charmingsoa

[charmingsoa]

Amore Della Mia Vita

Michael Corleone x OC

Grace Corleone married Michael because he was a down to earth man who fought for his country. Big brown eyes and smile that could rival Rudolph Valentino. Never in a million years did she think the man who made her heart dip into her stomach from excitement would cause her stomach to twist in fear and disgust.

Rated M: Be advised that this story will contain storylines depicting sex, verbal assault, physical assault, sexism, cursing, mentions of miscarriage, violence, murder, etc. Please do not read if these trigger you in any way. The story will follow parts of the trilogy. I do not own any characters/scenes created by Mario Puzzo or Francis Ford Coppola.

Coming soon.

[charmingsoa]

← Take Me Away (Intro) →

OC x Jamie Campbell Bower (AU 1970s)  Warnings: TW—> This story will contain the following: (domestic violence, physical/verbal assault, cursing, sexual content, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, self harm). Please do not read if you are triggered by any of these warnings. This is a work of fiction only. I do not own Jamie or any other famous people mentioned. 

A/N: Hello again! So I decided to restart this story again because i'm currently in my JCB era and there just needs to be more stories out there featuring this man! With that being said, Jamie will not be the Jamie we know and love today. His name and image is being used, but there will be moments where he is not a very nice guy. Kind of like Caleb from Horizon. But there will also be moments where he is the lovable guy he typically is. I just want to thank those that either stuck with this fic or just recently found it!

☺︎ IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE TAGGED, JUST DROP A COMMENT ☺︎

“So, tell me about Jamie.”

“What do you wanna know?”

The interviewer looked down at her notes, “What was life with him like – in private.”

I chewed on my bottom lip, somewhat afraid to answer. “Chaotic- “I started. “Wonderful in many ways but a total shitstorm all at the same time. He knew what to say and when to say it, but his words and actions weren’t always pleasing.”

I paused, searching for the right words to convey the whirlwind that was our life together. “Jamie was incredibly charismatic. He could light up any room he walked into, and people were naturally drawn to him. His charm was almost intoxicating; it made you feel special just being around him. But that charm had a flip side. In private, it wasn’t always so magical. There were days when his mood would swing dramatically, and you never knew what to expect.”

“How so?” The interviewer questioned.

I shrugged my shoulders, slouching a bit in my seat as I reflected on the complicated nature of the person in question. "He was his own villain," I began, my voice tinged with a mix of sympathy and disappointment. "He tried so hard to make a name for himself in the industry. After years of working closely with all these high-profile artists, indulging in the debauchery they played with, he lost sight of who he truly was."

I paused, choosing my words carefully as I continued, "Your sins catch up to you eventually, and the way you treat people changes. It's like a slow erosion of your values and morals until one day, you look in the mirror and realize you're not the person you thought you were."

My companion listened intently, absorbing my words before posing a poignant question, "Was he the love of your life?" The inquiry hung in the air, laden with layers of emotion and history, hinting at a deeper connection that transcended professional ties and delved into matters of the heart.

As I delved into the depths of my memories, recounting the chapters of my life that intertwined with the complexities of rising to fame at the tender age of 17, I knew that the tale of Jamie and me would be a pivotal thread in the fabric of my story. It was a narrative rooted in scandal and secrecy, a forbidden love that blossomed amidst the chaotic backdrop of rock 'n' roll excess and the stark contrast of a preacher's daughter entwined with a man hired to shield her from the very temptations she found herself succumbing to.

We wove a web of deception, attempting to shield our burgeoning relationship from prying eyes and wagging tongues, but the silent exchanges, the subtle gestures, and the lingering gazes between us belied the truth we sought to conceal. Jamie was a force of nature, a whirlwind of contradictions that both thrilled and terrified me in equal measure. His charm was a siren song that beckoned me into uncharted waters, his humor a balm to soothe the turbulence within my soul, his love a flame that flickered dangerously close to consuming us both.

In Jamie, I found a kindred spirit, a partner in crime who mirrored my own reckless abandon and insatiable thirst for life. He was the grenade to my pin, the catalyst that ignited a chain reaction of emotions and experiences that would forever alter the course of my existence. He was the bomb to my clock, ticking away the moments until our inevitable collision, our destinies irrevocably intertwined in a dance of passion and peril.

I had always been taught that God sends people into our lives for a reason, be it for our growth or our downfall. Jamie was no exception—a temporary fix that morphed into a permanent fixture, a fixture that brought both the brightest joys and the darkest sorrows of my young life. His presence was a paradox, a riddle wrapped in an enigma, a conundrum that I struggled to unravel even as I found myself ensnared in the web of our shared destiny.

I shifted in the plastic seat, my denim-clad legs crossing tightly. “Well—” I spoke, my voice wavering slightly. “That’s quite a title to give someone who could love you one minute and then treat you worse than a dog the next.” I smiled sadly, the memories flooding back with a mix of warmth and pain.

As I penned the words that would immortalize our tumultuous love affair on the pages of my memoir, I couldn't help but marvel at the intricate tapestry of fate that had woven our paths together. The story of Jamie and me was a testament to the volatile alchemy of passion and pain, of love and loss, of growth and destruction—a story that would echo through the annals of time as a cautionary tale of the perils and pleasures of forbidden love. And as I laid bare the raw truths of our tumultuous romance, I knew that Jamie would forever hold a piece of my heart, a shard of my soul, a chapter in my life that would never truly be closed.

[charmingsoa]

Tis the Way the Wind Blows, Hummingbird (One)

Caleb Sykes x OC Horizon universe

⚠️ Warning ⚠️ Story will contain moments of physical, sexual, emotional, and verbal abuse, cursing, murder, suicidal ideations, childbirth, scalping, death, etc. Please do not read if you are triggered by any of these warnings. If you've seen the film or just read about it online, you already know that Caleb is a bad guy. He will remain a bad guy throughout this story as well. He will not be liked and will be vile in every way. Just a heads up if you were looking for a happy Jamie story.

A/N: Oh my goodness guys, thank you so much for the love for this story! I am so glad you all are enjoying it so far! It's only gonna get more extreme and downright dirty from here. Also, if you have any questions about the story, just wanna talk, or whatever, just drop me a message!

● If you would like to be tagged, please comment below ●

Taglist: @austinswhitewolf, @carriewritesblog, @isla-bell-blog, @jcbbby, @eve18ahs

His touch would burn like a batch of fire ants each time he laid hands on me.

The searing pain as his grip would tighten – his cold blue eyes staring into mine as I would beg and plead not to hurt me in front of our children. I would like to say it hadn’t always been this way with Caleb but that would be a lie straight from the devil’s mouth. I would love to tell you that he was once a gentleman who was corrupt by the bottle – that his hands were once full of love and joy but for some ungodly reason I actually held feelings for the man.

I remember the first time I saw Caleb, standing in the dimly lit corner of the saloon, a shadow of a man with haunted eyes that seemed to mirror my own loneliness. His smile was a twisted reflection of charm, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. Despite the warnings that whispered in the back of my mind, I found myself captivated by his words, his presence filling a void I hadn't even known existed. In his arms, I felt a fleeting sense of belonging, as if for a moment, the world made sense and all the broken pieces of my heart were whole again. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, the cracks in his facade began to show, revealing a darkness that chilled me to the core.

He was the youngest child of the vile woman who birthed him all those years ago – his father a philanderer who only arrived home when necessary. Rumor had it he had spawn all over the territory – the short woman he married long ago idly standing by as she knew there was nothing that could be done. The Sykes family were notorious among the Montana Territory – the fear they placed upon those wanting to settle was enough to make settlers treck along elsewhere. Some would say even the Indians feared the Sykes men – I would argue that on a heavy bible.

 Caleb’s anger more than likely rising from the hits of his mother and brother – always on the receiving end of a hand, foot, or even the butt of a gun at one point. I remember watching in the shadows as Junior almost beat him senseless for some measly reason – no reason good enough to knock your kin unconscious for hours on end. I was the one that had to drag him out of the snow that night – into the little shack that his mother had “gifted” us to make house in. The winter’s wind whistling through the loose logs, the fire barely staying lit as the snow floated through the home. When he awoke, he knew that there was no use in going after Junior, his hatred and fury landing upon my skin throughout the night.

I guess you may be asking how I even came to be with the blue-eyed devil – having enough dimwits about me to stay with a man like that. Well for one, it was an act of rebellion. I thought I could change him, hell, maybe even overpower him. I took the blows that he gave me each night, going to bed with tear-stained cheeks as he stepped out to go drinkin with his brothers. The other reason I stayed was because it was a sense of security. I had a leaking roof over my head, but it was covered none the less. I wasn’t wondering the land like the others out there, subjected to the harshness that the land was giving forth. The Sykes fortress was clear of any Indians – the dangers of being ambushed by them pushed at the wayside – unlike those that were travelling to their new homes.

I had married Caleb on the 24th day of January in the year eighteen hundred and fifty-two. The justice of the peace in the town below reading from the holy book as he weaved back and forth from the whiskey coursing through his blood. No kiss was shared – no joyous voices from our closest relatives. Just an empty room. I had run off from Grady’s house – my only bag packed – his best horse trotting underneath me. I had only known Caleb for a number of days before his hands slipped under my dress – the piece of me that I was savin for future husband taken away in a matter of seconds. I guess all’s forgiven in the eyes of God since I ended up marrying the bastard…

I watched as the snow swirled around the open air like paper scraps sent from the heavens above. The fire had long gone out several hours ago – my breath seen clearly as I exhaled in exhaustion. I hadn’t seen sight or sound of him in nearly four days – nothing uncommon nowadays. The wood burning smoke from the big house filtered through the cracks in the wood, the scent causing me to long for a warm room just for a moment of two.

Soft coos broke me out of my thoughts as I turned my attention to the little bundle in the center of the room. I had every blanket and article of clothing I could scrounge up piled atop her, trying to keep the cold off her small body.

“What’s wrong my sweet?” My feet carrying my body towards her.

She had her daddy’s eyes – bright blue and able to look right into your soul. Sprouts of red hair could be seen beneath the bonnet she wore, her little cheeks red with the touch of the cold. Emily was the daughter I longed for – a true gift from the Lord above. She was the second child – one that no one but me cared to have. She was the light of my life – the reason that I never gave up on myself against her father or his family.

I had given birth to Rory – our son – the first-born Sykes grandson seven years ago. Mama Sykes was at the head of the bed as he was born, quickly whisking him off before I could hold him. Caleb was celebrated for once in his life – having the workings to produce a strong male offspring – a male that would carry on the Sykes name and lineage. The Sykes women kept Rory at an arm’s reach from me during his infancy – only pushing him in my arms when it came time for him to eat. They would bring me into the big house as he fed and pushed me right back into the small shake once he was through. This was Mama Sykes dream to have another son she could mold and make her own. It was obvious that she wanted another son like Junior – Caleb being the lowest branch that she so badly wanted cut.

I watched as the years passed as my son shaped into a typical Sykes male. James and Junior would make sure to take him out, teaching him how to trap and hunt, something that a little boy at his age didn’t need to worry about yet. Caleb would just sit back and watch, the fatherly instinct never truly kicking in. He was seen more as Rory’s uncle rather than the his father. I’m almost positive that’s what Mama Sykes even taught Rory to call Caleb.

I would try my best to push my way into his life, only to get shoved back by the Sykes women. They didn’t trust me to be his mother – I was simply the woman that gave birth – not his mother. Hannah, Junior’s wife claimed that spot. Her evil glares cutting right through each time I would look at my son. Mama Sykes and Hannah would mutter awful words about me to Rory, finally breaking through to him. I watched as the baby boy I carried for nine months, suffering 10 hours in agony as I labored, just kicked me away like a speck of dirt on the floorboard.

I slowly picked my daughter up, bouncing her around in the quilt my mother had made before she passed.  “Flee as a bird to your mountain – thou who art weary of sin – go to the clear flowing fountain – where you may wash and be clean.”

The sudden sound of a shotgun going off cutting off the lyrics as my grip tightened on the baby. Stepping towards the window, the site in front of me causing my heart to thump against my chest. Gently placing Emily back into her bassinette, I tore open the wooden door, racing over to where my son laid.

“What the hell is happening?” My knees digging into the hardened dirt as I brought his limp body into my arms. His face bloodied and bruised as Robert and Junior stood above – Mama Sykes and Hannah watching from the porch steps.

Junior let out an annoyed sigh, “This doesn’t concern you, Elizabeth.”

“Like hell it doesn’t, Junior.” My tone biting back, fire raging through my eyes as I looked down at my little boy. My hand softly trailing down his cheek, his chest slowly rising and falling.

“He started the whole thing.” Robert, Junior and Hannah’s youngest son scoffed. “Ain’t my fault that he don’t got no fightin skills.”

My eyes cutting up to the younger Sykes, “That’s enough, Robert.” Junior sounded. “Go get cleaned up for supper.”

The boy followed his father’s direction, Hannah smiling at him once he reached the steps. Her last glance finding mine as she walked into the home. Mama Sykes stood stoic on the porch, her eyes dull and full of spite. “Junior, get Rory and bring him in the house.”

“No!” My arms wrapping tighter around my son’s unconscious body. “You will not touch another hair on this child’s head –“ My eyes piercing towards Mrs. Sykes. “None of you are touching my child again.”

“Ain’t your child, Elizabeth.” Mama spoke clearly. “Hasn’t been your child since the day he was born.”

I could feel tears of anger spiking in my eyes, “Oh yeah –“ A sarcastic chuckle slipping, “And who’s idea was that, huh?” Junior stepped closer. “You bunch of monsters took him away from me – turned him against his own mother for what? You see how well his father turned out – think I could’ve done a hell of a lot better than you, Mama Sykes.”

Junior’s large hands pried my arms apart, Rory slipping back onto the ground as he dragged me feet away. His grip like that of Caleb’s but only stronger. My words of pain going by the wayside as his foot kicked into my ribs, a guttural cry releasing deep from my body.

“Get that boy in the house before he catches a death of cold.” Mama’s raspy voice sounded.

Junior looked up to the matriarch, “What about her?” My body still curled into the cold ground. “Whatcha want me to do with her?”

The only sound could be heard was that of the winter birds around as the wind blew – Mrs. Sykes body staying silent for a moment. “She can find her way back.” Her eyes connecting with mine briefly as she turned to enter the home.

I stayed silent, face still pressed against the snowy ground as Junior lifted Rory into his arms, stomping his way up the stairs to the main house. The door slamming behind him once he crossed the threshold.

I waited a few moments before moving – the sharp pain of where his foot had landed making it hard to breathe as I slowly walked back to the building. The echo of Emily's cry reverberated in my ears, piercing through the chaos that had engulfed us. Each step felt heavy, burdened not just by the weight of my own injuries but by the fear and uncertainty that loomed ahead.

With a shaky hand, I pushed the door open, the hinges creaking in protest. Emily's tear-streaked face turned towards me, her eyes wide with a mix of confusion and fear. My heart ached at the sight of her, so small and innocent in the midst of such turmoil.

"Shh, it's okay," I whispered hoarsely, my voice barely above a broken murmur. I knelt beside her, wrapping my arms around her trembling form. The warmth of her tiny body pressed against mine offered a brief respite from the cold reality that threatened to consume us both.

"It's okay, baby," I repeated, the words a mantra to soothe not just her but myself as well. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the world around me. In that moment, I felt the weight of responsibility crushing down on my shoulders, the knowledge that I must be strong for her, no matter how broken I felt inside.

I thanked God silently that Emily was so young, her innocence a shield against the harshness of the truth…

“How dare you disrespect my mother and brother like you did, Elizabeth!”

I sat in the corner of the room, the metallic taste of blood lingering on my tongue as I dabbed away the fresh crimson droplets that fell from my split lip. The throbbing ache in my jaw served as a painful reminder of the altercation that had just taken place, but my focus remained unwavering on the man standing before me.

"I was protecting my child – our child," I asserted, my voice steady despite the underlying currents of anger and frustration that simmered beneath the surface.

He rolled his eyes in exasperation, his movements agitated as he paced the confines of the cramped room. "That boy was two steps away from killing Rory, he wa-"

"Robert was teaching him how to act like a man – not some pansy whipped little girl," Caleb interjected, his voice tinged with defiance. The words hung heavily in the air, a stark reminder of the deep-seated differences in our beliefs and values. "Junior and I did the same thing growing up – plus it’s not your word that matters anymore, Lizabeth."

I shook my head, a bitter taste of resentment flooding my senses. "Yeah," I muttered, my voice tinged with sorrow and anger. "You and your goddamn family took that right away." His eyes darkened as he advanced towards me, each step a menacing echo of the power dynamics that had long defined our relationship.

"I was just used as a cow to make sure he was fed and then put back in the pen like some kind of barnyard anim-" My words were cut short by the sharp crack that resonated through the home, the impact of the blow sending a searing wave of pain from my jaw to my temple.

“Always running that damn mouth of yours,” Caleb's voice was heavy with frustration as he hastily unclipped the holster from his waist. My body already knew what was about to happen as I scrambled to get off the floor, the urgency pulsing through my veins. Unfortunately, I wasn't quick enough. Caleb's strong grip closed around my ankles, his fingers digging into my skin as he yanked me across the dirty wood.

His dirt-stained hands pushing up the material of my skirt as his body straddled mine – my arms pinned to my side as my cries mixed with those of Emily’s in the corner of the room…

[charmingsoa]

☨ Fire Away ☨

✴︎ Chapter Ten (p.1) ✴︎

A/N: Why hello there, everyone! It's been a long while since I posted for this story, and I just want to apologize for that! In total honestly, I lost interest in this story. I didn't enjoy writing it anymore and I thought maybe the whole JCB fanbase has fizzled out, but I can see that's not the case. So in true fashion, this will be a two parter - just because there's a lot to write and I didn't want it to be crammed together. More drama and angst filled in the second part, but I thought it would be good to write in Caius POV for once, just to tell his side of the story.

Side note, if you haven't seen Horizon.... Run to the theater and go see it! I'm actually going again tomorrow to see it for the 3rd time... It's truly amazing! For my Jamie/Caleb story, I will be starting on the first real chapter tonight. I don't have an exact time when it will be released, hopefully by the weekend or a day before. But I just want to say thank you to everyone that is still reading Fire Away, it means so much and I hope you enjoy the new chapter ❤️

❖ If you would like to be tagged, please comment below ❖

Also! If you have an questions, comments, or just want to say hi - just send me a message and I would love to talk to y'all!

⍏Taglist: @xoxoindigo @vampluv3r @ladysybilchronicles​ @badkitty83 @volturgeist​ @theplagueworm​ @dogmom2014  @hybridlamb @clandestine-nerd  @yourfamilyfriendsatan​ @yourlocalrockstarsimp @violetlilites​ @quennconstanceuniverse​ @soraththefallenangel  @cancankiki​ @jamiebowerslut @okimreadynow​ @R2quellyz @historyandfandoms50  @dogmom2014 @kaitieskidmore1​​ @quinnswife86 @wooya1224​ @e-munson666​ @nessaisboring​ @j-herondale121109​ @greatfandom​ @fayythe

Caius’s POV.

