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laurfilijames · 2 months

Text

Like My Dreams

Part 5

Intro Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Pairing: Pete Dunham x female reader

Words: 9.9k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Alcohol consumption. Unprotected intercourse. Sex in a public place. Blood, cuts and bruises. Dressing of wounds. Cockwarming. Mention of stab wound and life-threatening injuries. Assault. Threat of rape.

Summary: Right when you and Pete seal the deal on your relationship, more car trouble and a visit from an ex stirs up drama and pops the blissful bubble you waited so long for.

A/N: 😅 this chapter really got away from me but I had the best time writing it!! I had an idea for part of it and pitched it to the wonderfully supportive @ramadiiiisme who encouraged me to go for it and helped me pull it off, so big thanks to you a million times more 💗 The scene with Mrs. Platt was inspired by a conversation with @stealfromthedevil about her dear grandmother who's cheeky words are included in the dialogue 💗💗

The linked song is one I've been listening to non-stop while writing this chapter and is just so lovely and fits in with all the fluffy bits of not only this chapter, but this series as a whole.

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It had been a couple of hours since Pete had gone home to shower and clean up after the friendly game with the lads, now sitting in his favourite seat at their table watching the Hammers struggle to get a lead against Chelsea, the match currently tied at 1-1. He would normally care a bit more about it, but knowing you were on your way to meet him there had taken all his focus and energy, feeling more excited to see you than bothered that his team might end the game in a draw, or worse.

He slouched against the old chair with his arm over the back, taking a long sip of his beer before setting it back down and licking his lips.

“Oh, come on! Fucking unbelievable!” he muttered at the screen, the referee pulling an outrageous call against West Ham.

Whatever happened next in the game no longer mattered to him all that much, seeing you walk in the door and through the crowd of people standing between you, his smile growing as he watched you tug your scarf out from around your neck and head over to the bar where you stopped to say hello to Terry and order a drink.

Pete stood and walked over slowly, admiring you from across the room as you chatted with Terry for a moment, your smile making his heart nearly stop when you turned and directed it at him as he reached you.

He said nothing, his grin too large to control any words to come through it, instead opting for a greeting he had been waiting all night to give.

Grabbing your cheeks, he leaned in and kissed you, inhaling with a low moan as he felt you melt into him and release your breath, your hands landing limply on his biceps.

A few people cheered around you, making both of you smile again after you parted from each other, but the need to get you alone was quickly becoming a priority in the realization of how many people were preventing him from doing all the things he wanted to do right then and there.

“Hi, love,” he said warmly, the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes making desire stir inside you.

“Hi,” you sighed with a love-drunk smile, the single word a breathy whisper.

Pete bit his lip as he reached for both of your drinks off the bar, nodding in the direction of their table in the corner.

“Come on, gorgeous, we’re over here.”

You were greeted warmly as usual, the spirits of everyone high after the Hammers scored a goal, and with all members of the GSE and their respective partners present to watch the match, little room was available at the booth.

Ned and Ike shifted over to make a spot for you beside Clair and Dave, leaving a space that was too large for your liking between you and where Pete sat in his designated chair, his hands folded together with his elbows resting on the arms of it as he looked fondly at you mixed in with his favourite people.

As much as you loved being at The Abbey enjoying conversations that made your cheeks and stomach hurt from laughing so much, the company that Pete kept people you now couldn’t imagine your life without, it was difficult for you to focus tonight, your mind constantly wandering to how the night was going to turn out just as much as your eyes continued to find Pete’s automatically.

It was like he knew everything you were thinking, his blue eyes glowing with a telling want and his looks loaded with insinuation, every swipe of his tongue over his lips or the way he rolled the toothpick that hung out of his mouth teasing you and driving you mad.

You squirmed in your seat, your fingers toying with the soggy coaster that had been spilled on too many times, forcing yourself to peel your eyes away from him whenever you felt the heat inside you becoming too much, only to steal another glance a moment later, finding him still looking at you hungrily.

The game was coming to an end, and with the Hammers still holding onto their lead, Pete was more than happy to miss the rest of it in exchange for seeing something he had wanted to all day, and as you slowly trailed your hand down your neck to your chest before reaching for the drink you had nursed most of the night, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer.

Waiting for you to glance over at him again, he watched you intently, imagining your bare form beneath him, pressing his lips against every single inch of you.

Finally, you met his gaze, a sultry look weighing in your eyes, and with a subtle nod toward the door, Pete silently told you it was time to go.

You smiled almost sheepishly, your face seeming to glow in a mix of embarrassment and excitement as you rushed through your goodbyes, your friends all shouting teasing jeers at you in knowing the reason behind your early exit.

Pete winked at you as he shrugged into his tan trench coat, adjusting the collar and tugging it up at the back so it covered his neck, flicking the toothpick he had still had in his mouth onto the table.

He took your hand and lead you through the pub with a pride that didn’t go unnoticed by those you passed, finding yourself bashful in thinking that everyone knew what was about to happen based on the look on your face, having to bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning and cast your eyes down at the worn carpet as you made your way out.

The door hadn’t even shut behind you before Pete had you up against the brick wall, his hands holding your waist with a claiming grip as he leaned into you and kissed you breathless, his want for you inarguable.

“Let’s go home,” he said with surety, his smile lighting up his eyes when he stepped away from you, pulling you with him with his hand clasped around yours again confidently.

The walk to Pete’s wasn’t long, but was made longer tonight by how often the two of you stopped to kiss, unable to keep off of each other for the duration it took to land at his door.

There was thankfully no sign of Mrs. Platt hanging around to make comments, the time it took for Pete to fish out his keys and unlock the deadbolt incredibly delayed due to interrupting the process in favour of kissing, your bodies now pressing together more closely and your hands becoming bolder where they roamed.

Pete finally opened the door and walked through it, and after tossing his keys onto the table, turned to grin at you and take your hand, pulling you inside with him.

“Get in here,” he said through his smirk, the playful tone of his voice undisguisable despite how much lust showed in his eyes.

He brought you in against him, his lips teasing yours as he whispered, “I need you.”

You smoothed your hands up the back of his neck as you kissed him, melting when he moaned into your mouth as the sensation of your fingers raking through his hair made him desperate for more, the intensity of the kiss increasing quickly.

Within moments you stood naked in his room, holding each other close while playful kisses were shared and hands began their worship, the excitement and anticipation that had slowly built up to this moment stirring within you.

It was clear that Pete felt the same, his smile unable to be wiped from his face each time you parted to look at each other, and as he moved closer to the bed with you, he tucked his bottom lip in his teeth to try to restrict it.

You sat on the mattress, leaning back on your elbows where he followed closely, crawling over you as you fully laid down in his bedding that lingered with the scents of him and you. His smile turned into a sweet chuckle as you giggled too, having him settle between your legs and laying on top of you making you feel unbelievably elated, the sensation of his readied cock resting against your core solidifying the fact that you couldn’t possibly wait another night.

His expression turned serious for a moment as he peered down at you, a soft groan coming out of his mouth as his cock rubbed against you when he shifted slightly.

“You sure you’re ready?” he asked, his voice somewhat shaky with restraint.

You nodded, and spoke with as much certainty as you could have in a moment where you felt on the border of being totally consumed by lust and longing, “Fuck me, Pete.”

He didn’t hesitate, pushing into you with a confident drive of his hips, your head tilting back as you cried out, the stretch of him filling you bare without a doubt the best thing you had ever felt.

Together, you quickly found a pace that suited you both, his thrusts slow and rolling but purposeful, his kisses growing more desperate on the skin of your neck and chest as each minute ticked on.

It took hardly any time at all for your climax to fire up within you, the anticipation of sex with Pete having let the intensity of it lay in dormancy right under the surface only to bring it forth faster than ever, his body linked with yours igniting and awakening every part of you.

You clawed at his back in a signal of your oncoming pleasure as well as a silent plea for more, half of you wanting to experience it immediately while the other half begged to prolong it all.

Clenching around his cock, you couldn’t ward it off any longer, moaning into his mouth as he continued to slam into you in a tempo that sent you to the edge but you could tell was beginning to falter as his climax took him in its clutches.

Your orgasm came through you hard and fast, shattering every inch of you as he followed right along with you, feeling him pulse and swell inside your walls, soaking him at the same time he filled you.

Pete kissed you almost frantically as he slowed his movements in you, savouring every second of being inside you while seemingly starving for more, your whines quieting out in his mouth as his breathing worked to calm to normal.

