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chilling-seavey · 8 months ago

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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.”

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

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months ago

Text

Unraveled 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)

Note: thanks for waiting on this one.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The carriage stops outside a brick building. A walk-up in Marleybone, just along Upper Baker Street. An address you couldn’t even dream of living near, let alone within. You peer up at the facade, the orange brick unstained by the coal and smoke of the backstreets.

Gavin appears to open the door and sets a step down before you can emerge. He offers his hand gallantly and you let him assist you down to the road. You thank him as you peer up at the arched front door of 221b.

“You need only knock, miss,” Gavin goes to pat the horse’s haunch as it kicks. “Ask for Mr. Holmes, he is expecting you.”

You grip your bag tight and set your chin. You might not belong but only you are troubled by it. You climb the steps alongside the iron rail and lift the heavy knocker mounted on the thick wooden door. It’s clang rattles even you.

You wait, both hands on the handles of the bag. Gavin appears behind you with the rolls of fabric, breathless as he struggles to keep them from touching the ground. You return your attention to the door as it opens.

“Hello, I’m looking for Mr.--”

“Holmes,” the very man you’re seeking stands before you, “forgive me, my housekeeper... resigned.”

“Not to worry, sir,” you assure him.

“Come in,” he backs up, gesturing you within with his large hand. “And how was your journey? I hope you didn’t come upon any scoundrels.”

“Only upon her destination, sir,” Gavin japes as he steps in behind you.

“Eh,” Holmes tilts his head at the driver, “allow me.”

Holmes takes the rolls of fabric from Gavin. He hugs them effortlessly in on arm as he faces you again, dismissing the driver with no more than a nod. You stand rigidly by the wall, hesitant to go any further. The door closes and the click makes you flinch.

“Allow me to show you around,” Holmes offers, looming in the tight space of the entryway.

“I need only see your sister,” you insist.

“Ah, yes, Enola, you will, but it only polite to get you acquainted with the space,” he rebuffs.

“With respect, sir, I’ve come out of my way and without warning to this appointment. More work does await me at my shop,” you squeeze the leather handles until they squeak, “it is a lovely home, I’m sure, but I’ve come upon business, haven’t I?”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t take very long,” he counters, “yet, if you’d rather keep this formal, by all means, I will take you to my sister.”

“Thank you, sir.”

You bite down, wondering if perhaps you were more curt than you should be. The apartment is rather far from your neighbourhood and the travel time alone will impose upon your ongoing commissions. You don’t expect he considered that. He does seem the type to command rather than ask.

He directs you to the stairs, just across from the door, and waves you onward. He follows as your skirts brush the top of your boots with each step. The wallpaper is tightly decorated with framed newspapers and portraits, cluttered together but not garishly so.

You get to the top and he advises you to go left. You obey as he keeps pace.

“Did you... discover what led to that woman’s fate? Or who she was?” You ask as you take measured steps.

He isn’t demure as he walks next to you, crowded against you as his broad figure allows for little space, “sadly, yes and no. Not her name. Only that she was a factory woman. I won’t say much on the matter as it is ongoing and confidentiality is a part of my contract, I would only gird you to keep your doors locked and yourself alert.”

You chew on his answer. It makes you nervous. You know the woman was found close to your shop and home. The news has been whispered for blocks.

“I will be sure to hede your advice,” you say.

You walk past a door as he stops to knock on it. You spin back, skirts swirling around you, and he glances at you as he plants his hand on the door frame. There is activity from within, scratching and creaking. He sighs and stands straight as he slides his hand down the pillar. He raps with his knuckles again.

“Enola,” he booms through, his voice shaking you. “I told you to be ready.”

You hear furious footsteps and the lock flicks back with similar furor. It opens and a young woman with a slumping bun greets Mr. Holmes. Strands fall loose from the clip and her blouse is half untucked as her sleeves are rolled to her elbows. She has a long oval face, flushed as she shows her teeth.

“I told you, I’m busy--”

“Not so busy that you would waste this good woman’s time,” Holmes insists, “she traveled all this way. We discussed this.”

She flutters her lashes and huffs. Her eyes flit over to you and she softens her expression, “if her time is wasted, it is hardly my fault.”

“Hm,” he hums flatly, “isn’t it? It wasn’t I who fed your dresses to the furnace.”

She smiles, a smug look that pinches her cheeks, “I was cold.”

“Sister,” he warns dangerously, crossing his arms, his breadth wider than ever.

“You know what, I welcome her company. Much preferable to your own,” the woman sneers and turns her shoulder to her brother, “come on, then. Suppose I need a dress for the banquet.”

You inch forward. A flare of resent burns in you at the position Mr. Holmes has put you in. Plainly, this appointment was not upon his sister’s behest. She holds the door for you and her brother exhales deeply.

“All you need do is stand still, I’m certain you can handle that, sister,” he rebukes, “do let me know when you are finished and I will call the carriage.”

“Thank you,” you utter without looking at him. He sets the rolls just inside the door and backs up to watch you.

You enter the bedroom and find it cluttered and cramped. There are books in stacks with more littered around the bottom. A dried-up paint palette and an easel draped over with several jackets and unpaired stockings. There is a four-post bed with scrambled covers and a canopy twisted around the poles. Vials upon vials line shelves and an inkwell stands uncapped over untidy sheets of paper.

“Very well,” the woman shuts the door, “I am Enola, the famous detective’s ne’er do well sister and you are the seamstress who will make me a peacock.”

You stare at her and swallow tightly. You offer your name before you begin, “I’ve only come upon his request--”

“Ah, yes, I’m certain you have. He’s still trying to make a lady of me. I see through his guise, though he doesn’t think it. He underestimates me, see. He lies but I will go along for I will more easily avoid his snare if I do.”

You nod and narrow your eyes. The wealthy can always afford to be so eccentric. You don’t think any woman you know would view a new dress as such a curse. She is young, she cannot know.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll only take your measurements,” you offer, “I can always fit upon the dress form.”

“Do what you must,” she sighs, “shall I strip down?”

You put your bag on a chair as she unbuttons her blouse, “not-- if you--” You look up at her as she reveals a corset and reaches to undo her skirt. You focus on your bag and scoop out your measuring tape.

You approach her as her skirt heaps at her feet. She is tall, her legs on long, her figure lithe. You begin your work silently. She raises her arms as you request and puts them back down.

“Suppose if I wasn’t here, I might’ve become a dressmaker. I always enjoyed stitching,” she muses as you scribble down each number, “it seems lonely work. Quiet work.”

“It’s work,” you say as you take out the envelope and unfold the page to examine the dress again. You hold it up and glance past it at Enola.

“May I see that?” She asks but doesn’t await an answer before she snatches the paper. “Oh, is this really what he chose? No, no, no, this won’t do. I want my shoulders covered.”

You slip the envelope back in your bag, “it is only what I was given. If you prefer adjustments, it is your dress.”

“Yes, my dress and my body,” she crumples the paper and tosses it onto the rug.

You close up your notebook and go to the rolls of fabric, “would it be too much for me to do some piecework?”

“If you insist,” she pouts.

You take out your scissors and turn your back to her. She isn’t rude, per se, but you’re not in the habit of associating with this sort of clientele. You get numbers on a sheet and you sew. A living form is not quite your forte.

-🪡

When you finish, you can sense Enola’s agitated impatience. You don’t blame her. It’s plain she didn’t want the dress or your visit. It is more so upon the shoulders of her brother. Mr. Holmes. You’re similarly irked that he would put you in this position.

Enola is already fiddling with some instrument before you can go. You emerge and pull the door shut after you. You stand in the hallway, bag at the crook of your elbow as you hug the fabric. You move with hampered steps towards the stairs. As the top creaks beneath your weight, your name is called from further down the hallway.

“Ah, are you set then?” Mr. Holmes asks as he stops just outside a door, “I was thinking, to make up for your efforts, you might want to stay for tea.”

You look down at your armful and back to him, “that’s very generous, but--”

“I believe I paid an adequate fee for the appointment,” he strides slowly towards you, “but I am open to a barter if it was not sufficient.”

You feel the heavy sovereign tucked into your jacket. You crook your lips and raise your chin, “no sir, it will do for today and the making of the dress. The fabric... I don’t have any as rich as the style requested.”