“Where’s that little wifey of yours been hiding lately, nephew?” I looked up from the paper – Aro standing in front of the window that overlooked the garden. “She’s in delicate condition and shouldn’t be left out of sight.”

I let out a sigh as I leaned back into the chair, “She’s perfectly fine.” My answer was short. “She’s been hanging around Charlotte and getting things ready for the nursery.”

Aro's gaze turned intense as he inquired, “She knows the gender?”

I shook my head, “No.” His sudden smile quickly dropped as he turned back towards the window. “Apparently, they couldn’t tell when she went to the doctors. They told her they would look again at her next appointment.”

He stayed silent for a moment as he turned to walk to the desk, “My physicians are perfectly capable of taking care of her here – that way she doesn’t have to go to an outside sou-“

“It’s not up to you, Aro,” I interrupted, my voice firm. “Fuck, it’s not even up to me. She's her own person, and she'll make her own decisions about her care.”

“You’re the father, Caius,” his eyes burning into mine. “She’s only the mother – you have all the say when it comes to that baby – especially if it’s a little boy.”

Before I could reply, a soft knock sounded on the door as Vanessa peeked her head in. Her small smile quickly fell once she met the stare of Aro – his body reacting as he beamed at her. “Oh, speak of the angel.”

“I can come back,” she started to back away.

“No, no darling,” Aro walked over, taking her hand as he pulled her into the room. “Caius and I were just speaking of you. How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

Her eyes connected with mine as she answered him, “Fine – thank you,” her hand protectively placed against her growing bump. The overalls she wore placed her stomach on display as the denim pressed against her skin.

Aro caught onto her actions. “How’s the littlest Volturi doing? It seems like it’s been ages since I last spoke to you, darling.”

I could tell that she was growing uncomfortable as she shifted her bare feet on the wooden floor. “Baby is doing just fine.” She gave him a small smile before directing her attention to me. I could tell something was bothering her, but she didn’t want to say with Aro still in the room.

“When are we gonna find out what the child is? You’re already past your 20-week mark, correct?”

I let out a sigh as he continued to press.

“21 weeks,” her voice soft. “Maybe at the next appointment they will be able to tell. The baby was being stubborn that day I guess.” A soft laugh broke through as she rubbed her stomach.

“Typical Volturi man if I heard of one,” Aro smiled. “Just like his handsome father – Caius was the same way when his mother was pregnant with him. We didn’t officially find out if he was male or female until his mother was 30 weeks along. I was finally able to talk her into seeing the family physician – pulled up the ultrasound right away and there he was.”

Vanessa stood silent.

“Well,” Aro clapped his hands together. “I will leave you two with some privacy,” he moved closer to where she was standing. “Still have plenty of things to do before the benefit tonight.” Aro’s body side by side with Vanessa’s, making me sit straighter in the chair as I watched. “Hope to see you there, sweet Vanessa.”

Vanessa took a step back as Aro tried to caress her arm as he left – his eyes darkening at her action. She was the first woman to deny his advances – Vanessa was the only woman to not bow down to my uncle, and that enraged him. She waited a moment once she was sure he was gone – a sigh of relief pushing past her lips.

Silence surrounded us – the words from our fight weeks ago still fresh on both our minds. I was still sleeping in the guest room – not wanting to barge my way back in until she was ready. The air between us was better than it was before. We were back on speaking terms – a gentle touch here and there when close together. I couldn’t blame her for feeling the way she did – my liquid courage causing word vomit to escape. I never meant those words – kicking myself the next morning as I watched her avoid me like I had the plague.

“You okay, darling?” I broke first.

She nodded her head, slowly stepping towards the desk. I couldn’t help but stare at her – absolutely stunning without even trying. Pregnancy had created a glow that made her even more stunning – a vision almost. Vanessa never had to try – whether she believed it or not. “Just wanted to tell you that me and Charlotte are going to town for a bit. I told her I would help her plant some flowers in the garden before I had to get ready.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her helping Charlotte. “She’s very particular about where she buys her seeds from – may have to come rescue you if you’re gone too long.” A sly smile came over her causing my heart to soar. I slowly removed myself from the chair, taking a couple steps before I towered over her petite frame. Her brown eyes synced with my blues as we took each other in.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I asked, my hands gently pulling her in, feeling the tension in her body slowly start to relax under my touch.

She hummed in response, her blue eyes locking with mine. "Everything's fine, Caius," she whispered softly, a faint smile playing on her lips.

I studied her face, searching for any traces of worry or doubt, but all I found was the familiar warmth and strength that always drew me to her. Despite her reassurance, a nagging feeling lingered in the back of my mind, telling me that something wasn't quite right.

I took a deep breath, trying to push away my concerns. "If anything's bothering you, you know you can talk to me, right?" I said, my voice filled with genuine concern.

As she nodded and the room fell into a brief silence, the tension between us seemed palpable, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions. Our bodies were mere inches apart, the closest we had been in weeks, and I could feel the longing in my fingertips, aching to touch her soft skin once more.

Before I could say anything else, she interjected, "I better go. Charlotte's probably waiting for me in the car." Her words cut through the moment, bringing a sense of reality back into the room.

Frustrated by the sudden interruption, I ran a hand through my hair, trying to mask my disappointment with a sigh that escaped through my lips. "Yeah," I murmured, my voice low with a tinge of regret. "We'll just make sure to be back before six – the dinner starts at seven sharp."

She gave me a small nod and a fleeting smile before slowly stepping out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the lingering ache of missed opportunities…

 I sat on the edge of the bed, the unfinished knot of my tie dangling loosely in my hand, thoughts of Vanessa and the unspoken tension between us weighed heavily on my mind. Downstairs, she was still with Charlotte, their voices drifting up to me as they tended to the newly potted flowers. The dress she had chosen for the evening hung elegantly against the closet door, the shimmer of glitter catching the soft light of early spring.

Her troubled expression from earlier lingered in my thoughts, her eyes reflecting a mix of worry and sadness that she chose not to share with me. I couldn't shake the feeling that something significant was troubling her, something she kept guarded within herself.

With a heavy sigh, I pushed myself off the bed, the need for a distraction leading me to the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. However, my frustration grew as I discovered that the lighter had died, leaving me cursing under my breath.

Fumbling through the drawers in search of a replacement, my mind distractedly moved from one drawer to the next, until I reached Vanessa's drawer. Among her belongings, a small ultrasound photo caught my eye, its message hitting me like a ton of bricks.

"It's a boy!"

The words "It's a boy!" reverberate in my mind, the gravity of the news began to sink in with a profound weight. We were going to have a son - the Volturi heir that Aro had been eagerly anticipating, the next generation of our lineage. This child would be my firstborn, carrying with him the legacy of our family, the littlest prince destined to inherit the mantle of leadership in the kingdom my uncles had painstakingly built.

The thought of this new life, this tiny being who would one day grow to wield great power and responsibility, filled me with a mixture of emotions. Pride swelled within me at the prospect of fatherhood, mingled with a sense of duty to guide and protect this future leader. Yet, underlying it all was a deep sense of apprehension and uncertainty, knowing the challenges and expectations that awaited my son as he entered a world steeped in tradition and intrigue.

As I carefully placed the ultrasound photo back in its designated spot in Vanessa's drawer, the weight of the revelation still lingering in my mind, a pang of hurt and frustration crept into my thoughts. The fact that she hadn't shared the news of our baby's gender with me stung, albeit subtly. It was a reminder of the distance that had grown between us, a gap that seemed to widen with every unspoken truth and withheld emotion.

Reflecting on the situation, I couldn't deny the twinge of disappointment at not being the first to know about our son. The news of Vanessa's pregnancy itself had come as a shock, revealed to me in a moment of public unveiling orchestrated by Aro at Marcus's funeral, a setting that was far from ideal for such intimate revelations.

Closing the wooden drawer with a sigh, the forgotten need for a lighter now insignificant in comparison to the weight of the photo hidden atop the clothing in the 3rd drawer. Running my fingers through my hair, I gave the ends a hard tug in frustration. A part of me wanted to go out there and confront her right away – not wanting her to hide the truth any longer. The rational portion of my brain simply said to wait until after the benefit. The air between us was already tense – a fight right before the event was sure to make everyone’s night terrible.

The sound of soft footsteps on the staircase caught me by surprise, freezing me in my tracks as I quickly backed away from the drawer, my heart racing with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. Hurriedly, I moved towards the open window, seeking a moment of respite as I tried to collect my thoughts. Glancing back, I saw Vanessa entering the room, her eyes meeting mine as she closed the door behind her.

"I didn't realize you were still up here," she remarked casually, making her way over to the dress hanging on the closet door. "Figured you went with Aro to make sure everything was set up."

I cleared my throat, my voice betraying a hint of nervousness. "Uh, no," I replied, trying to sound composed. "He told me to just stay put until it was time to show up. Besides, I already checked on things this morning to ensure everything was proceeding smoothly. Can't exactly rely on Aro when it comes to dinner party arrangements."

I observed as Vanessa's expression shifted slightly; her curiosity evident as she focused on the dress in her hands. Sensing the need to change the subject, I quickly interjected, "How are the flowers? It seemed like you and Charlotte were quite in tune with them." I watched her inspect the dress she had chosen with Charlotte, undoubtedly envisioning how stunning she would look in it at the event.

“Got them all potted for the most part,” she said curtly. “I’m gonna shower real fast and get ready.”

Before I could reply, she had already retreated to the bathroom, the sound of the shower turning on filling the otherwise silent room. I listened as she stepped into the shower, my feet carrying me almost involuntarily to the bathroom door. Through the glass, her silhouette came into view – her bump prominently displayed as she lathered her hair. In that moment, she looked absolutely beautiful – not that she doesn’t in general – but there was something about her vulnerability that made her seem almost angelic.

A part of me wanted to jump into the shower with her – to tell her and show her how much I truly loved her. I would forgo the gala just to hold her in my arms for the rest of the night, to place my hand upon her growing stomach and speak to my son for the first time. That was all wishful thinking, though.

I let out a sigh as I slowly walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door to ensure her privacy. I found myself in the kitchen, searching the drawers for the forgotten lighter. Cursing aloud as my search came up empty.

"Try looking in the cupboard, dear," came a singsong voice. My nerves rattled at the sound of Charlotte’s unexpected suggestion.

"Jesus, Charlotte," I muttered, my head hanging as my heart pounded in my chest. "Trying to give me a heart attack?"

She let out a chuckle, the sound light and teasing. "The world might cease to exist if you can’t smoke that cigarette, darling." she said, gliding into the kitchen with an air of effortless grace. Her presence was always a mix of comfort and command, something that never failed to both soothe and unsettle me.

I opened the cupboard as she suggested and, sure enough, the lighter was there. I grabbed it and turned to face her, shaking my head with a rueful smile. "What would I do without you?"

"Probably lose that handsome head of yours if it wasn’t screwed on straight," she quipped, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She leaned against the counter, her gaze softening as she looked at me. "She getting ready for tonight?” Her eyes glancing to the ceiling.

I nodded my head as I lit the stick, the flame casting a warm glow that flickered in the dim kitchen light. "Yeah," I replied, my voice thick with emotion. "I just want to thank you for accepting her and making her feel loved. She seems to really enjoy your company, and I can tell she appreciates your kindness – especially now with the baby coming along and all."

Charlotte's expression softened, a tender smile playing at the corners of her lips. "You don't have to thank me, Caius," she said gently. "Vanessa has been an absolute joy. She's a remarkable woman, and you're incredibly lucky to have her in your life. For once—" she reached for my hand, her touch warm and reassuring—"you thought things out with your brain instead of what's zipped inside your trousers."

A laugh escaped past my lips as I nodded my head. "She's not like the others, that's for sure."

Charlotte chuckled along with me, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, it's about time, isn't it? Finding someone who truly understands you, who brings out the best in you."

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her words. "Yeah, it is. She's changed everything for me. Made me realize what truly matters." In the short time that we’ve been married, my thoughts were no longer focused on myself or the family business. Before Vanessa, I didn’t care what happened or who I hurt. I was only focused on getting whatever job needed to be done.

"And she's just as lucky to have you," Charlotte nodded, a knowing look in her eyes. "It's a lot, carrying a life inside you. But she's strong. Both of you are."

“You think I’m gonna be a good father?” My eyes focused on my ringed finger. “I mean I can only model myself after Aro and Marcus – they’ve raised me since I was small – most of the time it was you and the other help that I would see for days.”

Charlotte's smile softened as she reached out to place a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Being a good father isn't about having all the perfect examples," she said gently. "It's about love, commitment, and the willingness to learn and grow. You have all those qualities in spades."

I looked up at her, the worry in my chest easing slightly. "But how do I know I won't mess it up? What if I make the same mistakes?"

Charlotte shook her head. "We all make mistakes, dear. It's part of being human. But the fact that you're asking these questions, that you care so deeply about being a good father, shows that you're already on the right path."

I sighed, the weight of my doubts still lingering but feeling a bit lighter. "I just want to do right by her, by our child."

"And you will," Charlotte reassured me. "You have a good heart, and you care. That's more than enough to start with.”

I gave her a small genuine smile.

"Now—" Her hands moved down my bicep, her touch warm and familiar. "Where is the rest of your suit?"

We both laughed as I explained to her, "This is the style at the moment. I can’t be all stiff and boring like Aro and those other men – gotta stand out in the crowd, Charlotte."

She shook her head, still chuckling, her eyes filled with a mix of amusement and fondness. "Well, you're certainly doing a good job of that," she said, her voice teasing but affectionate.

Her aging eyes peered past me, and a soft smile formed on her lips. "Well, I think the beauty standing behind you will make that happen more than your outfit will."

I turned to see Vanessa approaching, her presence instantly lighting up the room. She radiated a warmth and grace that seemed to draw everyone's attention, including mine.

The champagne-colored dress that Vanessa had chosen fit her body like a glove, the color and sparkles making her already glowing skin pop out even more. My eyes trailed down to her stomach, my heart swelling as the bump was more noticeable than usual. I honestly couldn’t even put a sentence together—her beauty rendered me speechless.

“Oh, darling—" Charlotte shuffled past me as she made her way to Vanessa. "You look absolutely breathtaking."

Vanessa smiled warmly at Charlotte, leaning down slightly to give the older woman a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Charlotte," she said, her voice filled with gratitude. She glanced my way, her eyes twinkling with affection and amusement at my awestruck expression.

As they exchanged pleasantries, I took a moment to compose myself, trying to find the right words to express what I was feeling. Vanessa's presence was like a beacon, illuminating everything around her and grounding me in the moment.  

“Caius, sweetheart—” Charlotte’s eyes glinted with mischief as she and Vanessa turned their attention onto me. “Rather than keeping your jaw on the floor, why don’t you tell your wife how beautiful she looks?”

I snapped out of my reverie, feeling a blush creep up my neck. Vanessa’s amused smile only made my heart race faster. “Right,” I stammered, taking a step closer to her. “Vanessa, you look... breathtaking. I mean, you always do, but tonight you’re just...”

Vanessa’s eyes softened. “Thank you,” she said, her voice gentle. I could still sense a hint of timidness in her posture as I stepped beside her.

I cleared my throat, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. I was apprehensive but determined to provide the support she deserved. “Shall we go?” I asked, my hand hovering near her lower back.

She slowly nodded, a soft smile still framing her face. “Yes.”

As we made our way to the awaiting SUV, Vanessa walked a couple of steps ahead of me. Every movement she made seemed to draw my attention, and I felt a surge of protectiveness and love. My body instinctively moved into doting husband mode as I rushed to open the car door for her.

“Here, let me help you,” I said, extending a hand to assist her into the vehicle. Her fingers brushed against mine, sending an electrical current through my body. The simple touch was enough to make my heart race.

“Thanks,” Vanessa murmured as she settled into the seat, her eyes meeting mine. Her gaze was unreadable, a mix of emotions that I couldn’t quite decipher.

I settled into the seat beside her, and the driver quickly gathered himself, rolling down the driveway. The ride was mostly silent, filled only with the rhythmic sound of raindrops hitting the darkened windows as the car traveled down the interstate.

I glanced over at Vanessa, her profile illuminated by the occasional streetlight. She seemed lost in thought, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on her lap. I wanted to reach out, to bridge the quiet gap between us, but I hesitated, unsure of what to say…

[charmingsoa]

Tis the Way the Wind Blows, Hummingbird (Intro)

Caleb Sykes x OC Horizon universe

⚠️ Warning ⚠️ Story will contain moments of physical, sexual, emotional, and verbal abuse, cursing, murder, suicidal ideations, childbirth, scalping, death, etc. Please do not read if you are triggered by any of these warnings. If you've seen the film or just read about it online, you already know that Caleb is a bad guy. He will remain a bad guy throughout this story as well. He will not be liked and will be vile in every way. Just a heads up if you were looking for a happy Jamie story.

Author's note: Hello and welcome to my new fic! So, I went and see Horizon (twice now) and I just had to write about everyone's favorite western villain. Jamie was amazing in this film, like he is in all his moves. Caleb is a ruthless asshole and he will stay a ruthless asshole in this story as well. I started off this story in the future - kind of like mid end just to give a small taste of the drama that will soon unfold. The next chapter will show the relationship between Elizabeth and Caleb - spoiler - it will not be pretty...

● If you would like to be tagged, please comment below ● Taglist: @austinswhitewolf, @carriewritesblog, @isla-bell-blog, @jcbbby, @eve18ahs

“You know that he’ll kill you once he finds you – even gets word that you're in these parts.”

I kept my gaze focused on the snowy mountains to the East of us, the warm spring wind flowing through my red locks, carrying with it a sense of both renewal and reckoning. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over the rugged peaks, I felt a surge of conflicting emotions welling up inside me.

"Maybe that's what I want," I whispered, my eyes connecting with the older man's beside me, his weathered face reflecting wisdom and understanding. "Maybe I want him to find me, to confront me, so I can finally make him feel the pain that he inflicted upon me for all those years."

Grady let out a scoff, his voice rough with years of experience and a hint of skepticism. "You thinkin' that you'll be able to kill that crazy sumbitch? That whole goddamn family is off their rockers, Elizabeth. That boy especially – his eyes are wilder than a banshee."

I let out a sigh, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air. "I'm not afraid of them anymore, Grady." The truth spilled out, raw and unfiltered, a truth that I had wrestled with for far too many years. "As long as that little girl is nowhere in his sight or the sight of that pack of wolves he calls brothers-" I stopped mid-sentence, a sudden chill running down my spine as our gazes reconnected. "I don't care what happens to me."

