“Are you sure this isn’t about a certain blonde centre back?” MarÍa teasingly questioned you. “Maybe this isn’t about you being nervous about the articles and more about going into gay panic around Miss Williamson.”

“I told you that in confidence that you’d never bring it up again.” It was true, a few years ago you had confided in the two of them that you used to have a small (very large) crush on Leah at the time.

“And I’m tired of you being the third wheel in our flat, you’ve rejected every opportunity for me to set you up with one of my friends so now I have to think that it’s because you’re still pining for the girl.”

“I’m not pining for anyone, it was a stupid crush which has gone in the four years that I haven’t spoken to the girl.”

“Would you like to speak to her again?” Alexia asked.

“I mean obviously I’m going to have to, she’s the captain of the team.”

“Message her now.”

“No.”

“Why not?” I could only think of a million reasons why I wasn’t about to do that.

“Because like I said, I haven’t spoken to her in nearly four years and it would be weird for me to just message her the night before we see each other again.”

“So lets role play it then, you walk into the hotel tomorrow and she’s there, what are you going to say?” Alexia asked the question you’ve been asking yourself all week.

“Hi.”

Both of them looked like they wanted to tear out both their own and your hair. “Ok you can’t just say that.”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“How are you? Ask her about her life?”

“You want me to speak to the girl for the first time in years and ask her basically how she’s been since we went from speaking every day to unfollowing each other on social media and avoiding any chance of meeting since then.” You needed better friends in situations like this. “I’m not going heavy on our first conversation.”

“You will need to talk about.”

“I know but it’s not just her I need to have that conversation with, I was close with a lot of them and now I’m not. They should be just as involved in that conversation as Leah is.”

“Maybe you could design her a little tattoo, something like ‘I love Y/N’ on her forehead.” MarÍa teased you. “Matches your ‘I love Leah’ on your chest.”

“Shut up, just so you know I’ll never stop cockblocking you and Ingrid, I’ll be round for tea when I get back.”

“Bonnie told me she wants to live with me all the time by the way, said something about her mum abandoning her.”

“Fuck off MarÍa.”

….

The first person to reach out to you wasn’t exactly someone you expected. Mary Earps wasn’t exactly in your friendship group back in 2019, though because she was a part of that squad she was one of the players who you unfollowed in the following unfortunate events. You definitely therefore were not expecting to see her name pop up as you made your way through the airport, heading out to the car which would take you back to your parents’ house before you headed to the team hotel later on in the evening.

@1maryearps: See you later mate, we can’t wait to have you back x

Your emotions were so all over the place that maybe you should have expected this simple message to bring tears to your eyes. Maybe that meant you’d have at least one person on your side tonight.

You spent most of the meal with parents and siblings trying to do anything to avoid the thoughts about what was happening tonight coming back. You spoke to Harper about her homework, Cruze about his latest holiday and Romeo about his girlfriend. Brooklyn could almost sense your nervousness and kept up the conversation, which was all fine until you had to leave.

They knew how big this moment was and each gave you an individual goodbye before you got back into the car. As much as you would have liked to have taken your dad’s offer to drive you, this was all about being normal and being drove by David Beckham didn’t really give off that vibe.

You’d made this drive a million times before, only this time it seemed to take half the time and before you knew it the doors to St George’s Park were in view.

The only person in view was a single man holding a video camera, obviously preparing for the players’ arrivals This was hard and yet you knew this was probably the easiest step, he didn’t know you. You got out from the car, flashing a small smile to the camera as it trained on your every move, making sure to say a thank you to the driver, you turned to head inside.

“How are you feeling Y/N?” The camera man asked.

“Excited.” You couldn’t exactly tell him you were shaking inside. “I can’t wait to be back with this amazing team.”

“Two goals from you today….”

“All thanks to my teammates.” It was only the truth, you were basically set up for both goals by Aitana, you couldn’t do anything but put them in the back of the net.

“Good luck.”

“Thank you very much.”

If you were known for one thing it would be your punctuality, in fact you almost had a fear of being late. Maybe you’d done it on purpose this time to avoid greeting teammates in front of the camera but you were the first here judging by the table in the reception area being full of keys.

“Y/N it’s good to finally meet you in person.” Anja, one of the members of the England management team greeted you. “I hope you’re feeling well.”

“I’m glad to be here,” You settled for that. “I can’t wait to get back on that pitch now.”

“Well we’re glad to have you here. Here’s your key, we’ll meet in the dining area for a quick debrief at 8 and then you’ll have the night to yourself. Training schedules for the week are in your key pack.”

“Thank you.”

This place hadn’t changed one bit, from the entrance all the way up to your rooms you could trace the steps without even looking. You could hear noise out in the corridor but you stayed put, waiting for the clock to tick to 7:50 before making your way downstairs. With it being ten minutes early no one was there but Sarina and the coaching staff. Could this technically count as your first impression to them?

Their eyes trained on you as you entered the room. “Hey, thank you once again.”

“Stop saying thank you, this is all on you.” Sarina instructed, giving you a firm yet welcoming hug, an action which was repeated by the others. “Go and take a seat.”

“Thank-“ Maybe not. “Ok Sarina.”

You didn’t really know what to expect from the others, the squad was definitely a mixture of youth and experience. However even some of the more established players like Alessia and Ella were unknown to you on a personal level.

Thankfully maybe the first ones in were some of the younger players, Jess Park and Ebony Salmon were both the epitome of excitement as they entered the room saying a quick hello to the staff before slightly pausing when they found me sat on the first row.

“Hi.” You knew it was on you to make the effort. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“Nice to meet you too.” Jess said taking the seat next to me. “You’re killing it at Barcelona.”

“Thank you, I’ve enjoyed watching you play this season. You’ll be an asset at city when you return.” You loved studying young players and watching their development. Jess was no difference in that, plus it helped to build up that connection on the team.

The volume in the room increased as more players entered. Some like Laura Coombs and Katie Zelem gave you a quick smile before taking their seats, other youngsters gave you a quick welcome.

The first real re-introduction you had was when Millie and Rachel entered, your eyes instantly connecting and it was Rachel who led the two of them over. You had always loved the two of them and almost let out a sigh of relief when they both greeted you with hugs, repeating how glad they were to see you. Lucy and Jordan followed suit, the two of them messing about and pulling you into a tight hug before taking their seats.

It was however the final people to enter the room that you were the most nervous about. Maybe you should have been thankful that when Keira, Georgia and Leah entered the room the meeting was about to start and all you could do was send a glancing look their way before Sarina had eyes on her.

She went through the logistics, just like happens every time before she got into the depths of the squad. “It would seem like this is the squad for reintroducing yourself. Laura hasn’t been with us since 2020 and Y/N in 2019. We just want everyone to remember that they’re here for a reason and we all play for England, we’re all a team.”

You blocked everything else out, vaguely scribbling down on your phone some notes about the timings and rooms you were needed in but it was all a bit of a blur. You took your time at the end speaking to some of the other girls, no-one seemed to be making a huge fuss about the situation but the trio had disappeared again and you knew you had to speak to them tonight before this started to interfere with the rest of the camp.

Thankfully you managed to find them, the three of them tucked away in the corner of the dining room, huddled around a laptop playing something in German.

“Hey.” Your voice almost cracked as you broke through the silence. “It’s good to see you all.”

You should have predicted really that Keira and Georgia would be your road in, though the two of them were fierce on the pitch they really were softies off it and you were almost knocked off your feet when they bounded up to you, both their arms wrapping around you in a hug.

“We can’t believe you’re actually here.” Georgia said. “This is just crazy.”

“It’s definitely different.” Leah finally joined in and that was the moment you knew even as she joined in the hug, she was the one who would be the toughest to crack. She wasn’t going to let you in just as easy but the captain part of her probably forced her to not let it show around others. “Glad to have you back on the team.”

“Thank you.”

“Take a seat.” Keira glanced to the free chair next to Leah. “We were just watching Georgia make a fool of herself, want to join?”

“Yeah I’d like that, I’d like that a lot.”

[letaliabane]

First Meeting of Valet!SimonRiley and Maid!Reader

Downton Abbey was one of the most well-known houses in England that belonged to aristocrat and war Captain, Lord Johnathon Price. Born in money, and married into even more money to the beautiful Liliana Montel from America. To pay off his father's debts, or that's what the press says anyway. They have three young daughters: Mary, Edith, and Sybil.

But of course, there was more than meets the eye about the great Downton Abbey. It is run by Butler Kyle Garrick, head housekeeper Kate Laswell, and an army of footmen, ladies' maids, housemaids, hallboys, and even more staff!

This included you, Y/N, a housemaid who had worked at the house for over two years. Coming from a middle-class background you were put into work very young, and after many years in and out of service, found yourself working at Downton.

'You have very good references, I can see that. And from the details a very hard worker! I expect you to keep that up when you take your place here at Downton Abbey.' You remembered Ms Laswell saying sternly, but with a small smile at the end of her interview.

You had just finished making the beds up for the three sisters with some of the other housemaids, making your way down through the servant's walkways to put the sheets in the laundry.

However on the way down, at the bottom of the staircase, a stranger stood with a briefcase in hand.

A tall, broad man dressed from top to bottom in black, a thick overcoat over a suit, shoes polished and shining the daylight that poured through the windows. What was more intriguing was the mask he wore over the bottom half of his face, seemingly made of metal. And then there were his eyes, a piercing electrified blue, like when lightning strikes a storming sky.

'Who are you?' Gwen, lady's maid to her ladyship, asked suddenly appearing at your side. A blunt woman, not very friendly to any of the other staff. Well, except for first footman Phillip Graves, they were as thick as thieves.

The stranger's eyes moved from her to you, silently taking you both in, as if analysing who you were.

'Mr Riley, I'm the new valet.' The soft but deep rumbling of his voice caught you off guard momentarily.

'The new valet?' The lady's maid gawked, barely holding her scoff back.

You couldn't couldn't help but glance at her in annoyance. From tone alone, she could tell Gwen was already casting judgment upon the man. In society, valets were known as 'a gentleman's gentleman', smart, and even good-looking. Rather than that, there were sure to be stares of ridicule due to the mask.

When no one else spoke, you plucked up the courage, folding the bedding under one arm before reaching out to him. 'I'm Y/N, the head housemaid.'

It was as if he was stunned at the sight of your reached-out hand, looking between your face to your hand. Just as you reconsidered your greeting, he took your hand into his grasp, shaking it with a gentle, almost careful grip.

'How do you do?'

You gave him a smile before pulling away, nodding to the door on your right. 'If you just go through this door the housekeeper Ms Laswell will take care of you.'

He nodded, 'Thank you.'

Picking up his suitcase, he steps past the other ladies, taking one more look at you, his eyes almost speaking a thousand words before disappearing out of sight.

Throughout the day you heard mutterings from the staff.

'What is with the mask?'

'Who thought to hire him?!'

'Surely there was someone else more suitable for the job ...'

They all loved gossip, but also a good jealous rant about not getting the position themselves. You found they could sometimes be so cruel.

Later that day at luncheon, Mr Garrick lectured the new valet about his new role in front of the whole staff.

'If you find yourself tongue-tied in the presence of His Lordship, I can only assure you that his patience will allow you to perform your duties correctly!' He stated as he sat himself at the head of the dining table.

'Of course,' Mr Riley quietly replied.

'Riley! My dear fellow!' The familiar bellow had all the staff on their feet.

Lord Price stood at the entrance to the servant's dining hall. He was dressed in his usual day attire of a suit, casual, but smart. It wasn't often his lordship made his way into the downstairs area of the house.

'My apologies I should have realised you were all having luncheon! Please sit!' He said as he walked around the table, moving to Mr Riley's side. 'But I just had to greet my old comrade in arms.'

The Butler's head snapped up, and an immediate silence fell over the table, all eyes moving to the men who clasped hands, John smiling towards the valet as they muttered greetings to one another. It wasn't too long before John left, not without apologising once more for his disturbance.

When silence remained, Mr Riley looked around, and you couldn't help but chuckle to yourself as he said. 'Well ... none of you ever asked.'

Call of Duty Masterlist I wrote this at 2am don't judge me bahahah.

I decided to keep the name of the home Downton Abbey (Had no idea what else to call it but if anyone comes up with anything please feel free to send it through!) Also kept the daughter's names the same as the show because I'm lazy lol. And if you any more ideas about this story please feel free to send them through!

[avastrasposts]

The Guard Dog

Written for @studioghibelli Writing Challenge themed around History and Art History.

Plot: Sent to your uncle's bleak castle in the north of England, you expect only a dreary existence until you meet his groundskeeper, a scarred, frightening Spaniard. But love in the Victorian era is not easy and life doesn't follow straight paths.

Groundskeeper!Pero x Reader

Warnings: this is mainly all fluff with a bit of angst. Some of that casual racism and predjucde of the period rears its ugly head though. I've tried to keep the reader as blank as possible, but it's Victorian England and she's a lady so I have to presume she doesn't speak Spanish and has fair skin. No use of y/n.

Word count: 18k (yeah, I know....)

The ancestral home of your uncle’s family, Yotes Castle, was not a place that made people feel comfortable or welcome. Built on the ruins of an old thirteenth century castle, some of the old rooms still part of the house, it cast a forlorn gloom on the surrounding landscape. The long drive up to the house, the ancient portcullis cutting visitors off from the outside world, and the dark granite stone, it all made the place look as bleak as something out of a penny dreadful. The one forgiving feature was the big park surrounding the house, sprawling and wild with endless pathways curving through the trees and shrubs to small hidden glens and meadows. This is where you’d often taken refuge when you were allowed, and it was where you’d first met him, the groundskeeper.  

You’d arrived at the house the previous autumn, just as the weather turned cold; heavy rains and thick fog rolling in from the nearby Irish Sea. Your father had passed away long before you could remember him, and for most of your life, your mother had raised you with the help of a governess and her maid in the London house. But your mother’s health was never what it should be, and when she too passed, her brother became your legal guardian. And rather than let you stay in London, he gave you a choice; to come and work as his children’s governess at Yotes, or stay in London and be cut off once your mother’s meagre fortune ran out. You had no choice but to pack your bags and make the long journey north.  

You’d never been to Yotes Castle, only heard your mother’s stories about it and how much she’d detested it growing up; dark, lonely, stifling. She’d married your father and left for London as soon as she could, and she’d never returned to the north.

Your own first impression of the castle was not promising either. The place had been shrouded by heavy mist, the whole place damp, inside as well as out. Long, dark corridors and staircases confused you as the butler led you to your uncle’s study when you first arrived, his nose turned up at your carpet bag luggage. Your uncle had greeted you like you were a new servant, not his departed sister’s daughter, and dismissed you after letting you know he expected you to take full responsibility for his two children. You were assigned a room next to the children, but at least you were allowed to eat with the family and not the servants. Although, after a few days, you thought it might be nicer to eat with the servants than suffer the stilted conversation and heavy silence in the family dining room. 

The housekeeper, Mrs Pluck, might think otherwise though. She viewed you as a servant, and would ignore any requests you made, sending up lunch only for the children, and not you, when your aunt and uncle were out. Making sure you weren’t served dinner in the dining room, instead making you go downstairs and explain to the cook why you hadn’t eaten. Until one day, Amelia, your ten year old cousin, told your aunt about this, and Mrs Pluck was told to make lunch for you too. After that, Mrs Pluck seemed to view you as her mortal enemy, doing anything she could to trip you up. 

Amelia, on her hand, had not told her mother out of the goodness of her heart, rather the opposite. She wanted you gone, as did her eight year old brother Albert. In the interim between their old governess leaving and you arriving to take her place, the children had run wild. Your attempt at making them learn at least the basics were met with protests and complaints. To say that your first winter was trying was an understatement. 

Spring was slow to arrive in these parts, but as the weather dried up, you could at least escape the house while the children had other lessons. The days were still chilly, you’d grown accustomed to breaking the ice on your wash basin in the mornings as your uncle refused to heat the house properly. But despite the cold, you wrapped yourself in layers of wool and escaped into the park, leaving the bleak house behind. 

You had a favourite spot, right at the end of the wooded area and well out of sight from the house. The path led through a thicket of rhododendrons and curved around a small lake, more like a pond really. On the far side of the pond sat a small cottage where no one seemed to live, covered in dark green ivy and climbing roses, all devoid of leaves this early in the spring. Where the path ended was a bench with a view across the lake and to the cottage. Even on the dreariest of days, the spot seemed bright, the weak sunlight of early spring reflecting in the lake’s mirrored surface. 

The first time you saw him, the sound of the cottage front door closing made you jump. The thump echoed across the small lake and you looked up, startled. On the other side a man had just come out of the cottage, a heavy looking axe in one hand. He stopped as he saw you, your eyes meeting briefly before he turned, a deep scowl on his dark face as he stalked away, disappearing from view behind the trees. You lifted your hand to shield your eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of his retreating back, but his long legs took him into the woods and he vanished in moments. Instead you looked at the cottage, it still seemed abandoned but now you saw the thin tendril of smoke rising from the chimney. Whomever he was, it seemed as if he was now living there.  

You returned to your book, but the man had disturbed your peace, his look at you had been so troubling. It was almost as if he disliked you on sight, while you didn’t even know who he was. What could have made him regard you with such aversion? 

With a sigh you closed your book and stood up, your favourite spot suddenly seemed less welcoming. 

It was a few days before you saw him again in the park. The weather had turned milder after two days of rain, and you’d left the children with their riding master. Slowly strolling through the copse of beeches at the far end of the park, reading your book, you didn’t notice the man leaning on his spade, or the ditch he’d dug. 

“Watch where you’re going!” 

The warning came too late as the ground disappeared from underneath your feet, and with a gasp you stumbled forward, just as a hand closed around your arm, pulling you back. 

“Cuidado!” he snapped, his fingers digging into your flesh as he all but shoved you back from the edge of the ditch, “Keep your eyes on where you are going, girl. I won’t explain a broken neck to your uncle.” 

You staggered back, his hand letting go of your arm as the book fell to the ground. 

“Th-thank you,” you stuttered, finding your balance again as the man shook his head with a scowl. 

“If you fall and break your neck or your leg, I’m without a job, so don’t get in my way,” he snarled, snatching the book from the ground and shoving it into your hands, “Now get away from here, go back to your books and keep them indoors.” 

Without a backwards glance he turned and grabbed the spade again and jumped into the ditch. You hesitated for a second, but the man stabbed the dirt with the spade with aggression, and began digging without another word. 

Holding tight to your book, you hurried away. The man’s fingers had left painful imprints on your upper arm, and you rubbed them as you made your way back towards the house, your heart still beating hard in your chest. He had scared you as much as almost falling into the ditch had. The scowl he’d given you had been amplified by dark eyes under his dishevelled mop of black hair and unkempt beard. It made him look foreboding and very dangerous. But what had really frightened you was the scar that marred his face, a wicked looking gash across his left eye. Even to your inexperienced eyes he looked like a man who had fought many battles and lived a hard life. What he did here, working for your uncle, you couldn’t even begin to imagine. His accent had been foreign, and he’d used a word you didn’t recognise when he first shouted at you. With a shudder you tried to calm yourself as you pulled open the heavy back door to the big house. 

The kitchen of the house was the only welcoming room in the place, much thanks to the elderly cook, Mrs Robertson, who ran it with a scullion to help her. Now Mrs Robertson greeted you with a smile, looking up from the dough she was kneading. 

“Hello, dear, you look frozen solid, is it still cold outside?” 

“Hello, Mrs Robertson. No, it’s not too bad, it’s just still cold in the shade,” you replied, unbuttoning your wool coat and hanging it over a chair in the corner. 

“Well, put the kettle on anyway, it’s time for some tea and you do look as if you could do with some warming up.”

She tucked the dough into a clean bowl and washed her hands while you filled the kettle and put it on the hob, stoking the coals to get it going. 

“I ran into a man in the park,” you said, taking down the teapot and cups from the cupboard, “did my uncle take on someone new?” 

“Tall, dark haired fellow with a nasty looking scar?” Mrs Robertson asked and you nodded. “That’s Mr Pero Tovar, he’s the groundskeeper. He’s been away for a bit, he usually is during the winter when there’s less to do. He must’ve returned recently, I haven’t seen him in a bit.” 

“I almost fell into a ditch he was digging but he caught me just in time, gave me a terrible fright.” 

“He will do that to you, poor man,” Mrs Robertson replied, “I met him once coming back late from the train, I was just coming up to the main gate, and he stepped out from the small path there. Nearly gave me a heart attack with the way he looked. But he apologised for scaring me and carried my luggage all the way up to the house,” she sat down at the table as you poured the boiling water into the teapot. 

“He’s not a wholly disagreeable man, even though he’s foreign,” she added as an afterthought, as she made sure you heated up the pot. 

“Do you know where he’s from?” you asked, “He had an accent I couldn’t place.” 

“Spain, I think. He mentioned it once when I asked why he didn’t drink tea. Apparently they prefer coffee there,” she shook her head as if the madness of not drinking tea was too much to imagine. 

You didn’t give the man any more thought, except to keep an eye out to avoid him when you were wandering the park, not wishing to be on the receiving end of one of his scowls again. The weather turned mild and soon daffodils and snowdrops were cropping up and you took the children outside to give them some lessons in botany. They were less than interested, and you soon gave up, letting them play in the stream flowing down towards the small lake while you brought out your sketchbook and began drawing the scene in front of you. The sun was warm, filtering down through the branches that were just starting to show the first hint of green again and you relished being out of doors, away from the house. The weather even felt warm, and you removed your heavy coat, before picking up the sketchbook again. 

The sound of footsteps crunching on last year’s dry leaves made you look up towards the path, only to be met by Mr Tovar’s dark eyes. He was all but marching towards you, a heavy looking tool bag in one hand and several long planks over his shoulder. Just as you thought he was about to scold you for some unknown trespass, he marched right by you with barely a nod, and made his way to the small wooden bridge crossing the stream. 

The bridge was really just a simple row of flat planks attached to logs long since hammered into the mud. The planks were beginning to rot and warp, and you’d kept the children away from it, it didn’t look safe. And Tovar proved you right when he knelt down and ripped the first plank away, the wood coming away in pieces in his hands. Soon he’d measured out the right length, and replaced the first plank with a fresh one, moving on to the next. 

You tried to return to your drawing or keep an eye on the children who were still playing further down the stream, but you kept glancing back at Tovar. Despite his intimidating appearance, or maybe because of it, you were drawn back to watching him as he worked. You weren’t unfamiliar with men, even though you’d grown up only with your mother. But this wasn’t the curious attraction you’d felt as a stable hand smiled at you. This was something else, something that made your eyes drift back to him, leaving your drawing unfinished as you watched him work. 

He had his back to you, a well worn black workman’s shirt stretching tight across his shoulders after he’d shed his jacket. It was mesmerising watching the broad back move and shift as he worked at the stubborn planks, the odd grunt reaching your ears. Hunched down as he was, he seemed to possess immense strength in his large hands, the planks groaning and protesting as he planted his feet wide and pulled. He always won the fight, tossing them behind himself in a careless pile. With an impatient movement he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirt sleeve and straightened up. As you watched, he unbuttoned the cuff of his left hand and began rolling the shirt up over his forearms, exposing tanned skin dusted with dark hair. Done with one, he rolled up the other one before bending and grabbing the nearest loose plank, throwing it over his shoulder. 

As he turned he suddenly caught your eyes on him, and for a few seconds you were caught in his dark stare, unable to move. Slowly the scowl transformed into a smirk, and you dropped your gaze. From the corner of your eye you could see how he kept staring at you, his mouth pulled into a crooked grin as he seemed to study you in return. You felt your cheeks heat up and you turned away, looking down towards the children. From behind you, you heard him attack the planks again, another one tossed to the pile. 

Needing to remove yourself from the temptation to glance back at him again, you stood up and made your way down to the children. Albert was busy building a dam while Amelia threw rocks at it, he protested loudly while she laughed. 

“Amelia, don’t do that, let him build his dam,” you told her, knowing full well she would ignore you. She only sniggered and picked up another rock from the bottom of the stream, the hem of her dress soaked through. 

