waystobewixed

[waystobewixed]

Heartbreak Hotel | austin!elvis x oc (part 10)

(gif source: feralgodmothers)

plot summary: Angel Casteel is a small town girl who lucked into working as a costume designer at a film studio. Unfortunately, her confidence in herself wavers as she is assigned to work with Elvis on his latest motion picture. Overcome by his star power at first, she slowly starts to realize there is a man behind the fame, a man she understands. But as they grow closer, the world grows more turbulent, especially Elvis's world. Will this Angel be able to save Elvis from himself and the people around him? Or will getting mixed up in his word prove to be her downfall as well?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

pairings: austin!elvis x oc

word count: 3365

warnings/notes: Writing this chapter made me break my OWN heart!! TW: drugs, overdose

Chapter 10: Held Hostage

A week later, Angel stood in the wings of the showroom, watching Elvis perform his second show of the night. The audience was enthralled, but Angel could see the slight tremor in his hands when he wasn't gripping the microphone or the occasional moment when his eyes lost focus before snapping back to the present.

"He's pushing through on sheer willpower," Jerry murmured beside her.

“And those shots The Colonel’s doctor friend gives him,” she almost hissed, “Plus the pills.”

Jerry's expression darkened. "Dr. Nichols isn't even a real doctor. He's some quack the Colonel keeps on payroll. Those shots he gives Elvis... nobody knows what's in them."

Angel's stomach churned as she watched Elvis stumble slightly during "Love Me Tender," catching himself just in time to make it look like part of the choreography. She hadn't told Elvis about her confrontation with the Colonel. How could she? The knowledge would only add to his burden or it might push him to do something reckless.

"We have to do something," she whispered.

"Like what?" Jerry asked helplessly. "The Colonel's got him locked up tighter than Fort Knox. And after what happened to Scotty..."

Angel turned sharply. "What happened to Scotty?"

Jerry's face went pale. "I thought you knew. Scotty Moore—Elvis's old guitar player from the Sun Records days. He tried to convince Elvis to leave the Colonel a few years back, said he'd help him break free." Jerry's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "They found him beaten half to death in a Memphis alley. Doctors said he'd never play guitar the same way again."

The blood drained from Angel's face. “The Colonel.”

Jerry nodded. “Can’t prove it, but I know he paid someone to do it. Scotty never said anything. He just up and disappeared from Elvis’s life completely. It really hurt him.”

On stage, Elvis was transitioning into "Can't Help Falling in Love," his voice breaking slightly on the high notes. Angel watched him scan the audience, and when his eyes found hers in the wings, he smiled. It was broken and tired. Yet he still looked at her like she was his entire world even if only for a brief moment before he looked back at the audience. Angel felt her heart shatter at that tender look. He was killing himself for her, and she had to find a way to save him. As Elvis finished his final number, the crowd roared to their feet, but Angel could see the way he swayed slightly, how his smile became fixed and mechanical as he took his bows.

When he finally staggered off stage, she was there to catch him, slipping her arm around his waist. "I've got you," she whispered, helping him navigate the backstage hallways.

"Just need to sit down a minute," Elvis mumbled, his speech slightly slurred. "Then we can meet those casino folks the Colonel wants us to schmooze."

"No more meetings tonight," Angel said firmly, guiding him toward their suite. "You're done."

Elvis started to protest but seemed to lack the energy. By the time they reached the elevator, he was leaning heavily against her, his breathing labored. Jerry followed close behind.

Once inside their suite, Angel helped Elvis to the bed. His hands trembled as she removed his sweat-soaked jumpsuit, replacing it with soft pajamas. "I'm sorry, darlin'," he murmured, his eyes struggling to focus on her face. "Don't know what's wrong with me lately."

Angel bit back tears as she stroked his damp hair. "It's not your fault, baby. You just need rest."

"Colonel won't like it," Elvis said, his voice taking on a childlike worry that broke her heart. "Said I gotta meet those people. Important for business."

"I'll handle the Colonel," Angel promised, though she had no idea how. "You just sleep now."

Elvis's eyes were already closing, exhaustion claiming him before he could respond. Angel waited until his breathing evened out before slipping from the bedroom. Jerry waited in the living room, pacing anxiously.

"He's getting worse," Angel said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. “That man is killing him and he doesn’t even care.”

Angel stood in the dimly lit living room, watching Elvis's chest rise and fall in the bedroom beyond. His breathing was labored even in sleep, and she could see the faint tremor that never quite left his hands anymore.

Jerry poured himself a whiskey from the bar, his movements sharp with frustration. "We can't keep pretending this is sustainable, Angel. He's always five minutes away from collapsing. And the Colonel just has his pet doctor pump him full of that stuff and pushes him back on stage."

"I know," Angel whispered, her voice breaking. She moved to the window, staring out at the neon wasteland of the Strip. "Jerry, I need to tell you something. About my meeting with the Colonel."

Jerry set down his glass. "What meeting?"

Angel turned to face him. "Last week, when I went to confront him about the schedule. He threatened me."

Jerry's face went pale. "What kind of threat?"

"The permanent kind," Angel said grimly. "He has a bodyguard—Andrews. Made it very clear that I could disappear into the desert if I didn't stay in line." She rubbed her throat unconsciously, remembering the pressure of the man's grip. "That's why Elvis is pushing himself so hard. The Colonel told him that as long as he performs exactly as demanded, I'll be safe."

Jerry sank into a chair, running his hands through his hair. "Jesus Christ.”

“He’s not just controlling Elvis’s career anymore. He’s holding him hostage. Maybe me too,” Angel continued, “And Elvis doesn't even know I found out. He's killing himself trying to protect me.”

"We have to tell him," Jerry said immediately.

Angel shook her head. “We can’t, Jerry. In his current state, he can’t handle it. It would break what little control he still has over himself and push him to do something that may get us both killed. The Colonel is just crazy enough to do it. Elvis Presley is probably worth more dead than alive.”

Jerry stared at her, the implication sinking in. "You think the Colonel would actually—"

"I think he's a desperate man watching his golden goose slip away," Angel interrupted. "And desperate men do desperate things. The Colonel has all these gambling debts he thinks no one knows about. Odds are he was threatened with the same plan he has for me. As long as Elvis keeps making money, Colonel Parker doesn’t end up ‘disappearing’ in the desert himself.” She moved to the bar, pouring herself a small whiskey with shaking hands.

Jerry's eyes lit up with understanding. "We could get the real authorities involved. Medical board, maybe even the FBI if we can prove everything the Colonel is doing.”

“Medical board,” Angel said slowly, her mind working, “If we could prove Elvis’s health is in danger and get him to a real doctor for evaluation, they would put him in rehab. It would keep Elvis away from The Colonel long enough for us to dig up the proof we need for the authorities.” Angel set down her glass, feeling the first spark of hope she'd had in weeks. “With all that evidence, the judge will have no choice but to rule in favor of Elvis. He would get his estate, all his own assets and The Colonel would be left with no control over anything having to do with Elvis Presley. And he wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it.”

"That's not going to be easy. The Colonel keeps that stuff locked up tighter than—"

A soft groan from the bedroom interrupted him. Angel hurried to Elvis's side, finding him thrashing restlessly, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool room.

"Mama," he mumbled, his voice filled with distress. "Don't let them take her away."

"Shh," Angel soothed, stroking his hair. "I'm here, baby. I'm not going anywhere."

Elvis's eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy. "Angel? That really you?"

"Yes, it's me." She leaned down to kiss his forehead, tasting salt. "You were having a bad dream."

"Felt so real," he whispered, his hand searching for hers. "The Colonel... he said he was gonna hurt you if I didn't..." His voice trailed off as confusion clouded his features.

Angel's heart clenched. Even in his drugged state, the fear was eating at him. "Nobody's going to hurt me, Elvis. I promise."

"Can't let anything happen to you," he said, gripping her hand with surprising strength. "You're all I got left that's real."

"I'm not going anywhere," Angel repeated, but she could see he was already drifting back into sleep.

When Elvis's breathing evened out again, Angel returned to Jerry in the living room. "We need to move fast," she said quietly. "Tomorrow, while Elvis is sleeping off tonight's show, I want you to call Dr. Preston in Memphis. The one who treated Elvis before the Colonel brought in his pet quack."

Jerry nodded. "Dr. Preston's a good man. He'll tell us the truth about what those shots are doing to him."

Jerry hesitated, his expression troubled. "What if the Colonel finds out?"

"He won't," Angel said with determination. "We'll be careful. This might be our only chance to save Elvis."

***

Three days later, Angel sat in a small diner off the Strip, far from the International Hotel's watchful eyes. She'd chosen this location carefully. Somewhere the Colonel or his network of informants would be unlikely to spot her. The vinyl booth squeaked as she shifted nervously, checking her watch for the third time in five minutes.

The bell above the door jingled, and Dr. George Preston entered. He was a distinguished man in his early sixties, with silver hair and kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. Angel recognized him immediately from the photos Elvis had shown her from his early career.

"Mrs. Presley," he said quietly, sliding into the booth across from her. "I came as soon as I could."

"Thank you for meeting me," Angel replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know who else to turn to."

The waitress approached, and they ordered coffee, waiting until she was out of earshot before continuing their conversation.

"Jerry explained the situation," Dr. Preston said, his expression grave. "Based on what you've described, I'm deeply concerned about Elvis's condition."

Angel leaned forward, her hands wrapped tightly around her coffee cup. “This Dr. Nichols that the Colonel brought in—Elvis trusts him because the Colonel says he’s helping. But he shoots Elvis up with this special cocktail of drugs just so he can function during the day and gives him pills so he can sleep at night. It happens so often Elvis has become dependent on them now—addicted.”

Dr. Preston's jaw tightened. "I've heard of Nichols. He lost his license in California three years ago for over-prescribing controlled substances. The fact that he's treating Elvis..." He shook his head grimly.

"What can we do?" Angel asked desperately. "Elvis is deteriorating right before my eyes, and the Colonel has him so terrified of what might happen to me that he won't even consider getting help."

Dr. Preston leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "There's a procedure called an involuntary psychiatric hold. If I can examine Elvis and determine that he's a danger to himself due to substance abuse, I can have him committed to a treatment facility for seventy-two hours minimum."

Angel's eyes widened. "But Elvis would never agree to be examined. The Colonel would never allow it."

"He doesn't have to agree," Dr. Preston said quietly. "If I witness his condition firsthand and can document the severity of his impairment, I can petition the court for an emergency intervention. The key is getting me close enough to observe him during one of his episodes."

Angel's mind raced. "Tonight. He has two shows tonight, and by the second one..." She trailed off, the reality of what she was suggesting hitting her. "But if the Colonel finds out I brought you there..."

"Mrs. Presley," Dr. Preston said gently, "from what you've told me, your husband is dying. Slowly, perhaps, but dying nonetheless. Sometimes we have to take risks to save the people we love."

Angel nodded. "What do you need from me?"

"Get me backstage during his second show. I need to see him when he's at his worst, document his condition, maybe get a blood sample if possible." Dr. Preston's expression was grave. "And Angel... once I start this process, there's no going back. The Colonel will know you were involved."

Angel thought of Elvis's trembling hands, his glazed eyes, the way he could barely stand after performances. "I don't care what happens to me. I just want my husband back."

Dr. Preston reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Then we do this tonight."

***

The showroom was packed as usual for Elvis's 11 PM show. Angel stood in her customary spot in the wings. Elvis was struggling. His movements were jerky and uncoordinated, his banter between songs rambling and occasionally incoherent. Halfway through "Suspicious Minds," he forgot the lyrics, covering by turning the microphone to the audience. Angel put a hand over her mouth trying to remain patient. Jerry was working on getting Dr. Preston backstage this very moment. All she had to do was hold out until the end of the show. Once the show ended, Dr. Preston would see Elvis, would see how terrible he looked, and everything would be fine. She just had to be patient.

As Elvis launched into his final number, Angel noticed the Colonel watching from the opposite wing, his expression impassive as he observed his star's struggle. When their eyes met across the stage, Angel felt a chill run down her spine. The moment Elvis finished his closing bow, Angel moved quickly through the backstage corridors toward his dressing room. She had to reach him before Dr. Nichols arrived and she only had about 15 minutes.

Angel pushed through the crowd of stagehands and musicians, her heart pounding in her chest. When she finally walked into the dressing room, she found Elvis slumped in a chair before the mirror, his jumpsuit soaked with sweat, makeup running down his face.

"Elvis," she said softly, closing the door behind her.

He turned to her with unfocused eyes. "Angel... that you, baby?"

"It's me." She knelt before him, taking his trembling hands in hers. Up close, his condition was even worse than she'd feared. His pupils were pinpoints, his breathing shallow and irregular. "Elvis, I need to talk to you about something important."

"Gotta... gotta rest first," he slurred, reaching for a small silver pill box on the dressing table. "Just need somethin' to take the edge off."

Angel caught his wrist. "No more pills, Elvis. Please."

"Don't understand," he muttered, pulling away from her grip with surprising strength. "Need 'em to keep goin'. For you."