Emotion overcame him at the thought of never being able to experience this with you, the reality of him almost dying without ever having kissed you or touched you or loved you made his eyes burn, and closing them tight as he parted from your lips, he held your face in his hand and brought his forehead to rest against yours, his thumb moving to pull down your lower lip as you shared more laboured breaths.

You made love again and again through the night, resting between rounds only long enough to recharge, the addiction you had to each other increasing each time.

It was well after three in the morning when you had finally fallen asleep, exhaustion eventually taking over the nagging need for more, the cold comfort of the open window and your bodies wrapped together truly feeling like heaven.

The sound of rain and Pete stirring against you woke you up, making you scoot back against him to get closer to him, his arm that was wrapped around your waist tightening its hold and pulling you in.

He hummed in your hair, his body beginning to wake before his mind fully did, feeling him harden against your bum while his lips lazily kissed down the back of your neck.

A long moan sounded from you as you indulged in the blissful sensation, wriggling against him until his cock was firmly pressed between your cheeks, beginning to rock your hips languidly back and forth until his sleepy kisses turned to warning nips.

“Babe…” his sleepy voice purred in your ear, his lips pulling your lobe between them before his tongue swept along its shell.

“Pete…I need you.” His name fell from your lips in a whimper as your hand took hold of his and guided it between your legs, his fingertips gently stroking your clit until he had you begging for more.

Pete sat up and guided you onto all fours, positioning himself behind you where he gripped your cheeks with his hands to part them while he stroked your folds with the head of his cock.

Despite feeling how wet you were, he was aware how you would likely be sore from the amount of times he’d fucked you already, reaching over for the bottle of lube on the nightstand where he squeezed some out and coated his length until he hissed from the sensation of his own hand and slowly guided himself inside your tight walls.

He watched your hands grip the sheets as he filled you, your fingers relaxing slightly as he pulled back out, only to grip them harder and cry out when he pushed in again.

“Fuck, you take me so well,” he muttered, keeping a slow tempo even though he was tempted to quicken it and destroy you.

He heard your soft hum of appreciation for his praise over the pouring rain, everything you did adding up to drive him insane and make him fall more in love with you, suddenly feeling as if being buried inside you wasn’t enough to appease his heart.

Pete wrapped his arm around you so his hand splayed out over your stomach, applying pressure to guide you to sit up and onto his lap, careful to keep himself locked in your cunt.

Spreading the remaining lube onto your clit with his fingers, Pete began to steadily work you, his other hand holding you up while also squeezing and massaging your breasts, his mouth worshiping the space between your shoulder and ear in an intoxicating way that had your head lulling back onto his shoulder.

Goosebumps erupted over your skin as a brisk gust blew in through the window, adding to the over-stimulation that assaulted every part of you, doing your best to focus on the fullness of Pete driving inside you as you rocked yourself on his lap.

You reached your arm up and around his head, stroking his hair and gripping at him as you rode him, feeling yourself beginning to lose all control but placing all your trust in him to take care of you just how you needed.

Still holding you firmly against him, he continued to strum between your legs, knowing how close he was getting you from how you subtly tried to escape his grasp and your body convulsed to his touch, feeling your hands tighten on his head and forearm that was wrapped around you to keep you in place.

“That’s it. Come for me,” he panted in your ear, feeling you angle your hips against his hand in order to gain more friction on your clit, chasing your end as he increased the power behind his hammering thrusts.

Quiet whimpers grew at a steady pace as they spilled from your mouth, your whines of pleasure drowned out in your own ears as you focused on the sound of Pete’s heavy breathing and the praises he was showering you with, the pouring rain tapping furiously against the glass panes.

You unraveled together, the way your body tightly coiled before turning limp milking out his climax at the same time, his breath fanning out over your dewy skin as he rested his parted lips on your shoulder and stilled inside you.

Lifting yourself off his lap, you sank onto the mattress on your stomach, closing your eyes as exhaustion completely took over you, a faint smile tugging at your lips when you felt Pete follow, kissing up along your back until he collapsed half on top of you.

He took hold of your hand and brought it to rest between your bodies, kissing your knuckles softly until his breathing began to turn shallow as sleep quickly dragged him into its grasp.

These were the moments you knew you couldn’t live without, willing to sacrifice sleep night after night in order to love and be loved like this, the gratitude that filled you at being the one laying beside him as he slept outweighing any desire to close your eyes and miss even a second of it.

You knocked twice on the door before opening it anyway, letting yourself in just as Pete had told you to whenever you came over, the urgency you felt to get inside and out of the hallway too much to handle even if you weren’t allowed to walk in as you pleased.

Pete gave you an amused look, one of his eyebrows hooking high on his forehead as he placed the pen he had been holding in his mouth and reached for another paper to grade off the coffee table, your laughter sparking his curiosity.

“What?” he asked, letting out his own chuckle at your flustered state as you leaned against the door and ran your hand over your head.

“I was just stopped by Mrs. Platt. She told me she can hear us and to keep it down!”

Pete burst out laughing, shifting on the settee so his arm rested on the back of it to face you more.

“It’s not funny!” you argued, even though you were still laughing yourself, shaking your head in disbelief at the conversation you had just had with the crotchety woman in her eighties.

“Oh, it is!”

“Pete!” you urged, as if saying his name would scold him into not making fun of the situation, walking through to the living area where you plopped your bag down on one of the chairs as you passed.

“She actually said, ‘It’s not my place, but do you two ever sleep? All I hear night after night is that bed banging against the flaming wall!’”

Pete only laughed harder, hanging his head back over the sofa where you stood behind it and leaned down to grab hold of his face, begging him to stop laughing before kissing him in order to try to shut him up when he didn’t.

He was still chuckling when you pulled away from him, prompting you to smack his chest as you cursed at him.

“I can’t keep being stopped in the hallway to listen to this poor old woman make comments about hearing us have sex!”

“Ah, she’s just winding you up!”

You turned to walk into the kitchen only to be stopped by Pete’s arm wrapping around your waist to pull you back to the couch that he leaned over the back of, looking at you with mischief in his eyes that made you melt and suddenly not worry about anyone hearing the things you did together.

“Come on, love,” he purred. “She ain’t heard nothing yet.”

“Is that a promise, or a threat?” you asked, smirking as you freed yourself from his grip and made it into the kitchen, filling up the kettle.

“Both!” he replied, sitting back down on the sofa where he resumed marking his student’s homework.

“I need to take my car back to the mechanic,” you explained, shifting the conversation to something ordinary after a couple minutes of comfortable silence while placing a tea bag into your respective mugs.

“Yeah?” Pete asked somewhat distractedly as he focused on his task.

“Yeah, it's been making a funny noise whenever I accelerate, and it sort of jolts when I shift gear. Hopefully it’s nothing major or expensive, they were meant to be the best mechanic…”

“When are you taking it in?”

“Tomorrow morning. My sister’s going to meet me there and take me to work after.”

“I can do it if you want,” he offered, glancing over at you.

“Nah you’re off the hook,” you smiled, “she’s got some holiday time so I’m off duty being Jack’s chauffeur for a week!”

“Ah, look at you!”

“I know, right? She’s even taking him to practice this week.”

“That means I won’t get to see you there then, nothing good to look at on the sidelines and distract me,” he pouted, making you roll your eyes before pouring the hot water into your mugs.

“I reckon you’ll live.”

“Ah, then Mrs. Platt will just get to hear an even better show than normal when I get back home to you,” Pete laughed, ducking when you threw the tea towel at him.

The drive to Millwall took longer than normal due to rush-hour traffic, but it didn’t bother you as much as it typically would knowing you had a late start to your day that had been approved by your boss.

You pulled into the open bay door of the garage, parking your car and stepping out, giving a friendly smile to the mechanic who had helped you before.

“Giving you some grief, then eh?” he asked through a grin, nodding to your car as he wiped his hands on a rag.

“Yeah, as I said on the phone it’s kind of clunking when I’m shifting and the sound it makes when I accelerate worries me a bit…”

“We’ll put ‘er right, not to worry!” he beamed at you, extending his oil-stained hand to take your keys that you held out for him.

He stared at you for a moment, making you avert your gaze slightly, feeling somewhat uneasy.

“Say, you don’t happen to know the Dunham’s do you?” he asked, his question making your head whip up again in surprise. “Steve and Pete? They’re brothers.”

You tilted your head, your curiosity somewhat guarded, “I do, as it happens…”

The way his smile changed and the shift in his eyes put you on edge and raised your suspicions, but you did your best to remain confident, interested as to why he was asking and how he knew who they were.