“Amelia! Stop that!” you snapped at her as she let the rock fly, narrowly missing her brother’s head as it went over him. 

“No!” she laughed, while Albert yelled at her, “I want to make him wet!”

“You’re ruining it! Albert hollered, as Amelia’s next rock hit the sticks and splintered his carefully constructed dam. With an angry roar he leaped for her but she easily jumped out of the way, laughing as she took off up the stream towards the bridge with Albert behind her. With a sigh you followed. You at least had to try to make them not kill each other. 

Pero stood up as the children came racing up the bank, Amelia laughing loudly as Albert yelled at her. When they spotted the tall man scowling at them, they both stumbled to a stop, looking up at him while you caught up behind them. Pero glanced over at you and then back at the children. 

“You should listen to your governess,” he said and gave Amelia a stern look, “And do not throw rocks at your brother.” 

But Amelia was not about to listen to the groundskeeper either. With an arrogant look on her face she put a hand on her hips and sniggered. 

“My father says you got that scar in prison. I think it makes you look like Quasimodo,” she smirked, pointing at Mr Tovar’s face as Albert started laughing. 

“Amelia!” you snapped, horrified at her behaviour. Mr Tovar’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline for a second before returning into a deep scowl. 

“Little girl,” he said, his voice low and serious, “you should not mock strangers.” 

“You’re not a stranger,” Amelia replied as Albert continued to giggle next to her, “you’re father’s groundskeeper, and you have to do as we say or he’ll send you back to prison with that ugly scar.” 

She was puffing her chest out as much as her scrawny ten year old frame would allow, and you could already see her mother’s haughty manners in the look she was giving Mr Tovar. He looked at her with a furrowed brow, his dark eyes almost hidden under his eyebrows, a dangerous sneer on his lips.  

“Amelia, that is enough,” you said, grabbing her arm and pulling her around, “you should be ashamed of yourself, apologise to Mr Tovar right now.” 

“No!” she yelled at you, struggling to pull free from your grip on her arm. 

“Amelia, you will apologise to Mr Tovar or I will tell your father how you have misbehaved.” 

“No!” she yelled again, and Albert joined in, yelling “No!” at the top of his lungs as Amelia continued to fight against your grip. Suddenly she lashed out and slapped you right across your cheek, and in shock you let go of her arm. The two children took off at a run, back towards the house, while you stood rooted to the spot, your left cheek stinging. 

Pero scoffed and came up to you, dropping the plank he’d been holding. 

“Delightful creatures,” he said, the sarcasm dripping from his voice as he looked down at you. With a surprisingly gentle touch, he took hold of your chin and tilted it to the light, examining the place where the slap had landed. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked and you nodded. 

“It stings,” you replied and he let go of your chin, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. 

“Come here,” he said, walking over to the stream and pointing at a flat rock just by the edge. He dipped the kerchief in the water and wrung it out as you sat down on the rock. His touch was gentle when he pressed the folded cloth to your cheek, the cool fabric soothing your skin. He held it to your face while he looked at you, and you realised his dark eyes weren’t really black, but a rich brown colour, much warmer than you’d first thought. And when he looked at you now, they even held some sympathy. 

“Why do you let them treat you like that?” he asked, the lilting accent in his voice less harsh now as he carefully refolded the kerchief, pressing another cool side to your skin.

“I have no power over them, and they know it. My aunt and uncle detest that I’m here, that they had to take me in. But I have nowhere else to go, so I put up with them until I can find some other family to work for.” 

“They will grow up into nasty adults,” he replied, “I hope you find a new family soon.” 

Pero dipped the kerchief in the water again and placed it back on your cheek, his hand still holding it in place and he was very close, closer than you’d ever been to any man that wasn’t in your family. You found you had to drop your eyes from his face, it was too intimidating to have him look at you like that. 

“Thank you, I can hold it myself,” you said, lifting your hand to take the kerchief. But he shook his head. 

“I’m keeping pressure on it so that it won’t swell up too much, although it will be tender for a few days.” 

He continued to keep his hand on your cheek, folding the cloth again and placing the cool side to your cheek. You glanced up at him, his face still close to yours, and found that he looked less scary now. The scar still added a grim element to his face, but despite the serious set of his mouth, his scowl had disappeared. 

“How do you know my name?” he asked, dipping the kerchief in the stream again. 

“Mrs Robertson told me, she told me you’ve recently returned as my uncle’s groundskeeper,” you replied, and his lips curled up in a small smile. 

“She is a good woman,” he said, “and she’s right. I returned a few weeks ago. I was away for the winter.” 

You wanted to ask where he’d been, if Amelia was right about him being in prison, but you didn’t want to break the spell of the moment. Instead you glanced down at your lap, unable to meet his eyes any longer. Tovar was crouched in front of you, and you saw how his trousers were worn and patched not only over the knees. His boots were mended and patched too, and the collar of his shirt was frayed. You realised as you took in the details of the man, that it looked as if he was living, or at least had lived, a hard and poor life. 

Pero dipped the cloth again, but this time he handed it to you. 

“Here, keep it pressed to your cheek while you go back to the house. And see if Mrs Robertson can give you some ice.” 

He stood up as you took the cloth, and then he held out his hand for you, to help you to your feet. You hesitated for a moment, looking up at him as he stood towering above you, with his hand out. He raised his eyebrows in question, and you found yourself again, putting your hand in his and letting him pull you up. He let go as soon as you were steady, but the warmth of his hand lingered in yours, the rough calluses of his palm imprinted on your skin and you realised it was not an unpleasant feeling. 

“Thank you, Mr Tovar,” you said, giving him a small smile, “I’ll make sure you get your kerchief back soon.” 

Tovar gave you a small nod, his dark eyes burning your cheeks as the corner of his mouth pulled up in smirk. 

“My pleasure, señorita.” 

You felt his hand in yours the whole way back to the house, it was a strange feeling. He was a coarse and angry man, he frightened you a little, although not as much as before. But yet the way his hand had felt on your chin, the way his eyes had been such a warm, brown colour up close, it seemed to linger in your mind. 

Mrs Robertson only rolled her eyes when you told her what had happened, giving you ice from the cold storage for your cheek. 

“And there’s no use telling your uncle about Miss Amelia’s behaviour,” she added, shaking her head, “She has him wrapped around her little finger.” 

You agreed with her, and said nothing to your aunt or uncle. But you didn’t take the children out into the garden any more. Instead you took refuge there yourself when you had time. More often than not, you went down to the bench by the small lake opposite his cottage. You hoped you’d see Mr Tovar, but he never seemed to be there. Instead you saw him from a distance as he went about various jobs in the park, always too far away to say something and he never looked in your direction. 

Until one day. 

Weeks had passed and summer had arrived and you had more time on your hands than what you knew what to do with. The family had left the house and travelled to the south of France for the summer. You had been told you would not be allowed to go, something that suited you well, even though your aunt expected you to be deeply upset by this. Both she and Amelia had hinted that you would be missing out on a world of amusements, but you didn’t have it in you to care. To be away from the family, to not have to deal with the children, that would be your holiday. 

Mrs Pluck had made it her mission to make your life in the house as miserable as possible and to escape her, you disappeared into the gardens for hours. On rainy days you asked Mrs Robinson to enlist you in the kitchen so that Mrs Pluck couldn’t accuse you of shying away from work. But it was a fine summer and most days you found a nook in the garden and read or drew. 

He found you down by the stream one day. The air was warm, especially for England, and you’d unlaced your boots and sat down on the bridge he’d repaired. With your feet in the cool, peaty, water you’d disappeared into your book, Mr Darcy declaring his love to Elisabeth for probably the twentieth time. 

Unbeknownst to you, Pero paused at the edge of the clearing as he spotted you, stopping in his stride to take in the peaceful scene you’d created in one of his favourite spots. The dappled sunlight danced across the stream, the gentle babble of the flowing water disguising the sound of his footsteps and he paused by the last tree of woods, the scene too tranquil to disturb. As he watched, you turned a page in the heavy book and pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling at whatever you were reading. 

Pero would be the last person to admit it, even to himself, but he’d spent too much time thinking about your smile in the past few weeks. He was a man used to being on his own and didn’t pay much attention to the world around him unless it was threatening him or presenting an opportunity. The smiles of pretty women was not something he lingered on, mainly because the only women who smiled at him were the kind he had to pay to get. He knew his appearance, not just the scar, but his darker skin and guarded face, put off the women he met, and not just the women. So he’d arranged his features into a scowl that kept them all at bay, unless they needed him for a job. 

And this governess, he’d seen how you’d been frightened by him when you nearly stumbled into the ditch, and he’d dismissed you as one of the many women who took one look at him and baulked. But then he’d sensed your eyes on him as he worked on the bridge, seen your shy, awkward gaze when he caught you looking at him, no fear in your eyes. And the children were as cruel to you as to him, but you had to put up with them to keep your place in the house, to keep a roof over your head. You were a better person then he was, he would’ve struck the girl and thrown her into the stream. Instead, you’d stood there in shock as the children ran off, your hand on your stinging cheek. And he’d suddenly found himself pitying you, a creature too gentle to fit into the family of vipers that ruled the house. 

Before he’d even really considered it, he’d taken out his handkerchief and taken upon himself to soothe your swollen cheek. Your eyes had looked up at him with surprise and trepidation, but like the lamb, you’d followed him to the edge of the stream and sat down when he told you to. You really were too gentle and trusting for this world he thought, too innocent. He would’ve, should’ve, dismissed you easily, you were not his responsibility, not someone he needed to consider at all.  

But then you’d taken his hand and smiled as you thanked him, and he found, painfully, that you were not easy to dismiss, no matter how hard he tried. Instead your smile lingered in his mind, the spark it brought to your eyes, and how soft it made your features, matched only by the way your hand felt in his for the brief moment you held it. He’d never felt the urge to protect anyone else but himself before, but like a wolf turned guard dog, he suddenly felt the need to shield you, stay by your side and keep you safe. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and he’d pushed it aside, burying it deep inside. 

The next day he’d found his kerchief wrapped in a brown paper package on his doorstep. Clean and ironed, with a small sprig of lavender tucked between its folds. It was somehow now the prettiest thing he owned, and he couldn’t bring himself to use it again. Instead it stayed on his dresser, the lavender spreading its delicate scent around the room where it rested on the neatly folded fabric. Whenever he walked past the lavender shrubs in the garden, he thought of you, your smile seemed to live on at the forefront of his mind. 

He didn’t like how you made him feel, he didn’t want to feel like he needed to protect anyone but himself. If you were that weak and feeble, let you fend for yourself like he always had. It had made him strong and hard, he had no need for anyone and no one would treat him like those children had treated you. He avoided the lavender shrubs, and the spots where you often sat, making sure to never acknowledge you when he saw you in the distance. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself from glancing across the pond every morning when he left the cottage, only to find the bench empty. You never seemed to return to that spot.  

But now he stood at the edge of the woods, watching you turn another page, and smile again. He didn’t want to disturb you, didn’t want to see you smile at him again, didn’t want to see the softness of your eyes as they locked on to him and made his heart rage against anyone who hurt you. And at the same time, he knew he wanted you to notice him, to turn your head and smile at him instead of that book, to bring him to his knees and make him feel needed by you. He would be your guard dog for the rest of his miserable life if you only smiled at him. 

He felt it all battle inside him as he stood by the sturdy tree, a hand on its rough bark, one foot twitching to move forward, the jerk of the other to turn back. And maybe he made a twig snap, loud enough to make you lift your head from the book and turn, meeting his eyes as he tried to decide what to do. 

“Mr Tovar,” you said, and you’d made the decision for him. He felt his feet move, towards the bridge, before he’d decide anything. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I left the kerchief by your door,” you said, looking at him as he stopped by the edge of the bridge. 

“I found it,” Pero replied, his large hands twitching by his side, “You didn’t need to clean it, but thank you.” 

He shifted his weight, testing the new planks he’d laid down, pretending to inspect them while you continued to look up at him. 

“How’s the-” he started just as you spoke. 

“Thank you again fo-” 

“Sorry,” you immediately apologised, “you first, Mr Tovar.” 

“You don’t need to thank me,” he replied, “How is your cheek?” 

His voice was gruff, but his scowl was less this morning as he looked at your cheek. The skin had bruised but the swelling had disappeared after just a day. You put your hand on your cheek as if to feel the texture of the skin. 

“It’s fine, the bruise has disappeared and there is no pain, probably thanks to your quick thinking.” 

“I bet the little lady had no punishment for her actions,” he growled, bending his knees and dropping onto his haunches. He gently took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, just like had the day it happened, and tilted your head to the side, inspecting the flawless skin. 

“No, I never told her uncle anything,” you replied, “What would be the point? It would probably only get me into trouble instead.” 

Pero dropped his hand from your chin, your eyes weren’t on him anymore and he chided himself for acting on the impulse to touch you again. He could feel the guard dog in him bristle at your words, at the way you’d so easily let Miss Amelia get away with her actions. He would not have let her even speak to you the way she did, let alone strike you. 

You dropped your gaze back to the open book in your hands, your feet still dangling in the cool water. Pero knew he should stand up, go back to his cottage, and continue to stay away, to push any thought of you to the back of his mind. Tell the guard dog in his chest to ignore the woman in front of him, you were not his to protect. 

But instead he found his voice and spoke. 

“What are you reading, señorita?” 

You looked at him in surprise, why was he interested in your book? But the gaze that met yours was curious, despite the serious set his jaw still held. 

“Pride & Prejudice, by Jane Austen,” you replied, showing him the spine of the book. It was a well worn copy, a gift from your mother many years ago, “Have you read it?” 

“No,” came his swift reply, almost as if he was scoffing at the thought of reading such a book. 

“Well, it’s very good, it’s probably my favourite,” you said, looking back down at the book, stroking the front cover with a gentle touch, “I’ve read it many times."

“Why?” he asked and as you looked up at him, his eyebrows pulled together in a questioning look, incredulous even. 

“Why not?” you retorted, “It’s a good story, I enjoy the characters, and every time I read it I discover something new, a detail I hadn’t thought about. Have you never re-read a good book?” 

“Never,” he said, and this time he did scoff and you wrinkled your nose at him, looking back at your book and opening it up to the page you’d been on. 

“Well, maybe you should try it sometime, it’s a good experience to revisit things you like.” 

Pero could sense he’d offended you in some way, and yet again he was drawn in two directions by his mind, he should stand up, leave you to your book. 

“I never learnt how to read,” he said instead, regretting the words the second they came out of his treacherous mouth. He felt heat rise up his neck as he cursed himself. He’d never admitted to anyone that he couldn’t read, even though he’d learned a whole new language as an adult. Just repeat what others said, it was easy. Interpreting the little symbols on pages, whether in Spanish or in English, proved impossible in both languages. But so desperate was his mind to stay connected to you, that not even his deepest secrets seemed safe when he was in your presence. 

Now it was your turn to look surprised as you closed the book again. The scowl on his face was back, like he was expecting your mockery as his neck flushed a deep crimson. 

“That’s a shame,” you said, your voice small. You felt as if he would be very angry with you if you pitied him or accidentally made him feel inferior, his deep scowl still frightened you as he waited for your reaction to his confession. 

“Reading makes me very happy, and it opens up new worlds,” you continued carefully, “There are some great stories by incredible writers, they really make me see what they are describing and make me feel so much. I hope you can experience that some day, if you learn to read.” 

Pero dropped his gaze, down to his hands, and sank down onto the bridge, sitting down next to you as he shook his head. He saw the softness in you again, that gentleness that made the guard dog in him spring to life. He wanted to protect you, even against himself, didn’t want to frighten you. So he looked at his large hands, dirty from the soil and rough with callouses and tried to make his voice less harsh, his features less abrasive.

“I’m too old to learn how to read now, I was never able to do it in Spanish or English, what use is it to try now? Just tell me what your incredible book is about.” 

“I’m sure you could learn if you had a good teacher, Mr Tovar,” you said, but he just rubbed at the dirt on his hands and furrowed his brow as he shook his head in response. 

“Better you tell me what your book is about, then I don’t have to learn how to read,” he replied, keeping his voice low. What was he doing? He should not talk to you, he could already feel his heart pounding in an unfamiliar way, small tendrils reaching out towards you. 

“It’s…it’s about a woman called Elizabeth Bennet. Her family wants her to marry a man for his money, but she wants to marry only for love. But to her, all the men she meets are fools, none are worthy of her. Then she meets Mr Darcy, and she’s too prejudiced against men to see that he would be a good match for her. And he, on his end, is too proud to admit that a woman of a lower class than him could provide him with the kind of marriage that would make him happy. Both of them are bound by social expectations and restraints. But it has a happy ending,” you smiled at Mr Tovar who was watching you speak with curiosity, “I know it has a happy ending but I’m still nervous every time I read it.” 

“Do you wish to marry for love?” he asked, “Is that why it’s your favourite story?” 

His gaze made your cheeks heat up, it wasn’t the question you’d expected, and his deep brown eyes seemed to see through to your soul and see the true answer that lay there. 

You shrugged, looking down at the water rushing over your feet, to hide yourself from his eyes. 

“I very much doubt I’ll ever marry, for love or not. I’m a governess, I have no money and won’t inherit any either. If someone would want to marry me, they’d get nothing for it anyway. And what’s to say that he is someone I want to marry? Then I’d rather be like Lizzy and not marry at all, because I doubt there is a Mrd Darcy waiting for me.” 

Pero watched you, as you watched the water slip around your bare feet, the guard dog growling in his chest. 

“Any man would be fortunate to marry you, señorita,” he said, “just make sure you love him before you say yes to him.” 

He stood up suddenly, it almost made you jump it was so sudden, and was halfway across the small bridge before you had the sense to speak up. 

“Mr Tovar, will you let me teach you how to read?” 

He stopped in his tracks, turning back to you with a look that confused you and almost made you regret your spur of the moment question. His jaw ticked to the side, he glanced back down the path where he was heading, and his fingers twitched. But his eyes looked almost hopeful, like a light had been lit inside him. But then he sighed and closed his eyes, his head dropping down on his chest with a muttered string of words you didn’t understand, you knew he’d say no to your offer. 

“Señorita, if you want to waste your time on a hopeless case, who am I to say no?” 

“Really?” 

His reply surprised you so much that the book almost slipped from your hand, and you quickly placed it on the bridge behind you as he took a few steps back to you and nodded. 

“Who else is going to offer to teach me? I’d be a fool to turn you down, even though I doubt you can even teach this dog to read.” 

“Don’t say that about yourself, Mr Tovar,” you gently scolded him, “I’m sure we’ll get you reading in no time.” 

“Pero,” he said, a small smile softening his features as he held out his hand to you. “Don’t call me ‘Mr Tovar’ if you’re to teach me, señorita.” 

“Pero,” you replied, trying to roll the name around your tongue the way he did. It felt nice, unfamiliar in the way it sounded, but it suited him, and the way his harsh features changed when he smiled, was reward enough for your attempt. 

“Maybe I’ll teach you Spanish while you teach me to read,” he chuckled, a warm sound from him as you took his outstretched hand and shook it.

“Tomorrow at ten, at the bench by your cottage?” you asked and he nodded in agreement. 

“Tomorrow at ten.” 

Meeting Mr Tovar, no, Pero, you corrected yourself, quickly became the favourite part of your day. The summer was fine and most days dry, so you brought your books to the bench every morning at ten, and remained with him until you had to go back to the house for lunch and he had to take care of his groundskeeper duties. 

It quickly became clear to you that Pero’s biggest obstacle was his own belief that he wasn’t able to learn how to read. Once he’d cracked the code, he seemed to rehearse the alphabet every chance he got and soon he made his way through your easiest book. He read out loud, his finger following along in the text and he sounded out every letter before he put them into words, but he was reading for the first time. It was also the first time you saw him smile properly, a wide grin on his face as he correctly sounded out and deciphered his first word on the page without your help. 

Seeing Pero slowly gain confidence in his new found skill made you happy and satisfied and for a while you pretended that was the only reason you enjoyed your lessons with him. But you knew, because of the way your heart felt when you saw him, that that wasn’t the only reason you enjoyed teaching him. Far from it you had to admit. The lessons had been only an hour at first, you knew that it became hard for any pupil to focus after an hour. And at first you’d said your goodbyes and left when that hour was up. But then Pero offered to teach you some Spanish, and soon your hour had stretched into three while he asked you about your life, and he slowly told you about his. The man who had seemed so frightening at first, so angry and intimidating, was now the one thing that made your life at Yotes Castle bearable, even enjoyable. 

Little by little you saw more of the man behind the facade he’d held in place for so long. Carefully you asked questions about the things that seemed to shape the way he was now, and his eyes would go black, painful memories forcing themselves to the surface. But he always seemed to overcome it, choosing to share even the more grim parts of his life with you when it didn’t make you pull back from him in revulsion. 

“I was a good soldier,” he said, “but the only reward for a good soldier is to stay alive and be sent into battle again. I made as little money as the man driving carriages in the streets and less than the man who sold groceries to the army. So when I could, I left the army and sought work as a mercenary. There is no honour in it, but at least it kept my belly full and I could choose my own master and make a bit of money.” 

Pero shrugged, hunched over with his arms on his knees, his shoulders by his ears and looking out over the small lake in front of the bench, while you looked at his strong profile, the light hitting the scar across his face. It used to look nasty and mean to you, now it seemed to be a part of him as much as his dark brown eyes, just a mark of the hard life he’d lived before coming here. 

“I did things as a mercenary that I’m not proud of,” he said, his eyes still on the lake, “I’ve killed more men than I can remember. Most of them I just forget in the heat of the battle, others…they stay with me and I can see their faces sometimes. But I did it to stay alive, it was me or them, and someone was going to make that gold and it might as well be me. Better I kill the men who needed killing and let some poor boy from London keep his sanity and his life while I make the gold.” 

He turned his head and looked up at your face, half expecting you to be grimacing in distaste at his greed, but you just met his eyes with a concerned look. 

“You’ve seen so many terrible things, Pero. It makes me worry for you.” 

“Worry for how I sleep at night?” he asked, quirking his eyebrows at you with a slightly mocking tone. But you shook your head. 

“Maybe, but I worry about how you think the world always sees you. Those you meet here don’t know about your background, and don’t judge you for what they don’t know, yet you assume they do, and scowl at us all even when we-” 

“Even when you’re just a lonely governess trying to be polite?” Pero interrupted and you had to smile at him. 

“Yes, even when that. I was frightened of you after our first meeting, you looked so menacing and seemed very angry with me.” 

“Querida, I was never angry with you,” he said, his voice low and smiling as he sat up straight again and turned to you. 

“I know that now,” you smiled back at him, “but that’s what worries me about you. Maybe you are missing out on friendship when your past always makes you think that the world will judge you harshly.” 

“You became friends with me,” he replied, “maybe that’s all I need?” 

“You need only me as a friend? You’re settling for very little, Pero,” you scoffed, but still smiling at him. 

Pero shook his head, “Querida, you’re selling yourself for very little if you think that your friendship isn’t worth everything.” 

His words made your cheeks heat up, and for a few long moments you felt lost in the way he was still looking at you, his face serious and his dark eyes locked on yours. When you finally managed to pull yourself away, you looked down at your hands, rubbing at an ink stain on your thumb. Beside you Pero shifted, suddenly leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your temple before he stood up. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, mi amorcita.” 

The kiss lingered long after he’d disappeared, your fingers finding the spot as you walked back to the house. You wished he’d continued, but you weren’t sure with what. 

“I was never in prison,” he told you one day, “well, not a real prison anyway,” he added with a smirk. “I was in China, working as a mercenary, and there was a misunderstanding. They put me in a cell but another mercenary got me out, he was good friends with the General, luckily.” 

“You’ve seen so much of the world, Pero, I’ve only ever been to London and here,” you replied, “What was China like?” 

“Interesting, and very different. Their language is very different from both English and Spanish. With English, I can recognise some of the words, with Chinese, nothing made sense,” he took the pencil from your hand and drew a strange symbol in the notebook. 

“That is the sign for gunpowder, I learnt it while I was there, important to know so that you don’t accidentally light a pipe next to it.” 

