#miss me - young plait

[luke-sturniolo]

#rip #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturnsfilmed #sturns #sturniolos #the sturniolo triplets #the sturniolos #the sturniolo’s #sturniolo’s #miss me #miss me - young plait #music #intro

[stsgluver]

synopsis. your husband still ignores the side effects of his cursed technique just so he can get a glimpse of you.

wc. 1.2k

gojo satoru was born with six eyes — a special cursed technique that allowed for an extremely precise manipulation of cursed energy, down to an atomic level. it also blessed him with a beautiful pair of ocean blue eyes that were practically glowing. you’d never seen eyes so pretty.

the drawback to this gift? the skull-splitting migraines that came with the excessive information constantly being processed by his darting eyes.

as a child, the pain was manageable. gojo didn’t have much of a hold on the technique so his weaker state meant that the migraines were subdued as less information was being absorbed. however, as he grew older and more powerful, he would find himself bed ridden for at least twenty four hours if he did not take some sort of measure to protect his eyes.

his go to method was the sunglasses, almost 100% tinted — no other person would be able to clearly see out of them, if they could see anything at all. his sight, on the other hand, so impressive that he could distinguish people and the objects around them through the levels of cursed energy radiated.

still, accidents happened. whether it be him breaking his glasses, or forgetting them as young children do, he quickly learned the drawbacks to his technique. no normal medicine could relieve the pain and no sorcerer was strong enough to either.

gojo satoru met you at fifteen years old on his first day at tokyo jujutsu high. you wore a uniform similar to shoko's but your skirt was closer to the floor than it was to your thigh. your hair was longer than most female sorcerers and tied into a plait that hung against your back. in all honesty, you appeared quite plain to him. nothing particularly stood out. not even your cursed energy was particularly strong.

but you were gorgeous. completely and utterly gorgeous. his glasses slipped slightly down his nose as he analysed you from afar and it wasn't till a slap on the shoulder from geto that he snapped out of it.

within six months of knowing one another, the two of you were dating. you picked up on his habit to forgo his glasses around you pretty quickly and you definitely didn't miss the increasing amount of discomfort that would cause him.

"why do you do that?" you asked him one time.

the two of you were on a date in the park. a picnic blanket had been laid out and satoru had bought basically every single pastry and sweet at the bakery next to the park. you'd barely managed to make it through half till the both of you had given up and opted for cloud watching, giggling as he joked that one cloud in particularly looked very similar to nanami's 'emo' haircut.

satoru turned to his side to look at you questioningly, his head resting on his hand, "do what?"

"take off your glasses," you gestured to the folded pair of black glasses by his head. "i don't have to be a doctor to realise that you're in a lot of pain right now." the longer you lay there, the less satoru was actually looking up at the sky, instead just listening to you as you pointed out shapes and animals.

you knew the toll six eyes could take on his body.

he kept his eyes screwed shut when he wasn't looking at you to ease the the pain from the intense light that was too overpowering for his splitting headache. he winced when a kid screamed too loudly or ran too close and his fingers would push against the sides of his head frustratedly. as if he thought hard enough, the pain would just go away.

his lips tilted up into a lopsided grin, "but i see you."

you twisted so that your body was parallel to his. there was a faint blush on your cheeks now but you didn't look away from his eyes. how could you? "you always see me."

"not with those stupid glasses," satoru frowned, and you think it was the most serious you had seen him since you met. "seeing you and seeing your energy are two very different things."

"you're hurting yourself," you pointed out, placing one of your hands onto his cheek to gently stroke your thumb against his skin. his shoulders relaxed slightly and he leant into your touch like it was magic. like you were some drug that numbed the pain, replacing it with a special serotonin only you could give him.

"worth it." satoru kissed your palm.

that was his only response. worth it. and he stuck to it even a decade later.

"old habits die hard, i guess," satoru tried to laugh at his poorly made joke, but only a few shakey breaths came out. you'd been home thirty minutes and he'd already been sick twice. he'd curled himself up in your shared bed not long after the second time and that was where he was when you began scolding him for his carelessness.

"you are twenty eight," you rant exasperatedly, juxtaposing your voice that is no louder than a gentle whisper, "you have three first years to be looking after right now, but no, someone wanted to go out for dinner and someone didn't want to wear their glasses, and someone-"

satoru's much larger hand squeezed yours, "don't be cruel. i do this for you, my love." his blindfold was now on (you had made him put it on as soon as you had gotten home) but you know him well enough to know he was staring up at you with those lovesick eyes that made you weak at the knees.

"i just worry," your tone eased. you had no issue looking after your husband, you never had. it wasn't his fault that he got the migraines per se. yes, he could definitely be doing more to mitigate the severity, but he was stubborn. that had never changed. "i've seen you fight special grades. i hate seeing a stupid headache hurt you so much."

"lay with me."

"you're sweaty and sick." you scrunched up your nose, eyes flicking to the en suite you'd just cleaned and back to the cold flannel on his forehead as his body temperature fluctuated.

he shook his head, placing his index finger over his lips. "shhh, i'm passed that stage. pretty please? i need you."

gojo satoru was irresponsible at the best of times. he'd been raised to believe he was invincible and had been spoiled to always get what he had wanted. there was no telling him what to do when he'd already decided an hour ago exactly what he wanted to do.

but there was something about being needed by gojo satoru. you could never say no to him. so whether it be due to his own decision to stare into the eyes of his wife during a romantic night out, or an extensive fight against a cursed spirit, you would always be there to clean up and make sure he was wrapped up in bed all cosy.

and you would always lift up the covers and climb in once there was no more that you could do but simply act as a pillow for your husband as he tried to sleep off the throbbing pain.

a/n. um so my previous post on this topic blew up and i’m so so grateful so i thought i’d expand a little on this hc for anyone that was interested. rambled a bit towards the end but i hope you still like it!! love you lots xxx

#— toru!! #gojo drabbles #satoru #gojou satoru #gojou satoru x you #gojo headcannons #gojo fluff #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo jjk #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #satoru drabbles

[fayes-fics]

Vignette

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: An artist meet-cute in the park.

Warnings: none... this is the fluffiest of fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Authors Note: Anon request fill (see HERE) about Benedict and an artist having a meet-cute in the park. Unbetaed. I hope you enjoy this, Nonny, and sorry it has taken so many months! <3

A wooden toy hoop whooshing inches from your knee interrupts your quiet refuge amid the flower gardens of Regents Park, breaking your intense concentration on your drawing and almost dropping your charcoal.

Seconds later, a pretty young girl of maybe eleven years old comes running after the errant object, her plaited hair bouncing, her blush pink dress swishing around her knees as she calls out an apology to you and retrieves the hoop from the nearby bush.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her face a picture of impish inquisition as she wanders back to your bench.

“I am drawing,” you smile benevolently; something about her mischievous spirit reminds you of your nieces.

“What are you drawing?” her grin somehow infectious.

“You see those roses there?” you point with your charcoal to a nearby white alba maxima rose bush, stems almost bowing under the weight of the heavily ruffled peach-tipped petals. “Those are in peak bloom, and I am attempting to capture them, their ephemeral beauty...”

“Are you any good?” 

You chuckle at her youthful bluntness, but just as you are tilting your work towards her, you are interrupted by a man rounding into this same quiet corner. 

“Hyacinth! Please refrain from injuring and bother…” his refined voice begins to chastise but suddenly grinds to a halt mid-sentence as soon as he catches sight of you.

But he is not the only one who has lost the power of speech. 

Something vaults hard in your stomach like you are plunging down an invisible chasm. He is handsome in a way you have never seen before in your twenty years on this earth: tall, with a strong jaw and a dandyish colourful outfit that fits him very well. 

There are a few moments where all you do is stare at each other, lips parted, before he appears to shake himself a fraction and bows his head in polite greeting.

“Where are my manners? I would like to apologise for my little sister almost causing you injury, Miss. The fault is entirely mine; I should not have let her play quite so spiritedly in a public park. I-I hope you are not injured?”

“N-Not at all; the hoop merely brushed my skirt. I am more than fine,” you assure hurriedly. “Mr….?”

“Bridgerton,” he offers, nodding to you in a more formal greeting.

You would know that name anywhere—one of the most esteemed families of the Ton. You instantly know he is not the Viscount, having seen him at society events, so you surmise this must be one of his younger brothers. Before you can offer your name, however, he speaks again. 

“You draw?” 

“Oh.. yes, yes… I-I do,” you stumble, a little taken aback by his question, even as you feel his sister’s gaze volleying between the two of you with a bemused expression.

“I draw too,” he explains, placing a hand over his sternum, the sunlight catching upon a signet ring on his little finger. 

“Oh…” you seem inordinately pleased to share such a hobby with this virtual stranger.

“I also know well that charcoal fingers are an occupational hazard..” he adds cordially as he catches you attempting to wipe the dark smears upon your hands with a rag. “May I see your work? If it is not too impudent of me to ask,” he adds modestly.

“I-I am not very good…” you fret, looking down at the partial image you see on your sketch pad. “Tis merely a pastime I use to escape…”

“Believe me, Miss…?”

“Y/l/n.”

“Believe me, Miss y/l/n, it is very much the case for me too - being that I am one of eight. Including such trouble-makers as this one,” he rolls his eyes affectionately as he signals to Hyacinth, who seems to be rapidly losing interest, distractedly spinning the hoop she holds. “Escaping is almost a full-time hobby for me…” 

You cannot help but giggle at his droll humour, and he seems delighted, his face lighting up as you hide a mild blush behind the back of your hand.

“May I?” his ask is so soft you cannot do anything but acquiesce.

“‘Tis just a small vignette…” you excuse meekly as you hand over your sketchpad, suddenly so nervous to hear his opinion. You have never shared your drawings with anyone before, but something about his affable demeanour makes you bold enough to do so.

He is quiet for some time. It feels like an age, even though it is likely only a matter of seconds, but still long enough that butterflies start to roil in your stomach.

“I did say it is just a hobby…” you titter nervously, looking away.

“It is beautiful…” he exhales quietly, tone filled with admiration as your eyes ping back to him.

Your heart flutters as he extols the virtues of your work, effusively admiring your use of shading to capture shadows and the lines you have used to denote the multitudinous layers of petals, his gracious hand gesturing over the picture as he speaks.

“You flatter me entirely too much, Mr Bridgerton…” you demure, even as you feel yourself blooming under his praise, just like the flower you have painstakingly attempted to capture. A warmth in your chest that seems to radiate out to glow all over.

“I assure you I do not,” he smiles, handing you back your sketch pad.

“Benedict,” Hyacinth whines, stamping her little boot on the grass, “you said we would play…”

“I do not wish to interrupt your family time,” you placate, pleased you have learned his first name.

“Hyacinth, I am sure Eloise said something about sandwiches; you want lunch, do you not?” Benedict responds, raising a pointed brow.

“Well, yes, but…”

“Run along then,” he pulls an exasperated face at her that again has you giggling, making a shooing gesture with his hands.

She sighs but departs with a dramatic flounce.

“Sadly, I must also depart; a family picnic indeed awaits. But if I may be so bold, I would very much like for us to meet again. If you would be amendable? With a chaperone, of course,” he adds hurriedly, keen to be gentlemanly. “I think perhaps we would have much to speak of… around art. And perhaps we could… draw together? Here?”

His proposal, so sweet and straightforward, has you rendered speechless again, heart leaping at the very thought.

“I…I would like that very much,” your honest confession out of your mouth before you can swallow it.

“As would I,” his response instant, his face beaming. “Would you be here, perchance, Thursday afternoon around this same time?”

“I would…” The hitch of excitement in your own voice unmistakable.

“Excellent!” his hazy blue eyes seem to dance in the sunlight as he respectfully tilts his head again. “I am so looking forward to it, Miss y/l/n…” are his parting words before he takes his leave.

“As am I, Mr Bridgerton…” you murmur belatedly, the words shared only with the fragrant roses surrounding you, swaying gently in the afternoon breeze.

Your stare lingers where he stood long after he has left, an excited buzz over your skin at the thought you have met a kindred, artistic spirit. And one so very handsome, too.

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#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

[the-fiction-witch]

Bump

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Sweet AF

I continued on my rounds checking my paperwork, as and when required popping in to anyone who wasn't urgent enough to come into the hospital. I checked on my way to the last house for the day, so I put my paperwork away and carried my bag with me, to the familiar deep blue front door, I fixed my jacket a little and swung the silver knocker a few times. The door swung open revealing young Elis Mayflower in her usual dress, "Ohh 'ello Dr Dawkins, we were expectin' you" She nodded and opened the door to let me in "Thank you, Elis," I nodded and took off my hat and jacket which Elis happily took "Where is she?" "Upstairs Doctor" She nodded I nodded and made my way up the stairs bag in hand. I headed down the hall past the paintings and small mostly unused rooms, until I stopped just before the last door.

The door was open a crack, light cascading from within, the sweet gentle sounds barely audible. I pushed open the door enough my body could slip inside, the well-polished wooden floor covered in dancing shadows from the fire, the flames in the fireplace danced and flickered sending the smell of oak wood and tyme across the room, the sound of the wood cracking and popping, the dark purple walls littered with almost too many paintings to even see the walls any longer, the window to the side shuttered up and then a curtain over it letting not a single bit of the harsh light from outside find its way, The various furniture littered the room.

The Main feature of the room, of course, the large wooden bed. With four tall wooden posts and a railing that normally hung purple curtains but they were missing today, the bed sheets were tossed into one corner of the bed, and sitting in it was the most perfect of sights.

Y/n sat in the bed, her back sat up but she had so many pillows between her and the headboard she must have been six inches from it if not more, her legs our straight, her hair free from any braids, and twisted, plaits or anything else, allowed to hang completely free with a slight kink to the hair where it so often lived plaided up and hidden below her hat. Her hair slightly in her face hiding it from me, she wore only a cotton shirt with long billowing sleeves that stopped just below her thigh, I thought for a moment I recognised it, as well as a pair of purple woollen socks that reached her knees with one white stripe around the top, her toes wiggling as they where warmed by the fire, her hands stroking her stomach, as she looked as if she was hiding a small barrel under her dress.

The small wooden and silver box on her table, the small silver ballerina twirling slowly as it paid her the music box song, the slight clicking and tinniness to the song as the music was plaid. And she sang with it, her voice gliding along the notes not loud enough for anyone beyond the door could hear her, as her hands stroked her stomach, tenderly, carefully, almost like she was afraid but loved all the same, her eyes on her enlarged belly and nothing else as if it and she were all that existed.

I couldn't hold back a smile, I must have looked an absolute picture, smiling so widely my cheeks hurt, red with blush to see her this way. I softly closed the door and took soft steps to lean my shoulder on the bedpost not enough to draw her attention, so I stood and watched for what could have been a thousand years, until her music box stopped and thus her song ended. "You're glowing," I spoke up, She jumped a little at my sudden words but she looked up with a sweet innocent smile, "Ohh, Hello Doctor Dawkins," She smiled, "I didn't hear you come in," "I didn't want to disturb your sweet song," I cooed unable to drag my eyes away from her just wanting to look at her a little while longer. She smiled "Aren't you going to examine me, doctor?" "Alright," I smiled moving to sit on her bed, I set my bag on the bed and opened it up to search through for what I needed. "How are you feeling?" "Much the same," She nodded leaning on her arms so I could touch her stomach, I checked her over as we spoke making sure everything was as it should be asking her short questions about how things were going and much of it was the same as last I saw her "So, When will it be?" She asked excitedly,

"Well, that's the question isn't it," I chuckled "I wish I could tell you, but unfortunately children are sort of a law unto themselves, when baby decides its time, then baby will come." I explained "You, I or anyone else doesn't have much of a say in it. But baby will let you know when it's time" I told her stroking her sweet cheek "Alright?" "Alright," she nodded, "I admit I am half tempted to get you a room at the hospital, just so you're close by," I told her, "I want to be here, where I'm comfortable." She said stroking her bump "Are you sure you don't want to be at the hospital?" "I'm sure," She nodded "Alright, as soon as you feel a contraction I want to know" I warn her, "I'll run all the way here if I have to." I winked "Can I? Please?" She pleads I smiled and got my stethoscope from my bag I gave the end a little warm with my hand before I tugged up her shirt just far enough to see her bare stomach, I put the other end to my ear and listened as I rested it on her skin, I shifted it across her skin until I found the best place to hear the rhythmic beating, for a moment I was frozen as I heard the gentle beats, each caused my own heart to swell and I had to fight back the tears "Here," I smiled and handed her the listening end and she happily put it to her ear and listened with the most excited smile I had ever seen a girl have,

She sniffled, tears slowly falling staring at her stomach as she listened "Hi Darling," She cooed and you could see the movement as the baby kicked, "You think he can hear me?" "Of course, he can, He can hear you talk to him, hear you sing to him, You're his mother, he loves you more than anyone will ever understand," I told her kissing her forehead, "Can he hear his daddy?" She asked as she took my hand and settled it on her stomach so I could feel him kick, "Of course, He can." I smiled giving her bump a sweet kiss "Hi little guy," I smiled as I rubbed my nose on her stomach and I gave her bump and our baby kisses. "It won't be long now, I'm sure of it." "Good, I don't want to be pregnant anymore Jack" She laughs returning my stethoscope to my bag,

"No?" "No. My feet are so swollen I can't wear shoes, I don't fit in any of my dresses anymore, I leak everywhere, I'm throwing up all the time, He's kicking me like I'm a football," She explained "It's not fun being pregnant Jack." "You said you liked it?" "I did when I was a couple of months and I had a cute little bump I could stroke as we walked through town." "You were adorable." I smiled thinking back to when she was newly pregnant, wandering around town with her little bump in her dress, I admit it made me feel very proud of myself. "And still are." "I'm as big as a ship Jack." she pouted, "They'll try to hollow me out and sail me to Africa," "You're a ship?" I chuckled, "ummmm" She nodded, "Well then, Permission to come aboard?" I smirked climbing over her to start kissing all over her face and neck which caused her giggle "Ohh yes a very beautiful ship, the most beautiful ship in the world, I shall have to steal her and sail the world single-handedly with her!" "Jack!" she laughed as she pushed me off her, "What's this anyway?" I glared tugging on her shirt, "I borrowed it," She giggled, "Borrowed?" "Well you've been working so much," she innocently smiled "We missed you." "I've missed you both too." I smiled, "But I need to do all this extra work, so I have lots of time off for when baby comes. I don't wanna be stuck up the hospital and leave you here with our little one, I wanna be here to help, and cuddle, and watch him grow. I don't wanna miss anything."

"Good, You can stay up all night when he cries then." "Ohh I know I will, I know what a trial it is trying to get you out of bed when you don't want to." "I don't like to be awoken," She pouts, "I just want this to be over." "Over?" I asked a little worried, "You know what I mean, I'm just… It's been a long nine months Jack, I'm tired." "I know you are," I smiled and kissed her lips "It won't be too much longer sweetheart."

#tbs smut #tbs imagine #tbs imagines #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas sangster imagine #thomasbrodiesangster #thomas sangster #thomas brodie sangster #thomas brodie sangster smut #tbs #the artful dodger #thearttfuldodger #theartfuldogger #jackdawkins #jack dawkins #jack

[writerfae]

A gift for Callan

This is both a gift for Callan's birthday and a story in which Callan gets a gift, thus the title. Fun, isn't it? I hope you enjoy!

Callan stood on one of the ballroom's balconies, hands clasped around the railing as he looked out into the night.

From here he had the perfect view over the palace garden. Bathed in moonlight, it was truly a sight to behold.

Someone else entered the balcony. That someone closed the door, blocking out the sounds of the festivities taking place inside the palace, then they came to stand right behind Callan.

He knew who it was even before a pair of warm arms wrapped around him.

"Beautiful," Henry whispered, his voice close to Callan's ear. It made him shiver despite the warmth of spring.

"Yes, the garden at night is really something."

His fiancé- husband, his mind corrected itself - chuckled. He kissed Callan's neck. "I wasn't talking about the garden."

A bright blush erupted on Callan's face at the words.

Henry never failed to coax this sort of reaction out of him and sometimes it seemed to Callan like he did it on purpose,  taking pleasure in Callan's flustered reactions.

His suspicion was confirmed when Henry kissed him again, this time right behind his ear, a grin clearly evident on his lips against Callan's skin.

The prince couldn't help but to smile, too. "Charmer," he accused Henry fondly.

"I'm just being honest."

Callan let go of the railing in order to lean more into his husband's - Callan very much liked that word - embrace, holding on to the arms encircling his waist.

"It was getting lonely in there without you," Henry broke the silence after a while.

"I'm sorry," Callan said. "But after Rhys' speech I needed some fresh air."

Of course his best friend, in true Rhys fashion, didn't miss the opportunity of lovingly embarrassing Callan in front of everyone by sharing stories about Callan’s "insufferable and painfully obvious pining".

Callan wanted to die of embarrassment right then and there.

Henry laughed quietly. "I found it quite interesting. I didn't know that you liked me that much when we were younger."

Callan glared at him, cheeks burning, but it only made Henry laugh even more.

He buried his head in the crook of Callan's neck. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

He shook his head, his hair tickling the side of Callan's neck. "I probably wasn't much better, I just didn't have anyone to ramble about you to," he admitted.