“I thought as much,” he nodded.

His response took you back, and you blinked quickly, trying to wrap your head around this whole inquiry.

“Sorry, how exactly do you know them?”

He hesitated, staring you down for a few seconds before answering, almost as if he was being careful to formulate a proper response or like he was unsure how much to tell you.

“...We’re old mates,” he said slowly, his smile not leaving his thin lips.

You nodded, glancing down at the embroidered name tag on the chest of his overalls, the name ‘Martin’ one you wouldn’t forget.

“Right,” he broke the silence, his tone more cheerful in disrupting the somewhat tense air. “We’ll have a look at it and likely get it back to you at the start of next week…give ya a ring when we know what it needs and what the damage is.”

“Ta,” you thanked him, giving him one last look before turning and walking out of the garage, heading to your sister’s car where she was parked on the road out front.

You pulled the handle on the door and sat down into the passenger seat, looking out the window into the shop where Martin stood with another man of equal stature, both of them glancing out in your direction.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Hm? Nothing, it’s fine,” you assured her, smiling at her as you put your seatbelt on. “Can we stop for a coffee on the way?”

It was a typical Thursday night at The Abbey, everyone gathering at the table one by one as they flowed in from work, a pint and some laughs with mates seeming to be of the same priority for each hardworking hooligan alike as the week started to take its toll and winded down to an end.

“Where’s Pete?” Ike asked, sitting down beside you with his fresh pint.

“Oh, he’s coaching tonight,” you explained, spinning what was left of your gin and tonic in its glass. “He should be here in an hour or so.”

Ike nodded in confirmation as he took a long sip of his beer, both of you drawing your attention to the Bjorno’s as they walked in with a cheerful greeting.

Dave planted a kiss on Clair’s lips as he stopped at the bar to get the drinks in, letting her continue on to the table where she sat down with a sigh.

“Long shift?” you asked, catching the weary look that she couldn’t easily hide.

She glanced at you exasperatedly, “Oh, don’t even get me started!”

“Here you go, my love,” Dave said while leaning down to place her drink in front of her, kissing the top of her head as he did.

You found it difficult to focus on the conversations happening around you, your attention glued to the small group of women standing at the far side of the bar, the looks they kept shooting your way making you feel uneasy.

“Hey, do you know who they are?” you asked Clair, subtly nodding in their direction as they leaned in over the bar to get closer to Vicky, the barmaid, before all staring back at you again.

“Those tarts?” Clair began. “Yeah, they’re mates of Vicky’s. Bunch of slags.”

You nodded, taking it in but still not having an answer as to why they seemed so interested in you, thinking of all the times you had nice enough conversations with Vicky, or so you thought.

“Pete used to have it off with the blonde one,” Bovver piped up, blowing the smoke from his freshly lit cigarette in your direction as he spoke.

Your eyebrows raised high on your forehead as you took in the information, finally having some clarity as to why these women you had never seen before were obviously unhappy with your presence.

“Fucked like crazy for a few months…” he continued, the iciness of his blue eyes holding something of a threat as he told you.

“Oi! Don’t be like that,” Dave scolded him, shoving his arm. “Why do you have to say it like that?”

“It’s true!” Bov scowled, his loyalty to his relations with Vicky clearly extending to her friends over you.

You sighed, trying not to let it bother you, reminding yourself that everyone, including you, had a past, and hoped that whatever issue she had with you would pass soon.

“Right, I need another,” you stated, shaking your empty glass in your hand as you stood.

Just as you anticipated, the daggers coming from across the bar dug into your back, still doing your best to ignore them while waiting for Terry to fix your drink, but that became impossible when the blonde who was apparently an ex of Pete’s slunk over to you and stood far closer to you than you would’ve liked.

“I didn’t think it was true, but here you are,” she began, her accent sloppy from the drinks she had tossed back already, her breath smelling of stale fags and the tartness of the cranberry juice she mixed with her vodka.

“What’s true?” you asked, giving her no more than a sideways glance as you fished the change from your pocket to pay for your drink.

“That Pete is dating a plain, old slag.”

“I’m sorry, and who might you be?”

“I was you only a few months back,” she grinned, her smile vicious and proud in her admission that she had been Pete’s at one time.

You huffed as you smiled, taking your drink from Terry who eyed you up as if offering his help, turning to go back to the table. The thought of him being with someone as vile as her made your stomach lurch, and not wanting to give it any further attention, you ignored her.

“I’m not done talking to you, you soppy cow!” she shouted, her lack of couth on full display to everyone around as a hush fell over the pub.

When you continued on your way over to the group, all of them watching with bated breath to see what would happen next, the satisfaction on Bovver’s face boiling your blood more than she was, her shrill voice sounded out again, making you pause.

“He said I was the best he’s ever had, and I’ll be right here to remind him of that.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the adrenaline making you feel shaky and on the verge of doing something stupid, but instead you neglected to give her the drama she sought and took your seat again, praying that Pete would get there soon.

“Don’t let her get to you,” Dave assured, leaning over Clair who had already offered to fight her twice. “It wasn’t that serious…”

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” you assured, hoping it sounded genuine or at least believable.

“I mean, they were at it together for a few months…” Keith added in, earning a scolding from both Dave and Swill, making you swallow thickly.

You took a long sip of your drink as you tried to tune out the sound of the lads bickering and the jeers still coming in your direction from across the bar, your eyes closing as you tried to slow your breathing.

After a couple more minutes, you stood and made your way through the bar to the loo, praying no one would follow you, your newfound enemies calling you names as you passed.

Pete finally made it to the pub, strutting through the crowd and desperate for a beer after a long day at work and then coaching out in the cold rain, the sight of his ex leaning what she thought was invitingly against the bar making him scowl as he passed.

When there was no sight of you at the table, he did a quick glance around, distractingly returning everyone’s greetings as he shrugged out of his jacket and sat.

“Oi, what’s she doing here?” he asked Dave, nodding over in the direction of the bar where they continued to stare over at him.

Dave shook his head, “They’ve been causing trouble, pal.”

Seeing Pete’s face fall into worry as he looked around for you again, Dave continued. “She’s in the toilets, she seemed a bit upset…”

“For fuck’s sake,” Pete muttered, standing and going through the pub in quick strides, not giving his ex even a glimpse as he passed.

He pushed open the door to the ladies room more aggressively than he intended, his anger at the situation and that cheap tart upsetting you getting to him, his anger quickly turning to surprise when he saw you standing in front of the tarnished mirror reapplying your lip gloss, appearing fine and unbothered.

“Can I help you?” you grinned, watching him in the mirror with unhidden amusement at his presence.

His head tilted a bit to the side, walking toward you slowly while still assessing you, his concern still creasing his features even though he was smiling back at you.

“They said you were upset…”

You laughed and shook your head, screwing the cap back on your lip gloss before sticking it in your pocket, turning to look at him directly instead of in the mirror, your bum sitting on the edge of the sink.

“Upset? Over those twats? Come on…” you shrugged, trying your best to play it cool even though it had bothered you more than you were letting on.

Pete closed the space between you and leaned his forehead against yours, still searching your eyes for any hints of you being hurt or shaken up.

You let your eyelids close, instantly feeling relaxed from him being close to you, breathing in deeply when he brought his hands up to hold your face.

“We all have a past, Pete,” you whispered, saying it more for your own conviction than his, the frustrated exhale he let out at his past involving that awful slag fanning over your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his lips moving against yours as they hovered there, teasing a kiss.

“Don’t be sorry,” you answered, your hands trailing up his chest where you took hold of the collar of his jumper and slid the material through your fingers, his body moving closer to yours. “Just kiss me, Pete.”

He did, crashing into you so hard your head was forced back but stopped by his hands still gripping your face, his tongue delving into your mouth hungrily and greedily where you didn’t hesitate to match his fervor.

Everything was rough and desperate, kissing with a need to prove that each other’s lips were the only ones ever worth kissing, your hands pawing and groping in a crazed act of passion.

Pete’s fingers tore at the button and zipper of your jeans before diving his hand inside them, his long fingers stroking through your folds until your wet coated them, your moans reverberating in his mouth as you continued to kiss, your lips moving against each other sloppily and hastily.

After a minute, he withdrew from you, roughly tugging your jeans and panties down your thighs, his steely eyes staring at your exposed cunt as he quickly unfastened his own jeans and pulled out his hard cock before crashing against you again.