“That says ‘gunpowder’?” you asked incredulously as you looked at the seemingly disorganised lines he’d jotted on the page and Pero nodded. 

“They write words with pictures instead of letters, one of them explained it to me. And even I could tell the difference between our letters and their symbols. And my friend, who could read, couldn't interpret it at all, he said it looked nothing like anything he could read.” 

“I can see why,” you said, tracing the lines with your finger, “I see no similarity with our letters at all.” 

“I hope you get the opportunity to see more of the world one day, señorita, there is a lot more to it than just London and this miserable castle,” Pero huffed. The more you’d told him about your life, the more his anger had grown at the way your uncle was treating you, and letting his children and wife treat you. It made no difference of course, Pero was just the groundskeeper, and a foreigner at that. But it was nice to have someone on your side, someone as strong and intimidating looking as Pero, to tell you that it wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

“Maybe you can show me some day, Pero,” you said, the words slipping out before you’d fully considered them and you felt your cheeks heat up in a flash. Pero gave you a quick grin. 

“You wish to travel with the ill-famed Spaniard, a mercenary and dirty foreigner?” he laughed, “What would your uncle say?” 

“To hell with my uncle,” you giggled, it felt deliciously reckless to say it out loud, “To hell with him!”

Pero smiled at your glee, it was good to see you happy and dreaming of something other than your life at Yotes Castle. 

Two fat drops of water suddenly splashed down onto the page and you both looked up at the sky. Dark clouds had gathered above and now it was starting to come down hard, the first two drops quickly joined by many others. With a groan you realised you’d be soaked by the time you got back to the house, you had no umbrella with you, and your thin summer coat would not withstand this downpour. But Pero had already sprung into action with other plans, with a few quick movements he gathered up the books and notes from your lesson and held his hand out to you. 

“Come, quickly, we’ll run to my cottage until this is over.”

Without thinking, you took his warm hand and it closed around yours as he pulled you along at a brisk pace around the small lake. He kicked the door open and ushered you inside just as the downpour really started. Standing together at the entrance of his cottage, you watched the world turn liquid and grey in seconds. 

“Well, I guess that’s the end of summer then,” you said, peering into the gloom. 

“It will clear soon,” Pero replied, “but it will be wet for a while. Let me hang your coat up to dry, querida.” 

You’d told Pero your name, but he rarely used it, instead he’d continued to call you ‘señorita’ and explained what it meant. But as your lessons continued, he’d slipped into calling you ‘querida’ instead and you hadn’t yet had the bravery to ask him what it meant. It felt more intimate than miss, his choice to use it seemed to correlate with the deepening of your friendship, when reading lessons turned into longer conversations about your lives. Just giving him lessons, spending time alone with an unmarried man in secluded corners of the park, felt exhilaratingly dangerous. You hadn’t even told Mrs Robertson about it. But to acknowledge that you had more than just cordial feelings towards him, or that he might even have them too, that was an even more frightening thought that you shoved to the back of your mind and refused to entertain. It was an impossible scenario, your uncle would never allow his groundskeeper to court his niece.  

It was hard to keep that thought at bay here though. When he helped you shrug out of your coat, his fingertips brushed over the back of your neck as he took your scarf too, the gentle touch burning your skin. His touch seemed to linger a few more moments than needed, but you thought you’d happily stand still in his small hallway for days, if it meant you could continue to feel the warmth from his hands on your skin.

And Pero felt it too, the velvety smoothness of your skin, the warmth of your body as he stood just a little bit too close for just a little bit too long. He inhaled quietly, catching the scent of your soap, and took a reluctant step back, taking the coat with him. 

He hadn’t lit the fire this morning, but now he hung your coat over a rack and busied himself with the kindling while you looked around the modest house. The cottage was old, the stone walls thick, and you could tell not many of the items here belonged to Pero. You moved among the few items as the fire came to life, its crackling filling the room. You let your fingers brush over the sprig of lavender that lay on top of the still neatly folded handkerchief, a comb lying next to it along with a small sharp knife that you guessed he used to trim his hair and beard. 

A photograph caught your attention and you moved to stand in front of it. It stood propped up against the wall on the dresser, a simple portrait of two men. They were dressed in uniforms and looked with serious faces into the camera. You recognised a much younger Pero, his face smooth but still covered by his patchy beard, and no scar across his eye. The other man looked older and was light haired and as tall as Pero. 

“My friend William,” Pero said, coming up behind you and seeing what had caught your attention, “We were friends and mercenaries together, he’s the one who saved me in China.” 

“Where is he now?” you asked, picking up the photograph and studying the fair haired man.

“He met a woman and settled down, took a job with her father, helping them run the farm,” Pero replied, and yet again he was standing so close behind you that you felt the heat from his body through the layers of your own clothes. 

“It’s a good job for an old mercenary, he seemed very happy when I last saw him.” 

“Would you rather be a farmer than a groundskeeper?” you asked and Pero nodded. 

“Yes, if I found a woman who had a farm I could help run. But like your Elizabeth Bennett, I wouldn’t want to marry just for convenience.” 

“You want to marry for love?” you turned around surprised, looking up at him. He’d never struck you as a romantic. His demeanour towards you may have softened slightly, but his outer layer was still very much that of the scowling, dark minded man who’d rather the world just left him alone. Seeing him as someone who wished to marry a woman for love made you see him in a new light, maybe another crack in the facade he was slowly letting you through. 

Pero gave you a shrug and shook his head. 

“I don’t know, I don’t think I’d ever be fortunate to marry for love so I never considered marrying at all.” 

“But if you fell in love, you’d want to marry?” you asked and Pero gave you a humourless laugh. 

“Señorita, does it even matter if I’d want to marry at all? For love or for convenience, no one will marry an old mercenary, a piss poor old soldier, who thoroughly dislikes and distrusts the world.”

His face pulled up in a twisted grimace of a smile as he turned away from you and picked up the kettle on the clean scrubbed table. 

“Do you dislike me too?” you asked, placing the photo of Pero and his friend back on the dresser and moving over to the fire, “And distrust me?”

“Querida, no, of course not,” he replied, his eyebrows shooting up in concern, “I didn’t mean you, I’m sorry if you thought that.” 

He came to stand next to you by the fire, his dark eyes suddenly more concerned than you’d seen them before, searching yours to make sure he hadn’t inadvertently made you regret the friendship that the two of you had built up over the past few weeks. 

“I’d hate for you to think that I don’t trust you,” he said, “I’m glad you’re my friend and I hope you don’t regret the time you’ve spent teaching this old soldier to read.” 

You shook your head and without thinking, put your hand out and took his, stroking your thumb over the rough knuckles. 

“I don’t regret it at all, and I’m glad you trust me. You’re the first friend I’ve made since I came here and you’ve made this summer much better than I could ever have hoped. How could I regret the time I’ve spent with you?” 

Relief seemed to flood his features, his dark eyes turning warm in the glow of the fire light as he smiled and wrapped his fingers around yours. 

“I’m pleased to hear it, querida, our lessons are the best part of my day.” 

You smiled back at him, his hand, calloused and rough as it was, sent a delighted shiver through your limbs, fighting back the urge to step closer to him, to envelop more of yourself in the warmth that seemed to radiate from him. 

“Can I confess something, Pero?” you asked with a small smile and Pero nodded in reply, one eyebrow lifted in question, “My favourite part isn’t the lesson, but the time we spend talking about everything else afterwards. All your stories make me feel like I’ve seen more of the world because of you.” 

“I wish I could show you all of it,” he smiled in response, “maybe one day I’ll come back with a fortune and be able to take you with me on my travels,” he was smiling and he didn’t let go of your hand, still holding on, and now he was the one stroking your fingers, letting his thumb trace your knuckles, gliding up so that he felt the faint thrum of your pulse under the thin skin of your wrist. 

But you felt your heart twist at his words, you hadn’t even considered that he would leave. 

“You’re leaving?” you asked, the small moment of standing close to him, alone in his cottage shattered, and you pulled your hand from his. He had no obligation to you, no commitment, but it suddenly felt like he was breaking a promise. 

“After the summer, yes,” he said, the smile falling from his face when you let go of his hand, he reached out for yours for a split second, as if he wanted to stop you from pulling away, but thought better of it, “There’s not enough work for me through the winter so your uncle won’t pay to keep me on. I go south and find what work I can.” 

“Do you always come back in the spring?” you asked, the very thought of spending winter here without Pero making your heart sink into the pit of your stomach. Last winter had been torturous, the only thing making you not dread the coming winter was the thought of Pero and continuing to meet him. 

“I come back if I have to,” Pero replied, regret lacing his voice, “If I can’t find better work over the warm season, I come up here. Your uncle prefers hiring someone he already knows, and he’s prepared to pay a bit extra for it, so the wage is decent.” 

“But you might not come back next spring? And you’ll be away all winter?” 

Pero felt his treasonous heart clench when he saw the disappointment in your eyes. He’d tried very hard to see you as the teacher, a teacher who’d become his friend. Convincing himself that the guard dog that growled in his chest was only raising its hackles because a friend was being treated badly by the family that employed you both. Not because he had any deeper feelings for you, any feeling of love, he did not fall in love he told himself, he kept his heart from feeling anything more than friendship. 

But now his heart ached at the dismay he saw in your eyes, and he clenched his fists, digging his broken, dirty, nails in to his palms to stop himself from pulling you back to him, pulling you into his arms and telling you he wouldn’t leave, not without taking you with him. 

“Querida…” he mumbled, “I simply don’t know if I’ll be back next spring. But I promise, if you’re still here, I will do my best to return.” 

“I’ll miss you,” you said quietly as Pero carefully reached out and took your hand in his again, a small gesture of consolation, “Last winter was dreary and miserable but it will be worse now when this summer has been so nice.” 

You looked down at your hand in his, his golden, tanned fingers wrapping around yours, the back of his hand criss crossed by small scars. You’d seen them before and asked him about them, he’d let you trace your fingertips over them, seeing the evidence of the hard life he’d lived as a mercenary, while he’d kept his eyes on you. Now you did the same again, memorising each line, committing to memory how his skin felt under your fingers, the warmth, the sparse dark hairs that made his hands look so different to your own. 

Pero watched how you caressed his rough hands, hands he knew had been covered by more blood and grime that he wished to remember. So many lives ended by the movements they could perform. You knew about it all, you’d made him speak openly about the darkest memories his mind held, you knew these hands were capable of unimaginable violence. Yet you ran your soft fingers over the scars again, not pulling back from the man he was, no longer frightened by his violence, his scowl, the facade he knew he kept between himself and everyone. The way you looked at him, open, smiling, it made his heart do things he didn’t think were possible, feel light and buoyant, a small crack opening up. 

His hand moved without his consent, carefully coming up to your face, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing across it as you lifted your head and looked at him. 

“I’ll miss you too,” he whispered, barely recognising his own voice, his hand still softly caressing your cheek as you leaned your head against his palm, your eyes closing with a soft exhale. 

His heart soared in his chest.  

He thinks he moved first, but the warmth of your body was pressed against him before the thought had crossed his mind, your mouth so close and turned up towards him. When his lips touched yours, a small sigh escaped you, the warm air brushing over his bristly moustache. Your hand closed tight around his, holding onto him as if to stop him from leaving, but Pero knew nothing could make him step back now. He pulled you closer instead and pressed himself to you, a low, satisfied growl coming from deep inside his tight chest.

His lips were warm and tender against yours, the sensation so much softer than you’d ever imagined. He gently caressed your cheek, moving his lips against yours as you took in the sensation of being pressed so close to him. With your eyes closed, every movement and sound seemed heightened to your senses; the light scratch of Pero’s moustache, the calluses on his hand rough against your cheek, his other hand moving, wrapping around your waist, warm and firm against the small of your back as he held you close, the small gasp of breath from you when he left your lips for a moment to angle his head and capture them again, deepening the kiss.

You’d never been kissed like this, only experiencing chaste, dry kisses pressed to your cheek by your mother. Now Pero moved his lips against yours, gentle and firm, in ways you’d never felt before. He held you close, your whole body pressed against him as he took your bottom lip between his, giving it a gentle tug. It pulled a whimper from you, heat shooting through your body, and you felt your knees buckle as the sensation overwhelmed your senses. Pero tightened his grip on you, but pulled back a little, looking down at your closed eyes, your lips parted as you caught your breath. 

“Mi vida…” he breathed softly, “open your eyes.” 

You looked up at him, his dark brown gaze so permissive, more tender and open than you’d ever seen him before. 

“The rain has stopped,” he said, his voice still low, “you should go before they send someone to find you.” He didn’t think anyone would come looking for you for hours yet, but his grip on propriety was weakening.

You nodded, but neither of you made a move to break apart, Pero’s arm was still holding you firmly pressed to his solid body, his hand on your cheek. Your hands had entwined in his shirt, holding it as if it kept you from falling. 

“I don’t want you to leave,” you murmured, your eyes slipping to his lips, wanting to feel him on you again. 

“I’m not leaving for many weeks yet, querida,” he  replied, his hand leaving your cheek to push a strand of hair away from your face, “And many things can happen between now and next spring.” 

“Please kiss me again,” you asked, “Just in case,” and your cheeks heated up at your boldness, as he smiled at you, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a grin. 

“Anytime, mi amorcita.” 

He sent you on your way after another long, lingering kiss. He’d parted his lips, let his tongue come out to carefully taste you, his hand on your jaw prompting you to slowly open your mouth and taste him in return. The sensation was strange, almost too intimate, your already burning cheeks heated up even more and it made you shy, stilling your kiss. Pero had pulled back, pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth and smiled at you again. 

“Your kisses are like the sweetest wine, querida,” he said, slowly letting you go, “and a hundred times more addictive.”  

Your heart beat a new rhythm as you walked back to the house, thrumming in your chest, as your lips felt hot and tender, still imprinted by Pero’s kisses. Whatever measures you’d taken to protect your heart had proven worthless, the man who only a few weeks ago had seemed so intimidating and frightening, had become your friend through the lessons. After the afternoon’s events...your heart seemed to both ache and soar when you thought of him. This was an impossible situation, an impossible man to fall for, yet you knew it was too late to pretend, to hide the truth from yourself. 

You were hopelessly in love with Pero. 

But Pero felt fear grip his heart as he watched you walk away from his cottage. The guard dog in his chest growled and clawed at his innards, making them sting with guilt and dread. This was foolish, the most foolish idea, why had he let it go this far? Why had he kissed you, not once, but twice? Why had he not tempered his heart to this weeks ago? But your presence in his cottage, your upset when realised he’d be leaving and may not return, confessing that you’d miss him, it had broken down all of his carefully laid plans to only be your friend. It was reckless to kiss you, a severe lapse in judgement. To let himself taste your lips, feel you so close to him, the softness under his hands, to feel for just a few minutes how it would be if you were his. But he had nothing to offer, and even if he did, you were impossibly out of his reach. This would only end with heartbreak if he let it continue. And he knew his heart would recover and harden when told you it couldn’t continue, but he might break yours for good. 

Pero was already by the bench when you came there the next day, but he wasn’t sitting on it as he usually did. Instead he stood next to it, his large hands twitching with nerves as they hung by his thighs. 

You smiled at him, but it faded when you saw the serious set of his face, and he didn’t return your smile. 

“Señorita,” he said, his voice low and heavy as he nodded to you, “I apologise for my behaviour yesterday, I shouldn’t have kissed you. I wish to remain your friend and continue our lessons, but no more, I will not let myself go any further.” 

Your heart plummeted into the pit of your stomach, the fantasy you’d been nursing since yesterday afternoon shattering as Pero kept his eyes off you, looking at a spot on the ground between the two of you. You knew it was a silly dream, imagining a life where you and Pero could marry, be together and create a life for the two of you. But you’d held on to it, bolstered by Pero’s words that a lot could happen between now and next spring. 

But now here he stood, not meeting your eyes, his hands seemingly trying to keep something at bay with the way they kept moving, never stilling. He must know what he was doing to you, the pain his words caused, and you could see the struggle in him. His eyes flicked up to yours, dark under his deeply furrowed brows and you felt yourself breaking. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and quickly you turned and sat down on the bench, opening your bag to take out the books while you shook your head. 

“It was nothing, Mr Tovar, and you’re right, we shouldn’t have done it. Let’s continue our lessons as friends.” 

You didn’t look at him, but you felt the bench shift as he sat down at the other end, and you handed him the book he’d been reading from. 

“From page ten, Mr Tovar, please.” 

“Señorita…” he replied, his voice doing a bad job at hiding the pain he felt at your cold demeanour, even though he’d been the one to break your heart, he knows it, he can see it in the way your eyes are filled to the brim with tears, “please call me Pero, you are still my friend.” 

“I think it might be best if we continue with titles, Mr Tovar. Please, page ten if you wish to continue our lessons.” 

He opened the book to the page, biting back all the things he would rather say, but he’s made a decision. He knew he’d hurt you, he knew this would hurt, but what he was foolish enough to start yesterday, has to end as quickly as possible. So he focused on the first word of the page, and tried to remember how to interpret the illegible markings that face him. 

He read from the book, you corrected him and helped him when he got stuck, just as you’ve done through all the lessons. But you don’t smile at him, and you don’t sit close to him. When the hour is up, you told him to practise a passage tonight, and then gathered your things and stood up. 

“Same time tomorrow, Mr Tovar,” you said, a statement rather than a question, and he can only nod in agreement. You gave him a short nod too, and walked away, quickly disappearing into the woods. 

The tears began to flow as soon as your back was turned to him, silently, holding back the sob that had been lodged in your throat for the past hour. You rushed through the small woods, not towards the house, but towards the winding maze of rhododendrons that offered a thicket of sheltered pathways under their heavy boughs. There, in the centre of the labyrinth, you sank down on the worn stone bench under the thickest trunks. Their season was long gone, a reminder how late the summer was getting, their bright petals turning brown on the forest floor. Covering your face with your hands, you gave into the grief that was squeezing your heart, whimpering as tears began to flow in earnest. It was so much worse than if he simply didn’t love you in return, you know he does, he couldn’t hide the pain on his own face as he told you it could go no further. But he pushed you away anyway because he realised it was a hopeless dream and it crushed you under the weight of how bleak it was. 

“I wish I’d never met him,” you whimpered, gripping the cool stone, digging your nails into the unyielding surface, “I wish I’d never met him.” 

Pero held onto the branch of the rhododendron bush so hard it might break under his iron grip. The guard dog in his chest was threatening to spring forward, to wrap itself around your broken form on the stone bench, to hold you, tell you it would all be fine, he’d find a way, protect you from everything, even himself. It was a mistake to follow you when you left, but his determination to not let the love between you go any further did not stand a chance against the urge in his chest to protect you from the world. Even if he would not let himself come close to you again, the guard dog still pushed him to follow you, the despondent shape of your shoulders, the quiet sobs pulling him just as much. 

When you whimpered, your wish to never have met him, he felt as if you’d slid a blade into his heart, and he only deserved it. He deserved as much pain as what he could hear in your voice, more even, he’d take it all from you if it wasn’t for the fact that he was the one causing it. 

You didn’t hear the careful crunch of his boots as he turned and walked away. 

Even though your heart was breaking, and sat in the pit of your stomach like a heavy weight every morning when you woke up, you still continued to see Pero almost every day. You both knew it probably would’ve been wisest to not continue the lessons, that it would make it all that much harder, keeping the pain fresh every day. But it wasn’t something either of you were prepared to give up, so you met on the bench by his cottage and you kept Pero at a distance, and he did the same with you. Always sitting at the far end of the bench, reading the passage you assigned him diligently, but never moving closer. 

Your one concession, the thing you found you couldn’t be without, was to extend the hour and stay even though the lesson was over. Listening to Pero’s stories of his life before he came to England, his childhood in Spain, his adventures as he travelled the world as a mercenary. But he kept his facade up, never letting it fall the way it had before, never letting you in again like he had.

He does teach you some Spanish though, teaching you how to pronounce his name the way he does and smiling when you greet him in Spanish every morning, telling him what a beautiful day it is, no matter how dreary the weather is. He tells himself he can live like this, have you as a friend in this place, someone who will make him come back next spring. He might even believe it. 

You count down the days to the end of the summer with growing dread, the ache in your heart doesn’t lessen. Rather it grows, rips through you when he smiles at your successful attempt at asking him how old he is. The Spanish he’s teaching you becomes your link to him, the one thing you’ll have left when he leaves, and you hoard the words in your mind, asking him to translate every word you can think of. 

But he never calls you mi amorcita again, and you never ask what it means. 

No summer is endless, and one day you returned from the lesson to find the house in uproar. Rooms being opened up, aired out, sheets pulled from the furniture as Yotes Castle was prepared for the return of the family. 

You saw their carriage coming up the drive as you left the house the next morning, and you hurried away, ducking out of sight. The horrid day of the children returning to their lessons is already here, and you wish to keep it at bay as long as possible. 

When you arrived at the bench by the cottage, Pero wasn't there yet. He’s usually first, he only walks over from his cottage, but now you sit and wait for him for what feels like an age. Finally he arrived, coming down the path from the big house, not his cottage.

“Buenas días, Señor Tovar, qué lindo día,” you greeted him and he nodded but didn’t smile. 

“The family is back at the house,” he said, stopping by the bench, but didn't sit down as usual. 

“I know, the house was turned upside down for their return yesterday and I saw their carriage as I walked down here,” you replied, taking in his face, a deep scowl pulling at his eyebrows, “Did something happen?” 

“I spoke with your uncle, my contract will run out in four weeks, I’m to leave at the end of the month.” 

“Oh.” 

It was all you could say, a small puff of air escaping you as you looked at each other, so much unspoken over the past few weeks, the events of the afternoon in the cottage suddenly sitting between you as if it had just happened.  

“I…I’ll miss you,” Pero said eventually, the silence stretching out for too long, “I’ll come back next spring, I promise.” 

You didn't reply, dropping your gaze to your hands, a lump in your throat had formed at his words. The very thought of him leaving, of spending the long dark winter without him…it clawed at your heart, forced tears into your eyes as the reality that you’d been trying to push back made itself known. 

“Querida…” he said, his voice low, pleading, “I’ll come back. But we still can’t…” he trailed off as you inhaled deeply, your shoulders shaking as you bit your lip. 

“Querida…” he tried again, stepping closer to you, his hand hovering over your shoulder, but pulling back before his hand reached you, “If things were different, but a man like me shouldn’t court a woman like you, it’s not right. I’m…I’m not….” 

He didn’t finish his sentence, instead he just stood next to you, his fingers trembling as he watched your shoulders heave in another deep inhale. 

“Pero…” you mumbled, your voice watery and his heart ached, you hadn’t called him Pero since the day you kissed and he’d never gotten used to you calling him Mr Tovar again. 

“Don’t come back next year if that’s all you see for us,” you forced out, your jaw clenched tight to hold back tears, “Don’t tell me who I should let court me. If I didn’t want it to be you, do you think I would’ve continued our lessons?” 

You looked up at him, your lashes heavy with tears and Pero sighed, dropping his head rather than to see the pain so clear on your face. 

“Querida…” he breathed out, a third time, and you let out a hollow laugh, a wretched snort with no mirth at all. 

“Is that all you have to say, Pero? ‘Querida’? What does that even mean, just an empty word when you’re too much of a coward to actually mean it?” 

You didn’t see the frustration that flashed across Pero’s face as you stood up, rubbing your hands over your face to wipe at the hot, angry tears that were slipping over your cheeks, turning to leave him. But Pero growled, a low noise coming from him as his hand shot out to grab your arm, closing tight around the fabric of your coat. When you looked back at him, his face was set in hard lines, his dark eyes boring into you under the sharp demarcation of his eyebrows pulled tight together.

“I’m no coward, I mean it when I call you ‘querida”, he scowled,  “But I know what I am, and that I have nothing to offer you but a life fighting to keep poverty at bay as I drift from job to job. Don’t call me a coward when you have seen nothing of the life outside of this house and your mother’s household. I’ve slept in hedgerows, I’ve gone hungry for days, walked my shoes to threads. It is not the life I want for you.” 