The older man stayed silent for a moment, his face betraying a mix of disbelief and concern as my words lingered in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. "You're just gonna let that little girl grow up without a mama? Have her go to some home and let a bunch of strangers take care of her? I thought you had more sense than that, youngin."

"She ain't gonna be with a stranger, Grady," I insisted, my voice firm with conviction as I met his gaze. His eyebrows creased in confusion, a mix of surprise and uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "If I don't make it back, I want you to raise her just like you rais-"

"No-" Grady interjected, his hands waving in the air as he took a step back, a look of protest on his wrinkled face.

"Grady, listen, please," I implored, closing the distance between us as I followed in his tracks. "You are the only constant in both of our lives. You're the only one I trust with her – she needs you just like I did all those years ago."

His back, hunched over from years of work, moved slowly with each deep breath as he processed my words. "Emily loves you, Grady, and you love her too. At least if I do die, I will die knowing that my daughter will always be protected and loved."

"I'm too old to be carin for a six-year-old child, Elizabeth," Grady retorted, a smirk forming across my face in response to his protest.

"You've been saying that for years, Grady dear," I remarked softly, my hand resting gently on his shoulder. "Pretty sure those were the same words you uttered when I was placed upon your porch many years ago. Looks like you're still here, sir."

His aging body slowly turned around, his eyes glistening with threatening tears, a testament to the emotions churning beneath the surface. "Caleb is a ruthless man, Lizzie," Grady's tone was low, filled with a mixture of concern and a hint of fear. "He's the lowest of the barrel – capable of doing anything to anyone, including his wife and mother to his child."

I gave him a tight smile, my hand squeezing his bicep in a gesture of reassurance and solidarity. "I'll make sure he draws first."

[charmingsoa]

Y’alllll!

I just went and watched Horizon…. It was amazing!! I initially went in for just Jamie but the storylines of all the characters and the imagery of the movie as a whole was great. I will definitely be seeing it again. So, with that being said, I’m wanting to write a small fic revolving around Jamie’s character. He does play a bag guy in the film and will remain the bad guy. He just plays those roles so good 😍

If you haven’t seen Horizon, go out and see it!!

[charmingsoa]

bucky egan // "free" by florence + the machine

the feeling comes so fast and i cannot control it i'm on fire, but i'm trying not to show it

[charmingsoa]

■ Bring it On Home to Me (two) ■ John Egan x OC ■ ■ Multi chapter story ■

⚠ Chapter warning ⚠ Mentions of sexual content, cursing, use of slurs, mention of abuse.

Author's note: Hello again! So, first of thank you so much to everyone that has read the first chapter! I really appreciate it. I've been kind of in a slump with this story, having so many ideas, and trying to figure out how to piece everything together. It's definitely a work in progress. I have added past and present as well in this chapter, but going forward, I kind of want to time jump. Like I want to jump around their relationship instead of each chapter being in the same time period. Would you all be okay with that or would it be too confusing. Like I could add time stamps if that would be helpful? Please just let me know whichever you all prefer. Again, you guys are amazing and I thank you all ❤️

✪ If you would like to be tagged, just leave a comment ✪

I watched from the corner as he slept peacefully – the turmoil of war erased from his gorgeous features as the night slowly crept into daylight. Our time together was quickly coming to an end – an end that would more than likely be terminal. He was an American soldier – a major – a pilot that would either soar like an eagle or crash like so many before him.

John Egan was a charming man – one that could sweep you off your feet with just one look. I had gone to the bar down from Louella’s, the night too slow for any business. She had sent most of us home, choosing to close for the evening. Rumor had it, she was expecting one of her “high ranking” gentleman friend – a German that didn’t want to be identified.

I didn’t want to go back to Aunt Beatrice’s – already knowing that she wouldn’t approve of a cashless night. All I wanted to do was nurse a drink or two – maybe get a dance from a lonely attendee. I wasn’t looking to get into anyone’s bed, let alone spend the whole night making love in the shadows of the bombs that were exploding on the outskirts of town.

Watching as he made his way further into the bar, I couldn’t help but take sneak peaks. His uniform fitting him just right – the chip on his shoulder being held up nicely by his cocky attitude. His drink of choice was whiskey – raw whiskey. One glass after another – his body holding a tight grip on sobriety.

The way his lips tasted of the liquor made me want more – more of his lips, more of his touch. This wasn’t a fuck and pay situation – Louella was not in charge of this union. I think what made it that more powerful was the fact that there was a high chance we would never see one another again. He was an American who just so happened to be sent to the city for some reprieve – a night away from the battlefield to unwind and relax. A time that most soldiers would come into Lou’s for an hour to two of pleasure – their wives or girlfriends back home oblivious to what happened behind the closed doors of the bordello. As soon as their time was over, they would go back to their hotels and call their significant others – whispering sweet nothings in their innocent ears.

As my time with John progressed into the night, the thought of never seeing him again remained in my mind. His promise, whether it was from the liquor or his grandiose illusions, of taking me away from all this was left as an empty promise. This man didn’t know me from Adam, only the tracking of my body as his head found its position between my legs. Many had come before him promising the same – a beautiful life back in the states – a life away from Louella’s bordello and Aunt Beatrice’s abuse. I would just smile and go on – both of us knowing that once they left those doors, everything would be forgotten.

Quietly, I rose from the chair, tiptoeing in the darkness as I started collecting my wardrobe. Each glance at John’s sleeping figure making my heart race and ache simultaneously. How I wanted to just stay locked in those strong arms, listening as he spoke of what he had seen on the frontline or stories of his childhood. He was the first person I had opened up to as well – speaking of my late mother and father – the living situation that I was in now as with Aunt Beatrice being the only family left. All this talking happening in between sessions of love making – a short intermission as we let our bodies rest up for the next round.  The tone of his voice creating a fire in my core as it got huskier as the octaves lowered.

“You leavin without saying goodbye?”

Stopping dead in my tracks, my eyes darting over to the bed as John stared back at me. “it’s not nice to fuck and run, darlin.”

I watched as he picked up the pack of cigarettes, the sheet lying low on his hips as he leaned against the headboard. His hair was disheveled from the pillow, his tired eyes watching my every move as I shifted around. “It’s better off that way.”

He let out a sigh, releasing a plume of smoke between his pursed lips. “Says the one who’s running away.”

I slowly pulled on my undergarments, taking a seat on the side of the bed as his eyes bore into my frame. “I’m not the woman you need in your life, John.” My voice low. “It’s not fair to either of us to keep acting like we’re gonna see one another outside of these walls again.”

“Wow-“He chuckled annoyed. “Sounds like you're killing me off – telling me that I’m not making it back home.” My face expressionless as I looked at him. “You obviously don’t know me very well, little girl.”

I shook my head, “That’s not what I’m saying but I’ve seen it enough to know that that could be the case. But, even if you do make it, survive this hell that we’re all in, I’m sure there’s a beautiful American girl waiting back home for you.” The tears forming in my eyes. “A girl who’s not tainted by the spills of other men –“

“I don’t want that-“His hand grabbing onto mine. “You’re the one that I want – you’re the one that I want to see standing on that front porch when I get home from work. I want to be able to wake up next to you every damn day. I want to watch you waddle around the house as our children grow in your stomach. I want you to get annoyed at me for every little thing.” A sad smile forming on my face. “ I don’t know a damn thing about you, but I know that you’re the one that I’m bringing back to the states come hell or high water.”

We stayed still for a moment – no words said between the two of us – just silence filling the already quiet room. I wanted so badly to cling to his every word –to just go off into the sunset with this strange man that I had known for less than six hours.

My hand pulled from his as I stepped away from the bed. I quickly pulled my dress back over my head, buckling my heels as I stood in front of the mirror. His reflection could be seen plain as day, his head hanging low as tears welled up in my eyes. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye – a goodbye that I didn’t even want to think about saying. What if his plane were to go down one day – the thought of just leaving with no words would eat me alive if I ever found out he had passed.

“John?”

His head slowly lifting in response as I stepped back to where he sat. His strong arm instantly pulling me into his chest as I wrapped my arm around his neck, my lips faintly connecting to his skin. We sat there way for a moment before I pulled away, his gorgeous blue eyes glassed over with tears.

“You take care of yourself, Major Egan.” The pad of my index finger lightly tracing his plump lip.

He didn’t say anything, just nodding his head as his grip on me loosened. If this wasn’t my chance to leave, then I would have stayed for the rest of eternity. I didn’t bother with one last kiss or one last hug – I simply pulled away from his touch for the last time, marching out of the hotel room before I could change my mind.

I watched as Aunt Beatrice sat next to the fireplace, the flame running low due to the dampness in the small room. I shifted nervously as she remained silent – not even an expression on her aged face. I already knew that my news would not be taken well – Loella basically throwing me out of the building once I told her. Telling me that she was just keeping me around because she felt sorry for me. – not like I was one of her top earners among the servicemen. I had left John back at the hotel – letting him know that this needed to be done in private. If Beatrice caught wind of John being around, that would only set her off even more.

“You’re running off to your American dream and I’m being left here to rot.” Her voice low. “After everything I’ve done for you, Vanessa.” Her piercing green eyes whipping in my direction. “After I took you in when you had no one – I put a roof over your head when you should’ve been wasting away on the streets like everyone told me to do.”

“You made me sell myself – made me give up my virginity so you could have your bills paid.” I began to speak. “Had me out there working for Lou every night just so you could sit on your ass and collect the money in the morning. Do you even know what some of those men made me do in order to earn that money?”

“Bullocks!” The packed ashtray shattering against the wall behind me from the force of her throw. “I didn’t hear you complaining when those men were buying you fancy dresses and expensive jewelry. You were sitting pretty every single night just asking to be fucked like the whore you are. You could have quiet at any time – took a job anywhere else – in those factories down by the river – but no. Don’t act like you were keeping me up, sweetheart. If it wasn’t for me, you would be dead and buried somewhere just like your fucking parents.”

This was going nowhere – there would never be a resolution between her and I. It was pointless to keep the argument going because there was no way, even if there were proven facts, that she would backdown and forgive and forget. She was a hateful and spiteful woman.

When Aunt Beatrice passed away, I didn’t find out until four months later. I had been living in the States for almost two years by that point. She had told the hospital that she didn’t have any living family members – saying that they all died years ago. She was buried in a pine box at the poplar cemetery with all the other individuals that didn’t have the means for a proper burial. No tombstone – no marker. It would take many years after the fact for me to forgive and forget myself.

I ran a hand through my hair, the frustration boiling over as I pulled at the strands in silent anger. "You truly are a miserable old bitch," the words spilled out, a release of pent-up emotions that had been building for far too long. "Always wanting those around you to be just as miserable as you are. Well-"

I closed the distance between us, stepping closer until our faces were mere inches apart. The fire in my eyes matched the intensity of my words. "I'm no longer that little girl who's afraid of you. You can't use that cane or ash shovel to beat me anymore. You can't call me hurtful names or tell me that my parents died because they didn't want me as their daughter."

The air crackled with tension as I held her gaze, unflinching. The weight of years of abuse and manipulation hung heavy in the space between us, but I stood tall, my resolve unshakeable.

"And when that rent payment is due," I continued, my voice low but filled with a newfound strength, "you will never have me pinned down to the mattress as those bastards from the bank have their way with me."

The creak of the floorboard caused us both to look up as John stood in the doorway, his hands shoved in his pockets, his expression unreadable. Beatrice's body stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she processed the words I had just spoken.

"Well," she began, a sickening smile spreading across her face, “Looks like we have ourselves a visitor.” I felt a surge of anger rise within me, but I forced myself to remain composed. Stepping forward, my heels clicking against the floor, I took my place next to John. His arm wrapped protectively around my middle, a silent gesture of support and solidarity in the face of Beatrice's barbed words.

"If it isn't the little tinker soldier coming to whisk the distressed maiden off to a great new world." Her tone was laced with sarcasm, each word cutting through the tense silence of the room. “Tell me, Major.” She struggled to stand. “How does it feel knowing that ever soldier from here to Russia has had a taste of your little tart’s pussy? Knowing that your dick and hundreds of other dicks have been in the same hole – a stretched-out hole for someone who’s only 19 years old.”

John's tall frame began to move forward, his muscles tensing with anger as Beatrice's cruel words hit their mark. I acted on instinct, my arm reaching out to stop him from advancing any closer towards her. I could feel the heat of his rage radiating off him, his jaw clenched tightly as he struggled to contain his emotions.

Beatrice stood her ground, her expression unreadable, almost daring John to lash out at her. The tension in the room was palpable, thick with unspoken words and unresolved conflicts that hung in the air like a heavy fog.

I held John back, my grip firm but gentle, silently urging him to stay his hand. Despite the torrent of emotions swirling within me, I knew that violence was not the answer, no matter how much Beatrice's words cut deep.

"Don't," I whispered to John, my voice barely above a breath. "She's not worth it. Let's not give her the satisfaction."

John's gaze flickered to mine, a storm of conflicting emotions raging in his eyes. Slowly, he began to relax under my touch, the tension in his body easing as he took a deep breath to steady himself.

With a final, defiant glare at Beatrice, John stepped back, his fists unclenching at his sides. The standoff between them remained unbroken, the silent confrontation speaking volumes of the deep-seated animosity that simmered just beneath the surface.

"Go get your stuff," John's voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. His words were a clear directive, a signal that it was time to leave this toxic environment behind.

I glanced between John and Beatrice, their silent standoff continuing as I quietly shuffled past Beatrice, determined not to engage further in her games. With purposeful strides, I made my way to my makeshift room, the weight of the impending departure settling heavily on my shoulders.

I wasted no time in gathering my belongings, selecting only the most essential items and packing them into the duffle bag that the army had provided John during his service. The meager possessions I owned were carefully chosen and placed with care, each item a precious link to a past I was preparing to leave behind.

As I sifted through my belongings, a mix of emotions washed over me - sadness, anger, but also a glimmer of hope for a new beginning. I knew that I would have to leave behind most of my things, the material possessions that held little value compared to the memories they carried.

Clothing could easily be replaced, but the mementos that my parents had given me were irreplaceable. Each trinket, each keepsake held a piece of their love and guidance, a reminder of the family I had lost but never forgotten.

As I slung it over my shoulder, ready to embark on the journey ahead, I felt a sense of liberation and determination take root within me. The road to America beckoned, and I was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, armed with the strength of my resolve and the unwavering support of John by my side.

John gently removed the pack from my shoulder as I reentered the living room.

"You're making a grave mistake, Vanessa," Beatrice's tone filled with contempt as she spoke. Her eyes bore into mine, searching for any sign of doubt or weakness. "Do you truly believe that this man will fulfill his promises of calling you his wife and providing you with the perfect life in America?"

I remained silent, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. The doubts that she tried to sow in my mind were like seeds of discord, but I refused to let them take root. I knew the strength of the bond between John and me, and I held onto the hope of a better future with unwavering conviction.

A bitter smirk played on Beatrice's lips as she continued, her words dripping with disdain. "If you believe in such fairy tales, then you are even more of a mug than I thought you were. Don't be blinded by false promises and empty dreams, Vanessa. Reality has a cruel way of shattering illusions."

I met her gaze steadily, refusing to flinch under the weight of her scorn.

"Any place that's away from you and this godforsaken place will be considered a fairytale ending,"

[charmingsoa]

❖ Somewhere in the Vicinity of the Night: Sneak peak ❖ Callum Turner/ OC

The rain poured from the heavens – the sky angry and loud as the summer storm settled across the valley. The sound of thunder rumbled in the distance, matching the tumultuous emotions swirling between them.

“You just need to go,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the drumming of rain on the roof. The humid air wrapped around us, adding to the weight of the moment.

His large hand ran through his now short hair, a sign of frustration. “You can’t do this to me – not again, Cricket,” he pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation. I could see the pain in his eyes, mirroring my own inner turmoil.

A tear escaped my eye, betraying her facade of strength. I hastily wiped it away, refusing to let him see how deeply his words had affected me. “I can’t go back there without you,” he admitted, his voice cracking with emotion. “We don’t even have to go back to California – anywhere you want, and we will go.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the only sound the relentless patter of rain on the window. We stood facing each other, caught in a moment that felt like an eternity, each waiting for the other to make a move, to say something that would break the impasse between us.

He took a step forward, closing the distance between us. His hand reached out, hesitated for a moment, then gently cupping my cheek. “I don’t want to lose you, Cricket,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “I’ll go wherever you go. Just don’t leave me.”

My eyes connected with his – the same eyes I had spent days and nights just staring into – getting lost in those beautiful green eyes. “You don’t belong here, Callum,” I said, my voice straining with the weight of my emotions. “And I can’t let you lose everything you’ve worked so hard for just to be with me – that’s not fair to me, and it’s definitely not fair to you.”

His hand dropped to his side as he backed up, a look of resignation crossing his features. I could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between his love for me and his desire to respect my wishes. The tension in the room was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the difficult choice that lay before us.

“I can’t just walk away, Cricket,” he replied, his voice tinged with sadness. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it. We can find a way to make it work, together.”

Shaking my head, “This-“I gestured between us. “This was never supposed to happen.” He rolled his eyes, stepping in place. “We come from two completely different worlds, and it would never work between us. You know it, and I know it too. I mean, look what happened on the red carpets, those snakes ate me and my family alive – branding us the new Beverly Hillbillies – I’m not gonna put them th-“

“I don’t give a shit what those Hollywood pretentious assholes say or think – I fucking love you, Elizabeth,” he declared, his hands grabbing onto my shoulders with a fierce intensity. “I fucking love you, your family – I love everything about you.”

His face mere inches from mine, the closest we’ve been since our last night together. How I wanted to just wrap my arms around his strong neck and crash my lips onto his, but I couldn't. If I did, I knew I would never be able to turn away from him.

“Please just go,” I pleaded, my voice a simple whisper, laced with a mixture of longing and resignation. “Before we make things worse.”

The air between us crackled with unspoken desire and the weight of our shared history. Every fiber of my being yearned to bridge the gap between us, to give in to the magnetic pull drawing us together. But I knew deep down that succumbing to that temptation would only complicate an already fragile situation.

Pulling away from his hold, I stepped back into the house, the screen door becoming a barrier between us. “Just leave, Callum,” I stated firmly, my tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Just go and don’t come back here.”

Before he could argue, I slammed the old wooden door in his face, the sound reverberating through the quiet room. Leaning my head against the cool wood, I closed my eyes, trying to block out the tumult of emotions swirling inside me.

Outside, a string of harsh curse words flew out of his mouth, the muffled sound a jarring contrast to the tranquility of the rain-soaked evening. Each word felt like a dagger, piercing through the fragile shield I had erected around my heart.

As the reality of my actions settled in, a wave of doubt and regret washed over me. Had I made the right choice? Was shutting him out the only way to protect myself from further heartache? The questions swirled in my mind, echoing the storm raging both outside and within.