Lifting his head, he kissed his husband's cheek apologetically.

Callan, who had already forgiven him (he couldn’t be mad with Henry for long even if he tried to, especially not for such a minor thing), smiled.

"What a shame, I really would've liked to hear what you thought of me back then."

Henry hummed. "I can tell you, if you really want to know. Later."

Callan turned his face to look at him, amused. "Why not now?"

"Because," Henry leaned in to place a quick kiss on Callan's mouth, before pulling away just as quickly. "Right now there's something I want to give to you. Close your eyes."

Callan smiled and did what he was told. The arms wrapped around him disappeared and he could hear the rustling of Henry searching for whatever it was he wanted to give Callan.

The prince wondered what it could possibly be. But he didn't need to wonder long, because Henry soon leaned back in and whispered close to his ear.

"You can open them now."

He didn't need to tell Callan twice. The young man opened his eyes. What he saw made him gasp.

It was a necklace, simple, but beautifully made. The plaited brown leather band already looked a bit worn out at the edges, but the leather was still shining.

The pendant was made out of apple tree wood with runes carved along the frame that surrounded a gemstone that almost seemed to glow in the reflection of the moonlight.

The gem had the exact same color as Henry's eyes. An Amber.

Callan recognized it immediately. He turned to look at Henry in awe. "Isn't this…?"

He didn't need to finish the sentence. Henry nodded, a smile on his face. "My mother's. A wedding gift to her from my... from Milan."

He moved to gently put the necklace on Callan. It fitted perfectly, like it was meant to be around his neck and his neck alone.

"And my wedding gift to you," Henry finished, voice soft with fondness. Callan touched the pendant around his neck in awe.

"Are you... are you certain? It's all you have of her."

He knew about the meaning of this necklace, one of the last remains Henry had of his mother. It was of immeasurable value for him.

And he decided to give it to Callan.

"I am." Even though he couldn’t see him, Callan could tell that Henry was smiling.

"This necklace was always a sign of love. So what better way could there be to honor my mother’s memory than to give it to the person I love more than anything? I want you to have it.

And I know she would've wanted it too. She always wished for me to be happy. And I am, with you."

Callan turned around immediately, tears gleaming in his eyes.

He put his arms around Henry's neck, who in turn wrapped his arms around Callan's waist again, and pulled him into a kiss, one of many yet to come that night.

"Thank you," he whispered as they pulled away, still holding each other close. "I love you."

Henry laughed quietly, kissing Callan's temple. "And I love you. Now do you want to go back inside? Or should we dissappear from here altogether?"

Callan laughed, raising his eyebrow at Henry. "You mean leaving our own party?"

Henry grinned. "Why not? It's our wedding, isn't it? So we can do whatever we want."

"And what do you want to do exactly?"

Henry's grin only grew. He leaned close to whisper something into Callan's ear and that something made the blush on Callan's face flare up all over again.

Henry only laughed, before taking Callan's hand in his and dragging him along into the moonlit garden.

...

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#writer speaks #writeblr #wip: the knights of the alder #writing #my writing

[callumsgirl]

Beautiful Things...that I've got

pairing: Austin Butler x female reader (Elizabeth)

summary: Elizabeth is young and beautiful when she starts a bartender job at the Rough Wheel. A dimly lit bar known for its jukeboxes, pool tables and the Outlaw MC drinking and hanging around.

Elizabeth had been working at the bar for two months and had had a crush on Austin ever since she first saw him playing pool and he called her a Babydoll in a raspy, warm voice, and handed her his credit card. It only got worse from that moment on, because to say Elizabeth was inexperienced with men was an understatement. She was 21, unkissed and a virgin, and Outlaw's number two had it in for her.

warnings: mostly flirting, age gab (21 y.o. and 33 y.o.), light and heavy smut, kissing, sexual unexperienced woman, virgin woman, first sexual experiences, some hard wording, use of pet names, fist fight, blood and smut, tears and mental pain

word count: 15,7 k

A/N: English is my second language. Please have mercy with me!

POV Elizabeth // Chicago, USA

Today is my two month anniversary, and all of my classes at the college are going pretty well for me. My grades are impeccable, I'm almost done writing my senior thesis, and I've made $60 in tips in my last two shifts.

Also, my mother had finally stopped trying to fix me up with a smart young man from her church. She tries to do that all the time and it's annoying. Mom always wants to get me a good match. She's hopelessly romantic. I let out a silent sigh. After combing my hair, I put it up in a plait. A young woman with moss-green eyes and freckles on her cheeks looks at me in the mirror. Hoping to look halfway decent next to the other female waitresses and earn a few dollars in tips, I dab a little lip gloss on my lips.

I'm wearing my favourite dress. It's red, cute and not too short for working behind the bar. I made the mistake of wearing a skirt that was too short once in my first week at the bar…and it was awkward and disgusting when Jimmy - that weird old guy who always sits at the bar - saw my half-naked bum.

Since then I've only worn jeans, skirts or dresses that cover my thighs. I'm also the only one of the waitresses who doesn't wear red lipstick. Callie, a bartender friend of mine, thinks I'm a prude and pretty stupid to miss out on all the tips just because I don't want to wear red lipstick.

To be honest, I need every cent, but I'm not going to earn it by wearing red lipstick, batting my eyes and sitting on some guy's lap. I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath.

I take one last look in the mirror before I leave the student hall of residence and get on my bike to cycle to the bar. My shift starts at 6pm and it takes me about 20 minutes on my bike.

When I arrive at the bar, it's still quiet and empty. I put my bag in my locker, tie an apron around my waist and start taking stock of the alcoholic drinks and snacks.

Just as I'm ticking off the last few lines of the list, Callie comes into the bar and smiles at me. She is tall, athletic and has flawless skin. Her full lips are all glossy and dark red. Callie looks beautiful and sexy without much effort. Life can be really cruel. I curl my lips a little enviously.

"Hey sweet girl. You look pretty. Did you put the dress on for Austin?" she teases me and winks as her hands clasp the hem of my red dress and she strokes it. She really winks at me!

I shake my head gently and feel my cheeks flush.

Damn it. Calm down Elizabeth, I think and give her a shy smile. Just one comment about Austin and my heartbeat goes out of control and I look like a tomato.

Sometimes I think she has an idea of how sheltered I grew up. That my parents kept me a million miles away from all the boys, that all I had to worry about was making sure I got good grades. But then she winks at me and makes these… comments about red lips and that I work in a bar full of hot bikers.

This bar is definitely a place my parents would never have let me go. Plus, this bar is far from my parents' idea of where I should work and who I should hang out with. But I haven't told them about my job yet.

The hourly wage is okay. The tips don't make me rich, but it helps me get through the month and I'm certainly not going to call my parents and ask for a dime.

I bite the inside of my cheek and lower my eyes, embarrassed. "Don't be silly, Callie," I laugh nervously. "I'm wearing this dress because I like it. Austin wouldn't even look at me if I - I gesture in her direction with my pen in hand, pursing my lips at her revealing outfit. "…if I wore something like you. It just doesn't suit me." I can feel my cheeks getting even hotter and quickly brush a loose strand of hair that has come loose from my plait behind my ear.

"You're joking, aren't you?" she asks, raising an eyebrow curiously. Her make-up is striking and dark. Her green eyes look so hypnotizing and intense with the black eyeliner and her red lips distract me.

I shake my head again and turn to more important tasks. Namely, finally getting through this list before the bar fills up.

"No," I reply and shrug my shoulders. "It's obvious that I don't fit in here and I'm sure no one here is interested in me. Look at me." I can't help but smile. It's obvious that I grew up differently and don't belong here. I stand out with my freckles, my clothes and the fact that I hardly wear any make-up. I often feel out of place. That's often the case. I press my lips together.

Callie smirks and brushes another strand of hair out of my face. "You're really sweet, Lizzie, and naïve," she says, pinching my cheek.

I gasp indignantly and frown. "What?" I ask in shock and blink at her. She can't be serious, can she?

"You're clever, and pretty, and cute. You're a lot more dangerous to the boys here than you think. Plus a lot of the men calling you by pet names. It's a good sign and more money for you, sweet girl." Then Callie turns her back to me and starts polishing beer glasses.

What nonsense, I think to myself and stare at her for a few more seconds until I get back to work.

Two hours later, the bar is overcrowded and I'm mixing various drinks in piecework time. I cut fresh lemon slices and decorate cocktail glasses. Then I pour beer and polish glasses again.

The air is warm, stale and when the front door opens again, a cool breeze blows over my heated, slightly sweaty skin. Only now do I realize how out of breath I actually am and how hungry I am. As if on cue, my stomach grumbles and I sigh in bittersweet despair. My break isn't for another two hours and judging by the rush at the bar, I'll be making a lot more cocktails before then. I let out another sigh and chew on my lower lip. The thought of my turkey sandwiches in my rucksack makes my stomach growl and I feel sick.

I roll my eyes. Pull yourself together, Elizabeth.

Then I work through the customers' drinks requests. I mix cocktails and pour beer. I fill the ice and lemons, rinse the glasses and polish them afterwards. Another blonde comes to the bar and waves for a waitress. Just as I'm about to approach her, Callie comes towards me and sends me on my break. Thank God!

I devour my sandwich and an apple during my short break between the current swing and the next. Then I stand behind the bar again and push full glasses across the counter. I'm slicing up more lemons and limes when someone throws a penny into the jukebox and selects a song. This Live by Curtis Stigers.

It's loud in here and it's hard to hear the music, but when the first sounds come through to me, I know immediately that he is here. Only one person in the bar would dare to play just this one song. I exhale loudly and my fingers tremble as I place the lemon and lime slices in a bowl.

My eyes sting slightly and I squint. While everything around me is black and yet so loud, I try to calm my frayed nerves. My heartbeat speeds up and a shiver runs down my spine. I bite my lower lip and whirl around to the counter as a woman's voice calls for the waitress again.

I see him out of the corner of my eye as I'm mixing two Bloody Marys. "Have a nice evening," I murmur in a loud voice and push the glasses over to the blonde woman waiting impatiently for her drinks.

As soon as she's gone, I wipe my hands on my apron and take two or three steps to the left. From here I can see the pool table, and I swallow hard when I recognize Austin among the bikers. It's not unusual for the MC to come here, but it's nerve-wracking for me. It's the closest I've ever been to a bunch of law-breakers on roaring motorcycles.

Young - and attractive, very attractive. He is tall, wears washed-out blue jeans and a black sleeveless top, with his biker jacket over it and has dark blond unruly hair and crazy blue eyes with which he surveys the entire bar.

I take another step closer to the end of the counter and scrutinize him. Describing Austin as handsome doesn't even begin to do him justice. I bite my lip and continue to stare. I don't normally do this, but I can't help myself…he's just so good looking.

"Oh, my God," I moan softly and lean over the bar a little, standing on my tiptoes as Austin takes the pool stick from a younger guy. A prospect I guess. They're all wearing biker jackets and I can feel my pulse fluttering under my skin.

The jackets of the older members are decorated with various patches and the prospects wear completely naked jackets. I don't really know much about life in an MC, but I've overheard conversations from the girls at the bar and know that the prospects have to earn their patches. With character and courage, sometimes with strangely dangerous tasks and other times they have to take a beating. I think it's exaggerated and dangerous, but nobody asks me.

"Damn, kiss me, fuck me," I sigh and watch as he leans his upper body over the pool table, focuses on the balls in front of him and then shoots. An electric wave rushes through my entire body and I press my lips together helplessly.

"Yeah, you'd like that," Callie suddenly mumbles behind me, scaring the hell out of me. I don't even know that I said it out loud.

But Austin isn't paying any attention to me and is smoking his cigarettes and playing pool with his boys. I press my lips and eyes together in shame and turn to face to Callie. "I didn't…"

"Shut up, sweet girl," she puts a finger to my lips and leans closer to me, her lips almost touching my cheek as she murmurs in my ear: "I'd fuck him too. He's really hot."

The two of us watch Austin as he leans on the edge of the pool table with both arms. The subdued light makes shadows dance across the deep ridges of his muscles. His muscles are firm and pronounced and as he slowly raises his head, mumbles something to himself and shoos one of the contenders away, our eyes meet. I need a moment to find my voice again. If this man had any semblance of a middle-class and less dangerous life, I would probably throw myself at him. But he lives for the MC and that… is not for me.

I have been crushing on him since the first night he handed me his credit card, called me with a raspy voice Babgirl for once, and asked me to start a tab for him. That was the starting point and it only got worse from there.

I gasp out loud - once again I feel caught out tonight and as the corners of his mouth lift slowly and sensually, his lips curl into a knowing, dirty smile, my stomach tightens. I stumble back half a step and bump my back against Callie's torso.

"Sorry," I mumble breathlessly and turn around in a flash. I disappear into the break room and sit there for five minutes until my heart rate calms down.

Pull yourself together, my sense of honor whispers to me and pulls my shoulders back. It raises its little chin to the sky and then gives me an encouraging nod. Get out there and keep serving drinks, Elizabeth.

I have regained some control of myself as I step behind the bar. It takes all my mental strength not to turn my head and look back at the pool table, but I persevere. Over the next half hour, I continue to serve drinks and the memories of Austin are pushed back into my mind. However, the biting feeling of shame in my chest continues to remind me that I've made an idiot of myself.

That's just the way you are, the cynical little voice in my head etches, jabbing me in the ribs. Prudish, untouched and not wanted.

Austin is in a different league to me. I scrape together the last shreds of self-respect and lock all my thoughts of him away in a little box in the back of my head.

I am overcome with nausea and only by taking deep breaths do I manage to shake off the feeling. I turn to polishing more glasses when I suddenly feel a dark, slightly cheerful and vibrant presence behind me. My back muscles tense up and I lift my chin slightly. My senses are on alert.

I hope it's not Jimmy again, I think wistfully and curl my lips into an unpleasant grimace. Just as I've mentally resigned myself to having to deal with Jimmy today, I hear a pleasantly hoarse voice murmur: "Hey Babydoll, are you free?"

I stifle an annoyed groan and grit my teeth. Then I breathe in and out quietly before I start draining another glass of beer. Austin called me Babydoll, again and a tiny part of me likes it. Very much so. Apart from the life he leads, which I absolutely don't want for myself, he's insanely handsome. I mean, what's the big deal if I look at him from time to time. As far as I know, no one has ever died from being adored from afar. My self-esteem grinds its teeth alarmingly and crosses its arms in front of its chest. I shake my head slightly, worried about the direction my thoughts are taking, and grab another glass to polish. "I'm busy. Please leave me alone."

"Doesn't look particularly busy," Austin replies. "If you're already behind the bar-"

The day had started so well and now - after my embarrassing reaction to what? A brief eye contact and I'm done. I interrupt him, annoyed and angry at the lapse in my self-control. In one fluid motion, I turn to him and the words flow uninhibited from my lips: "Then what, asshole?"

Shit! I'm fucked, I think the moment I recognize my words. I open my eyes. My subconscious lifts its little head in shock and stares back and forth between me and Austin. It's completely beside itself and hisses angrily: Are you crazy? I stumble a step back and my butt bang against the back of the bar. My hands are shaking and I barely manage to put the glass of beer down on the counter.

A few seconds pass and everything around me suddenly happens in slow motion. The music is muffled and only reaches me to a limited extent, the shouts of the waiting guests are far away and the laughter over at the pool table barely touches me.

"Asshole, hmm? I wouldn't have trusted you to have such a dirty mouth, babygirl." Austin's ice-blue eyes scrutinize me attentively. The intensity of his gaze and demeanor gives me the creeps.

"Don't call me, babygirl", I grumble angrily. Then I hesitate and lower my gaze. I stare at my sneakers and then raise my head again, heart pounding. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have insulted you."

"Ohh, you can call me whatever you want. I've been called far worse," he laughs lightly and licks his lips.

Oh, I can immediately think of some suitable names; arrogant idiot, fool, arrogant ass…I follow the movements of his body and watch as he rests his elbows on the counter, his muscles bulging, and then murmurs dangerously darkly, "Why not? Do you have a boyfriend I should know about?"

"What?" I squeak and blink like crazy. "Do I what?", I add. My gaze is still glued to his lips. Wow, what pink, full lips. I wonder how they would feel on mine....hmm. Stop! I squint my eyes. No, I think angrily. He's a tease and he's making fun of me.

"Do you have a boyfriend, little girl?" he asks again, continuing to look me in the eye intensely as he leans a little further over the counter and reaches for a bottle of brandy.

"Hey," I grumble. "Put it back down," I demand of him and there's that amused glint in his eyes again. To my surprise, or perhaps more likely his own, he puts the bottle back down and raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. At least make me a drink."

I snort and step hesitantly on the spot. None of my colleagues seem to have noticed what's going on between him and me.

Then it suddenly occurs to me that he could get me fired quicker than I'd like. A nasty look from him and Tom, the owner will sack me. I lower my eyes to my feet once more and then tighten my shoulders. I take two steps to the front bar and pick up the bottle of brandy.

"With cola? With ice?," I ask and take a heavy crystal glass from one of the lower cupboards.

"No, just ice," he shakes his head and as I pour the brandy into the glass, he doesn't take his eyes off me. As I break some ice in the cooler, I don't notice how he slowly raises his left arm and shortly afterwards I feel his rough, warm knuckles on my cheek. When his knuckles touch my skin, I feel like sparks are flying. Embarrassed, I pull my head back. Must have been static energy. I blink, about as fast as my heart is beating. I lift my head slightly and look at him with a slightly trembling lower lip.

"What are you doing?", I whisper. "Please stop." I turn my head slightly to avoid his touch, even though it burns me and feels good.

Again, he doesn't answer my question. Instead, he repeats his, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Why does he want to know? He's certainly not checking out his chances with me. I inwardly roll my eyes at this unnecessary comment and the clear side-swipe from my subconscious.

I sigh half annoyed at his arrogance, half shocked that he's touching me. "No, I don't have a boyfriend. Please let go of me."

"That's a real shame," he murmurs, his husky voice doing strangely heated things to me. I'm blinking too fast, breathing too loudly and my hands are shaking badly as I put the full brandy glass on the counter and push it over to him. "You have really nice lips. Not as made up as the other girls here."

I turn deep red. Once again, and when he recognizes the heated glow on my cheeks, he finally leans back slowly. But before his knuckles leave my cheek, his thumb brushes over my bottom lip, tracing its outline. My breath catches and I can't move. Austin raises the glass to his lips and takes a small sip. "That really is a waste, babygirl," he replies, and I swallow hard.

As soon as the meaning of his words get through to me, I tear myself away from him. With unsteady legs, I stumble back and slap his hand away. "Stop it. I'm not one of your whores!"

I feel hurt and humiliated. Really offended by his words.

His eyes flash in astonishment. His slapped hand hovers in the air for a few moments and then he lowers it. He still looks unimpressed and completely calm. But the expression in his blue eyes has changed. In addition to the glitter, shadows now dance in his eyes and it's really creepy.

I really did beat him. Fuck!

Well, not really, but it was wrong. Now he has every reason to have me thrown out.

He strokes his own lip with the thumb that was just touching mine. The way he strokes his lips is hypnotizing and dangerous at the same time. "Hmmm… you're not really," he murmurs, fixing me very slowly. "If you were one, my hands would be around your pretty, slender neck right now."

He can't possibly be serious. My pulse quickens. Why is he upsetting me like this? Is it because of his outrageously good looks? Is it his penetrating gaze? Or is it because he keeps tracing his lower lip with his thumb and glaring at me menacingly? Can't he finally stop doing that?

I catch my breath and unconsciously lift my own hands to my neck. He grins wickedly. "Exactly… I would squeeze and squeeze until your eyes glaze over and your beautiful lips open slightly. I would make you beg and punish you", he confirms without any humor in his voice and stares at me.

"You're physotic," I reply in a low voice. I hardly trust my own voice anymore. The words slip out before I can stop them.

He gently shakes his head again, amused by my choice of words. Then everything happens very quickly. Austin leans over the bar again and grabs my wrist, pulling me towards him with a jerk. The tips of my feet touch the baseboard of the bar and I gasp in his face, startled and frightened.

I blink around, looking for help, but still no one is looking after me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Callie at the other end of the bar and I want to call out to her, but one look into Austin's eyes and I fall silent. He raises his free hand and brushes a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. My whole body trembles with tension and sheer fear.

"No, I'm not," he contradicts me. "I just grew up differently to you, babygirl," he explains, lowering his eyelids briefly. His voice is surprisingly soft. Austin stares at the neckline of my dress from above and can see my breasts rising and falling quickly. Then his eyes fall on my necklace. He licks his lips and takes the small cross between his fingers.

I expect him to say some stupid line about God and Jesus, but none of it comes out of his lips. Instead, he leans down so that his cheek brushes my chin and I raise my hands, clasping his wrist as he strokes my lips. "Just as innocent and pure as I suspected."

"You don't know anything about me", I stutter and in the next moment, I close my eyes and press my lips together. God, how can anyone be as stupid as me?

Austin is grinning and he is so close to me that I can breathe in his scent. He smells intoxicatingly of aftershave, soap and engine oil. I greedily soak up the smell.