"For me?" Angel's voice broke. "Elvis, you're killing yourself."

"Doesn't matter." He fumbled with the pill box, spilling several white tablets onto the table. "Colonel says... says I gotta keep performin' or..." His words trailed off as he scooped up the pills with shaking hands.

"Elvis, listen to me," Angel pleaded, trying again to take the pills from his hand. "You don't need these. You need real help."

"Can't stop now," Elvis mumbled, jerking his hand away. Before she could stop him, he tossed the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry. "Colonel's waitin'.”

Elvis pushed himself up from the chair, his eyes suddenly wide and unfocused. "I just need to—" His words cut off as his legs buckled beneath him. He crashed to the floor with a sickening thud, his body going rigid before beginning to convulse violently.

"Elvis!" Angel screamed, crawling over to him. His eyes had rolled back in his head, foam forming at the corners of his mouth as his limbs jerked uncontrollably. “No! Elvis! Help! Somebody help us!"

The door burst open as Jerry rushed in, followed closely by Dr. Preston. The doctor immediately knelt beside Elvis, placing his medical bag on the floor.

"What happened?" Dr. Preston demanded, checking Elvis's pulse.

"He took pills—I don't know how many," Angel sobbed, clutching Elvis's hand. "He was already drugged from something Dr. Nichols gave him before the show."

Dr. Preston worked with practiced efficiency, rolling Elvis onto his side to prevent him from choking. "His pulse is erratic, breathing shallow. Classic signs of an overdose." He reached into his bag and pulled out a syringe. "This is naloxone. It might counteract whatever opioids are in his system, but we need to get him to a hospital immediately."

"What the hell is going on here?" the Colonel bellowed from the open door. Andrews’s massive form was looming behind him like a shadow.

"He's overdosing," Dr. Preston said without looking up, his focus entirely on his patient. "We need to get him to a hospital immediately."

The Colonel stepped into the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. "That won't be necessary. Dr. Nichols is on his way."

"This man needs emergency medical attention," Dr. Preston insisted, checking Elvis's pulse again. "Whatever cocktail of drugs he's been given has pushed his system to the breaking point."

The Colonel's eyes narrowed as he studied Dr. Preston. "And who might you be?"

"This is Dr. George Preston," Angel said, rising to her feet to face the Colonel. Her voice shook but her stance was firm. "Elvis's doctor from Memphis. A real doctor."

Understanding dawned on the Colonel's face, followed by cold fury. "I see," he said softly, his quiet tone more terrifying than his earlier shout. "Mrs. Presley, it seems you've made a very serious mistake."

"The only mistake I made was letting you continue killing my husband!"

"Security!" the Colonel barked, his face reddening. "Get this man out of here!"

Andrews stepped forward, reaching for Dr. Preston, but the doctor held his ground. "Touch me, and I'll have you arrested for interfering with emergency medical care," he warned, "This man is experiencing a life-threatening overdose."

The sound of Elvis's labored breathing filled the momentary silence. His convulsions had subsided, but his skin had taken on a bluish tinge that made Angel's heart stutter with fear. She grabbed scissors off of Elvis’s vanity table holding tight and pointing them at Andrews who continued to inch closer. “Don’t you come near my husband.”

For a brief moment, something like uncertainty flickered across Andrews's face. The Colonel caught it and turned on him with a snarl. "I said get him out!"

Before Andrews could move, the door burst open again. Jerry entered, followed by two uniformed paramedics wheeling a stretcher.

"Thank God," Dr. Preston breathed, immediately directing the paramedics. "Suspected polydrug overdose. I've administered naloxone but his response is minimal. Respiration is shallow, pulse irregular."

The Colonel stepped between the paramedics and Elvis. "This is a private matter. Elvis Presley is under contract to perform tomorrow night, and I cannot allow—"

“I’m his wife. I have the power to make his medical decisions. Take him now.” Angel kept her eyes on the Colonel dropping the scissors from her hand.

"Out of my way," the first paramedic said, his voice firm as he pushed past the Colonel.

Andrews moved forward, but the Colonel held up his hand, stopping him. A cold calculation had replaced the fury in his eyes.

"Very well," he said, his voice suddenly reasonable. "Elvis's health must come first, of course."

Angel didn't trust the abrupt change, but she had no time to dwell on it as the paramedics worked quickly to stabilize Elvis and transfer him to the stretcher. His body looked unnaturally still now, the vibrant performer reduced to a pale, unconscious shell.

"I'm coming with him," she insisted.

Dr. Preston nodded. "I'll follow in my car."

As they wheeled Elvis from the dressing room, the Colonel stepped close to Angel, his voice pitched low enough that only she could hear.

"You've made your move, Mrs. Presley. Now I'll make mine."

Angel felt ice spread through her veins, but she refused to show fear. "Do your worst," she whispered back. "But you won't hurt him anymore."

Stay tuned for part 11!! Click HERE to view!

[waystobewixed]

Riding With Devils | biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 5)

(gif source: spiderliliez)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

plot summary: Sophie Ann Sutton appears to have the perfect life as a high school senior in a small town during the 1960s. With straight A's, a thriving social life, and a scholarship to her dream college, she feels invincible—especially with her loyal best friend by her side. But everything changes when she crosses paths with Austin, the dangerously charming son of the local biker gang's leader. Their worlds collide in an electrifying romance that defies all expectations, pulling Sophie into a whirlwind of rebellion, excitement and danger.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 5159

warnings/notes:

Chapter 5: The Secrets We Keep

Austin stalked down the empty hallway. His boots echoed against the polished floor. He pushed through the double doors at the end of the corridor and emerged into the afternoon sunlight, his eyes immediately scanning the parking lot. A dark sedan was parked across the street, two figures visible through the windshield. Austin clenched his jaw, fury building in his chest. The surveillance was one thing, but bringing it to the school crossed a line. Austin approached the car with measured steps. His expression was neutral despite the rage simmering beneath. Russo spotted him first, nudging Decker whose hand instinctively moved toward his waistband.

"Little far from home, aren't you?" Austin called out as he reached the sedan.

Russo rolled down the window, a cigarette dangling from his lips. "Just following orders."

"My father's orders?" Austin asked, leaning against the car door.

Decker's eyes remained fixed on the school entrance. "Frank wants to know who comes and goes. Standard surveillance."

"Standard surveillance happens from a distance," Austin replied, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Not parked across from a high school like a couple of perverts."

Russo's face darkened. "Watch your mouth, kid. You might be Frank's son, but—"

"But what?" Austin straightened, his hand moving to rest on the car's roof. "You'll what, exactly?”

Russo's eyes flashed with resentment, but he backed down. "Just doing what we're told," he muttered, flicking ash onto the pavement.

"Well, I'm telling you to relocate," Austin said, "Now. Before a teacher calls the cops about suspicious men watching teenagers."

“Sorry, kid, but we don’t take orders from you,” Decker chimed in even though he shifted uncomfortably.

Austin’s jaw tightened. He wanted to punch both of them until they couldn’t see straight, but that would just raise more questions with his father. Besides, Decker was unfortunately right. He may be the heir, but he didn’t have the crown yet. He couldn’t give any real orders, not ones that overrode what his father said anyway. Reluctantly, he straightened, pulling out his cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He stepped away from the sedan walking back towards the school with his mind racing.

Austin glanced back at the school, thinking of Sophie sitting in that library, probably wondering what kind of danger she'd stumbled into. The memory of her green eyes wide with concern, the way she'd grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving—it stirred something dangerous in his chest.

He'd made her a promise he wasn't sure he could keep.

***

Inside the library, Sophie tried to focus on Miguel's essay, but her concentration kept breaking. Every few minutes, she found herself glancing toward the entrance, waiting for Austin's return.

"You're worried about him," Miguel observed, setting down his pencil.

Sophie looked up, startled. "What?"

"Austin. You keep watching the door."

"I'm just wondering what's taking so long," Sophie’s cheeks warmed. "We have limited time for these sessions."

Miguel studied her face. "He told you there were people watching the school."

It wasn't a question. Sophie nodded slowly.

"There are," Miguel confirmed. "My uncle's people. Austin's father's people. Maybe others. I suggest you pretend like you don’t know anything.”

Sophie's pencil slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the table. "Your uncle's people? What does that mean?"

Miguel glanced around the library, ensuring they weren't overheard. "Look, I didn't want to get involved in any of this. I just came here to play football and get my grades up." He rubbed his face with both hands. "But my uncle...let’s just say it’s hard to escape the life of your family.”

“Even if it’s illegal?”

"You think everyone gets to grow up in a white house with a picket fence?” Miguel shot back, “Some of us have to make choices you can't even imagine."

Sophie recoiled at the bitterness in his tone. "I didn't mean—"

"Yes, you did." Miguel's dark eyes flashed. "You meant exactly that. Poor Miguel from the wrong side of town, mixed up with criminals." He leaned forward. "Well, here's the thing, Sophie. Your perfect little world? It only exists because people like my uncle and Austin's father stay in their lanes. But those lanes are shifting because someone decided to jump their lane.”

"What kind of shifting?" she asked quietly.

Miguel's expression grew uncomfortable. "Just stay out of it, Sophie. Alright? Just keep your head down…and you should tell your dad to do the same.”

Miguel's warning about her father sent a chill down Sophie's spine. "My father? What does he have to do with any of this?"

Before Miguel could answer, the library doors swung open and Austin strode back in, his expression thunderous despite his attempt to appear casual. Mrs. Ramirez glanced up from the circulation desk, her eyebrows raised in silent question.

"Bathroom break," Austin explained with an easy smile that didn't reach his eyes. He slid back into his seat beside Miguel, leaning close to whisper something Sophie couldn't hear. Miguel nodded almost imperceptibly before returning his attention to his history book.

Sophie watched the exchange with growing unease. "Did you take care of your... situation?" she asked carefully.

"Not exactly," Austin replied, his voice tight. "But it's handled for now."

Sophie wanted to press for details, but Mrs. Ramirez was approaching their table again, clipboard in hand.

"How's the essay coming along?" she asked brightly.

"Great progress," Sophie answered automatically, slipping back into her perfect-student persona with practiced ease. "Miguel's analysis of Reconstruction policies is really insightful."

Mrs. Ramirez beamed. "Wonderful! We'll need to wrap up in about fifteen minutes. Don't forget to fill out your session evaluation forms."

As she walked away, Austin's knee bumped against Sophie's under the table—deliberately, she realized when it happened a second time. She glanced up to find him watching her, his eyes communicating something urgent.

"What?" she whispered.

"When we leave, stay between me and Miguel," he murmured. "Don't stop to talk to anyone. Don't look across the street."

Sophie's heart hammered against her ribs. "You're scaring me."

Austin said nothing.

The remaining fifteen minutes crawled by with excruciating slowness. Sophie went through the motions of tutoring, but her mind was consumed with imagining what—or who—might be waiting outside. When Mrs. Ramirez finally announced the end of the session, Sophie's hands trembled as she gathered her books.

"Ready?" Austin asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

Sophie nodded, clutching her books to her chest like a shield. Miguel positioned himself on her left while Austin took her right, their bodies creating a protective barrier as they exited the library. The hallway was mostly empty, with only a few students lingering at lockers or hurrying toward different after school activities.

"Keep walking," Austin murmured, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. "Don't look around."

"This is ridiculous," Sophie whispered, though she kept pace between them. "We're in school. Nothing's going to happen here."

"Just trust me," Austin replied, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.

As they approached the main entrance, Sophie spotted Jimmy standing by the trophy case, deep in conversation with Caroline. When he noticed their approach, his expression darkened.

"Sophie," Jimmy called, stepping into their path. "Student council meeting starts in ten minutes. Caroline needs the budget spreadsheets."

Austin's hand pressed more firmly against Sophie's back, urging her forward. "She'll be there," he answered before Sophie could speak.

Jimmy's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't talking to you, Butler."

"Well, I'm answering anyway," Austin replied, “Again.”

Miguel shifted uncomfortably beside Sophie. "We should keep moving."

Jimmy blocked their path, his gaze fixed on Sophie. "What's going on? Why are these two escorting you like prison guards?"

"It's nothing," Sophie insisted, her voice higher than normal. "Just walking out together after our session."

"Doesn't look like nothing," Jimmy persisted. "In fact, it looks like—"

"Like none of your business," Austin cut in, stepping slightly in front of Sophie. “Move, Carson.”

The tension between them crackled like electricity. Sophie placed a hand on Austin's arm, feeling the muscles coiled tight beneath his leather jacket.

"I'll be at the meeting in five minutes, Jimmy," she said firmly. "Please."

Something in her expression must have conveyed her urgency because Jimmy reluctantly stepped aside, though his suspicious gaze followed them as they continued toward the exit.

The bright afternoon sunlight momentarily blinded Sophie as they stepped outside. Austin's grip on her elbow tightened almost imperceptibly as he steered her toward the student parking lot.

"Don't look left," he murmured close to her ear. "Just keep walking."

Despite his warning—or perhaps because of it—Sophie couldn't help glancing across the street. A dark sedan was parked under a tree, two men sitting inside watching the school entrance. When one of them spotted their trio emerging, he nudged his companion and reached for something beneath the dashboard.