[charmingsoa]

✶ Where the Wild Things Are: Three ✶ ■ 1960s Sons of Anarchy story ■

⌃ Jax Teller/ OC x Thomas Teller/OC ⌃

Warning: Please read with caution. This story will include: drug use, physical, verbal, and sexual abuse. miscarriages, sexual content, alcohol use, homicide, cursing, etc. ★ If You would like to be tagged in future updates, simply leave your username in the comments.

Taglist: @oskea93, @keyweegirlie @ravennaortiz @ghostlyteacups @yelchinweasleylothbrok

“What does that say?”

As I strained my eyes to decipher the hastily scribbled grocery list, a sense of curiosity mingled with apprehension crept over me.

"Molasses?" I muttered to myself, puzzled by the seemingly random assortment of items the guys had jotted down. Gemma had entrusted me with the task of procuring supplies for the party scheduled for that evening, a gathering that seemed to hold a special significance for the denizens of the club.

Rumors circulated among the women who frequented the garage that the impending celebration was not just any ordinary affair; it was, in fact, a veiled homage to the enigmatic figure of Thomas Teller, the unspoken son whose presence loomed large over the club. Despite my three-month tenure in Charming and my proximity to the club, discussions regarding Thomas Teller were few and far between.

Gemma, with her characteristic candor, would occasionally broach the subject of Thomas, only to be met with stony silence from Jackson and Clay. The mere mention of the younger Teller seemed to evoke a palpable discomfort among the group, shrouding his identity in a cloak of mystery and intrigue.

As I raised my head from the perplexing grocery list, a deep voice jolted me out of my reverie. My gaze met the steady, yet kind eyes of a tall man standing beside me, his presence commanding attention in the bustling store.

"Need help with something?" he inquired, his tone warm and inviting.

Surprised by the sudden interaction, I stammered, "Excuse me?" My confusion was met with a reassuring smile that never wavered from his face as he gracefully moved closer, exuding an air of confidence and authority.

His uniform, crisply tailored and adorned with a gleaming gold star, hinted at a position of respect and responsibility. The badge on his chest caught the light, casting a radiant glow that seemed to illuminate his aura.

"You just looked a little lost – need help finding that item on your paper?" he offered, his offer of assistance genuine and sincere.

With a chuckle, I glanced back and forth between the kind stranger and the jumbled list in my hand. "No, just trying to read chicken scratch is all," I admitted with a smile. "I'm just guessing at this point and hoping I'm right."

As the stranger's eyes crinkled with amusement and he chuckled softly in response to my comment, I offered a small word of thanks before turning the corner, the cart's wheels protesting with a squeak under the pressure of my push. The aisles of the store seemed to stretch endlessly, filled with the soft hum of shoppers and the occasional rustle of products being restocked.

"Miss, wait—" the man's voice called out, his body swiftly catching up to me moments later. His voice was gentle yet insistent, prompting me to pause in my tracks as I glanced back at him.

"I didn't get to catch your name?" he inquired, his eyes holding a glint of curiosity and warmth.

I hesitated for a moment, struck by the unexpected turn of events and the genuine interest in his question. With a soft smile, I turned fully towards him, the aisles of the store fading into the background as our brief encounter took center stage.

"Oh, um –“ I stumbled. “Catherine. My name is Catherine.”

His smile widened. “You got a last name, Catherine?” His eyes sparkled with mischief; a playful glint that made my heart skip a beat.

His smile causing me to smile back, “Yeah, it’s Landry. Catherine Landry.” The air between us seemed to crackle with a newfound energy, a connection forged in the unlikeliest of places.

“Well Catherine Landry, I know everyone in this town, and I never laid my eyes on the likes of you. Wanna tell me how that happened?”

I watched as he politely acknowledged the older woman that walked past us in the aisle – the woman greeting him as Sheriff Hale.

I shuffled nervously on my sandaled feet, feeling a mix of apprehension. "Oh, well, I got here about three months ago," I began, noticing his eyes narrowing in curiosity as he listened intently.

"I was actually on my way to San Francisco, but a group of bikers picked me up and brought me here, and I've been here ever since."

He stayed silent for a moment, his expression unreadable as he leaned against the shelf, absorbing my story. "Bikers? You talkin about the Sons of Anarchy?" he inquired, a hint of recognition coloring his voice.

I nodded my head, "Yeah, I've been helping out at their garage, and Gemma and Clay have been letting me stay at their place until I can get on my feet. Everyone's been real friendly," I shared, a warmth in my voice as I spoke of the unexpected hospitality I had received.

A loud sigh escaped from the sheriff's pursed lips, his expression turning serious as he leaned his head back. "Darlin—" he began, his tone weighed down with a sense of caution. "Nothin' about that group is friendly – trust me." His words hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow of doubt over the rosy picture I had painted in my mind.

A confused look floated over my face, uncertainty creeping into my thoughts as I processed his warning. "Especially when it comes to the Teller family and their band of goons," he added, his gaze steady and unwavering.

The atmosphere between us shifted palpably, the once easy camaraderie giving way to a tense undercurrent as the sheriff's words lingered in the space between us. His close proximity, once a source of comfort, now felt stifling, the weight of unspoken truths hanging heavy in the air.

"Well, when they pick a random girl up in the middle of nowhere after she was abandoned by some asshole in the dead of night, I think that's pretty genuine of them. Especially since they never asked for anything in return," I retorted, my voice tinged with a hint of disdain.

As I stood there, the sheriff's gaze piercing through me, I felt a surge of defiance rising within me. The bond forged with the bikers, flawed as it may be, held a sense of authenticity that transcended the sheriff's warnings and doubts. In a town where secrets whispered in the shadows, I clung to the glimmer of connection and acceptance that had found me in the most unlikely of places.

 "All I'm sayin is for a beautiful girl such as yourself, those men, the Teller brothers included, want nothing more than to use you for their own satisfaction and then spit you out when they're done with ya," His words cutting through the charged silence like a knife, his warning ringing in my ears with a chilling clarity

"I've seen it happen too many times to count – I would hate to see you get hurt,"

In response, I deadpanned, my voice low and steady, "I don't need you to worry about me, Sheriff Hale." The words slipped from my lips with a quiet resolve, a hint of defiance coloring my tone.

Who knew that those words would come back to haunt me in the coming years. That I would come to rely on Breckon Hale when everything around me and my unborn daughter was falling apart and people were dropping left and right…

I stood off in the corner as the party was in full swing, observing the lively scene unfolding before me. Gemma, the life of the party, moved with effortless grace, her magnetic energy drawing people towards her like moths to a flame.

The hang-arounds as Gemma called them clung to random members, kissing and rubbing themselves against them in full view of those around.

The air was thick with the mingling scents of alcohol and weed, creating a heady mix that added to the party's vibrant atmosphere. Some guests sat at tables, their focus on white lines meticulously arranged in front of them, lost in their own world of ephemeral highs and fleeting escapes.

Meanwhile, I found myself nursing the same bottle of beer for what felt like an eternity, content to observe from the sidelines. The pulsating music throbbed in the background, a constant reminder of the lively energy that enveloped the room.

My gaze drifted to Clay, a towering figure with a presence that commanded attention. His strong arm draped lazily over Gemma's shoulders as they weaved through the crowd, engaged in animated conversations with various partygoers. There was a familiarity in their interactions, a silent understanding that spoke volumes about their shared history.

Sitting in the dark corner of the room near the exit, I couldn't help but notice Jackson Teller and his imposing friend, Opie. Their presence exuded a certain aura that drew the attention of those around them. I observed as they engaged in conversation, their camaraderie evident in the easy way they interacted with each other.

Jackson, or Jax as he was known, seemed to have a magnetic pull on those around him. I watched as he would momentarily disappear with different girls, only to reappear after a few minutes, his charm and charisma leaving a lasting impression. The younger women seemed drawn to him like moths to a flame, captivated by his rugged good looks and confident demeanor.

Despite having been a part of the scene for three months, my interactions with Jax had been limited to brief exchanges in passing. There was a certain enigmatic quality about him that intrigued me, a sense of mystery that shrouded him in an air of intrigue.

“He’s a looker!”

I jumped at the unexpected sound of Tig's voice, my heart racing as I turned to see him take a seat next to mine. His words cut through the air with a casual confidence, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he spoke of the irresistible allure of Jackson Teller.

"No girl, woman, hell even man, can resist looking at that handsome fuck," Tig remarked, his tone laced with a mixture of admiration and jest as he leaned back, taking a swig from his bottle. A laugh escaped him, the sound blending with the ambient noise of the party.

I attempted to feign interest in the wall behind him, but Tig's keen perception saw through my guise. His knowing gaze bore into mine, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a knowing smirk. "You should see the younger Teller if you think Jax is hot shit," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "That little fucker can run circles around his brother in the looks department, and that's saying something."

My curiosity piqued at the mention of the elusive Teller son, Thomas. Tig's description painted a vivid picture of a young man exuding an unparalleled confidence and allure. "Thomas has an arrogance about him, worse than his brother," Tig mused, his words tinged with a mixture of amusement and admiration. "Even a nun would drop their panties for that son of a bitch."

"Isn’t this party for him – for Thomas?" I inquired; my voice tinged with curiosity as I met Tig's gaze. His nod confirmed my suspicions, the once jovial expression on his face giving way to a more somber demeanor.

"Yeah," Tig began, his tone carrying a weight of significance. "Gemma throws one every time she gets even one word that Tommy may be heading home – this is the fifth one so far this year." His words painted a picture of anticipation and longing, the repetitive nature of these gatherings hinting at a deeper yearning for the return of the elusive son.

I shifted my gaze towards Gemma, the matriarch of the Teller family, her radiant smile illuminating the dimly lit garage. Her watchful glances towards the entrance betrayed a mix of hope and apprehension, her maternal instincts on full display as she awaited the possible return.

Tig's next words drew my attention back to him, his mention of the underlying drama between the three of them casting a shadow over the festive atmosphere. "There’s a lot of drama between the three of them – Clay being the main denominator," he revealed, his words hinting at a complex web of relationships and conflicts that lay beneath the surface of the seemingly celebratory occasion.

"How so?" I pressed, unable to resist the pull of the unfolding drama, even as I acknowledged my status as an outsider, a mere stranger who had stumbled into their world by chance. Their familial intricacies were none of my business, yet the allure of the untold story was too compelling to ignore.

Tig reached for his cigarettes, offering me one in a gesture of camaraderie. I politely declined, opting to watch as he lit his own cigarette, the tendrils of smoke curling lazily into the air. "For starters," he began, his words punctuated by puffs of smoke, "Clay and John – the boys' father – were good friends. They were the ones who initially started the club." My curiosity deepened as Tig delved into the history that bound these characters together, shedding light on the origins of the tangled web of relationships that defined their lives.

"Well, they both had a thing for Gemma," Tig continued, his tone carrying a hint of admiration. "Which I can't say I blame them because she's fucking gorgeous." His candid remark added a layer of complexity to the already intricate dynamics at play, hinting at unspoken tensions and unrequited desires that simmered beneath the surface of their shared history.

"When Tommy and Jax were small – I think Jax was 12 and Tom was around 9," Tig continued, his voice laden with a somber tone that echoed the weight of the past, "John caught Gemma and Clay in bed together. It was obvious that they were fucking around behind John's back," Tig's words cut through the silence like a knife, laying bare the ugly truth that had festered beneath the surface for so long.

"One thing led to the other and Clay ended up shooting John point blank out behind the clubhouse." My hand instinctively flew to cover my mouth, a gesture of shock and disbelief as the enormity of the revelation washed over me. Tig's gaze remained fixed on the floor, his silence speaking volumes about the weight of the burden he carried, the knowledge of a dark secret that had shaped the lives of everyone involved.

Before I could utter a word, the rhythmic click of Gemma's heels echoed across the room, drawing my attention away from the tumultuous thoughts swirling in my mind. As she approached where Tig and I sat, a subtle shift in his demeanor was unmistakable, his features softening at her familiar presence. With a tender gesture, Gemma leaned down and planted a delicate kiss on Tig's stubbled cheek, a gesture that spoke volumes of their shared history and unspoken understanding.

"She's a bit too young for you, Tiggy," Gemma remarked casually, her words carrying a hint of playful admonition. In that fleeting moment, a glimpse of their intricate dynamic unfolded before me - a mix of affection, protectiveness, and perhaps a touch of possessiveness. Tig's response, a wry smile tinged with affection and a hint of defiance, revealed a complex interplay of emotions beneath the surface.

“I can look but I promise I won’t touch.” He sent a wink my way before letting Gemma have his seat.

We both watched as he walked towards the older crew, smiling and flirting with the women around. “He’s something else that’s for sure,” Gemma smiled, her eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement.

I just nodded my head, Tig’s claim still buzzing around in my brain like an annoying fly. “Heard you had a run-in with our trusty sheriff today,” Gemma remarked casually, her gaze piercing as it met mine.

Her words caught me off guard, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of unease at the thought of being watched. “I have eyes all around this town, sweetheart. You didn’t think I would let you go to the grocery store without someone following, did you?” Gemma's laughter rang out, sending a shiver down my spine.

I nervously tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to appear nonchalant. “I didn’t realize he was the sheriff until some lady spoke to him. Is he someone not to talk to?”

Gemma's expression turned serious as she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He may wear the badge, but not all that glitters is gold in this town. Be careful who you trust, darling. Not everyone has your best interests at heart,” she warned cryptically, her words lingering in the air like a warning bell.

I slowly leaned back in my seat; my gaze still fixed on the older woman. “Why?” My voice a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

She turned to look at me, her expression unreadable. “Why what?” she countered, her eyes searching mine.

Choosing my words with caution, I asked, “Why can’t he be trusted? He is the sheriff of the town; shouldn’t that count for something?”

Gemma let out a sigh, her features softening slightly. “Being the sheriff doesn’t always guarantee trustworthiness, my dear. In a place like this, power can be a double-edged sword. Not everyone wields it with honor and integrity,” she explained cryptically, her words laden with a weight I couldn't quite comprehend.

"Breckon comes from a family that has been very powerful for many years, and they don’t like the fact that a new powerful family has moved into the area – this club has more power in its pinky toe than the whole police force has in all its arsenal. We, this club, protects this town – Clay, Tig, and Jax – they are the ultimate kings of Charming," Gemma explained, her voice laced with a mix of pride and caution.

She paused, her gaze intense as she took my hand in hers, the weight of her words sinking in. "And honey, if you play your cards right, you can be the queen Jackson needs," she added, her tone soft yet filled with an underlying sense of urgency.

The guy had barely said a handful of words to me in the past couple of months, and here Gemma was talking about how I could be his queen.

“I don’t know Gemma?” I pulled my hand away, feeling a mix of confusion and apprehension creeping over me.

Her features started to harden as she fixed me with a piercing gaze. “Like I told you from the beginning, I see a lot of myself in you. I was a runaway, lost and searching for my place in the world, until the club found me. I became the woman I am today because of those men, and I see that same potential in you. I can shape you to be the next great queen – the wife, mother, and far into the future, grandmother that Jax and the next generation need.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and my heart pounded in my chest, unsure of what to make of her proposition. “You’re young – you’ll be able to learn everything there is to know very quickly,” Gemma continued, her voice firm with conviction. “Just be faithful and know your place – be the old lady that your husband needs – deserves. Bow down to his every wish and command.”

As her words echoed in my mind, I felt a mixture of fear and fascination at the prospect of stepping into this role that Gemma saw for me. The weight of her expectations and the legacy she spoke of loomed large before me, leaving me to ponder the choice laid out in front of me – to embrace this path and all it entailed, or to forge my own destiny apart from the shadows of the past.

“I’m a total stranger to you guys – some little runaway,” I stammered, trying to push back against the weight of Gemma's expectations. "You can’t seriously consider me to be the next big thing for this club, for your son. Surely you have someone else lined up for such a spot?"

Her earrings tapped against her neck as she shook her head, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “You’re it, kid,” she replied, her voice filled with unwavering certainty. “From the moment my son laid eyes on you, I knew that you were the girl for him. He may not say much in person, but the way he gets when you’re around, it tells me everything I need to know.”

My eyes strained as they stared at the floor, the weight of Gemma's words causing my head to spin. “I uh-“ I quickly stood up, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over me, threatening to pull me into its disorienting embrace.

“Doll, you okay?” Gemma's voice cut through the haze; concern etched on her features as she rose from her seat.

I softly pushed her away, my movements unsteady as I tried to regain my composure. “Yeah, I just, uh, I just need some air,” I mumbled, my words coming out in a shaky whisper as I turned towards the door, desperate for a moment of respite from the intensity of the conversation.

Stepping outside into the cool night air, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, the sensation of the breeze against my skin a welcome contrast to the heaviness that had settled within me. The sounds of the club faded into the background as I focused on grounding myself, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions and expectations that had been thrust upon me in such a short span of time.

As I leaned against the wall, the faint glow of the moon casting a silver sheen over the scene before me, I couldn't help but wonder where this path would lead me and what kind of choices lay ahead. The world of the club and the role that Gemma saw for me loomed large in my mind, a daunting and uncertain future stretching out before me like an uncharted territory waiting to be explored.

The gravel crunched under my shoes as I kicked the rocks around, the sound echoing in the quiet night air, a hiss slipping past my lips as one stubbornly became lodged underneath my foot.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, a surge of frustration coursing through me as I pressed my body against the cold exterior of the building, seeking a moment of respite from the discomfort. Bending over, I hastily unbuckled my shoe, the darkness around the garage enveloping me like a shroud.

The area surrounding the garage was cloaked in shadows, the absence of light so profound that it felt almost suffocating. In the inky blackness, shapes morphed and merged, playing tricks on my eyes and heightening my sense of unease. It was in this darkness that I sought refuge, hiding from Gemma and the weight of her expectations that bore down on me like a heavy burden.

“I wouldn’t be kicking those rocks if I were you.”

The deep voice sliced through the stillness of the night, causing my body to shoot up in surprise, my heart racing in my chest as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, heralding the presence of an unseen figure. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as a chill ran down my spine, a sense of apprehension settling over me like a heavy cloak.

As the tall shadow emerged from the darkness, my breath caught in my throat, uncertainty and fear mingling in the air between us. The figure loomed before me, their features obscured by the veil of night, a silent and imposing presence that sent a shiver of unease down my spine.

The mysterious figure's long, disheveled blonde hair swayed slightly in the night breeze, framing his face in a wild and unkempt manner. Strands of hair partially obscured his features, adding to the air of enigma that surrounded him.

His attire spoke of a ruggedness that matched his imposing presence. The dirty jean jacket draped across his broad shoulders, its fabric worn and faded from time and use. The jacket seemed to carry unseen stories within its frayed seams, hinting at a life lived on the edge of society.