"Oh no?" he asks, amused. "Then listen carefully Elizabeth. You're young, so damn pretty and innocent. I could have you broken and floating in five fucking minutes. Don't tell me you're a bad girl who kisses random strange men and spreads her legs," he stops and I jerk my eyes open. Austin leans back enough to look me in the eye again. "You're pure, you're perfect, and yet you're in this fucked up place…with me."

"Please let go off me", I beg.

Austin tilts his head slightly and looks at me. "You've got my attention now and I'm not done with you yet."

His words are both a threat and a promise. What does it all mean?

There are so many confusing thoughts chasing around in my head. I can't bring order to the chaos and when Austin brushes my lips again, muscles I didn't know I had tighten deep inside. "Do you know what the problem is with beautiful things in life, Elizabeth?"

I shake my head, barely noticing. Somehow I fear something bad and I try to pull away from him. The corners of his mouth twitch again. Sick bastard! He's having way too much fun with this whole thing. Intimidating young women like me and making fools of them is probably one of his habits. Austin smiles, fascinated, and loosens his grip on my wrist. A brief illusion of control and freedom that I try to take advantage of. I tug and tug, but he tightens his grip again.

"Shh, shh," he whispers. "You don't have to panic, babygirl. Just answer my question."

"I don't know, what's with the beautiful things, Austin?" I sound much whinier than I would like and shrug my shoulders cluelessly. I just want to get out of this bar and crawl into my little bed in the dorm.

"They are only beautiful until they are broken. What will break you?"

He loosens his grip and slowly lets go of me. I immediately increase the distance to him and wipe my palms over my cheeks. There are a few tears and I quickly wipe them away. Then I rub my wrist gently and look at him, scared and angry.

There is a satisfied, ashamed grin on his lips as he stands up and pushes the brandy glass over the counter. He toasts me and strolls back to the pool table.

I wrap my arms around my torso and try miserably to calm my nerves and my raging heartbeat. I just want to get out of here and wash the entire day off my skin. But when I look over at the wall clock, it's only 11 p.m.

I keep glancing nervously over my shoulder and catch Austin staring in my direction. Maybe this is another one of his strange habits, I think distractedly and purse my lips.

Then a rarely romantic thought rises up in the depths of my mind and I wonder if there is any hope left that there is still some light shimmering in Austin. I'm naïve, but not naïve enough to think I can change him. I realized early on that I'm not the girl that guys quit their jobs or move across the country for. A guy certainly wouldn't give up his lifestyle and values for me. Not when it involves motorcycling and a god damn MC.

It's after midnight when Callie goes into the break and the bar is half empty. I start refilling a few shots, washing glasses and wiping down the bar. When I've done everything behind the bar, I grab a fresh cloth and start wiping down the empty tables in the entrance area. I replace the burnt-out candles with new ones and refill the serving dispenser and cutlery.

It takes me about ten minutes to finish the first tables and say goodbye to the other regulars. Austin and his biker friends are still there. While some continue to play pool or darts, Austin sits on a chair. He sits upside down on it and leans his arms over the backrest, holding a half-empty glass in one hand. A cigarette burns between his lips and I quickly look away from him when I realize how much I'm staring at him. Just after… everything.

"This is so stupid," I mutter to myself after turning my back on him. "Get over him , Elizabeth!" I wipe down the next tables. Some have stains, others are sticky. I scrub like crazy. I'm finally done, my hands a little rough and dry from the detergent. Just as I'm about to disappear behind the counter, I bump into a guy.

I squeak, startled, and stammer: "Sorry, I didn't see you."

"No problem," a pleasantly warm voice replies, and I feel two large hands on my upper arms, gently pushing me back a few steps. "Didn't see you, sweetheart."

I think his name is Benny. He's so young and a prospect in the MC. He does the dirty work and has to be pushed around by the older members.

But for what?, I ask myself.

I take a closer look at him and notice that he has a nice smile, even though he's completely drunk. His brown, wispy hair sticks out in all directions. His dark eyes are narrowed.

"It's okay," I smile. "Maybe you should go home. You've had a lot to drink," I suggest in a cautious voice.

He looks at me silently for a breath, maybe two. Then he nods slightly and makes a slightly snivelling face. "I can't leave until the others do. That's what being new is like."

"Ohh," I gasp in surprise. "I didn't know that."

"It's alright", he reply. "You're really pretty by the way", Benny adds.

His thumbs rub lightly over my bare upper arms and I start to shiver. I tilt my head back slightly and giggle. "Really?" I ask. "Am I pretty?"

He frowns in confusion. "Yeah…"

"Benny, come here." A harsh, hoarse voice cuts through the air. I feel Benny's fingers tighten around my upper arms. Inevitably, I hold my breath and take half a step back. Benny drops his arms and when his hands leave my skin, I feel a chill run through me.

"I'm sorry," he begins. But once again his words are interrupted by Austin's hoarse, strained voice. I press my lips together and close my eyes.

"It was nice talking to you, Benny." I say with a small smile and circle around him.

Just before I stand behind the bar again, he murmurs in a q uiet voice, "I'd like to talk to you more often."

The corners of my mouth twitch and for the first time in a few hours, something feels normal, and nice. I nod slightly, "Okay Benny."

From a distance, I hear a chair scraping loudly across the wooden floor, and then Austin appears in the corner of my eye. He comes towards me with determined steps and I open my eyes in shock as he stretches out an arm and jerks Benny around by the shoulder. For a fraction of a moment, Benny is completely surprised, then he tries in vain to push Austin away from him. Austin wraps a hand around Benny's neck and holds him tight. But it is futile. Austin presses him closer to his chest and his lips almost touch the shell of Benny's ear as he whispers hoarsely in his ear. Meanwhile, his icy blue eyes lock on me. An unstoppable storm rages in them and I stumble back.

Benny looks completely tense. He nods mechanically to everything Austin hisses into his ear. Then Austin lets go of Benny's neck. I breathe a sigh of relief. My heart is pounding in my throat as Austin presses Benny's cheek flat against the sticky counter with a deafening slap. Benny groans painfully, but makes no sign of resisting.

"Do you hear me?" Austin hisses angrily. "You will never talk to her or look at her again or I'll break more than your fucking ribs."

"Austin," I scream, terrified. "He didn't do anything."

"Shut up, baby girl. He needs to learn his place." For a split second, I see something like humility and remorse in his eyes. Then it's gone, leaving behind the dark shadows and the raw aggression that runs through his veins.

I stumble back a few more steps until my legs hit the back of the counter. My fingers rebel as I clutch my hands hard around the edge of the counter, turning my head to the side as Austin pushes it down on the counter once more. A whimper escapes me and I immediately slap my hands over my face.

"Now take it like a man, Benny," he demands and lets him go. Austin takes a few steps away from him and takes off his jacket. He hands it to a guy with a long white beard. I think his name is Hank.

The scene in front of me makes no sense to me at all. I want to intervene and object, but I don't understand what this is all about. My lips open, but I close my mouth again. What should I say?

The other bikers have now also stood up and some of them, mainly the older ones, are watching the show with amusement. Then Knickers comes over to the bar and leans sideways on the counter. He gives me a surprisingly sympathetic look. As if he can grasp my confusion, he says, "It's not personal, sweetheart. Those are the rules at the MC and Benny has to respect them."

"But he only spoke to me," I mumble in exasperation. Austin's lips are curled into a promising grin. The tip of his tongue darts out from between his lips and he moistens them. Then he raises his hand and holds up exactly one finger. "You have one free stroke, Benny. Then I'll finish you off."

"What?" I gasp. "Hank?" I chastise in shock and open my eyes. "He's not really hitting him, is he?"

"Relax, little one. It'll be over quickly." He pats my hand like I'm five years old.

"No." I shake my head wildly. "I can't let that happen." I'm halfway to stepping out from behind the bar when Knickers grabs my hand, gently but firmly. "Stay here, little one. Austin can be a moody son of a bitch, but he's fair."

Fair?! This is a really bad joke. I audibly expel the air from my lungs and watch as Austin encourages Benny with a wave of his hand. "Go on!" he shouts.

Benny raises his fists and in the next moment he dashes forward with a big stride. He swings his right fist and misses Austin's chin by a hair's breadth. I squeal and squeeze Hank's hand.

Then they circle each other like predators and it's as if Austin is taunting him and deliberately not landing any hits. A frightening darkness flickers in his blue eyes again and I bite my lower lip. Benny takes advantage of the moment of inattention and delivers a brutal left uppercut to Austin. I squeeze my eyes shut and the next time I open them, Austin is wiping his thumb over his split lip and spitting blood onto the scratched wooden floor of the bar.

"You little fucker!" Austin curses and spits again, this time right at Benny's feet. This is followed by two quick steps and a combination of uppercuts and frontal punches to Benny's ribcage.

A deafening crack followed by pain-filled moans pierces the bar and my ears. Benny sinks to his knees and a breath later Austin pushes him to the floor and starts hitting him with wild combinations of punches. All I can see is spurting blood and hear loud, uncontrolled breathing.

I pull my hand out from under Hank's and flee to the back of the bar. As soon as I reach the back office, I push through the crack in the door and close the door behind me. Salty tears run down my cheeks and I try to contain the adrenaline rushing through my body. I stroke my cheeks, then my hair and walk in circles.

My head is spinning. What the hell just happened? What have I got myself into?

"Fuck," I mumble breathlessly. "Benny…what have I done," I cry. I throw myself onto the brown leather couch and pull my legs close to my chest, crying bitter tears. I am overcome by a wave of guilt. It all happened so fast - one second I was wiping the table and the next Austin was pining over some poor, innocent guy…because of me. I am the reason for this outburst of brutal, bloody violence. My chest rises and falls heavily and I gasp desperately for air. Tears blur my vision and I sniffle, and sniffle. It's no use and within a few minutes my nose is completely blocked and my cheeks are burning from the salty tears. I wipe my face roughly with my hands.

I'm so lost in my thoughts and tears that I don't even notice the heavy footsteps approaching me. It's only when the office door opens and Austin steps into the room that I raise my head, startled. My legs tremble and my fingers feel numb and cold as I struggle to my feet. Defiantly, I jut my chin up and sniffle: "I didn't invite you in."

"You didn't have to, babygirl," he replies harshly.

Damn it, go away, I plead silently and when he doesn't move, I scrutinize him from head to toe. My gaze first falls on his clenched fists. His knuckles are swollen, partially burst open and full of blood. I feel sick in an instant. I quickly turn my eyes away from his hands and look him in the face. His ice-blue eyes gleam wildly and impenetrably in my direction and I bite my lower lip. His lower lip has split open and blood is slowly drying on his chin. I swallow hard and turn away from him. "I don't want to see you. Please go away!"

Again, there is no answer. I don't hear the door either and the next moment I feel two warm, large hands resting on my upper arms and turning me around. His arrogance pisses me off and I want to scream at him, but at the same time I'm terrified of him. Austin has just beaten up a man…over an innocent conversation.

"That's not true," he insists in a gentle voice. "Why are you crying?" he whispers. He hugs me to him with one arm while he lets the fingers of his other hand glide tenderly over my cheek. I avert my gaze and close my eyes. His fingertips trace the contours of my face and when his thumb strokes my lower lip, his breath catches and I open my eyes. Austin looks me in the eye, and I return his smoldering, bewildered gaze before his shapely mouth catches my attention. Despite the swelling already setting in and the dried blood, his lips are still pink and full. For the first time in my twenty-one years of life, I want to be kissed. Even if all the circumstances speak against it.

Damn it, kiss me!, I beg him silently.

"You hit him," I whisper in a trembling voice. I'm paralyzed, completely captivated by him. I stare at his mouth, spellbound, and Austin looks down at me with a darkly veiled gaze. He cups his palm around my cheek and chin. His touch forces me to lean towards him.

"He was looking at you," he explains and I stare at him, confused.

What? "Just like every other guest tonight. Do you even hear what you're saying?" I ask, frowning. I raise my arms and press my palms to his chest, which turns out to be a clear mistake. He doesn't move an inch and feeling his warm, firm muscles and heartbeat under my fingers feels so wrong and yet so outrageously good.

"Even if I explained it to you, you wouldn't understand," he sighs and strokes my cheek again. This time his cracked knuckles touch my skin and I flinch. Austin shows no pain, though. "The rules in MC are very specific. He had to understand that there are rules, and you're one of them, babygirl." He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and shakes his head almost imperceptibly, as if to answer my unspoken question. When he opens his eyes again, the expression in his blue eyes is distant and there is a steely determination in them.

"Elizabeth, I'm exactly what you don't want out of life," he whispers.

Excuse me? How does he know that? Where did this sudden change of direction come from? Surely that's my decision alone, even if he's absolutely right and my reason applauds his words. My thoughts swirl out of disappointment at his confusing rejection. "You don't want me! I'm fucked up," he announces, swallowing hard. "I'd only break you," he adds hoarsely, gently pushing me away from him.

No!, my subconscious screams as he detaches himself from me and half turns away. Suddenly I feel very lonely and exposed. He watches my reaction carefully and a thought flashes through my mind: I wanted to be kissed, I made it damn obvious, and he didn't do it. He doesn't desire me.

I feel like a naive fool.

"You can't just say something like that and then walk away!" I mutter indignantly. The disappointment at his rejection and the cryptic meaning of his words make me angry. I grab his wrist and force him to look at me. "What do you mean I'm part of these MC rules?"

Austin looks at me silently for a while. Then he nods slowly and licks his lips. "Okay babygirl," he murmurs softly.

How can just a few words sound so enticing? I let go of his wrist and sit down on the brown couch. I look at him expectantly and watch as he somehow searches for the right words. Wow! I didn't think it was possible that someone like him - dark and dangerous - could be speechless; reaching for the right words.

"Some of us enjoy certain…privileges because of our rank in the club. We eat first, drink first, pick women," he pauses and rubs his knuckles together. "I picked you, and that includes the other guys keeping their distance from you."

"You did what? Picked me out, reserved me?" I shout at him angrily and stand up. I don't normally tend to use loud words and I immediately lower my voice again. Shouting has never helped anyone.

I straighten my shoulders and stare at Austin. My pulse starts to race. Something tightens in my stomach and the next moment I push past him wordlessly to leave the room. I can't believe it - I feel objectified, like an thing that can be reserved. My eyes start to sting again and I bite the inside of my cheek. This evening is a nightmare. I just want it to be over and I can leave. I'm sure if I find Callie and tell her I'm not feeling well, she'll let me go.

Just as I grasp the doorknob, an arm wraps around my waist from behind and spins me around. I collide with Austin's chest and gasp in shock. His fingertips tighten their grip around my waist and squeeze the fabric of my dress. He grabs my chin with his other hand and forces me to look him in the eye. My lower lip trembles and my choppy breath collides with his as I open my lips slightly. Austin stares at me, dark and promising. Is he going to kiss me after all?, I wonder, and in the next moment I receive a powerful jab between the ribs. My inner voice warns me and shrieks wildly. Fight him off, growls my subconscious. I silence it.

"Yes and no…I was protecting you with it, Elizabeth! Don't you understand that at all?" he asks, his jaw grinding.

How is he trying to protect me? He reserves me and puts his brand on me, and then?

"Protecting me? You're kinding right, Austin." I roll my eyes and press my hands against his chest. I desperately try to break away from him, but he won't let me escape. I turn my head jerkily and tear myself away from an engaging touch.

I hit his damn hard chest again. Son of a bitch!

He doesn't budge an inch and I realize how my nerves are slipping away from me repeatedly that evening. My blows become more uncoordinated, sluggish and weaker until my palms are just resting on his chest.

He lifts my chin again and I reluctantly give in. "Would you rather I kept my mouth shut and let some random guy throw dirty comments at you, grab your ass or pull you out of their laps, huh?"

I shake my head dejectedly and pause for a moment. I take a moment to memorize the sight of him. I have him to thank for the fact that I have mostly been left alone for the last two months, neither adjusted nor pulled onto any laps…after all the silence and my silent, bittersweet pining, he is still looking at me. Why me? I don't understand.

We remain silent. All thoughts are blown away and what remains is darkness and emptiness in my head. I risk a furtive glance up at him and at his lips. When Austin notices, his lips twitch.

He tightens the grip of his arm around my waist a little more and presses my upper body against his. My hands are now trapped between our bodies and suddenly the atmosphere in the room changes. Maybe it's because we're in such close quarters, or maybe it's because the hint of blood mingles with his unmistakable scent and numbs my senses. Tense, heated anticipation is in the air. My breathing and pulse quicken and he lowers his head a little. His eyes shimmer like liquid ice water and I bite my lip.

"Oh, shit!" he curses. "Maybe I'll regret this later, but I want to break you so badly, Elizabeth." He wraps one hand around the back of my neck and before I know it, his hips are pressing against mine. My God! I can't move my hands and desperately stand on my toes as one of his lips touches mine and he kisses me. His lips soften beyond measure and I moan into his mouth as I taste the blood. His tongue explores my mouth and then my own glides over his. I slowly feel my way forward and then our tongues begin an erotic dance. He spins me around and pushes me backwards a few steps until my ass touches the edge of the desk. I can feel his erection against my stomach. Wow… it's explosive.

We are both breathing heavily when the kiss ends. "You're amazing and beautiful," he gasps.

Beautiful. The compliment brings a blush to my cheeks. Austin thinks I'm beautiful. I risk a glance into his glowing eyes.

"Have you ever been kissed by anyone?"

"No," I whisper back. I do my best not to sink into the floor with embarrassment. Well…maybe Bobby tried to kiss me once in high school…never mind. It was childish and not worth mentioning.

"How is it that no guy has knocked you out yet? I don't get it. Men must be crazy about you." Suddenly my mouth is numb. Austin runs his fingers down the back of my neck and twists my braid around his wrist, forcing me to look him in the eye. I suck in the electrifying air around us. He gives me a wolfish grin, and I promptly feel that strange tugging in my abdomen again.

"You really are pure, so perfect." His thumb glides over my lower lip. His words act like an accelerant on me; my blood boils. He leans down to me, kisses me passionately and sucks on my lower lip. I moan and he smiles against my lips. "How old are you, Elizabeth?" he then asks in a low, raspy voice and I frown at his curiosity.

Why does he suddenly want to know? I swallow and open my mouth. "I'm twenty-one, almost twenty-two."

Something dark flashes in his eyes that I can't place. "How old are you?" I ask before I can stop myself.

A shadow flickers across his eyes and he continues to trace my bottom lip. "Thirty-three."

Oh man! There are several years between us. I slowly pull my hands back and intertwine my fingers.

"I really should leave you alone. You're far too young for me. Far too beautiful and I shouldn't want to break you."

It's that little compliment again. It's the second time he's said that he thinks I'm beautiful. I try to hide my stupid grin. Do you hear me now? He wants to break you?. my inner voice is shouting at me. My subconscious raises its head weakly. At least it's still alive. It's been suspiciously quiet for the last few minutes. Where was it when I needed it?

"What happens if you stay?" I whisper and his breath catches. "What happens then?", I add.

He grins darkly. "I don't know if you're naïve or just inexperienced, but you're remarkably brave," he says, his voice hoarse.

His words encourage me. They set me completely on fire and I press myself closer to his body. My hand trembles as I lift it and slide it along his neck. Austin freezes at the touch and blinks about as fast as my heart beats. My eyes fall on his lips again and I blush. He kissed me with those lips…wow.

I take the next step and run my fingers from his neck to his cheek to his chin. The blond stubble feels surprisingly soft and I look at his slightly swollen lips. The blood has dried and a crust is slowly forming. My fingertips hover in the air and I hold my breath with a pounding heart as I touch his lips. "Does it hurt?"

I don't know who this hurts more. Him or me. Austin stands perfectly still, not making a move. Only his fingers twitch around my waist and send pleasant shivers down my spine. "Not really. I've had far worse injuries after a fight," he explains with a sphinx smile. He opens his mouth slightly and licks my fingertips with his tongue. I gasp and then it takes my breath away. Why is that so sexy?

"Would you feel better if you tended to my wounds?" he whispers, hitting the mark with his words. I would really feel better if I knew that nothing was wrong with him. Not really I mean…my inner goddess sleepily lifts her head as she realizes we're about to touch Austin again. Suddenly she is wide awake and full of energy.

I nod gently and he releases me with a confident grin. My breathing is shallow; I can't take my eyes off him. He grabs a first aid kit from the filing cabinet next to the couch and places it on the desk next to me.

"Ready?", he asks.

"Hmmm," I hum and he puts his hands on my hips. He lifts me up in a flash and sits me on the tabletop. I squeak and open my eyes. Now I'm almost at eye level with him and he smiles in amusement at my reaction.

I turn my gaze away from him and take the first aid kit in my hands. I open the zipper and examine the contents. There are plasters, bandages, cleaning cloths, gloves and… condoms. My cheeks flash deep red. It's not really much, but it will be enough. I press my lips together in concentration and think hard about what to start with. I've never treated anyone after a fight before.

"Clean first, then treat", he helps me out.

Then I expel the unconsciously held air from my lungs and grab a bottle of disinfectant. I pour some of the blue, alcoholic liquid onto a white cloth and hesitate, muttering, "It'll probably sting."