"I told you not to look," Austin muttered, quickening their pace.

"Who are they?" Sophie whispered, fear coursing through her veins.

"Nobody you need to worry about," Austin replied, but his jaw was tight. "Miguel, you driving today?"

"Yeah, my car's over there." Miguel nodded toward a beat-up Honda Civic parked near the back of the lot.

"Good. Take Sophie with you."

Sophie stopped walking, digging her heels into the pavement. "I'm not going anywhere until someone tells me what's happening."

Austin turned to face her, his blue eyes blazing with frustration and—to Sophie’s surprise—fear. "Sophie, please. Just this once, don't ask questions. Get in Miguel's car and let him drive you home."

"My car is right here," Sophie protested, gesturing toward her neat blue Volkswagen Beetle parked in the student lot. "I don't need—"

"You're not driving alone," Austin cut her off, "Not today."

The authority in his tone made Sophie's spine stiffen. "You don't get to tell me what to do, Austin Butler. I'm perfectly capable of—"

A car door slammed across the street, the sound echoing like a gunshot. All three of them froze as one of the men from the sedan stepped onto the sidewalk, his hand conspicuously tucked inside his jacket.

“Shit.” Austin’s hand found Sophie’s wrist, his grip firm but not painful, “Too late to run now. Stay close to me.”

The man from the sedan crossed the street with deliberate slowness, his eyes fixed on their group. Austin positioned himself directly in front of Sophie, his body a shield between her and the approaching figure.

"Afternoon, kid," the man called out, his voice carrying the rough edges of someone who'd spent years smoking unfiltered cigarettes.

“Weren’t you supposed to stay in the car, Russo?” Austin replied.

“I was told to make a thorough inspection. Daddy’s orders.” Russo chuckled before his gaze shifted to Sophie. He completely ignored Austin’s obvious protective stance. “Sophie Sutton. Heard a lot about you, sweetheart. Your daddy’s made quite an impression on our organization.”

"Leave her out of this," Austin's voice carried a dangerous edge, “She doesn’t know anything.”

Russo kept his eyes on Sophie though he replied to Austin, “Relax, kiddo. I’m just making an observation. Your girlfriend is safe…for now.”

Sophie's face flushed hot. "I'm not his girlfriend."

"My mistake," Russo smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. "Just his... what? Study partner?"

Austin took a half-step forward. "We're done here. Get back in your car before someone calls the police about a creep hanging around a high school."

Russo's smile vanished. "Your father wants to see you. Now." His gaze flicked to Miguel. "Both of you."

Miguel's entire body tensed. "I've got football practice."

"Skip it," Russo suggested, his tone making it clear it wasn't a suggestion at all.

Sophie looked between the three men, feeling increasingly like she'd stumbled into a parallel universe. "Austin," she said quietly, "what's going on?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Austin replied, though his eyes never left Russo. "Go home. I’ll handle this.”

"But—"

"No arguments," Austin cut her off, his voice softening slightly as he finally glanced her way. "Please, Sophie."

She swallowed her protest. She nodded once, clutching her books tighter against her chest.

"Smart girl," Russo commented. "Knows when to stay in her lane."

Austin’s jaw clenched. “Go straight home, Sophie. Don’t stop anywhere.”

Sophie finally took her eyes off Russo long enough to look at Austin. “Will you be okay?”

"It's me you're asking about?" Austin's expression softened momentarily, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "I'm always okay, Princess."

She nodded once more and backed away, her legs feeling unsteady beneath her as she walked toward her Volkswagen.

"Straight home!" Austin called after her, his voice carrying across the parking lot.

Sophie fumbled with her keys, her hands trembling as she unlocked her car. Through the windshield, she watched Austin and Miguel follow Russo across the street to the sedan. The second man had emerged from the car, his hand also resting suspiciously inside his jacket.

As she started her engine, Sophie realized she had completely forgotten about the student council meeting. Caroline would be waiting, along with Jimmy and the others. For the first time in her academic career, Sophie Sutton was going to miss a scheduled obligation without notice or excuse.

And somehow, that seemed like the least of her worries.

***

Frank Butler's office at the Devil's Mark clubhouse felt smaller than usual. The air was thick with cigarette smoke. Austin stood with his back straight and shoulders squared. Miguel hovered near the door, clearly wishing he were anywhere else.

"So," Frank began, leaning back in his leather chair, "you two have become quite the team. Mentoring, tutoring... protecting judge's daughters."

Austin kept his expression neutral. "Russo was out of line. He approached Sophie on school grounds. Could have drawn police attention."

"Oh, so we’re on a first name basis with her now?” Frank asked.

Austin didn't flinch under his father's scrutiny. "We're co-mentors. Using first names is normal."

Frank's eyes narrowed, studying his son's face for any flicker of emotion. "Russo reports the girl seemed... confused about the situation. Almost like you hadn’t explained anything to her.”

"She's not involved in anything," Austin replied, his voice steady. "She's just a student doing what the school assigned her to do. We don’t have to involve her in this.”

Frank's laugh held no humor. “The moment her father thought he could come after me, she became part of this." His gaze shifted to Miguel, who was trying to make himself invisible against the wall. "Isn't that right, Mr. Hernandez?"

Miguel swallowed hard. "Sir, I just want to play football. I don't know anything about my uncle's business."

"Funny," Frank replied, standing slowly. "That's not what my sources tell me." He moved around the desk with deliberate steps. "They say Ricardo's been using his golden-boy nephew as cover for his distribution network. High school football star, perfect for moving product between schools during away games."

Miguel's face drained of color. "That's not—"

"Don't lie to me, boy," Frank cut him off, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I know exactly what moves through Millfield High. The only question is whether you're going to be useful to me, or whether you're going to be a problem."

Austin stepped forward, drawing his father's attention. "Miguel's cooperating. He's already agreed to feed us information about his uncle's operation."

Frank's eyebrows rose slightly. "Has he now? And when were you planning to share this development with me?"

"When I had something concrete to report," Austin replied. "No point bringing half-formed intelligence."

Frank studied his son's face, searching for deception. "Very well. But I want results by Monday. Real intelligence, not speculation." He turned back to Miguel. "As for you, Mr. Hernandez, you'll continue your regular activities. But from now on, you report to Austin twice a week. Everything your uncle says, everyone he meets with, every shipment that moves through your family's network."

Miguel nodded reluctantly. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Frank moved to the window overlooking the garage. "And the Sutton girl?"

Austin's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "What about her?"

“Her father's been sniffing around our legitimate businesses, asking questions about our tax filings and property acquisitions. Having his precious daughter emotionally invested in your welfare could prove... persuasive."

"She's not emotionally invested in anything," Austin lied. "She barely tolerates the mentoring sessions."

Frank's reflection in the window showed a knowing smile. "Then work harder to gain her trust. Keep her close.” He moved closer to Austin his smile growing wider after seeing something in his son’s eyes. “She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? Fuck her if you want. Just make sure the judge doesn’t find out about it.”

The blood roared in Austin's ears as his father's words hung in the air like poison. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, every muscle in his body coiled with barely restrained violence.

"Don't," Austin said, his voice deadly quiet. "Don't talk about her like that."

Frank's eyebrows rose with interest. "Protective, are we? How refreshing. I was beginning to think you'd inherited your mother's soft heart."

"This has nothing to do with my mother," Austin ground out. "Sophie Sutton is off-limits. Find another way to get to the judge."

"I don't think you understand your position here, son." Frank's voice hardened. "You don't give me orders. You don't set limits on my operations. And you certainly don't tell me which assets are off the table."

Miguel pressed himself further against the wall, clearly recognizing the dangerous shift in the room's atmosphere.

"She's not an asset," Austin said, each word carefully controlled. "She's a seventeen-year-old girl who has nothing to do with your war with Hernandez or your problems with Judge Sutton."

“And you’re only nineteen, son. And look where you are.” Frank moved closer, his pale eyes glittering with something that might have been amusement. "Everything and everyone is an asset, Austin. The sooner you learn that, the better leader you'll be." He paused, studying his son's rigid posture. "Unless you're thinking of walking away from your birthright for some pretty little princess."

The question hung between them like a blade. "I'm not walking away from anything," Austin said finally. "But I won't let you use her as a pawn."

Frank's smile was razor-sharp. "You won't let me?" He laughed, the sound echoing off the office walls. "Boy, you seem to have forgotten who's in charge here."

"I haven't forgotten anything," Austin replied, his voice steady despite the chaos in his chest. "But if you touch her, if any of your people touch her, you'll have a bigger problem than Ricardo Hernandez."

The threat was unmistakable. Frank's expression shifted from amusement to something far more dangerous. "Are you threatening me, son?"

Austin met his father's stare without flinching. "I'm stating a fact."

Frank's face underwent a series of transformations. When he spoke, his voice was unnervingly calm. "Interesting," he said, “You’re both dismissed. For now.”

For a moment, Austin wondered if he'd pushed too far. His father's calm was always more dangerous than his rage. But the thought of Sophie being used as leverage against her father, of being treated as just another asset in his father's arsenal, made something primal rise in his chest.

"Let's go," Austin muttered to Miguel, backing toward the door without taking his eyes off his father.

Outside, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the gravel lot. Austin stalked toward his motorcycle, every muscle tense with barely contained fury.

"Man, you just threatened Frank Butler," Miguel whispered, keeping pace beside him. "Your own father. Do you have a death wish?"

Austin stopped beside his bike, dragging a hand through his hair. "Maybe I do."

"He won't forget that," Miguel warned, glancing nervously back at the clubhouse.

"I know exactly who my father is," Austin replied, his voice tight. "Better than anyone. Get in your car and go home, Miguel. Keep your head down this weekend. I'll handle my father."

"And Sophie?"

Austin paused, his hand on his helmet. "I'll handle that too."

As Miguel retreated to his car, Austin swung his leg over his motorcycle, the familiar machine offering little comfort. What was it about Sophie? She was just some ordinary suburban girl. She shouldn’t be anything special. But she was bold and smart and courageous. She wanted to know of the danger rather than keep her head in the sand. No matter how she tried to hide her true self behind her perfect facade, he could see the real her and it set his heart ablaze. So did her defiance. She wasn’t afraid of him. No matter how his world scared her, he wasn’t who she was afraid of. And he liked that. In the space of four days, a girl with auburn hair and green eyes had made him question everything.

Austin kicked the motorcycle to life, the engine's roar drowning out his thoughts. He needed to see Sophie.

***

Sophie sat at her vanity, mechanically brushing her hair. The familiar ritual of one hundred strokes usually calmed her nerves, but tonight her mind churned with images of Russo's yellowed smile and Austin's protective stance. She'd managed to make it through dinner without her parents noticing her distraction, claiming fatigue from a long day of classes and extracurricular activities. The lie came easily—too easily.

A soft tapping at her window made her freeze mid-stroke. Sophie set down her brush and moved to the glass, her heart hammering as she recognized the silhouette on the trellis outside. Austin balanced on the wooden lattice with surprising grace, his leather jacket making him nearly invisible against the darkening sky.

She unlatched the window and pushed it open. "What are you doing here?"

"Making sure you're okay," he replied quietly, swinging one leg through the opening. "Can I come in?"

Sophie glanced toward her bedroom door, listening for any sounds from downstairs. Her parents were watching television in the living room, their voices a distant murmur. "You can't be here. If my father finds out—"

"He won't," Austin said, pulling himself fully into her room. "Unless you scream."

Sophie stepped back. He seemed to fill the room with his presence, making everything else look smaller, more fragile.

"You shouldn't have come," she whispered, though she made no move to ask him to leave.

Austin's eyes swept across her bedroom, taking in the neat desk with its stack of college applications, the bookshelf lined with classics, the bulletin board covered with academic achievements. "This is exactly what I expected," he said softly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Perfect. Organized. Safe." His gaze returned to her face. "Like you."

Sophie crossed her arms, suddenly self-conscious in her simple nightgown and robe. "Is that an insult?"

"No," Austin replied, moving closer. "It's an observation. This room is who everyone expects you to be.”

"And who do you think I am?" Sophie asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Austin's eyes studied her face in the soft lamplight. "I think you're someone who's been playing a part for so long you've forgotten there's a difference between the role and the person." He stepped closer, close enough that she could see the faint scar through his eyebrow. "But I saw the real you on Tuesday night. And again today when you grabbed my arm to stop me from leaving."

Sophie's cheeks flushed. "I was just concerned about Miguel."

"Were you?" Austin's voice was gentle but knowing. "Or were you concerned about me?"

Before Sophie could answer, the sound of footsteps in the hallway made them both freeze. Austin moved with lightning speed, pressing himself against the wall beside her window as Sophie's bedroom door opened.

"Sophie?" Her mother's voice drifted in. "I thought I heard voices."

"Just the radio," Sophie called back, her voice surprisingly steady. "I was studying."

"Don't stay up too late, dear. You have that debate practice tomorrow."

"I won't," Sophie promised, waiting until the footsteps retreated before exhaling shakily.