“I didn’t realise we were already married,” you spat out, your eyes as dark as his, as anger coursed through you at his presumption, “You’re not my husband, you do not decide over my life. Unfortunately, that privilege still lies with my uncle. And I never thought you and him would like to lock me up in the same cage.” 

“I don’t want you locked up, I hate seeing the way you’re treated by them!” Pero raised his voice, stepping closer to you, his hand tight around your arm as he pulled you in, “I would pull down every brick in this place to set you free if I could. Do you really think I don’t know how painful it will be to spend this winter apart? Away from you? All I want is to take you away from here and protect you from them, from anyone who’s not as good to you as you deserve. Hay un puto perro guardián dentro de mí! Carajo, cómo te amo!”

He shouted the last words, rage flaring up inside him as frustration burned through his body, your eyes wide as he gripped both your arms and almost pushed you away from him, but not letting go. 

“Don’t you understand? If I loved you less, I might be able to speak about it more, but I love you too much and I can’t let you live the way I do!”  

His face suddenly fell, the air seeming to escape him as he deflated, his fingers digging into your flesh loosened their grip and he sighed deeply as the rage that had flared in him died down.

“I…We…have no choice. Stay here this winter, only one winter, and I will come for you next spring and we’ll leave together,” he moved his hand, cupping your cheek gently, his face pleading, begging you to understand. It was ripping his heart in two, the very thought of leaving you here to suffer through another winter of the children’s abuse, your uncle’s neglect and your aunt’s disdain. But the option was to risk everything if he couldn’t find a job for the winter down south, “Please, mi querida, I promise I’ll come back and I’ll have money for us to leave and be together.” 

His face was pained as he looked at you, waiting for your answer, his hand still cupping your cheek as his thumb softly wiped at the tears that still trickled down from your eyes. 

“I…I love you too, Pero…” you stammered, the words sinking in as his tirade of words ebbed out, “I was scared you didn’t.” 

“Mi amorcita,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours, “my little love, I tried not to, but it’s impossible not to love you.” 

You closed the last small gap between you, kissing him without hesitation, his warm mouth opening in surprise as you pressed your lips to his. His hand left your arm and wrapped around your back as you moved together, your body pressed against his, his strong arm holding you very close to him just like he had the last time. A whimper escaped you as you felt him deepen the kiss, curling himself around you, caressing your cheek as all the pieces seemed to slot into place. Your hips against his, your arms around his body, the tickle of his moustache against your lips and his fingers tugging on the back of your coat, lifting you to your toes as he pulled you impossibly closer. 

The lack of oxygen at length made you both pull back just a little, Pero mumbling softly under his breath as he caressed your cheeks, cupping your face in both his hands and kissing your lips, the tip of your nose, and then your forehead before he looked down at you. 

“I promise, just one winter, mi vida. Can we survive that if we spend the next four weeks just like this?” 

“You’ll really come back?” you whispered into his neck, the steady thrum of his pulse just under your lips as he gently caressed the back of your neck, you could feel his fingers in the strands of hair that had slipped from your bun. 

“I promise, I promise,” he assured you, his lips pressing against your head between each word, ”I was always going to come back, no matter what you said.” 

“I should’ve taught you how to write too,” you said, “a whole winter with no word from you will be torture, but if I know you’re coming back, I can bear it. But I’ll miss you every minute.” 

“We have four weeks, teach me how to write too, la maestra,” he chuckled, leaning back a little so that he could see your face, still tear streaked and red eyed, his thumbs coming back to stroke your cheeks, “Mi amorcita, don’t cry any more. It won’t be easy, but if you really want this old soldier with no prospects, you can have him.” 

“I really do, Pero,” you said, closing the short distance between you again and finding his warm lips.

There wasn’t much of a lesson that day, Pero pulled you down onto his lap, sitting on the bench, making up for lost weeks. Your lips were swollen and red by the time you had to pull yourself away and return to the house, Pero to the duties he still had left as groundskeeper. Your heart was still heavy with the knowledge that he would soon leave, but you held on to the light that was his love, his promise to return so that you could leave together next spring. 

So wrapped up in your thoughts of Pero were you, that you didn’t notice the smug smile of Mrs Pluck, the housekeeper, as you approached the kitchen door. 

“There you are,” she greeted you, her self satisfied smirk stretching her jowls as she grinned like a cat that had caught a particularly juicy mouse. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs Pluck,” you replied, moving to the side to pass her, but she held up her hand and grabbed your jaw, pinching it painfully as she pulled your face around to peer at your lips. You yelped in surprise at her harsh treatment.

“Enjoyed your time with the groundskeeper did you?” she asked, malice dripping from her question, “I can see he did his best to bruise those rosy lips, making you look like a whore with a lip stain on.” 

Nausea forced its way up through your throat, almost making you choke as you tried to pull away from her sharp grip, panic gripping your heart as you saw her glee. The fear in your eyes was showing and her face pulled into an even wider grin as she let go of your jaw, only to grip your arm, her fingers closing like a vice around you. 

“You think you’re so clever, sneaking around with him every day, thinking no one would notice? Well, you’re a fool, girl. I’ve known for weeks and now I’m going to tell your uncle and have you thrown out. I’ve been waiting for this day, I only hope that swarthy tinkerer got you up the pole while he was at it, would serve you just right.”   

“Please, Mrs Pluck, don’t tell my uncle, we haven’t done anything, we’ve just kissed!” you pleaded, “He’s leaving in four weeks either way.” 

“And have a hussy like you stay on and teach Miss Amelia?” the housekeeper spat out, now dragging you past Mrs Robinson’s kitchen. She poked her head out from the pantry and watched in concern as the two of you passed. “You’re a fool if you think I would allow that while I’m housekeeper here, maybe that’s the kind of behaviour your mother allowed you to get away with, the Lord alone knows what goes on in those London houses.” 

Your heart was beating out of your chest as Mrs Pluck continued to pull you up the stairs towards your uncle's study. You could feel your legs shaking as the panic at what was about to happen to you, and to Pero, when your uncle found out. Pero would lose his job, there was no doubt about it. You might too, or he would lock you up, keep you from ever seeing Pero again. The very thought forced a sob up through your tight throat, the sound making Mrs Pluck snort again and dig her bony fingers deeper into your arm. 

The rap of Mrs Pluck’s knuckles on the study door felt like the bells of doom to your reeling mind. You had no excuse, no explanation, no way to plead for his mercy, and you stumbled as the doors opened and the housekeeper pushed you through them. 

“M’lord, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I have discovered something that needs your immediate attention,” Mrs Pluck simpered, her countenance suddenly all meek and apologetic. The change would be laughable to you if not for the panic that’s still coursed through you. 

“What is it?” your uncle asked, looking up from his large dark wood desk. 

“Your niece and the groundskeeper, Mr Tovar. I’ve discovered that they’ve been having an affair. It seems they’ve been meeting in secret all summer. And only just this morning I saw them together, they were very…intimate.” 

Mrs Pluck clasped her hands in front of her and looked the very image of piety as she pursed her lips in disapproval. 

“Is this true?” your uncle directed the question to you, but he didn’t seem to feel the need to meet your eye. Instead his gaze dropped back down to the letter he was composing, continuing to scrape his pen over the paper. 

“Yes, but we only-” you replied, your voice unsteady with nerves and panic, and your uncle cut you off. 

“Mrs Pluck, you saw them being intimate? How?” 

“I saw her sneak away from the house most mornings, so I followed. They met by the bench down by the groundskeeper’s cottage. I couldn’t tell you how many times they met but this morning they were kissing, and I saw her sitting on his lap for quite some time.” 

“This is unacceptable behaviour for anyone living under my roof, I do not care that you are my sister’s daughter. I know she raised you to be a lady but she clearly failed,” your uncle said, looking up at you and placing his pen next to the inkwell, “You are dismissed immediately, I cannot have you tarnish the reputation of this family with this kind of loose behaviour. You will pack your bags and leave first thing in the morning, you will have no reference. You’ll be paid what you’re owed.” 

It felt as if the ground opened up underneath you, your breath caught in your throat, and from the corner of your eye you saw Mrs Pluck smirk while she studied your reaction. Without a reference you would not be able to find a new position as a governess, not even as a house maid, finding any kind of work would be all but impossible. 

“Please, uncle, I accept that I have to leave, but at least give me a reference, we did nothing wrong, I just love him. And I’m not with child!”

Your uncle sneered as he returned to his letter, “Love? Foolish child, what other nonsense has he filled your brain with? No, this harsh lesson will be good for you. I'm sure you can find some occupation once you’re back in London where you can’t corrupt any young ladies, and certainly not my daughter.” 

“And the groundskeeper, sir?” Mrs Pluck asked, clearly keen to make sure he wasn’t forgotten. 

“Send one of the footmen for him, I’ll dismiss him immediately. He’s broken my trust and defiled my family, he cannot stay on another day.” 

He looked up at you and Mrs Pluck and waved his hand. 

“That will be all, and make sure she is confined to her room, Mrs Pluck. We don’t want her running off to that Spaniard.” 

Mrs Pluck had a lot to say as she escorted you to your room, her fingers once again digging into your arm. It seemed to be a steady stream of gleeful insults that buzzed in your ears like wasps, your mind too numb to take in what she was saying. The door of your room snapped shut and you heard the key turn as the lock clicked, leaving you standing frozen just inside. Your insides felt like hot lead, the buzzing in your ears was still deafening and it was starting to cloud your brain. Stumbling to the bed, you sank to your knees, grabbing the bed frame before you toppled over onto the scratchy rug. 

You weren’t sure how long you remained on the floor, your head reeling. It felt like you fainted, but you could still see the lurid Persian pattern on the rug in front of your eyes when you pried them open. The room was dark though, hours must’ve passed and you hadn’t even noticed. The buzzing had subsided, replaced by a tight knot of fear and worry in your stomach, your heart still racing. Pushing yourself up, carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed, you managed to light the candle on the bedside table, casting a faint light around the room. There was a tray just inside the door, and the two carpet bags you’d arrived with. Someone, probably Mrs Pluck, had left dinner on the floor, but clearly not cared enough to make sure your still form on the floor was alright. The sight of the congealed stew made your stomach turn and you scrambled for the chamber pot. 

On shaky legs, moving slowly, you made your way around the room to light the rest of the candles, coming to a stop in front of the small closet that held your clothes. You had no way of contacting Pero until morning, your only hope was that once you’d left the house, you could make your way to the cottage and find him, if he was still there. Your uncle seemed intent on throwing him out immediately, what if he had already left? 

The thought made panic rise in you again, bile forcing its way up, making you bend double with a whimper. A few hours ago the prospect of spending the winter here without Pero seemed like torture, now you wished that was all you had to face. At least he’d promised to come back next spring. Now he’d been forced to leave and you had no way of finding him if he wasn’t at the cottage. And you’d soon be out in the world on your own with no means and no other plan than getting back to London. How you’d survive, you had no idea. 

The next morning, after a night of very little sleep, you waited sitting on the bed with your two packed bags. You refused to be sad about leaving this house, but you were trembling with nerves at the prospect of soon being outed from the only family you’d known and left to your own devices. Pero was right, you knew nothing of the world outside of this house and your mother’s household. When the lock in the door clicked, you forced your head up high, at least you wouldn’t give Mrs Pluck the satisfaction of seeing you broken. 

The smug smile on the housekeeper’s face made you grit your teeth and straighten your back even more, gripping the handles of your two bags tightly. 

“Time to go,” Mrs Pluck smirked, opening the door wide and ushering you out. She didn’t grab your arm this time, but she followed close behind you, making sure to lead you through the crowded servant’s hall downstairs so that all could see you leave in disgrace. Mrs Robinson gave you a sympathetic smile, and you gave her a weak one in return. 

Out in the courtyard one of the stable hands was waiting with the wagon. Not looking back, you climbed onto the seat next to him and put your bags in the back. You had no intention of saying goodbye to Mrs Pluck, so you turned your back on her while she instructed the driver. 

“Drop her at the station, and make sure the groundskeeper isn’t anywhere around. He’s not allowed back here, do you understand?” 

“Yes, Mrs Pluck,” he replied, gathering the reins and preparing to leave. 

“He was sent off yesterday afternoon, he’s halfway to London by now, good riddance,” she huffed. You could hear the contempt in her voice and you were glad you couldn’t see her face, evil, vicious woman. 

With a jerk the wagon began moving, the driver clicking his tongue at the horse. You held on to the side of the seat as the wagon left the big house behind, rolling out onto the long drive down towards the main gate. The young stable hand said nothing as you stared straight ahead, but from the corner of your eye you could see him cast curious glances at you. 

“Whatcha do?” he asked eventually, “Get knocked up?” 

“No,” you said between tight lips, “Not at all.” 

“Steal summit then?” 

“Absolutely not!” you exclaimed and he shook his head. 

“No, you don’t look like the thieving kind, too fancy for that.” 

The wagon rolled down between the trees of the drive in silence for a while before he spoke up again, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

“So what did you do?” 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but you might as well tell the rest of the servants as they’ll be gossiping either way; I fell in love with the groundskeeper, we kissed, and Mrs Pluck saw us and ratted us out to the lord.” 

“You kissed?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise, “That’s it and you got booted? Mean ol’ bitch,” he shook his head, “Only ‘cause she’s an ugly old bat who no one wanted to marry. She’s always making life miserable for the housemaids, she had one of ‘em dismissed for just looking at the delivery boy from the village. Said she knew they’d been sneaking off together when everyone knew Jenny never would never do anything like that. And believe me, I tried with her and got nuttin’!” 

He suddenly went beet red and cleared his throat, “Sorry, probably shouldn’t have said that.” 

The end of the drive was near and you could see grand pillars on either side of the open gate. 

“Do you think you could drop me just outside the gate? I’ll walk the rest of the way, you can have a bit of free time before you go back to the house,” you said, Pero’s cottage was near the wall of the estate and not far from the gate. 

“You sure? It’s a fair way down to the station, take you an hour to walk with those bags,” the stable hand said, but you could see he was already eager at the prospect of some free time. 

“I’m certain, I’d rather be on my own for a bit too, got a lot of thinking to do,” you said and he pulled on the reins, the horse coming to a halt just outside the gate. 

“Alright, this is your stop then.” 

You thanked him and climbed down, retrieving your bags from the back, and then watched him disappear down the road. There was a pub in the nearby village and odds were he’d head there for a pint before returning to the house. As soon as he was out of sight, you doubled back, finding the small path that followed the wall towards the groundskeeper's cottage. Tucking your bags out of sight behind a shrub, you hurried down the small lane. After a few minutes, you came to the cottage from the back, the small lake on the other side. 

There was no smoke coming from the chimney and the shutters were closed, making your heart sink. The cottage looked closed and empty without any sign of life. As you stepped into the small garden at the front, you knew he was already gone and a sob forced its way up your throat as you saw what he’d left on the doorstep. Weighed down by a rock, was Pero’s handkerchief, the one he’d used to soothe your stinging cheek after Miss Amelia slapped you. Slowly you walked up to the door and picked it up, the soft fabric smelling of soap and faintly of lavender. The sight of the carefully folded kerchief in your hands brought tears to your eyes, welling up and falling down your cheeks as you realised Pero was gone, and with no means to leave you a message except the kerchief on the doorstep. You never had the time to teach him how to write, and now he’d been forced to leave while you were locked up in your room. Where would he have gone? He only ever said he went south, and found whatever work he could over the winter, but where? You had no idea, and even if he went to London, how would you find him there? The city was made to get lost and hide in. But you had to try, somehow you had to try and find him. 

Squaring your shoulders you wiped your cheeks and tucked Pero’s kerchief into your coat pocket. The cottage held nothing for you now, and you didn’t look back as you retraced your steps back to your bags, and then out through the big gate. You’d take the train to London, find a cheap, but respectable place to live, maybe you’d be able to find the housekeeper who had worked in your mother’s household, you knew where she’d moved to and she was always nice. 

With the big house behind you, you set out to walk the long road down to the station. Pero had said you knew nothing of the world, but you’d need to be a quick learner if you were to survive so that you could find him again. 

After what felt like an age, your feet swollen and aching, you reached the small town that was serviced by the train to London. It was a relief to put down the bags on a bench inside the station house and stretch your back. The station clerk regarded you with curiosity but was friendly enough when you brought out your small purse and counted the coins needed to purchase a one way ticket. 

“The next train to London is in forty minutes, miss,” he told you, “and there are no delays on the line.” 

“Thank you, I’ll wait on the platform,” you replied, turning to pick up your bags. 

“I’d wait in here if I were you, miss,” he said, a concerned look on his face, “there’s a vagrant hanging around the station house. He’s been here since yesterday evening and I think he’s sleeping on the benches. I was just about to send my boy for the constable so you best wait here until he’s gone.” 

“A vagrant?” you asked, a small burst of hope going off in your chest, “What does he look like?” 

“Frightful! Nasty scar right across his face,” the station clerk said, “Dark too and - miss!” 

The clerk called after you but you didn’t hear, you were out through the door in a flash, turning on the spot, searching up and down the platform. 

“Pero!” you called, spotting the sleeping man on a bench at one end, “Pero!” 

He jerked awake, on his feet in an instance before he’d even spotted you. You were already running towards him as his eyes widened, and with a few long strides, he was scooping you up, crushing you to him. 

“Mi amorcita,” he mumbled as you threw your arms around his neck, finding his lips, giving no thought to who might see. 

His arms were lifting you up, one hand cupping the back of your head, holding you tight to his warm mouth and you felt tears begin to stream down your cheeks. You sobbed against him and he pulled back, mumbling a stream of soft words in Spanish that you didn’t understand, his hand coming to wipe away the tears, caressing your cheek between kisses. 

“Don’t cry, mi vida, don’t cry,” he mumbled, placing another soft kiss on your mouth, “You found me, you found me.” 

“I-I went to the cottage, I found your handkerchief,” you stuttered, “I was going to look for you in London but I was so scared I wouldn’t find you.” 

“I’ve been waiting, I was hoping they’d put you on the train, I couldn’t leave without being sure,” he said, loosening his grip on your waist so that he could cup your face with both his hands, his brown eyes dark as he stroked your cheeks and pressed another long kiss to your lips. 

“Being sure of what?” you asked as the kiss ended and Pero shook his head. 

“Another plan of Mrs Pluck to ruin things for us,” he scowled, rage flashing across his face, “She told me she was the one that found us out and that she’d taken you to your uncle. She said you were locked up in your room and that you’d been allowed to stay at Yotes because you’d sworn to your uncle that you didn’t love me. That it had only been a foolish crush, that’s what she called it.” 

“Oh, Pero….” you breathed out, fear gripping your heart as you realised how Mrs Pluck had tried to make Pero leave you behind, “You know that was never true!”

“I know, amor, I know, of course. You’d only just left with my heart in your hands, I knew she was a lying witch,” he pressed another kiss to your lips, a soft moan escaping you as you felt his strong body wrap around you. 

“But what do we do now, Pero?” you asked, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking up at him, “We’re both out of work and I guess you got no reference from my uncle either?” 

“No, he didn’t, but I have plenty of references from the work I’ve done over the winters, I’ll find work there. But…” he hesitated as he frowned, lines of worry across his forehead, “I had a plan for next summer, when I came back for you. A plan for how we would start a life away from your uncle and Yotes Castle, but now…I might ask you already even though it is soon.” 

“What did you plan,” you asked as he let his hands slip from your cheeks, down to hold your hands in his. He paused, looking at his fingers as he entwined them with yours, so large and rough compared to your soft, ink stained ones, before he looked up at you, a small, nervous smile, a rare thing from him, on his face.  

“To ask you to marry me, to go to that place in Scotland, and jus-”

“Yes!” you cried, louder than you intended, “Yes, yes, yes, Pero!” 

You pulled your hands from his and wound them around his neck, making him stumble back as you kissed him hard. A surprised grunt came from him as he grabbed your waist to stop you from knocking him to the ground. The grunt soon turned to laughter as he tried to speak between your kisses, you hugged him tight, your body filling with light as you pressed your lips to his. 

“Cálmaté, mi amor,” he chuckled, taking your hands from around his neck and holding them between his own again, “It won’t be easy, we don’t even belong to the same church, but if you’ll have me, that is my plan.” 

“Yes, Pero,” you said, your voice suddenly unsteady as you felt tears starting to run down your cheeks, your emotions overflowing as you looked into the eyes of the man you thought you’d lost until only a few minutes ago, “I want to marry you, everything else, we’ll figure it out.” 

“I don’t even have a ring for you, mi amorcita,” he said, leaning forward to kiss first one tear stained cheek, and then the other, “I want to promise you everything, but I can’t give you anything.” 

“Pero, you’ve given me hope,” you whispered, “and love. That’s all I ever wanted, to marry for love. And then everything else will be easier.” 

“I can give you that at least, and I will keep you safe, no one will ever treat you the way they did again,” he said, his brow furrowing, the scowl creeping back onto his face as he shook his head, “Never again, amor.” 

You let your fingers caress his forehead, smoothing out the frown and tracing the line of the scar across his eye. You touched your lips to it as he closed his eyes, a feather light kiss to the feature so many feared him for. 

“My guard dog,” you smiled, “ ‘mi perro guardián’, wasn’t that what you called yourself yesterday?” 

He nodded, his eyes still closed as you continued to kiss his face, touching your lips to every mark as if to map it with your mouth. 

“Tú perro guardián,” he mumbled, “I will protect you, amor.” 

[romana-after-dark]

Our Gentle Sins: Part 3 (formerly Be Quiet)

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

My god this header is ass but I was an emo kid what can I say

Series Masterlist : Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist

Follow @romana-updates and click follow, join my tumblr community or ask to join the tag list to keep up!

Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi : Go Fund Me

Chapter summary: Past. You open up to Logan. Present. Logan opens up to you

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religous trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

2.8 words

Before

Logan had tried to do as Charles requested. Tried. Honestly, he had but the place wasn’t THAT fucking big, and he kept running into you during all the times it was least oppretune, all the times he was aching for touch and tenderness as the soft skin only you could provide.

And he missed you. That little trip to the store had sent something burning in his, a spark of joy that ignited in his body that maybe this time, you would be different, everything could be different. You were fun, gentle, kind and soft and passive… He thought of how you were so scared of the man, he felt your fear drumming in your heart and at the moment all that mattered was protecting you. Still, you didn’t want him to hurt the man. Empathetic little thing.

Glancing up to find your eyes on him at diner hurt so much he tried to keep his eyes trained on the food at all times. He tried not leave his room for fear of running into you in the hall. Hell, sometimes he didn’t even want to be in the house because he could fucking smell you. He could smell when you were ovulating and on your period, in tune to everything you did despite trying to avoid you, leaving him him alone in his room to fuck his fist day after day, hour after hour humping a pillow because he couldn’t control himself like a horny teenager.

And Remy was no fucking help.

“Logan!” He called from down the hall. “I need a favor.”

He rolled his eyes. “Awful lot of favors with you, huh?”

Remy LeBeau laughed as if it was a joke. It wasn’t, Remy’s ‘favor’ had landed him in this predicament in the first place.

“I am supposed to eat lunch with notre ami,” he says with a smirk that makes Logan assume he’s not talking about Jean or Emma or Ellie. “But I’m afraid I’ve been called in another direction.”

“Is the other direction some girl’s pussy?”

A glint in his eyes. “Some man’s pussy, to be specific, cher, but a gentleman never tells. Anyway, I need you to let her know I can’t make it, send my apologies.” Remy already started walking away. 

Logan half shouts down the hall. “What, are you two going on dates now?”

“What’s it to you?”

Logan was fuming, absolutely livid. You and Remy? Fuck no. Not a chance in the world. Well sure, it would make sense. Remy was soft, kind, funny. He knew how to romance a girl. Or a guy. Or whatever it was he was sticking his dick into. He could wine and dine and woo his way into those little dresses with the right words, the right touches… He could be friendly, nice… but Remy LeBeau is not the kind of man to settle down. He’s a slut. You? You are a romantic, he could tell. Young and innocent and still believing in true love and Remy was the kind of guy to make you fall for it. Not intentionally…. Probably… but Remy didn’t understand you. Not like Logan did.