Austin's eyes twinkle in amusement. "Go on, babygirl. I can take it."

I dab gently over his forehead, his cheeks, and when I reach his lips, his hands suddenly settle on my thighs, clasping with gentle pressure. My movements stutter and he grins smugly. What a bastard!

I squint slightly and press the cloth against his lips harder than necessary, wiping away the dried blood. Austin hisses softly and now I'm the one smiling with satisfaction. Ha!

"I didn't know you could be sadistic," he teases, watching me put the cloth away and reach for some ointment. A wave of heat chases through my body again.

"I'm not," I contradict and demand: "Hold still", I command then.

The corners of his mouth twitch, but he holds still. I put a little ointment on my index finger and stroke his eyebrow, his left cheek and his lips. He breathes in loudly through his nose while I concentrate on my work.

"Just keep telling yourself that," Austin murmurs, and a feeling of hot lust flashes through me. He stands in front of me, looks me in the eye. He's so damn sexy.

I ignore his words and ask instead: "Have you been caught anywhere else?"

"I don't know." He shrugs and then whispers playfully, "But you're welcome to look, Elizabeth."

I gasp for air. He's clearly taking the piss.

"I'm serious, Austin."

His fingers twitch around my thighs again and squeeze lightly. His palms are warm and rough. Every slightest movement of his hands makes all the senses in my body sing on high alert.

"Me too, babygirl." His hands wander up my thighs and reach the hem of my dress. My heart stops beating.

"Do you have any idea how seductive you are, Elizabeth?" He lets his hands wander tenderly over my thighs and pushes the red, fluffy fabric up. I automatically spread my legs for him and he steps closer to me. "Do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you?", he adds as I whimper softly.

The muscles deep inside me contract deliciously. I would love to close my eyes, but the wild expression in his blue eyes hypnotizes me. Unpredictable waves of lust and darkness break in his eyes and I want to drown in them. He releases one hand from my thigh and I immediately miss the feel of his warm fingers there. But then he curves his hand half around my chin, half down my neck and leans in for a short, sweet kiss.

"Once you say yes, there's no going back," he whispers and as I realize he's not only offering me a warning, but also a way out of this messed up, heated situation, my nerves are completely shot. I breathe in and out frantically. I can almost feel the chaotic feelings - or is it the hormones? -that are coursing through my body. The voice of reason calls out to me and holds out its small hand. Ready to take flight with me, but I stare at Austin unblinking. I want him so much, even though all reason rebels inside me. I wrap my hands around his upper arms and feel his firm biceps.

His blond hair is tousled, his black shirt clings tightly to his chest - his blue eyes flash out at you. "Yes, please," I whisper. Honestly, I'm not sure what exactly I want from him. I'm just sure that I don't want him to let go of me and walk away.

"Please what?", he asks teasingly. His gaze is very intense, half in the shadows and half in the dim light of the office.

"Please kiss me, touch me, Austin." ...fuck me. As soon as the words have left my lips, he kisses me again. So wishes can come true after all.

He breaks away from me, his face only centimetres away from mine. "I'm not exactly known for being gentle, babygirl. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. You know that, don't you?" He sounds very serious, almost desperate, and his eyes are glowing. His words surprise me.

Who would have thought that this handsome, tough biker would care about my well-being. "I would never do anything I didn't want to." As soon as I get the words over my lips, I'm not so sure anymore. Right now, I'd probably do anything he asked of me. My answer seems to satisfy him, though.

"Show me!", I demand and the corners of his mouth twitch furiously. His lips meet mine again and the kiss is unlike anything I've ever experienced before. Not that there's much to compare it to.

He strokes the contours of my lips with his tongue and asks for entrance. I open my mouth and our tongues touch. A muffled moan escapes me and he intensifies the kiss. Then his lips leave mine and he breathes feather-light, moist kisses on my jaw and neck. When he starts to suck on a sensitive spot under my ear, I shiver.

"You react very intensely," he whispers huskily. "Your skin is so soft and you smell good," he adds.

Why does he say he can't be affectionate? His words make my arms and legs melt and heat rushes through my veins.

Austin lets go of my chin and grabs my own with his hand, pressing it to his chest. My fingertips twitch and I feel a surge of nervousness race through me. He wants me to touch him, it occurs to me, and I run my palm hesitantly over his bulging pecs. He pulls his head back so far that he can look at me and I breathe heavily. I avoid his gaze and continue to stroke his covered upper body. Despite the fabric, I can feel his warmth and the hardness of his muscles. Both his hands rest on my thighs again and this time he doesn't stop at the hem of my dress. He grips the hem and crumples the fabric in his fists, pulling it up until he catches a glimpse of my white lace panties. Luckily I'm wearing nice underwear!

"Fuck," he growls and licks his lips. "Your skin is flawless. I want to smell and taste you. and get you all dirty, baybgirl."

His uninhibited, rough words totally arouse me. I turn red. His dirty words are in stark contrast to his gentle touch. His fingers glide over the insides of my thighs and he spreads them wider. I'm putty in his hands. He exhales audibly and closes his eyes as he runs the knuckles of his right hand over the soft lace fabric. I gasp for air and my toes curl in my shoes. Oh…how can I feel that touch down there?

"I love delicate lace," he murmurs, pushing the red fabric of my dress further up and stroking the lace pattern of my panties with the fingers of one hand. His next kiss is demanding, his tongue and lips teasing mine. I cling to him and crumple the fabric of his black shirt. He presses his body against mine, pushing my upper body back until I'm lying half on the tabletop. One hand clasps my bare thigh, the other moves down my back to my waist and my bum. As he thrusts his hips forward, I feel his erection.

I let out a muffled moan and swallow his quick breath as he kisses me again. I carefully stroke his neck and hair. It is soft and yet unruly. I tug gently and he moans hoarsely. He runs one hand over my collarbone and pushes me down onto my elbows with the flat of his palm on my chest. The cold wooden board collides with my bare arms and sends shivers down my body.

I expect him to undress me, but he doesn't. He lets go of me, straightens up and sinks to his knees, grips both my thighs and pulls me jerkily towards the edge of the table. He's not going to, or? My inner goddess swings her hips in boundless anticipation, while a little voice in my head whispers doubts. However, I don't have time to get to grips with the chaos in my head. My legs float in the air and then they suddenly rest on his broad shoulders and I close my eyes, fluttering. He kisses the inside of my thighs and gently scratches my hip bone with his teeth. He gently nibbles and kisses his way from my left hip bone to my belly button and sinks his tongue there. I moan again.

Seeing him on his knees in front of me and feeling his mouth on my skin is unexpected and exciting. My whole body is on fire and the excitement comes over me in waves. I try in vain to control my loud breathing. He looks up at me with his blue eyes under his incredibly long eyelashes, kneads my thighs and licks his lips. His nose grazes my skin down there. Before I know it, he leans forward and pushes his nose between my thighs. I can feel him down there. His hot breath collides with my own warmth. Oh God!

"Hmmm…you smell so good," he murmurs, inhaling deeply. I let myself fall back onto the tabletop and chew my lip. Something seems to explode deep inside me.

He blows lightly against my covered centre and I shiver. "Ohh," I whisper and he chuckles. He spreads my legs wider and bends my knees upwards. I'm completely exposed and can't think a sensible thought as Austin drags his knuckles over my centre. Although the touch is light as a feather, I can feel the reverberations all the way to my abdomen. I press a hand to my mouth and gasp for air. Oh boy, that's intense.

When I briefly lift my head, there is a sensual expression in his eyes and he lowers his lips. His lips move over the thin lace of my panties and he growls. The vibration reverberates deep inside me. One of his hands grabs my briefs and pushes them aside, revealing me and then I feel his lips on my bare skin for the first time. I moan, feel the pulsation between my thighs and how wet I am. Please, I beg silently as one of his arms wraps around my stomach and stops me from wriggling around. I clutch his forearm and dig my fingernails into his skin.

"Have you ever touched yourself and brought yourself to orgasm?" he whispers smokily.

I try my best to sound offended. "Yes," I breathe breathlessly - but none of my touching has felt anything like what you do.

"Maybe one day I'll watch you rub that sweet little pearl and moan breathlessly."

In the depths of my foggy mind, the thought arises that I might even like it. To see him in front of me, half naked, and his eyes are only on me. That would be definitly something.

His lips open and with the next breath I feel his tongue. The tip of his tongue slowly and sensually circles my clit. His fingers part my labia and when he briefly lifts his head and blows against my wet centre, my body rears up. But Austin holds my hips in an iron grip and I sigh in sweet agony. He doesn't let up and continues his sensual assault.

"Now let me explore this litte thight hole." He strokes my entrance with one finger and I feel my muscles tense and pulsate down there. He pushes a finger inside me, again and again.

When he stops circling my clitoris and starts sucking lightly instead, my vision blurs and all my muscles tense up. Something knots in my stomach and I chase after a tingling flicker. His finger pumps into me at a steady pace, becoming more urgent as he adds another. A cry of pleasure escapes me as he speeds up.

"Please," I beg and throw my head back. My lips open and my legs tense and tremble.

"Let go, babygirl." His teeth scrape over my clitoris and he slides two fingers inside me. Just before he pulls them out again, he curves his fingertips and grazes a sensitive spot inside me. My eyes go black and I see stars. I cry out and freeze. The madness! I've never experienced anything like it.

My eyelids are heavy as I flutter them open again. He lifts his eyes and looks at me with a satisfied, dark grin. I return his smile shyly and am sure that I have just collided with the sun. I feel like Icarus who flew too close to the sun and got burnt.

I come down from my orgasm with a gasp. His hands glide over my thighs and he slowly rises from his knees. I prop myself up on my elbows and watch as he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls the fabric over his head. Oh wow…Adonis and David's michelangelo can pack their bags next to him. Austin is outrageously hot. A light film of sweat glistens on his skin and I wander with his eyes over the peaks and valleys of his pronounced muscles. My mouth is watering and I'm suddenly overcome with the desire to taste him on my lips. I straighten up into a sitting position and reach out for him.

Excitement and triumph dance around in his gaze and he breathes heavily. "How was that?" he asks in a raspy voice.

I blink and think about what would be a suitable answer. Exciting, explosive… definitely world-shattering. "Good," I whisper back. He laughs and grabs my face with both hands. Then he kisses me and I taste my own arousal…it's dirty…and exciting…and feels far too good.

"You're killing me. How can you be so innocent?"" With his fingers he gently grips my wrist and directs my movements up his chest and along his ribcage, then down to his stomach and my fingers graze the path of blond hair disappearing under his waistband. I stare at the spot where our hands rest and widen my eyes as I see the bulge in his jeans.

I swallow hard and there's that promising, dangerous grin on his lips again. He lets go of my wrist and unbuttons his jeans, then pulls down the zip. I hold my breath. His palm is pressed against his erection and he closes his fist around his cock. I slide my fingers over his upper stomach muscles and they tense under my touch. It's a heavenly feeling to be so turned on. He pushes his jeans down and kicks his boots off his feet. Then he's standing in front of me in just black, tight-fitting boxer shorts and when his fingers slip under the fabric, I bite my lip. Tense excitement slowly builds up and watching him touch himself blows my mind… insane!

Austin takes half a step closer to me and wraps his other hand around my chin. I crane my head and sigh as he kisses me again. It's wild and hard on the edge of pain as he presses my head back and stretches my neck muscles. This time I feel braver and search for his with my tongue. He moans in surprise at my initiative into my mouth. I slide my hands further down his stomach and touch his forearm. He's still pumping his hard cock and I wrap my fingers around his forearm and wrist.

"Let me…" I stammer awkwardly. His muscles quiver under my fingers. "Show me how…"

He nods and pulls off his boxer shorts. My eyes widen. His cock is big. The tip is red and wet, and he grabs my hand again. "Keep your fingers loose, babygirl," he instructs me and I obey. When I look into his eyes, there's a lewd grin on his lips. I want to punch him in the face, but I'm too nervous and curious about what's going to happen next. He clearly enjoys my stunned expression and lays a quick kiss on my lips. It's smooth, wide and beautiful. I want to touch him, but I don't know how.

Austin leans down to my ear. His lips brush the sensitive skin there and I lick my lips in anticipation. Hm…all right.

He guides my hand towards his penis and whispers. "Close your fingers." I close my fingers into a fist and gasp. His cock is much harder than I expected in my hand, but also soft and warm. "First slow and firm," he whispers, moving my hand up and down, and his eyes shimmer like boundless oceans as he looks at me. He sets the pace for my movements. My mouth is slightly open, I lower my gaze and watch our hands glide up and down, mesmerised. It's fascinating how the wet tip of his cock keeps disappearing and reappearing between my fingers. I wonder what he tastes like?

"That's it, babygirl." He lets go of my hand and cups my face with both hands, then leans his forehead against mine and closes his eyes in pleasure. Seeing him where…aroused and out of control fires me up and I grow bolder. When he thrusts his hips forward slightly, I involuntarily tighten my grip.

A deep groan echoes from his chest. Ha! He likes it and a new, electrifying warmth spreads through my chest. It's a sound I'd like to hear more often. I remember Callie and the other girls talking about blokes and how they like it. So I speed up my movements a little and at the same time carefully slide my thumb over his glans. I watch his reaction carefully.

"Shit", he growls in a deep voice. Austin opens his eyes, and I repeat the slide of my thumb. I also start to twist my fist a little with the up and down movements and get another deep, hoarse moan from Austin. He's both hard and soft, like steel, covered in velvet, and when I switch hands, bringing my wet thumb to my lips, he tastes amazing, good, a little salty. While I'm not so sure about this flavor, one look at ihim and I don't care. Seeing him so aroused and wild is worth it.

Austin groans and thrusts his hips towards me more and more often. I continue with the twisting pumping movements of my hand. I feel powerful! My tiny little inner goddess is delighted with my skill. I can drive him crazy with my hand. Again I let my thumb glide over his tip and his hips jerk. "Fuck, babygirl and you've never done this before?," he growls and when I make a sign to lean forward, he shakes his head breathlessly.

I bite my lip and shake my head. "Never."

Why not? Before I can sulk, he whispers: "If you curve those pretty pink lips around my cock now, I'll come deep down your throat." I feel the muscles in his legs tighten and he breathes heavily as he closes his hand around my wrist, slowing my movements before pulling my fingers away from his cock.

My pulse quickens as he grabs the hem of my dress and pulls it over my head. Now I'm only wearing my white lace bra. "I'd much rather feel your tight little pussy around my cock when I come."

I shudder at his crude words and he flicks my bra open, slips it over my shoulders and as the cool room air brushes my breasts, my nipples harden. His fingers glide over my one breast as he kisses my neck. He rolls his thumb over my nipple and I feel a longing tug between my thighs. His lips leave wet kisses on my neck, my collarbone and when he cups my one nipple, I threaten to burst.

The next second he kisses me again passionately, completely wildly and wraps his arms around my back. He lifts me off the tabletop and stands me on my own feet. I cling to him with wobbly legs. But before I can wrap my arms around his naked torso, he turns me around so that my bare back touches his chest. He grab a condom package. What is he up to?

"You're really pretty, Elizabeth," he whispers and I shudder. His hands wander over my shoulders and down my arms. Then they rest on my hips, exploring the soft skin of my lower back, and when he slides one palm between my shoulder blades and presses me forward onto the ice-cold tabletop, alarm bells start ringing in my head.

He wants to take me from behind. I press my palms on the tabletop and push against him. His palm presses further into my back and I panic.

No!, my little inner goddess screams indignantly. This is not how she and I had imagined my first time. Part of me resigned myself some time ago to the fact that there would be no roses, candles and sweet words, but being taken from behind… hard, that's absolutely non-negotiable for me.

The echo of Austin's words reverberates through my head. I'm not exactly known for being gentle, babygirl.

I realize that if I don't say anything now, he will take me from behind. He's probably used to getting his way and the women he normally fucks have long since resigned themselves to not experiencing romance or expressing their desires. But I'm certainly no whore…I grit my teeth as he traces the contours of my ass with his fingers.

I feel his warm body firmly behind me and as his fingers slide between my thighs, I press my legs together, even though it feels damn good to be touched by him. I lift my head, "No!"

He pauses in his movements. "No, what?" Austin asks roughly.

I take a deep breath and think about what to say. "No," I repeat stupidly. "I don't want it like this. You're not going to take me from behind like one of your whores."

The pressure of his palm on my back finally disappears and I straighten up. When I turn around, there's an indefinable expression in his eyes and I swallow. He looks so lost; like I've slapped him in the face. Oh, Austin.

For a fraction of a moment, I can see through the walls he's built around himself. He frowns in confusion. Austin almost doesn't understand my objections, but then it hits me like a blow. How could he know otherwise? That's the way he lives, and it makes me a little sad.

It's the first time I've seen something like vulnerability flicker in his eyes. Austin seems speechless and overwhelmed. So if I want this to work, I have to do something.

I don't have any sexual experience, but I know what I don't want. That includes a hard fuck from behind. I sigh softly and wrap my arms around his chest. Then I stand on my tiptoes and lift my chin until my lips hover over his.

He finally wakes up from his stupor and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is different - somehow full of emotion and when he puts one arm around my upper back and the other around my bottom, I press myself against him. We are both breathing heavily when the kiss ends and he suddenly lifts me up. I automatically wrap my legs around his hips and he walks over to the couch. He sits down with me on his lap and his hard cock slides right between my labia. I freeze and shudder at the same time.

"Once you say yes, there's no going back," he mumbles and it feels like deja vu.

"Please take me," I whisper and press myself against his naked body. I don't know where the courage comes from, but I lean my cheek against his, lick the shell of his ear and rock my hips against his lap. "You're not going to break me right now, Austin," I add in a soft, gentle voice. Even though there are some doubts in my mind about that, I continue to encourage him. At least not immediately and completely, my little subconscious grumbles.

I dispel the unpleasant thoughts in my head and blow a kiss on his jaw. His hands glide over my back and within a breath he has spun us round and my back is pressed into the seat of the couch. I blink and shiver like a deer in headlights. So it's really happening. Bloody hell! Now I'm getting a little scared. I think of his big cock. How is that supposed to happen? How?

Austin pushes his knees between my thighs and leans over me. His arms are propped up next to my head and I stare up at him from below. My mouth is dry as dust and I whimper softly.

He slides one of his hands round the back of my neck and holds my head in place. As he lowers himself onto his elbow, our naked bodies touch and his hard pecs rub over my sensitive, hard nipples. I gasp and follow his words as he murmurs, surprisingly calmly, "Pull your knees up a little."

I look between our bodies and chew on my lip as the tip of his cock rubs over my clit and then slides along my labia. A pleasant muffled sound suddenly hums in my ears and I don't know whether it's me moaning or him. "Take a deep breath and relax, babygirl. I'll let it pass quickly."

I lift my head and take a shaky breath. I wrap my arms around his ribcage and press my fingers into his warm, firm skin in joyful yet anxious anticipation.

His glans slides further down and as he pushes his hips forwards a little, he finds my entrance. His blue eyes glow intensely and unyielding desire, lust and the devil of darkness dance a tango in them. I close my eyes and take another breath. Then he lowers his forehead against mine and whispers in a smoky voice, "I'm going to enjoy breaking you, Elizabeth. Quick and dirty until there's nothing left of you, babygirl." I open my eyes and he thrusts his hips forward, penetrating me deep with a single thrust.

The unaccustomed stretch burns and the feeling of being completely full squeezes all the air out of your lungs. I gasp for air and squeeze my eyes shut. A whimper escapes me and when Austin's fingertips twitch on my neck and he kisses my cheeks, I realise I'm crying.

"Ah, you're so fucking tight," he whispers and kisses me. All my muscles are tensed to the breaking point and only when his lips part and his teeth pull lightly on my lower lip does a little tension leave my body.

I'm out of breath and a ball of fire races down my spine and explodes between my thighs as he slowly pulls back and then slides back inside me. More fluid and deeper this time; I run my hands from his ribcage to his cheek to his hair. I bury the fingers of one hand in his unruly hair and tilt my head back as the burning sensation turns into a less urgent pain and subsides.

"That's it!" he praises me and slides out of me, only to penetrate me more firmly the next moment.

I press my lips into the crook of his neck and lick and suck at his skin. "Austin," I moan, overwhelmed.

"You take me so well, babygirl." He gyrates his hips and new sensations race through my body again. My toes curl and I wrap one leg around his hips. He sucks on my neck and scratches my sweaty skin with his mouth and teeth open. "You smell so good."

I melt under him. Why does he say he can't do the romantic thing?

Before I can follow the loose thread of thoughts in my head, he lifts his head and his eyes lock on me. His fingers slide from my neck to my throat and wrap around it. I blink at him under half-lowered lids and then his thumb slides over my parted lips and he grins wolfishly. His eyes darken as my hot breath hits his thumb and then something unexpected happens. The grip of his hand around my neck tightens. He squeezes the air out of me with controlled pressure. It's close to the pain threshold and I panic.

The corners of his mouth twitch devilishly and his eyes darken. He savours the hint of my panic and as I slide my hands out of his hair and around his wrist, he intensifies his gyrating hip movements. I groan again and notice a tingling sensation building in the depths of my muscles…just like before when he knelt between my legs. I swallow restricted by his hand and the grin on his lips darkens into something…more dangerous, more unbreakable.