You spread your legs as wide as you were able to, giving him enough access to your core where he guided his leaking head, smearing his precum on your clit a few times until you were moaning and begging him to fill you.

Pete happily obliged, pushing inside your tight walls where he paused once he couldn’t go any deeper, kissing you frantically and groaning into your mouth from how good you felt.

Like he lost all sense of control, he slammed in and out of you, fucking you hard and fast while his mouth hung open and panted against yours in his efforts, the sink creaking precariously as you rocked your hips in time with his brutal thrusts, your fingers digging into the back of his neck and shoulders as you held on tight.

You were both so entranced in each other that neither of you noticed the door opening, his ex standing in the doorway in shock of the scene she walked into, scoffing as she turned and left.

“Fuck, babe,” he growled, pulling his face away from yours slightly where he watched his cock slide in and out of you, the sight encouraging him to move even more furiously within you, your cries growing louder as your climax quickly built up.

“Pete!” you bellowed, a desperation in your voice that told him you were on the brink, and knowing you were at risk of screaming as you came, he covered your mouth with his and proceeded to pound you mercilessly, swallowing your noises of unbridled pleasure as you clenched and shuddered on his cock.

Only seconds behind you, Pete bucked into your soaked cunt until he pumped you full of his hot spend, feeling it leak out of you as he continued to slowly thrust, drawing out every moment of your highs that he could.

You laughed as you comprehended what just happened, smoothing your hand over your head as your chest rose and fell sharply, Pete chuckling as a mischievous and prideful look dressed his flushed features.

“It’s impossible to get enough of you,” he admitted, his eyes flickering over your face as he leaned his arms against the sink, caging you in.

You hummed appreciatively, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer, kissing him long and slow and in a way you hoped conveyed everything you felt for him.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asked when your kiss slowed to a pause, the blue of his eyes more vibrant and full of emotion.

“Yeah,” you nodded, smiling at him softly while your finger traced the crease beside his mouth.

“Okay, darling,” he cooed, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as he inhaled deeply, his face moving into the side of your neck where he pressed kisses into the sensitive skin and made you squirm and giggle.

Stopping, he brought his face back up to look at you, his expression serious again, his hand finding yours where he laced your fingers together and gave it three gentle squeezes.

“You know you’re the only one I want, yeah?”

You nodded, squeezing his hand back three times, smiling bigger as his own grew.

“I do, though I wouldn’t mind you showing me again…”

“Careful what you wish for!” he laughed burying his face into your neck again where he nipped and sucked at your skin, your laughter echoing against the tiled walls.

Pete walked out of the bathroom with you confidently after cleaning up and composing yourselves, even happier to see that his ex and the rest of Vicky’s horrible friends had left, the expressions on everyone’s faces as you sat back down at the table telling you they knew exactly what you had been up to.

“Oi, that colour suits you, mate,” Ned commented, pointing to his lips as he stared at Pete’s that were tinted from your lip gloss.

“Yeah? It’d suit yours too,” Pete said, leaning over and planting a kiss on Ned’s cheek quickly before he pushed him away, cursing and wiping his cheek dramatically.

Pete laughed as he took his seat, downing his pint that had been waiting for him to return to, leaning back in his chair where he pulled you onto his lap to have you proudly perch, the atmosphere more relaxed and as it normally was.

Red dripped into the sink one drop at a time, flowing steadily from so many places on his hands and face he wasn’t even sure where it was all coming from.

Pete tugged more tissues out of the box, bunching them up and holding them to what he thought was the deepest cut on his chin with as much pressure as he could, the ache in his hand preventing him from doing a sufficient job. He didn’t think he’d cracked on that Zulu cunt as hard as he did, but his knuckles proved otherwise, split open what felt like to the bone.

Any effects the pints in his bloodstream had provided him had definitely worn off now, his head pounding and every cut on him stinging and burning like mad, the severity of each fresh injury hard to determine as he looked at himself in the mirror through one good eye, the dark, puffy welt spreading up to his other from his cheek.

He stood with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, his blood and sweat-stained clothes discarded in a heap on the floor, his reflection revealing bruises on his side and abdomen that refused to be ignored when he had lifted his jumper over his head.

It was late, and as quiet as he tried to be, Pete knew better than to think you wouldn’t have heard him come home, your inability to stay asleep for long without him something he secretly loved and made him swell, always feeling equally as eager to get back home and in bed with you.

“Hiya, love,” he muttered, smirking at you in the mirror when you appeared in the doorway, your sleepy face quickly changing to shock when you saw the state of him.

“I’m fine!” he stressed, knowing what your next words were going to be, the worry on your face breaking his heart a little.

“Pete…” you whispered, not in an accusatory or scolding way, but out of sheer love and care, your hands cupping his cheeks gently despite getting blood on them, your eyes searching his for truth in his claim of being okay.

“Fucking Zulu’s…” he trailed off, a small laugh blowing out of his lungs.

Never once had you asked him to stop fighting, and he knew you wouldn’t now, taking the aftermath of his hobby on the chin just like he did multiple times tonight, his love and appreciation for you making him feel a bit emotional as he watched you open the cupboard and get out the first aid kit to tend to his wounds.

He blinked back the moisture that had quickly accumulated in his eyes before you were facing him again, closing them when you pressed a careful kiss to his bloody lips, letting out a long sigh when you pulled away.

“Sit so I can see better,” you instructed, your voice soft and soothing to his ears.

Pete turned and stepped toward the tub, perching on the edge of it so he faced the sink for you to work, watching the deep red spots staining it dilute into a rusty colour as water ran from the tap and washed his blood off the porcelain.

Carefully, and for as long as it would take, you gently cleaned all of his wounds, wiping the blood that had dried and stuck in his blond stubble and dabbing the cuts that still oozed, your touch becoming lighter whenever you noticed a wince that involuntarily snuck past his attempts to hide them.

Luckily, nothing needed stitches, and even though Pete knew you were done cleaning and disinfecting each cut he’d sustained, you continued to linger, admiring his bruised and battered features.

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulled you close to him, letting his face lean into your stomach, breathing deeply as you raked your fingers up his bare back and through his hair. His shoulders relaxed, letting go of the tension held in them from taking the painful sting of peroxide seeping into his cuts over and over, his hands smoothing up your bare thighs and your bum.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” you whispered, your lips pressing against his scalp.

He hummed, pulling his face away from the warmth of your body in his sweater.

“Yeah. C’mere,” he offered, shifting slightly so your legs had room to straddle him.

You seated yourself on his lap, smiling when his own broke out on his damaged face, your back arching into him when he placed his hands under his sweater that you had now worn more times than him to card up your back.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, admiring you for a moment before kissing you softly, his nose moving back and forth on yours a couple of times before nudging your cheek, resting his face against it while he closed his eyes and breathed slowly.

“You’re welcome, love,” you cooed, your fingers ghosting over the back of his neck, making him melt into you even more.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he spoke, mostly to himself, still finding it hard to believe that he had been lucky enough to survive his injuries and then have you walk into his classroom that one morning.

Pete kissed your cheek once, then again, each press to your soft skin urging him to add another and then more after that, eventually meeting your lips with his until minutes had passed with you lost in the haze created by your slow kisses.

His hands held your back firmly, keeping you close to him and preventing you from falling back as he moved his head away from yours and looked at you in a way that made you want to show him that the love you had for him existed like no other.

“I love you,” he professed, as if he had stolen the words right out of your mouth. Those three words were spoken with a calm surety that held such truth there was no way you could deny or question it, your fingers trembling against his cheek as you trailed them along the crease that flanked his lips.

“I love you, too, Pete.”

The taste of blood transferred onto your tongue again as he crashed into you, kissing you with more ardor than ever before, the relevancy of the cuts on his lips no longer a concern to either of you.

Your hands slipped around the back of his neck, pulling him into you even more to deepen your kiss, your hips rolling against his just enough that you could feel his cock hardening, your bare core grinding on the somewhat rough material of the towel separating you.

Pete moaned into your mouth, and without stopping kissing you, leaned back enough to unwrap the fold of the towel from his waist, letting it fall open under him.

His hands slid under your thighs, guiding you to lift your hips in order to get on top of his cock, breaking your kiss to watch your face as you sank down on his length.

Before you even had the chance to start riding him, Pete ran his battered hands over your hair, his eyes holding as much softness as his voice did.

“Just be still for me, yeah?” he asked, wanting to savour the intimacy of being inside you unmoving.

You nodded, drawing in a deep, shaky breath, closing your eyes as his nose brushed against yours before capturing your lips again, your hand resting on his chest where you could feel his heart beating wildly.