“Another service I may require of you. If you wouldn’t mind to select the material, I would be happy to reimburse the expense.”

“Would there be a colour? A fabric preferred? Velvet? Satin? Chiffon?” You prompt, “I solely work in cotton and wool, as I forewarned.”

“Perhaps we might find a fabric seller at Covent Garden? You could accompany me on my next sojourn--”

“I don’t know if I would have the time. I could write down some fabrics which would suit the silhouette we agreed upon,” you offer.

“Mmm,” he hums, “you are rather professional. How about tea, then? Melinda from across the road sent some mutton over.”

“The hour should see me back to my shop,” you shift your bag.

“You are fastidious,” he stops before you and puts a hand on the fabric, “please, allow me, you are overburdened.”

“I’m--”

You can’t argue as he takes the fabric from you. You let him have it if only to avoid disaster you lean back on your heel. He angles the rolls under his arm easily and grins. A curl strays down his forehead.

“I suppose you are right, given recent events, it would be best to see you home before the evening sets,” he says, “I would gladly see you home safe, miss.”

He is overly polite, or perhaps you aren’t used to it. It is his home, he supplied the carriage, and he has paid generously. It makes each denial feel trite.

“If you must, but I would be just fine on my own comportment,” you accept.

“It isn’t any fuss, I will fetch a jacket and the driver,” he extends his arm past you, “after you.”

You spin on your heel and face the staircase. You descend with your hand on the railing. As you come to the bottom, you wander towards the entry way and take in the fineness of the decor. Is much more becoming than your slanted rooms.

Mr. Holmes places the rolls just beside the door and takes a jacket from the rack. He pulls it on and tells you to wait before he disappears outside. You linger as you are, sliding your bag down to your hands.

When he returns, he reaches within to retrieve the fabric first. “Gavin is bringing up the carriage,” he declares and offers his free arm, “shall we?”

You consider him. You wouldn’t want to be unkind. You step through the door, pulling it shut as you accept his bent arm, your hand in the crook. He accompanies you down the narrow steps, each step crowded by his.

Gavin appears in the driver’s seat and reins the horse to a halt. The beast looks miserable. Mr. Holmes escorts you to the door and releases you to open it. He helps you with a strong hand and you sit within with your bag on your lap. He shoves the fabric in ahead of him, his head bowed as he fits through the small door.

He closes it with a snap and settles on the bench on the other side of you. You stare across at the cotton, expecting he’d have taken that seat instead. His leg is on your skirt.

You keep your hands on your bag. He knocks on the ceiling and the carriage rumbles into motion. You rock with it along the street, silent as you wring the leather handles.

“I hope my sister did not cause too much stress. I know she can be a lot but she’s old enough now. She should start behaving as a lady,” he spreads a large hand across his thigh. “Perhaps, once she finds a husband, that will be easier.”

You nod, uncertain of a proper response.

“Not to mean... I don’t mean to assume, I am known however for my observations, and I have concluded you are not married,” he continues, “I gather if it were the case, you might not have a shop to sew in.”

“Suppose not,” you reply dully.

“It is only to say that my opinion of my sister isn’t general. A woman such as yourself is admirable.”

“A spinster?” You supply.

“I didn’t--”

“I’ve chosen not to marry, that is true. I am not bothered by that fact,” you say, “isn’t that what you deal in, detective, facts?”

“Fair,” he shifts on the bench, “but not everyone can detach emotion from facts.”

“And why should I be emotional about that fact? I am much more happier than any woman could be with a husband,” you stare at the opposite wall of the carriage. “And I will assume, sir, as I am no detective, that you have neither taken to the altar.”

He curls the fingers on his left hand, “I have not.”

“And I’m certain you enjoy your bachelor lifestyle in your grand apartment,” you return, “while my own is not so extravagant, I find solace in it. On that, I think you might understand me.”

He takes a breath and lets it out with a thoughtful hum, “I suppose we are similar in some way.”

#sherlock holmes #dark sherlock holmes #dark!sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #unraveled #enola holmes #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series

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ststuckyspider · 1 year ago

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Marvel Wallpapers

I use lyrics from songs I love and think fit the characters to some extent!! Mainly Noah Kahan lol

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andy-wm · 5 months ago

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A photobook!? When jikook re-create the famous Tokyo selca and give us the 2023 version…it’s over for us.

Omg i just saw it!!!

A PHOTOBOOK?!?!?!?

I'm screaming!

I need 12 copies at least!!

I'm going to wallpaper my house with it.

I'm going to sew the pages into a floor length cloak and wear it to work.

I'm going to go around my neighbourhood and ask people if they can spare 10 minutes to talk about Jikook.

A PHOTOBOOK!!!!

*crying and mumbling* It will be the manifesto of our little Pancake Nation. Who needs words when you have photos of jikook...

#park jimin #jeon jungguk #jikook #kookmin #국민 #true love #jikook are you sure

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neil-gaiman · 2 years ago

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I remember the first piece of writing I ever read of yours. It was bit in SimCity 2000. I was about 11, I'd never read any of your books and honestly didn't know you were an author until like, three or four years later. I assumed it had been written by one of the staff (I mean, it would not be out of character for Maxis; if you look in the Sims 1 build/buy mode catalogue you can find very odd bits of lore like a wallpaper made of coffin interiors and an anti-capitalist artist who is also a dog.)

But I remember it very clearly because I was getting to grips with SimCity and all its various tools, having lots of fun with setting giant robots and volcanoes on the wealthy neighbourhoods who complained about taxes but also about potholes, and I found the 'ruminate' button. I didn't know what 'ruminate' meant at the time, or if I did, I thought it had something to do with cow digestion. I clicked on it.

The mental whiplash from "mwhahaha fear my god-mayor wrath!" to having my preteen mind blown was quite the experience.

I then had my mind blown again about a decade after this when I discovered that the rumination was written by you.

That makes me very happy.

#ruminate #cities

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brighter-by-the-daly · 1 year ago

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Rachel Daly x Reader

New to the Neighbourhood

AN: Inspired by a conversation with @hernightsky over these photos 🫶

Pulling up on the driveway you took a moment to look up at the house in front of you before getting out, soaking up the moment you were finally moving in to your first home. You felt excited but a little overwhelmed with how quickly everything had happened and now you’re on your own, no more mum and dad there to help you 24/7 but you knew they would only be a phone call away. You’ve never lived by yourself before and now you have an entire building to play with! You had chosen a new build and had been involved with all the decisions regarding furnishing the property before you moved in; it was in a new residential area, a close with terraced houses in a square around the cul-de-sac. Everyone had brightly coloured flowers in their garden, wreaths on the front door and the neighbours seemed super friendly when you came for viewings.

“Smile!” shouted your mum suddenly jolting you out of your daydreaming about where you were going to put everything, spinning around you grabbed the SOLD sign out of the ground and held it excitedly for a photo in front of your home before slotting the key into the front door for the first time. Your parents immediately created a line from the van to the doorstep - your dad unloaded, your mum ferried and you put the boxes in the rooms they belonged in. Neighbours came and went wishing you well while welcoming you to the neighbourhood, one even made you cups of tea as you hadn’t found the kettle yet.. you knew you were gonna love it here. Your parents stayed overnight to help you unpack and settle in, the next day they left after helping you set up your bills and direct debits. You ordered a food shop and got to work with putting your own stamp on the property, driving to a homeware store and picking up the paint and wallpaper you’ve had your eyes on for months.

Sitting in the middle of your newly painted bedroom you worked well into the early morning to finish, you started to remove the rollers from your hair when you heard a familiar rattle outside. “Shit!” scrambling to your feet and throwing your robe on, you swiped the rubbish from the surfaces into a black sack and desperately tried to make sure you got outside before the bin men left, throwing the front door open in a hurry to see they had already turned the corner and were driving away. “Fuck!” you shouted into the morning sun, annoyed that you hadn’t thought to check when the rubbish was collected beforehand. Hearing a cackle come from a distance you squinted to see who was laughing at you, “they come every week yknow!” a sarcastic voice called from the other side of the close, shielding your eyes from the sun to see a figure standing in their driveway. “Yeah” you replied begrudgingly with a limp smile and a roll of your eyes, throwing the bag to the side of your garden before making a deflated walk back into your house. As soon as the door slammed shut your reasoning returned - your neighbour was right, they do come every week, no need to be upset about it.. it just felt like you failed your first task at being a home owner. Your dad always used to take the rubbish out, it was something you didn’t have to think about and it’s not your fault you didn’t know what day it was.