In something that really scares me. Scraps of memories from the past few hours appear before my eyes. Austin's first grab for my wrist at the bar, then the gruelling back and forth of our gazes across the evening, to the fight with Benny, and his lips between my thighs.

Austin narrows his eyes and licks his pink lips. His thrusts alternate between fast, and slow and hard. Then he changes the angle of his hips, leaning from his elbow back onto his hand. He wraps his fingers around my neck a few shades tighter and I gasp slightly.

Panic flutters over my body and I try to squeeze my legs together. But with him between my legs and over my body, I hardly have a chance to defend myself or move. He enjoys my reluctance and takes pleasure in my burgeoning panic. Sick bastard!

"Yes," he grins devilishly. "Lose yourself in desire, babygirl." His thumbnail traces my lip and then slides into my mouth. My vision blurs and I suck on his thumb. He growls and suddenly there's no holding back. Austin speeds up his movements; sliding in and out of me, again and again with heavy breaths, and I melt beneath him.

The panic and my desire for redemption are close together. I can't keep the two feelings apart as they blur and send hot, cold shivers through me.

"You look so pretty underneath me," he whispers. "So fragile," he pushes hard again. "So wonderfully dishevelled," another hard thrust. "…and so fucking wet around my cock. Do you like that, babygirl?" His thrusts are hard on the edge of pain and as the tingling continues to brew in my stomach, spreading through my arms and legs, my eyes begin to water.

"Austin", I shout. Go easy on me, I beg silently. The grip of my hands around his forearm weakens and as he realises this, he loosens his vice-like grip and oxygen floods my airways.

I gasp and scream with pleasure as my orgasm approaches. "Come for me," Austin whispers, breathing heavily, and I burst into a million pieces. He thrusts hard a few more times until he comes too and pours my name into me, panting.

While I try to calm my racing pulse, my thoughts sink into chaos. Wow… that was amazing. That was… erotic and psychotic.

He lowers himself onto his elbows and presses his entire body weight onto me. He breathes loudly and heavily into the crook of my neck and I pull out my arms, which are now trapped between us, and wrap them around his neck. His muscles twitch under my fingers and he is still inside me. Then he lifts his head slowly and looks at me with a dark gaze. The unstoppable storm in his eyes has receded and for a brief moment I think I recognise something like warmth and tenderness on his face, but then he shuts up again.

Austin kisses me softly and then murmurs as he looks at me, "I've never seen soemthing that was so beautiful while I was breaking it."

It's strange that he says something like that. Basically, I don't feel broken, just cracked open. I swallow, barely comprehending his words. Austin has cracked my hard shell, and sticky, sweet infatuation oozes out of me.

He slowly slides out of me and I close my eyes. "Oh." I wince at the unfamiliar sensation and immediately wrap my arms tighter around his back as he try to stand up. "Please stay. Just a minute."

Confusion flickers in his eyes again, but he nods almost imperceptibly and lowers his face into the crook of my neck. To be honest, I don't know what I'm doing, but asking him to stay feels terribly intimate. Austin isn't the kind of guy you cuddle with, but a tiny spark of hope ignites in my chest as he relaxes over me and stays put.

I run my fingers through his slightly sweaty hair and enjoy the weight of his body on me. "Are you okay?" he asks, still hiding his face in the crook of my neck.

I hesitate and close my eyes. For a moment, I hush inside my body. A bittersweet burning sensation sets in between my legs now that the arousal has subsided and my muscles feel heavy. Tomorrow I will have sore muscles everywhere. A giggle escapes me and he lifts his head. I slap a hand over my mouth and mumble, "Sorry. It's just so ironic that you ask me that after you…well…choked me."

His blue eyes glow. "I'm well aware of that," he says dryly, lowering his gaze to my neck. His fingertips gently stroke the sensitive skin and I sigh silently. "Was I too rough? I know I can be pretty wild", he adds.

Pretty wild and hot. A little scary and controlling, but hot. I give him a gentle smile and kiss his jaw. "I'm okay, but thank you."

Now that he has cracked my hard shell, the feelings just bubble out of me. Butterflies are dancing around in my stomach and I know that things will only get worse from here on out.

I feel strangely cared for as he rubs his knuckles over my neck and whispers: "Your skin is so beautifully red from my hands." He drags his thumbnail across the edge of my chin and my toes tense. My body twitches beneath him and he grins triumphantly.

Then he leans towards me and kisses me tenderly. Just as I'm about to lose myself in his lips, he ends the kiss and makes an effort to get up.

That's it now, isn't it, I think disappointedly. No, that can't be all. My subconscious lazily lifts its little head and blinks at me. Where has it been for the last hour? It eyes me skeptically and shakes my shoulders. Pull yourself together, Elizabeth. Understand that he doesn't stand for romance. He's rough, wild and unrestrained. I grin mischievously at the thought.

I watch Austin stand up and reach for his boxers and jeans. He quickly puts them on and when he reaches for his shirt, I'm on my feet in a flash and pick it up off the floor. He gives me a wolfish, playful look.

"What are you doing, babygirl?" he asks, clicking his tongue.

I realize I'm still completely naked, and in another situation I'd be damn uncomfortable, but I try to stop him. At the ridiculous performance, my sense of honor props his face in his small hands and shakes his head. Fuck that! This can't be the end.

"I don't want you to go." The words pass my lips before I can stop them and his eyes widen.

Then he looks at me very seriously and comes towards me. He reaches out a hand and curls it around the back of my neck, forcing me to look at him. "I'm not staying the night-guy. I'm just not like that, babygirl," he states dryly.

Everything inside me roars. I know, I know. I press his shirt against my bare breasts with both fists. The bitter disappointment that he wants to leave and leave me alone hits me unexpectedly. Even though the sensible part of me had foreseen all of this.

"So you're done with me now after you broke me?" I sound more emotional than I should. I taste the bitter truth of my words on my tongue. Austin blinks at me, startled by my emotional outburst, and rubs the back of his neck with one hand.

"Don't do that. Don't make it so hard on yourself, Elizabeth," he murmurs. "You knew what you were getting yourself into. I'm not your prince in shining armor."

I squint my eyes. "Obviously." I sound hurt and biting. He takes a step closer to rip the shirt from my hands. I shake my head, barely noticing. I dare him to do that!

"So I'm only worth one fuck?" I then ask, suppressing the trembling in my voice with all my might. "Got it. that you won't take me out or love me, but do you have to be such a bastard. You just took my virginity and you're so - ah -," I mumble angrily, my tongue flicking out of my mouth. "…such a fucking bastard! Couldn't you at least have had the decency to cuddle me for a few more minutes?"

Austin grinds his jaw and his blue eyes flash emotionlessly. The hardness in his gaze makes my blood freeze in my veins. "It's better if you're angry with me. Hate me if you have to, but don't fall in love with me. You don't want me in your life," he makes it clear and rips the shirt from my hands.

Too late, I think.

"It scares you," I say, startled. As the words slip past my lips, his eyes widen and he freezes in front of me. Apparently I've hit the bull's eye. "You finally care about something in life besides your MC and now you're trying to push me away by being disgusting to me. Stop it, you son of a bitch!"

Austin growls. "No, you're wrong." He leans his lips so close to my ear that I can feel his warm breath on my skin. "That didn't mean anything to me with you. It was just a fuck."

My pulse quickens and I jut my chin out. Even though his words hit me hard, I blink into his eyes and murmur, "If it didn't mean anything to you, you can spend the night with me. It wouldn't change anything, right?" I raise an eyebrow defiantly, and the moment Austin inhales loudly through his nose and licks his lips, I know I've hit his sense of honor.

Maybe my provocation is pathetic and maybe I'm making a fool of myself because it really meant nothing to him, but in the way his muscles tense and the corners of his mouth twitch, I know I've found a vulnerable spot.

"Fine," he grumbles in a low voice. "As soon as the sun comes up, I'm gone. Come here." I can hardly believe my triumph and I stifle a squeak with all my might. His big hand clasps mine and pulls me towards him. "Lift your arms," he instructs me and pulls his muscle shirt over me. Then he picks up my panties and helps me into them. I watch him without comment and bathe in the tingling waves of my little victory.

He walks with me by the hand to the couch and lies down. His back is half leaning against the backrest and when he spreads his legs and pulls me between them, I almost trip over my feet. Austin wraps his arms around me and looks tense as I rest my cheek on his bare chest. I close my eyes and just before I fall into a dreamless sleep, I feel his fingers stroking my hair and a soft, husky voice. "Maybe you just mean too much to me."

Hey FELLAS ❤️

OMG, I can't even believe I wrote this emotional and steamy adventure! Please commet down below your thoughts and feedback! It would mean the world to me if you reblog the post, show it to your friends and community or like it 🫢

It would make me the happierst author in the world if you (my fave people) commet down belong.

tagging: @bloodynereid @obsessedvibee @avonne-writes @austinbutlermischief @austinbutlerslovers @hogans-heroes @sempervera @sagesolsticewrites

xoxo callumsgirl

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[farity]

Sorrow, part 5

Elyse awoke to find herself being held, and for a moment began to panic.

This man didn't stink of liquor, she thought as she tried to steady her breathing. When she dared look up, she saw his pale hair falling like a curtain over his shoulder, his aquiline features at peace as he slept, and realized she was in bed with her new husband.

Aemond had both arms around her, one holding the bedcovers secure round her back, and the other on her elbow. Her hand was on his chest and she felt her face warm and her fingertips tingle at the touch.

When she lifted her head, his eye opened, looking around for a moment before meeting her gaze. Her panic had faded when she'd realized it was him, and she gave him a small smile before pulling back.

"I'm sorry you ended up sleeping here, I'm sure your own bed is more comfortable."

He regarded her for a moment before raising an eyebrow. "It is much more comfortable, indeed." He groaned as he sat up and she looked away as he stood, away from the sight of so much bare skin and muscle.

There was a knock on the door and the young maid from the previous night came in. "Your Highnesses," she curtsied. "We have guests for breakfast."

"Who?" Aemond asked immediately, unaware of any scheduled visits.

"I don't know, my prince, I was just sent to make sure you are both in the dining hall by the next bell." She quickly took the tea tray from the night before with her before leaving.

"I will have a lady's maid sent to you," Aemond told her before going back to his own rooms, and Elyse found herself missing his warmth.

* * * * *

"Take whatever you need from my coffers, I want her to be comfortable. Clothes, anything she may need."

"Of course, Your Highness."

Aemond had asked three different servants and none of them knew who was visiting the keep. It was highly unusual and dread began to take hold in his stomach. He added a second dagger to his belt, wondering if he would need every weapon he had at his disposal.

He had woken up to find his wife looking up at him and a shock of need had barreled through him. Her fingers on his chest, her hair tickling his nose, he'd never woken up with a woman in his arms before and had wanted nothing more than to push her onto her back and lose himself inside her. And he'd known it was the exact thing that would send her running, so he'd left the room as soon as he could.

What she had told him earlier had horrified him and reinforced his belief that he had done the right thing in taking her with him. He could only hope that with time she would leave all that pain behind and be happy someday. With him.

"Aemond."

He turned and found that every thought and worry had fled his mind.

Elyse stood before him wearing a simple grey gown, her hands clasped together as usual, her blond hair had been braided and falling in a single plait over one shoulder. At her neck was a tiny red gemstone handing from a thin gold chain. That, and the plain silver ring that he'd managed to procure so hastily were the only two adornments she wore.

He would speak to his mother about opening up the jewelry vaults.

"Elyse," he said, savoring her name. "Are you ready?"

She nodded, giving him a small smile, and took his arm when he offered it. "We shall have to get you a grander ring soon," he said and she immediately brought her hand up.

"I like this one," she said softly, looking down at her wedding ring, "it's what you gave me when we married." She thought for a moment, then added, "I should choose not to change it."

Something bloomed in Aemond's chest, and he felt that most distressing of reactions, heat behind his good eye. He cleared his throat, and said, "well then, maybe some ear bobs. You shall tell me what-"

She stopped walking as they entered the dining hall, her hand digging into his arm, and he turned to see what had upset her.

"No," she whispered.

He looked at the two men standing next to his grandfather and his mother - a tall man wearing a wicked sword at his hip, and next to him, his wife's former brother-in-law.

"Aemond," Ser Otto said, and Elyse felt terror begin to envelop her, like black shadows covering her shoulders and chest. Her eyes landed on the table, and she rushed to grab a knife from one of the settings.

She put the knife to her throat and turned to face their guests. "You shall not take me."

"Elyse," Aemond said gently, but she gave no sign of hearing him.

* * * * *

She was going to slit her throat in front of him and Aemond was not going to be able to stop her, to reach her in time, and he would fail in the one thing he had promised her - that she was safe with him.

"Come on, sweeting, let us go home, where you belong."

"Elyse," he said again.

He could rush and tackle her, or grab her arms, but he wasn't sure she wouldn't harm herself in that split second.

"Please," he begged.

"Elyse, stop these silly games-"

"You laughed," she sobbed, blade still at her throat, "you laughed while he hurt me!"

Aemond's eye went to his mother, who was now staring at Elyse with something beyond worry. What have you done, mother.

"You cheered him on! When he couldn't fuck me because he was too drunk, you gave him your dagger to use on me!"

The old lord had the grace to look mortified for a moment, but Elyse wasn't done.

"He stuck that hilt inside me and you all laughed while I screamed and bled on that floor," she continued as tears fell down her cheeks. "While he hurt me so badly the maester said I would never bear children."

Aemond turned to his grandsire, who was looking like he might be sick. "Elyse," he tried again. "Wife."

At that, she turned to him, and saw her eyes focus on him.

"I will not let him take you."

"Promise."

He extended a hand to her. "I promise."

She looked at him for a few seconds and he could swear his heart stopped while he waited for her answer.

Elyse brought the knife down slowly and let Aemond take it from her hand. He placed the knife in his jacket pocket and wrapped his arms around his wife. "I will never let him take you. On my life, Elyse, I swear it."

He looked over her head and glared at his mother and grandfather. "Will you be throwing them out now or shall I have Vhagar deal with them?"

"I shall ally with the Princess Rhaenyra," the lord spat out.

Ser Otto sighed. "I am sure the Princess will welcome your three horses and ten soldiers, my lord. Now, leave while you can."

While the argument continued, Aemond led his wife back to his chambers.

* * * * *

She was cold, so cold, and couldn't stop shaking. Aemond kept speaking to her and it wasn't so much the words but his soft, soothing voice that began to seep into her very bones.

He had the maid start a fire in his rooms, and had settled her on a large chair, with enough blankets around her to survive a Winterfell year. "Tea," he'd barked at some other servant, "with something to make it sweet," and a minute later a tray was brought.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

He held her while she cried, the shame and embarrassment coursing through her only adding to her fears. How long would this man tolerate her constant tears, her nerves?

"Don't be." She felt him kiss her hair, and then he was pushing her braid out of the way to examine her neck. "I want to make sure there's no mark."

He tilted her head this way and that, and then kissed her temple.

"Thank you," she said softly, and felt Aemond's lips trail down her jaw, to where she had pressed the knife against her skin. He kissed the spot, his breath warm, and she shivered.

"Drink your tea," he said, pulling back, and handed her the cup. "Are you warm enough?

At that she smiled shyly. "Yes, thank you."

He sat on the floor next to her as she sipped at her tea. "Shall I have breakfast brought in?"

"I'm not hungry," she replied, "but you must be."

* * * * *

He had the kitchens send in a huge breakfast, hoping to tempt her to eat something. She'd finished two cups of tea, and when he offered her a morning bun covered in spiced sugar, she took a small bite.

Aemond began to tell her about his routine, what his day was usually like, what his interests were. She listened and drank more tea, and took small bits of food that he handed her.

But he noticed that she liked the morning buns best of all, and he would tell the servants to ensure the kitchen staff made them every day.

"I will be speaking with my mother and grandfather," he said when they had finished eating, "and I wish to know if you would like to be present."

She pressed her lips together, and he noticed some golden sugar at the corner of her mouth. "What will you say?"

"That if they do not stop acting against our marriage, we shall leave King's Landing."

"You do not need to do that."

"Elyse, I will not spend our days wondering what the next plot is. We are married, and they will accept it."

"But now they know," she smiled sadly, "that I cannot give you children."

Aemond rose and walked over to where she sat. "Aegon has children," he told her, "and I did not marry you for the ones you might give me."

She said nothing, but when he smiled down at her, she raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"You have some sugar here," he nodded at her mouth. He reached over to brush it off and saw the way her cheeks turned pink at his touch. Her eyes were huge as she gazed up at him, and he wanted her, so badly.

To his surprise, she grabbed his hand and kept it against her face, closing her eyes for a moment.

When was the last time she had been touched with kindness? When had she last slept without fear of being woken up to be mistreated?

She stood then, and reached up to place her other hand on his cheek. "Will you show me?"

Anything.

She'd trusted him with all the details of her personal hell and the least he could do was show her the scars of his own. He reached up and pulled off the eyepatch, and waited for her reaction.

She turned his face to the side, her fingertips exploring the scar, he thought, since he had little feeling on most of that part of his face, but when she reached up and placed a kiss on the very bottom end of it, he closed his eye and felt her warmth seeping through him.

He reached down before he could think about it twice, and kissed her lips. Her soft gasp had him stopping himself before he could haul her up against him, but she didn't pull away, and he didn't stop the kiss.

She linked her arms around his neck and he dared grasp her waist, lightly, until he felt her sink against him. He dared not deepen the kiss, but her mouth was warm and sweet against his and he could wait, he could wait as long as she needed to take things further.

When she sighed, pulling back, he whispered into her hair. "Elyse."

There was a small knock at the door. "Pardon me, may I take the trays?"

He turned to nod at the maid and then took Elyse's hand. "Let's go have that conversation.

* * * * *

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[kenny-the-ken]

Upstairs, Downstairs

This was based on an anon request! Thank you so much!! Aged up! Kenny is 18, reader is 18! Sexual themes, strong language!

The Kingdom worshiped their princess, and anyone who was lucky enough to work in her palace would receive the upmost respect from her fellow subjects.

You had just been lucky enough to be Princess Kenny's lady in waiting, you would be her personal assistant, one of the highest honours to be places on a female servant, especially since you were so young.

Princess Kenny had asked for you specifically, and you were starstuck that your Princess wanted you to dote on her.

It was your first day, you had just ran the Princess her bath, and had prepared tea and coffee for her awakening. You let yourself into her bedroom, opening the curtains and turning to look at her beautiful eyes begin to flicker open and shut. "Princess, we have a clear schedule for today, may I suggest a walk through the beautiful gardens as the weather is perfect this morning." You spoke, your head bowed. "I have also drawn the Princess a bath, if you wish help to undress?" You asked, a small blush painting your cheeks. This was your job, you weren't supposed to be flustered, but you couldn't help it, she truly was beautiful.

"I'll gladly accept any help you're offering, y/n." She said, rising from her silk sheets, as she stood before you.

You quickly got to work, taking her golden hair out of the two plaits they were in, you began to unbutton the back of her nightgown before he stopped you, turning to take your hands within hers, which were surprisingly a bit bigger than yours. She was taller than you were expecting and she spoke softly.

"I have something that I must confess to you at once!" She spoke with haste, a blush slowly appearing.

"You see, I am a Princess, well, more of a Prince actually. My father thought that during the time of our cities being at war, that a female force would be have a stronger advantage. Females are more sought after by other men, and it gives them great pleasure to protect a damsel in distress." She continued, your eyes wide. "But you see, the war has ended, Winter has been and gone, and as I am now of age, I seek to marry, not a man, but a fair maiden, why do you think I picked you specially?" The Princess spoke, her nightgown dropping to the floor, her skin pale in the sunlight that was pouring through the open window, seeing her completely flat chest and toned stomach told you she was telling you the truth, and to you, she still looked as ethereal as ever.

"My true name, is Prince Kenny McCormick." He said, pulling the blonde wig from atop his head and smiling at you softly, taking your hands in his once more.

"Do you like what you see, Miss y/n?" The Prince teased, a small smirk playing on his lips as he brought you closer to him, the gap between you both just mere inches, you could feel his hot breath on your cold skin.

"Of course I like what I see, Prince." You replied, a gentle blush dusting across your cheeks as he bowed, taking your hand and kissing the back of it.

"I chose you for your beauty, I had also heard great things about your intelligence, I believe that together this Kingdom could flourish. You would be the Princess, I would be the Prince, and one day we shall rule this land together, as King and Queen, if you'll only take my hand for eternity and allow me to make you mine?" Kenny asked, his words not faltering once, he was cocky, handsome and everything a girl could dream of, and he knew it. You simply nodded your head, a small smile on your face and he slowly embraced you, your head pressed flush with his chest, you could hear his heart beat, you couldn't believe that this would be your life forever.

"We must keep you protected, we still have enemies out there, I promise I will do whatever it takes to make sure that you are protected, I promise to cherish you everyday as if it is our last." Kenny's words made your heart skip a beat, going from a poor peasant to a Princess was an unimaginable thought, something that would only happen in a fairytale, and this was yours.