Austin emerged from his hiding spot, a wry smile on his lips. "Good reflexes, Princess."

"This is insane," Sophie whispered, running her hands through her hair. "You can't just climb into my bedroom whenever you feel like it."

"You could have screamed," Austin pointed out. "You could have called for your father. But you didn't."

He was right, and they both knew it. Sophie sank onto the edge of her bed, suddenly exhausted. "What happened after I left? With that man—Russo?"

Austin's expression darkened. "Nothing you need to worry about."

"Stop saying that," Sophie snapped, her voice rising before she remembered to keep quiet. "Stop treating me like I'm some fragile doll who can't handle the truth."

Austin studied her for a moment, then sat in her desk chair, his leather jacket creaking softly. "My father wanted to see Miguel and me. Russo was delivering the message."

"And?"

"And we had a conversation about expectations and loyalty." Austin's jaw tightened. "Among other things."

Sophie waited, but he didn't elaborate. "That's it? That's all you're going to tell me?"

"That's all you need to know."

"But it's not all I want to know," Sophie said, surprising herself with her boldness. "Austin, I saw how scared Miguel was. I saw how those men looked at me. I'm already involved whether you want me to be or not."

Austin leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "You're not involved. You're just... adjacent to things that don't concern you."

"Adjacent?" Sophie's voice sharpened. "Those men knew my name, Austin. They knew who my father is. They were watching the school—watching me. How is that not being involved?"

Austin was quiet for a long moment, his blue eyes studying her face. "Because I won't let you be," he said finally. "Whatever game my father thinks he's playing, whatever leverage he thinks you represent—I won't let it happen."

"Your father?" Sophie's stomach dropped. "What does your father want with me?"

Austin stood abruptly, moving to her window. "It doesn't matter. I'll handle it."

"Stop!" Sophie rose from the bed, her hands clenched into fists. "Stop protecting me from information I have a right to know. If I'm in danger because of who my father is, I deserve to understand why."

Austin turned back to her, something raw and desperate flickering in his expression. "Because your father has been systematically destroying my family's business for five years. Because he's sent more Devil's Mark members to prison than any judge in the county's history. Because my father sees you as the perfect weapon to make Judge Sutton reconsider his aggressive prosecutions."

The words hit Sophie like physical blows. She sank back onto her bed. "He wants to use me against my father."

"Yes," Austin said quietly. "But it's not going to happen."

"How can you be so sure?" Sophie looked up at him, her green eyes wide with fear. "If your father wants something, who's going to stop him?"

Austin's jaw tightened. "I am."

"You?" Sophie shook her head. "Austin, you're his son, but you're not in charge of that organization. What happens when he decides you're being too protective? What happens when he stops asking for your cooperation and starts demanding it?"

Austin had wondered the same things during his confrontation with Frank. How far would he go to protect Sophie? How much was he willing to sacrifice?

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "But I know I won't let anyone hurt you."

Sophie stood, moving closer to him. "Why?" she whispered. "Why does it matter to you what happens to me?"

Austin's eyes locked with hers. “Because.”

"Because what?" Sophie pressed, her heart hammering in her chest.

Austin reached out, his calloused fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Because you were the first person to look at me like I wasn’t just Frank Butler's son. Because you held onto me on that motorcycle like you trusted me with your life. Because—" he broke off, struggling to find words for something he'd never had to articulate before.

Sophie stepped closer, the heat from his body warming the space between them. "Because?"

Austin's hand cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. “I don’t know. But you make me think things I’ve never thought before.”

Sophie's hand came up to cover his, her fingers trembling slightly. "I'm scared," she admitted. "Not of you. Of all of this. It's like I was sleepwalking through my life and suddenly I'm wide awake in the middle of a storm."

"I know," Austin murmured.

Their faces were inches apart. Sophie's eyes fluttered closed as Austin leaned in, his lips brushing against hers with surprising gentleness. The kiss was tentative at first, a question rather than a demand. When Sophie responded, rising onto her tiptoes to press closer, Austin's arms encircled her waist, pulling her against him. The kiss deepened, becoming something hungry and desperate. Sophie's hands slid into his hair, her body molding against his. Austin backed her slowly toward the bed, never breaking contact, until her legs hit the mattress edge.

The realization of where they were, what they were doing, made Sophie pull back slightly. "Austin," she whispered, her breath coming in quick gasps. "We can't—I’ve never—”

"I know," he murmured against her lips. "I know, Princess." He rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing heavily. “I’m stopping. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want.”

Sophie's hands trembled as they rested against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath the leather. The sensible part of her mind screamed warnings about reputations and consequences. But a deeper part, the part that had been awakening since Tuesday night, whispered that this felt more real than anything she'd ever experienced.

"My father would kill you if he found you here," she whispered.

"Probably," Austin agreed, a ghost of his usual smirk playing at his lips. "Good thing I'm hard to kill."

Despite everything, Sophie found herself smiling. "You're impossible."

"So I've been told." His expression grew serious again. "Sophie, whatever happens with my father, with the Devil's Mark—I need you to promise me something."

"What?"

"If things get dangerous, if I tell you to run, you run. No questions, no arguments. You get as far from me as possible."

Sophie's stomach clenched. "Don't ask me to promise that."

"I'm not asking," Austin said, his voice hardening slightly. He traced the line of her jaw with infinite gentleness. “I’m not letting the world I come from destroy you.”

Tears pricked at Sophie's eyes. "Austin—"

The sound of a car door slamming in the driveway made them both freeze. Austin moved to the window with cat-like grace, peering through the curtains.

"I should go," he muttered.

"Wait—" Sophie grabbed his arm as he swung one leg over the sill. "When will I see you again?"

Austin paused, his blue eyes intense in the lamplight. "Monday. At school. Until then, be careful. Trust no one except maybe Miguel."

"Austin—"

But he was already gone, disappearing into the darkness like a shadow.

Stay tuned for part 6!! Click HERE to view!

[waystobewixed]

Riding With Devils | biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 4)

(gif source: redbelles)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

plot summary: Sophie Ann Sutton appears to have the perfect life as a high school senior in a small town during the 1960s. With straight A's, a thriving social life, and a scholarship to her dream college, she feels invincible—especially with her loyal best friend by her side. But everything changes when she crosses paths with Austin, the dangerously charming son of the local biker gang's leader. Their worlds collide in an electrifying romance that defies all expectations, pulling Sophie into a whirlwind of rebellion, excitement and danger.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 3599

warnings/notes:

Chapter 4: An Unlikely Alliance

The Devil's Mark garage echoed with the metallic symphony of wrenches against engines and hammers striking steel. Austin worked methodically on the Hernandez bike, his hands moving with practiced precision while his mind churned through competing priorities. The morning sun slanted through the high windows, catching on chrome and polished metal.

"You look like shit," Ray observed, sliding a cup of black coffee across the workbench. "Sleep at all?"

Austin accepted the coffee without looking up. "Enough."

"Your old man's been asking questions." Ray lowered his voice, glancing toward the office where Frank Butler was holding court with two of his lieutenants. "About the Sutton girl."

Austin's hand tightened on the wrench. "What kind of questions?"

"The usual. Family connections, vulnerabilities, leverage points." Ray wiped grease from his hands with a shop rag. "Turns out her father isn't just any judge. He's THE judge. The one who's been systematically dismantling our operations for the past five years."

Austin kept his expression neutral despite the sinking feeling in his gut. "I figured as much."

"There's more," Ray continued, his voice dropping further. "Your dad's got someone watching her house. Started last night."

Austin's head snapped up. "Who?"

"Decker and Russo. Taking shifts."

The news hit Austin like a physical blow. Decker was methodical, professional. Russo was unpredictable, with a tendency toward violence when bored. Neither should be anywhere near Sophie.

"It's just surveillance for now," Ray added, correctly reading Austin's expression. "But you know how these things escalate."

Austin set down his wrench with deliberate care. "I need to finish this job before the mentoring session."

Ray studied him for a moment longer. "Just remember what's at stake here, man. Your old man's been planning this Hernandez takedown for months. If he thinks you're distracted..."

"I'm not distracted," Austin cut him off. "I'm playing the long game."

Ray nodded, though his eyes remained skeptical. "Whatever you say, boss."

As Ray walked away, Austin returned to the motorcycle. His father had escalated faster than expected, moving Sophie from potential interest to active surveillance in less than twenty-four hours. The timing wasn't coincidental. Frank Butler sensed his son's hesitation and was eliminating variables.

The bell above the garage door chimed, pulling Austin from his thoughts. Miguel Hernandez stood in the entrance, his football letterman jacket stark against the gritty backdrop of the Devil's Mark garage. Conversation died as every head turned toward the newcomer.

"Can I help you?" Austin asked, wiping his hands on a shop rag as he approached.

Miguel shifted uncomfortably under the collective stare of the mechanics. "Need to talk to you. Privately."

Austin nodded toward the side door. "Outside."

In the alley beside the garage, Miguel paced with nervous energy. "My uncle knows about the mentorship," he said without preamble. "He thinks it's a setup."

"Smart man," Austin replied, lighting a cigarette. "It is."

Miguel stopped pacing, his expression hardening. "I'm not getting caught in the middle of your gang war, man. I came to Millfield to play football, not be a pawn in whatever game you're playing."

"Didn't say you had to be." Austin exhaled smoke slowly. "But since we're being honest, what does your uncle have running through the school?"

Miguel's jaw tightened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." Austin's voice was conversational, but his eyes hardened. "Football players make perfect mules. Access to every part of the school, travel to away games, no one questions their gym bags." He took another drag from his cigarette. "Your uncle's smart. Use the golden boy with the scholarship. Who's going to suspect the kid trying to escape the streets?"

Miguel's hands clenched into fists. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know you're carrying more than textbooks in that backpack," Austin replied calmly. "I know you check the parking lot before every practice. And I know you've been to the pay phone on Riverside three times this week." He flicked ash onto the concrete. "Want me to keep going?"

The color drained from Miguel's face. "What do you want?"

"Nothing you can't live with," Austin said, studying the younger man's expression. "Keep doing what you're doing. Just make sure I know when and where."

"And if I refuse?"

Austin's smile held no warmth. "Then your scholarship disappears, your uncle loses his distribution network, and you end up back in the Southside with a target on your back." He dropped his cigarette, crushing it under his boot. "Or you could work with me. Keep playing football, graduate, go to college. Live to see twenty-one."

Miguel stared at him for a long moment. "What about Sophie? She doesn't deserve to get caught up in this."

Something flickered in Austin's expression—too quick for Miguel to interpret. "Sophie's off-limits. That's not negotiable."

"But she's already involved. Your father paired us together for a reason."

Austin stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Listen carefully. Anyone who touches Sophie—including your uncle's people—will wish they hadn’t even looked at her. Are we clear?"

Miguel nodded slowly. "Crystal."

"Good." Austin's demeanor shifted back to casual. "Now get to school. Wouldn't want you to be late for chemistry."

***

Sophie arrived at Millfield High with fifteen minutes to spare before first period. The familiar routine of locker combinations and class schedules felt strangely foreign after her father's warnings at breakfast. Every interaction seemed loaded with hidden meaning, every glance from classmates a potential judgment.

"You look terrible," Maggie announced, appearing beside her locker. "Rough night?"

"Something like that." Sophie organized her textbooks with mechanical precision. "My father knows about the mentorship program."

Maggie winced. "Ouch. How'd he take it?"

"About as well as you'd expect." Sophie closed her locker with a sharp clang. "He thinks Austin's using me for some nefarious purpose."

"Isn't he?" Maggie asked.

Sophie hesitated. "I don't know," she admitted finally. "That's what's driving me crazy."

"Well, what does your gut tell you?" Maggie leaned against the adjacent locker, her expression unusually serious.

Sophie thought about Austin's intense focus when questioning Miguel about his neighborhood, the carefully casual way he'd extracted information. Then she remembered the genuine insight he'd offered about Peterson's teaching bias, the way he'd understood Gatsby without pretension.

"That he's both," she said quietly. "He's definitely hiding something, but I don't think he's the monster my father makes him out to be."

"Complicated men are always the most dangerous," Maggie observed with unexpected wisdom. "Just be careful, Sophie. You've got a lot more to lose than he does."

Before Sophie could respond, the warning bell rang, sending students scurrying toward classrooms. As she navigated the crowded hallway, Sophie spotted Miguel standing by the water fountain, deep in conversation with two other football players. When he noticed her watching, he quickly ended the discussion, offering a tense nod before hurrying away.

The interaction left Sophie unsettled as she slid into her seat for AP English. Mrs. Bennett was already writing "The American Dream: Illusion or Opportunity?" across the blackboard in her precise handwriting.

"Today we'll continue our analysis of Gatsby's pursuit of Daisy," Mrs. Bennett announced as the final bell rang. "Specifically, whether his reinvention represents the corruption or fulfillment of the American Dream."

Sophie opened her notebook, but her thoughts kept drifting to Austin's blunt assessment: "It's about a guy who reinvents himself to impress a girl who's never going to love him back because she's too caught up in her own world." There had been something personal in the way he'd said it, a rawness beneath the casual dismissal.