Beneath the tattered jacket, a pair of ripped jeans covered his long legs, the denim worn thin in places, revealing glimpses of skin underneath. Each tear and fray in the fabric seemed to tell a tale of hardship and survival, of a journey marked by hardship and struggle.

I struggled to find my voice; my words caught in my throat as I met the gaze of this mysterious stranger. "Pardon?" The word slipped out of my mouth, barely more than a whisper in the stillness of the night.

As the figure moved closer, his presence looming over me in the dim light, a knot of fear tightened in my stomach. His voice was low and gravelly, carrying a hint of menace that sent a chill down my spine.

"The rocks—" he began, his hand reaching for the cigarette between his lips, a faint ember glowing in the darkness.

"They've been known to put shards of glass in the rocks," he continued, his gaze unwavering as he spoke. "Don't ask me why, but they find it funny when one of you broads end up bleeding like a stuck hog. And don't even bother asking them for help," he continued, his tone grim and foreboding. "Because they'll just wave you off like a piece of trash."

I looked down at my bare foot, the warning from the mysterious figure still ringing in my ears. His words had cast a shadow over the carefree evening, injecting a sense of unease into the night air. My gaze flicked back up to meet his, a mixture of skepticism and gratitude in my eyes.

"Thanks," I muttered quietly, my voice tinged with uncertainty. Quickly, I bent down to buckle my shoe back on, the mundane task grounding me during the strange encounter. With a deep breath, I straightened up and began to walk back towards the distant sounds of laughter and music from the party.

Just as I thought I had left the enigmatic figure behind, his voice reached me once more, stopping me in my tracks. I turned back to look at him, a questioning expression on my face as he spoke again.

"You looked pretty bored in there," he observed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Gemma—" He shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "She can suck the life out of ya sometimes."

As the mysterious figure's boots crushed the rocks underfoot, his tall frame loomed over my shorter stature, his presence casting a shadow over me. I instinctively took a step back, a mix of unease swirling within me.

His words painted a picture of the party I had just left, now tainted by his cynical observations. I felt a surge of defiance rise within me as I bristled at his insinuations.

"You don't really wanna go back in there, do you?" he questioned, gesturing towards the lively gathering. "Have to listen to Gemma talk your ear off or have one of those grown pigs try to get you into their bed."

His words cut through the night air like a knife, highlighting the darker undercurrents of the social scene before us. My gaze followed his motion towards the partygoers, a sense of discomfort settling in the pit of my stomach.

"Or are you trying to get Jackson Teller to notice you like all the rest of the females in this town?" he continued, his tone laced with a knowing edge. "He has a bedpost full of notches, sure you wanna be one of them?"

The audacity of his words fueled a fire within me, igniting a spark of anger that blazed to the surface. "What the fuck is your problem?" I shot back, my voice sharp with indignation.

He merely shrugged his shoulders, the smirk still playing on his features. "I know how women work, especially when they get around my brother."

[charmingsoa]

Request are OPEN!!

So I will have some time off before I start my next travel assignment, so I am in the mood to write! Below you will find the list of men that I can’t wait to write for. I will take request for the actual actor or the characters they play. Please please send me your request 😘

Charlie Hunnam///Jax Teller, etc

Callum Turner///John Egan, etc

Jamie Campbell Bower/// Caius, Horizon, etc

Tom Hardy /// Reggie Kray, Forrest, etc

Boyd Holbrook /// Clement Mansell, Cap Hatfield, etc

[charmingsoa]

Bring it on Home to Me Photographs of the past

[charmingsoa]

Absolutely amazing!!!!!!!!

THE MAJOR’S WIFE

warnings: mentions of miscarriage, adultery, nsfw, marital problems, oral (m! receiving), spanking, being turned on even when your brain isn’t in it, bucky in 1x04, bucky married pre-war, slight age gap bc reader can come off slightly immature (i think?) angst, historical inaccuracies, new mediocre writer be nice

summary: John Egan gets to know his wife again

word count: 9.7k

notes: i’m not sure where this came from i wrote it all today and got no part of my research paper done. there’s really no point to it and also irl john egan was actually really close to his mother so i emphasized that here. he wrote to her so much. no disrespect to any of the real people, this is based on the show/show timeline as well.

Lila gets the call on the 2nd of October and her dreams come true.

Not entirely, no. The real dream would be having him home safe and the tragic war being over but she knows how fortunate she is to have the next best thing happen. Her husband’s been granted a few days leave and Colonel Harding believed it would do Major Egan some good to have his sweet, young wife join him during those days overseas. For the good of John’s mental health the Colonel or the President - or whoever was in charge, Lila really had no idea - had agreed to pay for her ticket and their hotel. There was only one thing they asked for in return and although it wasn’t explicitly said, Lila caught their drift: sort your husband out.

Lila knows it would do her no good to sit and wonder how horribly John must be doing in order for them to declare an all expenses paid trip for his spouse. All she does is worry for him anyhow so she forces herself to focus on the one good thing of the entire ordeal - she’s going to see her man.

There’d been letters, although not as many as she liked and she tried not to let it show how it hurt as every other wife received more than one letter at a time. Her John wasn’t the sort, she knew that when she married him. He was the kind of person who needed endless skies and land to maintain his sense of stability. Having him cooped up would do him no good and she partly wondered how much of what he was struggling with was the trauma he witnessed in the air and how much of it was feeling caged on base. At least his plane, good ol’ Mugwump (he wrote about her quite often) offered him the opportunity to head anywhere he wanted.

The only person he wrote consistently and readily to was his mother. It was rare if a week went by and she received no letter. During these instances it was more times than not an issue with the postal service.

Be that as it may, Lila knew who she married and it made her love him no less so she tried not to let it get to her. His mother was a saint. Firm and strong and loving all the same. Lila would have never survived sending John off if his mother wasn’t who and how she was. She held Lila at night when her cries woke her and she let Lila sleep in his old childhood bed. She kept food on their table and ensured everyone got their work done through the worry.

When John first left and Lila was sick to her stomach and vomiting multiple times of the day it was his mother who consoled her through the night when her sheets turned a crimson red and any ideals of having their baby through the war was lost.

Frances Egan was the glue holding them together. All of them, even her son who was an entire ocean way - so no. Lila would not be angry that she was John’s preferred pen-pal.

“You fix him right up,” Mama Egan had said in lieu of goodbye when leaving her at the airport, “you give him the loving he needs as his wife and the smacks he needs from me to get on the straight and narrow before sending him off to continue saving the world. You do it for him, not for any of them war bastards. You hear me?”

All Lila could do was nod. Dropping her bags on the floor and clutching her pseudo mother tightly. She was excited as she was frightened.

They had only gotten two months together before he had been pulled away. She didn’t want to complain, loads of women had gotten less time at all while others had only ever been left with the promise.

But her two months as Mrs. Egan? They’d been a dream. Her man was a romancer. He hadn’t hesitated in introducing her as the newly (and younger) Mrs. Egan, always resulting in an arm slap from his mother, he held open doors and he never stopped courting her; however she thinks the best times were when he was teaching her how to act married.

In their bed, at a home he had spent a year building for them. Using any extra pennies he had to pay off younger boys to help him hurry it along. Giving her the wrap-around porch she had always envisioned.

He showed her how to kiss. How to undress him. He had laid her underneath him, using his large frame to cover her completely, protecting her from the cold as he threw the sheets off them and making her feel tiny compared to him. She had never felt safer.

It had hurt the first time but he had held her through it. Never allowing any inches of space between their bodies; as if telling her they were in it together. She’d always known he was large, everything about him was large in general, but she never thought how much it would hurt to have all of him fit inside her. Lila hadn't wanted to disappoint him so she tried to muffle her tears and whimpers but he had swallowed her cries and gone slow, soft.

“If this is it, it’ll be enough,” he had promised, only about half way inside her and wiping away her tears with his thumbs. As a thank you she had taken that calloused thumb into her mouth and sucked. He allowed her; hiding his face in her neck and pressing wet kisses along there.

And for the first few times that had been it. She couldn’t take all of him and his thrusts couldn’t get too deep so he would only slip inside until her tight hole resisted and pulsed and he’d hump against that spot until reaching his pleasure.

“Do other girls take all of it?” She had asked a couple days later, trying to wrap her head around it.

She was no idiot. John Egan was no virgin.

“Yes.” Lila could always count on him to be honest. At least there was that. Meanwhile she couldn’t even fully pleasure him. She was failing as a wife. “Hey,” he lay facing her and she lay on her back. He tapped her cheek until she turned her face. “You’re my wife. That’s what makes this feel better.”

And she had beamed at his reassurance even though she didn’t feel much better. She knew John would never push her, and he couldn’t stand to see her cry, so if she ever wanted to learn to be a good wife she would have to take it upon herself.

So that’s what she did.

He was always on top and she was always on her back. That’s the first thing she had to change. From her understanding of it, from her talks with friends that always ended in giggles and blushing cheeks and from what she learned from John, it could be done in many different ways.

“I prefer to be in charge,” her school friend, Linda, had admitted to her. “Not like that -” she clarified, cheeks pink, “Just - if I’m gonna take it, I’d rather do it at my pace. Be on top. Some husbands are good like that. They’ll allow it.”

And knowing her husband wasn’t just good, he was great, she knew he would hold no qualms about it. The next time they lay in bed kissing it was easy to turn him over and straddle him. Move her wetness against his belly to let him know there was still more she just needed him to accept it.

Except he thought she was asking him to do it so he flipped her on her back again. And without breaking their kiss, she turned him over again.

It was more like they were wrestling.

Lila pulls away from his mouth, reluctantly, noticing his lips were wet and red and swollen and wondering if hers were much the same. They had been kissing for so long her mouth felt raw.

She loved it.

Straddling him, she reached behind her, feeling him standing straight and hard against her backside in between her cheeks. Sticky.

He gasped, bucking into her fist with a loud, guttural groan. It was so manly she rocked against his stomach again in need.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, “what’re you doing?”

“I want to try it like this,” she breathed, leaning over to whisper in his mouth, her tiny hand still wrapped around him and lining her up to her hole. “I want it all.” Lila clarified.

And John allowed it, like she knew he would. Let her take control and go at her pace. Let her swivel her hips on the way down to help with the tightness of being stretched so wide and thick.

Nothing but curses and promises of love leaving his lips. Gasping mine, mine, mine and my perfect fucking wife and I’m gonna fuck you forever.

He felt large inside of her, like if she was being split in two but it felt so good as the tip of him repeatedly hit a spongy part inside that had her coming with no contact to her clit for the first time.

She was beautiful, red splotches appearing on her body from the heat of their love-making, her hair tangled in his fists, her mouth falling open as she threw her head back - all of it was too much. He was flipping her over and pounding into her trying to chase his peak and a second one from her, their headboard banging against the wall in rhythm with his thrusts.

Things changed from then on. Sexually, that is. Becoming aware of how badly she needed to feel like she was pleasing him, John was not above using it against her. Like letting him lick at her.

“Good wives allow their husbands everything,” he would say, lips wide in a smile and eyes bright at the prospect of getting his way but Lila always knew the choice was really hers. He would respect what she wanted.

He was just too damn addicting. She couldn’t stand to tell him no.

His favorite times were when she allowed him to sit her over his face and let him feast. It drowned the outside world for him and he kept at it even after she had reached multiple orgasms and was pulling on his hair and the only thing keeping her up was his forearms locking around her thighs.

Her favorite was when he allowed her to taste him at the same time he was licking her. It was a tie between those times and when he held her down until all of him was in her mouth and she was spluttering, choking, gagging. Knowing she made a filthy vision and he adored it did something to her.

Now she was in London, closer to him than she had been in years, and all their intimacies were within reach. She could almost taste him, feel him petting back her hair and settling a hand at the low of her back. She still remembers the smell of his after shave and sweat, how he’d come into the kitchen asking for some of her homemade lemonade to help with the heat.

Jack Kidd was tasked with picking up Mrs. Egan from the airport and having her arrive at base with him. She remembers meeting him a couple of times before John shipped out early. Originally she was meant to wait for John at their hotel but there had been an issue when planning her flight and she arrived sooner than intended.

“Ma’am,” he greeted, placing a friendly kiss on her cheeks and taking her bags from her. “Bucky’s gonna be happy as hell to see your face.”

The tone in his voice - relief? alleviation? - had some of her happy wife's facade crumbling. How badly was her Johnny hurting that everyone was looking at her at his only chance to remain sane or alive?

Stop it. Maybe everyone’s just aware Johnny misses you. You’re his wife.

“Not as happy as me, I wager,” she returned with a smile. “I’m glad to see you’re doing okay, Jack. Glad to see you still kicking.”

His shrug didn’t soothe her worry but she saw him try to mask it with a smile.

“All we boys can do is pray.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, gathering his attention. “You boys have got the prayers of our entire country protecting you.”

Jack simply nodded in response.

For the most part the ride to base was quiet. Her bags would be kept in the trunk until her and John were ready to drive out to London in a couple of hours and until then, she’d be his surprise at the officer’s club. Silver Wings, Jack called it. Where all the boys gathered and had drinks and celebrated accomplishments. And where some chose to mourn, too.

Her stomach was turning as she neared the hut, following Jack’s footsteps. There was so much that could go wrong and although this was meant to be a surprise, the U.S Army showing their gratitude towards a brave Major, she suddenly wished she would have called John and told him. She wished he knew so that she wouldn’t have to walk in feeling alone and unwanted.

Not that Lila thought John would turn her away, she simply wanted to have him hold her hand as she walked through the threshold.

“Stick close by,” Jack murmured, being respectful of where he touched her before deciding to lead her by her shoulder. “It gets crowded but I’ll take ya to him.”

As she walked through different groups, she felt the offending eyes of men and women alike. Wondering who she was. With a pang in her heart she realized she had met John’s squadrons before but all these crews were new. The boys she met, most of them at least from what she could tell, hadn’t made it. John never wrote about who passed away (except to inform her of Curt) ; most of their letters were him expressing his love and how he missed her so and asking what she got up to.

Having walked around the roundabout bar in the center of the room, her stomach in knots and fingers tangled in front of her - she caught sight of her husband smack middle in the dance floor. Pressed against a beautiful brunette.

Lila caught sight of him before even Jack did. That’s how connected she was to her husband. Jack whistled from beside her to gain Gale’s attention who was resting against the bar holding his signature ginger ale, also watching John Egan chat up the woman he was swaying with with something like disapproval in his eyes.

His large hands were occupying most of the space of her waist, keeping her body tethered to his as she laughed.

“Lila,” he gasped, eyes wide. He was smart enough to not turn and look at his buddy. To act as if nothing was amiss and she expected nothing less from Gale Cleven, “damn it all to hell. You’re a sight for sore eyes, Mrs. Egan.”

Because he was close to John, he didn’t hesitate in wrapping her up in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to her tinted cheeks. He knew John wouldn’t mind.

When he pulled back she patted his chubby cheek in return, “You still shame the rest of us with your good looks, Gale,” she laughed. “I’ll let Marge know when I see her next.”

Lila also knew she would share with Marge that while Gale was being loyal, standing off to the side her husband was exchanging oxygen with a woman on the dance floor.

His cheeks tinted at the mention of his girl. Buck and Bucky were both aware Lila and Marge wrote to one another and visited each other whenever time made it possible.

“Colonel Harding said Major Egan was in need of something from home,” she said, studying his reaction to see what she could read but Gale had always been aloof, cold. He wasn’t close to her like he was with Marge and John.

Gale thought back to a few moments earlier when John had disrespected their Colonel and all his actions before that too - disrespecting superiors, drinking more consistently, becoming angry - hopelessness in his eyes.

“He’s in need of you Lila,” Gale clarified and it wasn’t lost on either one of them that he they were referring to was currently on the floor wooing another woman.

“Holy shit! It’s Mrs. Egan!” Hambone animatedly announced and suddenly it felt like the eyes of everyone in there were on her. Her cheeks tinted pink, never having been one for the spotlight like her husband.

She was greeted with welcoming cheers and hugs.

John, for his part, disentangled from the woman he was holding at the mention of his missus. He was sober enough to appear sheepish and guilty, but in the next second it was gone as he stalked towards her. Determined. Quick. His smile growing the more he neared like he was becoming more aware she was really there and it wasn’t a fucked up scenario in his head.

“God, Lila,” she managed to hear him say before she was elevated in the air, his arms tight around her waist and lifting her high so they were at face level and he could kiss her. Channeling his love and exuberance and aggression into kissing his wife. “It’s you, it’s you, it’s really you,” he was saying in between smooches, “I missed you. So fucking much, doll.”

Basking in his love she didn’t feel the need to mention the woman that was so kindly keeping him preoccupied before she entered.

She couldn’t help the first tear from falling or the rest from following. It was like the tightness in her chest unlocked as she finally got to hold him and feel his heat surround her. He still smelled of after shave and the same hair gel that was kept in their bathroom at home but he tasted strongly of whiskey and cigarettes and strawberry lipstick.

John tucked his face into her neck, setting her down and bending to her level. Sniffling in there as he continued to hold her.

“None of that,” she did her best to stop her voice from wobbling or breaking, “we’re together. That’s all that matters.” She drew his face out from where he had hidden to pepper him with a few more kisses.

None of it was enough.

The rest of the guys were kind enough to return to the dance floor and act like they couldn’t see them.

“Who? What - why? How?” He was obviously having trouble forming coherent thoughts in between the kisses he continued stealing from her.

She was crying and laughing and trying to return all his touches. It was a terribly difficult ordeal but she had never been happier.

“Colonel Harding called and said you had a weekend leave. He said he talked to some of the higher ups but they couldn’t allow you a leave home so this was the next best thing,” she explained, cupping his cheek as she rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone. He had minor scars that weren’t there before.

She wanted to kiss every single one of them.

He was still bent towards her height, taking her in as she was taking him in.

She forgot how blue his eyes were.

He was whole. Complete. Hers.

“You’re here for the entire weekend?” He asked to confirm and she nodded, laughing when he lifted her again with a loud whoop to celebrate. That got a few of the guys to join in although they had no idea what their Major was celebrating.

“I need you,” his voice suddenly dropped, setting her down as he turned to the door. “Let’s go.” He was buckling up her coat to make sure she was protected from the freezing London air. She was lucky he was too far gone to scold her for arriving with it unbuckled in the first place - she could get sick.

“John, John - relax, my sweet man,” she laughed, cupping his cheek to get his attention. “We can stay for a while. We don’t have to go yet.”

It’s why she was at the officer’s club in the first place. She had arrived early.

John turned stiff in her hold, straightening to his full height as he suddenly loomed over her. “I’ve got you in my arms for the first time and you want to stay here?” His voice was tight. His face stern.

“Yes - no, I -” she was unsure of where she went wrong or how to fix it. She clasped his hands in hers but he didn’t allow her to thread their fingers together so it was just her holding on. “I just meant we’ve got time, John.”

The way he was looking at her made her want to cry. She felt her lower lip quivering.