"You must keep your hands to yourself till our wedding night, Prince." You replied, his hand tracing your jaw, before tilting your face up to look at his, his hand now under your chin, his thumb tracing your lips.

"What they don't know won't hurt them, Princess." He cooed, before placing a soft yet passionate kiss upon your untouched lips, you had never been kissed in this way before, being told that it was sinful, something that must only be for husband and wife, you felt like you should be guilty, but Kenny's arm wrapped around your waist, his hand squeezing your ass, his lips moving in sync with yours as he nipped at your bottom lip and began exploring your mouth with his tongue made you completely forget about what a sin was, for your mind was flooded with nothing but him, his soft skin and calloused hands, his lips and his breath that was tainted by nicotine as you two became each others worlds.

Pausing to take a breath that you didn't know you needed you both panted, faces flushed and enough sexual tension that a knife could cut through it, he whispered in your ear,

"You said you had drawn me a bath, so why waste water bathing alone when you can join me?" You felt dizzy, and you swore this was nothing but a perverted dream, but it wasn't, this was real, and as he lead you to the bathroom, you couldn't believe that this was your life, a Princess!! Princess y/n!!!

Hey guys, I'm so so sorry that this took me so long to do, I'm really not happy with it so I will definitely write another Princess Kenny fic in the near future. My toddler was crazy today, so my mind wasn't in the correct place, but I wanted to at least get something out for you all to enjoy!! Have a nice night guys!!

#kenny mccormick #kenny mccormick smut #kenny mccormick x reader #eric cartman #kyle brovlofski #kenny south park #stan marsh #kyle south park #south park #stan south park

[vanwritesfan-fiction]

Acquainted (18+)

Pairing: Model!Urban x Photographer!Reader

Words: 2,301

Warnings: Contains explicit content, please DNI if under 18

“Here’s your pass. The designer asks that you don’t bother the models, in fact don’t even look them in the eye, they don’t like that.” The press coordinator stopped in her tracks and looked behind her to see that you were no longer in step with her. “Keep up, please!” Your new boss was giving you the rundown backstage at the Prada SS’24 show, and you were having trouble staying behind her.

You had stumbled about 10 feet back, dropping your camera bag, all of your lenses and cleaning equipment falling out onto the floor. You saw a manicured hand reach down to pick up one of your lenses, the hand connected to a tall, muscular model with piercing blue eyes. Remembering your training, you avoided eye contact. “Thank you.” You rushed off to catch up with your boss.

“Are you going to be trouble for me, Y/N? I don’t need trouble today.” You shook your head fervently, pulling out your camera to prove you were ready for this job. “Look, I wouldn’t even have given you this job if your dad wasn’t a photography legend, so don’t press your luck.” You nodded in appreciation, rolling your eyes as soon as you were sure she had turned away. She wasn’t wrong, you were a nepo baby in your own right, your father teaching you how to take pictures at a very young age and then dragging you through the ranks, from freelance to head photographer for Paris Fashion Week. You knew you were lucky to be here, but you also had a chip on your shoulder because you knew you were good, and you didn’t think you had to work so hard to prove yourself. “We need behind the scenes shots for Vogue, so work the room and gets some closeups of the models in hair and makeup.” You were given your instructions before the coordinator ran off to take care of other responsibilities.

You walked around the hair and makeup stations, taking as many shots as you could before the show started. As you walked to the end of the room, you recognized the same guy who had helped clean up your mess earlier. His blonde hair was tied back in a sleek low bun so you could see his strong, rounded features. You walked up to him, your camera covering most of your face so he couldn’t see that you were blushing.

“Hey.” He spoke first, his accent surprisingly American, and you thought you could pick up on a southern twang. “Oh, sorry. I was told not to bother the models, I’m just trying to get some pictures.”

“Wait, are you American?” You nodded, letting your camera hang from your neck strap. “Yeah, I’m from LA.” He let out a sigh of relief, a smile creeping on his face as he ran his hand against his beard. “Thank God, I was really beginning to think I wouldn’t see anyone else from the states here. My manager handed me a plane ticket, saying I was going to Paris, even though I’ve never taken above a high school French 1 class.”

“I’m sure you’re making it just fine.” You gave him a sincere smile. “I’ve eaten nothing but croissants the last couple of days because I don’t know how to order anything past “Une croissant, sil vous plait.” You laughed at the painfully American accent butchering the French words. “I’m Y/N.”

“Urban.”

“Well Urban, if you ever get a chance to venture around Paris, let me know, and I’ll be sure to show you how to properly order food. You’re missing out on some amazing French cuisine.” He smiled, opening his mouth to say something when the models were all called to line up for the show. “Another time, then.” Before he stood up, you snapped a picture of his face. If you never saw him again, at least you had something to remember him by.

****

As the music began blaring in the speakers, you made your way to the front of the stage. The models began walking down the runway in time with the beat of the music, their movements rigid. You took pictures of everything around you, not sure what the magazines would find usable. “Ow!” You turned behind you to see that you had stepped on the foot of some B-list celebrity. “Watch where you’re walking, bitch!” You ignored her cries for attention as you worked around the stage.

As you saw Urban coming down the runway, your heart started to race. He was definitely in his element tearing down the runway, his demeanor more serious and reserved then the person you met backstage. He made eye contact with you immediately, his eyes softening. Not wanting to mess him up, you gave him nothing but a small smile, but that was enough to catch his attention. As he made his way to the end of the runway, he looked directly into your camera and bit at his lip, pulling his plump bottom lip between his teeth. You gulped, knowing that was just for you, in a room of at least 100 other people. He gave you a wink before he turned to walk back to the start. You don’t even remember if you took pictures the rest of the night, your mind only on Urban.

****

After the show, you were backstage packing up your equipment when Urban approached you again. The room was pretty much empty, most of the models having to rush to their next show across town. “You looked good out there.” You looked up from your bag. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you? You were the model.” “No, I meant what I said. It had nothing to do with your camera.” You felt the heat radiating from your cheeks.

“I’m headed to a party tonight, would you like to come?”

“It depends, was that move on the runway for me?” You gave him a cocked eyebrow, but he just returned with the same confident smile. “I guess I’ll see you tonight then”, replied Urban before he walked away, leaving you stunned.

****

“We need to make a stop before we head to the party, okay?” Urban confessed when he picked you up from your apartment. You just nodded, letting him lead the way. After about a quick 10-minute walk, you came upon an underground party. You had heard rumors about these events before, but at seeing it in person, it kind of looked like a high school party you would go to back in California. Just a bunch of people standing around and talking, smoking weed and drinking. The same stench of cheap Vodka lingered in the air, making you gag from the déjà vu. “You okay?” Urban laughed when he saw your nauseated face. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just having flashbacks to high school.”

“God, I’m so glad I met you, Y/N. Nobody here would know what I was talking back if a mentioned a ‘kickback’, but you do!” You could tell he had been drinking, his volume a bit too loud. “I’ll be right back.” He nodded at someone standing against one of the walls. After a couple of minutes, he returned to where you were standing, holding out a half finished blunt. You took it, taking a couple of drags before you handed it back. “So how did you end up in Paris?” You let out a cough before answering. “My dad, he’s French actually. I grew up in Paris until I was 12 and then I went to go live with my mom in Los Angeles. She’s American.”

“Divorced parents fuckin’ sucks.” You nodded, letting out a curt laugh. “Yeah, they do. But it actually was kind of fun. I spent the school year in the states, and summers in Paris. All of my friends were jealous.”

“How did you get into modeling?” You reached out for the blunt again, Urban allowing you to take a puff from his hand. “You probably won’t believe this, but I was backpacking in Madrid one summer after high school, and I was discovered at a train station. Got signed that day and have been working ever since.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t believe that. That sounds like the plot to a kidnapping movie.”

“You’re funny.” Urban waived his blunt at you.

“I’m a lot of other things too.” You could tell the weed had finally hit because you were feeling uncharacteristically bold. Urban’s eyes immediately filled with lust, his gaze going straight to your chest.

He was going to be fucking you before the night was over.

You felt scrutinized under his gaze, your core beginning to clench. “We should get going if we want to go to that party.”

****

The party you were attending was at a hotel in the Oberkampf district. You both started the long elevator to the penthouse in silence, each taking refuge on either side of the large car. The silence was making you uncomfortable, so you decided to make the first move.

“How long have you been modeling?” You asked the empty space between you and Urban, refusing to make eye contact with him. You heard him chuckle, a sharp breath leaving his mouth. You finally gained the courage to turn to him, leaning your back against the cold metal panels. You weren’t expecting him to be looking at you, his cerulean blue eyes filled with desire.  “I’m not interested in small talk”, he edged out between pursed lips, his gaze sizing you up. For the first time you were able to take him out breathtakingly beautiful he was, his blue eyes the least seductive thing about him. You allowed your eyes to close, your core tightening at the thought of running your hands through his blonde locks and his broad shoulders towering over you as he thrusts into your aching cunt. You had seconds to let your vision adjust to the sight of Urban inches from your face, your chests rising and falling in unison.

“Do you trust me?” He was testing to see how far you were willing to go. You nodded, leaning into him further.  

“Completely.”

Testing the waters, he pulled you in for a gentle kiss, his strong hands had a light grip around your neck. You broke for a second before you leaned back into him, crashing lips again. You let out a small moan into his mouth when he pinned you to the elevator walls with his pelvis. You could feel him start to slip his hand up your dress, bunching the fabric around your waist, the cold metal stinging against your bare ass. He grinned when he realized you weren’t wearing any panties. “What did you think was going to happen tonight?” You kissed him again, this time harder, hoping he got his answer. Without letting you go, he reached over to the elevator panel and hit the Emergency Stop button with his fist. A blaring alarm sound pierced your ears.

“Veuillez rester calme. Les autorités ont été alertées de votre emplacement et arriveront dans environ trois minutes. (Please remain calm. Authorities have been alerted to your location and will arrive in approximately three minutes.).

“What are you doing? The police are on there way.” You looked at Urban like he was crazy. “How much time do we have?” He looked between you and the blinking panel. “I don’t know, like two and a half minutes?”

“You better cum fast then.”

Before you could object, Urban dropped to his knees, lifting your leg to rest on his shoulder. He immediately latched onto your clit, applying sucking pressure to your sensitive bud. “Oh fuck!” was all you could utter out as you lost your breath. You immediately felt your core start to flex as your orgasm started in your lower stomach. You raked your fingers through his hair, grabbing a bunch in your hands as he moved to swirling the tip of his tongue around your clit, flicking it every couple of seconds. “Don’t stop, Urban.” You were ignoring the automated message by this point, the ringing in your ears drowing out all sound. “You’re so fuckin’ wet. Is this all for me? You��re such a good girl for me, Y/N.” You didn’t even bother answering; both of you knew it was all for him. “I need more.” Urban quickly obliged, running two of his fingers between your folds before slipping them into your entrance. You could feel your knees start to weaken, Urban grabbing onto your thigh when he saw them begin to shake. “That feels so good, Urban. Don’t stop.” He quickened the pace of his fingers, still latched onto your clit when he felt you begin to clench around his hand. Within seconds you were releasing around his fingers, your wetness hitting the metal floor with a splash. Your pussy continued to pulsate, your core seizing as he licked you clean. Every touch with his tongue only extended your orgasm, the sensation too much. “Please, stop. I need a break.”

“Just in time.” Urban pulled your dress down, the sound of a police force coming down the hallway audible within the elevator. You barely had time to adjust yourself when the elevator doors opened.

“Is everything okay, Monsieur?” the cop asked, surveying the room. “Of course, just a stuck elevator.” Urban couldn’t help but chuckle. You slapped his arm, a smile forming on your own face. “The station reported weird noises coming from the elevator car. Do you have any idea what that could have been?”

“No.” You both answered too quickly. “You know these elevators, they have to be at least 100 years old, right.” Urban smacked against the wall, the creaking confirming his lie. “Goodnight, gentlemen.” Urban grabbed your hand, rushing out of the elevator.

#urban wyatt x you #urban wyatt fanfic #urban wyatt x reader #urban wyatt #urban wyatt imagine #urban wyatt x y/n

[draguta]

.a court of ash and smoke | eleven.

pairing: lucien vanserra x reader

summary: five years before feyre archeron ever stepped foot in prythian, another human girl found herself in the spring court. but the trials and tribulations of her time under the mountain left her with nothing but a certain red-headed high fae emissary, who had once resented her entire presence, to help and guide her.

chapter warnings: mentions of violence

chapter word count: 2495

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please remember to reblog, like, and share a comment if you enjoy this series - it is always appreciated by writers to see their hard work valued.

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Home

Being back in the Spring Court manor house almost felt unreal. You caught yourself pinching your own arm on more than one occasion to make sure you weren’t dreaming. But it was real, just as Lucien had told you. It was all real.

Alis had enveloped you into a tight hug the second you had ascended the marble steps leading into the house. “Oh, my dear,” she said with a soft smile. “We have missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” you replied, and it was true.

She explained quickly that Feyre had taken your old room when she had arrived. Not that you minded, you hadn’t been here after all. Alis led you to the next room along the hall, the one directly opposite Lucien’s room. It was scarcely different to the last, besides the fact that the walls were a delicate sky-blue as opposed to the light turquoise light green of your old room. Your dresses had already been arranged in the wardrobe, and you were thankful that Alis helped you bathe and dress into something more fitting, although you didn’t admit to her that you folded the clothes Lucien had leant you and kept them hidden at the bottom of the wardrobe.

You sat at the vanity as she brushed and braided your hair, letting the body of it fall around your shoulders, with only two dainty plaits wrapped around each side of your head, pulling your hair away from your pointed ears. You had no doubt that she had noticed your changes - had noticed the glow that now sat around you like a blanket, your pointed ears and sharpened features that you had grown accustomed to seeing in the mirror - but she didn’t mention it. Perhaps she had already known. Maybe Tamlin or Lucien had told her. They had, after all, told Feyre about her.

“I could hardly believe it when my mask came off,” she continued, and you blinked up at her in the mirror. She had been speaking, and you had not really been listening. You had been too focused on memorising every inch of her face and of the room in the reflection of the mirror, so light and airy, compared to those prison-like chambers you were subjected to Under the Mountain. She looked different with her mask gone, her face young-looking despite knowing her old age, and bore an odd sense of motherly features. She was pretty. “I was with my two boys when it happened. Oh, how I cried.”

“Your boys,” you said, and she glanced up, catching your eye in the mirror. “Are they here?” She nodded. “Can I meet them?”

She smiled softly. “Eventually, but let’s get you used to being back first. They’ll still be there waiting when you’re ready.”

You nodded, lips thinning in slight disappointment. Then a thought occurred to you. “Now that Feyre is here, I’ll need a new maid, right?”

Alis cocked her head. “Am I not good enough for you?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “No, it’s not that,” you laughed. “But Feyre will be lady of the Spring Court now. So surely your first priority will be her now, not me.”

She pursed her lips. “I suppose,” she considered. “I’m sure we can find one of the other girls to take over my duties with you.”

You smiled and nodded in agreement. You were sure Alis would find a suitable replacement, although even going back to having someone to tend to your needs was a harsh and peculiar juxtaposition after so many years with only yourself to care for.

“But just you remember,” Alis chuckled. “That you always come to me first when you need someone, got it?”

“Got it.”

Tamlin and Feyre arrived later that evening. You had made yourself comfortable in the library, the fire blazing and crackling in the hearth, although in the warm spring heat it was hardly needed. You had been reading, although it was difficult to focus on the words. Your mind kept flashing back to that horrid court, to the hand that roamed your body, to watching Lucien and Feyre used as toys for torture and torment so many times, to the power that surged through me, and the snap and crunch of Amarantha’s bones.

You heard their voices before you saw them, hushed whispers of, “I love you,” drifting from their placement in the hallway. You tried not to listen, tried to ignore them. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel an ache of joy in your heart at the confessions of love and one another. Tamlin had found someone, and they were…happy.

“I can imagine that’s going to get boring and sickly pretty quick,” Lucien’s voice sounded from the far side of the library. He had snuck in through the second door on the back wall, by the desk that sat below the wide-spread window. He looked cleaner than he had in months, fresh and flushed with colour. He looked healthy.

“I see you’ve found my hiding spot,” you chuckled, closing the book with a slight snap of the pages as they hit together, leaning forward in your chair as he approached, taking the seat opposite you by the fire.

“Well, after you weren’t in your room or the grounds, Alis found me wandering about the East Wing looking for you, and suggested I try here,” he smirked.

“Ah, Alis does know everything that goes on under this roof,” you chuckled.

“She always has,” he laughed. He stared into the fire, the flames reflecting in the gold of his prosthetic eye. He let out a soft sigh. “Is it as strange for you as it is for me, to be back here?”

“It’s certainly…odd,” you admitted, looking into the fire and watching as it ate away at the wood logs that it clung to. As excited as you had been to return home, there had been a strange air when Lucien had retired to his own room and let you to your own devices with Alis, a feeling that with that power under your skin, and the terrible things that you had been forced to do for so long, you didn’t quite belong somewhere so beautiful anymore. “I’d almost forgotten what it was like here. Alis went to braid my hair, and I almost growled at her.”

Lucien chuckled. “It’s going to take some getting used to, that’s for sure.” He looked at you then, those feline-like lips of his curled into a soft smile.

“I’m just glad that you’re here with me,” you said quietly. His smile grew, and he reached a hand out toward you, placing it over the back of your own. And for the first time in the many years that you had known him, in all the time that he had touched you before, you were sure that then, as his warm hand wrapped around yours, you felt a spark.

“Me too,” he said quietly.

Oh, how everything had changed. There was a time when you would have run from him, had kept yourself hidden away in your room when Tamlin left for business outside of the court or somewhere far in the grounds. A time when you would have slunk away from his touch, and cringed each time you felt his eyes on you, always narrowed and filled with hate. But that had been before, when you had been naïve and had thought that the coldest and harshest tongue you would hear would be his.

You knew better now.

You knew true evil now, and Lucien was far from it, with his warm eyes and soft touch, one that you would never have imagined from him before, but now filled you with so much safety and comfort. Lucien was not your enemy. He was your friend.

He was everything.

“Come now,” he said, squeezing your hand gently. “Diner will be ready soon.”

You followed him through the house, back through the front foyer and into the dining room. It was exactly as you remembered it from that very first meal where you had gorged yourself on roast chicken and lamb. The only difference now was that the table was smaller in size, and there was a particular mark on the wall, one that looked scarily like claw marks, that you could not remember being there before. You knew that the house had been trashed not that long ago, Lucien had let that slip, that Rhysand had all-but destroyed it when he had come to drag them to Amarantha’s court, but the servants had done a miraculous job at fixing it up, to the point that you never would have guessed it had ever been destroyed at all - the joys of magic, you thought. Yet, that solitary claw mark remained, embedded into the wall on the far side of the room, by the window.

“Tamlin did that,” Lucien said, following your eyeline. “When we got back after you were taken Under the Mountain.”

Five years. That mark had been there for five years, and Tamlin had never made a move to fix it. “He wanted to keep it,” Lucien said slowly, studying your face. “So that he wouldn’t forget. So he would keep fighting to get you back.”

Your heart cracked. There had been a time when you had told him not to try, to leave you there, and in the years that passed you had convinced yourself that he had given up on you. Yet, there was that mark that proved you wrong.

A hand on your shoulder nudged you slightly, guiding you to a seat at the end of the table, to the left of the table head where Tamlin would sit. You sat down - Lucien’s usual seat. The table was smaller than you remembered it being, narrower and shorter, but you didn’t question it as Lucien took the seat beside you, and the two of you waited for the High Lord and his lover to make an appearance.

You waited for all of twenty minutes before they appeared in the doorway, looking rather dishevelled. Lucien threw you a knowing smirk, and small wink, as the couple took their seats at the table, and the food appeared before you. Some kind of spit-roasted pork, and vegetables, and salad, and even a chocolate pudding.

You ate in silence, and it lay heavy on your shoulders. None of you knew what to say, and you all knew that words wouldn’t convey what you really felt anyway. Of how grateful and glad you were to be home, and for you all to be ok. How you didn’t know how to continue, how to go back to how things were before, and perhaps you shouldn’t.

It wasn’t until Tamlin finished his plate and leaned back in his chair, glass of wine in hand, that he finally spoke. “So, are we going to discuss it, or pretend that it never happened?”

You looked up and to your surprise found him blinking back at you expectantly. You glanced from Feyre to Lucien and back again - they all seemed to know what he was referring to. “Discuss what?”

“Your powers,” he said plainly. Your fork clattered to your plate and your body went rigid. You opened your mouth to speak and then closed it again, not even knowing where to begin. Lucien placed a comforting hand on your knee under the table and squeezed gently, out of sight of the others at the table. “I’m not…angry. You killed Amarantha, but I want to know, do you think those…powers are still there? Or do you think that they went away as soon as she was killed? Spells are tricky, and I need to know if you will be living in my house.”

You swallowed hard, not entirely sure how to place it into words. “I-I honestly don’t know,” you said quietly, glancing down at your plate, not wanting to meet his emerald stare. “I can’t feel them anymore, and I wouldn’t even know how to activate them again. But-”

You paused, weighing up whether or not you should even say it. But Tamlin was your family, Lucien was your family, and Feyre was a part of that family now, and so you continued.