Calling out to Alexa to play your favourite radio station your anger soon floated away with the sunrise as you finished doing your hair and make up, hanging clothes in your wardrobe and picking an outfit out for tonight. Your friends were coming over for a house warming party and you had been keen for it to be a gathering with not too many people, you didn’t want your carpets getting ruined already! But your friends insisted they had to christen the moment the first of the friend group moved out of their parent’s house. You’d been saving up since you were 18 and because England has awful mortgage rules it had taken you over a decade to finally get enough for a deposit. So they’re right, you do deserve to be celebrated! This is a milestone not everyone achieves in their lifetime and you had worked incredibly hard to get here, especially on your own!

Turning up the music you danced around your near on empty house, cracking open a bottle of wine and finally feeling calm enough to collect the rubbish you’d dumped earlier in exhaustion. Opening the door to pick the black bag up you noticed it was no longer there, looking around to see if anyone had moved it the same neighbour from this morning approached you. “I put it in mine!” pointing to a wheelie bin next to her garage then proceeded to tell you how you can order one too from the council’s website; then I don’t have to remember to put the bins out – genius! You thanked her for the information and was about to close the door but she carried on talking to tell you about the recycle days, the nearest shop for milk, gave you the local window cleaner’s number and where not to park as some neighbours are territorial over parking spaces. “Ahhh, that may be a problem. I’ve got friends coming over for a house warming tonight” you pondered, touching your hand to your chin wondering where everyone was going to park. “Get them to car pool or use the bus, there’s a stop just around the corner. If you need to you can use my driveway, I’ve got work and won’t be home tonight” she smiled during her offering. Thanking her profusely you finally went your separate ways.

Some of your friends stayed over that night and as they were leaving in the morning your neighbour was returning home from work, giving a small wave to each other in passing your friends turned around to look at where your attention had turned to. Watching the woman unload her car with a large duffle bag, you and your friends ogled the mysterious blonde from across the road. “She looks so familiar!” one of your friends said as everyone else agreed. “We chatted yesterday and the whole time I was trying to figure out why I recognised her” talking quietly so you weren’t overheard by the stranger. “Maybe we went to school with her, could have been the year above us?” shrugging at your friends guesses you finished saying goodbye and that you’d see them soon, waving them off you entered the house to do the last bit of tidying they’d left you with.

Later on there was a knock at the door, opening it confused to see your new neighbour standing on the doorstep. “Hey! Just thought I’d bring something to officially welcome you the neighbourhood” she said with a friendly smile and handing you a bunch of flowers with a card. “Thanks, you didn’t have to but I appreciate it” you responded a little taken aback at her generosity; you didn’t think people still talked to their neighbours these days, especially a new person! “I’ll have to find out the vase from one of these boxes” you chuckled, knowing full well you didn’t have one - nobody had ever bought you flowers before! “Oh! You can borrow mine!” she said and before you could contest the offer she was already sprinting off back to her house, barely gone a minute before returning with a simple glass vase. “You have to snip the ends at an angle and pull the leaves off before putting them in the water” she must have sensed that you’d never arranged a bouquet in your life, probably obvious by the way you were holding them like a new born baby that had been reluctantly dumped in your arms. “There’s a sachet there to put in the water too, makes them live longer” she smiled but you could tell she was now anxiously waffling. You thanked her and swiftly closed the door, keen to not take up anymore of her time.. or yours. You don’t know this woman and if you didn’t cut her off who knows how long you’d be standing out there talking! You arranged the flowers in the borrowed vase in the kitchen and displayed them in your front room window so they were visible to everyone outside, walking through to the hallway your fingers tore open the envelope, trying to catch something that slipped from the card before it fell to the floor.

Hey [insert name here]

Welcome to the neighbourhood!

Here if you need anything!

Rachel x

PS. here’s a number for your wheelie bin so they don’t get mixed up!

Noticing she had scribbled her phone number at the bottom that became visible as the number sticker slipped out of the card, ‘I never would have thought of this’, you thought as you left it on the sideboard in your porch and went upstairs to run a bath. Flopping back onto the sofa an hour later and switching on the TV, mindlessly flicking through channels as you reread the card, your hands already holding your phone punched in the number Rachel had written.

Y: “(y/n)”

R: “Huh?”

Y: “Insert name here… it’s (y/n)”

R: “Ahh, hi (y/n). Do you know nets are see through when you have the lights on?”

Your eyes bulged out of your head as they suddenly flicked towards the window, scrambling in panic to pull the sofa cushions over the top of you. Coming from shared accommodation you had been so excited to get your own house and be able to walk around naked with no worries in the world that you had forgotten to pull the curtains! You’d dropped your towel when you were walking down the stairs and had been flicking between the kitchen and the lounge fetching snacks before your evening Love Island catch up. Laying on your sofa frozen with anxiety wondering how you’re going to move anywhere with no clothing in sight you took to slithering off your sofa and onto the floor, pencil rolling over to the boxes that hadn’t been unpacked yet. There has to be clothes in here somewhere! Finally feeling something fluffy and knowing it was the new blanket for your bed, you wrapped yourself up like a burrito and hopped over to the window, seeing Rachel at hers waving while in full fits of laughter. Wincing at your incredibly stupid mistake you snapped the curtains shut in embarrassment and sunk down the radiator onto the floor again - what a way to announce your arrival!

The next day you were hurriedly leaving for work, your alarm hadn’t sounded you awake and you didn’t have long to get to your job. Rushing out of the door in a chaotic whirlwind you pulled on your jacket and zipped up your bag when you looked up and saw Rachel working out in her garage. Your face quickly blushed red as you turned and slammed the door of your house with you still inside it. How can you live in a neighbourhood where at least one of your neighbours have already seen you naked in the first week of living here?! Peeping out of your porch window to see her sitting on the weight bench with her phone in her hand.. now is your time to run for it - when she’s distracted! Locking your door as quietly as you could you tiptoed over to your car, closing the door with a sigh of relief that you hadn’t been spotted when your phone pinged making you jump. “You know you can’t hide from me forever” turning to look out of your window to see her subtly tilt her head up to the sky with a nod of acknowledgment and disarmament, you sent her a nod back in awkward recognition before driving away. You spent your shift searching for new houses, ones far away where nobody would know you as the naked neighbour! “Is it too soon to move?” you asked in the cafeteria which was met by laughter from your work friends after telling them what had happened. They reassured you that it must happen to everyone at least once in their lifetime and told you to suck it up.

Arriving home to see Rachel’s car was gone you decided to start working on your front garden, safe in the knowledge that you weren’t going to bump into her this afternoon. Sitting cross legged on the grass and digging holes for flowers soon burned the hours away as you pottered around your garden making it look as lovely as the rest of the neighbourhood, you were able to relax knowing that Rachel doesn’t usually return home until the next morning and figured that she must work night shifts. That was until she did return home, much earlier than you were expecting! You had finished your garden and was laying on the newly laid grass gazing up at the sky when you heard the hum of a car drive into your close, sitting up to see it was Rachel and quickly flopping back down, closing your eyes hoping she’d think you were asleep.. or dead! Hearing the car door slam you held your breath in anticipation that she wouldn’t notice you but instead you heard footsteps getting closer along with small pitter patters, only opening your eyes as a you felt a tongue lick your face to see a small dog staring at you with its head tilted. “Who’s this?” your voice turned high pitch at the cute little floof eyeballing you. What a way to break the ice, she’s an actual genius! “Dexi, she seems to like you” she said sitting down on the grass next to you. “Look, it’s not a big deal and getting caught out has happened to all of us” she said trying to make you feel better, plopping the small dog in your lap to stroke her. Raising an eyebrow to question her statement, “really?” you asked, wondering if your friends were right that it does happens to everyone. “Well.. no, but isn’t it a good thing I told you so it didn’t happen again?” she laughed to herself, once again making your cheeks turn red in cringeworthy embarrassment. “Err.. I guess?” For all you know, there was only one person that knew what had happened, doesn’t mean anybody else had seen you and this woman seems like she wouldn’t gossip about it to others in the area. You spent the afternoon chatting on the lawn and playing with Dexi, the embarrassment was soon forgotten as you spoke about anything and everything. A few hours passed when a delivery lorry pulled up in front of your house and unveiled your new bin, Rachel was quick to her feet to collect it for you, wheeling it next to your garage and asking where your sticker was that she got for it. Pointing to the inside of your porch, “may I?” she asked while holding the handle, nodding at her in encouragement before entering your home and grabbing the sticker from the cabinet just inside the door. Crouching down to press the sticker firmly onto your new bin, she stepped back to admire her work and to soak up the adoration for her help and thoughtfulness. You spent the rest of the afternoon talking about why you both moved to the area, how long she has lived here, your mutual love for Love Island and all things reality TV. “What school did you go to?” you finally plucked up the courage to ask, assuming she came from the area. “Not one round here” she chuckled, inquisitive of why you would ask that. “Hmm, me and my friends swear we recognise you from somewhere! We thought maybe it was from school?” you laughed nervously desperately trying to rack your brain as to why she looks so familiar. The blonde shrugged her shoulders and swiftly excused herself after that, citing she needed to feed Dexi.