You would have been kidding yourself if you said you weren’t feeling a bit uneasy about going to pick up your car alone, the conversation you had had with the mechanic, Martin, when you dropped it off still fresh in your mind.

Pete was unable to take you, having to coach a practice after work, and your sister was taking Jack to it and staying to watch since she always missed so many, leaving you to take the tube over to Millwall to deal with it on your own.

You assured yourself over and over that it would be fine and that you were probably reading into things too much, but still the way he had mentioned knowing Steve and Pete and claiming to be old mates with them wasn’t sitting right with you. With work being so busy this week, you had completely forgotten to mention it to Pete, and you cursed yourself for failing to bring it up when you had checked with him again that morning if he was sure he couldn’t get someone else to coach for him.

As the stops to Millwall grew closer and closer, you did your best not to dwell, reading the book you brought with you while your leg bounced up and down unconsciously, your eyes scanning over the same paragraph again and again without being able to absorb the words.

“Alright, good job, lads!” Pete shouted after blowing his whistle, signaling the end of their practice.

He held the bag open for them to toss their soiled jerseys in, laughing at all their comments to each other and how supportive they all were of their teammates.

“Eh, Jack, will you help me gather up the pylons?” he asked when your nephew had made it over to him in the queue of rowdy boys.

As Pete knew he would, Jack happily jogged around the pitch and collected the majority of them, saving Pete and his leg the trouble of going to do it all himself.

“Cheers, mate,” Pete thanked him, ruffling his hair as he walked with him over to where his mum stood waiting.

“Great practice, love!” She praised her son, then smiled at Pete as Jack worked at untying his cleats and taking off his shin guards. “Reckon she’ll be back from Millwall soon, then?” she said, glancing at the watch on her wrist.

“Millwall?” Pete asked, his face screwed up at the mention of his rivaled district.

“Yeah, that’s where the mechanic is she took her car to.”

“What’s the garage called?” he questioned, an urgency present in his voice as he reached in the pocket of his jacket for his phone.

“I don’t know, I didn’t look when I had dropped her off and she never mentioned it…is everything okay?”

“Hmm, yeah,” Pete lied, trying to settle the rising panic he felt inside him at the thought of the garage you took your car to for repairs being Tommy fucking Hatcher’s.

He hit the button to dial your number and held it up to his ear, pacing as he listened to ring after ring before the sound of your voice came through, his heart falling when it was only your voicemail picking up.

“Fuck-” he hissed, hanging up before redialling, praying you would pick up and tell him you weren’t alone at Tommy’s garage.

The bell that chimed when the door opened sounded ominous tonight as you stepped through it, the smell of oil and exhaust fumes hitting your nose heavily, the distant sound of the radio and tools clanking against metal filling the otherwise quiet shop.

Your car was parked out front, seemingly ready to drive off in, and you hoped to settle the bill and get your keys quickly so you could make your way back to see Pete, wanting this day and especially this exchange to be over and done with.

Glancing through the window that looked into the garage from where the little waiting area was, you could see Martin bent over the bonnet of a car, and behind him, a small office where who you assumed was the owner sat at his desk.

When neither man noticed your presence, you stepped through into the bay, careful your heels didn’t slip on the greasy floor.

The man in his office finally caught sight of you, grinning with a somewhat villainous smile that split his hardened features, and you thought no matter how friendly he tried to appear, there was something about him that seemed impossible to soften.

“Hello, love,” he greeted, his voice matching his looks.

“Hi, sorry,” you stammered, “I’m just here to get my car.” You hooked your thumb and pointed over your shoulder in the direction of where it sat outside, planting your feet firmly on the cement floor while doing your best to stand tall and confident.

“Yeah, not a problem, I’ve got the paperwork all here for ya,” he explained, standing from his chair and turning to reach for some papers from the filing cabinet behind him.

Martin nodded as you walked past him to enter the office, giving you a curt ‘Evening,’ as you smiled weakly in return.

The man seemed to fill the entire space of his office, his form tall and broad, his personality giving off a powerful air that made you feel somewhat suffocated.

There were empty beer bottles on his desk, and scattered across the walls and cabinets that took up nearly every square inch of the small room were various pieces of Millwall F.C. paraphernalia.

“You a fan?” he asked, catching you looking at the poster of the crest hung on the wall beside him.

“Erm, no, I don’t really pay attention to football all that much,” you lied, the realization that this man was clearly a huge supporter of the club that was Pete’s sworn enemy making you want to avoid the topic altogether.

“No?” he questioned, his head tilting to the side as another vicious smile revealed his teeth. “Not even a fan of the mighty Hammers?”

The way he said it made your blood turn cold, and you swallowed thickly, thinking how Martin must have discussed your affiliation to West Ham United through knowing Pete and Steve, and you wondered if these men were members of Millwall’s infamous firm.

You shook your head and huffed out a false laugh, reaching into your purse for your wallet.

“No,” you repeated, hoping he didn’t press his inquiry any further.

Clearing your throat to ensure your words came out properly, you started filing through the stack of notes you had taken out of the bank that morning, counting out what you had been told the total was going to be for the repairs.

“It was £450, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right,” he confirmed, watching as you placed the money on his desk, folding his arms across his chest.

“You sure you aren’t running about and singing along to ‘Forever Blowing fucking Bubbles’ then?”

You scoffed, trying your best to look like you hadn’t heard or even sang that song more times than you could count since meeting Pete.

“Ah, I see,” he said, slowly. “So you’re going to lie right to my face and tell me you’re not Pete Dunham’s missus, are ya?”

You almost choked, words unable to form on your tongue that felt too big for your mouth, the air in your lungs feeling trapped while everything around you started to distort as a dizziness overcame you.

“How…how do you know that?”

He pointed his finger at you, his lips still curled into a smile. “See, I knew you were lying to me, you little slag.”

You stepped back as he walked around his desk, his blue eyes icy with an evil you had never seen before.

“Don’t you think you’re going anywhere anytime soon, love,” he grinned, sitting on the edge of his desk as he nodded behind you. “Martin there hates your little boy toy just as much as I do, so he won’t be letting you run past him too easily either.”

You kept still, taking in as deep a breath as you could, closing your eyes briefly to gain some courage as you thought of which of the many questions racing through your mind to ask next.

“How do you know who I am?” your voice squeaked out, unable to hide your fear.

He shrugged his shoulders and frowned, “I get people to find things out for me.”

“Right, I’d just like to get my keys and leave, I don’t want any trouble-”

“You’re missing the fucking point, here!” he shouted, cutting you off. “Didn’t little Petey warn you about me?”

You shook your head again, confused as to who this man even was to Pete. “No, I-”

“Was he too afraid to come with you, not man enough to protect you?”

He stood from his desk, walking closer to you until you were face to face and your back was pressed against a cabinet, leaving you nowhere to escape.

“Is the taste of death still too fresh for him?” he laughed, clearly amused in seeing you put it all together.

“You’re-”

“Yeah, that’s right, darling,” he cooed, his face so close to yours you could smell the stale beer and smoke on his putrid breath. “I’m Tommy Hatcher. The man who nearly wiped out the Dunham name.”

He seemed so proud of it, like the memory was something he revisited often, and you felt sick knowing you were standing vulnerable at the hands of the man who almost killed the one you couldn’t live without.

“It’s funny, innit? That out of all the garages in London to get your car fixed, you came to mine.”

His finger jabbed into your chest with each word, making you recoil to try to make space between you, only to press yourself harder into the cabinet.

“You’re vile,” you spat, shoving your arm against his chest to push him away from you, only to have him come back stronger and closer than before.

He gripped your chin with his meaty hand, his fingers digging into your skin so hard it made you yelp.

“I’ve been watching you for weeks now. You should really pay more attention to your surroundings, love,” he warned, the pleasure he took in this written all over his grisly face. “How’s that nephew of yours, by the way?”

Bile rose up your throat at the idea of him getting to Jack and causing him harm, the lengths this horrible, soulless man would go to to make anyone he hated suffer having no limit.

“He seems like a good lad,” he whispered, his mouth hovering beside your ear where his hot breath made your skin crawl and you squirm in his grasp. “It’d be a fucking shame if he didn’t make it past his twelfth birthday just like my son didn’t.”

“You wouldn’t!” you cried, trying to move your legs enough to kick him, only to have his body lean harder into yours to stop you.

“See, you’re forgetting what I’m capable of. How easy it was to drive that bottle into Stevie’s neck and how much fucking joy I got breaking Petey’s body until he was lifeless on the ground.”