“It’s like there’s something there, hidden somewhere inside me, whispering to me,” you explained. The truth. You had felt it the night before in Lucien’s room as you lay in the tub, head underwater. “As if it’s calling to me, asking me to touch it, the dark light.”

Lucien hissed through his teeth. “What do you think it means? What does it want?”

You looked up to him. “It never says outright, it’s just there, a feeling. But if I had to guess, I would think it wants me to become whatever it was that I was in that throne room. It wants to consume me. It wants death.”

Tamlin reached over the table and patted the back of your hand. “We’ll work it out.”

You could only hope that he was right.

Lucien squeezed your knee under the table, and you allowed your eyes to drift to him. “Tamlin is right,” he said gently, shooting you a small, comforting smile. “There’ll be a way out of this, I’m sure of it, and we-” he glanced at the others at the table, “will fix it. Right Tam?”

“You,” Tamlin seethed suddenly, pointing a finger at Lucien. The rage came from nowhere, as if someone had wound him up using a key on his back and set him off like an old toy. “Do not speak to me in this house, and you do not speak to her.”

Lucien blinked in surprise. “What?”

Feyre slouched down in her chair, picking at her food awkwardly, and you glanced from Lucien to Tamlin and back again in confusion.

“I know what you did,” Tamlin snarled, claws poking from his knuckles ever-so-slightly to glint in the late afternoon light. “Stay away from her. Do you understand, Lucien?”

He spat Lucien’s name as though it were poison. “Tam-” you began, but your brother simply held up a hand, commanding you to silence, his eyes never leaving the red-head beside you. Lucien squeezed my knee once more before retracting his hand.

“I think it’s time I retired,” he said quietly but harshly, rising to his feet. You opened your mouth to stop him, to ask him to stay, but he was already striding toward the door, turning back to Tamlin enough to say, “We’ll discuss this later.”

That night, tucked into your bed in the Spring Court, safe and at home, it wasn’t Amarantha that you dreamt of as you had assumed would be the case. Instead, it was that dark light that flooded your mind, appearing to you in the same way that it had before, in the throne room, in the bathtub. Surrounded by red, smokey mist, dancing and glittering, whispering for you to touch it.

You didn’t dare. 

#ACOTAR #ACOTAR fanfiction #ACOTAR fanfic #Lucien Vanserra #Lucien #Lucien ACOTAR #Lucien Vanserra fanfiction #Lucien Vanserra fanfic #Lucien fanfiction #Lucien fanfic #Lucien x reader #Lucien Vanserra x reader #Lucien x you #Lucien Vanserra x you #Lucien x y/n #lucien vanserra x y/n #rhysand #feyre #tamlin #elain #nesta #cassian #mor #azriel #amren #amarantha #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight

[thatscarletflycatcher]

A Jane Eyre fancast

(Because I have enablers that let me rant about these things)

Bella Ramsey as Jane Eyre

I sometimes regretted that I was not handsomer; I sometimes wished to have rosy cheeks, a straight nose, and small cherry mouth; I desired to be tall, stately, and finely developed in figure; I felt it a misfortune that I was so little, so pale, and had features so irregular and so marked.

Sam Riley as Mr Rochester

I knew my traveller with his broad and jetty eyebrows; his square forehead, made squarer by the horizontal sweep of his black hair. I recognised his decisive nose, more remarkable for character than beauty; his full nostrils, denoting, I thought, choler; his grim mouth, chin, and jaw—yes, all three were very grim, and no mistake. His shape, now divested of cloak, I perceived harmonised in squareness with his physiognomy: I suppose it was a good figure in the athletic sense of the term—broad chested and thin flanked, though neither tall nor graceful.

Robbie Kay as St John Rivers

Had he been a statue instead of a man, he could not have been easier. He was young—perhaps from twenty-eight to thirty—tall, slender; his face riveted the eye; it was like a Greek face, very pure in outline: quite a straight, classic nose; quite an Athenian mouth and chin. It is seldom, indeed, an English face comes so near the antique models as did his. He might well be a little shocked at the irregularity of my lineaments, his own being so harmonious. His eyes were large and blue, with brown lashes; his high forehead, colourless as ivory, was partially streaked over by careless locks of fair hair.

Synnove Karlsen as Blanche Ingram

“Tall, fine bust, sloping shoulders; long, graceful neck: olive complexion, dark and clear; noble features; eyes rather like Mr. Rochester’s: large and black, and as brilliant as her jewels. And then she had such a fine head of hair; raven-black and so becomingly arranged: a crown of thick plaits behind, and in front the longest, the glossiest curls I ever saw. She was dressed in pure white; an amber-coloured scarf was passed over her shoulder and across her breast, tied at the side, and descending in long, fringed ends below her knee. She wore an amber-coloured flower, too, in her hair: it contrasted well with the jetty mass of her curls.”

Olivia Cooke as Miss Temple

she looked tall, fair, and shapely; brown eyes with a benignant light in their irids, and a fine pencilling of long lashes round, relieved the whiteness of her large front; on each of her temples her hair, of a very dark brown, was clustered in round curls, according to the fashion of those times, when neither smooth bands nor long ringlets were in vogue; her dress, also in the mode of the day, was of purple cloth, relieved by a sort of Spanish trimming of black velvet; a gold watch (watches were not so common then as now) shone at her girdle. Let the reader add, to complete the picture, refined features; a complexion, if pale, clear; and a stately air and carriage, and he will have, at least, as clearly as words can give it, a correct idea of the exterior of Miss Temple—Maria Temple, as I afterwards saw the name written in a prayer-book intrusted to me to carry to church.

Emily Watson as Mrs Fairfax

A snug small room; a round table by a cheerful fire; an arm-chair high-backed and old-fashioned, wherein sat the neatest imaginable little elderly lady, in widow’s cap, black silk gown, and snowy muslin apron; exactly like what I had fancied Mrs. Fairfax, only less stately and milder looking. She was occupied in knitting; a large cat sat demurely at her feet; nothing in short was wanting to complete the beau-ideal of domestic comfort.

Kate Winslet as Mrs Reed

Mrs. Reed might be at that time some six or seven and thirty; she was a woman of robust frame, square-shouldered and strong-limbed, not tall, and, though stout, not obese: she had a somewhat large face, the under jaw being much developed and very solid; her brow was low, her chin large and prominent, mouth and nose sufficiently regular; under her light eyebrows glimmered an eye devoid of ruth; her skin was dark and opaque, her hair nearly flaxen; her constitution was sound as a bell—illness never came near her; she was an exact, clever manager; her household and tenantry were thoroughly under her control; her children only at times defied her authority and laughed it to scorn; she dressed well, and had a presence and port calculated to set off handsome attire.

Dakota and Elle Fanning as Eliza and Georgiana Reed

Two young ladies appeared before me; one very tall, almost as tall as Miss Ingram—very thin too, with a sallow face and severe mien. There was something ascetic in her look, which was augmented by the extreme plainness of a straight-skirted, black, stuff dress, a starched linen collar, hair combed away from the temples, and the nun-like ornament of a string of ebony beads and a crucifix. This I felt sure was Eliza, though I could trace little resemblance to her former self in that elongated and colourless visage.

The other was as certainly Georgiana: but not the Georgiana I remembered—the slim and fairy-like girl of eleven. This was a full-blown, very plump damsel, fair as waxwork, with handsome and regular features, languishing blue eyes, and ringleted yellow hair. The hue of her dress was black too; but its fashion was so different from her sister’s—so much more flowing and becoming—it looked as stylish as the other’s looked puritanical.

Emma Mackie and Margot Robbie as Diana and Mary Rivers

I thought them so similar I could not tell where the old servant (for such I now concluded her to be) saw the difference. Both were fair complexioned and slenderly made; both possessed faces full of distinction and intelligence. One, to be sure, had hair a shade darker than the other, and there was a difference in their style of wearing it; Mary’s pale brown locks were parted and braided smooth: Diana’s duskier tresses covered her neck with thick curls.

#Jane Eyre #fancast #Bella Ramsey #Sam Riley #Robbie Kay #Synnove Karlsen #olivia cooke #Emily Watson #Kate Winslet #dakota Fanning #Elle Fanning #Emma Mackie #Margot Robbie #don't shoot me #I couldn't find anyone I liked for Mason and Mr Brockelhurst #and I'm not casting Bertha Mason #so

[late-to-the-party-81]

Don’t forget me [I already miss you]

AN: My first WinterWidow fic and an unusual foray into angst too.

Written for @buckybarnesbingo, square K5 - Red Room

Beta’d by @oh-i-swear-writes

Master list | BBB Master list

Summary: The Asset has been lent to the Red Room to train their Widows. The Asset becomes defective.

Relationship: The Winter Soldier x Natalia Romanova (Memories of Bucky & Becca and Bucky & Steve)

Word Count: 1.6k

CW: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, The Winter Soldier remembers, Canon Typical Violence, Abuse and Torture, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Natalia Romanova, Mild Sexual Content, Sex for emotional comfort, Age-gap (Nat is late teens, Bucky is quite a bit older) References to sterilisation, Brain washing, Memory loss, Unhappy Ending, Canon Compliant Ending, Russian by Google Translate.

Summer, 1992.

There was something wrong.

He was defective. 

He should tell his handler. 

But that would mean the chair.

The Asset didn’t like the chair.

But in not liking he was proving he was defective, because ‘things’ could not like or dislike. They just were.

He was defective.

The Asset stood at parade rest, cooling observing the contents of the room: Other Assets. 

Like him, but also not like him. 

These assets were young. 

These assets were girls. 

He obviously knew what girls were, but there was… something… something… 

High pitched giggles.

“Come on, Bucky!”

Feet in black buckled shoes and white socks running over paved streets. Plaits bouncing down a back wearing a blue gingham dress with a lace collar

“Wait up, Becca! You’re supposed to wait for me!”

The Asset blinked.

The girls moved in sync, punches, kicks and turns. Training their muscles to react before they even thought about it. Sometimes it was ballet, today it was fight training. Outside the air was cold, despite it being summer.

“Стой!”

At the command from their house mother, the girls halted as one, their poses matching the Asset’s; legs shoulder width apart, arms behind backs, eyes forward. Precise. Regimented. Good soldiers.

“Natalia. Спар!”

Like the small army they were, the girls moved without fuss to the sides of the room. All except one. The Asset stalked toward her, his icy gaze taking her in. 

She was one of the older girls, her face now almost completely devoid of puppy fat. She wasn’t overly tall, but she was lean. She’d obviously been training for years. Her red hair was tied back from her face in a ponytail. Her green eyes glittered as she assessed him in return.

As anticipated, she swung first. A perfectly formed, closed fist jab toward his face. The Asset leant to the side and dodged it. He didn’t immediately engage. He walked around her, forcing her to turn to keep him in her view. He was toying with her.

Suddenly she dropped and tried to sweep his legs out from under him. The Asset jumped, his knees tucking up to his chest to avoid the girl’s leg. As he landed he gave her a shove in the back. She sprawled to the floor, but came back up almost immediately. She brushed away the trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and went into a defensive stance, waiting.

The Asset was impressed. The girl had obviously realised it would be hard to get the drop on him, and was now waiting for him to make a move. He jabbed out at her, in much the same way she had at him. She ducked and struck out toward his right side, aiming for his liver. The Asset stepped back but her knuckles still glanced off of his body armour and he let out an involuntary grunt. He kicked out, planning to put her back on the floor, but she surprised him by grabbing his foot and twisting it while he was off balance. He shifted his weight, moving with the torque she was exerting and spun through the air to land back on his feet. 

The girl’s face showed surprise, but the Asset kept his expression neutral. Any reaction on a mission could signal either your intentions or your weakness to the enemy. Before the girl could school her features he was on her, bearing her to the floor and he cuffed her around her head with his open right palm. He wasn’t trying to permanently injure her - this was a training session after all. Her head snapped to the side and she drew in a shocked breath of pain. She tried to draw her legs up, so she could push him off, but he was ready for it. He punched her side, winding her, and she sagged beneath him.

To make his point he pulled out a knife, stabbed it into the floor next to her head and stood up, returning to his position against the wall.

“Natalia! ДЫра!”

The girl clambered up from the floor. She didn’t look at him, just walked down the corridor towards ‘The Hole’, the place of punishment for those who didn’t meet the expectations of the house mother. The Asset watched her go, a strange feeling in his chest. A yearning. A hollowness.

I am defective.

He saw her again, two days later, in the gymnasium. 

It was unusual for him to not be actively on a mission, although his handlers had explained that training these girls was his current mission. They were to be Hydra’s more subtle assets. Unlike him. 

He was still subtle. No-one knew who he was and no-one had been able to prevent him from carrying out his mission, but people knew death was coming for them when they saw the First Fist of Hydra. He also had to keep to the darkness and shadows. A ghost. 

These girls, soon to be young women, could be both spies and assassins. They would be able to blend in, in plain sight, be anything from the everyday woman on the street, to the highest level of global socialite. The Widow programme was the most insidious of Hydra’s plans.

The girl walked in, and despite the fact that she’d spent the last 48 hours in solitary confinement - in a dark, cramped space with no food or drink - there was nothing showing on her face or body to indicate any distress.

She was good.

He looked at her and while he still had those… echoes… in his head, of the little girl running and giggling, there were now other ones. Ones linked to someone small and tenacious. Someone who didn’t know when to quit.

A hand. His hand. Holding a cloth. Lifting it to press against a face. A trickle of blood. A hiss.

“Damn it, Buck. I’m alright.”

Frustration mixed with affection.

“Shut up and stay still, Punk! Gotta get you cleaned up before your Ma gets home from work. I’m not having her skin my hide because you don’t know when to back off.”

A grumble.

“You know I couldn’t leave it. They were bullies.”

“I know, Stevie. I know.

The girls stood in front of a sand bag and started to punch it. Swift sharp jabs, peppering the length, interspersed with snap kicks and reverse heel kicks. She was highly competent, but the Asset had already gleaned that information. He watched her though, studying her form.

“Могу я?” He held out his arms to the girl, signalling that he was offering assistance. The words felt odd in his mouth. The Asset rarely spoke anyway, and despite the fact that he was fluent in Russian, he knew it wasn’t his mother tongue.

“Да.” She nodded her agreement and when the Asset came and stood behind her, his mismatched hands on her hips, turning her to correct her form, her face didn’t betray her feelings. Her heart-rate picked up though. She still had a way to go to suppress all her reactions. 

After working on her technique, she suggested they spar again. She was better this time. She’d taken all that she’d observed during their first bout and had a better read on him this time. The Asset was further impressed. It wasn’t often anyone got to fight him more than once.

They practised again the day after.

And the next.

There was a pull within him, drawing him to her.

I am defective.

He knew he shouldn’t feel attachment to any one person, especially another Asset like himself, but also not. 

But something… human… inside him, it longed for the connection. And the girl - Natalia - she seemed to need it too. 

For all that she was being trained to spy, to kill, there was something innocent about her. Sometimes her expression reminded him of one of his ‘echoes’.

When they fell to the mat and she took his hand, placing it on her breast, asking him to touch her, something inside him broke. 

I am defective.

When had he last felt a touch like this? One that was soft and tender. One that was not intended to hurt. When had he last touched like this? Used his hands for something other than killing and war? Tears spilled over her closed eyelids and coursed down her cheeks as they moved, but somewhere inside, the Asset knew she was not crying in pain - not physical pain at least. He felt it too. A resurgence of that empty, hollow feeling inside his chest. He kissed her and she clung to him, like someone clings to debris when stranded in the ocean, being buffeted by the waves. They took solace and comfort in each other’s bodies until sleep claimed them.

The Asset was roused by the sound of screaming. Of Natalia screaming. He opened his eyes, but immediately he felt electricity pass through him. The house mother and some handlers were hauling a naked Natalia away as she kicked and screamed, uncaring of how she was exposed. Others were sticking him with cattle prods, disabling his arm as much as his body. He couldn’t rise up. He couldn’t get to her.

“Natalia!” He shouted. He tried to reach for her. He heard the house mother mention it was a shame they’d already graduated her, because a Widow born baby of the First Fist would have been the best of their soldiers.

He cried out again as pain wracked his body and from behind him someone shouted “Нам нужен стул!.”

No. Not the chair. I don’t like the chair.

But I am defective. I need the chair.

But I will miss Natalia. She will become an echo. Like the little girl. Like the boy. Will they forget me?

It all went dark.

The Asset opened his eyes. A round face with equally round glasses floated and then coalesced in front of him. Someone removed the mouth guard from between his teeth.

“There you are, Soldat.” He spoke English with a German accent. “How are you feeling?”

A girl with red hair and green eyes smiled at him.

The Asset worked the residual tension from his jaw.

“Ready to comply.”

Tag list: @christywrites

#winterwidow #buckynat #bucky x natasha #late writes #buckybarnesbingo2023 #bucky barnes bingo

[ejzah]

And it Could All Come Crumbling Down, Part 2

***

“We’re here,” Deeks announced softly. They’d actually been parked for a minute or so, but Rosa hadn’t reacted at all, her gaze focused on the opposite window. Deeks nudged her now, and she startled slightly, but didn’t turn away.

“I don’t want to do this,” she said. In the weak reflection of the window, he saw her eyes were wide and scared.

Kensi reached between the console to wrap her arm around Rosa’s shoulders. Rosa looked so young at the moment, worried and uncertain, seeking comfort.

“I know,” Kensi murmured, radiating compassion and protectiveness. “I know this is extremely hard, but Deeks and I will be there the whole time.” The effect her touch had on Rosa was immediate; she instantly relaxed slightly, her spine less rigid as she reached to grip Kensi’s hand.

“And the first sign that there’s anything wrong, we will hightail it out of there,” Deeks added.

“And you’re sure she can’t make me move in with her instead or anything like that,” Rosa checked.

“Absolutely.” Deeks nodded. He’d spent hours consulting with a friend who specialized in difficult adoptions and stayed late conducting his own research to make sure their bases were covered. “As long as we make a good effort to meet your aunt’s request, legally there shouldn’t be a question of kinship. Especially since you’ve made your preference known.”

Rosa turned to Deeks, searching his face, and Deeks was once again reminded just how much she’d been through in her young life. He hoped that this experience didn’t add any further weight to her shoulders.

She nodded, gripping each other their hands. “Ok.”

Together, they got out, stopping for a second in front of the small square house sandwiched with a tiny strip of grass between and each neighboring home. From the outside, it looked aged, but well-kept and neat.

“You ready?” Deeks checked as they hesitated outside the front door.

“Yeah.”

The woman who answered the door was short, perhaps late 50s, and with a thick plait of silver threaded black hair that reached almost to her waist. Based on how quickly she’d opened the door, Deeks suspected she’d been waiting there for them.

She stood frozen for a second, eyes roving over Rosa.

“Hi, I’m Marty, and this is my wife Kensi,” Deeks said, gesturing between them. “And of course, you know Rosa.”

“Oh yes, forgive me.” She pressed a hand to the center of her chest. “I’m Andrea, please come in.”

She ushered them through the door and into a small sitting room which contained a couch and a couple cushioned chairs.

Rosa squeezed herself between Kensi and Deeks on the couch. Andrea pulled one of the chairs forward, gaze barely leaving Rosa. She leaned forward, fingers a tangled knot in her last.

“It’s good to see you again, Rosa. The last time I saw you, you were just a little girl,” she said.

“I remember,” Rosa responded softly. “Not too much, but I know you always brought me candy and you would play with me on the floor.” She hadn’t told them that before and Deeks had never been more proud of her for making the effort. Even though he felt the subtle tremor vibrating through her arm against his.

Andrea’s face lit up with delight, then quickly, then regret. “You were always such a sweetheart. I’m sorry I couldn’t be in your life more. I feel I have missed so much.”

“Why didn’t you then?” Rosa asked. “Why did you leave?”

“Your father and I had a fight.” Andrea shook her head. “It seems silly now, but we argued and refused to speak to each other ever again. After a few years, I had the opportunity to come to the US and I took it.” She rubbed at her wrists anxiously. “Over the years, I just didn’t know how to break the silence. Until now.”

“I’m curious how you found out about us adopting Rosa,” Kensi said. “We were told that there weren’t any other family members besides Rosa’s other aunt.”

“No, I suppose they wouldn’t have found me since I changed my last name after I became a citizen. I only kept contact with Marcela. She told me when you came to live with her Rosa, and then when she had her stroke, she mentioned there was a couple who wanted adopt you.”

“You could have said something then.” Despite her earlier concern, she sounded hurt.

Andrea gave them a pleading look. “I was afraid of how you would react after so long. I’ve spent months going back and forth trying to decide if I should reach out. I’m glad I did.” She held Rosa’s gaze for several seconds, warm and caring.

Deeks cleared his throat, hating to ruin the moment, but needing to be upfront from the beginning. For all of their sakes.

“I have to ask, what exactly are you hoping for from reuniting with Rosa?”

“I want to get to know her again.” She smiled at Rosa, then at Kensi and Deeks. “And to see for myself what Marcela told me about you Mr. and Mrs. Deeks. She said you were kind, and loving, and wanted nothing but the best for Rosa. Just from knowing you a few moments, I can see that’s all true.”