A few days passed you were making your dinner when the vase Rachel had leant you caught your attention on the draining board, looking out of the window to see her garage door open you decided to pay her a visit. “Hey! I forgot to give your vase back!” calling out as you approached the garage before popping your head in to see her counting reps under her breath as she lifted the weight bar, reaching 50 before stopping to talk to you. “Sorry, would have lost my place if I stopped” standing up to straighten out her top. “You didn’t have to bring it back, you might get more flowers one day” she said approaching you, scratching the back of her neck in a slightly awkward manner. “You’re the only person that’s ever bought me any so I don’t think it’s going to happen any time soon” you laughed nervously. “Ya never know though” she shrugged but took the ornament out of your hands, “believe me, I know” you insisted before excusing yourself as dinner was in the oven. Rachel asked what you’ve got so told her you had enough for two if she fancied it; accepting the offer cautiously, she’ll come over after she’s showered.

The doorbell rang as you went to answer it to Rach standing on the doorstep waving a bottle of wine around with a goofy grin. As you finished dishing up dinner, she took herself on a tour of your house even though it was exactly the same layout of hers. She noticed you still hadn’t unpacked everything and studied the words written on the carboard boxes – ‘costumes’, ‘plants’, ‘photos’, along with a few others before making her way to the lounge. Picking up the photographs displayed on the mantlepiece she studied them carefully, chuckling to herself at the one of you and your friends all dressed up in whacky costumes at a bar crawl in another country. You came in with dinner spotting her admiring your photos, “I need this story!” she exclaimed excitedly as she came to join you at the table. You ate and spoke about your girls trip to Vegas and how you came to be dressed up as a giant pea then moved to the sofa for this evening’s Love Island. Rachel told you how she’d lived in America for a bit and told stories about her time there whilst sharing the bottle of wine between you (and by share, she had one glass and you had the rest!) You watched the latest episode together, discussing who your faves are and who you think are snakey and after the programme finished Rachel said she had to leave early tomorrow so shouldn’t stay much longer. “Early shift tomorrow then?” you asked as you accompanied her to the front door, “something like that, I gotta go to Brighton” slipping her shoes back on you asked if she’s staying away tomorrow night. “No I’ll be home, probably pretty late though so don’t wait up for me” she winked in a jokey manner but it still made you feel a little flustered as she waved goodbye.

Over the coming weeks you and Rachel became closer friends, she had come round to help you unpack the rest of your boxes and had helped paint and decorate your spare room. Running around B&Q like children taking it in turns to push each other on the trolley turned into a bi-weekly activity to choose the bedding, lighting and paintings to add the final touches on the room. It had become a regular evening ritual to watch Love Island together when she was home and you found yourself missing her when she was away for work. You certainly didn’t think you’d end up being firm friends with one of your neighbours so quickly after moving in but you were grateful for the familiar comfort of someone you get on so well with on your venture alone.

Waking up late had become a frustrating habit of yours lately, it seemed that since moving out your routine was all over the place, once again rushing out of the door to get to work in time. Only this time, you’d forgotten something.. realising after the door slammed behind you that you hadn’t picked up your keys! Just like you did a few months ago when you moved in, screams exited your mouth and travelled up towards the sun coupled with your foot landing heavily onto your front tyre in frustration then sulked over to your friend’s house, ringing the doorbell hoping Rachel was awake. It didn’t look like she was as when she answered the door her hair looked dishevelled like she’d just woken up, Dexi under her arm whined for cuddles from you as you told her what had happened and asked to borrow her phone. The blonde invited you in and unlocked her phone for you to use as she went to get dressed, Dexi stayed with you as you stroked away the anger. While you waited for your mum to finish work to bring you the spare key she offered you a cup of tea, leading you out to her much bigger garden than yours to drink it. “Omg you have a hot tub?!” and just like that you’d forgotten your earlier woes. Walking up to admire the pool you dipped your hand inside to feel the warmth, spotting something else in your sight. “What the fuck is this this?” looking at a small looking pool with ICE written on the side. “An ice bath” she giggled watching you from the patio. “Why on earth would anyone need one of these?!” backing away from it like it was a deadly disease. “It’s good for you! Especially after working out!” she insisted. “Ah well, that explains why I’ve never heard of it then!” you laughed. “I could do a few sessions with you?” her words caused your face to screw up, that line reminding you that she really doesn’t know you at all. “I’ll just take the hot tub thanks” you said angelically as you sat back at the table with her. “Come over later then? Your mums here” looking at the alert on her phone that someone was at her front door.

“Am I underdressed?” you asked as Rachel opened the door to you in shorts and a shirt that was open and showing your bikini clad chest. Shaking her head with a smirk, “nah, you’re perfect” stepping aside to let you in, “you can jump in, I’m just watching the end of the football”. Deciding to wait for her you sat down to watch the end of the game, asking who was playing and making your lack of football knowledge very well known. As your friend shouted “offside!” at the TV a look of confusion wiped over your face, you had absolutely no idea what the offside rule was no matter (how many times someone tried to explain it to you – you just didn’t care enough to understand! “Who do you support then?” noticing Rachel took a while to pull her eyes away from the match to answer you, “well, Villa obviously – we live here!” she laughed, not bothering to ask you the same seeing as you’d made your disinterest for the game clear. You wondered why she was watching Chelsea v Tottenham if she doesn’t support them but didn’t dare ask, you didn’t want to be annoying so decided to go jump in the tub instead. Playing on your phone until Rachel made an appearance in just her bikini and shorts, quickly looking away after catching yourself looking her up and down hoping she didn’t notice. She did. “You can’t be awkward, I’ve literally seen you naked!” she laughed at your blushing again. “Don’t remind me!” your hand found your forehead in dismay, you’d actually forgotten that this is how your friendship started! “Didn’t fancy this one then?” she joked while sinking into her ice bath. “Nah I fancied the hot one” choking on your drink a little realising the sentence could mean the hot tub or Rachel, both were true regardless! “Who won then?” changing the subject quickly. “Chelsea, do you really not like football?” she asked. “I just don’t get it.. I went to the women’s final at Wembley last year though” you smiled, thinking that fact might interest her. “Really? You?!” she questioned with heavy sarcasm, she couldn’t imagine you at a match after everything you’ve said this evening. “Well my friends wanted to go and I thought why not, I didn’t have a clue what was going on but it was cool we won!” finally excited you could converse on something she was clearly interested in. “Yeah it was, I was there too!” she said, joining you in the hot tub. “Oh really, small world!” noticing a smirk on her face as you said that.