So, despite not telling Remy he would deliver the message, he went to find your classroom anyway.

*

It was early in the semester still, but fall was beginning to creep in on the New England days. Still, it was lovely out and the smell of oak made you happy, so you cracked a window. Air was good for the kids. 

You had an upper level class, literature, and were just finishing the discussion of The Count of Monte Christo. 

When you hear the door open, you expected Remy but instead saw Logan. This surprised you, considering how obvious it was he had been avoiding you, you give him a warm smile and turn back to your class who were just beginning a brand new discussion.

“But I don’t think he’s motivated by revenge, he’s motivated by love!” A young girl argues with her classmate.

“He killed people, Jess.”

You clapped your hands together, “Guys I’m so sorry but that’s our time! As much as I’m sure you’d rather skip lunch and discuss Dante’s true motivation,  I have to let you go. Come prepared to pick this right up tomorrow!” You said, thrilled this has gone so well. 

Students grab their things and file out, several saying good day and several more staring at Logan as they passed. Logan glared at one particularly bug eyed boy.

“Logan.” You call his attention from the kid, and as Logan steps to your desk the door shuts behind you. You gesture to a chair near the front of the class. “Forgive me, but my feet hurt from standing. Is it alright if I eat?”

“Of course.” He hurries to answer, scrambling around the desk to pull out your chair. He’d be damned if he was outdone by Remy. His movements were awkward and clunky. Logan wasn’t an animal, he was raised to be a proper high society man, and even though he left home young, he lived during much more… polite eras than now. While he preferred to live more rustic, he knew how to be a gentleman.

You smile up at him from the chair, thanking him quietly. Logan pulls up a chair to the front, sitting with you. 

“Remy ain’t coming.” He blurts out, ready to break the news of the date as bluntly as possible to make him look worse, but when he saw the worry on your face he read your mind. “He had to go take care of business, he’s fine though.” Watching the relief on your face made him annoyingly jealous. “Sorry he had to miss your uh…” Logan glanced around the room. “Date, I guess.”

He likes hearing you giggle, even if he thinks it might be at him. “Did he call it a date?”

“Well… no…” Why did he feel so flustered with you?

“Good. It’s hardly a date. I have higher standards than sharing a sandwich in my classroom.” Despite his protests, you lay half your sandwich on his side of the desk. He couldn't say no to you. “Remy eats lunch with me sometimes, keeps me company. As a friend, if you were wondering.”

He was.

There was a comfortable silence as Logan ate the sandwich you gave me, doing everything he could to not hum as he delighted in it. How did you make a simple caprese sandwich taste so good? How did he get roped into sharing a meal with you when he was supposed to keep his distance?

“You’re good with them.” He mumbles with his mouth half full. When you look up with confusion he elaborates. “The kids, I mean. They like you. I can see it, and I’ve heard others talking.”

This makes you blush, looking away as you deflect the compliment. “Thank you, it’s probably the only thing I’m qualified to do.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. Were you a teacher before you came here?”

“I wasn’t anything before I came here.”

Logan gestured for you to continue, so you set  down your sandwich and cleared your throat, still looking down. “I’m not really qualified to be here, honestly… It’s not like a secret or anything but… it’s not exactly something I’m shouting from the rooftops so… I mean you don’t gotta lie or anything…”

“I won’t say anything” His voice was soft, comforting. He made you trust him, so you let it all out.

“I didn’t graduate high school.” You fidget with the hem of the flower print dress that went past your knees. “I got married at 16.” When you glance up, you’re expecting to see his weirded out, uncomfortable, or maybe even disgust at you. Instead he looked concerned. 

“Jesus, doll. How the hell was that legal?”

You explain. “With parental consent and judicial approval, you can get married pretty young. My parents knew the judge.”

“And your parents were okay with this?”

Logan wasn’t stupid, he’s 200 years old and has seen plenty of teenagers getting married, but it wasn’t as common as you might think. By the time he was coming of age, marriage age, even for women, was going up. Teenagers were teenagers, he supposed.

“It was their idea… he was um… he was 20.” 

The realization dawned on him. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

You give a little shrug and go back to eating. “It was pretty normal in my circles. I didn’t realize how weird it was until I was 18 or 19 or something when the doctors- well, yeah.”

Curiosity crested on the topic of doctors, but Logan knew better than to push too hard. “And what are ‘your circles.’”

A little smile quips up on your lip and Logan notices a seed from the whole grain bread on the bottom lip. He wanted to kiss it off.

“Ever watch 19 kids and counting?”

Logan nearly cocked on a tomato. “What?”

You smirk at his reaction. “Yeah. We were IBLP, fundies I guess people say. I got 11 siblings, wore jean skirts, homeschooled, all that. I even met a Duggar once at a conference. Not the creep one. I don’t think.”

Your blase nature around your strange childhood was a defense. Every day you learned new things that you grew up in that weren’t normal, Remy and you spending hours walking the grounds, just talking. He is shocked you never watched spongebob, you are shocked he was allowed outside after dark. Both of you had a bond over failed arranged marriages and childhood abuse, but he was further along in the deconstruction path.

Nodding along, Logan tries not to freak out. Part of him wants to run away from this conversation. He doesn’t want you to open up, he doesn't want to feel pity or sympathy or learn anything that might endear you to him even more. Part of him wanted to rip out your family and your husbands throats.

“I assume that means you didn’t graduate?”

“Not even close. Homeschool was a loose term, honestly. My parents believed women didn’t need math or science, not that they believed in science, but they encouraged my read thank goodness. I spent a lot of time reading and writing, studying that stuff since we didn’t have a TV. When I say Mr. Xavier took in a stray, I meant it. I’d have absolutely no options, no social security card, no birth certificate, even. Not even McDonalds would have taken me.”

Logan frowned at that, popping the last bite into him mouth. “Why not?”

Despite it all, you laugh still. “I didn’t know that was a thing until I wondered into a Walmart asking for a job and they laughed in my face. Mr. Xavier explained all that. Listen…” You shift in your seat. “I taught all 11 of my siblings English, literature, poetry, reading, writing… I promise you, I might not have gone to college… but I know what I’m doing here.”

He shot you an assuring smile. “I didn’t doubt you for a second, Dolly.”

Logan spent the rest of your lunch break helping you cut out book themed decorations for your classroom. There was so much he wanted to learn, like why you can’t drive, how you left your husband, how you possibly gained the courage to do it knowing nothing of the world and what had happened to you to make you run like that? How brave you must be, for such a small, vulnerable thing, to do that. Logan found he greatly admired you. He had his healing powers, his strenth, speed, his claws to protect him. But you? Just out on your own.

He wouldn’t fuck you. He wouldn’t fall in love. He would do as he promised Charles, he swore it to himself…

But from now on, you didn’t need to be afraid of anything.

Logan would be your claws.

After

You banged on Logan’s door, not caring who heard.

“LOGAN!!!” You shout, continuing to bang even after he opened the door. You didn’t care. Fists pounding on the door turned into fists slamming on his chest. Logan didn’t seem phased, its not like you were strong. Instead, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his room before closing the door. You knew you should fear he’d rape you again after what he did but you couldn’t care anymore. 

“Dolly-”

You throw the pregnancy test in his face, dried piss and all. “I hate you! I hate you!” You continue to scream at him and smack at his chest but he lets you. You scream, and scream and his and scream until there is nothing left in you and you fall to your knees crying.

Logan catches you, kneeling down and taking you into his arms and you just let him because fuck, you are so starved for affection, so desperate for touch it doesn’t matter that it came from him. You fit neatly in his lap, his chest warm against your head as he holds you to him.

He smells like oak.

When you calm down, you shove at him again and fall off. 

When he reaches for you, his worry stricken face trying to convince you he was the Logan you knew before, you shout, “No!” Pointing directly at him.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Dolly. I am.”

“No, you’re not.” A sniffle alerts you of your runny nose, and you wipe it with your sleeve. “You knew what you were doing! You can’t- you apoligized while raping me, Logan!”

He winces. “Don’t say that…”

“What, rape?” 

That cringe again. “Don’t- don’t call it that!”

You scoff, a sardonic smile playing at your lips. “Oh, I’m sorry, that's upsetting to you? I can’t imagine how that feels, Logan.”

A moment of silence. Then he huffs a small laugh. You hated him, you hated how easy to was to fall back with him, to feel comfortable with him when he did something so horrible to you… and yet when you look at him now, sitting on the floor with the big eyes and little kitty ear hair as you called him, you didn’t see the man that raped you. You just saw Logan.

“I’ll get an abortion.” You say without much conviction.

“No, you won’t” He sounds more convinced than you were. Logan’s eyes were soft, patient, like a parent waiting for his childs fit to end.

You sit back against the wall, exhausted. “Yes, I will!”

He smirks. Is he making fun of you? “No, you will not”

“Or what, you’ll hurt me? You’ll follow me around everywhere?”

Logan chuckles at that. “No. I don’t need to do that. I’m not entirely convinced you would have taken that plan B, honestly.”

“Wha-” 

“How would you get there in the first place? You gonna ask fucking Remy to drive you to the abortion clinic?” He doesn’t give you a chance to answer. You and him both know what it is. Leaning in, Logan rests his elbows on his crossed legs, tight tank top straining against his pecs. “I know you, sweet baby doll. Better than Remy, better than anyone ever could. You may have left that world you lived in, may have left those beliefs and your parents and your husband and your pastor, but it hasn’t even been a year. Some stuff comes easier to digest, like realizing your husband doesn’t have the right to beat you with a switch. Some stuff, like what's going on in your womb… that gets a lot harder to sort through. I know you, and you just don’t have the guts to get an abortion”

You hated him. You hated him because he was right,

“That’s why you chose me, isn’t it.” The tears dripped down again, but softer this time. “Because you knew I wouldn’t.”

“No.” He sounded certain, final, almost deviated like it was important for him to know you understood what he was saying. “Dolly…” Logan leans over getting on his hands and knees. Slowly, he crawls across the floor to you, a cat hunting his prey, shoulder blades moving in time and jutting out of his shirt. His eyes were trained on you.

“I didn’t choose you, baby doll. None of this was my choice. The moment I saw you, every single choice was taken away from me.” He stalks closer, and you press your head against the door as your heart rate picks up again. “You were mine, I was yours, and everything that’s happened since has been fate pulling us together.”

Your lower lip quivers, making you whimper. “I didn’t want…” You almost say you, but can’t bring yourself to it. It wouldn’t be true. “I didn’t want that.”

His face is right up against you now, soft little breaths fanning your cheek and his eyes lidded with lust. “I didn’t want it to happen like that either, dolly.” His lips brush yours. “But I can’t deny fate any more than you can deny me.”

Logan might be a little ooc in this ill be real but shhhhhhhh

Also this is not hidden pro life agenda. I am pro choice.

I was raised Catholic and I remember even though a few years into deconstruction I couldn’t let go on the idea abortion was murder. I was assaulted and thought I was pregnant from it and spent hours sobbing in church because I wasn’t know what to do. Luckily it’s a choice I didn’t have to make in the end but please know whatever choice you made for your body was correct.

Want more yandere delulu logan?

Fan of this and also love joel?

Want soft logan, no dark?

If anyone else writes dark logan and wants to be fwends hmu <3 gotta be lgbt inclusive and general leftist stuff. I'll reblog your stuff!!!!!

Consider donating to doctors without borders to support gaza

If anyone knows more good dark logan writers hmu bc i just dont know anyone else!!!!

I appriciate you all supporting my logan work! keep on send them asks! I hav sunday off so i ll ge more then !

if you dont normally read my stuff, sometimes i do polls at the end of my fics. usually its about the story but i gotta do this for like....... well

I wrote the worng way and spent most of it regretting the name bc i just went with the first thing. Same here. this was initially a one shot! nut i fel the title is too simplistic

love yuh!!!

[uniquedinosaurdreamland]

Lionesses x Reader

-Spiderman and Cinderella-

Cute little start to a maybe series xx

Lionesses x Reader, Lionesses x R!Children!

🌷

Your whole life was flipped upside down at sixteen. You were on your way to become an amazing football player, playing the the U17’s Lionesses as well as in the Liverpool Academy and were deemed one of the best upcoming players. But It all went down hill when one night at a party you got drunk, slept with a guy and before you knew it, you were standing in a bathroom with a positive pregnancy test staring right back at you.

Conversation after conversation followed with family, friends and staff about what to do next. You had managed to contact the boy from that night only to get ghosted and to find out he had left town the next week with his family.

You support system was made up of the best people in your life, being there with you through everything even when learning that it wasn’t just one baby but two. Nine months later your beautiful twins were born, Theo Luka Y/L/N coming out first followed by his sister Maisie Luna Y/LN. Your heart was full from the moment your babies were placed into your arms and you knew you would give them the world and more.

Nobody expected you to return back to football but just four months later your were back in the academy, juggling school, football and your twins but in the end you made it work. Now fast forward three years with your two bundles of joy now being three years old you were on your way to your first senior call up for the England National team.

You were the last to arrive at St George's Park due to having two bubbly, energy filled toddlers who refused to wear anything beside a Spiderman costume for Theo and a Cinderella dress for Maisie. Arriving just in time for dinner, you left your bags as you were notified someone would take up to your room that only held you and the twins.

There was no time to be nervous when entering the dining hall, having two of the most extroverted toddlers ever they didn’t waste anytime in rushing through the doors and towards the food. Taking no notice of the many eyes that snapped to the two toddlers, like always in their own little worlds.

“Slow down guys, I will get your food. Be patient please.” You ran in after them, smiling apologetically at the chef who didn’t know what to do with two kids babbling at him in a toddler language he couldn’t quite understand.

“You got some energetic kids there.” You turned around to the voice of Sarina, smiling as she pulled you into a hug before bending down to the twins levels. “Hi, my name is Sarina. What are your names?”

Maisie and Theo looked up at you simultaneously, making sure to give them a small nod to tell Sarina their names. “Spiderman” Sarina let out a laugh at Theo’s answer.

“Well nice to meet you Spiderman, and I am guessing you are a princess.” Sarina turned to Maisie after shaking Theo’s hand gently.

“I am Cinderella.” Maisie said poking out her chest in pride, you couldn’t help but smile as your new coach stood a curtsied to Maisie, the toddler letting out her tiny giggles that never failed to melt your heart.

Sarina stood with you as you grabbed plates and filled them with food you knew Theo and Maisie would like, lucky for you they were absolutely angles when it came to eating, when they were younger both of them even ate dog food for you childhood dog that was set out at your parents home.

“Two hands.” Placing the tray carefully into Maisie’s hand. Unbeknownst to you Leah and Lucy had stood from their respective tables and made their way towards the group of you.

“Need a little help there mister?” Leah bent down grabbing the tray from Theo’s hands to her own as he saw the young boy struggling. “You wanna come sit with me, I’m Leah.” Theo once again looked warily at the blonde stranger reaching behind him to tug you shirt, causing you to turn around.

“Hi.” You couldn’t help but be awestruck at the two world class defenders in front of you, managing only a small greeting.

“Hi, I’m Leah I can take this little guy to come sit with me.” The blonde greeted showing off her trademark smile.

“Oh god, you really don’t have to.” You said shaking your head knowing Theo was in his most energetic mood and he was eating his dinner which meant he was very messy.

“Mummy I want to go.” You looked down surprise at Theo.

“Okay then off you go, I want all the veggies gone when I come check.” Not another word was uttered from your three year old as he happily took Leah’s hand as she led him to her table that sat Keira, Georgia, Beth, Jordan and Katie. You didn’t even notice Maisie was already sat at a table with Lucy, Rachel, Millie, Mary and Alex.

“What just happened?” You said to no one in particular, Sarina laughing and patting your back.

“You got free babysitting, just go with it.” Sarina smiled before making her way back to the staff tables.

You didn’t have to worry about where to sit cause as soon as you turned around from grabbing your plate the loud voice of Ella Toone rang out calling you over to sit down at a table that held herself, Alessia, Lotte, Esme, Lauren and Chloe. Your nerves shattered away as you fell into a comfortable conversation with the group of girls, not taking any note to the conversations your twins were having with some of Englands best.

“Is your Mummy good at football?” Rachel asked Maisie who was stuffing her face with food, sat comfortably in her chair that had four cushions stacked to keep her in level with the table.

“My Mummy is the best, she gets all the balls in the net.” Maisie smiled at Rachel who she had now named Ra-Ra, the three year old having a nick for coming up with nicknames for people with names she deemed to hard or long to say.

“She sounds pretty good.” Millie smiled at the little girl across the table.

Back at the table Theo was sitting in he was telling a long story about how he was going to be the best football player ever. “What position?” Keira asked the boy, who thought about his answer for a sec.

“Keeper like Jordan Pickford and Mary Earps.” Theo replied with a big smile on his face.

“Yo, Mary you’ve got a future keeper here, says he wants to be like you and Pickford.” Georgia yelled to the table Mary was sitting at, she caught Theo’s eye giving him a big smile and thumbs up.

“Theo what happened to becoming a striker like your mum.” You said to Theo having caught wind of the conversation that was happening across the room.

“Keepers at the unseen hero’s of the game.” You jaw dropped as the three keepers around the room cheered at your son’s words.

“Who told you that? also your veggies better be done.” Your son’s face dropped from his sly smirk into a annoyed face as he looked down at the broccoli and carrots on his plate that you knew for a fact he did like but just didn’t eat it straight away to annoy you.

Having lost track of the time as everyone sat and talked you looked down at your phone to see it was the just about time to put the twins to bed, knowing they were bound to crash soon you knew it was time to get them to bed.

What you hadn’t expected to see when you stood up to grab the two toddlers were both of them fast asleep Theo in the arms of Beth and Maisie asleep in the lap of Millie, looking tiny in comparison to the brick wall.

“It will never seize to amaze me how they always fall asleep with everyone else but me.” You smiled at Beth who gently passed Theo into your arms.

“You’ll be back down right we are all just hanging out down in the team room.” Leah asked before you could step away from the table.

“As soon as these two are settled I will be back, by the looks of things I will be back very quickly.” You smiled at the table walked over to the other table where Maisie was cured into Millie’s chest.

“I can bring her up.” Millie immediately offered, making your heart melt at the kindness from all these women just on your first night.

Soon enough with Theo in your arms, Maisie in Millies as well as Rachel tagging along for the ride you made it up to your room without any toddlers waking up. “Was it hard to come back from giving birth?” The question came out of no where from Millie as you placed Theo into bed.

“I though about not doing football and just giving up all together, I was sixteen, still in school with twins it was almost impossible to do it. But football is everything to me and I really wanted to come back and I knew if I worked hard enough I could make it my career. It was hard, but even getting this call up makes it feel all worth it.” Millie and Rachel nodded along to your words as you placed both twins on one of the beds, making sure to set up a baby monitor in case they woke up.

“They’ll be fine in there?” Rachel asked.

“They’ve had a long day i’ll be very surprised if they wake up before I come back to the room, they somehow always wake up when they feel my presence come back.”

Coming back to one of the team common room everyone was sitting around in their different groups. You decided to join a group of the younger girls who were playing a game of uno.

“I’ll deal you in.” Alessia said smiling up and giving you seven cards to play the game.

You were able to play about two rounds with Niamh taking the win for one round while you took the win for the other. Most of the girls also had a big travel day so everyone headed to bed early including you, waving goodnight to Esme and Lauren who took the room beside you. You quickly entered the room quickly checking on the twins, getting ready for bed and falling straight asleep.

[smolvenger]

The Baronet Seeks A Wife, Chapter One.

A Crimson Peak Multi-Part Fanfiction.

Thomas Sharpe x fem! Reader Arranged Marriage AU.

Summary: England in the 1890s. When your spirited sister, Charlotte, defies your family by running away from her arranged engagement to Sir Thomas Sharpe, you are the one who must keep your family from scandal and ruin...by taking her place as the baronet's bride.

Word Count: >7K words. You may want tea and scones as a repast as you read this.

Warnings: Angst, some hurt/comfort, and fluff at the end. I attempt to convey the period as accurately as I can bc if you don't like it or find it interesting why write it. Period accurate attitudes of gender and social class. Mentions and discussions of sex, but no smut (yet...let me just say...after Bridgerton season 3 episode four...I have *ideas* heheheheh). Brief mention of childbirth. The fear of domestic violence is mentioned, but not portrayed. Grammar and spelling mistakes. If I miss something and you see something that could be triggering that I didn't mention, then it is your responsibility to please please please tell me. I will take full accountability for how I portray marginalized groups and sensitive subject matter and make sure to better my writing and make sure affected parties are protected.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @jijilaufeyson @steasstuff @anukulee @kimi01985 @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @giona45-5 @goddessgirl43

London, 1898.

“I won’t marry him!” your sister cried.

You have seen this scene plenty of times. You could recount it like a play production you had seen too much. You were sitting in the parlor, trying to read a book and rest your feet. But your mother and your older sister, Lottie, were on each other’s last nerves.

‘Lottie, you have to!” your mother insisted.

You found you couldn’t focus on the words. You only sat there in stillness, watching in silence. A maid walked by the door, her eyes flicking over to the scene, but then she kept walking down the hallway.

Your mother pressed a hand to her forehead and sighed as if in pain. 

Your older sister, Charlotte, was curling her fists on her side. The red dress, the new one father ordered for her at the shop, only made her seem angrier. She was literally burning with the fire of fury.

Mama let out a huff. Then she glared at Charlotte, her arms akimbo.

“Listen to me. Right. Now.” your mother began.

You felt bad for your mother. There was a lot on her mind. To have both daughters out in society at one time. They agreed it wasn’t fair for one daughter to go about having fun when the other couldn’t. Charlotte was older, so she was more experienced in being out in society. She made her debut it seemed ages ago. You recalled your own debut. You had your turn to wear white and curtsy before the queen before she dismissed you for the next girl. You were already beaming with excitement. Ready to enter the glittering, grown-up world of the London social season. Prepared to dine and dance in pretty dresses every April until August.

But every year, it seemed the bags under Charlotte’s eyes increased. Now years had passed since then. And mam still had two daughters who were still out. And unmarried.

Charlotte dreaded going from your country home to London for the warmer months.She hated the constant balls, parties, meals, picnics. She at least liked riding her horse in Hyde Park but loathed she couldn’t go faster. She would sneak out to smoke cigars. Bugs and reptiles fascinated her more than gossip. She scribbled down notes. She turned prickly if any man asked for a dance. She spoke boldly and even swore. She enjoyed the horse races and polo games and sports, but the art of feminine flirting was beyond her.

But your parents had plenty of money and two daughters. But only so much money could support so many seasons. And as the eldest, the pressure was on Charlotte. There was the occasional brave soul who proposed marriage to her. Only to face the inevitable, flat rejection.

So Mama and Papa took matters into their own hands.

Mama met enough people who networked her to cross paths with a single baronet. They porposed a marriage between him and Charlotte, to which he agreed. Your sister was engaged after a mere three meetings with the fellow. Not that you had a chance to meet him either. So no rejection. No proposal. A ring on Lottie’s finger forcibly placed on her like a child force-fed turnips to her mouth.

“Lottie, do you know how much that dress costs? The very one on your back? Every season, your father and I make sure you and your sister have new gowns so you may be presentable in public. That is what they demand- that eligible ladies always dress in fresh new clothes. So any gentleman will not scoff at you wearing yesterday’s rag. You may not like it- but this is for your future. For your family’s future.  May I remind you- You are the eldest. You must make a good match not only for your sake- but your sister’s future. If you marry well-then she will be set up to succeed. There are plenty of decent men with more than enough money to make you comfortable here. Every year, they ask to dance with you. Every year, at least one proposes. And every year, you say no. ”

Charlotte huffed, folding her arms.

‘I didn’t want to marry them. Any of them. I wouldn’t make them happy and they wound’t make me happy at all.”

Your mother glared down.

“You have had more than enough chances to secure yourself forever. Do you want to live at the mercy of your father’s charity all of your days? If he cut you off this minute and threw you out of the house, you would have nowhere to go, and no way to survive. Lottie, do you realize how many seasons you have had? Do you realize how much we must pay more and more for you both to be presentable when you are out? Do you realize how much this is costing us and yourself?” she scolded.