“I appreciate that. We want what’s best for Rosa, and to support what she acts too,” Kensi said. “So, it’s her decision how far this goes.”

Rosa was silent for several moment, then lifted her head, sitting straight and tall again. “I would like to get to get to know you again too,” she decided.

Andrea made a small sound, covering her mouth with her hand. She reached towards Rosa as if to give her a hug, then seemed to think better of it, and covered her hand instead.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She then squeezed Kensi and Deeks’ hands. “And thank you, Marty and Kensi. For giving me this opportunity.

Beside him, Rosa leaned into his shoulder. He saw her wipe a tear from her cheek, even as she smiled.

***

A/N: I hope this came out alright. I’m trying to navigate this scenario very carefully, while still stay faithful to what I think Rosa would feel given her recent past and newfound stability.

I couldn’t recall if the aunt Rosa lived with briefly had a name, so I gave her one.

#ncis la fanfiction #densi #marty deeks #kensi blye #Rosa Reyes #angst #and it could all come crumbling down #part 2 #ejzah fanfiction

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Debrief, Pt. 1 (Intro)

(A/N: Politics! Verbal bullshitting! Thinly veiled threats! Overabundance of accessories and unnecessary magic use! POLITICS!

To quote Arya off screen, "I'd rather go through Gil'ead three more times than deal with any of this political hellscape, but *singsong* here I am! Putting on a STUPID dress uniform, about to be, for all intents and purposes, fucking INTERROGATED about being ambushed, losing my mate, teleporting a dragon egg, getting TORTURED while, haha, I was being asked a series of questions, also known as being interrogated, becAUSE THIS WON'T BE TRIGGERING AT ALL! :D GLEN WHY THE FUCK HAVEN'T WE RENOUNCED OUR FUCKING CULTURE YET?!"

Arya is required to attend an official debriefing on the ambush and her captivity by the council of elf lords and ladies. She prefers when she gets stabbed from the front.)

~~~~~~

“I still think this could be done on paper.” 

Glenwing patted his commander’s shoulder and pulled her into his side for a quick hug, never once faltering in their pace as they meandered to the great hall. “You’ll do fine. You can handle questions.” He paused, a grim tilt to his half smirk. “Don’t handle these questions like you did the last ones you got. You’re supposed to answer these ones.”

The dark humor drew a similarly tight lipped grin from her. “I’m not worried about that.” 

Arya raised a hand to run it over her hair and shot her medic a sheepishly appreciative look when he caught her wrist. It had taken both of them an almost embarrassing amount of time to remember how to tie the Flat Crest braid required of elven women when in dress uniform. It was even longer for Glen to do it neatly enough for Rhunön to give the plait a passing inspection, the smith’s obsession with perfection not helping matters. 

They both hadn’t voiced what was on their minds during the entire, rather exasperating, process. The real reason why they had so much trouble tying what should have been a hairstyle they knew by heart after all these years. 

Fäolin had always been the one to do whatever hairstyle was asked of them for official events, even before he joined their squad. He’d laugh at their attempts whenever they returned to the forest, usher them into a chair and deftly weave bright silver or midnight black strands into the designs required in seconds. Arya and Glenwing had simply never had to learn.

Arya let out a rough sigh and tucked her thumbs under either side of the shiny belt clasped around her waist. She missed Wyrda’s familiar weight on her right hip. “This is just another political stunt. I can manage Islanzadí, we’re…I don’t know, figuring it out, I guess. But all of them?” The young elf gestured helplessly, a hint of sharp restlessness and budding frustration in the movement. “Who in the hells knows what they’re going to ask. There’s too many strings here, tangled in too many webs.” She made a face at the metaphors. “At least I’m falling into the stupid formal language again easy enough.”

“And just like that, you’re out of it.” Glen gave the combat liaison another squeeze around the shoulders, pointedly ignoring the open stare of a lone elf sitting in an alcove as they passed. “You can count Iläin to at least be fair. And Rendir’s still pretty fond of you, even if you haven’t really talked since you got back. They’re not all against you, and this is just another debriefing, not some official trial for blame.” 

Arya snorted softly. “Oh, we both know blame is going to be a factor. Valaria looked incensed when I said I wasn’t sure how Durza got through the preliminary wards on the outskirts without triggering an alarm. She’s got a lot to explain, but it’s not like I can question her.” 

Glen bobbed his head in reluctant agreement. “Yeah…Valaria might be an issue. She was pretty harsh on me when I had my own debriefing.” The medic tapped the tip of each mechanical finger against the end of his metal thumb, running through nerve check after nerve check as he realized a troubling fact. “Däthedr reigned her in, but…”

“But he and the Queen probably won’t do the same for me.” Arya shook her head. “Too much personal history. Any interference could be seen as them interfering with the investigation and trying to shield me.”

“It’s pretty clear there’s nothing to blame you for, even a Mani’s Cave salamander could see that.” The image of Lady Valaria of House Teorann standing at her podium as an eyeless, bioluminescent salamander, constantly pushing the useless spectacles she wore just for show up her slimy tube of a snout, made Arya crack a genuine smile. “Just be polite, don’t give them anything to jump on.”

“Or you could light a fire under their asses, see how they like it.” Both elves looked up, startled that there was already someone waiting outside the doors to the great hall. Brom shook out the match still burning from lighting his pipe and tucked it into a small leather pocket sewn into the inside of his armored coat. “Not literally. Why do I always feel like I have to add that on with you?”

“Because you taught me too well.” Arya flashed her former mentor a sharp toothed grin. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a remedial study hall to get to, old man?”

Brom grumbled into his beard, pipesmoke wafting up each time his lips parted. He had let the hairs grow again since they arrived, no longer quite as neat or well-kempt but passable as it grew out into a more formidable piece of facial hair. “As if I’d let you in there without an inspection. You’d probably go in with your boots untied and your shirt untucked if I wasn’t here.” He glanced at Glenwing. “Well, if Glen let you get away with it.” The medic gave him a grin of his own, knowing full well that was a lie. Brom cared far more than he ever wanted anyone to know, the sentimental old bastard. 

The old Rider gave his former ward a going over with his pipe clamped in his teeth. He tugged her sleeves straight and smoothed the lines of her shoulders, yanked the wrinkles out of the formal jacket by the hem. 

“Right. You pass.” His voice was gruff, but there was a certain warmth there. In a move only Glen or Brom could pull off, the man patted Arya’s cheek twice before he clasped her face in his hands. The gedwëy ignasia was rough and warm against her skin, tingling with everpresent magic despite his dragon’s passing. “You did everything you could and more, you hear me? Whatever those high and mighty idiots in there say, you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of and everything to be proud of. Understood?” 

Arya searched his face, the determination and buried worry etched into his skin above wild eyebrows and piercing blue eyes. The support she found meant multitudes, the support he had always shown, even when his rage and revenge was all he had in the world. She swore she’d never tell him, but despite the teasing they shared now, the arguments, the sometimes heavy handed tactics to try and prepare her for the world outside Du Weldenvarden…he had been more of a father to her than anyone. 

So of course there was only one response.

Brom felt the young elf just barely relax. She smiled at him, beaming, that little spitfire elfling again being reminded of her worth, of all the things she could do in the world. “Yes’sir. Understood.”

“Good girl.” The Rider released her and stepped back, giving her one last onceover. “Give them hell. I’m late for Oromis and Glaedr’s remedial lessons, or whatever you call them.” 

“Don’t pull a muscle, old man!” Arya called after his retreating back, getting an annoyed grunt in response. 

Glen checked the watch on his wrist as Arya’s smile faded. Two minutes. “You ready?”

The woman sucked in a breath and held it as she snapped to the familiar bearing of Attention, dropping into At Ease for a brief moment before letting the air out in a rush. “No. But it’s not like I can prepare for this bullshit.”

“I’ll be right here. Just yell and I’ll be in there in a heartbeat. Less, even.” Thirty seconds. Glen pulled his commander into one last quick hug before he smoothed out her uniform again. “Verrunsmal äthr.” 

Arya pushed her forehead against his and gave him a firm punch to the upper chest. “Verrunsmal äthr.” 

Then she turned, straightened with another steadying breath, and entered the great hall.

#inheritance cycle #eragon #modern inheritance stories #the cyclists #the inheritance cycle #the world of eragon #modern inheritance #ket's modern inheritance cycle #arya #arya drottningu #debrief #debriefing #glen #glenwing #glenwing (inheritance) #brom #brom (inheritance) #brom (eragon) #brom is everyone's dad #trauma twins #trauma babies #amputee character #i hate politics #just don't be an asshole that should be a general rule #but it seems the rule is actually 'be an asshole' #i bashed this out over like half an hour maybe don't expect more anytime soon #wip #mic wip

[the-fiction-witch]

Mr Brown

Media Nanny McPhee 

Character Simon Brown (Age Up)

Couple Simon X Reader

Rating Sweet Af

Concept Inspiration 

I sat on the porch of the little blue house, every so often slightly moving my left leg to push back and forth my rocking chair hearing it creek occasionally against the wooden porch. I pulled the cigarette from my lips ashing it onto the grass and blew the smoke out. Setting the cigarette in my ashtray on the table.

"Afternoon Mr Brown" the charming voice cooed o glanced up seeing on the other side of the porch overlooking the pathway leant on the wooden porch railing was the young Miss y/l/n. She stood on her tall black lace boots, her long elegant light blue skirt, a tight dark blue belt with a Crescent moon buckle, her white blouse well buttoned, a light blue ribbon hanging from her hair, her sweet y/h/c hair pinned up and away with only one long plait noticeable tied with said ribbon, her little white and blue hat on her head well pushed back to allow her to see and work without issues. Her arms leant on the wood, her chin on her arms smiling at me.

"Y/n." I smiled instantly bolting up from my chair nervously fixing my blue waistcoat and fiddling with my sleeves from my nerves "good afternoon" I smiled but as I did the chair rocked back forward and hit me in the ankle "oww"

"You alright?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Are uhh are you okay?"

"Course" she smiled coming around turning herself by holding the porch support and hopping up the steps like a sweet little bunny "I'm quite alright Mr brown" she smiled fixing my hair for me

"Right uhh that's good then. You uhh you off for the day then?"

"Umm hum" she nods "so long as there isn't anything else you need of me today?" She asks playfully fixing a button on my shirt

"Uhhhhhhh… no. No. You uhh you get on home"

"Alright" she smiled hopping down from the porch and heading down the path "I'll see you in the morning Simon" she waves

"Yeah. I uhh I'll see you in the morning y/n" I smiled watching as she disappeared. And I collapsed on my chair, my head in my hands, "why can't I master this?" I sighed

Y/n works here, keep the house tidy, and the gardens perfect and even cooks meals every so often. In all honesty, she basically came with the house as she was the housekeeper for the previous owner and when I bought it I thought it best to keep her on. That and if it wasn't terribly obvious but… I had a small. Crush on her. Un-noticeable I know. I don't know why I'm like this. Never had issues talking to girls before I met y/n. I talk to every other woman fine. I rubbed my eyes and headed inside the house heading up to my room for an early night. I got up to my room and got changed for bed climbing in with a good book but I couldn't help but notice the light that came from around my curtains. I set my book down and went to the window pulling my curtains back just enough to see the garden, the small fence and the house behind my own. Her little house. The firelight glowing from within the shadows of her moving inside. I couldn't help watching for what felt like an hour, but I forced myself away getting back into bed trying to just lay down and get some sleep.

I wandered down the staircase hearing it creak and crack with my steps, I headed out the front door shutting it behind me heading out onto the porch. I hopped down the steps onto the pathway heading past the sweet grass, roses, lavender flowers and other such sweetness. I followed the path around the house where I saw the chicken pen all of them up and bustling about and within the pen stood miss y/l/n in her little brown skirt tucked up in her hands using the skirt to hold the chicken feed as well as keeping it out of the hay and muck, a little white shirt with the sleeves rolled up a small brown belt tied like a corset around her sweet waist. Her hair clearly styled to be loose for the day but she had thrown up in a small white tie to keep it away from her face for this activity she saw me and looked rather confused as I approached.

"Oh good morning Mr Brown. Your up early" she laughed

"Actually I'm up late" I corrected jumping the fence and taking a handful of feed to help her feed them all

"You didn't get any sleep again did you?"

"I did not."

"Simon" she glared

"I know. I know… just. Trying my best"

"You work yourself too hard"

"I'm a writer. The laziest job there is"

"You're not lazy, it's a hard job to do what you do. You shouldn't overwork yourself only bad things will come of it" she says as she finished with the feed and heads inside the little house taking a basket to collect any eggs so I followed her helping her where I could as it really is a job that needs three or more hands sometimes

"It's just with like getting on at me"

"Of course he does. He's your publisher he wants you to pop out bestselling novels like Milly here" she says holding Milly the chicken up as I gathered her eggs "good writing takes time. Whether Luke likes it or not. Don't let him get to you, Simon. He wouldn't dare drop you any way you're the only one he has on his books making any money"

"True."

"How about you go up, have yourself a nice little nap and I'll wake you in a couple of hours with a nice omelette?"

"Maybe" I shrug

"Chicken soup?" She suggested as she was still holding Milly giving the chicken an inviting shake

"Scrambled egg on toast?"

"Alright, if you go have yourself a nap"

"Fine wake me in a few hours"

"I will do" she smiled, putting Milly back and heading in with the basket of eggs, so I headed in too back up to my room for a nap.

I sat in my study feet against the dusty wooden floor, sat tightly in my small chair, elbows on the old wooden desk, my chin on my hands, staring at my little black typewriter loaded with its beige paper having yet to write a single letter. The fire crackling in its fireplace beside me warming my toes, the grandfather's clock mercilessly ticking reminding me of the time passing and how little time I had left to complete this.

"Tea time Mr Brown" a cheery voice cooed as the door to my study was pushed open by miss y/l/n in her sweet little grey dress with silver glinting flowers across the fabric, her hat gone her hair pinned up in an Edwardian style bun with a white flower tucked into it, the tea tray in her hand which she set on my desk with a fresh pot of tea, milk, sugar, biscuits and my usual cup and saucer.

"Oh? Already?' I asked, a tad surprised, turning to the clock and noticing it was she was in fact slightly late.

"How goes the writing?' she asks dusting her hands on her little white apon

"It doesn't" I answered leaning back in my chair with a sigh

"Oh, dear." She says "well how much more to go?'

"Four chapters. I promised Like I'd get ten to twenty done"

"Ohh goodness. Well perhaps send him over ten to fifteen. That'll give him enough to be getting on with. give you time to finish the rest?" She suggested

"You think he'll like that?"

"He won't like anything you do Simon. But he'll prefer the five good chapters you have done than ten half of which you rushed and forced"

"I suppose you're right y/n"

"Aren't I always?" She smiled going to tend to the fireplace

"Often times yes" I smiled watching her kneel on the rug throwing a log on and a few nuggets of coal from the bucket taking my waste paper basket and holding it close

"May I?"

"Go on. Nothing important"

"Alright" she smiled throwing the paper onto the fire and putting the basket back taking the now empty log basket in her hand and heading to the door spotting my page on her way "when I return with logs I expect at least two paragraphs," she says

"Or else what?'

"Or no strawberry sponge" she warns, giving the top of my head a kiss

"What was that for?" I smiled blushing hard

"Encouragement" she smiled before heading off to fetch more logs having left the little white flower from her hair in the vase on my desk.

I felt my stomach rumble and gurgle again for the second time in as many minutes, so I headed my way down to the kitchen where I saw a very sweet sight. Miss y/l/n stood working hard to make dinner for tonight, her little green dress pushed up and away her hair pinned back in a milkmaid braid, apron around her tied tight with a bow. Her hands working on some dough tossing it about in her hands a little flour across her cheek and nose

"Oh afternoon Mr Brown"

"After Miss y/l/n. What's on the menu?"

"Roasted quail pie," she says

"Ummm sounds delicious" I smiled immediately, feeling my stomach rumble from the mere concept of her roasted quail pie "do you have anything… snackable?" I asked her coming closer to investigate her workstation

"No. I don't. Dinner will be ready at seven Mr brown" she laughed

"I know. But … my stomach is rumbling like a thunderstorm" I told her "please y/n?"

She rolled her eyes getting an apple from the side and shoving it in my mouth "I want to hear no more about it"

I happily took a bite having the rest in my hand "Thank you y/n" I smiled

"You're welcome. This is what happens when you don't have breakfast" she says

"I was tried. I'm sorry I missed breakfast"

"It's alright you where you working late"

"I know but I feel bad when I miss a nice breakfast you make for me"

"It was merely toast and jam, nothing to worry over"

"Still. I never want to miss my time with you" I smiled getting a tea towel from the side and giving her cheek a wipe to remove the flour as well as running it across her nose to clear the flour I blushed hard but gave the tip of her nose a little kiss

"Umm sweetness like that isn't going to get you additional snacks Simon"

"I know" I shrug "I just wanted to"

"Alright, go on get back to writing or Luke will send you more angry letters," she says hitting me with her hip

"I'll be in my study. Call me for dinner"

"I will" she smiled

So I hurried off back to my study apple in hand.

I stood at my window unable to sleep. I admit I was being a little creepy watching her little house and the shadows moving back and forth like dancing demons. I couldn't sleep and honestly just watching her little house wasn't helping. I forced myself away and sat in my bed, the idea of sleep preposterous. I took my notebook in hand and a pencil and started to make notes, and ideas for my writing but I Found her impossible to escape in my mind.

… It's been long enough.

I've waited long enough.

I may not be able to tell her how I feel about her, but this stupid skill I supposedly have has to be good for something.

[endlessnightlock]

25 Dialogue Prompts: 6, 16, 25 ❤️

16. “I didn’t think you would notice, much less care.”

This is a prequel to another fic I wrote. If there is interest I'll reblog.

Katniss stood, lemonade in hand, amongst the crowd of unattached ladies assembled for a story from Lord Odair. She wasn't paying their host much attention-he was telling them something or other about their neighbor's gamekeeper and the time he mistakenly let their geese loose inside Trident Hall. The other young ladies offered Lord Odair sympathy for the mess it had caused, but Katniss bit back a laugh. Lord Odair was a notorious prankster and not above stretching the truth when it served him. Katniss would have to hear, Sir. Abernathy's side of the tale before passing judgment over which landowner was in the wrong.

Discretely Katniss patted the back of her coiffeur, hoping the intricate braids her borrowed maid, Delly, plaited around her head would stay in place for the evening. Her faithful Madge hadn't been able to journey with them to Trident Hall this time due to a family event. Katniss missed not just her skill in dressing and hairstyling but also her friendship. She trusted Madge with anything.

Katniss glanced around the ballroom. The room was crowded with friends and neighbors from the county of Panem and neighboring counties. The Everdeens traveled a long way to be here and planned an extended stay for their trouble.

"Ms. Everdeen?"

Drat. Apparently, tonight wasn't just an occasion for friends and neighbors but enemies as well. Enemies may be an exaggeration, if she were honest. A better term would likely be a massive annoyance in the form of Lord Peeta Mellark.

She couldn't stand the man after he'd made a joking offer of marriage to her last season. Everyone knew she was an old maid, that her younger sister Primrose was the Everdeen sister eligible men had eyes for. Katniss couldn't forgive Lord Mellark for shaming her in such a way. The only thing that would have made the whole situation worse was if he'd asked for her hand publicly.

Pasting a smile on her face, Katniss greeted the irritatingly handsome man waiting at her side. Lord Mellark bowed, bright blue eyes nearly twinkling in the candlelit ballroom, decided mirth turning his lips up in the corner. How he loved to tease her-it ate at her the way nothing else did. Not that she would let him know.

"How do you do sir," she asked politely, "are you enjoying the ball so far?"

"Very much. Yourself?"

"Yes, the company has been excellent. Until this moment, of course."

Lord Mellark smirked. "I could say the same, but I am a gentleman and would not sully your delicate sensibilities in such a way."

Katniss rolled her eyes in disdain. "I assure you that I am no delicate creature. Sully away, my Lordship."

"Not a bad offer, Ms. Everdeen. I'll keep that in mind, for later perhaps. You are looking quite beautiful in that green gown. It's too bad you are so mule-headed because you are the loveliest creature here. You are always so to me."

Katniss gaped at him, the audacity of his words besting her for once.

"Green, it is your favorite color," Lord Mellark went on, focussing directly on her, something like fire in his eyes, "and you wear it as often as possible."

"I didn't think you would notice-"

"I have."

"Much less care."

Katniss was surprised to see the constant defensiveness Peeta wore like a cloak melting away. "Katniss-if I may be so brash-I remember everything about you. Every smile you gave me before deciding I was some sort of cad, every conversation we've had where passion or humor lit your eyes and made me want to kiss you senseless. Please," Lord Mellark glanced around to make certain no one was paying them mind, "give me a chance to explain what happened last year."

"Stop," Katniss whispered, stomach plummeting to the floor. She couldn't go down this road of heartache with him again.

"I can't!" Lord Mellark exclaimed, louder than he should have. He backed away from her, his expression pleading. "After the ball, meet me in the third-floor study. Please consider it."

#endlessnightlock writes #regency au #everlark fic #everlark drabble #katniss everdeen/peeta mellark