You’re not quite sure how the next part of the conversation started, she must have been trying to fill the silence.. to you it felt natural, being comfortable in silence with someone is truly a tell tale sign that you’re close with them but Rachel mustn’t of felt this way. “Have you seen the stars out here yet?” shaking your head in response to her random question. Being so far out from the city she said that you can see so many stars on a clear night, she loves sitting out here at nighttime watching them and gets sad when it’s cloudy. You shared your love for the moon, you’re a night owl and was excited at the prospect of seeing it more clearly. Looking up to see the sun setting you asked how long it takes for the stars to come out, kicking your feet out underneath the bubbles not realising her feet were out too as they grazed together. “Oh, err, sorry!” Rachel could sense your nervousness as you suddenly splashed your legs underneath you to sit them crossed. “It’s okay” the famous little smirk of hers shone through on her face - the one where the corners of her lips turn downwards slightly but the inside of her mouth smiled, an expression that is totally unique to her. Moving her arm around the back of you and balancing it on the edge of the tub she effortlessly scooched closer at the same time making your heart beat faster, trying to control your breathing hoping she wouldn’t notice it had accelerated into sharp intakes of breath.

Your weeknights had turned into a regular combination of Love Island and hot tubs, weeks passed by where you and Rachel’s friendship had grown closer and closer. Always in one of your houses together except when either of you had work, you’d even let Rach try to teach you the rules of football – she found a method to explain it in a way that makes sense to your brain.. it was either that or the fact you actually wanted to listen to the words coming out of her beautiful mouth.

Wolf whistles echoed around the block as your neck snapped to turn to the only place they could be coming from. It was the hottest day of the year and you were outside washing your car in your casual summer attire – an oversized check shirt that fell lower over your legs than the little denim shorts you’d become accustomed to in this weather, you’d unbuttoned your shirt in the heat and it was now barely hanging on to your arms. When you dried the water droplets on the bonnet so you could see your face in it you turned to lean up on your car like all the hot girls do in the music videos, your foot leant up on the grill and your arms folded as you looked over to Rachel standing in her garage door frame. Your tongue poked into your inner cheek before sliding out the corner of your mouth in a suggestive manner spotting her bare shoulders and arms you could hardly contain yourself. The flirting had become an expected part of your days and even though neither of you had ever said anything, it was obvious that there was something between you. “You done your work out yet?” you called over to her, watching her shake her head teasingly before replying to you, “why, do you wanna watch?” turning her back to face you as she loaded up her bars with weights. The offer was irresistible, especially as you knew ice baths and hot tubs always come after work outs! “Mayybeee” your word elongated as you swung on the door frame to the garage in a giddy way, watching her lie down on the bench as she started her reps and waiting for her to invite you in.. not that you needed permission anymore! Rolling out your chair for the hour you plopped yourself onto the exercise ball and wiggled your bum around as it moved across the floor. You’ve always had trouble sitting still but the bounciness of the ball kept you entertained for a while as you flicked through your phone. “Why don’t you work out?” she asked through heavy breaths as she neared the end of the reps on her first station of the day. “Why would I want to do that on purpose?” you answered bewildered as to why anyone would voluntarily put themselves through that. “So your body is strong?” was one of her reasons before listing off a few others. Giving in to her petty argument you decided to give her what she clearly wanted, “babes if you wanna watch me sweat you just gotta say” your voice turned cocky as you waltzed over to the treadmill at the opposite side of the room, noticing she moved stations to where the dumbbells were which was conveniently in front of a mirror so she could watch you.. even though she insisted she wasn’t! You can always feel if someone is watching you whether your back is turned or not and decided to play with her a little, taking your shirt off and throwing it into the corner of the room as you picked up pace. Rachel was watching you intently through the mirror, fixed on how your ponytail bounced with each step or how your shorts had risen higher up your legs.

You felt Rachel approach you from behind, coming to the side of the machine and leaning her arm up onto the display. “Do you like women (y/n)?” she asked maintaining eye contact as you continued to run. Her eyes tried to fix on yours like she was trying to read what you were going to say before it’s even been said, unable to avoid flicking between your face and your bikini clad chest bouncing in time with your pony tale. Biting her lip at the thoughts in her mind of wrapping her fist around your hair and pulling those shorts off of your cute body. “Are you dumb?” your tone sounding a little more harsh than intended, “I’m literally on this thing in a fucking bikini waiting for you to throw me across this room!” Rachel snorted at your sudden explosion of honesty, “so that’s why you don’t work out! You’re a pillow princess!” she teased causing you to slam your hand onto the display to stop the treadmill, letting it slip you off the end with your arms folded. “Say that again, I dare ya” you egged her on by getting up in her face as you said that, willing her to take you and take you now! If not to the bedroom at least to be dumped in the hot tub! She’d barely batted an eyelid when her sudden movements caught you off guard, throwing your body over her shoulder she pulled down the garage door and carried you up stairs, slapping your butt then threw you down the bed, pinning your arms to the mattress beneath her, “that’s why I work out!” her cocky voice made you wince, releasing months of worked up sexual tension in a night of passion.

A few days later you were putting your bins out when you heard drilling come from the other side of the block. “Oi oi!” calling out as you approached the garage, Rachel appeared within seconds holding a drill in one hand and leaning up on the frame with the other. Blowing the tip of her drill like she’d just shot someone with a gun. “Hey sexy” she leant down to kiss you with as much passion as you shared the other night, “come for round two have ya?” smirking as she pulled you into the garage. “Are you gonna put that down first?” cautiously nodding towards the electric tool still in her hand. As she bent down to place it on the ground your eyes were drawn towards the wall where she had been hanging things up. Spotting your gaze fixed on the frames her breathing stopped in anticipation of the next thing to come out of your mouth. Your eyes glanced from shirt to shirt with DALY written on the back of every single one until your brain clicked all the pieces together. “Rachel Daly! “That’s why I recognised you! That’s why your shifts are all over the place!” your hands clapped over your mouth as her facial expression stayed neutral waiting for you to finish gawping. “I prefer people get to know me before the footballer” she said with nervousness tinged in her words, “I prefer people get to know me before they see me naked!” you laughed, slapping her shoulder which showed absolutely nothing had changed. “Tell me about them” taking her hand and standing in front of the first shirt with her, the one that looked the most faded and aged. “You’re actually interested?” her arm draped over your shoulder, using her other hand to softly swipe the beach wavy hair from your eyes. Looking up at her you nodded enthusiastically as she started to talk about her life you knew nothing about, “well this one is from Leeds, they were my first team when I was 15..” she started her story which lead well into the night, you listened intently the entire time, intrigued with the life that she had felt compelled to keep hidden.

#rachel daly #rachel daly x reader #woso x reader #woso masterlist #aston villa wfc #lionesses #lionesses x reader #woso fic #woso community #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #wlw fanfic

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karlachismylife · 15 days ago

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My morning started with electricity turning on and off in the whole apartment building and through some association chain it triggered a nice daydream about walking through abandoned neighbourhoods with Hesh and Riley. Dilapidated state of previously lived in houses. Shattered windows exposing their insides like a rotten through skin and muscle patch bares guts and bones of a body. Floors and walls smelling of moldy, mossy wet dust. Dark trails left by rain seeping down through the constructional decay.

There are still plates and bowls left on the kitchen table and counters. Damp cardboard box with cereal long gone past the expiration date. Leaves blown inside with the wind crunch under soles of your boots. This house doesn't know the difference between inside and outside. It's striving for the one thing everything in the universe does.

Full thermodynamic equilibrium. The apex death.

It looks peaceful and painless. Even Riley doesn't disrupt it, trotting through a corridor with the wallpaper flaking off and curling into loose rolls. It feels like you all passed through a invisible barrier that swallowed you into this isolated system following through with its slow disintegration. David's steps fall quieter. His khaki looks muted in colour.

There are little wisps of fog where he exhaled as you follow him. Like this house doesn't fully know what to do with a sudden surge of life in it.

Hesh doesn't pull away when you brush shoulders with him, standing in a living room entry and looking around. Floorboards are springing under your weight, another cavern underneath.

"Do you like the carpet?"

David looks down. Carpet's barely distinguishable from the dirt and wet rot brought through another broken window. You're asking as if you two came shopping for your own living room.

"The pile's too short and coarse. Riley wouldn't like it."

He's right. Riley deserves a much nicer carpet to lounge on. Sometime in the future. You're sure.