She felt ashamed, whispering, trying to get him to keep his cool.

“Time? Time?” He laughed loudly. She was mildly aware of Gale breaking away from a group of guys to near them, worried but she was mostly focused on John. The tense lines on his face even as he laughed and the quirked eyebrow even though she found no amusement in their situation. “You think I’ve got time? You have no idea what it’s like up there.”

She shook her head but didn’t try to verbally explain herself. She wasn’t sure she could manage a few words before breaking into tears.

“Come on, Bucky,” that was Gale stepping in to save the day. Perhaps the only person who could get John to listen. “When have you ever left before dancing with your girl? You gotta show these rookies how it’s properly done right?”

With Gale slapping a hand to John’s shoulders, he seemed to snap out of it. Releasing a deep breath and seemingly all the tightness in body with it.

He leaned down again, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, clasping a hand around her neck so she wouldn’t pull her head back. As their eyes locked she felt a tear fall again and this one wasn’t happy. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. It’s this place. It’s fucking with my head.”

And she chose to believe him, nodding her head in understanding and trying not to think about how she wasn’t his preferred person to write letters to or the one who could clear his head.

Maybe the Colonel should have allowed a weekend pass for Gale and John.

Lila swallowed the thought, allowing John to pull her to the dance floor as he lost all anger and aggression and became charming and loving all over again.

“Everyone, this is my wife!” He bellowed and everyone cheered in response. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and -” he hiccuped and she realized he was drunker than she thought, “and I bet we can out dance any couples here tonight!”

So for the next hour she found herself being twirled around the dance floor by her husband. She almost forgot their prior negative interaction; his love and energy was so infectious. For the slow songs he would hold her close and she would rest her head against his chest, letting it lull her to a relaxing state. He was alive and she was with him. That had to be enough. For the more upbeat songs, he was challenging any couple beside them. Asking those sitting who were better dancers? Who could perform certain dance moves better?

And all throughout, he was like he used to be back home. Loud and happy and the center of attention, keeping everyone entertained. He kept announcing to his boys that his beautiful wife was there and then he’d place a wet kiss on her mouth that had their cheeks (and hers) turning red but all he would do is smile and continue on.

She was finally able to disentangle herself from him when Crosby pulled him in for a conversation. Lila wonders if her state of disheveled hair and panting breaths made him want to aid her in allowing her to sit and grab a refresher.

Once she accepts Crosby’s hug and cheek kiss, she excuses herself to go grab a drink. John only pulls her back once to steal a kiss before she gets too far.

Her lips might be bruised by the time they leave if he kept it up.

She orders a cup of ice water from the man tending the bar, looking back out at her husband as she waits. He’d always been tall and strong, but she notices the change in his posture. The bulges in his arms as he twirled her around and lifted her in the air. His eyes were only bright when he forced it. They had lost their shine and she wishes she brought the picture from back home. Where he looks young and full of life and joyful. Even when he smiles he seems hollow; hopeless.

She’s there but he doesn’t really care because in his head he’s already thinking of when she leaves again.

She wasn’t used to that. Her John only lived in the moment.

“He keepin’ you busy?”

Gale settles up behind her and pushes the glass water towards her. She didn’t even notice when it was put down.

“Dizzy, more like,” she jokes and gets him to crack a smile. She thinks to when she walked in and seen Gale, how he’d been watching the scene unfold but with a disapproving look in his eyes. How he didn’t try to hide the scene from her or excuse it. He let it be. And she knows John has never shied away from attention. He’s always been handsome and charming and girls always swarmed but Lila wasn’t aware she had to be around to keep him loyal. She thought he just was. And she knows it’s not too long before they leave now so she decides to be direct with him. “So, does that happen often?”

She sees Gale’s expression split for a second, like he debates playing dumb before deciding against it and she respects him even more for it.

“I think you should talk to John about it.” He decides on.

“Is it something that needs to be mentioned?” She doesn’t like playing this game with him but she knows at the first words of cheating and adultery Gale is going to excuse himself and her chance will be lost.

She can’t be simple and ask: Does my husband cheat on me?

“Another ginger ale, Marty,” Gale raises two fingers to grab the man’s attention and mutters a thanks as his drink is immediately refilled. He turns his attention back to Lila. “He still loves you, Lila. It’s just - hard. Being out here.”

“You seem to be coping fine.”

She feels bitter. Crazy. There’s a sob she has to choke back.

Lila’s too embarrassed to meet Gale’s gaze. Ashamed that everyone knows what’s been going on and she was the ditzy woman being twirled on the dance floor.

“I think I was used to loneliness. He isn’t.”

And he says nothing else as he leaves her behind heading back to his boys. It’s just Lila and her shattering heart and her husband calling to beckon her back to the dance floor.

Luckily they didn’t stay much longer. She walked over to Bucky but he wasn’t able to pull her back out for a dance - it’s my song, Lila! - because Jack Kidd was approaching, letting them know it was time to leave them at the train station.

Lila waited in the car while Bucky ran into his quarters to pack his bag. He didn’t have many things to take, he would be stuck wearing his uniform anyway. Gale walks him back out to the car and despite the earlier conversation Lila exits the safety of the interior to say her goodbyes.

“Take care of yourself, Major,” she squeezes him, “I need you to stick around after this weekend to look after my man.”

“It’s a hard job but I try,” he replies, both of them ignoring Bucky’s protests.

Besides that, Bucky’s quiet on the ride to the train station. He carries her bag on board but he’s quiet for the duration of the train ride. Lila doesn’t disturb him; he might be tired or hungover or both.

And if she’s honest she’s scared of him snapping at her like the night before.

Instead she takes the time to take him in. He’s handsome in his suit. Tall and big and strong, his sharp jaw and powerful mouth, his eyes blue like a sunny day and his curls coming undone from the gel after all the dancing he did.

Lila doesn’t allow her mind to wander down this path too often but suddenly she can’t help it. Would their baby have looked like him or like her? She wishes more than anything they would have had his ears. She wishes they would have had his heart and his strength - but her loyalty. Her faith in them.

It’s crazy when she stops to think she was nineteen when she married him and now she’s twenty-one. She’s loved him for more than she’s been allowed to have him. She has changed without him like he has without her and it’s frightening to think neither of them could be accepting of those changes. Whatever they may be.

Lila shuts those thoughts out, closing the distance between them to sit on his lap. Passerby’s and his horrible mood and what scares her could be damned to hell - all she wants is her man.

John doesn’t deny her; she admits she was a little scared he would.

“I love you,” she tells him, catching his eyes.

“I know.”

He doesn’t return the words as they continue staring at one another but she refuses to let it get her down. This is her husband. She has the rest of her life to get to know him; new or old habits, she doesn’t care.

So instead, Lila plasters a smile onto her face. “What’re you gonna show me first in London, Major?”

“Well I really wanna show you our hotel room,” he plays along, allowing her to trace the edges of his mustache. She lets out a knowing chortle. “And I really want to show you -” he cuts himself off to look around, making sure no one was near them as he leans in to whisper, “- my cock, Mrs. Egan.”

She turns a bright red, trying to sputter out a proper response for that but all she can do is indignantly scold him. “John Clarence! If your mom were here -” and they both break out in loud laughter at the many possibilities of what his mother would exactly do to him if she heard his wicked mouth.

“Wanna grab some grub first?” He asks instead, knowing she hadn’t eaten at the officers club and before then she had been stuck on a plane. “I know a few places.”

Lila nods happily, pressing a kiss to his mouth. His lips are warm and as plump as she remembers them. His mustache tickles her.

“Let me feed you first, woman!” He groans, trying to be a gentleman. “When’s the last time you ate?”

She puckers her lips to think about it and that’s the only answer he needs: food is definitely first.

When they arrive at the hotel John enters to check them in but he slips a few bills into the bell boy’s hand with strict instructions to leave the bags in their room before pulling her back out to the London streets.

Lila felt underdressed surrounded by women in diamonds and fancy hats, and it didn’t help that John was beside her in his uniform looking dapper and catching the eye of many. They were stopped multiple times on the way to the diner; men wanting to shake his hand and show their gratitude while the women introduced themselves, uncaring of Lila under his right arm.

As long as he wasn’t ignoring or dismissing her she realized she didn’t really care. It wasn’t much different back home; everyone knew and loved John Egan.

The diner he chose was small and cozy and his legs were too long to fit under their table so his boot and his knee kept bumping into her own and she adored it. She wanted to feel close to him and since sitting on his lap currently wasn’t an option she figured this would have to do.

He tells her many stories but none of them are sad or tragic. He only shares the happy ones. He talks about how he convinced the Colonel to allow Buck, Curt, and himself a London weekend pass one time and they had shoved Gale into a haberdashery where he tried on a multitude of top hats worth more money any of them would ever see combined. But because they were soldiers and majors at that, the owner allowed it. There’s a museum nearby he talks about wanting to take her too, it showcases art from as early as the 1400s and he says he’s gotten lost in there plenty of times and it was lovely.

All the while, she listens without hearing him. Choosing to take him in and letting her mind wander to how it would be if things were different. It pains her to think how much older he looks since she last saw him. Looking more like it was ten years instead of the measly two. John’s always been one to smile freely but the wrinkles by his mouth, eyes, and forehead aren’t from smiling or laughing too much.

Lila knows they’re from worrying and stressing and being scared and she hates that she can’t understand him or be there for him. No matter how hard he tries.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes when a sob breaks free. She curls in over the table and John’s reaching over to rub her shoulders. She grabs a hold of her hand in his. “I just missed you so much.” She presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I don’t think I know how to not miss you.”

John doesn’t say anything but he motions a server over to settle the bill and once that’s done, he’s taking her hand and pulling her out the chair.

“You got enough food in you?”

All she can do is nod.

Her body feels electric on the short walk back to the hotel. He doesn’t do more than hold her hand and she thinks that is what has her nerves jittery, his palm in her hand sets her alight. She can feel his rough skin and the calluses on his fingers and the fingertips he runs over her skin and she bites back a moan.

Moaning in the middle of a bustling London street? She’d be thrown into an asylum she’s sure.

Beside her he’s quiet but his steps are quick. She has to lightly jog to keep up with long strides. He pulls on her hand to help her keep pace. It makes her think he’s as impatient for it as she is so she was surprised when upon closing the hotel room behind him he stays by the door. Not nearing or touching or kissing.

Just - nothing.

Her throat becomes tight again as she remembers the girl from the night before and her conversation with Gale. Is that the reason why?

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he says before she can spiral any further. Approaching her and bringing their lips together in a searing kiss, wasting no time in sliding his tongue alongside hers.

“I love you,” she responds and once again he doesn’t say it back. She figured he wouldn’t but she wanted to try. He takes her mouth in his again.

She gets irrationally angry, suddenly feeling the need to claim him so she bites at his bottom lip. He pulls back to press a finger to his lip, wiping the blood there.

Lila pulls on his belt, dropping to her knees right there in the middle of the room.

Mine. He’s mine.

“Make me your wife again,” she’s not sure but it sounds like she’s begging as she manages to unbuckle his belt and pull them around his strong thighs.

“God,” he breathed, “fuck. Look at you.”

Swollen lips parted for him to put to use. John wrapped his fist around her long hair to maintain a good grip, allowing the tip of his cock to hit the back of her throat. There was no resistance, no gag, her body remembering how it was taught to take all of him even though time had passed. John loved that fucking mouth and he found himself angry as thoughts entered his mind - if anyone had fucked her mouth while he’d been away - and he jerks his hips more forcefully. Rough.

This time Lila does gag. Her hand goes to push against his hip but he doesn’t allow her to pull away.

“Did anyone else do this?”

She splutters, eyes on him and confused with a mouthful of cock, unable to talk.

“Did you suck someone else’s cock? This is mine, Lila. Mine.”

He holds her down for a couple of more seconds before allowing her reprieve. She sputters and coughs, looking at him the entire time.

His dick is still hard and long, standing to attention, and he’s not sure whether he should apologize before she’s taking his bobbing dick back into her mouth. To the back of her throat and gulping and fondling his balls. Her nose kissing the coarse hairs on his belly trail and although it feels fucking amazing - he can feel the anger too. Her anger.

How dare he accuse her.

When she pulls off there’s a strand of saliva connecting his prick to her tongue. She has half a mind to go back for more but he’s pulling her back by her hair.

“I’m so lucky to have a wife who’s cock hungry,” he groans, pulling her to her feet by her hair and connecting their mouths in a rough kiss. Their teeths crash and tongues wrestly and he feels fucking crazy that she tastes like him. Simultaneously ripping each other’s clothes off.

Lila didn’t have any warning. One second she was kissing him and ripping open his shirt and the next she was bent over the bed with her ass in the air. John ran a finger over the wet patch on her underwear. The bite on her cheek was also unexpected and she clawed at the sheets, sure she could come from the feeling alone.

“This is mine, Lila,” he leaned in close, burying his face in her underwear. “Mine.”

All she could do was whimper and agree.

John smacked her ass so hard it jiggled. Lila yelled and after the pain ceded, time seemed to stop. Nothing but their rough breathing filling the room. John had never done that before.

She wasn’t sobbing but there were tears escaping. She was sure he didn’t know. He was waiting for a reaction.

Lila wasn’t sure where this side of her husband came from. Had he held back those two months? Did he learn it in Europe? Was that why there was another woman - because she couldn’t satisfy him?

She can’t lose him.

“Please,” she begs, hiding tears in the duvet, “do it again.”

Lies. It was all lies but John believes her and he strikes again. She yelps, fisiting the sheets. He believes it’s in pleasure.

Ten slaps. That’s how many she endures before he begins shushing and petting her again. He runs his fingers through her folds and although she didn’t enjoy the punishment mentally - she did nothing wrong, he was the liar - her body certainly did. She’s sopping wet, she’s gonna have to throw out her underwear because they’re destroyed.

“Did you enjoy that?” He grabs a fistful of her hair to sit her up, her back against his sweaty, matter chest. “You like being spanked, baby?”

“Yes.” It’s only half of a lie.

“Now - now, I’m going to fuck you. Nice and hard, just how you like it,” she wants to scream at him. She wants to hit him. When did she ever like it hard? When was hard ever nice? Who was he thinking about because it wasn’t her.

But at the same time she rocks back against him to feel his cock hard between her cheeks. She can’t say she doesn’t want it. Him. This.

He pushes her back down at her teasing, using his now free hands to spread her cheeks and show her tight asshole. Untouched and pure. He presses the tip of his cock against it but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t move.

She jerks at the pressure. Drools on the mattress as she tries to bite down to temper her screams.

Do it.

No, don’t.

“One day,” he promises, pressing deeper so her hole opens but not deep enough to push. “But today, today I want this.” And without any prepping like she’s used to, without any more warning, he’s sliding down and pushing into her. Hard. Deep.

She screams, can’t help it, claws at the mattress in an attempt to crawl away.

It hurt but it felt so good.

Who was she?

“You think you can go be with other men? Let them use the holes I trained? The ones that belong to me?” He pumps into her deep. Once, twice. She’s so wet the noises filling the room are pornographic, her yelling and his panting and her sopping wet vagina smacking against his thighs and taking his cock so well. “You like it like this, Lila? Like when I fucking own you?”

“Yes, yes,” she swears and this time she isn’t lying. It’s all she can manage; she thinks she’s gone cock dumb. There are no words, no feelings, just the feeling of him filling her.

She clenches tight when he slides out. She wants him inside her forever.

He releases his hold of her hair, stepping away. He’s tired of muffling her moans and words. He’s tired of not being able to see her beautiful face.

John’s favorite face in the entire world.

“Turn around,” he commands.

Lila kneels on wobbly legs as she turns over, having little to no energy and bouncing as her body lands with no grace on the mattress. John grabs one of her jiggling breasts in his large hand, squeezing tightly.

“I fucking missed these.” He takes one in his mouth, biting down on her nipple hard. She shrieks but holds his head to pull him closer.

Her thighs are forced open by his hand and then he’s taking hold of himself and thrusting in deep again. Releasing her breasts from his mouth in order to look at her mouth. Lila’s face when he’s fucking her is as close to heaven as he thinks he’ll ever get. She’s incoherent but she’s begging for more - that much he can make out. She manages to gather the strength to grab hold of him and pull him down, clawing at his back.

He hisses at the pain and bites on her collarbone to reciprocate it.

When she grabs the nape of his neck, the cool touch of her wedding ring against his skin, it gives him pause. This was his wife. His wife.

John has been gone so long he thinks he forgot he was married.

“I love you,” he finally says it, pressing his forehead against hers as he slows down. He sniffles then, leaning down to press a wet open-mouthed kiss against hers and swallow her moans. John can’t believe he forgot he had this; can’t believe he forgot for a minute how lucky he was. She’s gorgeous (and not just externally) and he’s quite sure he somehow managed to dream her up. “I love you,” he swears again.

This time she’s the one who doesn’t say it.

She clutches at neck and pulls him down to take a boob in his mouth. Looking him in the eye hurts too damn much. Why did he have to do this now? She was lost in the pain; she had been taking her punishment.

Lila squeezed her eyes shut, moaning loudly as she thrashed around the bed. Her orgasm taking over her body. She wrapped both legs tighter around John, squeezing and pulsing around him and dragging him to the edge with her.

“Fuck, fuck,” he roared, “so damn tight. Yes, Lila. My perfect wife.”

For a couple of seconds, they lay in the aftermath. Lila could feel the heat of John’s breath against her neck. She counted how many breaths they shared in between one another as they recuperated.

Forty-seven that’s how many breaths they shared as they stayed connected.

Forty-eight that’s when John managed to lift his head and place a peck against her mouth. One she didn’t return.

Forty-nine that’s when John pulled back in concern. Lila was so still.

Fifty. That’s the breath she used to say, “you cheated on me,” looking him right in the eyes as she broke out in uncontrollable sobs.

She cried and cried underneath him. Unable to move because her legs felt like jello and they held no power. Unable to push him off because she didn’t want to let him go. Unable to speak because she was suffocating in her heartbreak.

John watched her until he couldn’t, until he was afraid she was going to choke on her own tears and then he was sitting her up, trying to ignore the way she fought against his touch.

I’m sorry, I’m here, he kept saying.

I hate you, she thought but didn’t say.

Until finally, “don’t touch me!” She yelled when he got too close and made to wrap her up in a hug. “Get away from me, John. Stay away.” She crawled to the edge of the bed and curled herself into a tiny ball. Aware she was fully naked and he was still leaking out of her but she couldn’t find it in herself to do anything except cry.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t open her lungs and get any air in. She slapped at the headboard, aware that she was having a panic attack as suddenly everything hit her all at once. It was entirely consuming and she couldn’t do anything to fight against it except cry. All the feelings rushed her at once.

This was going to be it. The weekend of two lovers reunited was the weekend from hell and this was going to be it. She was going to return home in a day and he would stay in Europe and continue to fight the war and seek out other girls and when he returned she wouldn’t be his wife anymore.