She caught her breath. Charlotte was breathing hard, and you could see glimmers of tears in her eyes. Mama stepped closer.

“Charlotte…you’re no figure of pity. Not yet. You have had plenty of chances- they still call you the Wild Rose of London. Your face won over dukes, earls-so many girls would have loved to be in your shoes!” she said softly.

Mama was right. Charlotte was considered the beauty of the family. When she made her debut, heads turned to look at her. Everyone, you included, thought she would make a match easily. After all, your father was in charge of a great business that made a lot of money. You were now part of the upper crust. So a pretty face, a decent family reptutation and a sizable dowry with her bold, vivacious character would have won someone’s heart. And in a way they did. The first man who proposed to Charlotte you thought was going to be like shooting a sitting duck.

Even though “spinsterhood” did nothing to dampen  your sister’s face,you were all proven wrong. Very, very wrong. 

Lottie slouched as much as she could in her gown and frowned. A habit she never abandoned as a child.

“Your father had to take action. You will be a part of the esteemed Sharpe baronacy and he will reap the monetary benefits. He is a nice man, pleasant, charming, and he will take care of-”

“So am I nothing more than a thing you auction off at a bazaar? Not a person with a heart? With feelings?” Lottie combated.

“We were going to be driven at this rate to ill repute, and financial ruin all because you wouldn’t marry!” your mother argued.

“Then why not let me wear an old dress?” Lottie shot back. “Or have me not do a season! Let me remain a spinster and paddle my own canoe!” 

“Sir Sharpe will take care of you. He promised it!” Mama assured.

“Being stuffy old Lady Sharpe and wasting my life in balls and parties is going to drive me to insanity! An arranged marriage- mama, it’s practically medieval!” Lottie shouted.

Your mother folded her hands.

“Your father has set it in stone. There is no point in this conversation. You are going to marry Sir Thomas Sharpe, and that is final!”

Your sister jumped up. She stormed off, slamming the door shut childishly as she huffed off to her room.

Your mother turned to you. You sat in your own blue tea gown, not expecting company. For a night of no events in the London season was a special treat. All of the picnics, lunch parties, park trips, operas, theatre, and balls were fun- but back to back, it was exhausting. But hearing your mother and sister yell at each other was ten times worse than the exhaustion. 

You stood up.

“Am I….a bad mother?” she asked. You saw tears in her eyes too.

You put a hand on her shoulder, a fine, matronly gown of dark green brocade. You offered her a handkerchief. 

“I only think you are a desperate mother put into a difficult situation.”

“She won’t listen to me. Much less your father…she only listens to you anymore. I hate we must do this…and I hate myself,” she sniffled. 

You patted her shoulder.

“Mama, let me speak with her. Let me help patch things up. Make her happy,” you offered.

She nodded. You exited the library, walking up the stairs to Lottie’s bedroom. The odd servant paused in their dusting to curtsy at you. You wold give them a nod and a smile, before you continued. Walking past vases of daffodils and over velvet rugs, you found the door locked shut. Crying coming from inside.

You knocked on the door.

“Go away, papa!” she fussed.

“Lottie, it’s not papa, it’s me!” you assured her.

Your sister went over and opened the door, letting you in and shutting it after you entered. With it’s wine red wallpaper, the place seemed to be dark as the sun was dipping outside. Her desk empty of any papers and her hat set on top. Her colllections of newspapers piled on one chair near her parasol. The drawer where she hid her cigars was kept with a lock and a key she dared not tell even you.

“Lottie…I’m so sorry you have to do this, and how miserable it makes you…it sounds like a nightmare,” you admitted.

You could see tears streaming down her face.

“Do you remember when I was eleven and asked mama and papa for a pet snake? They know how much I love snakes- they’d give me little toy snakes. I wanted a real one. I’d call her Cleopatra for the irony of it. But they said no. Every year I asked and they kept saying no.would always say no. They try….but they can’t love me, or understand me. And I keep trying to please them…and I keep failing and now…they’re throwing…”

She sat on the bed and began to cry. And you hugged her.

“Here….here…” you said. “My poor girl, my poor Lottie!” you cooed. 

“I want to go places. Have adventures and jolly, capital times.  I want to run, and explore and see things! Not be stuffy old Lady Sharpe in some stupid house having babies until I’m killed from it!” she mourned.

She shoved aside her journal and laid down on her bed. Tears streaming her face.

“It’s what you deserve…Lottie. A life like that! But now,  we need to think of what we can do and not what we can’t do,” you suggested.

You paused, thinking for a second. You leaned closer as she turned away. A gentle hand on her side.

“Sir Sharpe…you’ve met him, haven’t you? What is he like?” you asked.

“He talks about his stupid inventions all day,” she muttered from her side. “And he won’t answer anything about what his dead sister was like or what was in that old mansion.”

There were only three things you knew about Sir Sharpe as of this morning. He was a baronet. He grew up in a mansion called Allerdale Hall. He lost an older sister. But that was it. Now thanks to Lottie, the sum rallied up to four.

You leaned closer, more mischief in your voice. You hushed to a whisper.

“What does he even look like? Perhaps he’s at least handsome! Maybe at least…on your wedding night…” 

Lottie turned over, wrinkling her nose. 

“I’m sorry, YN, but he’s ugly! He has a big forehead, and big ears, and a big old nose!” she cried. Her voice far too loud for the question you asked.

She grabbed her pillow and hugged it around her.

“Don’t get me started on my marital duties. I could retch at the thought of it. If Sir Sharpe even thinks of going to bed with me, I’ll box his big ears off!” she decalred.

Part of you couldn’t help but laugh a little. Even Lottie’s own pretty, pink mouth was curved up in a small smile at her own words.

“Practice on that pillow!” you dared.

She hit the pillow again and again.

“This I’ll give Sir Sharpe and -this! I’ll give Sir Sharpe!”

She reached over and got her parasol and gave it a few more good whacks. Feathers were starting to burst out from it and litter the floor.

“Heavens, at this rate you’d have killed him!” you commented. 

“He would have earned it!” she replied.

‘“Then you’ll be a criminal and I’d have to bail you out of prison!” you replied.

“Oh no! Then I guess we must be outlaws and run off and live like Robin Hood and the rest! Better than listening to Mrs. Mean drone on about governesses!”

Both of you burst into laughter. The Means lived up to their name and every reception they found a new group of people to complain about. You both heard it all and had to silently look at each other to promise to only laugh at them when it was done.

You both laughed, smilng bright. How you missed the easy days of your younger years. You could play about and get in and out of trouble. You and your sister knew where to strike to hurt each other, but couldn’t live without the other. You fought as intensely as you played. You did everything side by side. You took her hand and hugged her again, even though she was still sniffling.

Lottie sagged her shoulders. Her hold on the pillow loosening.

“But…I’m unhappy. I wake up every day with this and I’m miserable. Like I can’t get out.” she sighed.

“Think of this….” you reasoned. “I hear husbands are easier to manage and persuade then fathers! Once you have money and you’re not under their thumb, you can go about as you want and do what you want! Idon’t think Sir Sharpe would stop you….”

You paused. A horrified shiver ran through you.

“Not that I…know much about him. Do you think he….did he ever…ever…hurt you?” you asked.

She shook her head.

“No, he hasn’t been less than gentlemanly. And he wouldn’t hurt me in any way after we’re married, I’m sure.” she replied.

You both sat on the bed and held hands.

“Then don’t be afraid, Lottie…maybe marriage isn’t a prison, but your key to freedom! Once you’re a married woman, you can do whatever you want and Sir Sharpe won’t stop you. And if he does anything, tell me. And I’ll box his ears!” you replied.

Lottie’s tears were drying in trails down her cheeks. Yet she smiled in spite of herself. Then you hugged one last time.

“I should ring for some cakes and mint tea from Anne! That will cheer you up!” you said.

As you rang the bell for them. Anne, one of your maids, hurried up. She took the order and promptly left. She returned with a tray in only ten minutes. You both relaxed on chairs as the tray balanced on a mahogany table.

Turning, you saw Lottie write about in her journal.

“Oh, croissants! My favorites,” Lottie cooed. She picked up one and began to dig in.

“I’m just glad you have thing that make you happy…I just want you to be happy, Lottie,” you said.

The pastry returned to her plate.

“And…YN…”

Her mouth opened as if to speak. Then she stopped. She reached over and held your cheek. Studying you carefully, as if you were a piece of art. A work she could only admire in person once before she had to leave. Something she had to commit to memory. There was a sad smile on her face.

There was a sad smile on her face.

“I want you to be happy too…”

She kissed your forehead and you smiled. As she helped herself to a big slice of strawberry cake. Her eyes were tired, crinkly.

“I think Lady Charlotte Sharpe has a ring to it. Like the heroine of a book!” you said.

Charlotte turned to face the window. The sun melting down and the sky promising night.

“But this isn’t a book, this is reality…” she responded.

She looked at you and then at the ring on her finger. The engagement ring already commissioned. Costly and pretty, but useless and ominous on Lottie’s hand.

“I think you would have liked him...” she said.

“Sir Sharpe will be nice to have as a brother,” you replied.

She looked at you. But said nothing as she nibbled on her croissant. As the tray was partially emptied, you excused yourself. But Lottie caught your arm. You saw her lip quiver. She leaned closer, her voice quiet. And Lottie was not a person who liked to be quiet. 

“I’ll always remember that your words. That we must do what we can and not dwell on what we can’t. Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for the tea, too.”

By dinner time, she was quiet. She dressed nicely and ate modestly. Then went to bed without a word to you.  As you went back up to change for bed. How unlike her! Your sister was chattiest at night! But you but shrugged it off. She was probably just exhausted. London’s balls lasted from night until six in the morning and you would be lying if you said they didn’t take a toll on you too. And you would need some rest if there were to be callers, a garden party, and maybe a horse ride in the park  the next day.

❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁

When you awoke the next morning, the sunlight streamed like melten butter into your room. Outside, it was another lovely day in May. People were already tittering about the Ascot opening later this month.

Your maid helped you into your day outfit of a white lace skirt and a blue skirt with flowers patterned with silk. You only hoped Lottie had improved. Before breakfast, you would check.

You knocked on her door.

“Lottie! Good morning!”

No reply.

“The chef is making us bacon! It’s going to be delicious!”

No response. 

You beat your fists against the door.

Nothing. And she was a light sleeper.

“Lottie?” you called out louder.

You realized the door was unlocked and opened easily.

She was gone. Servants followed you inside. Her bed wasn’t made, there was no sign of her.

“Is she in the garden? Is she riding in Hyde park this early? ” you asked Anne. But the maid shook her head.

Then, to your shock, you saw there was a piece of paper on it. And a ring. Coming closer, you saw it was her engagement ring.

You felt the world pause as you read her handwriting.

“Hello everyone,

You need not fear, for I am not hurt or seduced by some scoundrel.

I cannot be Sir Sharpe’s wife.

I love all of you. But I cannot do this. This is not what I want for my life.

I shall be safe, do not worry.

But do not try to reach me for some time.

All of my love.

Charlotte Y/L/N.”

Breath knocked out of you. You stood frozen. You hardly heard your parents rushing in. You didn’t feel your father snatching the letter from your hands. Looking down, they were still in the air and shaking.

Your mother began to sob.

All of your plans were canceled. A private detective was hired and Charlotte’s lady’s maid was fired for permitting this. Though the sobbing maid insisted she didn’t know where Charlotte went. All day long, people scurried about in a panic. 

You felt tears well up in your own eyes. Alone in your room, it was your turn to burst into crying.  It was already as if your dear sister was already dead.

You recalled the letter said she was unharmed. She wasn’t about to be left pregnant with some scoundrel’s bastard. She hadn’t…taken her own life and for her to return only as a corpse. As far as you knew, no news meant she was alive and safe. That would have destroyed you. Taking hope in that, you went back to put on a brave face to your family.

There was the odd caller in the afternoon. But their noses were upturned. Knowing they would report anything and everything. The slight smiles on their faces as they looked about made you want to scream.

Why didn’t Charlotte think about this? The next day, your grief boiled to a silent rage. By running off and vanishing, it meant there was a scandal. And now society would all turn their faces away from you. They would frown and whisper and gossip. The unvirtuous daughter who ran off. And no one would want to go to your parties or dinners. No one would want to see you or associate with you. And no man would ever want to marry you, knowing you were the sister of the runaway spinster of a disgraced family.

That last part pained you. Not that you knew from Charlotte there was shame in being a spinster. But…you hoped to fall in love. Not just to marry a man of stability, to meet a wonderful, nice man who made your heart patter fast. To be kissed and receive valentines and dance and have him drop to his knees, begging for you. Just like in the fictional books you loved. 

But the days dragged by. The detective returned after a week and shook his head. And the hope for anything good in your future seemed more and more like a fiction itself.

❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁

You paced about in the gardens one afternoon. It was better to do something with your anxious energy. Two weeks and no sign where Lottie vanished. You sat by, hoping the coolness of the breeze drifting through flowers would calm you. But not even the loveliness of an English June could distract you.

Anne stepped forward and curtsied.

“Pardon me, Miss. But your father wants to have a word with you in private,” she announced.

She led you up, taking you to Papa’s study. It was a room in dark green, his favorite color. A few books lined up the walls and his desk was placed behind the window. Your father was staring outside when he turned around as you were brought in.

“Ah, sit down, my dear,” he requested.

You obeyed. Sitting on the wooden chair before his desk. Your father brought out a decanter of brandy and poured himself some in a little glass. You noticed it was a generous amount. Not that you would blame him.

He poured himself a second glass and offered it to you.

“I have some news with you, Y/N…” he began.

“Have they found her?” you asked with hope.

“No. And that is exactly why I have to tell you this…”

If there was no update, then what could it be? You wondered. You took the cup and held it in your hands. A little hesitant to drink it yet since it was still so bright in the day.  It didn’t feel right to drink such a spirit so early to you. Something was brewing- you just had to let him say it. 

“The engagement between your sister and Sir Sharpe it was…it is still and shall be beneficial. To us and to the Baronet. We must be respected by all sorts of society through connection to the baronacy. He needed the money- his own little toys wouldn’t be enough to sustain a gentleman’s life. And with Charlotte’s disappearance- you understand why we don’t have as many visitors as we do?”

“It’s a scandal, papa, I know.” you replied.

“But…we must return to society. We cannot show up defeated. We cannot let them beat us. We cannot become a laughingstock or a figure of pity.”

Where was he going with this? You held your tongue and folded your hands. The drink carefully balanced over your lap. He was only repeating everything you already knew.

“There is one way out that solves all our problems. Especially if at this point, Charlotte isn’t to be found…”

“We can’t give up on finding her, on making sure she is safe!” you insisted.

“We have more immediate matters..” he continued.

You raised the glass to your lips, taking only a sip. It burned down your throat onto your churning stomach. Your father looked directly into your eyes.

“ I have one daughter left who is out. But YN, I don’t think there are many gentleman who will want to associate with a ruined family. No gentleman will consider you marriage…But…”

“But?” you prompted.

“But there is one gentleman who doesn’t think so…” he continued.

“Who?” you asked. You put both hands over your cup.

Papa looked directly into your eyes.

“Sir Sharpe.”

Your throat tightened. Part of your vision went dizzy. You began to piece together where this was leading. Nausea gripped your insides as your hold on the glass turned into a grip.

“He knows he needs our money and to be back into society. We still need the respect of his title…and we have a daughter left who must be taken care of…”

You found yourself hyperventilating. Words choked out of you.

“Am I…am I…”

“YN, you are going to marry Sir Sharpe in your sister’s place this coming month.” he announced flatly.

A sound came out of you. You put a hand over your mouth. You now knew what Lottie felt. Your whole body went tight. You had to catch your breath. How glad you were to be sitting, for your legs were already shaking bad and your vision was spinning. You looked down at the floor, trying to pull yourself together. Your father kept talking.

“Now, I know this isn’t pleasant. Especially for a romantic such as yourself. I know you have yet to be formally introduced to him. But, Y/N, my dear- we have to be practical about these matters. There is no respectable solution to this problem at this point, if Charlotte is to not return.”

He was right. As twisted as this was, was there another option? 

Who would want to associate with a family who couldn’t keep an eye on their eldest? Who would want to invite a family who let their daughter run away to their breakfast party? Who would want to court the sister of the woman who ran off from her own marriage? Who would want to marry the daughter of disgraced family? 

The more you thought about it, the more you realized there were few options. You were now too socially stained to marry anyone. Your days would be spent alone. Sitting in your house as others lived their lives happy and free, laughing at you behind closed doors.

Your family had no other options out. 

A marriage to a man who belonged to a knighted family would earn you respect. It would be telling society that at least one man from a respectable house saw worth in you. You would still go to events not as a figure of pity and ridicule, but as one of them- even ranking above them.

You didn’t want to be a figure of ridicule. Someone who everyone would smugly turn. Whispering to each other “how glad I am that I’m not her!”

You had to marry. And marry well.

You would never be proposed to at this point. There would be no courtship. No dances. No poetry. No marriage proposals. No valentines. No love letters. No Passion. No balls. No laughter.

But there was never going to be a proposal like this.

No future. No safety. Nothing if you denied your father or refused him or rebelled as Lottie did.

You would just be tied and tethered to a ruined family all of your days. But becoming Lady Sharpe would free you from that. You could start anew. Spring again like a wild tiger breaking out of its cage to bear her claws.

And this was your only chance.

“Yes, papa. It will be an honor.” you replied. You would do your duty, as all daughters must.

Father walked out from behind, abandoning his drink. He put a hand on your shoulder and then pulled you for a hug.

“There’s my brave girl,” he said.

He released the hug.

“Alright, Sir Sharpe is going to visit at dinner tomorrow. And my associates at work will be there too, to celebrate. That way, you will have a formal introdution and you won’t be walking down the aisle to a complete stranger.”

You felt your fists grab your skirt. With your free hand, you grabbed your cup of brandy and downed it in one gulp. The burning ran through your body, and you prayed it would calm your racing mind.

“Do I need to wear my nicest dress?” you asked. You at least didn’t want Sir Sharpe to think he was settling from the society beauty. Downgraded from the Wild Rose to her frump sister.

“Considering he has already said yes to this arrangement, I doubt wearing your ugliest dress will do anything to about the matter,” replied your father.

❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁

Anne dressed you in a cream dinner dress of country silk and velvet. Your sleeves puffed like clouds. there was lace as a “belt” around your waist. The bottom showed an underskirt that was a color between light brown and pink. Anne had hair like yours, and knew how to style it as you liked. Your dress almost white in the light. Already you were going to meet Thomas looking like a bride.

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed seven o clock. You thought you would sweat through your dress. Part of you was tempted to lock the door and not step a foot out the whole night. But you knew you could not delay the meeting anymore. At this rate, you would just meet him on your wedding day. You just had to get it over with.

Besides, you were going to spend the rest of your life with him until only death or divorce did you part. You were just holding back the inevitable. 

“You look beautiful, miss,” she gushed as she looked at you.

“I wish I was as pretty as Lottie, sometimes. Or as brave as her…” you lamented quietly.

“Don’t compare yourself to her, miss. You know she has her own sufferings. And it will only make you more unhappy.” Anne advised, giving you a pearl necklace. She attached it to you from behind. 

 Both of you looked at your reflection in the mirror. Anne leaned in closer with an encouraging smile. “Just think of all this like armor to a battle, Miss Y/N. You can’t give up the fight, yet.”

I can be brave, like Lottie. I can fight, like she can. You thought. How could you be as stupid as to forget your own advice to her not long ago? You would do your best to find the way to make it a good situation. Manipulate your position and standing to your favor, even. For that was what women always did. For being the “weaker sex”, they always found a way through to survive. So what made you think you would just cry and pity yourself all of your days?

You reminded yourself of this. Still you felt heart racing hard as if the gallows was what awaited you next month and not the altar. Holding your head high, like a queen in her palace, you walked out of your room and downstairs.

A few women had shown up in the foyer. They eyed you greedily but you would not give them a figure to be pitied. You kept a stoic face as they offered a few tepid congratulations. But you felt so buzzed with anxiety, you only half heard.

“We’re so happy you found a husband,” said one.

Husband- husband! A husband! A fiancee! How was it that it happened already? And with no romantic proposal in a moonlit garden away from a ball. Just in an office that smelled of whiskey with your father relaying that you were now engaged. And your husband- no, you weren’t married yet, no need to panic now. Though you saw no men around, you knew that your fiancee was under this roof. 

You didn’t feel ready. You felt like you were just an adolescent playing dress up and not a grown adult. 

“Ah! There you are, YN!” your father greeted as he walked over, dressed in his evening tuxedo. He offered his arm.

“He’s in the library, sharing a drink with the other men. I think it’s time I introduce you both,” he announced.

Swallowing, you took his arm. The one thing keeping you afloat in the ocean of turmoil raging inside you.

Papa walked you over to the library. Your heart picked up as if you were running. In just a few short seconds, you would see the man you were bound to for the rest of your life. Your mind was itself running at a hundred miles a second and you felt yourself shaking like a leaf.

Father turned to the door and your fears screamed inside of you.

You dreaded what your sister said. Her voice ringing in your ears bemoaning Thomas’s apparent ugliness.

“He has a big forehead and big ears and a big old nose!”

He was ugly. You had to settle for that. But what made you were frightened was that perhaps he was a bad person. Perhaps he would hurt you, betray you, break you even.

Wait…didn’t Lottie say herself he wouldn’t treat her in that way? But…you weren’t Lottie! He could act completely differently…

No…you were forming an entire judgement on someone you hadn’t even met!

But, even if he wasn’t handsome…perhaps he would be a nice man. Men didn’t have to be handsome to be good. They could be kind, respectful, patient, gentle, genuinely kind husbands.

So which one was he? A kind, pure soul? Or an irredeemale monster?

Both? In between? Neither? There was only one way to find out. And the answer was standing with the other men beyond that wall.

You took in a deep breath, your father opened the door.

The dark green, musty library already smelled of cigars. Lottie would have loved it. There was a bit of laughter, as their smoke floated to the air. Cups of whiskey was passed and there was talk of this and that issue in Parliment. So many men in black suits like a horde clamored around, as if each one was copied from the other.

Your father cleared his throat.

“Gentlemen, may I introduce to you my daughter, Miss Y/L/N.”

Once, it was Lottie who was “Miss Y/L/N” and you just went by Miss and your first name after. But now that she was gone, you were promoted up. You were Miss Y/L/N and the family’s fortune and future were already on you like a yoke you had to drag across the field.

“It appears that for one of you, you are about to be a very lucky man next month…” your father continued.

One by ones, heads turned to see you. Some in curiosity. Some in boredom. Some in hunger seeing your neckline. You were already making guesses as to who your fiancee was with each passing face. Already one man had a curled mustache. Another had grey hair with busy sideburns. Another round spectacles and short brown hair with a mousy face. Most of them were wrinkled, lined with grey, with a gruffness to their demenaer.

“Sir Sharpe,” your father announced, turning his head.

Your eyes followed at once. That is him- you thought. That  is him! That is him, that is him, thatishimthatishimthatishim-

An old man patted a hand on the shoulder of another. The younger had hair had longer, dark curls He was so deep in conversation with someone that he almost forgot. The grandfather nudged him. The younger figure paused.

“Thomas! I believe your lady is here.”

Then he turned around. 

Thomas Sharpe was the handsomest man you had ever seen. 

The breath you had was knocked out again as you took him in. What on earth was Lottie thinking? Looking at him, you began to question her taste and strength of vision.

Thomas was a tall man with a hair full of raven curls. Slender, but not thin for he had a broad chest. Soft blue eyes that only contrasted with his dark hair and a face the color of porcelain. You now understood the fairy tale of Snow White and why she was the fairest in all the land. For the male equivalent was here before you. He had high cheekbones and large hands. He looked like the hero of a Bronte novel, but one if the author confirmed his handsomeness rather than his ugliness. 

He looked into your eyes and he smiled at you. Butterflies fluttered around your stomach and you could feel your eyes widening.