#hesh x reader #david hesh walker #call of duty #cod #juju's grumbles #is this writing #am i finally coming back #who knows

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mlmxreader · 1 year ago

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Tell Me How I'm Gonna Die | Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader (🍋)

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ okay, the classics, “i wanna know who i’m looking at” with ghost would be very nice 👁️👁️ including mcd, of course ❞

: ̗̀➛ one by one, the members of the 141 and their allies are being picked off and murdered, but who could be behind such a bloody massacre?

: ̗̀➛ swearing, graphic depictions of violence/death/etc, anal sex, sex without lubricant, rough oral, rough sex, breeding kink

: ̗̀➛ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The phone rang loudly, almost looking as if it were going to shake from its position on the wall, when a hand with rough and calloused fingers reached for it; almost middle aged, Sergeant John MacTavish was wearing a light beige knitted jumper and a pair of light blue denim jeans, his mohawk dyed blonde thanks to losing a bet with Captain John Price just three weeks earlier.

He was home on leave for the time being, and wondered who would call at such a time.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” an unknown voice. Maybe it was the wrong number.

John thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Yes.”

“Who is this?” The stranger asked, almost curious in nature.

“Who are you trying to reach?” John asked bluntly, pursing his lips slightly.

“What number is this?”

“What number are you trying to reach?” He asked, sighing heavily.

“I don’t know.”

“I think you have the wrong number,” John huffed, about to put the phone down.

“Do I?”

“It happens,” John replied, rolling his eyes. “Take it easy.”

He put down the phone with a click to make sure that the call had ended; maybe it was just some neighbourhood children pulling a prank, or just someone trying to reach a friend. He didn’t really care either way as he put a tinfoil dish of popcorn on the stove and started humming to himself.

He didn’t think much of the interaction that had just happened, more than anything just wanting to get on with his evening; he had not been home in so long, and he had missed it.

The slightly affluent, middle class house in a nice and snug suburban neighbourhood; white wallpaper and white tiles adorning all the walls, light grey laminate flooring. Chairs and a table made from actual oak, along with fashionably made matching drawers and white countertops.

A sleek black stove that sat atop a sparkling black oven. A light grey two seater sofa and a large television in the living room. It was a nice, large house and by all means showed off exactly what John earned with his military career.

The portable landline in the kitchen rang loudly, making John groan with discontent as he picked it up to answer it, doing his best to keep an eye on the popcorn.

“Hello?”

“I’m sorry,” the unknown voice was back, deep and gruff. “I guess I dialled the wrong number.”

“So why did you do it again?” John huffed, nearly losing his temper as he clenched his jaw.

“To apologise,” the voice soothed.

“You’re forgiven,” John grumbled, rolling his eyes and doing his best not to immediately slam the phone down. “Bye, now.”

“Wait, wait,” the voice sounded desperate. “Don’t hang up.”

John went to look outside the patio, humming at the pitch dark of the garden for a moment; he hoped that the hedgehog house he had built a few summers back was still standing, and was optimistic that it would have drawn a few of the animals in.

“What?” John sighed.

“I wanna talk to you for a second.”

“There’s about nine hundred fuckin’ numbers in this postcode alone,” John pointed out with a harsh bite. “Go fuckin’ bother one of them an’ quit ruinin’ me night.”

This time, he really did slam the phone down, shaking his head in disbelief as he walked over to the popcorn; he gave it a firm shake to make sure that everything was cooking evenly, and knew it would not take long.

The tinfoil was already starting to bubble and force itself upwards. He was just about to head upstairs to get his pyjamas on, when the phone rang again.

“Tae fuck d’you want?!”

“Why don’t you talk to me?”

“Who the fuck is this?” John demanded to know, a scowl upon his lips.

“You tell me your name,” the unknown caller purred. “I’ll tell you mine.”

Rolling his eyes, John went back to his popcorn as he resigned himself to having to talk to the caller. “I don’t fuckin’ think so.”

“What’s that noise?”

He smiled. Maybe it was just someone in the neighbourhood who was lonely; maybe it was the old boy down the street who had lost his wife recently and really was just looking for someone to talk to. “Am making popcorn.”

“You’re making popcorn?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I only eat popcorn at the cinema,” the voice sounded a lot more innocent this time. It probably was just the lonely old man.

“I’m getting ready to watch a few films,” John hummed in return.

“Really?” They sounded quite pleased. “What?”

“Just some shite horror film I found,” he admitted with a soft laugh.

“D’you like horror films?”

“Some are alright,” John mused. “Some are just bullshit, though… I mean, why is the killer always mentally ill? It’s like, y’know, they’re tryin’ to tell us that people with mental illness are all killers, when they really ain’t.”

“What’s your favourite horror film?”

John thought about it for a moment, deciding to sit at the kitchen counter so that he could try and see if any hedgehogs scampered around in the garden. “I dunno.”

“You have to have a favourite, surely.”

“Erm, Halloween. You know, the one with the guy with the white mask who just sorta walks around and stalks the babysitters. What's yours?”

“Guess.”

“Let me guess,” John smiled to himself. “Nightmare On Elm Street?”

“Is that the one where the cunt had finger swords?”

John dared to bark out a soft laugh as he shook his head. “Oh, aye… Fred.”

“That’s right,” the stranger purred. “Freddy Krueger - I liked that one. Proper scary.”

“Wouldn’t go that far,” John scoffed. “The first was alrigh’, but the rest? Bunch of shite.”

“So,” the stranger hummed. “You got a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Significant other?”

“Why the fuck do you care?” He laughed.. “You tryin’ to get in my trousers?”

“Maybe… do you have anyone?”

“Nah.”

“You never told me your name.”

“Why do you wanna know?”

“You got a nice few hedgehog houses out here,” the stranger hummed. “Don’t you?”

“What?”

“I said I saw some hedgehogs.”

“That ain’t what you said,” John growled. “I gotta go.”

“Don’t hang up on me,” the stranger warned.

John slammed the phone down, shaking his head before going to the door again; he couldn’t see anything, but given how fucking dark it was, he couldn’t say that he was at all surprised.

He clenched his jaw, maybe the stranger was just fucking with him and had walked past his back garden a few times and realised he had hedgehog homes.

Yeah, that was it. That was all it was. He tried to shrug it off, until the phone rang again; clenching his jaw, Soap growled as he picked it up.

“Listen here, ya fuckin’ cunt-”

“No! You listen here you absolute wet wipe!” The stranger snapped. “You hang up on me again and I’ll fuckin’ gut you like a fish! Do you fucking understand?!”

“What kinda bullshit is this?”

“It’s just a little game,” the stranger mused. “That’s all.”

John hummed, shaking his head. “Whaddya want, mate?”

“To see,” the stranger paused, as if grinning. “What your insides look like.”

The doorbell rang, and John shouted from his place near the door. “Who’s there?!”

“Don’t you know not to say who’s there?” The stranger asked. “Don’t you pay attention to films? You’ll get yourself killed.”

John rolled his eyes. Fuck this. “You’ve had your fun, matey - now, please, go onto bonny street and jog the fuck on. Or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else, I’ll get my boyfriend here,” John snapped. “He’s big, he’s SAS, and he’ll fuckin’ kick your teeth in!”

“I thought you didn’t have anybody.”

“I lied!” John growled. “He’s gonna be here any second!”

“Sure he will… I’m so scared I can’t even hold my cigarette.”

“You best fuck off,” John warned. “He really will kick your ass!”

“His name wouldn’t happen to be Benjamin, now, would it?”

John’s grip on the phone faltered, his hands starting to shake slightly. “How’d you know?”

He nearly dropped the phone as he turned the light on, letting out a scream the second the white light shone through the garden; tied to an old patio chair that John had intended to throw away fucking years ago, was Benjamin himself. Otter.

His head was bleeding, duct tape around his mouth sticky with something red and thick. He was screaming, although it was muttered, and he was still in uniform. John went to grab the other landline.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Where are you?!”

“Why don’t you guess?” The stranger chuckled. “You’re pretty good at that.”

“Please,” John whimpered out, swallowing thickly. “Don’t hurt him…”

“Now,” the stranger seemed so fucking smug. “That all depends on you, Soap… I wanna play a game, just a little fun one.”

“No… please… please… just let him go…”

“Ooh, no can do!” The stranger laughed. “C’mon, it won’t take long… just turn off the light… good boy.”