"Miss Sutton?"

Sophie jerked to attention, realizing Mrs. Bennett had called on her. "I'm sorry, what was the question?"

"I asked for your thoughts on whether Gatsby's transformation was ultimately noble or corrupt," Mrs. Bennett repeated, her eyebrows raised.

"I think..." Sophie began, then paused. Two days ago, she would have given the expected answer about the corruption of the American Dream through materialism. Instead, she heard herself saying, "I think Gatsby was authentic in his own way. He created himself out of nothing because the world wouldn't accept him as he was. The tragedy isn't that he changed, but that society made it necessary."

Mrs. Bennett blinked in surprise. "That's... an interesting perspective, Miss Sutton. Though perhaps overly sympathetic to Gatsby's criminal enterprises."

"Maybe," Sophie conceded. "But at least he was honest about what he wanted."

A few students exchanged glances, clearly surprised. She felt her cheeks burn as she realized how her defense of Gatsby might sound to her classmates. Especially given the recent rumors about her association with Austin Butler. The rest of the class passed in a blur of discussion about moral ambiguity and social expectations. Sophie contributed sparingly. When the bell finally rang, she gathered her books quickly, eager to escape the curious stares.

"Sophie, wait up!" Jimmy's voice stopped her at the classroom door.

She turned reluctantly. "I'm going to be late for calculus."

"This will just take a second." Jimmy moved closer, lowering his voice. "I've been thinking about Tuesday night. About what happened at Mel's."

Sophie's grip tightened on her textbooks. "Jimmy, we don't need to—"

"Yes, we do." His eyes were earnest, pleading. "I was out of line. The way I acted, the things I said... that wasn't me, Sophie. You know that's not who I am."

Despite everything, Sophie felt a flicker of sympathy. Jimmy had been nothing but respectful for months before Tuesday night. "You'd been drinking," she said quietly.

Jimmy's face flushed. "Just a little. To calm my nerves." He ran a hand through his hair. "I've wanted to ask you out for so long, and when you actually came to Mel's... I guess I misread the situation."

"Jimmy—"

"I know you didn't come there for me," he continued, his voice growing desperate. "But that doesn't mean we can't start over. Forget Tuesday night happened. Forget about Butler and his games. We could go to the spring dance together. Do this right.

Sophie stared at him, seeing the hope in his eyes, the genuine remorse. A week ago, she might have said yes. Jimmy Carson was safe, appropriate, exactly the kind of boy her parents approved of. But standing there in the hallway, his earnest face before her, all she could think about was the difference between safety and excitement, between what was expected and what made her feel alive.

"I can't," she said softly. "I'm sorry, Jimmy, but I just can't."

His expression crumbled. "Because of him? Because of Austin?"

"Because of me," Sophie replied, surprising herself with the honesty. "Because I'm not the same person I was on Monday."

Jimmy's face hardened. "People don't change in three days, Sophie. They just stop pretending to be something they're not."

The words stung. "Maybe you're right," she said quietly. "Maybe this is who I've always been."

She left him standing in the hallway, his expression a mixture of hurt and anger that made her stomach twist with guilt.

***

The Devil's Mark clubhouse felt more oppressive than usual as Austin sat across from his father in the back office. Frank Butler studied a map of Millfield spread across his desk, red pins marking Devil's Mark territory, blue pins indicating Hernandez strongholds.

"Miguel's scared," Austin reported, keeping his voice level. "He came to the garage this morning. Knows his uncle suspects something."

Frank looked up from the map, his pale eyes calculating. "Good. Fear makes people careless. What did you tell him?"

"That cooperation was his best option for survival." Austin leaned back in his chair, projecting a confidence he didn't feel. "He'll play along."

"And the distribution network?"

"Football team's clean," Austin lied smoothly. "Hernandez is smarter than that. He's using local dropouts, kids who've already aged out of the system."

Frank's expression darkened. "You're certain?"

Austin met his father's stare without flinching. "Miguel's desperate to keep his scholarship. He wouldn't risk it moving product."

It wasn't entirely false. Miguel was desperate. But Austin had seen the fear in the boy's eyes when confronted about his uncle's operations. Fear that went beyond simple concern for a football scholarship.

"What about the girl?" Frank asked, his tone deceptively casual. "Any useful information?"

Austin's jaw tightened. "Sophie Sutton is exactly what she appears to be. Student council president, honor roll, college-bound. Her biggest rebellion is staying up past ten to finish homework."

Frank's smile was razor-thin. "Everyone has secrets, son. Even good girls."

"Not her," Austin insisted, the words coming out harder than intended. "She's clean."

Frank studied his son's face with uncomfortable intensity. "You seem very certain about someone you've known for two days."

Austin forced himself to relax, adopting the cocky smirk his father expected. "What can I say? I'm a good judge of character. Princess Sophie lives in a bubble. The only thing dangerous about her is how boring she is."

"Boring girls don't sneak out to motorcycle hangouts," Frank observed quietly.

Austin's blood turned to ice. His father knew. Of course he knew.

"Ah," Frank continued, noting Austin's barely concealed reaction. "You thought I didn't know about your midnight rescue mission. I'm disappointed, son. I taught you better than to underestimate my reach."

Austin remained silent, calculating rapidly. How much did Frank know? Just about the ride home, or about the way Sophie had looked at him in the library yesterday?

"Relax," Frank said, though his eyes remained cold. "I'm not angry about the ride. Chivalry has its uses, especially with judge's daughters. But don't mistake one act of kindness for a relationship."

"It was just a ride home," Austin said carefully. "Her friend's date bailed. Wrong place, wrong time."

"Exactly." Frank stood, moving to the window that overlooked the garage. "Wrong place, wrong time. A mistake that won't be repeated." Frank's gaze hardened as he turned back to Austin. "The Sutton girl is leverage, nothing more. Her father has been a thorn in our side for years. Having his daughter unwittingly involved in our business creates opportunities."

Austin fought to keep his expression neutral despite the anger building in his chest. "What kind of opportunities?"

"The kind that make judges reconsider their sentencing guidelines." Frank's smile didn't reach his eyes. "The kind that ensure our business continues uninterrupted."

"She's just a kid," Austin said, the words escaping before he could stop them.

Frank's eyebrows rose slightly. "She's only a few years younger than you and the same age you were when I put you on collection duty. The same age Ray was when he took his first bullet for this club." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "There are no innocent bystanders in this war, son. Only useful pawns and expendable obstacles."

Austin held his father's gaze. "I understand."

"Good." Frank returned to his desk. "Because I need you focused. Hernandez is moving a major shipment tomorrow night. I want to know where and when."

"I'll find out," Austin promised, already calculating how much information he could withhold without raising suspicion.

"One more thing," Frank added as Austin reached the door. "The Sutton girl. Keep her close, but remember where your loyalty lies."

The words followed Austin out of the office, settling like lead in his stomach. As he crossed the garage floor, mechanics and club members nodded respectfully. His entire life had been defined by loyalty to the Devil's Mark, by his father's expectations and the family legacy. Now, for the first time, he found himself considering alternatives. Dangerous, impossible alternatives that would upend everything he knew.

Outside, he swung his leg over his motorcycle, the familiar machine offering little comfort. The afternoon sun beat down on the asphalt as he kicked the engine to life. He had three hours before the mentoring session, three hours to figure out how to protect Miguel, extract the information his father needed, and somehow keep Sophie Sutton from becoming collateral damage in a war she didn't even know existed.

***

The library felt different on Friday afternoon. Sophie arranged her study materials at their designated table. Principal Winters had stopped by earlier to inform her that today's session would be monitored by Mrs. Ramirez alone; he had an "urgent meeting" off campus. The change in supervision felt significant, though Sophie couldn't articulate why. Miguel arrived first, his usual athletic confidence diminished. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and he kept glancing toward the library entrance.

"Everything okay?" Sophie asked as he slid into his seat.

"Fine," Miguel replied too quickly. "Just tired. Coach has us running extra drills."

Sophie nodded, though she didn't believe him. "I thought we could work on your history essay today. I brought some sample outlines that might help."

Miguel glanced at the door again. "Is Butler coming?"

"He should be here any minute," Sophie replied, studying Miguel's tense posture. "Did something happen between you two?"

Before Miguel could answer, the library doors swung open and Austin walked in. Unlike Wednesday's clean white t-shirt, today he wore his leather jacket despite the warm spring weather. The Devil's Mark insignia was partially visible on the back. It was an obviously deliberate choice that made Sophie's stomach tighten with unease.

"Sorry I'm late," Austin said, sliding into the chair beside Miguel. His casual tone contrasted with the intensity in his eyes as they locked with Miguel's. Some silent communication passed between them before Austin turned to Sophie. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing yet," Sophie said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I was just about to go over Miguel's history essay."

Mrs. Ramirez approached their table, clipboard in hand. "How's everything going with our star student?" She smiled warmly at Miguel.

"Great," Miguel answered with forced enthusiasm. "Sophie's been really helpful with my Gatsby analysis."

"Wonderful!" Mrs. Ramirez beamed. "I'll be at the circulation desk if you need anything."

As she walked away, Austin leaned forward, lowering his voice. "We need to adjust our plans for today."

"Plans?" Sophie frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Austin's eyes flicked toward the library entrance. "Miguel's going to work with you on his history essay. I need to step out for about twenty minutes."

Sophie's frown deepened. "That's not how this program works, Austin. We're supposed to stay together for the full session."

"Plans change, Princess," Austin replied, his voice hardening slightly. "Miguel knows what to do."

Miguel nodded, avoiding Sophie's gaze. "It's fine. I really do need help with that essay."

Before she could protest further, Austin stood and walked towards the entrance. Sophie had no idea what compelled her to stand up and scurry after him grabbing his arm before he could open the doors.

"What's going on?" Sophie demanded, keeping her voice low. "First Miguel arrives looking like he hasn't slept in days, now you're making secret arrangements? This is supposed to be a tutoring session."

Austin glanced over Sophie's shoulder, ensuring they weren't overheard. "Look, some things are happening that you don't understand. Just stay with Miguel, keep tutoring him like everything's normal."

"That's not good enough," Sophie replied, her fingers still gripping his leather sleeve. "If something's wrong, I deserve to know."

Austin's expression softened for a moment, and he leaned closer. The scent of leather and motor oil enveloped her as he spoke near her ear. "There are people watching the school. People who shouldn't be here. I need to handle it before it becomes a problem."

"What people?" Sophie's heart hammered against her ribs. "Is Miguel in danger?"

"Everyone's in danger if I don't take care of this now." Austin's blue eyes locked with hers, deadly serious. "Including you."

The gravity in his voice sent a chill down Sophie's spine. "Me? Why would anyone—"

"Because you're with me," he cut her off, his voice barely audible. "Because your father is who he is. Because you climbed down a trellis on Tuesday night and the world's been different ever since."

Sophie released his arm, taking a small step back. "My father was right, wasn't he? This isn't about mentoring at all."

"Not entirely," Austin admitted, his jaw tight. "But Miguel really does need your help, and right now, the safest place for both of you is in this library with witnesses around."

"And what about you?" Sophie asked, hating the tremor in her voice. "Where's your safe place?"

Something flashed in Austin's eyes—vulnerability or regret, she couldn't tell. "I stopped looking for safe places a long time ago, Princess." Without thinking much about it, he pulled her to him brushing his lips over the top of her hair. “I’ll protect you. I promise.”

Before she could respond or even react, he let her go and pushed through the library doors and disappeared into the hallway, leaving Sophie standing alone. Sophie stood frozen by the library doors, her hand unconsciously reaching up to touch the spot where Austin's lips had brushed her hair. The brief contact had lasted mere seconds, but the warmth lingered like a brand.

"I'll protect you. I promise."

The words echoed in her mind, spoken with such quiet conviction that they felt more like a vow than reassurance. Sophie had never needed protection before—her life had been carefully constructed to eliminate such necessities. Yet standing there, watching Austin's leather-clad figure disappear around the corner, she felt the foundations of that safe world cracking beneath her feet.

"Sophie?" Miguel's voice pulled her back to the present. He stood beside their table, concern etched across his features. "You okay?"

She forced herself to move, returning to her seat. "Fine. Let's work on your essay."

But as she opened Miguel's history textbook, her hands trembled slightly.

Stay tuned for part 5!! Click HERE to view!

[waystobewixed]

Ruthless Grace | Austin Butler x OC (part 14)

(gif source: 50sbutler)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14

plot summary: Amidst the grime and squalor of Victorian England's winding cobblestone alleys, a young woman's life hangs precariously in the balance. Violet, a poor peasant girl with long raven locks and piercing gray eyes, possesses a haunting beauty that belies the harsh realities of her existence. Tragedy struck two years prior when Violet's mother succumbed to illness, leaving her to fend for herself and her father – a cruel, selfish man consumed by vices of alcohol and gambling. On one fateful night, Violet's father drags her unwillingly to that very den of iniquity, and there she learns a horrifying truth from the club's greedy, perverted owner: to repay his mounting gambling debts, her father has sold her into sexual servitude. Violet's vehement protests fall on deaf ears, until an unlikely savior emerges from the shadows. Lord Austin Butler intervenes with a bargain of his own. This dangerous man offers to pay off Violet's father's debts in exchange for her accompaniment, and Violet is torn from the only life she has known. While Austin's demeanor remains shrouded in mystery and detachment at first, Violet gradually glimpses his softer, even playful side as time passes within the manor's walls and an unexpected connection blossoms between the unlikely pair.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 3828

warnings/notes: This story is starting to get longer than I anticipated (I say like it's not my own fault lol). Maybe I'll pause the story for a moment like a season 1 hiatus after the next part or something.