His grip tightened on your face as his eyes scanned over you, and despite your efforts to not let it happen, tears sprang from your eyes at the description of him trying to kill Pete.

“Don’t think it wouldn’t be hard to do the same thing to you or that little boy.”

With all the strength you had, you pushed against him, hitting him as hard as you could in his stomach while stomping hard on his foot, but Tommy was too strong, slamming you back into the cabinet so the handle drove into your ribs and all the air in your lungs was knocked out of you.

He laughed in your face, locking his forearm across your neck to keep you in place, your struggle to breathe seeming to satisfy him.

“I could do anything I wanted to you right now and no one would know or be able to stop me,” he bragged, growing more aroused with the power he held over you.

He ground himself against you, making you feel his hardness through his trousers, the possibility of you actually being sick between that and the lack of oxygen becoming more and more likely.

“It’s funny, you've got the same look of terror in your eyes as he did right before I smashed his fucking face in!” he pointed out, his laughter ringing through the room like you had just shared a joke together.

Within a split second his demeanor changed again, glaring at you seriously as his voice quieted and turned calm.

“See, I could rape you, ruin you so he’d never want to touch you again...”

You let out a broken sob, your eyes screwing shut when you felt his other hand travel slowly down your waist until he reached your thighs, stopping when he spoke again.

“But it’s lucky for you I’m a changed man.”

Tommy loosened the force of his arm against your neck, backing away from you slightly, and ran a hand over his hair to regain some composure.

“Don’t wanna be stuck in the nick again over someone as pitiful as you and your precious Petey!” he barked, adjusting himself in his pants crudely while you shook against the cold, metal cabinet.

He reached for something on his desk, turning around and quickly throwing your keys at your face where they missed and hit you hard in the chest, making you jump and cry out which only made him howl a maniacal laugh.

“Go on, you shitcunt,” he spat, “go home to Petey and cry all about it to him!”

You stooped and grabbed your keys off the grimy floor with a trembling hand, bolting out the door as fast as your legs would carry you, the sound of his and Martin’s laughter chasing you out of the building where you pressed the button to unlock your car as quickly as possible.

The tears didn’t come until you were out of the lot and onto the road, the lights from passing cars blurry and blinding as you finally let out wracking sobs, unaware of how fast you were going or which roads you were turning down, getting as far away from Tommy Hatcher as you could the only thing on your mind.

---

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laurfilijames · 6 months

Text

Like My Dreams

Part 1

Intro

Pete Dunham Masterlist

Pairing: Pete Dunham x female reader

Words: 4.8k

Warnings: Mentions of a broken leg, use of crutches. Bruises and cuts. Swearing. Alcohol consumption and use of pain medication. Discussions of fighting.

Summary: Life is getting back to normal for Pete, including going back to work and participating in his first scrap since almost getting killed, and little does he know that an unexpected person is going to step in and show him that while football is life, there may be more to life than just football.

After moving home to help your sister with your nephew, Jack, after her divorce, you meet his bruised, but gorgeous teacher, and later discover you're connected in more ways than one.

A/N: Part 1 is here!! Pete deserves the world and I'm using this fic as a way to rebuild his for him.

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"Have you heard from the Yank at all, there, Peg Leg?" Swill asked through a grin, ducking when Pete raised his arm up in an attempt to hit him.

"Aye, I'll beat you with my crutch, you cunt," he threatened, turning away for a split second before making a quick jab at his mate with the proposed weapon, making Swill jump and spill his beer. "And yes, I have. Turns out our Yank mate has sought his revenge and managed to get a recording of that geezer Jeremy admitting he put the blame on him, so he's right back into Harvard now and will be graduating soon as."

"Ahh, result!" Swill cheered, clanking his glass against Pete's before extending his arm out to cheers with Ned and then Ike.

"Gonna be a proper Journo now."

"Good on him," Ike nodded.

"Yeah, yeah. Says he's planning a visit back across the pond soon as he's done," Pete explained.

"Oi, when are you going back to work, Pete?" Dave asked, handing him a fresh pint before taking a sip of his own.

Pete took a long drink, tilting his head to the side and shrugging slightly as he swallowed his beer. "Soon, I hope. Apparently the little lads have been giving the substitute a right time. I already had to go in and give 'em the what-for…tell 'em to be nice while I'm away."

"Bloody buggers," Dave sighed, shaking his head.

"Told them I'd taught them better than that." Pete took another sip, wiping his mouth with his hand. "Their response was that they wouldn't have to be such shits if she wasn't such an old, miserable cow."

"Yeah, there's no doubt you're their role model, then eh?" Dave laughed.

Pete shrugged in agreement, finding no point in arguing.

"Once I get out of this cast I can go back in," he explained, turning and leaning his back against the bar. "I'm itching to get back to it, but more just to get out of Steve and Shannon's place."

"That bad?"

He sighed, choosing his words carefully, "Shannon is being nice to me for the first time ever, but they fuss constantly. It'll just be nice to go home."

"Yeah, all in time, mate." Dave clapped his shoulder, happy Pete was being cared for and wasn't spending the long days of recovery alone.

There were days his leg ached like hell, and after ditching his crutches about a week ago, Pete sometimes wished he still had them to lean on. He sat on the edge of his desk, reading out loud to the class from there rather than pacing through the desks like he had been, his limp becoming more and more noticeable with each step, but despite the pain from the long days of being back on his feet, he was grateful to be back in his classroom with life pretty much back to normal.

Being back in his flat helped with his overall recovery too, having felt desperate to get out of Steve and Shannon's stuffy place and in the familiar comforts of his own, having appreciated time spent with them and his sweet nephew Ben, but ultimately relieved to relish in the peace and quiet.

The bell rang, signaling the end of their school day, and Pete marked his page and closed the book, glancing at the clock in slight disbelief that the day was already over.

"Okay, boys, we'll pick up there tomorrow," he announced, collecting some papers on his desk as his class packed up their notebooks and began filing out of the room. "And remember your assignments are due on my desk first thing Tuesday morning, so get cracking on them!" he shouted over their excited voices, some of them moaning in disappointment over their homework.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket to see a text from Bov confirming their plans to meet at the pub later for beers, and excitement buzzed through him knowing that in two more days, West Ham was playing Manchester at home. The two firms hadn't seen each other since the GSE surprised them at the station and embarrassed the hell out of them, and word was that they were gunning for a comeback more than ever. Pete knew he would have to be careful, but the thought of getting back into fighting and experiencing that rush as his firm kicked the shit out of the other's whose bruised pride had never recovered from the last time made him feel like he was close to invincible.

"I don't know why you keep eating it, then, Bov," Pete scolded, walking through the doors of The Abbey with his mate who kept going on about his sore stomach, unable to help the laugh at his expense as he watched him hold his gut and beeline it right for the toilets.

"What's the matter with him?" Dave asked, nodding in Bovver's direction as he struggled to get by other patrons.

Pete shook his head and sighed, "Bloody guy insists on ordering the hottest curry going and then fucking complains about his insides turning as soon as he's stuffed it down."

"He'll never learn, will he?"

"Nah, serves him right," Pete chuckled, clanging his glass against Dave's after being handed it.

"I don't know about you boys, but I am more than ready for the weekend," Ike said exasperatedly, "work has been kicking my ass."

"You best be rested up for our big event on Saturday…" Dave warned, earning a scoff from him.

"Yeah, yeah, you know I'm good for it. When have I ever let us down?"

Dave opened his mouth to quip at him, but started laughing when Ike shoved his arm and directed his attention to Pete. "What about you, eh? You feeling up to it?"

"Mate," he said pointedly, his eyebrow raised, "more than I ever have." Pete grinned, knowing each of them would be keeping extra close watch on him despite him feeling like no one would be able to knock him to the ground.

"I've been trying to get Fiona down here for some drinks," Swill started to explain, "her bestie is here staying with her for a bit and said they were looking to go out on the pull-"

"Aye, I'll show your sister a good time," Ned interrupted, causing Swill to glare at him seriously.

"Don't you fucking think for a second you're gonna touch my sister."

Pete laughed into his beer, listening to the two of them carry on until Keith interrupted them.

"Isn't she the hot one that moved away a few years back?"

"Yeah, that's the one," Swill confirmed.

"Oi, she's fit as fuck," Ned chimed in, making a crude gesture with his hands.

"She's here helping her sister out with her nephew or something, I dunno," Swill nonchalantly explained. "I keep telling her that Fi's place is too cramped and she should come stay with me."