John growled softly under his breath, swallowing thickly, audibly.

“Here’s the rules,” the stranger purred. “I ask a question, and if you get it right - your pretty little Otter lives.”

John crouched behind the sofa, expecting something to be thrown through the door. “Fine! Fine, you cunt! I’ll play - but only if he lives!”

“Good boy, I knew you’d come around,” the stranger chuckled softly. “First question - name the killed in Red Dragon.”

“Francis Dolarhyde!” John yelped helplessly.

“Good boy!” The stranger purred. “Next question, same category… name Hannibal Lecter’s first victim.”

“Mischa!” John howled. “It was Mischa Lecter!”

“Wrong!” The stranger snapped. “The Nazis killed Mischa and fed her to him! His first victim was Paul Momund, the racist butcher!”

“No! No, it was Mischa!” John protested. “I watched it dozens of times! It was Mischa!”

“If you watched it dozens of times then you would know that Hannibal never touched his sister!” The stranger barked. “But, lucky for you - there’s a bonus round! Poor Otter, though? He’s out.”

“No,” John weakly muttered, running towards the back door just in time. “Please, no.”

John’s screams were loud enough to wake the dead as he gazed at the sight outside; Benjamin’s stomach was sliced open, his head sitting on his lap and his cheeks missing. Bitten out.

By instinct alone, John ran outside, shaking his head in disbelief as he looked over Benjamin’s body. The blood seeping onto his hands and making the phone slip when he picked it up again.

“You fucking cunt!” John howled. “You fucking bastard!”

“Final question, Soap.”

“No!”

“Do you wanna fucking end up like your boyfriend?!” The stranger didn’t wait for him to answer, already knowing. “What door am I at?”

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

“There’s two doors to your house, Soap,” they explained, “there’s the back door, where your boyfriend has so beautifully brought to life a scene from Hannibal Rising, and the front door… where… am… I?”

John didn’t dare to hesitate, grabbing the knife from the kitchen counter and steadying himself by the back door; even now, he could feel his training begin to kick in as he tried to hide himself as well as he could.

He worked out that the stranger would likely be at the front door, but when he began heading towards it, there was an almighty crash as the chair that Benjamin was in came thudding through, spraying the clear sharp shards everywhere, one landing in Soap’s arm as he desperately tried to make his way to an escape.

Without thinking, John headed through the new hole, running straight for the corner of the garden with all the speed and strength that he could muster, dropping the phone in the process.

But he was caught by a black leather glove, taking control of his wrist and easily overpowering him; John looked up, his light grey eyes meeting large, black, eyes upon a ghostly white mask.

John screamed, hoping it would at least catch them off guard.

But they brandished their own knife, and slowly cut along his forearm, forcing him to drop his knife and watch as it clattered to the floor. John tried to wriggle through, but the stranger grabbed his neck, and forced him down onto the ground.

Straddling his waist as they used one hand to strangle him as he slowly lost the will and the urge to fight back.

A flash of silver. A deep cut across the flesh of his chest, staining his light jumper so easily.

With ease, the stranger grabbed his leg, and began to drag him away, towards the tree; a rope was already hanging from one of the old and withered branches. All they had to do was hang it around his neck; with his final gasp of breath, John raised his hand, and grabbed the mask, his weak eyes growing slightly wide.

“You…”

The stranger nodded, grinning at him. “Me.”

The stranger hoisted John’s body up, slipping the noose around his neck before beating his stomach with the knife until his entrails spilled out; grabbing the bloodied mask, they hummed, admiring their handiwork for a moment before leaving again.

Home time.

Inside the dusty old garage, the fridge was open, and the wooden steps leading into it were silent despite their age and the recent windy weather; although muffled, it was clear to hear the guests in the next room over.

Simon Riley was late, as always, this time he blamed traffic instead of his significant other who he was bringing with him.

Kyle Gaz Garrick was sitting on the sofa with Farah Karim and Alex Killer, watching an old repeat of Friday the 13th on the television in the living room; they all called out in unison when the protagonists made a fatal mistake.

Inside the garage, though, Captain John Price - a handsome man for his age, grey littering his beard, moustache, mutton chops and hair - was rooting through the old fridge for the drinks that he had bought. Nothing fancy, just some off-brand lemonade and a few energy drinks.

They were all on edge, after the recent murder of one of their own - John Soap MacTavish - but it was understandable that they would be; that’s why they had all gathered at Price’s sprawling and large home in the countryside outside of Liverpool - safety in numbers, and all that.

A few tools fell, and Price immediately pressed his back against the fridge, scowling; he had forgotten to lock the cat door that he had installed.

There were so many left abandoned outdoors, he converted his garage into a little safe haven for them to come and go as they pleased - yet when he had guests over, he always locked it.

With a sigh of relief, he watched the cat scramble away and run through the door, rolling his eyes at himself.

“Bollocks! Easy, John, you’re alright,” he told himself, putting his hand to his chest. “Fuckin’ cats.”

He grabbed the drinks he had promised the others, although when he reached it, he found that it had been locked; furrowing his brows, he figured that maybe Gaz or Farah had locked it in order to keep everybody safe - after all, Price did say to keep all the doors and windows locked.

He was glad that they actually paid attention to what he had said, but he wasn’t exactly happy to be locked in his own garage.

“Fuck… oi! You fucking bellends! I’m still in here!”

Carefully, so as not to shake them, Price set the drinks down on his workbench, and went to turn the light on; it didn’t work, even though he had only replaced the bulbs two weeks ago. He frowned. Maybe it was a blown fuse.

He figured it was nothing huge, so he flicked the switch to lift the garage door, and headed towards it; the drinks could wait, he could grab them when he unlocked the garage door again once he was inside the house.

It was slowly opening, rutting and spluttering as it did so, but then it suddenly slammed down in front of him.

Sighing, Price pinched the bridge of his nose. “I fucking thought I fixed that… for fuck’s sake!”

He turned around, about to head for the switch again, when he saw a tall figure in a black robe, donned in a white mask. Price rolled his eyes as he scoffed.

“Oh, bugger off, Gaz!” He was trying not to smile.

The killer shook their head, silent as they dropped their head slightly.

“Cute, very cute,” Price chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “But what’s this from? Jason Takes Liverpool?”

The killer didn’t even move.

“Lose the getup, lad,” he told him sternly. “Halloween ain’t for another year. You missed it, and you look like a knob.”

The killer shook their head again.

“Oh, alright, I get it,” Price laughed, grinning. “You wanna play serial killer?”

The killer nodded.

“I’m guessing you want me to be the innocent bloke that gets stabbed?”

Another nod.

“Alright, let’s see…” Price clapped his hands once before humming to himself. “Fuck no Mr. Ghostface don’t kill me I want to be in the sequel! How’s that?”

A curt nod.

“Alright, playtime’s over,” he told them with a soft laugh. “C’mon, cut the shit, we should get back to the others - they’re probably thirstier than a skunk on a Tuesday.”

The killer planted their hand against the doorframe, blocking it.

“What the fuck are you doing, Gaz?”

Grabbing his arm, the killer brandished their stained knife, and slashed his wrist across the fine skin with ease; recoiling, Price furrowed his brows.

“What the fuck?!”

He backed away quickly, opening the freezer of the fridge so that it slammed into the killer’s crotch, making them grunt and double over for a moment; he grabbed some old glass bottles that he had intended to turn into lights, and hurled them at the killer as hard as he could.

“Cunt!”

He ran to the door in the garage, but only managed to get his head through, his shoulders trapped by the narrow angles as he grunted and growled, struggling and kicking his legs; he could feel the floor beneath him fading away, and snarled out a few choice phrases as he struggled even more.

Feeling pressure slowly sink onto his neck. A harsh crack echoed throughout the garage, and the killer gave his leg a firm tug before letting themselves into the house through the door.

They were quick, discarding the clothes in the cupboard but keeping the mask in their back pocket before escaping out into the back garden. Immediately, you ran up to them, and hugged them tightly as you grinned.

“How’d you do?”

“Pretty well,” Ghost agreed with a smile, nodding as he put his arm around your shoulders. “I did miss your voice, though.”

You laughed, leaning into him as you put your hand on his chest for a moment. “It’s a shame you’re not covered in blood this time.”