Lila would be scornful and full of resentment and miserable and he would leave her. This last time was going to be all she had and she hated him for ruining it.

Why couldn’t he hide his affairs better?

Why did she have to surprise him?

She was perfectly happy not knowing. She was worried and stressed to hell and crying every night missing him but, oh God, all that was better than this.

Lila isn’t sure how long it’s been since she last took a breath but she feels herself fading. She’s shivering and naked in their bed and she can only slightly take in that John’s wrapping her up in the duvet and curling himself around her to warm her up. She’s trying to tell him she can’t breathe, she’s suffocating, at the same time he’s blowing air in her face.

She’s fading when she feels it. A sting on the left side of her face. Hard and sharp and enough to have her gasping for a deep breath.

“Baby, please, wake up,” he’s crying over her, his head on her chest, “wake up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Her chest aches. She coughs.

He whips his head up so fast she almost laughs. Almost.

“Lila,” he holds her against his chest, rocking them back and forth on the bed as she takes in her surroundings. She isn’t sure how long she was out or how long she was panicking for. Had the sun been setting while she lost her shit? It was dark outside now. “Don’t leave me, you can’t leave me. Please.”

She taps at his arms to get him to release. She doesn’t think she can talk.

John allows her the space but he doesn’t remove himself from the bed. He stays kneeling, watching her. His hands keep twitching like he wants to reach out and touch her but he’s trying to respect her wishes of not being touched.

She doesn’t lay back down, she stays resting against the headboard. Breathing hurts. She’s scared of suffocating once more. Her left cheek begins burning and she wishes she had the strength to go look in the mirror. Did he mark her? She hopes he did.

Lila’s glad he made it hurt.

“You need to go,” she finally manages to say, ignoring the way he’s already shaking his head in defiance. “Leave me here, John. I want you to go. Get another room.” Find another woman. “I leave in a day.” She wishes she never came to stupid London. She wishes she could forget this entire trip.

“Lila it’s the war,” he starts, shaking in his own tears. “It’s all the shit I see, baby. None of it was because of you okay? None. You don’t fucking know what it’s like up there for us but I stay alive in hopes of coming home to you.” He promises.

She shakes her head, fighting back any more tears. How the hell could she still have any tears left?

“But Gale didn’t cheat,” it bursts out of her before she can stop it and she knows it’s the wrong thing to say entirely.

John stops his apologies, clearing his throat as he gets up and begins dressing into his suit. She doesn’t stop him. She doesn’t take back any of what she said. She gets tired of sitting so she lays on her side, staring out the window and noticing London doesn’t have many stars. Is that why it’s so horrible here? Because there were no stars to wish upon.

She could hear his boots stomping on the ground as he reached the door. “Maybe you should have married Gale fucking Cleven then.” And the door slams shut behind him.

She wonders if he’s angry enough to find a girl and sleep with her. Her eyes blur. The time on the clock is six p.m and London’s already dark. She realizes she hasn’t slept since her plane ride. About 19 hours awake - her and John.

Lila allows her eyes to close, hoping when she wakes everything will be better.

Shadows over her eyelids wake her up. Lila finds she hasn’t moved. She’s in the same position facing the window. Facing London, only now bombs are dropping over it. The prettiest colors burst forward in the window but she knows it's truly only tragedy and loss. Murder.

She recognizes John sitting in the arm chair and she wonders when he got back. He isn’t facing her, he’s watching bomb after bomb drop and land no more than mere miles away from them. He’s holding a whiskey on ice, twirling the ice so it hits against the glass.

Lila wonders then if it was the shadows or the noise that woke her up.

“I must have punched in my card a long time ago,” his voice is strong in the dead of the night, seemingly even louder than when he’s singing in the pub. “It must be the reason for all of this. Karma.” He scoffs.

I deserve this, is what he’s trying to say.

Lila feels her stomach twist and spin and there’s bile sitting in her throat. She closes her eyes to stop herself from imagining John in a plane, dropping a bomb that lands on children. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see the hurt sitting on his shoulders.

She remembers how angry she was when he first signed up. Before they were married. They had been dating for over a month, barely, and she already scribbled ‘Mrs. Egan’ over her notebooks. She’d heard it from his younger sister, Eileen, and she felt her world stop. She hadn’t hesitated to run to the stables he worked at and confront him in front of all the men.

“You’re leaving me,” she had accused him. “You’re gonna leave! I’ll never forgive you, John Egan.”

And in front of everyone he’d knelt down and produced a ring, the one his father had given his mother and said, “Marry me.” He didn’t ask because they both knew it wasn’t a question.

She was already his.

And he was hers.

Lila had forgiven him and promised to love, honor, and obey for the rest of her life.

She doesn’t have the strength to stand so even though her throat burns she speaks. “Lay with me,” she croaks. Her voice is raspy and broken and even clearing it aches.

John shakes his head. “You don’t want me to.”

“Lay with me,” she repeats, firm. “I just want to fall asleep with you.”

He looks at her like he's scared to believe. Trying to figure out whether she’s simply being cruel and going to kick him out in her next breath. Or more likely, he’s scared she’ll lose her shit being near him again.

John, hopeful and never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, sets his drink down and nears the bed. Lila keeps her eyes locked on his and he does the same. Their moves and tension resemble a game of chicken, one of them afraid any sudden change can have the other running off.

“Take off your uniform,” she says when he pushes back the covers while still fully dressed. He jerks his head in confusion and she bites her lip to contain a laugh at his dirty mind. Sex is the last thing on her mind. “I want to feel you, that’s all.”

John does as she asks, setting his cap down and shredding every layer before he’s naked and gorgeous and sliding in beside her. She doesn’t allow herself to think about what it means when she immediately slides closer.

Lila’s the one to wrap her arms around him.

Lila’s the one to intertwine their legs.

John follows her lead, lifting an arm so she can raise her head and use it as a pillow. She scoots her face closer and she nuzzles into her armpit, smelling his deodorant and feeling his hairs poke at her nose. She moves further along, escaping the cocoon of his armpit to press her cheek against his chest. She clutches his dog tags in her palm, tight, so he can’t get up in the middle of the night.

“Can we fall asleep together?” She asks, but when she looks up John’s already there.

The next time Lila wakes up her palm aches. She releases what she’s gripping, remembering how she clung to John’s dog tags when he slid into bed beside her. She lifts her head and finds John already looking at her.

He’s got the saddest eyes she’s ever seen and she hates that she’s partly why.

“We should talk,” her voice is low and cracks from not being used. John nods his head but makes no move to begin.

Lila lays her head back on his chest, lightly picking at his matted, curly chest hair. She presses her lips to a freckle near his nipple and his intake of breath lets her know he felt it,

“I’m not the one you write the most letters too,” she starts, finding it easier to not have to look him in the eye. “You write the most to your mom. And I’m not the one who can calm you down when your anger gets the best of you,” she’s so tired of crying, “that’s Gale. “And I can’t even be here for you at the end of a mission to console you or kiss you or help you forget,” she chokes on a sob. “That’s whoever else.”

I couldn’t even keep our baby healthy, she leaves out.

“What’s your point with all this, Lila?”

Lila lifts her head from his chest, “My point is I’m a horrible wife. I - I don’t know if it was too soon or just not thought out but this - I- ” she can’t get the rest of the words out.

“Don’t say that,” John sits up against the headboard, forcing her up as well. He grabs both her wrists in one of his hands to pull her closer and grab her attention. “Don’t fucking tell me that, Lila.”

“I don’t make you happy,” she shakes her head.

“You do. Everything I do, everything I’m doing - it’s for you Lila.”

“I don’t want to marry Gale. Or someone like him. I love you. Only you. But I’m scared that I don’t make you happy. You deserve better.”

“Oh you dumbass,” John coos, suddenly finding the entire situation amusing. He pulls her in for a hug. “You’re my entire fucking heart, Lila Egan. You don’t think you make me happy? You’re the only thing in my life, in my head, that makes me happy.”

She pulls away to hold his face. “If you’re gonna leave me John you need to tell me now. I don’t care about the girls if all they are is to pass the time. And I don’t care that you write to your mom more than me and I don’t care that Gale is the one you listen to but I just need to be the one you love the most. I need to know I’m making you happy.”

His heart aches at the fact that he made her feel she was ever anything less than the most important person in his life. “Lila,” he presses a kiss to her lips, “Rose,” another kiss, “Egan,” another. “Are my only reason for staying alive.”

[charmingsoa]

■ Bring it On Home to Me (one) ■ John Egan x OC ■ ■ Multi chapter story ■

⚠ Chapter warning ⚠ Sexual content, physical and verbal abuse, mention of sexual assault, cursing, sexism. Please be advised when reading.

🚨 A/N: Hello and welcome to the first real chapter of Bring it on Home to Me! So, this will start at the very beginning of Vanessa and John's journey and I found it important to focus the first chapter on Vanessa's life before John. It will feature some moments that are tough to read and the warnings have been posted above. It will also feature German and British words - Google was my friend for this chapter! I hope you all enjoy the update and I would love to hear your thoughts, opinions, anything really! My DM is open and ready!!

📣 If you would like to be tagged, please let me know 📣

The atmosphere in the room was thick with a mixture of desire, desperation, and a touch of melancholy. The women moved gracefully among the patrons, their painted smiles hiding a myriad of emotions – from weariness to resignation to a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, tonight would bring a reprieve from the harsh realities of war.

The soldiers, their uniforms worn and dusty, bore the weight of the battlefield on their shoulders. For a moment in time, they sought solace in the arms of these women who offered fleeting moments of respite from the chaos and carnage that awaited them outside.

The women, too, carried their own burdens – stories of loss, of shattered dreams, of lives upended by forces beyond their control. Yet in the dimly lit room, they transformed into sirens of solace, offering comfort and companionship to those who sought it amid turmoil.

For these girls, the prospect of spending the night with a soldier meant more than just a temporary escape from the harsh realities of war. A chance to rest their weary bodies and minds in the comfort of a warm bed. The opportunity to freshen up and tend to their basic needs was a luxury in a world where survival often took precedence over self-care.

I was one of the fortunate ones with relatives who still resided in the small town where many of us had sought refuge. My aunt’s house giving me shelter when the night was over. There were times when I would accept the gentleman’s offer to stay until morning, most of the time sneaking out before the rooster had time to crow.

My home in London, once a bustling metropolis teeming with life and energy, now lay in ruins – a somber reminder of the indiscriminate nature of conflict. The streets I had once walked with purpose and pride were now buried beneath layers of concrete and ashes, the echoes of past laughter and conversations drowned out by the deafening silence of destruction.

My family – or what was left of family now only consisted of my aunt – my earned money keeping the bank from taking the house from under her feet. She didn’t agree with what I was doing to make the money, but that didn’t stop her from pushing me to leave every evening, making sure that I wore the dresses that would get the most attention.

“Slow night, huh?”

The bartender smiled as he poured the glass full of the brown liquid that kept my courage high enough to get through to the next day. “Seems that way.” I gave a nod as I nursed the glass.

My last client was over an hour ago – a poor RAF soldier – married to his secondary school love. I could tell he was a nervous wreck, his hands shaking like a leave in a thunderstorm. He explained to me that his CO had sent him to us – to take the edge off before he was sent off into the air. He didn’t want to do much – just talked about Lucille and his hope to finally get back to her once the war was through. Like many of the soldiers that had crossed my path, I wished them the best, saying a silent prayer as they walked out the door, back to a hell that no one could escape.

"Nessa – you're up!"

The words pierced through the subdued ambiance of the room, a sense of purpose stirred within me, pulling me from the comfortable numbness that had settled over my thoughts. With a quick glance in the direction of the older man who requested my service, I took in his features – a strong jawline, broad shoulders – devoid of any telltale signs of military service.

Finishing the last remnants of my drink in a single smooth motion, I slid off the stool with a practiced grace, the fabric of my dress whispering softly against my skin as I straightened it with deliberate care. The air around me seemed to crackle with anticipation, a silent energy that hummed beneath the surface of the room.

Louella, the madame of the establishment, offered me a brief nod of approval before turning her attention to the other patrons. With measured steps, I made my way towards the man, my movements a delicate balance of confidence and allure, honed through years of navigating the intricacies of this world.

"Hello," I greeted him, my voice dipping an octave lower, the cadence laced with a hint of sultriness that mingled with the lilting notes of my native accent. In that moment, as our eyes met, I stepped into the role that had become second nature to me – a performer on the stage of desire, where masks were worn, and truths were whispered in the shadows.

He chose to stay silent, simply nodding his head, his hands in his pockets in a defensive manner. There had been men like him that stayed silent for most of the evening, only speaking when asked what they would like to do. This man felt different – his demeanor feeling like that of an ice block.

I hesitated for a moment, pushing away my gut feeling that this was going to end badly if I continued. I – Aunt Beatrice needed the money. I could do anything for a short amount of time, whether standing up or flat on my back.

Walking into the back bedroom, I stepped inside the dimly lit room, jumping slightly as he slammed the door shut behind us. His eyes boring into my soul. I cleared my throat, breaking the suffocating silence that enveloped us. "So, um, what exactly did you have in mind?" My voice sounded small and insignificant against the backdrop of his brooding presence.

He just stood there, never breaking eye contact as he evaluated me – searching for any cracks that he could fully break. "Take off your dress," he commanded, his German accent adding an edge to his words even though they were barely audible.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly reached up to the neck of the dress, my fingers pulling at the knot as the two pieces of fabric fell. The humid air hitting against my bare skin as the man’s eyes devoured my exposed chest. My hands pushed the remaining portion of the dress down to the floor, carefully stepping out of the ruched fabric as I now stood in nothing but a pair of heels in front of the stranger.

His long, slender finger pointed towards the bed, the dim light casting eerie shadows across the room. Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as I followed his gesture, my heart pounding in my chest. I approached the bed, feeling a sudden wave of self-consciousness wash over me as I carefully took a seat on the crisp linen.

“Lie down and touch yourself.”

My eyes furrowed in confusion at his demand. "Excuse me?" I stammered, taken aback by the unexpected request.

His throat cleared in an annoyed manner, the sound cutting through the tense silence like a knife. I could sense his impatience, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the air suddenly charged with a palpable tension.

“I told you to lie down and touch yourself like the whore you are.”

As I held his gaze, I could see the hatred coursing through his piercing blue eyes like a raging river. The intensity of his emotions was almost tangible, a seething anger simmering just beneath the surface. It was as if a storm brewed behind those icy eyes, ready to unleash its fury at any given moment.

Gulping nervously, I gradually positioned myself on the bed, the creak of the mattress beneath me breaking through the hot air. With a trembling hand, I reached up to fan my hair out around me as I laid flat on my back, the cool touch of the sheets a stark contrast to the heat of the moment.

As I stared up at the moldy ceiling above me, a wave of despair washed over me, mingling with the fear and uncertainty that churned in my gut. The damp patches on the ceiling seemed to mock me, their distorted shapes dancing before my tear-filled eyes. Each droplet of water that dripped down felt like a painful reminder of the situation I found myself in.

“I told you to touch yourself, you stupid slut.” His anger spilled over, a palpable force that filled the room and washed over me like a wave. "Are you deaf?" I flinched at the harshness of his tone, the venom in his words striking a nerve deep within me.

I suddenly felt dizzy as I took a few deep breaths, my eyes tightly closed as I tried to compose myself. My hand shook violently as it moved down my body, resting atop my pussy as the first tear rolled off the side of my face.

“Mach es jetzt!” The german words crashing through the room like a loud clap of thunder. “Dumme hure!”

A stifled sob escaped through my quivering lips as my trembling fingers found my clit. The air growing heavy, the silence broken only by the ragged sound of my uneven breaths. I kept my head turned away from preying eyes of the man, my eyes tightly closed as the panic of the situation and the sensual feeling of my own touch conflicted my thoughts.

Soft moans formed in the depths of my constricted throat. Each heartbeat drummed a frantic rhythm in my chest, a desperate plea for escape echoing in the confines of my mind. The rustle of fabric filled the room, amplified by the deafening silence that hung between us, as the man’s hand slowly pulled at his trousers. The metallic rasp of the zipper being pulled down cut through the air like a blade, its sharp sound reverberating in my eardrums with a chilling finality. With each article of his clothing hitting the floor, every nerve in my body screamed in protest, a primal instinct urging me to flee from the impending unknown that lay before me. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as I heard him step closer to where I laid, each passing moment stretching into an eternity of fear and uncertainty.

With a trembling breath, I braced myself for whatever fate awaited me, already resigned to the harsh reality that my body would bear the brunt of this twisted exchange – the finale being a crumpled up 10 note thrown on my bruised body like I was a piece of rubbish on the street…

“Holy shit-“As Aunt Beatrice took a drag from her cigarette Her gravelly voice cut through the tense silence like a knife. “What in the heavens happened to you?” Her eyes narrowing as they assessed the bruises that adorned my face like a grotesque mask.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, acutely aware of the judgment that seemed to emanate from her every word. The memories of the horrific night flashed before my eyes – the yelling, the shoving, the pain. I clenched my fists, trying to push back the rising tide of emotions threatening to engulf me.

Louella's callous words echoed in my mind as well, her nonchalant attitude towards my suffering sending a chill down my spine. "It's the name of the game, dear. Just make him happier next time," she had said, as if my pain was a mere inconvenience to be brushed aside.

The image of the newsstand attendant’s horrified expression haunted me, his eyes widening in shock as they took in the extent of my injuries. I had muttered a barely audible thank you, my gaze fixed on the ground as I hurried away, desperate to escape the prying eyes of strangers.

And now, facing Aunt Beatrice's mocking laughter, I felt the last shreds of my composure slip away. The weight of her words – dripping with disdain and superiority – crashed down on me like a ton of bricks.

"Here's the money from tonight," I said, tossing the notes onto the table in a messy wad. They fluttered down haphazardly, some landing askew. "I think there's close to 30 there or should be at least."

She reached out to straighten the crumpled bills, her brow furrowing as she quickly counted them. “Looks like you’re four pounds short, sweet child.” The use of adoring nicknames not masking the shortness of her tone. “Four pounds short and the bank wants to collect today – are you trying to make me lose my precious home?”

Glancing between her and the money on the table, confusion was etched on my face as I knew there was enough when I counted this morning. "That can't be –" My voice wavered, uncertainty creeping in. "I could've sworn there was 30 there this morning."

Beatrice's head lulled to the side, her dismissive tone cutting through the tension. "You were never the best at counting money, sweetheart," she quipped, a puff of smoke from her cigarette swirling lazily in the air before being exhaled right in my face. The sharp scent momentarily overwhelming my senses.

"I think it's best you get out there and get the money – wouldn't want you to be back on the streets again," she added, her words carrying a hint of warning.