"In your dreams!" Pete laughed, "Poor girl would be traumatized if she spent more than five minutes with you."

"Yeah, well, you'll just see when she comes 'round, eh. I'm very charming when I need to be."

"The only charm you're going to have is when you're helping me kick the snot out of Manchester's top bloke." Pete wrapped his arm around Swill's shoulders and necked the rest of his pint, the exhilaration of the upcoming match and fight already tingling through his veins.

"Fucking right, mate!" Swill cheered, patting Pete on the back aggressively to help pump him up even more.

Saturday turned out to be one of the best days Pete could remember having. The Hammers won 2-0 and him and the boys made the ruck afterward almost look too easy, but it didn't go without it's evidence.

He looked at his bruised reflection in the mirror, having missed seeing various shades of red and blue marking his face, his skin tender as he pulled the razor down over it before rinsing it off under the tap. He smiled to himself in thinking a clean shave would make up for his appearance when he showed up to school that morning, the colours even more pronounced than they were yesterday, having already earned glares from other staff members as he walked through the hallways to his classroom. The little lads always got a kick out of seeing their teacher's battle wounds unlike the Headmaster, but Pete still did his best to set a good example for them and prove to everyone that even a Weekend Warrior could maintain his professionalism. Pete winced when he went over a cut on his cheek, making blood spring from it again, and washing the remaining shaving cream off his cheeks and chin, he dried his face and went through to his bedroom to get dressed.

"Have a good day, Jack!" you smiled, watching your nephew climb out of the back seat of your car, thinking how dapper he looked in his neatly ironed school uniform and finding how he styled his hair with a bit of gel too sweet. He was growing up so quickly, ten going on fourteen it seemed like some days, and despite the circumstances, you were grateful to be around him more. There was no doubt that the split between your sister and his dad was tough on him, but overall he seemed to be coping okay, and you hoped a small bit of it was because his one and only amazing Aunt was there to help look after him. Part of your designated duties were to drop him off and pick him up from school and football practices, your work hours more flexible and easier to line up with his activities than your sister's, and it was the least you felt you could do to help out.

"Thanks, Auntie."

"You've got your football gear, right?" you called out through the passenger window you quickly rolled down before he got too far from the car.

"Yup," he confirmed, holding up his cleats and giving his backpack a shrug to keep over his shoulder.

"Okay, then, I'll see you at half four when practice is over. Maybe we'll go grab a bite and see a film?"

He scowled, "The match is on tonight!"

You raised your hands in mercy, "May the football gods forgive me!"

It earned a laugh from him, making you smile, the little 'see ya!' he gave you as he turned and ran off toward the building enough to make your Tuesday feel a little less mundane.

Glancing out of the corner of your eye at the backseat as you reached for your purse, you did a double-take, noticing Jack's lunch bag and homework left forgotten on the seat.

"Shit!" you hissed before giving a long sigh, looking out the window for any sign he was still around.

He was long gone into the school now, forcing you to switch your car off and take it inside, and you trotted down the pathway quickly in your heels so as not to be late to work yourself.

Something had cheesed-off the secretary already this morning, and with little to no help from her, you took it upon yourself to wander down the hallways in search of Jack's homeroom.

"You alright there, Jack?" Pete asked, passing out a worksheet on each desk, his concern growing after noticing the sulk on the boy's face. He looked like he was about to cry, having finished rooting through his bag for the second time since he'd gotten into class, clearly searching for something that wasn't there.

"I don't have my assignment." There was so much defeat in the poor kid's voice, and Pete couldn't bring himself to be cross with him even if he wanted to be.

"It's alright, mate, you can hand it in tomorrow."

When that didn't seem to ease his troubles over it, Pete crouched down beside his desk, his leg complaining as he did.

"You did do it, yeah?"

"Yes," Jack confirmed, his disappointment not fading. "I think I left it in my Aunt's car."

"Right, then there's nothing else to be done about it for now, eh? Mistakes happen, I won't knock any marks off for it."

"I forgot mine, too, Mr. Dunham," the boy sitting behind Jack called out.

"No you did not, Louis," Pete said through a wince as he stood. "The only thing you forgot was to actually do it."

Louis, along with all the other boys, laughed, the kid being famous for never handing in anything on time or simply neglecting to do half the assignments tasked in the first place, his admission not coming as a surprise to Pete.

About to explain the instructions on the pages he had just handed out, Pete was interrupted by a light knock and the door opening, making all of them pause to look at the slightly embarrassed, but extremely beautiful woman who was disrupting their class.

"I'm so sorry," you began, smiling in your bashfulness. You looked directly at Jack, making Pete swivel on the spot he stood on to follow your gaze before looking back at you with a big grin on his face, watching as you held up a folder containing what had to be his forgotten assignment.

"Looks like you've got yourself a guardian angel, mate," Pete smirked, limping over to the door where he opened it more for you.

You apologized again, but somehow couldn't wipe the smile from your face as you got lost in Jack's teacher's vibrantly blue eyes, the colour seemingly enhanced and appearing almost fake due to the reddish bruises that surrounded them.

"Don't give it another thought," he assured you, looking back at you with a similar amusement before reaching his hand out to take the folder decorated with West Ham United stickers from you.

More bruises and cuts decorated his knuckles, making you wonder what the hell this man got up to when he wasn't teaching your nephew, and you made a mental note to ask Jack questions about it all later.

"You've forgotten your lunch, too," you spoke, peeling your eyes away from the man who made butterflies flutter violently in your stomach. Jack trotted up to the front of the class where you stood, taking the bag from you sheepishly.

"Jack, you're a very lucky lad," Pete began, moving to perch on the edge of his desk. "I don't have anyone bringing me my lunch if I've left it."

You shrugged and nervously tucked your hands in the pockets of your jacket now that they were free, biting your lower lip to try to stop yourself from smiling more.

"I won't take up anymore of your time," you said to the impossibly handsome teacher, maintaining eye contact with him as you took a step backwards toward the door, praying your feet didn't betray you. "Sorry, again, for the disruption."

"Not a problem at all," he said slowly through another bright grin, his head tilting curiously as he crossed his arms over his chest while you walked through the door, closing it behind you.

The second it latched you heard the entire class erupt in a long 'ooooooo', jeering their teacher as any group of ten-year-old boys would for talking to a girl, making you smile even more when you heard him shush them and chuckle lightly before continuing on with his lesson.

10:47 Fiona: We're going to the pub tonight.

10:49 You: …

10:49 Fiona: I said, we're going to the pub tonight. That's an order.

10:51 You: Fine.

10:51 Fiona: Don't be mardy. We need to get out of the house. I promise to show you a good time.

10:51 Fiona: Plus, there's a match on, so it'll be full of fit lads.

10:52 You: Is that really your main selling point?

10:52 Fiona: Yes. We'll see which of us can get the most free drinks.

11:09 Fiona: I'm taking your silence as a yes.

11:09 Fiona: Maybe you'll even get a snog or a shag in the toilets!

11:17 You: I swear you're a bigger perv than your brother.

Tucking your phone back inside your desk drawer, you bit the inside of your cheek and sighed out deeply, trying to regain concentration on the computer screen in front of you, but it was helpless. All you could think about was the fraction of a possibility of seeing Jack's teacher there, the teacher whose name you didn't even know, out of the simple fact that he probably spent his time outside of school in a pub watching football as most men did. Even if he did happen to be in that exact pub, in that exact part of London, on that exact night, the chances of him being there without a woman, or many, hanging off his arm were slim. Maybe he was even engaged or married, happily at home on a Tuesday night with his missus…

Regardless of your speculations, you continued to think of the way he had looked at you, letting this silly and unexpected fantasy get the better of you, recounting every moment of your meet-cute and how unbelievable it would be to find yourself tangled up with the likes of him. Had you exaggerated the glint in his eyes and the brightness of his smile, or how he made your whole body tingle with that nervous-excitement enough to feel like you were floating?

With another sigh, you willed yourself to get a grip, needing to get something accomplished in your workday, the chances of seeing him outside the school slim.

Still, a girl could dream, and smiling to yourself, you secretly thanked your friend for her persistence in taking you out.

Several very distracted hours later, you pulled up beside the pitch outside the school, seeing a small mob of boys in various coloured jerseys running around it, and your eyes immediately found and fixed on the tall coach that was unmistakably the same man who had occupied your mind all day.