Chapter 14: Bloodline's Call

Sunlight streamed through a gap in the heavy curtains, casting a thin golden beam across the empty space beside Violet. She reached out, finding the sheets cool to the touch. Austin had already risen, though the indent of his body remained. Violet sat up slowly, wincing at the unfamiliar soreness in her muscles. Her fingers traced the small marks on her neck, still tender but already healing. A soft knock at the door preceded Beth's entrance, the young maid carrying a breakfast tray laden with tea, toast, and fresh fruit. If she was surprised to find Violet in Lord Butler's chambers, her expression revealed nothing.

"Good morning, Miss Everly," Beth said cheerfully, setting the tray on a small table near the window. "Lord Butler asked me to bring you breakfast. He said you might be in need of sustenance after... your evening."

Violet felt a blush creep up her neck at Beth's carefully neutral tone. The maid's eyes flickered briefly to the marks on her throat before politely looking away.

"Thank you, Beth," Violet replied, clutching the sheet to her chest. "Do you know where Lord Butler has gone?"

"He's in his study, miss," Beth answered, moving to draw back the curtains fully. Sunlight flooded the room, illuminating the furnishings that Violet had barely noticed in the dim lamplight of the previous night. "He asked not to be disturbed until you've had your breakfast and are properly dressed."

Beth moved to the wardrobe, opening it to reveal several of Violet's gowns hanging alongside Austin's clothing. "I took the liberty of bringing some of your things here," she explained, selecting a day dress of deep emerald. "Lord Butler thought you might prefer to have them close at hand."

The intimacy of the gesture sent a flutter through Violet's stomach. "That was... thoughtful," Violet managed, taking a sip of the strong, sweet tea Beth had poured. She noticed the teacup was rimmed with gold, bearing the Butler family crest.

"If I may say so, miss," Beth ventured, laying out undergarments and stockings, "it's good to see his lordship happy. It's been a very long time."

Violet looked up, surprised by the maid's candor. "You've been with Lord Butler for some time, then?"

Beth's smile held secrets. "Longer than you might think, miss. My mother served him, and her mother before that. The Butler household has always been... particular about its staff."

"You know what he is," Violet realized, studying the young woman's face.

"We all do," Beth confirmed, her hands steady as she arranged hairpins on the dressing table. "Those who serve in this house are chosen carefully—for loyalty above all else."

Violet took another sip of tea, contemplating this revelation. "And you're not afraid?"

Beth paused in her preparations, considering the question. "His lordship protects what's his," she said finally. "Be it property, staff, or..." her eyes met Violet's briefly, "those he holds in special regard."

The simple statement carried profound implications. In Beth's world, Austin's nature was simply a fact—neither good nor evil, merely a reality to be accommodated.

"I'll help you dress, miss," Beth offered, approaching the bed with the undergarments. "Lord Butler mentioned you might be feeling somewhat... delicate this morning."

Violet's blush deepened at the maid's tactful reference to her current state.

"Thank you, Beth," Violet murmured, allowing the maid to help her from the bed.

As Beth assisted her with the complicated layers of undergarments, Violet couldn't help but notice the young woman's careful avoidance of the marks on her neck. There was no judgment in her manner, only a practiced efficiency that spoke of long service in a household where discretion was paramount.

"Has Lord Butler ever...?" Violet began, then faltered, unsure how to phrase such a delicate question.

Beth's hands stilled momentarily as she fastened the stays of Violet's corset. "Taken blood from the staff?" she finished quietly. "No, miss. His lordship has always been most particular about that. He feeds elsewhere, or..." she hesitated, "from willing donors who understand what they're offering."

"I see," Violet replied, processing this information as Beth helped her into the emerald gown. The fabric settled around her like a caress, the color bringing out the amber flecks in her eyes.

"If I may be so bold, miss," Beth said as she began arranging Violet's hair, "what happened between you and his lordship last night... it's not something he takes lightly. I've served in this house since I was a girl, and I've never known him to share himself so completely with anyone."

Violet met Beth's eyes in the mirror. "How can you tell?"

A small smile curved Beth's lips. "His lordship has a certain... lightness about him this morning. And you, miss, if you'll forgive my saying so, have the look of someone who's glimpsed something few ever see."

Violet touched the marks on her neck self-consciously. "These will heal?"

"Yes, miss. Though perhaps not as quickly as his lordship might wish." Beth's nimble fingers twisted Violet's dark hair into an elegant arrangement that artfully concealed the evidence of Austin's passion. "There. No one would suspect a thing."

Once dressed and composed, Violet made her way through the manor's corridors toward Austin's study. The events of the previous night replayed in her mind with vivid clarity. She felt different somehow, as if the very blood in her veins had been altered by Austin's touch.

She paused outside the study door, her hand raised to knock, when Austin's voice came from within.

"Come in, Violet."

Of course he would know she was there. She entered to find him standing by the window, sunlight streaming around the edges of his tall figure. He turned at her entrance, and the expression on his face stole her breath. There was such naked adoration in his gaze that Violet felt momentarily dizzy with the power of it.

"Good morning," she said softly, closing the door behind her.

Austin approached her with fluid grace, his eyes drinking in the sight of her. "Good morning, my darling," he replied, his voice warm with affection. "You look radiant." His fingers ghosted along her jawline before settling at the nape of her neck, careful not to disturb Beth's artful arrangement of her hair.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, genuine concern evident in his tone as he searched her face for any sign of discomfort.

"Different," Violet admitted honestly. "But not unpleasantly so."

Austin's thumb traced the hidden marks beneath her hair, his touch feather-light. "I've been thinking about last night," he said quietly.

A flutter of uncertainty passed through Violet's chest. "Regrets?"

"Never," Austin assured her immediately, his arms encircling her waist. "But consequences, yes. The bond we've forged... it's not something that can be easily undone."

Violet tilted her head, studying his expression. "What kind of bond?"

Austin guided her to the leather sofa before the fireplace, settling beside her with careful deliberation. "When a vampire takes blood during such an intimate moment, it creates a connection. You'll be more sensitive to my presence, my emotions. And I..." he paused, seeming to gather his thoughts, "I will be able to sense you in ways I couldn't before. Your safety, your wellbeing, your location."

"Is that why you seem so... protective of me?" Violet asked, remembering the savage way he'd dealt with the Order's assassin.

"Partly," Austin acknowledged. "Though my feelings for you existed long before last night." His fingers intertwined with hers, cool against her warmth. "The bond simply makes those feelings more... intense."

A knock at the study door interrupted them. Mr. Pembroke entered at Austin's bidding, his usually composed demeanor slightly strained.

"Forgive the intrusion, my lord," the butler said with a bow. "But you have a visitor. Lady Evelyn Rosewood has arrived and requests an urgent audience."

Austin's posture tensed immediately. "Show her in, Pembroke."

Evelyn swept into the room moments later, her elegant composure barely concealing an underlying agitation. She wore a traveling dress of deep burgundy, her hair slightly disheveled as if she'd ridden hard to reach them.

"Austin," she said without preamble, her gaze flickering briefly to Violet before focusing on him. "We have a problem."

"What's happened?" Austin rose, his protective instincts immediately alert.

Evelyn's eyes moved meaningfully to Violet. "Perhaps this conversation would be better conducted in private?"

"No," Austin said firmly, his hand finding Violet's shoulder. "She's part of this now. Whatever threatens our kind threatens her as well."

Evelyn's eyebrows rose slightly at Austin's declaration, but she nodded in understanding. "Very well." She moved to the window, her gloved hands clasped tightly behind her back. "The Order struck again last night—three locations across London. They weren't random attacks."

"Go on," Austin prompted, his jaw tightening.

"They targeted specific vampires—ones known to have extensive knowledge of ancient bloodlines and artifacts." Evelyn turned back to face them, her expression grave. "Lord Ashworth, the Blackwood twins, and Elder Montrose. All dead."

Violet felt the blood drain from her face. "They're looking for information about the Crimson Heart."

"Precisely," Evelyn confirmed, her sharp gaze assessing Violet with new interest. "But here's what troubles me most—the attacks were too coordinated, too precise. Someone provided them with detailed intelligence about each victim's whereabouts and vulnerabilities."

Austin's eyes flashed crimson for a brief moment. "You're certain we have a traitor among us."

"I'm afraid so." Evelyn moved closer, lowering her voice despite the privacy of the study. "But there's more. Before Lord Ashworth died, he managed to send a message through our network. Three words: 'The girl knows.'"

Violet's heart hammered against her ribs. "Knows what?"

Evelyn's gaze fixed on her with uncomfortable intensity. "That's what we need to determine. What do you know about your family's history, Violet? Beyond what Austin has already told you?"

"Nothing," Violet replied, confusion evident in her voice. "I barely knew my mother, and my father never spoke of our ancestors."

"Think carefully," Austin urged gently, moving to sit beside her again. "Any stories, any heirlooms, anything that seemed unusual or out of place?"

Violet wracked her memory, sifting through fragments of childhood recollections. “No, nothing. I’m sorry.”

Evelyn paced the study, her silken skirts rustling with each determined step. "Perhaps it's not conscious knowledge," she suggested, her gaze calculating as she studied Violet. "The Everly bloodline has been known to carry certain... intuitions. Memories passed through blood rather than mind."

Austin leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. "Bloodline memory. It's rare, but not unheard of among the ancient families." He turned to Violet, taking her hands in his.

"If Ashworth believed she possesses knowledge about the Heart," Evelyn continued, "then others will come for her. The Order's attacks last night were merely the beginning."

"We should leave London," Austin decided, rising to his feet. "My estate in Scotland is remote, well-protected—"

"And the first place they'll look," Evelyn interrupted. "No, you need a sanctuary they wouldn't expect. Somewhere beyond their usual reach."

Austin's jaw tightened. "What are you suggesting?"

Evelyn's lips curved into a smile that held little warmth. "The Midnight Court."

The words hung in the air like smoke, heavy with implications Violet couldn't begin to understand. Austin's reaction, however, was immediate and visceral.

"Absolutely not," he growled, his voice dropping an octave. "I swore I would never return there."

"Circumstances change, old friend," Evelyn replied softly. "The Court exists beyond The Order's influence. Their hunters cannot breach its boundaries without invitation."

"At what cost?" Austin demanded. "You know what the Queen demands for her protection."

Violet looked between them, confusion evident in her features. "What is the Midnight Court?"

Evelyn answered before Austin could speak. "It's a sanctuary for our kind—perhaps the oldest in existence. A hidden realm ruled by the Vampire Queen, where the ancient laws still hold sway."

"And where every favor comes with a price," Austin added grimly. "The Queen doesn't grant protection out of kindness."

Violet squeezed his hand gently. "What would she want from us?"

Austin's eyes met hers, centuries of caution warring with immediate necessity. "From me? Service, loyalty, perhaps. From you..." His voice faltered. "Your blood. The blood of an Everly is beyond precious to our kind."

"But you've already—" Violet began, her hand moving unconsciously to the marks hidden beneath her hair.

"What I took was a lover's draught," Austin explained gently. "The Queen would demand more."

Violet felt a chill run down her spine despite the warmth of the room. "How much more?"

Evelyn's expression softened with something approaching sympathy. "Not your life, child. The Queen is many things, but she's not wasteful. A regular tribute, perhaps—enough to sustain her court's most favored members."

"You speak of me as if I'm livestock," Violet said, her voice sharper than she intended.

"Never," Austin said fiercely, his arms coming around her protectively. "I would die before allowing anyone to treat you as such."

"And yet you may have little choice," Evelyn pointed out with brutal honesty. "The Order grows bolder by the day. Last night's attacks prove they're moving toward some endgame. If they capture Violet..."

"They won't," Austin's voice carried absolute conviction. "But neither will I deliver her to the Queen like a lamb to slaughter."

Violet pulled away from Austin's embrace, moving to stand by the window where she could think more clearly. The morning sun felt warm against her face. She was trapped between two equally dangerous fates.

"What if there's another option?" she said slowly, turning back to face them both.

Austin's eyes narrowed with concern. "What are you thinking?"

"You said the Crimson Heart responds only to Everly blood," Violet continued, her mind racing. "What if, instead of running or hiding, we find it first?"

Evelyn's sharp intake of breath was audible. "That's incredibly dangerous. The Heart's power is unpredictable—"

"More dangerous than becoming a blood slave to your Queen?" Violet challenged. "Or dying at the hands of fanatics?"

Austin moved toward her, his expression torn between admiration and terror. "Violet, you don't understand the forces you're proposing to unleash."