Your father gestured at him and he walked over.

“Sir Sharpe, this is my daughter.Your fiancee.” your father announced.

“Miss, I am glad to finally be acquainted with you. You look beautiful, tonight,” Sir Sharpe greeted. 

He raised your hand to his lips and looked right into your eyes as kissed your hand. A gasp could not even escape your throat. Something was stirring beneath you when his lips touched your gloved hand. You felt a sensation you dared not name in the most private part of you. 

Finally, steeling yourself back to the earth, you remembered basic etiquette.

“Thank you, Sir Sharpe. I am glad to make your acquaintance as well,” you replied with a curtsy.

Sir Sharpe sat across from you at dinner. You hardly said a word unless someone asked you something. 

You couldn’t believe this. You couldn’t believe him. You somehow found your appetite again and ate. But you felt self conscious with each bite. Thomas was watching you- what was he seeing? Would he judge you? You moved even more carefully and properly as you could.

 Every time your eyes met,  Every time he looked at you, a heat rushed through your whole body and your eyes would return demurely back to your plate or the napkin on your lap. When he smiled at you, you felt as if you could die. You had to remember your feet was touching the ground as you wiggled your toes in your pointed shoes.. 

He spoke poliely when asked to, but mainly listened. There was polite talk about the weather or the Ascot opening race. Thomas would ask you about what you thought and you found your replies were timid. You didn’t want to make a wrong move, you didn’t want him to hate you, you didn’t want-

Then your father stood up, raising a glass.

“Now, everyone,” he declared. “Let us have a toast. To Sir Sharpe, the delightful Baronet who I have the honor to call my son in law not long from now. And to the marriage of my beloved, dutiful daughter-”

You found yourself looking down. Dutiful, dutiful. This was why you were here. Lottie was not dutiful and broke everything. But now here you were to fix it all. For everyone’s sakes, including yours. It would have be you thrown to face the unknown of marriage to this unknown aristocrat. Yes, he was handsome. But he was still a stranger.

“Cheers!” toasted your father.

Everyone replied with cheers as they clinked glasses. Thomas gave you another smile and clinked yours. You felt yourself become timid. His looks, his smiles, and you were acting no better than an loony adolescent.

Thomas delayed going to after-dinner sips of brandy with the other men. He remained in the parlor with the women sipping on coffee and went to you. He led you over to a corner away from nosy mamas. He spoke lowly, for you to hear.

“How are you, Miss Y/L/N?” he asked.

“If I must be entirely honest, I am afraid,” you confessed.

His eyes softened at you. They were the color of a spring sky. You had never seen eyes as blue as his.

“YN, I know this is sudden. And I’m shocked as you are. But…”

He offered his hand and you took it. Your glove over his skin. Then he placed his other over yours, and already you found yourself chilled comparing his large hand to your own. To feeling that one bit of touch. For now you were almost married, and to touch was permitted.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me…I will try to make you happy, with everything I can.” he promised.

“Nothing will happen to me. You won’t hurt me. And you won’t let anyone hurt me, will you?” you asked.

A shadow of sadness passed over his face.

“No. I won’t.”

[chxxrybxxmb]

: ̗̀➛ Met the professionals

Synopsis: after winning the U-20 match, Ego starts planning the third phase of the project and you were requested to come back a few days earlier than the players for a quick briefing and to introduce you the new people that you would be working with.

Reader is 18.

Warnings: fem!reader, English and Japanese honorifics, swearing, reader has a little brother, suggestive comment, reader wears a dress and has makeup on, flirting, hottest dilfs alive and Micheal Kaiser.

Ego in his sugar daddy era???

“How’re you, Ego-San? I hope that you’ve been eating well for the past two weeks since I wasn’t here to cook for you.” You grinned kindly at your boss, entering the high tech office. Placing your handbag on the table, Ego doesn’t look at you and continues to immerse himself in important data.

“What’re you my mother? I don’t need you to look after me.”

“If I don’t look after you, who’ll make Japan win the World Cup?” You sassed. Approaching the table the looked at the holographic data floating mid air. You still wonder to yourself how much money went into this and how high tech this all was.

“Anri-San told me over the phone that I should come back a few days earlier than the players, when I tell you that those boys-”

“Ah, ah.” He raises his hand over to your mouth, stopping you from saying anything and you huffed, sitting on the tables edge. “Alright, tell me-” A holographic screen slides to your direction, revealing the information before you.

“The third phase of this match is called the Neo Egoist League. Where players pick a team that matches their skills. This phase will introduce a variety of investments, including high salaries, various offers from different teams all over Europe to play in their leagues, and so many more,” you click on the icon, Germany and saw the familiar face of the one who beat Messi in a match from three years ago.

“Noel Noa…?”

“Oh, yeah. The teams the players will choose are England, Germany, Italy, France, and Spain. Each European team is an S-class team led by the most exceptional strikers…I think you already know them.” Cue for the familiar faces of famous football players to come into the screen. Chris Prince, Lavinho, Noel Noa, Marc Snuffy, and the familiar face of Julian Loki.

“After the players pick their respective teams, they will be separated into different stratums or buildings. Anri-Chan will be sending you the rest of the details. Don’t embarrass yourself when you’re up close with them.” He says, giving you a side eye as you stare at a picture of Snuffy. You immediately snapped back to your senses and swiped away the image of the Italian footballer.

“I-I won’t! What makes you say that?!” He huffs and pushes you off the table.

“Unpack your things and help the other staff with room preparations. You will be preparing for five teams with twenty plus players. Go away.” You huffed at him and fixed your clothes. “Can’t you be more gentle?! Geez!”

“What’s this?” You looked at the white box, wrapped with a black bow that Anri handed to you, she looks very excited you took notice. She beams at you as you placed it on the dining table.

“Open it! Ego-San got it for us.”

“That Vector look-a-like got us something? Are you sure he’s alright? Should I call a doctor?” You worried turned to the older woman. Cue for Ego to smack you on the back of you of your head with a file.

“Ow!”

“Be grateful, you waste of talent. I’m pretty sure you don’t have anything decent to wear.” He hissed, pointing at your working clothes and you gasped dramatically.

“These are my working clothes, asshat! I can’t run around working in a mini skirt.”

“Oh, come on, Ego-San. (Name)-Chan just got back and you’re already picking a fight with her!” Anri scolds the two of you, pulling both her boss and colleague apart before they tear each other apart. “Just open the gift and tell me if it fits. Don’t approach me if it isn’t your style.” Ego spoke, going into the kitchen to prepare himself yet another instant ramen packet.

“If it fits?” You thought a bit confused. Did he buy you clothes? Or maybe it’s a new staff uniform, either way, you pulled on the strands of the ribbon, making it come undone. You then lifted the cover and saw some white paper covering, Anri was squealing excited next to you. Moving away some of the wrapping, you soon realized that Ego had bought you a designer dress.

You took out the dress from the box and looked at it with eyes peeled open. Ego, your harsh boss, had bought you a dress that was totally your style and in your favorite color? Is the world ending?

“Omg, Ego-San, it looks beautiful on her, definitely (name)’s style!” Anri gushed at the man who didn’t respond. As you continued to admire the dress and its intricate appearance, Ego cleared his throat.

“Do the two of you have any jewelry?”

“I only brought a few earrings with me, nothing special.”

“The ones that I’m wearing, I don’t change into anything different unless it’s a special occasion.” You and Anri answered. You wondered why Ego bought you an expensive dress and asking you about jewelry, all he ever talked about was football not fashion.

“Ego-San, what’s with the dress? I don’t think I can wear this to anywhere and this must’ve been expensive!”

“Is that really what you have to say…?” You shut up and looked at Ego and his unusual behavior. He sounded a bit disappointed as he slurped on his noodles. You grinned at the realization and brought the dress to your chest.

“Thank you, Ego-San, truly.” You could’ve sworn you saw a smile on his face. “Are you smiling, Ego-San-?”

“Being delusional has its fucking limits, kid.”

“I may be delulu but my eyes aren’t lying, c’mon admit it, boss!” You continue to tease as he continues to deny your claims. Anri smiles at this interaction. For once you weren’t spouting insults at each other or trying to kill each other.

“Shut the fuck up and take this.” Ego had enough and tossed you and Anri small bags of yet again designer, products. You then looked at Ego and then at Anri. “In all seriousness, why’re you gifting us these and where did you get the money of all of this? Last I remembered, we ran out of funds cause of the second selection.”

“After winning the match, sponsors came flooding in to support the project. Hence the brands and how we’re able to afford those teams to collaborate with us.” Anri explains. Looking at the Selim Mouzannar box in her hands with bulging eyes. You had a similar reaction as her as you look at the Azlee brand necklace on your hands.

“You didn’t really have to buy us so much…”

“I wonder how much of this costs…”

“I only bought you both heels. The dresses, jewelry and makeup were gifts from the coaches.”

“…are they looking for a sugar baby?” Anri and Ego smacked you on the back of the head.

“You look so beautiful, (name)-Chan!!”

“Have you seen yourself, Anri-San? You look like you’re going to the met gala!” The red-haired woman blushes as your compliment. She wore a red satin floor length dress with off shoulders. You looked at yourself in the mirror and saw a different person. You looked even more beautiful with the makeup on with lips were colored in lipstick. Your dress hugged every curve of your body and the jewelry made you look mature and expensive.

All in all, you look like you were going to a ball. Like a Princess.

“You look like you’re going to throw up.”

“I… I’m scared I’m gonna ruin this dress, like, what if I accidentally spill food or drinks on me?!” You continued on with your nervous rant about possibly ruining the dress, she sighs and grabs you the shoulders, pushing her face closer to yours. “(Name)-Chan, nothing is going to happen to you or the dress! They gave you this dress and it’s your choice what to do with it.”

She reasons and you nodded tentatively. She smiles and picked up her handbag, so did you.

“I’m amazed Ego-San wanted to host a welcome party of the teams.”

“I was actually the JFU who arranged this occasion.” You looked at Anri as if she grew a second head and laughed uncertainly. “Ahaha… really?”

“Really.”

“Like… really, really?” She nods and you scoffed. “Now that he lost our little bet, he’s sucking up to us? Serves him right for doubting us.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen how Ego-San reacted when the president told him about hosting a welcome party!” Hand in arm, the two women were immersed in their conversation as they walked down the dystopian-core hallways of blue lock and exited the premises where a wagoneer jeep waited in the entrance.

“I think Ego-San is indulging himself a little bit too much.”

“That car was sent by the JFU, dumbass.” Ego sighs as he walked out from the glass doors, clad in a navy blue suit with a bolo football tie. He didn’t look all that much to different from his usual getup. The suit was reminiscent of the one he wore in the U-20 match.

You immediately noticed at the bolo tie was a little loose and went in front of him, taking a hold of the tie. Ego seemed surprised at the sudden closeness and pulled away.

“What the hell?”

“Stand still, your tie looks sloppy…” You murmured, tightening it. Ego sighs and lifts his head a little to give you space, Anri smiles in amusement at this rare moment between the two of you. Like a daughter fixing her fathers tie before he goes off to work. It was adorable in her opinion.

You pulled away and looked pleased with Ego’s appearance with a smile. “Let’s go?”

“Let’s.”

You looked at awe at the building where the welcome party was taking place. You initially thought it was going to be at blue lock but apparently JFU didn’t deem your building fancy enough and held the welcome party at a five star hotel. As you wrapped your arm around Anri’s forearm, you peered through the city of Tokyo from the glass window of the elevator. It looked like a sparkling jewelry box from up there. The doors open and Anri pulls you along with her.

Anxiety emptied your stomach as your hands grew sweaty around Anri’s plushy arm. The older woman looks at you with a gentle smile that made your worries go away. You then looked Ego who had his hands on the large doors in front of you three, he looks at the two of you and you nodded confidently.

Ego pushes the doors open and you were welcomed by a flood of overlapping chatter, elegant women dressed in designer clothing and men stood tall and erect in their identical-looking suits. The hall looked massive with a balcony on the right side of the room.

Everyone stopped with what they were doing and bore their eyes into the three of you. Now you felt like you were going to throw up if they continue to stare at you any longer.

“If it isn’t the mastermind behind this amazing project!” You heard a boisterous voice boom your ears. You looked up and saw the fat rodent that is the president of the JFU waddling his way towards your direction. The feeling of nausea was replaced with disgruntled feeling as you held on Anri’s arm a little tighter.

“Chairmen, thank you for arranging this welcome party for the teams.” Ego thanked the bloated tanuki. He was uncharacteristically polite. Your brows furrowed deeper and the corners of your mouth tilts down as he glanced at you and Anri, he gulps and looks back the bull-cut-haired man.

“I-it’s the least we can do. Because with blue lock, I know we can win the World Cup with your guidance!” He spoke and the others in the room erupted in praises and applause.

“We’ll be doing our best to do so. Thank you for financially supporting our project.” Anri replied with a light bow and so did you, “I’ll be supporting the players as best as I can since I’m the manager and all of that.”

The chairmen then usher the three of you to the rest of the JFU members for some reason. You didn’t talk all that much and looked around the banquet hall, “tell me, (name)-Chan. How the players generally act?”

“Generally act?”

“What’s their behavior towards the other players? I’m quite curious.” One of the members asked. You tried to think of an answer without revealing the fact that everyone is at each other's throats, “well, they remain respectful to each other, off and on the field,” that was a bit of a lie considering Isagi calling Baro a donkey mid-game.

“They work hard and dedicate themselves, body and soul to the sport. They accept defeats to grow better not only as a player but as a person.” You replied truthfully this time, fiddling with the fabric of the dress. They took your word for it and seemed intrigued by your answers with nods and hums.

“And how do they act towards you? Since you’re one of the many female managers after all.” They smirked with suggestion. You sucked in the corner of your bottom lip to avoid snapping at him. What was even going through their sick heads? Do they want this project to end with just one sexual speculation?

“Respect… we maintain a distance that is manager and player. We don’t have a rather close and intimate relationship with each other.” That was a bit of a lie. The players acted relatively close to you but still maintained a respectable presence with you.

Aryu runs his hands in your hair while complimenting your makeup and outfit. Chigiri would ask you to play with his hair. You were terrible at it, but he didn’t mind. Otoya would constantly flirt and ask for your number. Karasu and Yukimiya would save you from him. Baro, Kunigami, and all the other boys would try to pitch in to help you. Bachira would always hug you whenever you entered the room. Nagi trails behind you like a lost puppy, along with Reo, who would talk your ear off about the stock market and ask you to go out on a date with him once he’s out of blue lock.

And so many more, the boys acted like you were friends at school which made you feel comfortable with your stay and you really appreciated the boys and their behavior towards you.

“Is that so? Nothing-?”

“Hey, shithead. Do you think it’s a good idea to ask a girl who's 18 if she’s having intimate relations with a bunch of guys who are 18 and below? That’s fucking disgusting.” Ego spat in a whisper to the man as he pulled you by the wrist and hid you behind him. Your eyes widen as well as the JFU member, and he stammers out an apology that Ego didn’t take so kindly.

You looked up at Ego as he glared in disgust at the man. With your heart beating against your chest as if it wanted to break free, sweat pooling into the palm of your heads, you pulled on Ego’s cuffs, and he turned his attention towards you.

“Ego-San, let’s not cause a scene…” you whispered lowly, gesturing to your side. Spectators were turning their heads at the three of you, who were drawn to what you were discussing. Ego looks at you, then back at the man. There was an unreadable expression on his face before he clicked his tongue and gestured for you to follow him.

“Don’t show your putrid face to me or my staff.” He hissed before walking away from the man with eyes following your every move like owls, but one look from Ego, and they returned to their conversations.

“Ego-San… thank you for doing that. I greatly appreciate it.” You spoke, pulling on the mans wrist. He stops and looks at you before flicking your forehead. “The hell?!”

“Be more careful next time when you encounter nosey pigs like him-”

“So you do have a heart in there, Jinpachi Ego.” You heard a voice state amused from behind. You couldn’t understand what he was saying. It sounded like German. You whirled around and saw the mystery man.

It was Noel Noa. Clad in a suit and bow tie. He had a stoic and serious expression with an ever-present frown on his lips, gold eyes dull into Ego’s obsidian pair of eyes before he shifted his focus to you and then back to him. When both your eyes met, you felt your heart rate go faster than ever before.

It was the Noel Noa. In the flesh! The greatest striker in the world, standing in front of you!!

You have seen this man in your television or phone but seeing him in the flesh was whole new experience.

‘Omg, omg, omg, omg, omg, omg-’

“What’s that supposed to mean, you stoic robot?” Ego hissed in German. You looked back and forth between the two. They seemed to know each other, you observed as they casually conversed with each other. “Seeing how you stood up for your female employee is out of character. I thought you weren’t Ego when I saw you.”

“Do you know each other, Ego-San?”

“In a way. Wear these. You’ll need it when communicating with the other coaches.” Ego fished out a small black box that had Blue Lock’s symbol on it. You took it from his grasp and opened the box. There were black wireless earbuds.

“Earbuds?”

“Reo Mikage’s family had decided to sponsor Blue Lock and give us one of their products. That being translator earbuds, it’s light and won’t come off no matter how much you move around, and it’s hardly noticeable.” You wore it, and it almost felt unnoticeable. You then turned to the striker and slight bow.

“What is Ego Jinpachi like at work, Ms.Manager?” You were a little shocked, hearing him speak so clearly in Japanese with a believable accent. These earbuds are something else.

“O-oh, well. He can very harsh and would constantly criticize you for the littlest thing.”

“That’s accurate enough.”

“You damn brat.”

“I’m (name) (last name), Mr.Noa. It’s an honor to meet you.”

“I’ve heard many things about you from Ego.”

“Good or bad?”

“A bit of both.” You sighed hearing his quick response.

“Although, he often notes how you go above and beyond with your work despite being so young,” Noa mentioned—taking a sip of his champagne. You worked up hearing his statement and looked at Ego, who didn’t meet your eyes.

“Ego-San sometimes shares with me his instant noodles and such.” On occasion, when you would be busy with your work, Ego would always make you some instant noodles for a snack to go with your work. It touched your heart as he did care for you after all. (Before he berates you for doing absolutely nothing)

“How… amusing.” Noel glances at his friend, whose eyes softened by a fraction. The striker was quick to take a champagne glass from a waiter's tray and hand it to you.

“Ms. (Last name), you wouldn’t mind if you left your boss and me alone for a while? So we can talk a little about this passion project of his.”

“Of course, have fun.” You whispered before walking away from the two men, placing a hand above your beating heart, and your lips formed a shaky smile—excitement and adrenaline running through your veins. You did your darn best to keep your smile under wraps in favor of showing a calm and professional side of you to the man himself.

“I need to tell Anri-San about this—!” You spun your head from left to right to find the red-haired woman, but you saw her surrounded by sponsors, with Anri conversing seriously with them.

You decided to calm your excitement down and walked around the ballroom. You had to admit, this was something you would see in a movie. The piano was playing in the middle room; you were drawn to its alluring melody, and before you knew it, you were in front of the grand piano while admiring pianist playing.

“Are you into classical music, Miss?” A man purrs into your ear from behind. You recoiled away upon feeling a person's hot breath against your ear. “Haha! Didn’t mean to scare you there, lovely.”

The man had short, curly blond hair, sapphire blue eyes and a mole in the corner of his right lip. He had a well-built body, the suit fitting snuggly in his body. He was taller than you, your head level with his chest.

“I don’t think it’s good manners to suddenly whisper into someone’s without even introducing yourself.” You retorted lightly at the man, and he raised his hands in a playful gesture. “Sorry, miss. I thought I saw a diamond in the corner of my eyes.”

He confessed with a lazy grin. You sighed softly at his attempt at flirting, and you looked back at him. He seemed familiar like you’d seen him before.

“Maybe it’s because of my necklace.”

“I wouldn’t think that if I were you, lovely.” He winks at you, you left a bit uncomfortable with him. “Umm, I just turned 18, I’m not that to comfortable with someone older by a few years older than me…”

“Ahahaha!! Just wait until the fans see this, Chrissy!” A boisterous voice boomed from across the room. A man with tanned skin and wild blond hair, swung his arm over to Chrissy. He wore a black suit with a gold blouse, some of the buttons undid to reveal his chest tattoos.

“You were the one who told me to do it! Miss, I am truly sorry.”

“No, he’s not. He was, like ‘dude, check out that girl with in that dress, she super fine, ‘m gonna go talk to her and hold my drink.’ Basically.” The man matter of factly. Chrissy’s jaw dropped and looked at you who was trying to process this information.

“Lavinho, you’re this worst!”

Wait, Lavinho? As in that famous Brazilian dribbler? Whose representing the Spanish team Barcha?

“You’re… Lavinho?” You spoke and the man turns to you before grinning ear-to-ear. He took your hand and bowed.

“In the flesh, pretty lady! Man, am I lucky to have gorgeous woman like you to know my name. It’s an honor.” He boasts to himself before he grabbed his friend by the arm.

“By the way, this is Chris Prince! But call him Chrissy, though, it’s cute right? Chrissy, Chrissy~”

“Oh my gosh, can you stop? You’re embarrassing me in front of her!” Chris Prince, commonly known as worlds no.2, whispered harshly into Lavinho’s ear, who blew raspberries into his face.

“Oh my gosh, are you immature!” You couldn’t help but laugh at their shenanigans. You never expected them to be this carefree in person. It was fun!

“Let’s calm down now.” You cooed at them, trying to stop Chris from pulling on Lavinho’s collar. “What the lady said, Chrissy. Calm down.”

“I am calm!”

“Says who?”

As Chris was about to strangle Lavinho, you hurriedly took him by the arm and tried to anchor him down with your body weight.

“Let’s calm down! We wouldn’t want to attract too much attention now, do we?” You stammered nervously as the crowd’s eyes were on the three of you. How many times has it already been since the attention was suddenly focused on you.

“You heard the lady, Princey-”

“That includes you, Mr.Lavinho.” He looks at you with shock and Chris glanced at Lavinho with a victorious smirk.

“He’s such a wild person, isn’t he, lovely?”

“A little bit.”

“What?!”

“But not in a bad way.”

“I knew I could trust in you, pretty lady!” Lavinho laughed as he slamming his palms on your shoulders making you wince.

“I hope you can forgive me for that initial greeting, miss?”

“Oh, right. I never introduced myself! My name is (name) (last name) and I’m the manager of Blue lock. It’s a pleasure meeting you both, Mr.Lavinho and Mr.Prince. And it’s alright, Mr.Prince. You didn’t do anything if offense anyway. You briefly introduced yourself with a bow and a smile.

“Oh~! So you’re the woman glasses mentioned we would be working with! Nice to meet you too. Hope we can work together soon!” Lavinho grinned as did Chris.

“Are you a model by any chance? I mean, you have the potential one.” Chris asked curiously. Your posture and beauty were very much similar to models. He would know as he posed with some female models in the past.

“I actually did some modeling jobs when I was 16. Although I’m currently on a break.”

“Ha! I knew it! A beautiful girl like you would be scouted sooner or later. Hey, how about we do a shoot-?”

“She told you she was taking a break from the cameras, Chris.” Another man reminded to the English man with a sigh as he came from behind you and smiled at you apologetically. He had short blond hair and large emerald green eyes with a very well defined nose.

“I’m so sorry about him, Ms.(name). Please don’t let him bother you.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind doing a shoot with him.”

“See?! It’s almost impossible to say no to this handsome face.” Chris laughs. Pulling out a hand mirror and admires himself, smiling at the mirror and winking at himself.

“Is he… usually like that?”

“Sadly.”

“You seem to know me.”

“I happen to overhear you introducing yourself, my name is Marc Snuffy. Call me Snuffy. It’s a pleasure meeting one of Blue Lock’s beautiful managers.” Snuffy grinned kindly at you making your heart skip a beat.

“Beautiful? Now, I think that’s a stretch!”

“Not what the posts say about you.” He laughs lightly, pulling out a phone to reveal screenshots of a Tiktok comment section filled with compliments and love towards you.