You sat for only a couple of minutes before their practice was over, watching the banged-up teacher with a hitch in his step walk around collecting pylons while the boys ditched their jersey's into a bag and started to clean up their belongings piled near the fence.

Jack ran to your car even though his bags were far too heavy for him to be, and seeing how sweaty he was along with the muddy stains covering his gym gear, you wondered how many of these pick-ups it would take until your car began to smell like gross footy equipment.

"How was it?" you asked when he hauled on the door and threw his stuff in, flopping himself into he back seat before shutting the door and putting on his seatbelt.

"Good. Thanks for bringing my assignment, you're a legend."

"Don't I know it," you winked at him, taking one last look over at his teacher who just so happened to be staring at you, and you felt yourself flush from head to toe as you tore your gaze away from him and blinked into reality, putting your car in gear and driving off.

You were quiet for a couple of minutes, debating quizzing your nephew about his teacher, and ultimately decided there was no harm in it.

"Does your teacher always show up with bruises on his face?"

Glimpsing in the rearview mirror, you saw Jack smile. "Mr. Dunham? Yeah, most of the time."

"You're acting like that's a normal thing, Jack," you laughed, "Why is he always battered?"

"He's a Hooligan, so yeah, it's normal."

"A Hooligan?”

"In a footy firm?” he emphasized in the form of a question, like it was the most obvious thing. “Yeah. West Ham’s, obviously."

You nodded, trying to wrap your head around the information you were getting. You knew of the firm because of Fiona, having heard the odd thing about it through her because of her brother Swill, but the ins and outs of football were something you didn't pay much attention to anymore. You weren't even sure if Swill was still a participant of the barbaric side of football, assuming he might have given up his hooliganism in exchange for his respectable career as an accountant.

"Mr. Dunham's the coolest. He's everyone's favourite teacher. A lot of grown-ups and other teachers think he's bad or whatever, but he's the nicest out of anyone and is really smart, too," Jack went on, pulling you out of your thoughts for a moment. "I want to teach history like him when I grow up. It's my favourite subject."

"Well, then, I'm sure glad I brought in that assignment for you."

"Yeah, I was real upset that I forgot it. I want to keep my grades up in his class."

It was incredible to hear your nephew talk like this, finding a role model in someone so unconventional, but seeing as his father wasn't really one to look up to, you figured it was good he found someone who inspired him.

"Right, my man," you announced, parking in your sister's driveway. "Enjoy the match! I hope they win!"

"Mr. Dunham says they will for sure. Birmingham doesn't stand a chance!"

"Well good, because even I am going to watch it tonight!"

Jack pulled a shocked face, "You're gonna watch football?"

"Yes! Cheeky…"

"Make sure you cheer for the proper team!" he laughed, tugging on his West Ham shirt to show you the crest. He closed the door after taking out all his things and ran up to the house where he stuck his tongue out at you from the porch, making you laugh and shake your head.

"Want another one, Pete?" Bovver asked, nodding to his empty glass that had been drained for a while now.

"Nah, man, I'm good. Gotta be sharp for work tomorrow."

"Since when?"

Pete glared at his mate, not wanting to get into too many details, the truth behind his reduced consumption of pints being he had just taken some pain pills on account of his leg. He had done his best to cope with it, but after running around too much at practice he had to give in, needing something to help take the edge off.

"Oi, Fi's on her way over," Swill said, sitting down beside Pete.

"Oh, tonight? Sweet," Pete said, curious to see who her friend was and if she was actually as fit as the other guys kept claiming she was.

The Abbey was packed by the time the game started with the GSE dispersed throughout to watch on the various screens hung on the walls and above the bar, Pete sticking to their usual spot in the back corner where less people were gathered.

He spotted Fiona making her way through the crowd, judging by her tipsy smile and half-finished pint that she had already been here for a decent amount of time, the atmosphere of the whole place very rowdy as the Hammers maintained a lead.

"Pete!" she called, nearly pushing someone down to get to him to give him a hug.

"Aye, aye!" He stood and accepted her embrace, unable to recall the last time he had seen her.

"How are you doing? You gave everyone quite the scare!"

He chuckled, "Yeah, all good. I'm doing fine now, thanks, Fiona." He took his seat again and looked up at her with a smile, watching as she clapped her hand on her chest.

"What a relief, you should've seen how gutted they all were. Swill was beside himself."

"As they should've been!" he laughed, spinning his empty glass on the coaster. "You enjoying the match?"

"Wha- oh! Yeah," she laughed, her smile somehow larger than her brother's, "I'm not paying all that much attention if I'm honest!"

"I can tell!"

She shrugged and took a long sip of her drink, glancing around the bar.

He nodded at her, his brows knitted, "Where's your friend?"

"Hell if I know! Somewhere over there," she waved, motioning in the direction of the pool table, "Ned and Swill are chatting her ears off."

"Sounds about right…"

Pete settled into his seat and drew his focus back to the match as Fiona went and greeted someone else, but he'd be kidding himself if he pretended his thoughts weren't constantly on you, unable to get you out of his mind for even a second. He wondered if he would be lucky enough to see you again; if Jack would just so happen to forget something on a weekly basis and if you were going to be the one consistently picking him up from school and football practice, or maybe even be the guardian he would get to sit down and discuss Jack's grades with at parent-teacher interviews.

But it was rare for lightning to strike twice.

The Brigid Abbey Pub itself was incredibly charming, even if most of the people occupying it were far less so. Swill was the same as always, never changing his lewd, loud ways despite being forced to be well-mannered and respectful throughout the day, but it was rare that anyone had ever made you laugh as hard as he did. His mates were all there, most of them hanging around where you and Fi were, but mentions of someone named Pete and his whereabouts kept coming up.

You found yourself taking in your surroundings more than the game itself, looking at all the plaques and paraphernalia that hung on the walls, all while scanning the crowd in hopes of spotting the one person you somehow felt desperate to see again.

"Who are you looking for?"

"Hmm? What? No one," you lied to Fiona, though very unconvincingly.

"You spotted a fit bloke, didn't you?" she said with a grin that rivaled Swill's.

"Yeah, me," Swill chimed in, causing Fiona to talk back to him about being gross and them to start bickering as they usually did.

They always managed to make you laugh, and you had to admit you were having a better time than you thought you were going to, enjoying the company of your bestie and her brother, who's mates were exceptionally kind and welcoming.

It wasn't until you overheard a couple of them discussing a fight they had had that you really started paying attention to what was happening around you.

“Wait, are you still part of all that?” you asked Swill, grabbing his arm to make him turn around to face you.

"For life!" he exclaimed, "I'll be dead before I leave it."

"Yeah, well, some of you are making that come true more than others," Fiona scoffed.

You screwed up your face in complete bewilderment, "Wait. What?"

"The head of the firm," she began explaining, "their mate, Pete, nearly died about four months ago in a fight. He's just been back to work the last few weeks and everything. It’s a complete miracle he's even alive."

"Jesus Christ," you muttered. "And he still fights?"

Ike huffed out a laugh before turning serious, "Oh, fuck yeah…like nothing ever happened."

The rest of the lads all excitedly started recalling how intensely this Pete had fought the other day, going on about how their fearless leader was back and stronger than before.

"Is he here?" you asked, wanting to meet this death-defying prodigy of England's roughest unofficial sport.

"'Course he is," said Ned, "he's sat over there in his usual spot." He nodded toward the back corner of the pub, and standing on your tip-toes, you attempted to see over the hoard of heads between where you were and there, but it was impossible to manage.

It was almost hard to believe that these men, who held regular jobs and had seemingly normal lives, still carried on the insane, delinquent habits of the firms brought on from decades prior, and even more so that after one of them was nearly killed, they continued on with more pride than ever.

The match ended in a win for the mighty Hammers, the high spirits of their dedicated supporters lingering on in the pub, helping to keep Pete going despite being the most sober one of all his mates. As the groups of people started to thin out, he was finally able to spot where Fiona and the rest of them had been loitering, his eyes trained on one person in particular.

His heart hammered in his chest as he downed the rest of the beer he had been nursing, praying for the slight nervousness he felt to calm.

"Well, fuck me," he murmured under his breath, standing from the table where he left Dave asking him what he was on about and where he was going.

Not bothering to ease his friend's mind with an explanation, Pete slowly made his way through the crowd, almost afraid that if he moved too quickly, the scene he was walking toward would vanish from his sight like a mirage.

A grin that met his eyes crept up his lips, thinking that maybe dreams didn't fade and die and it was possible that lightning could strike twice after all.

---

Part 2

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