"Then explain them to me," she demanded, her chin lifting. "I'm tired of being a pawn in everyone else's game. If my blood is so valuable, if my heritage makes me so important, then perhaps it's time I took control of my own fate."

The silence that followed was heavy with possibility and dread. Finally, Evelyn spoke, her voice thoughtful. "It's not entirely without precedent," she admitted reluctantly. "There are legends of Everlys who sought the Heart for their own purposes. Most failed, but..."

"But some succeeded," Violet finished, seeing the truth in Evelyn's carefully neutral expression.

Austin ran a hand through his blonde hair, a gesture of frustration she'd rarely seen from him. "Even if we could locate the Heart, what then? Its power could corrupt you, transform you into something neither human nor vampire."

"Or it could give us the leverage we need against both The Order and your Queen," Violet countered. "If what you say is true, neither side would dare harm the one who controls the Heart."

Austin's eyes darkened with concern. "Power of that magnitude changes people, Violet. I've witnessed it countless times across the centuries."

"I'm not seeking power for its own sake," she insisted, moving closer to him. "Only enough to ensure our safety."

Evelyn watched their exchange with calculating eyes. "The girl has spirit, Austin. Perhaps more than you've given her credit for." She moved to the fireplace, warming her hands thoughtfully. "There may be a middle path. The Court could offer temporary sanctuary while we pursue this... alternative approach."

Austin's jaw clenched. "You know what the Queen will demand the moment she learns of Violet's bloodline."

"Then perhaps," Evelyn suggested with a sly smile, "we don't immediately reveal that particular detail."

Violet looked between them, confusion evident in her expression. "How could we possibly hide it? You said any vampire would recognize my blood."

"True," Evelyn conceded, "but only upon tasting it. The Queen needn't know everything at once." She turned to Austin, her expression growing serious. "Present her as your human companion—nothing more. The Queen respects the old traditions of claiming. She won't demand to feed from what's clearly marked as yours."

Austin's hand moved unconsciously to Violet's neck, his fingers brushing against the marks hidden beneath her hair. "It's risky. If she discovers the deception..."

"By then, we'll either have located the Heart, or formulated a better plan," Evelyn replied.

Violet placed her hand over Austin's, drawing his attention back to her. "I trust you," she said simply. "If you believe this Court offers our best chance, then I'll go."

The weight of her trust settled over Austin like a physical burden. He studied her face. After a moment, he nodded, his decision made. "Very well," he said quietly. "But we do this my way. Evelyn, you'll arrange our passage to the Court. We leave tonight, under cover of darkness."

"Consider it done," Evelyn replied, already moving toward the door. "Pack lightly, and only what you can't bear to lose. The journey to the Court isn't kind to excessive baggage." She paused at the threshold, her expression softening slightly as she looked at Violet. "For what it's worth, child, I think you might be exactly what our kind has needed for a very long time."

With those cryptic words, she departed, leaving Austin and Violet alone once more. The silence between them was heavy with unspoken fears and questions.

"You're frightened," Austin observed, moving to stand behind her as she gazed out the window.

"Terrified," Violet admitted, leaning back against his solid chest. "But also... strangely excited. For the first time since learning of my heritage, I feel like I might have some control over my fate."

Austin's arms encircled her waist, his chin resting atop her head. "The Midnight Court is unlike anything in your world, Violet. The vampires there are ancient beyond measure, bound by customs and laws that predate human civilization. They view mortals as... curiosities at best."

"But I won't truly be mortal anymore, will I?" Violet asked softly. "Not after last night. Not with your mark upon me."

Austin's grip tightened. "The bond we share offers some protection, yes. But the Queen..." He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "She ruled when Rome was still young. Her power is absolute within the Court's boundaries."

Violet turned in his arms, studying the tension in his features. "You knew her once. More than knew her."

It wasn't a question. Austin's expression confirmed what she had already suspected from the careful way Evelyn had spoken of the Queen, the haunted look that crossed his face at her mention.

"Yes," he admitted quietly. "Long ago, when I was still young by vampire standards. She was... magnificent. Terrible and beautiful and utterly without mercy." His eyes grew distant with memory. "I served in her court for nearly a century before I could no longer stomach the cruelty."

"What did she do?" Violet asked, though part of her dreaded the answer.

Austin's jaw tightened. "She collected beautiful things—art, jewels, people. Mortals were brought to court as playthings, their lives extended through careful feeding just enough to keep them viable for decades. When she tired of them..." He didn't finish the sentence.

Violet felt a chill. "And you participated in this?"

"I tried to remain on the periphery," Austin said, shame coloring his voice. "But in that place, neutrality was impossible. The Queen demanded absolute loyalty from those who served her."

"What changed? What made you leave?"

Austin's hands cupped her face gently, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones. "I met someone. A young woman brought to court as tribute from a conquered territory. She was... she reminded me of you, actually. Brave despite her circumstances, kind even to those who showed her none."

Violet's heart clenched at the pain in his voice. "What happened to her?"

"The Queen grew jealous of my attention to her," Austin whispered. "She decreed that I should be the one to drain her, to prove my loyalty to the court above all else." His eyes closed briefly. "I refused.”

Violet's breath caught in her throat. "And?"

"I fled that very night, taking the girl with me," Austin continued, his voice heavy with grief. "But the Queen's reach was long, even then. Her hunters found us before we could reach true safety." His hands trembled against her skin. "I fought them off, but not before... not before they had wounded her mortally. She died in my arms, bleeding out on a frozen mountainside, whispering forgiveness I didn't deserve."

"What was her name?" Violet asked softly.

"Celeste," Austin whispered. "Her name was Celeste."

Violet felt tears prick her eyes for a woman she had never known, whose death had shaped the man she loved. "I'm sorry."

"It was over two centuries ago," Austin said, though the pain in his voice suggested the wound remained fresh. "But it's why I swore never to return to the Court. The Queen doesn't forgive such defiance easily."

"Then why would Evelyn suggest it now?" Violet wondered aloud.

Austin's expression grew thoughtful. "Because even the Queen values survival above vengeance. If The Order truly threatens all of vampire-kind, she may be willing to set aside old grievances for the greater good."

"Or she may see this as the perfect opportunity for revenge," Violet pointed out quietly.

"Yes," Austin agreed grimly. "That possibility has not escaped me."

They stood together in silence, the weight of their decision settling around them like a shroud. Outside, London continued its daily rhythm.

"We don't have to do this," Austin said suddenly. "We could disappear, leave England entirely. I have resources, connections in distant places where neither The Order nor the Queen hold sway."

Violet considered this for a moment, imagining a life spent always looking over their shoulders, always running. "For how long?" she asked. "Years? Decades? Eventually, they would find us. And in the meantime, how many others would suffer while we hid?"

Austin's admiration for her courage warred with his protective instincts. "You're thinking of the vampires who died last night."

"I'm thinking of all the innocent people caught in the middle of this war," Violet replied. "Human and vampire alike. If my bloodline truly holds the key to ending this conflict, don't I have a responsibility to try?"

Austin studied her face, seeing the determination there, the quiet strength that had drawn him to her from the beginning. "You're remarkable," he murmured.

"I'm terrified," Violet corrected with a shaky laugh.

"The best of us are," Austin replied, his cool lips brushing her forehead. "But I will be with you every step of the way."

As they stood together in the warm sunlight streaming through the window, a strange certainty settled over Violet. Whatever dangers lay ahead, she would face them with Austin at her side. The path ahead might be shrouded in darkness, but she was no longer afraid of the night.

Stay tuned for part 15!! Click HERE to view!

Taglist: @buckysteveloki-me @imusicaddict

[waystobewixed]

Heartbreak Hotel | austin!elvis x oc (part 9)

(gif source: austinbutlermischief)

plot summary: Angel Casteel is a small town girl who lucked into working as a costume designer at a film studio. Unfortunately, her confidence in herself wavers as she is assigned to work with Elvis on his latest motion picture. Overcome by his star power at first, she slowly starts to realize there is a man behind the fame, a man she understands. But as they grow closer, the world grows more turbulent, especially Elvis's world. Will this Angel be able to save Elvis from himself and the people around him? Or will getting mixed up in his word prove to be her downfall as well?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

pairings: austin!elvis x oc

word count: 2369

warnings/notes:

Chapter 9: Caught in the Snare

A month later, Angel woke to an empty bed.

The sheets on Elvis's side were cold, indicating he'd been gone for hours. She glanced at the clock – 3:17 AM – and sighed, wrapping herself in a silk robe before padding barefoot through their suite at the International Hotel. The sound of the television led her to the living room where she found Elvis, still in his stage clothes from the night's second show, slumped in an armchair. An empty whiskey bottle lay on its side on the coffee table alongside an open pill bottle, several white tablets scattered across the polished surface.

"Elvis?" she called softly.

He turned to her with glassy eyes, his movements sluggish. "Hey, darlin'," he slurred, attempting a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Did I wake you?"

"No," Angel replied, carefully moving the pill bottle away as she sat on the arm of his chair. "What are you doing up? It's after three."

"Couldn't sleep." He gestured vaguely at the television where a late-night talk show played at low volume. "Mind's racin'."

Angel gently brushed back his hair, damp with sweat despite the room's chill. His skin felt clammy beneath her touch. "The doctor said you need to cut back on the pills, Elvis. They're making it worse, not better."

Elvis's expression hardened. "Doctor doesn't know what it takes to do what I do." He reached for another pill from the scattered few on the table, but Angel caught his wrist.

"Please," she whispered. "You've had enough."

For a moment, she thought he might argue, but then his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'm just so tired, Angel," he confessed, his voice breaking. "Tired of the shows, tired of the Colonel's demands, tired of not being able to sleep without these damn pills."

"I know, baby." Angel helped him to his feet, supporting his weight as they walked unsteadily toward the bedroom. She helped him undress. The buttons of his stage shirt were slick with perspiration, and his hands shook as she worked to free him from the elaborate costume.

"The Colonel wants me to add a third show on weekends," Elvis mumbled as Angel helped him into pajamas. "Says the demand is there, the money's too good to pass up."

Angel's jaw tightened, but she kept her voice gentle. "You can barely handle two shows a night. Three would kill you."

"That's what I told him." Elvis sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. "But—”

“I don’t want a dead husband, Elvis,” Angel said firmly.

Elvis looked up at her, his eyes clearing slightly at the steel in her voice. "Angel—"

"No," she interrupted, kneeling in front of him and taking his hands in hers. "I won't watch you destroy yourself for his greed. I’ll do something about this.”

Elvis squeezed her hands. He pulled her up onto the bed until they were both laying down, their hands still intertwined. He wouldn’t meet her gaze. Elvis was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand.

"I want to go home," he finally whispered still not looking at her, “I want to wake up in our own bed without having to perform for anyone."

Angel's heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. "Then let's go home," she said softly.

"The Colonel won't let me," Elvis murmured, his eyelids growing heavy as exhaustion finally began to claim him. “Gotta…protect you. Won’t let him…take you…away.”

“What are you talking about, Elvis?” Angel asked with a furrowed brow.

But Elvis was already sleep. She sighed heavily stroking his hair. She lay beside him for a long while, watching the rise and fall of his chest, noticing how even in sleep, tension lingered in the lines of his face.

***

The bright morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, warming Angel's face as she sat at the desk in their suite. She'd barely slept after Elvis had finally drifted off, her mind racing.

Jerry knocked softly before entering with a tray of coffee. "Morning, Angel. You look like you've been up all night."

"Almost," she admitted, accepting the steaming cup gratefully. "Is he still asleep?"

Jerry nodded. "Dead to the world. Those pills..." He trailed off, his expression troubled.

“I’m worried about him, Jerry.”

"I'm worried too," Jerry admitted, setting down the tray. "He's pushing himself too hard. The Colonel's got him scheduled for interviews this afternoon, then two shows tonight."

Angel sipped her coffee, her jaw set with determination. "Something's not right. Last night, Elvis said something about protecting me, about not letting the Colonel take me away. It was like he was afraid."

“It’s probably nothing. Just ramblings,” Jerry said softly, “I mean what could the Colonel do now? Ya’ll are married.”

“You know Elvis, Jerry. He’ll kill himself to take care of everybody else,” Angel murmured, knowing she was at the top of that list. “If the Colonel said something to him—”

“Calm down, Angel,” Jerry interrupted before she could spiral. “Now I agree Elvis is being pushed too hard, but don’t go jumping to conclusions.”

Angel considered Jerry's words, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. "I need to speak to the Colonel," she said decisively, setting down her coffee cup.

"That might not be the best idea," Jerry cautioned, lowering his voice and glancing toward the bedroom where Elvis still slept. "The Colonel isn’t your biggest fan.”

"I don’t care what that man thinks of me," Angel replied, standing and smoothing down her dress. "I'm his wife. And I won't stand by while he works himself to death."

Jerry sighed. "At least wait until Elvis wakes up. Talk to him first."

Angel shook her head. "If I do that, he'll just tell me not to worry. He always does. Jerry, I need you to keep Elvis in the room when he wakes up. Tell him I went shopping or something. I'll be back before his first interview."