Eyeing you for a moment, Ghost took a look around, and redirected you towards the bottom of the garden. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm,” you licked your lips, breath hitching at the mere thought. “I fucking love it when you get covered in blood, you know that.”

“Do you want me to wear the mask this time?” He asked, and when you asked him to, he grinned. “I thought so…”

You were more than ready and willing, dropping to your knees the second that he stopped walking; already eagerly holding onto his belt as you let out a shaky sigh. “C’mon, Simon, please?”

“Hang on,” he chuckled, slipping the mask back on. He fumbled with his belt, taking another quick look around before pushing down his trousers and boxers. “Go on, then, baby, show me how much you like it.”

You immediately jumped at the chance, taking his cock in your hand and stroking it as you nuzzled into it; huffing the thick scent and looking up at him with your best puppy dog eyes. “Like this?”

“Fuck,” Ghost growled softly, resisting the urge to grab the back of your neck and force his cock down your throat. “You’re so good to me.”

You smiled, peppering his cock with kisses from the tip to the base before wrapping your lips around the tip and licking his slit. “Can I keep going?”

“Don’t stop until I tell you to,” he demanded, waiting for you to slowly start taking him in your mouth before he pushed down on the back of your neck, bucking his hips quickly.

Fucking your mouth as hard and as fast as he could until he could feel your tears slowly dripping onto his skin; he couldn’t resist it, tilting his head back and groaning softly as he closed his eyes in bliss and kept using your mouth like his own personal little fucktoy.

You gagged when he hit the back of your throat too many times, but you didn’t stop, and you didn’t tap his thigh twice either so he knew that he could keep going; roughly he pushed you away from his cock, and groaned softly as he looked at you on his knees for him.

“I need to fuck you,” Ghost growled. “Now.”

You grinned, nodding eagerly as you got on your hands and knees; you allowed him to help you push down your trousers and underwear, baring your ass so eagerly. “Please, Mister Ghostface. Fuck me.”

Ghost softly groaned, giving his cock a few good firm strokes before he lined himself up; it was so fucking painful, the girth of his cock stretching your ass out and making you whimper as you gripped the ground so harshly that your knuckles audibly clicked.

Ghost paused only for a moment before grabbing your hips as hard as he could, his fingernails easily breaking the skin slightly; he didn’t wait for much longer, pistoning into you until you fell flat on your stomach, begging for him to keep going between thick and needy breaths.

He was pounding into you, rutting and caring for little else but his own pleasure; but you needed it, you needed every inch and every single droplet that he had to offer.

When he grabbed your throat, leaning over you with his phone in his hand, you moaned so loudly that he had to take his hand from your throat in order to slap it onto your mouth.

“Smile for the camera,” he whispered in your ear, grinning when you made direct eye contact with it just as he pressed the screen to take the picture.

He put the phone back into his pocket, and pressed one hand against the back of your neck, the other keeping your hip ever so propped up as he fucked you so hard that you could feel yourself moving with every thrust; whimpering every time he nearly pulled out and needing him to fill you with every inch and every droplet all the same.

Fuck. He was so rough, so hard, and when you felt him put more pressure on your neck, you couldn't help but to moan so loudly that it was almost a scream.

He was fucking filling you, and you knew that wouldn't last with how he wasn't even fucking you, he was using you; treating you like little more than a fleshlight.

“Ghostface!” You whimpered so softly. “I'm gonna- fuck! I'm close!”

“Wait for me to cum,” Ghost demanded, picking up his pace and getting both faster and rougher with you. As much as he could be, like he was chasing something that he desperately desired. Needed. Craved.

But fuck, when your ass started to clench around him, he couldn't stop it, his movements sloppy and his voice rough as he continued to demand everything of you.

The worst part was that you were eager to give it, even though you did miss the feeling of blood dripping onto you, the thick scent of copper and the taste of it on your tongue when you so lovingly lapped it from the flesh of his chest.

Even thinking about it was driving you over the edge.

Yet, when Ghost came in you, you could only whimper and push back against him.

“Breed me!” You cried softly. “Please, Ghostface, please, breed me!”

Ghost grinned behind the mask, pinning you down and continuing to fuck you as he filled you up so eagerly; he could hear the squelch as he continued to fuck it into you, reaching around and palming at your crotch to push you further and further.

Everything went white. A slight ringing in your ears as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your mouth open and drool slipping from the corner.

Your grip on the ground grew tight once more, knuckles clicking audibly and harshly as you panted his name so desperately and with such awful need.

Ghost didn't stop until you had cum twice, only daring to pull out once he was sure that you were close to collapsing; bliss on your face, he eagerly smacked your ass, and chuckled darkly as he stood up.

“C'mon,” he growled lowly. “There's three of them inside, we can take them.”

You whimpered, taking a moment to steady yourself before you slowly got up, able to feel how stuffed you were as you moaned softly and grinned. “Kiss me.”

Ghost was all too eager to do so, grabbing the back of your neck harshly as he pulled you in for a breathy, open mouthed, kiss. “You're so good for me, you know… you take Gaz. I'll take Alex. We’ll get Farah together.”

You nodded, fixing yourself up before heading over to where you had left your costume; you allowed Ghost to go before you, knowing that he would find a way to split the group left in the house somehow.

As you were getting kitted up, you could see Ghost doing the same inside, and blew him a sweet kiss before you pulled your mask on.

Giddy, you allowed him to split the group by setting a fire in the kitchen; Gaz ran outside, right into your tracks. You were quick, pouncing on him and plunging the knife into his back. All the breath left his body as he tried to grasp, falling down and going limp almost immediately.

You smiled, giving him a firm kick to make sure he was dead before you ran into the house.

Ghost had Alex on the floor, and had slashed him very well; his thighs were all cut up, his arm was split into two down the middle, his scalp was missing.

Yet Ghost was still going, carving and slashing without a single care until he saw you and nodded.

You found Farah hiding in the bedroom, and grabbed her arm roughly as you brought her down into the kitchen; Ghost had killed the fire, and helped you to corner her against the counter.

“What the fuck do you want?! Who the fuck are you?!”

“Surprise,” you grinned as you removed the mask, leaning into Ghost's side.

“Evening, Farah,” Ghost chuckled, removing his own.

She looked between both of you, her mouth agape. “Why?”

“We figured it was the best way,” you hummed with a shrug.

“We were bored,” Ghost explained, putting his arm over your shoulders, “there wasn't really much for us when we were on leave.”

“But you were our family!” She cried, tears streaming down her face.

“No!” You snapped. “Soap, Gaz and Price were family! We were left out!”

Ghost nodded in agreement. “Besides, who needs a motive nowadays?”

“You two have watched far too many films,” she said quietly.

“Well,” you hummed. “That's the thing, innit? There's always been serial killers, but films? A great source of inspiration.”

“It's just a shame,” Ghost added. “They always blame it on people with mental illness - schizophrenia. Psychosis. But that's not the people doing it.”

“Absolutely not,” you agreed. “The only thing that makes you a killer, is wanting to kill.”

“But, unfortunately for you,” Ghost brandished his knife and grinned. “We've gotta kill you.”

“Me and Simon will be the only ones who survived a horrible, bloody massacre,” you grinned. “We managed to escape.”

“Like fuck you did!”

You both turned around, seeing Gaz brandishing a gun as he steadied himself against the door. He didn't even hesitate, pulling the trigger twice. Two bodies thumped to the ground, holes in between their eyes.

“I thought they'd never shut up,” Farah breathed out, immediately running over to Gaz and holding him tightly. “Are you alright?”

Gaz slumped down, sitting against the doorframe. “Yeah, yeah, I think so… fuck, that hurt…”

“They got Alex…” she whispered. “My brother…”

Gaz frowned, holding her hand as tightly as he could. “It's alright… we're still alive.”

“I need to call someone,” she pressed.

“I already covered it,” he groaned softly. “I saw Price…”

Slowly, Farah sat beside him, and rested her head against his shoulder as she gave his hand a small squeeze; she sniffled, but as much as she would miss her brother, she knew that she at least had Gaz there.

Gaz closed his eyes, too weak to mourn as he sniffled. He was just glad he had Farah.

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