She slowly pushed herself up from the table, the notes disappearing into the depths of her worn nightgown. Her dirty housecoat dragged along the floor as she shuffled towards her rotting chair, the frayed fabric whispering against the dusty floorboards. I stood dumbfounded, my mind racing as I tried to piece together where the cash could have disappeared to.

"Best get going, darling Vanessa," her raspy voice reverberated off the newspaper-covered walls, "Make sure to powder up before you leave – don't need those soldiers looking at you like a punching bag."

My shoulders slumped in defeat as I started walking towards the small room that held all my earthly possessions. Everything I could salvage from the rubble of my London home was now crammed into a space resembling a broom closet. The dresses I had collected through the years hung in a row, most too conservative for the line of work I found myself in.

Among the clothes were photos of my childhood – snapshots of my mother and father, frozen in time, their smiles forever preserved. In those images, there was no evidence of the sadness and despair that would later come to define my life. The young girl in the photographs had no inkling that in just a few short years, her father would be gone, leaving her at the mercy of an ungrateful aunt who would exploit her for the sake of paying the house notes.

“Chop chop, Vanessa – time's not stopping," Beatrice's voice called out. I rolled my eyes at her words, a mix of irritation and resignation washing over me as I reluctantly acknowledged the urgency of the situation.

As I made my way over to the vanity, my heart sank into my stomach at the sight that greeted me. The reflection in the mirror revealed the extent of the damage inflicted by the German's hand. My once carefully painted lips were now split at the top, a deep purple bruise spreading under my left eye. His fingerprints were scattered like dark constellations across my skin, leaving behind dancing indentations that served as a painful reminder of his violent touch. The marks on my neck and upper chest bore witness to the brutality of his actions, his decaying teeth leaving behind their mark.

With trembling hands, I reached for the makeup on the vanity, determined to conceal the physical reminders of the night's brutality. As I applied layer upon layer of foundation and concealer, I pushed the events in the back of my mine, determined to put on the facade that everything is fine and get the money that Aunt Beatrice needed. I readjusted the dress that I had worn through the night – giving myself a small smile in the mirror – the bruises faintly showing through the mask.

My heels clicked against the wooden floor with each step I took back to the main room. Beatrice's gaze trailed down my body as she took in my appearance, her eyes assessing and judging. "It's a real shame," she spoke, her voice cutting through the air as her eyes met mine.

"Pardon?" I replied, a sense of unease creeping into my voice at the ominous tone of her words.

A sickening smirk twisted on her wrinkled face as she continued, her words like venom dripping from her lips. "It's a real shame that American soldier never came back to fetch you." Her words landed like a heavy blow, my heart sinking at the cruel reminder of a past hope that had long since faded. "He was quite a looker – could've gotten you out of this hellhole and away from the hands of all those men," she continued, her tone laced with a bitter edge. As she lit another cigarette, the smoke curling lazily around her, her words hung heavy in the air. “Guess you’ll just have to be another whore on the street who has nothing to show for her life.”

My eyes moved towards the ceiling as I fought back the tears that pricked against my lower lids. "You're gonna ruin all that work if you start crying," her voice gruff and devoid of any trace of empathy. "These men aren't gonna pay for ya if they see those bruises,” The harsh reality of her words cut through me like a knife, leaving a trail of raw emotions in its wake.

"Wouldn't that be a shame," I sarcastically chuckled, the bitterness of my words hanging in the air like a heavy fog. The tension in the room crackled with unspoken resentment and suppressed fury. "I guess no money means no house, right?"

Her eyes shot daggers at me, a silent promise of retribution simmering beneath the surface. "Guess you'll have to join me on the streets, Auntie Beatrice," I continued, my tone cutting and cold. The same sickening smile that she'd give me mirrored on my face, a twisted reflection of the familial bond that had long since fractured beyond repair. "Get those hoses washed and ready,"

This time she chose to stay silent, her rigid posture and clenched jaw betraying the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. I could sense the turmoil festering inside of her, the knowledge that kicking me out of the house would sever her only source of income. There was no way she would go and find a job. No one was gonna hire a crippled old woman, especially with a war raging on like it was.

"Don't come back without my money," she finally spoke, her voice cold and distant. I rolled my eyes in response, a gesture of defiance and resignation mingled into one. I stormed out of the house, the door slamming shut behind me with a finality that echoed in the empty hallway…

I grimaced as he pulled out of me – his sweaty body collapsing off to the side as his large stomach rose and fell in a fast pace. The whiskey that I had consumed earlier now wearing off, the image of the man lying next to me making me groan internally – the way of his touch making my stomach churn. “Goddamn girl –“ His American accent thick. “Where’d you learn to fuck like that?”

I stayed silent, trying to play off like I was sleeping. The rustling of his head turning on the pillow as he looked over at me, making my heartbeat faster, the prayer that he would just leave repeating in my brain. The feeling of the thin sheet being pulled away from my body caused a shiver to run down my spine as his fingers lightly danced across my breast.

 “My oh my –“His smoker laced voice whispered as his mouth closed over my nipple – his teeth tugging on the sensitive skin causing a moan to slip past my lips. "I knew that would wake you up," he chuckled, his rotting teeth revealed a mischievous smile before finding the bud again.

I kept my hands pressed tightly against my side as his callused hands, weathered by countless months of war, pulled me closer to his body. The lingering scent of the day's heat clung to his skin, the smell causing my stomach to roll with nausea. Just as his hands reached between us, a sudden commotion outside the room shattered the moment. The sharp sound of hurried footsteps echoing on the wooden floors jolted him back to reality, breaking the seal that he had on me. His body moved to a sitting position, muscles tensing as his gaze fixated on the wooden door The commotion outside persisted, casting a shadow of unease over the room.

Feeling uneasy, I too rose slowly from the bed, hastily pulling the sheet tightly around me Thoughts raced through my mind, fueled by fear and the chilling rumors that circulated through the town. Whispers of German soldiers raiding taverns, killing the men and taking the women prisoners.

“I'm getting the hell out of here," the man muttered urgently, his movements swift as he practically threw himself to the floor in a rush to gather his clothes and make his escape.

As he frantically gathered his belongings, my concern shifted to a more practical matter. "What about my money?" I blurted out, stumbling out of the bed with the sheet trailing behind me like a makeshift gown. Determined not to be left empty-handed after our transaction, I followed him around the room, my finger jabbing into his shoulder to emphasize my point. "This wasn't free, mister."

His stocky body pushed past me, a look of fear etched on his face, his eyes darting around the dimly lit room. As he reached for his jacket hanging on the back of the chair, I saw my opportunity to grab what I came for – the money that was rightfully mine. After everything I had been through with this man, the betrayals, the lies, the deception, I wasn't about to leave empty-handed.

With determination fueling my actions, I lunged forward and seized the other end of his jacket, my hands frantically searching the pockets, desperate to find any trace of cash. The fabric crumpled beneath my fingers as I dug deeper, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Get your fucking hands off my jacket, slag!” His voice boomed through the room, a mixture of rage and panic, as his grip tightened on my arms, his nails digging into my skin.

Pain shot through me, but I refused to let go, driven by a mix of anger and desperation. The struggle escalated, our bodies twisting and turning in a chaotic dance of conflict. With a sudden burst of strength, he pushed me to the ground, the impact reverberating through my bones. Gasping for breath, I watched as he made a hasty escape, his heavy footsteps fading into the distance.

I ran out of the room, the adrenaline pumping through my veins, my heart racing with a mix of exhilaration and apprehension. The curious gazes of onlookers met mine as I scanned the hallway, searching for any sign of the man who had just slipped away from my grasp.

As I stood there, trying to catch my breath, Louella appeared at my side, her presence always bringing me a sense of dread.

"Well, at least there's some good news in all of this," Louella remarked casually, her tone tinged with a hint of mischief.

I turned to face her, my eyes meeting hers in a moment of silent communication. "And what might that be?" I inquired, my voice hinting with skepticism.

With a nonchalant gesture, Louella reached into the pocket of her nightgown, producing several crumpled notes. I watched intently as she smoothed them out and began to count, the sound of rustling paper filling the tense silence between us. Finally, she held up four bills, neatly arranged between her fingers.

"Germany has surrendered," Louella announced matter-of-factly, her words carrying a weight of significance that resonated in the air. "And there's a gentleman asking specifically for you down in the lobby."

She slipped the bills into the top of the sheet, patting the area lightly before she started walking away. The crisp sound of the bills sliding into place seemed oddly loud in the hushed room. I watched as she started walking away – her signature cane leading the way.

“Oh –” Her voice was soft yet carried a hint of playful suggestion. She paused, slowly turning to face me once more. “I would suggest leaving the sheet on – I don’t think you’ll be wearing it for very long.”

With a coy smile, she sauntered out of the room, my mind racing with thoughts of who could be waiting and her suggestion of keeping my body covered only in the thin, white sheet. Usually, Loella wanted her girls dressed to the nines – giving the man something to fantasize about before they seen what we were hiding underneath.

I snatched the money out of the cloth, feeling a rush of adrenaline as I walked back towards the bedroom. The crisp notes rustled as I stuffed them deep into my purse. Taking a deep breath, I was somewhat relieved that I had gotten the money for Beatrice. The weight lifting from my bare shoulders as I took a seat at the vanity. Checking out my tousled appearance, I did my short routine, giving my face a quick powder and running my fingers through my tangled hair. I needed to compose myself, to present an air of confidence in myself.

Once satisfied with my appearance, I took a deep breath and gathered the bottom of the sheet, preparing to descend to the bottom floor where the mystery man awaited. Each timid step down the staircase seemed to echo in the hushed space, heightening my sense of anticipation. The soft fabric of the sheet whispered against my skin, a reminder of my daring choice to leave behind the trappings of modesty. As I reached the lobby, a rush of emotions washed over me – excitement, curiosity, a touch of fear.

As I entered the room, the crackling fire cast a warm and inviting glow, despite the balmy weather outside. The man, with his back turned towards me, seemed completely engrossed in the dancing flames. His worn brown leather jacket, weathered by time and use, exuded a sense of comfort and familiarity.

I couldn't help but notice the way his short brown hair fell against the nape of his neck. A ruggedness exuding from his stance. His broad shoulders, tense with an unseen burden, hinted at a strength that belied his gentle demeanor. The dark slacks he wore hugged his hips perfectly, emphasizing his sturdy frame.

My bare feet made no sound as they padded softly against the floor, bringing me just inches away from the man. With a silent resolve, I took a breath and extended my hand towards him, the cool leather of his jacket meeting the warmth of my palm. His muscle tenses under my touch, my body backing away slightly as he began to turn to face me.

John Egan

My heart nearly shattered into hundreds of pieces as the face that invaded my dreams nightly stared back at me – the same blue eyes that caused me to melt in the back of that bar all those years ago now stared back at me. Memories flooded my mind like a relentless tide, carrying me back to that fateful night when our paths first crossed. The fear that he had died on the frontlines haunted me daily as I would picture us together. His promise to come back for me and take me away from this world was something I held onto – praying to the Lord above that he would be the one to fulfill that promise.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, and still, there was no sign of him. The war raged on, claiming the lives of so many brave souls, and I was left to wonder if he had become just another casualty of the brutal conflict. But deep down, a flicker of hope remained, a tiny flame that refused to be extinguished.

 His callused thumb reached up, wiping away the tears that had fallen. His towering figure loomed over me, his eyes filled with a mix of weariness and determination.

"I told ya I'd come back for ya,"

[charmingsoa]

Now Seating Party of Two ・ Callum Turner AU/OC ・ ・ Rating: MA ・ ・ Multi chapter fic ・

Synopsis: “So you’re telling me that you got knocked up by some rich, Wall Street jackass who said he wanted to be in your life and the baby’s life, but yet you found him screwing around with a cocktail waitress, and now you have a bartender who’s fallen head over heels over you and your child, but Wall Street baby daddy wants back in the picture and you’re conflicted on who to choose?” I slowly nodded my head, “Yeah, pretty much.”

⚠️ Warnings ⚠️ This story will contain mentions of sexual content, cursing, alcohol and drug use, mentions of abortion, sexism, etc. Warning for the chapter will be posted with each update. Please be advised when reading.

(Part one -> 05/7/24)

[charmingsoa]

■ Bring it on Home to Me ■

He promised her the world - a chance to remove herself from the war-torn country she used to call home. Many soldiers had come and gone, all promising the same, but never returning. John Egan was different - determined. This is the story of the love of the century - a love following the trials and tribulations of war. The love that built a rickety old farmhouse into a home.

The love of Vanessa and John.

(First chapter uploaded)

[charmingsoa]

■ Bring it On Home to Me (Intro) ■ John Egan x OC Multi chapter story ⚠ Warning ⚠ This story will feature themes not appropriate for those under the age of 18 and will focus on sensitive subjects at times. Story will contain scenes of sexual content, cursing, physical and verbal abuse, substance use, cheating, miscarriage, mentions of war, etc. Warnings will be posted with each chapter. Please be advised when reading. This fic is purely fiction and has nothing to to do with the actual men of Masters of Air. A/N: Hello! So this is my first John Egan story and i'm kind of excited and nervous to display it to you all... I've never written for this character before but i've read all the amazing stories that are out there and I wanted to jump on the bandwagon. So, this story starts off a little different than most and it will actually go back in time to tell the story. Like I said, it's a little different, but I hope in a good way! I hope you all enjoy 😊

If you would like to be tagged for future updates, please let me know!

“I think that’s the last of it, mom.” I looked up from the picture, my oldest daughter staring back as she wiped a stray hair out of her face.

The house, the place where I had spent the last 50 years, now stood before me vacant and empty, echoing with the memories of a lifetime. The bare walls, once adorned with photos capturing moments from the past and present, now stared back at me, the original paint faded from where the frames had sat untouched for many years. This home had been the anchor of our family, the sanctuary where my children, grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren had all found solace and security.

I could still see it vividly in my mind's eye - my girls taking their first steps on the soft carpet of the living room, their laughter filling the air. The kitchen, with its worn wooden floors, bore witness to their growth, marked by notches on the door frame tracking their increasing heights. The backyard, a place of endless play and joy, had been the backdrop for countless family gatherings, from first day-of-school photos to prom nights and even wedding celebrations.

As I wandered through the empty rooms, memories flooded my mind - the sound of children's laughter echoing down the halls, the smell of home-cooked meals wafting from the kitchen, the sight of my grandchildren playing in the backyard as I watched from the comfort of the wraparound porch. This was more than just a house; it was a living, breathing repository of our family's history and love.

This was the home that he had promised me, the place where we had vowed to build our lives and raise our family, where we had planned to stay until the end of our days. Now, as I prepared to say goodbye to our beloved home, a mix of emotions swirled within me.

"I'm gonna get you out of here – give you a life worth living and loving in America," the soldier declared, his voice tinged with a mix of determination and allure. As he spoke, tendrils of smoke curled lazily from the cigarette between his fingers, adding to the air of mystery that surrounded him. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, bore into mine with an intensity that was hard to ignore.

Rolling my eyes in response, I stubbed out my own cigarette, the ember extinguishing with a hiss. All the soldiers were the same, I thought wryly, willing to say anything to win favor and attention, especially at the end of a long night. Despite his good looks and the faint scent of whiskey and smoke that emanated from his dress greens, I remained guarded, having heard similar promises before.

"You watch and see, little girl," he continued, leaning back in his chair, his posture exuding confidence. His thighs were spread open, a display of dominance that didn't escape my notice. "I'll buy you any kind of house you want – a farmhouse, a mansion, one on the beach."

"Mom-" Bridget's voice broke through the silence, pulling me back from the depths of my thoughts. I blinked, refocusing on the present moment, feeling her warm hand gently pressing against my back. Her touch comforting.

I turned to look at her, a concerned gaze searching mine. Her eyes, so much like her father’s, reflected a mix of worry and love. In that moment, I saw the strength and resilience that she had inherited from him.

"I'm okay, sweetheart," I reassured her, offering a faint smile to ease her concern. "Just lost in my thoughts for a moment there."

She let out a sigh as she looked over the empty home, "Daddy used to always tell Maggie and me that we wouldn’t be able to get you out of this house – even if we infested it with all the spiders in the world – you would find a way to stay," she reminisced, a hint of amusement in her voice.

A smile tugged at my lips as she continued, "He would kid us by saying that you loved this house more than you loved him, which we both knew was not true."

"Well," I smirked, "There were times when your father was not my favorite person, but he always had a way of making it up to me in the end, even if it was my fault for the argument." The intensity of our arguments, fueled by stubbornness and pride, seemed to fade in comparison to the fierce passion that ignited between us once the storm had passed.

"Do you realize that you’re a pain in my ass?” I rolled my eyes as he stood firmly in front of me. “If I wanted to cheat on you, I would have gone out and done it already, Vanessa. I could go down to George’s bar and pick any one of those hookers that hang around there – I’m sure they would be more than happy to spend a couple hours with me."

A mean smirk formed on my face as I retorted, “You haven’t lasted more than 10 minutes in over two years.” I scoffed. “Over here talking about lasting a couple hours – it's either your back or your knees that start hurting in a matter of seconds. God forbid you’re the one on the bottom.”

His eyes narrowed at my cutting remarks. “You sayin that I’m no good in bed?” he shot back, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone.

“You’re the one talking about being some kind of Adonis,” I remarked, feeling my back hit the counter behind me as he crept closer. “I’m just stating the facts, sweetheart.” His tall frame towered over mine, his arms trapping me in on either side. I glared up at him with hooded eyes, while his piercing blue eyes held a hint of mischief.

“I mean, you’re okay I guess,” I replied, trying to maintain a façade of indifference despite the closeness between us.

His breath tickled my ear as he leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “The way you were begging last night might say otherwise, V.” His words sent a jolt of heat through me, memories of the previous night flooding back with an intensity that left me momentarily speechless.

"Daddy made this place fun, that's for sure – it's gonna be weird not seeing him sitting in the rocking chair out front or fiddling around in his garden," Bridget remarked, a hint of wistfulness in her voice. I nodded in understanding, feeling the weight of her words settle heavily in my heart.

"Gonna be weird just not coming here period," she added, her eyes briefly meeting mine as I let out a sad sigh.

As we stood there, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of our family home, I couldn't help but feel a sense of loss creeping in. John’s presence had always been a comforting constant, his love and warmth filling every corner of this house. Without him, the home felt like an empty shell – hollow and cold.

“I think I’m gonna take one more look around- “My voice hitching in my throat. “Make sure I have everything before I turn the keys over to the realtor.”

Bridget nodded her head, her touch leaving my arm as she slowly walked towards the front door. I could hear her speaking with the real estate agent that was waiting outside, the realization that this was the end starting to dawn on me.

My eyes moved down to the picture that I clutched tightly in my hands – our young, bright smiles on display as the bulb flashed in front of us. The first photograph of us in front of our new house – the place where we promised to spend the rest of our days.

549 Timber Creek Rd.