“I must say, the media quite likes you after those little videos with you and Pablo Cavasoz dancing.” You glowered in embarrassment as you remembered the famous baby-face Argentina player, who was mysteriously drawn to you and dragged you to Harajuku with you to film Tiktok dance video’s in the middle of the street or inside the stores and to go shopping.

Never again were you going to be bribed with food and a promise of manicures.

“I-I’m honestly flattered that you think that way, Mr.Snuffy. Thank you. You’re Uber’s coach, right?”

"Correct and I hope my team wouldn't be too much of a trouble to deal with." He jokes lightly making you laugh.

"Have you seen my players? They would be at each other's throats if I look away for a couple of seconds! Like my Rin and Isagi for example."

"Considering the fact that your no.10 dodged a hug from 11... I'd say that their relationship is..."

"Rough? Absolutely."

"We all have those friends." You and continues to conversed at one another about your teams along with his. Snuffy is quite the gentleman you noted. Very polite and respectful.

"Yo, Snuffy. When're we gonna go back to the dorms, 'm tired." You heard someone complain. A man with messy black hair with purple tips and dark purple eyes, laid his head on the Uber's captain's shoulder with a sigh. You rubbed your eyes to wear off any drowsiness as you thought the man had gold teeth for a second.

"It's only 10 pm, Lorenzo and button up your shirt." Snuffy scolded Lorenzo who groaned but stopped midway as he saw you. "Who's this pretty lady, Snufs?"

"Her name is (name) and she's Blue Lock's manager. Be kind."

"Isn't she on the news one time? Like people thought she was Pablo's girlfriend or stuff." You sunk on the floor in embarrassment, remembering the countless news articles that you were his girlfriend. You even got a call from your father who was pissed at you for keeping your not-boyfriend a secret.

"Erm, I'm actually not his girlfriend... hehe, it was an misunderstanding."

"Huh, really?"

"Yup, the media assumed that we were dating just from a few videos of us dancing and doing some sightseeings around Harajuku."

"I see. So yer gonna be our new manager?"

"As far as I know, yea."

"Let's be friends then! Snuf, 'mma borrow her real quick." Lorenzo immediately went towards you and wrapped his arm around your shoulder and waved goodbye at Snuffy who told the two of you to have fun.

"Names Don Lorenzo but just call me whatever you want since we're gonna be friends and all."

"Alright, Mr-"

"And no Mister and all that title shit, just call me Lorenzo or whatever- oh! Snuffy does call me Donny at times."

"So is Lorenzo alright with you?"

"Totes." Lorenzo was quite the character. He's friendly and a laidback type of guy, you felt at ease just by being with him as you started to slip from your professional mode. You were enjoying yourself with Lorenzo as the two of you conversed with other topics other than football.

"By the way, are this gold grills on your teeth?" You asked curiously. The two of you were seated a couch with a plate of crackers, cheese and caramel popcorn. He stops eating the popcorn and pulled on the corner of his mouth to give you a full view of his gold teeth.

"These babies? Nah, before all of this, i was some homeless kid on the streets of Italy, begging and robbin' people of their money until Snuffy came into my life askin' me if I wanna play football with him,"

"I was like, 'what's up with this dude? He crazy as fuck,' so then I was like 'replace my rotten teeth with golden ones' and do you know what he did afterwards?"

"He immediately dragged you to the nearest dentist and had it replaced with gold teeth?"

"Exactly! You're so smart." Lorenzo praises, throwing popcorn in the air and caught some with his mouth while also missing some, which you then picked up from the couch and ate it so it won't go to waste.

"Who knew that Mr.Snuffy is such a kind man."

"Kindest in the world. He's the type of person to not give up on others just cause." The player says fondly. You grabbed your champagne glass and felt it was unusually light, you then saw that it was empty. "I'm out of champagne. I'll go grab some more."

"Nah, I'll do it. You sit your pretty self here."

"Thanks but I can handle it, Lorenzo." You pat his shoulder before taking off with your empty glass and towards the bar for a quick refill.

You arrived at the bar and leaned against the counter. "Excuse me but can I get a refill in champagne? Non-alcoholic if there is."

"In a second."

"Can I get a martini?" Someone ask beside you. You glanced at them saw the familiar fluffy hair of brown to purple beside you.

"Are you... Alexis Ness from Bastard Munchen, by any chance?" The man beside you perks up upon hearing his name and turned to you with a nod and a kind grin.

"Yes and you're?"

"(Name) (last name). One of Blue lock's managers. It's nice to see you this evening, Mr.Ness."

"Please no need to call me Mister, just call me Ness and the pleasure is all mine.”

“Ness it is then. About that match with (club name), you did a good job out there.” You praise the player. You watched his match with (club name) a few weeks ago and was amazed at Ness’s clean assist and passes to a star player in his team.

“Really? I didn’t do all that much, it was all-”

“Why would you say that? Your assists were clean and quick. Not even the other players knew you would do it.” You interrupted Ness, and you meant every word you said. He looks at you in shock before red soon blossoms on his cheeks.

“You really think so?”

“Yea, although… I do have a tiny teeny problem…” Ness frowns upon hearing your last words. He had hoped he would gain a fan after all his hard work, but it seemed his efforts-

“That you didn’t score any goals!” Now that left him confused.

“E-excuse me?”

“You’re obviously a great player with amazing dribbling and passing skills, so why don’t you use it score your own goals? I mean, seriously, I hoped you would score that last goal before you passed to number 10.” You went on a little rant, and Ness stood there in awe with your words.

You weren’t focused with Kaiser but instead your attention was on Ness and even wanted him to score goals!

His heart started to beat even faster when you were praising his work and sets of skills. Ness looked up and got a good look at you, he had to admit, you were very beautiful in that dress.

“Kaiser is Bastard Munchen’s Ace so we dedicate all of the goals towards him.”

“But isn’t that letting your own skills go to waste? You’re hindering yourself just so that your number 10 can win. How about this?” You grabbed Ness by the arm and sat him on the stools, and you sat across him. Leaning towards his shoulder, you narrowed the distance of your lips to his ears. Ness’s heartbeat grew increasingly erratic as you drew closer. He felt your hot breath against the shell of his ear and smelled the perfume in your skin, blending with the champagne you were drinking.

“Your ace knows that you would be passing to him for every game, no?”

“Yes…”

“And I’m also sure that the rest of your team along with Mr.Noa would be aware of this fact. What I’m trying to say is that,”

“When trying to pass to your beloved Ace, change course and score the goal for yourself. I’m sure the opposing team would also know about your play style. Therefore, they would surround your ace to prevent a successful pass from approaching him.” You explained with a mischievous smile after seeing Ness’s shocked expression. Gone was his ear-to-ear grin as it was replaced with an open mouth.

“B-but Kaiser-”

“So what about him? He can score his own goals if he’s your so-called ace. Ness, you’re an amazing player, but you lack the independence of one or, rather… the ego of one. Omg… I’m starting to sound like Ego-San.” You pulled away from Ness and seriously contemplated your words. Ness, however, was silent as he let your words sink deep into his consciousness. You looked at Ness’s blank face, and yours swelled in embarrassment.

He probably didn’t understand your rambling. Even when you thought you sounded cool saying it!! You stood hastily after the bartender finally refilled your drink and cleared your throat.

“I probably wasn’t making any sense. This is more on Ego-San’s department. Forget I said anything, Ness-”

“No… I was hoping you could explain more about this ego. Please… I want to learn more about it, Ms.(name).” Ness took hold of your wrist and slightly tightened his grip on you. His tone… it sounded like he was begging you.

You stared at the B.M player with a conflicting mindset as you looked between your drink and Ness.

“So this is why my drink has been taking a long time. I didn’t know you were busy flirting with a girl, Ness.” A man purrs condescendingly as he struts towards you both. Ness reluctantly lets go of your wrist and looks shamefully to the side. “So-”

“And who is this lovely lady keeping you company, hm?” The man in front of you grinned at Ness. He had blond hair styled into a long mullet with blue fades. He wore a dark blue suit and matched it with a tie. Something was peeking from his collar, but you couldn’t determine what it was, probably a tattoo or something.

“(Name) (last name), one of the managers of Blue Lock, and I take it that you’re Kaiser?” His smile grows as his name rolls out from your tongue, and he takes your hand, fluttering his lips over your knuckles before he firmly presses his lips on your knuckles.

“Micheal Kaiser, das Fräulein. Star player of Bastard Munchen.” The Ace says matter-of-factly with a grin, and you smile at him uncomfortably, looking at the area where he kissed.

“Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew.” You repeated in your head as you tried to pull back your hand, but Kaiser gripped you as he incoherently conversed with Ness.

“I take it that you know Blue Lock’s Ace: Isagi Yoich? That plain looking guy.” Your lips turned into frowns hearing him describe your friend.

“Yes. Is there something you wanted to ask him?”

“Oh no, I was just making sure that you were his specific manager. After all, I would want him to look at your face once I humiliate him.”

“Excuse me?” You honestly expected Kaiser to be a prideful person. That was for sure. But for him to straight up admit his intentions in front of you? Now, that was a bold him.

“I think you heard me, (name). I plan to make Isagi Yoichi, the hero of Blue Lock, an obstacle for me to overcome. Make sure he’s worthy of that title.” Kaiser requested you like it was a normal thing to ask. As your glare towards him hardened, Kaiser couldn't care less. You slowly exhaled, placed your glass gently, and pushed yourself towards him.

“As you wish, I’ll make sure Isagi Yoichi will be an impossible obstacle for you to overcome.” Now it was his turn to be annoyed as he took his vacant hand and roughly grabbed your upper arm to pull you closer. His face was nearing yours with a cocky snarl.

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise, rather.”

“To think that Blue Lock would have such a feisty manager, I wonder how Jinpachi Ego leashed you.”

“Leashed me? Do you think I’m some kind of dog?!”

“Oh, I know! You’re the character who blindly placed her fate into the clown who thought of himself as the main character, but that’s going to change once I step into the field,” he removes his grip from your upper arm and clasps his hand around your jaw to pull your face even closer to his. You instinctively tried to tear away, but his strength proved greater than yours.

“I could just imagine what dear Isagi’s face will look like once I humiliate him in front of his pretty manager.”

“As if that would happen.” You rasped, trying to pry his hand away from your face. As Ness was about to intervene finally, Lorenzo came into sight, taking hold of Kaiser’s wrist with a deadly grip, his gold teeth shining against the light, and the Italian let out a whistle in amusement.

“Damn, Kaiser… never you would act like a dick if a girl don’t wanna be with ya.”

“Where did you come from, you damn zombie?”

“Wonderin’ where (name) was at, said she was goin’ to refill her drink. Didn’t know you were holding her hostage.” The two-star players glared at each other in disdain. Kaiser started to feel the blood being cut off from his hand and he rips away his grip from your face. You stepped back and massaged your jaw.

“Are you alright, (name)? I’m sorry I couldn’t-”

“It’s alright. I expected he act like this. Fucking prick.” You huffed, drinking your champagne as Ness looks ashamed.

“Honestly… I should’ve intervened when he grabbed you by the arm. I’m so sorry-”

“Ness, Ness, baby, love.” You sweet-talked and grabbed his jaw gently. (Unlike someone) “It’s alright, I get it. We all freeze sometimes, even I do. So you don’t gotta worry about it, okay?” You smiled. Expecting him to agree with you and let all of this be over with. He tentatively nodded, and you let go of his jaw before turning to the bartender. “Actually, can I get the bottle?”

Before the bartender could hand you the bottle, Lorenzo snatched it from him, took you the waist and led you away from the bar, making a mocking face at Kaiser.

“See ya in the field, naked emperor!” The Italian player laughs as he waves and pours you a drink. You turned to Ness and gave him a smile and wave, which he returned. You met Kaiser’s glare and returned it with a glare and a middle finger.

“Is he always so arrogant?”

“24/7, babe. 24/7.” Lorenzo sighs, patting your shoulder. “Hey, your lipstick… Kaiser must’ve smudged it.” He stares at the colored streak nearing your jaw. You placed your finger on it and saw the colored stain on your finger. You hissed at the sight and covered the lower half of your face.

“Damn that rat. Lorenzo, I’ll be back. Need to fix myself.”

“Sure, I’ll be on the couch!” He removed his arm, and you speed-walked through the crowd towards the hallway where the servers were going in and out. You swiftly dodged the waiters that’s were carrying snacks and drinks, you saw a waiter who seemed to be on break, seeing that she was on her phone.

“Excuse me, miss. Where’s the bathroom?” She looks up from her phone and points at the direction where to go.

“Second to the last door on the left.”

“Thanks.” And with that you immediately took off.

During the trip toward the bathroom, you recalled your rather eventful evening. A JFU member asking disgusting questions, Ego saving you, meeting Noel Noa, Chris Prince flirting with you, Lavinho laughing at Chris, Marc Snuffy appearing, Don Lorenzo whisking you away from the night, meeting Ness and getting harassed(?) by Micheal Kaiser.

And here you thought you would be the loner who escaped from the party to the safe haven that was the balcony. So much for that, at least. As you wiped the stain away, you were quick to reapply a new batch on your skin but before you exited the bathroom, you took a few photos of yourself for good measure and sent a few to your brother to let him decide which ones should you post as you were indecisive.

[You sent 15 photos]

You: which one of these do I look the prettiest?

Little demon: none

You: what if I tell Ma and pa?

Little demon: Your alrd pretty tho but for me 1 4 9 and 13 are the best ones

You: I know I’m pretty. I’ll be positing these soon after party

Little demon: don’t post. Dress is revealing. I can see your BOOBS

You: only a little :(

Little demon: what if I tell Ma and pa?

You: I hate you

Little demon reacted: 👍

You huffed seeing your younger brothers weak response and before you could text something back, you bumped into someone’s side.

“Sorry- (name)?” The man spoke, and you looked up to find the black French player in front of you wearing a suit paired with a bow tie. You lit up seeing the player and tucked away your phone to give him a big hug.

“Loki!! Oh my gosh, how’re you?”

“I’m fine. It’s good to see you again after a couple of weeks. Mr.Pablo has been bombarding me with texts asking for your socials. That man won’t give up.” He sighs as he pulls away from you, and you laugh.

“You might have you endure that for a little while longer, Loki dear.” He sighs again and you took him by the arm and dragged him down the hall.

“I heard we’ll be working together again. Good luck to us then.” Loki says, patting your hand before giving you a kind smile, which you return. The two of you reentered the ballroom and went your separate ways. Loki said he couldn’t leave his team alone as they would likely cause a scene without him there.

“I’ll see you at work, peace maker.”

“Have a fun evening, (name).” Then you went back to where Lorenzo was sitting, spending the rest of the evening with the Italian, joking, judging other people, talking about your respective counties and your experience with football.

____________________________________________

This only took me 3 weeks to finish what a record 🙏

I hope you guys enjoyed this long ass fanfic, this was originally gonna be like 2 parts but then I decided to publish this a whole rather than separate parts.

Reblogs are much appreciated!! I love you all I hope you guys have a great day!

-@chxxrybxxmb

[probablyasocialecologist]

In 1940s Britain, at a time before fast food and ready meals were staples of the British high street and in a country struggling to deal with the ramifications of war, a popular new restaurant chain was established. It served high-quality meals at reasonable prices, attracted customers from the full spectrum of British society, and grew at a rate of 10 new sites a week at its most popular. The brains behind the operation? The British government, led by the prime minister, Winston Churchill. Churchill’s British Restaurants, a chain of government-funded canteens offering nutritious price-capped meals, were intended to counter inflation in food and fuel prices related to the war, as well as to boost community spirit. At their peak, there were more British Restaurants across the UK than there are branches of McDonald’s or Wetherspoons today. Now a new report is calling for the return of a “national restaurant service” in some form, as a way to tackle contemporary issues such as health inequality, food insecurity and even climate change in the UK. A forthcoming report entitled Public diners: the idea whose time has come, by food policy NGO Nourish Scotland, marks the beginning of a campaign to introduce restaurants as a new piece of national infrastructure, a call backed by politicians and experts. A public diner, according to the report, is a state-subsidised eatery serving quality and ethically produced food at affordable prices. Crucially, says Nourish Scotland, they are neither charity nor a treat, but rather everyday eating places for entire communities to access.

[...]

Last year hospital data showed the number of patients in England and Wales being treated for nutritional deficiencies had tripled in a decade while a January 2024 survey by the Food Foundation found 20% of UK households with children reported experiencing food insecurity. And, Nourish Scotland says, ingredients could be sourced from organic farms, reducing unsustainable food production practices and food waste, and stimulating local economies. Public diners have already been realised elsewhere in the world. In Poland, government-funded “milk bars” (bar mleczny) gained popularity in the communist era as a way to serve traditional home-cooked food at low prices, and remain numerous today. Singapore’s “hawker centres”, market-style community dining rooms, emerged as part of the nation’s urban redevelopment following independence, and bring an array of street sellers under one roof to ensure vendors’ access to ingredients and space, as well as food hygiene standards and choice for consumers. The call for state-subsidised dining in the UK comes amid a growing international movement for public restaurants as key infrastructure.

31 August 2024

See also I Dream of Canteens, by Rebecca May Johnson

[kteezy997]

Can I request some Hal content 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Perhaps the reader is a lady in waiting or something and her and Hal have a forbidden relationship and the reader gets pregnant and you go from there. Agnst. Fluffy. I love your writing!!🥰🥰

The Lady in Waiting: Part One//King Henry V

Your lady, Princess Sophia was now betrothed to the King of England. Her whole life was being uprooted as she was now to be a wife. This meant you would be going to England to live with her and accompany her as she acclimated to her new life.

You had been with Lady Sophia for several years now. You catered to her every whim, had conversations with others when she did not wish to speak, and handled all of her affairs, such as food, dresses and everything in between. It could be exhausting at times, you had to admit.

But you were excited to begin a new life in a whole other country. Word had it that England’s castle was much grander than the one you knew as your home.

The travel was long and uneventful, especially since there was no real way to get comfortable in a horse drawn carriage. It was you and Sophia all alone for days of traveling.

She had been given a small photo of her soon-to-be husband: King Henry V. She could not help but obsess over the tiny thing. He seemed to be a pale man, but with pretty green eyes and striking features. He was rather handsome. Your Lady was quite lucky. You knew so many women who were forced to marry and be bred by old, hideous men who were also horrible human beings. You hoped that since he was still young, King Henry would be kind to Sophia.

“Well he is quite handsome, at least he will give me many beautiful children.” Sophia said, hopeful.

“Yes, your Highness. I’m sure you will have a large family indeed.”

.......

Upon arriving at the royal home of the King, Lady Sophia was taken on a tour of the castle and the grounds by royal personnel. You were left to get her things in order in her new bed chambers.

As the evening came, you were informed that Sophia's tour had concluded, and she was at supper. You finished unpacking and placing her personal things and dresses, then decided you should go and wait for her to outside the dining hall.

You found your way through the many long halls; you heard footsteps nearing. You looked around, seeing a small group of men approaching you. You felt nervous, recognizing the man leading the pack. You knew it was the King.

You stopped and bowed politely, giving him a kind smile as well. Your breath had been taken, for the photo given to Sophia did not do him justice in the flesh. He was the most bewitchingly beautiful man you had ever seen.

"Hello, I am King Henry the Fifth of England." he nodded, "You must be Princess Sophia. I am glad to finally meet you."

"Oh, no Your Majesty. I am only her lady's maid, I apologize for the confusion. Lady Sophia is having supper in the dining hall, Your Majesty." You realized that he must not have received a photo of his bride.

His green eyes widened some as he noticed the error. "Please forgive me. I am sorry for the mistake, miss..."

"Um, y/n, Your Majesty." There were footsteps coming from the opposite direction. You and the King noticed Lady Sophia, accompanied by the housekeeper, approaching.

"Your Majesty, Princess Sophia, your new bride." said the housekeeper, taking it upon herself to introduce the couple.

"Ah, yes." Henry looked at Sophia, nodding, then he looked back at you, to your surprise, "I just met y/n, your lady in waiting. And if you are half as lovely as she, then I am to be a very lucky man." He gave the Princess a charming smile.

You had to admit, you were weak in the knees. You imagined your lady felt the same sensation for the King already.

........

"Oh, y/n! He is so intelligent, and unbelievably charming! Ugh! And even more handsome than his picture. I think I am in love already." Sophia had spent the remainder of the evening with Henry. She was entranced by the young King, obviously.

"I am so very glad for you, my lady." you gave her an encouraging smile. "He seems wonderful. I hope he makes you very happy for years to come." You helped her into her nightrobe so that she could get into bed for the night.

"I hope that as well, y/n." she said with a gleeful sigh.

You turned down her bed for her, and she sat down on the lush sheets.

"I am so grateful that you are here to keep me company and to help me navigate becoming a Queen. There are so many things about England I need to learn. Hal will help me too." she blushed, relaxing onto the bed, letting her head melt into the pillow.

"Hal? Is that a nickname for the King?" you inquired.

"Yes, he told me to call him Hal. He said everyone close to him calls him that." Sophia yawned dramatically. “Goodnight, y/n.” she said, dismissing you.

“Goodnight, my lady. Sleep well.” you replied, leaving her bedroom.

As you walked down the hallway, you were feeling strange because you were happy for your lady, but you could not stop thinking of the way the King had looked at you. You knew it certainly wasn’t any special look. For he was betrothed to Princess Sophia. Surely, he was enamored by her, as everyone always was. You would never experience that, and most definitely not with a King.

You would most likely never marry, your whole life would be dedicated to the Princess, even more so when she becomes a Queen. You’ll have more duties to help with and the royal children to look after in the future. There wouldn’t be any time for you to have a romance, much less a marriage or a child of your own.

You were knocked away from your thoughts as you bumped into another body that you did not see coming from around the corner.

"Oh!" you gasped, looking at the other person, realizing you had collided with the King. "My Lord- I mean, Your Majesty, I am so very sorry. It was only an accident-" You began to frantically apologize, hoping that you did not offend him enough to be fired.

He only chuckled, touching your arm, "No, no. A needless apology, it was my fault, miss y/n."

You smiled kindly, he seemed a most humble of kings. "Were you coming to call on Lady Sophia? I fear she has gone to sleep for the evening."

He nodded, "Oh, well no, I was not. I was heading to the drawing room, to have some tea before bed. Would you care to join me?"

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @bitchyunknownuser @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @elloise0 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @mel-vaz @sammy-halpert @iwishchalamet @that-one-fangirl69 @jindongdongie @briefkittenearthquake @imnotoverlyobsessive

[sky-daddy-hates-me]

Why the actual fuck are y'all so obsessed with comparing reality to the hunger games?

Why are you all acting like rich people and celebrities carrying on with their life while brutal massacres are ongoing is a new fucking concept?

Do you honestly think that every Oscars, every sports tournament, every met gala, every fucking pr celebration before October 2023 happened during 'World peace'?

Do you think there weren't people in the 90s or 80s or 70s or 60s or 40s that were unable to afford food or water or heating ?

Do you think there weren't genocidal acts and atrocities happening globally before 2023?

Do you think rich people in the 1910s were all doing everything in their power to stop the global conflicts and disgusting crimes?

Do you honestly think there weren't people in the 1800s who would go around flaunting their wealth while the lower classes died and starved?

Did you forget that the French revolution took place in the late 1700s? That while the peasants were starving to death the french elite were bathing in crushed strawberries and washed with perfumed milk?

Did you forget that during the 1600s King charles the 2nd revived the act of public dining? Allowing the lower classes to watch from behind a railing as he was served 26 dishes, with each one being presented to him by a different servant before being tasted by them and placed on his plate?

Did you forget that in the 1500s in England any poor person found capable of doing a day's work but refusing to do so could be sentenced to death?

Did you forget that in the 1400-1500s, while the richest of European society went on with their lavish lifestyles, there were multiple genocides as European countries colonised the American continents and expanded into the East?

WE ARE NOT EXPERIENCING ANYTHING NEW OR DYSTOPIAN

WE ARE JUST RELIVING THE PAST WITH MODERN ADVANCEMENTS, WE ARE JUST MORE AWARE OF THE INJUSTICES THE WESTERN SOCIETY IS BUILT ON