Jerry looked uncomfortable but nodded reluctantly. "Just... be careful, Angel. The Colonel plays dirty."

Angel kissed his cheek gratefully. "I know.”

***

Colonel Parker's suite at the International Hotel was a stark contrast to the one she shared with Elvis. Where their rooms were filled with personal touches—Elvis's records, Angel's sketches, family photographs—the Colonel's space was impersonal and coldly efficient. A makeshift office had been set up in the living area, files and contracts stacked in neat piles on a large desk.

The Colonel himself sat behind this desk, phone pressed to his ear, when his assistant showed Angel in. His eyebrows rose slightly at the sight of her, but he gave no other indication of surprise.

"I'll have to call you back," he said into the receiver before hanging up. "Mrs. Presley. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

Angel remained standing, refusing his gestured invitation to sit. "We need to talk.”

The Colonel leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting to one of mild amusement. “About what?”

“About Elvis. About what you’re doing to him.”

"Doing to him? My dear, I'm making him more money than he's ever seen. The Vegas run is breaking records."

"He's killing himself," Angel said bluntly. "The pills, the exhaustion, three shows a night—"

"Two shows," the Colonel corrected smoothly. "Though the demand for a third is certainly there."

"You're considering it?" Angel's voice rose in disbelief. "He can barely function as it is."

The Colonel's smile never wavered, but his eyes hardened. "Mrs. Presley, I understand your wifely concerns, but Elvis is a professional. He knows what's required of him."

Angel stepped closer to the desk, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "He's afraid of you," Angel said, her voice dropping to an icy whisper. "Last night he was mumbling about protecting me from you. What did you threaten him with?"

The Colonel's smile faltered for just a moment before returning, tighter than before. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Don't lie to me," Angel hissed, planting her palms on his desk and leaning forward.

The Colonel's expression darkened, all pretense of civility vanishing. He reached for the intercom on his desk and pressed a button. "Andrews, come in here please."

The door opened almost immediately, and a large man in a dark suit entered. Andrews was at least six-foot-four with shoulders like a linebacker, his face impassive as he assessed the situation. The Colonel gave him a nod and he locked the door. The bodyguard moved with surprising speed for a man his size. Before Angel could react, his massive hand closed around her throat, not quite squeezing but applying enough pressure to make her gasp.

"Easy now, Mrs. Presley," the Colonel said, his voice sickeningly calm as he watched Andrews hold Angel in place. "No need for dramatics."

Angel's eyes blazed with fury even as she struggled to breathe properly. "Let me go," she managed.

The Colonel stood from his desk using his cane to walk over to them. "You see, my dear, you've misunderstood the nature of our arrangement. Elvis may think he's gained some measure of independence by marrying you, but the reality is quite different."

Angel's mind raced, searching for an escape route, but Andrews blocked the only exit. "What do you want?"

"What I've always wanted—complete control over Elvis Presley's career. And that includes controlling the influences around him." The Colonel leaned in closer to his mouth was right by Angel’s ear. “Sometimes I must remind him of this. After all, getting rid of you is quite easy.”

Angel's blood ran cold as the Colonel's words sank in. "You're threatening me."

"I prefer to think of it as clarifying the situation," the Colonel replied, straightening up. He gestured to Andrews, who released his grip on Angel's throat but remained close enough to grab her again if needed. "You see, Mrs. Presley, Elvis believes he's protecting you by continuing to work himself to death. He thinks that as long as he performs exactly as I demand, I'll leave you alone."

Angel rubbed her throat where Andrews had gripped it, her mind racing. "What did you tell him?"

The Colonel returned to his desk, settling into his chair with a satisfied expression. "Nothing too dramatic. Just that accidents happen in Las Vegas. Beautiful young women can disappear so easily in a city like this. The desert is vast, after all."

"You sick bastard," Angel whispered, horror and disgust churning in her stomach. The Colonel was worse than she'd imagined—not just manipulative, but truly dangerous.

"Crude, perhaps," the Colonel conceded with a shrug. "But effective. Elvis is quite devoted to you, after all. The mere suggestion that harm might come to you was enough to ensure his complete cooperation."

Angel's mind flashed back to Elvis's increasing dependency on pills, his exhaustion, his paranoia, his desperate attempts to please the Colonel despite his deteriorating health. It all made terrible sense now.

"You won't get away with this," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I could go to the police—"

"With what evidence?" the Colonel interrupted, his smile never reaching his eyes. "Your word against mine? The word of a costume designer who managed to marry one of the most famous men in America? They'll think you're after publicity or money."

Angel swallowed hard, her mind racing. The Colonel was right. Without evidence, who would believe her accusations against a man with his connections? But she couldn't let this continue. Elvis was slowly killing himself trying to protect her from a threat she hadn't even known existed.

"What happens now?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.

The Colonel regarded her with cold calculation. "Now, Mrs. Presley, you have a choice to make. You can continue this ill-advised crusade against me, in which case I cannot guarantee your safety... or Elvis's continued career." He leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk. "Or you can be the supportive wife Elvis needs. Encourage him to fulfill his commitments, help him manage his... habits, and stay out of business matters."

"You're asking me to help you destroy him," Angel said, disgust evident in her voice.

"I'm asking you to help him succeed," the Colonel corrected smoothly. "Elvis is making more money than he ever has. His career has never been stronger. All I require is that he honor his commitments without... interference."

Angel felt sick to her stomach. "And if I refuse?"

The Colonel's smile turned predatory. "Then Andrews here will escort you on a little trip to the desert. Elvis will be told you simply... left. Couldn't handle the pressure of being married to a star. He'll be heartbroken, of course, but heartbreak can be quite motivating for an artist."

Angel's jaw tightened. "You're insane."

"I'm practical," the Colonel replied. He motioned to Andrew who unlocked the door and opened it. “Good day, Mrs. Presley.”

Angel stepped into the hallway, her legs trembling beneath her as the door closed behind her. She walked back to the suite. She looked into the bedroom. Elvis was still sound asleep. She could hear the shower going and supposed that’s where Jerry had disappeared to. She closed the door to the bedroom again and finally let her legs buckle falling to the floor.

She had underestimated the Colonel, terribly. She had underestimated the entire situation, terribly.Angel sat on the floor of their suite, her back against the bedroom door, trembling as the full weight of her situation crashed down upon her. The Colonel wasn't just manipulating Elvis's career. He was holding both their lives hostage. Every pill Elvis swallowed, every exhausted performance, every sleepless night was the result of his desperate attempt to keep her safe from a monster she hadn't even known was stalking them. What was she going to do? She was only a small town girl. A costume designer. She had no leverage, no nothing. Nothing but her love for Elvis and she couldn’t just watch him suffer. If he kept on like this, he was going to die right on that stage. There had to be a way out of this nightmare.

Stay tuned for part 10!! Click HERE to view!

[waystobewixed]

Riding With Devils | biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 3)

(gif source: shadowhaert)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

plot summary: Sophie Ann Sutton appears to have the perfect life as a high school senior in a small town during the 1960s. With straight A's, a thriving social life, and a scholarship to her dream college, she feels invincible—especially with her loyal best friend by her side. But everything changes when she crosses paths with Austin, the dangerously charming son of the local biker gang's leader. Their worlds collide in an electrifying romance that defies all expectations, pulling Sophie into a whirlwind of rebellion, excitement and danger.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 3958

warnings/notes:

Chapter 3: The Girl on the Trellis

For the next forty minutes, they worked through Miguel's assignments, finding an unexpected rhythm. Sophie provided context and analysis, while Austin translated academic concepts into real-world applications that resonated with Miguel. Despite her initial reservations, Sophie found herself impressed by Austin's intuitive understanding of literature and history, even if his interpretations lacked formal structure. When Mrs. Ramirez announced the end of the session, Miguel closed his textbook with obvious reluctance.

"This was... not as bad as I expected," he admitted. "Same time Friday?"

"We'll be here," Sophie confirmed, gathering her notes.

Miguel stood, shouldering his backpack. "Cool. I should get back to practice before Coach sends a search party." He hesitated, glancing at Austin. "Thanks for the Peterson tips."

Austin nodded. "Just telling it like it is."

After Miguel left, Sophie busied herself organizing her materials, acutely aware of Austin watching her.

"You're good at this," he said finally. "The teaching part."

Sophie looked up, surprised by the genuine compliment. "Thanks. You weren't terrible yourself."

Austin laughed—a real laugh that transformed his face, softening the hard edges. "High praise from the future valedictorian."

"I never said I was—"

"You didn't have to." He leaned forward, close enough that Sophie could smell leather and motor oil clinging to his skin despite the clean t-shirt. "It's written all over you."

Sophie found herself unable to look away from his intense blue eyes. "You make it sound like an insult."

"Not an insult. An observation." Austin's voice dropped lower. "You're exactly who everyone expects you to be. At least during daylight hours."

The memory of wind in her hair and his solid warmth beneath her hands flashed through Sophie's mind. She swallowed hard. "What happened at Mel's was a one-time lapse in judgment."

"Was it?" Austin's gaze was knowing. "Because the girl who climbed down that trellis didn't seem like someone having a lapse. She seemed like someone finally waking up."

Sophie gathered her books with trembling hands. "I should go. Student council."

"Right. Wouldn't want to keep Jimmy-boy waiting." Austin stood, towering over her. "For what it's worth, I think he was lying about the emergency meeting."

"Why would he lie?"

"Because he saw you sitting with me." Austin's smile held no humor. "Some guys can't handle losing what they never had."

Sophie shouldered her bag, trying to regain her composure. "This mentorship is strictly professional. Whatever you think happened between us—"

"I don't think, Princess. I know." Austin stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I felt your heart racing when we took that corner on Henderson Road. You held on tighter than necessary."

Heat rushed to Sophie's face. "That was fear."

"Was it?" His eyes challenged her. "Funny thing about fear and excitement—they feel almost the same in the dark."

Before Sophie could formulate a response, the library doors opened again. Principal Winters entered, his expression tightening at the sight of them standing so close together.

"Miss Sutton," he called, his voice carrying across the now-empty library. "The student council is waiting for you in room 103."

Sophie stepped back from Austin, grateful for the interruption. "Yes, Mr. Winters. I was just leaving."

Austin watched her retreat, that knowing half-smile playing on his lips. As she reached the door, he called after her, just loud enough for her to hear. "See you Friday, Princess."

Sophie didn't look back, but she felt his eyes on her all the way down the hall.

***

Austin waited until Sophie disappeared before turning to Principal Winters, dropping the amused facade.

"You want to tell me the real reason I'm here?" he asked bluntly. "Because we both know it's not my mentoring skills."

Winters removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Your father made certain... arrangements with the school board. I'm simply following directives."

"What kind of arrangements?"

"The kind that keep our funding intact." Winters replaced his glasses, his expression hardening.

"So I'm here to fulfill some deal my father made," Austin clarified, his voice dropping to ensure the remaining mentors couldn't hear. "And Miguel Hernandez just happens to be my assigned student."

Winters shifted uncomfortably. "These arrangements are above my pay grade, Mr. Butler. I was told to pair you with Mr. Hernandez and Miss Sutton. That's all I know."

Austin studied the principal's face, noting the beads of sweat forming at his hairline despite the library's cool temperature. Winters was lying. Maybe not about the arrangement itself, but about his knowledge of its purpose. Austin had grown up reading people's tells enough to know.

"And Sophie?" Austin pressed. "Why pair me with the student council president? Seems like an odd choice."

"Miss Sutton is our most capable student mentor. The board felt Mr. Hernandez would benefit from..." Winters trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

"A balanced approach?" Austin suggested, his tone making it clear he wasn't buying it.

"Precisely." Winters glanced at his watch with obvious relief. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a faculty meeting to attend."

Austin watched him hurry away, piecing together the implications. His father hadn't just arranged for Austin to mentor Miguel—he'd specifically engineered the trio, ensuring Sophie was part of the equation. But why? What possible value could Sophie Sutton have in the power play between the Devil's Mark and Ricardo Hernandez? Unless his father knew about Tuesday night. The thought sent a chill down Austin's spine. Frank Butler had eyes everywhere in Millfield. If he'd discovered Austin giving Sophie a ride home, he might have misinterpreted the encounter—seen it as leverage, a potential weakness to exploit. Austin clenched his jaw, cursing himself for his carelessness. He'd drawn Sophie into a dangerous game simply by noticing her, by allowing himself that brief moment of connection with someone outside his world.

As he left the library, Austin's mind raced through contingency plans. He needed to maintain his assignment, gather the intelligence his father wanted, while somehow keeping Sophie clear of the inevitable fallout. An impossible task, given that they'd be sharing a table three times a week. The hallway outside the library was empty except for a solitary figure leaning against the wall—Ray, wearing his leather jacket despite the school's obvious discomfort with the Devil's Mark insignia.

"How'd it go, teach?" Ray asked, pushing off the wall with a smirk.

Austin shot him a warning look. "What are you doing here?"

"Your old man wanted a report." Ray fell into step beside him as they headed toward the exit. "Wanted to make sure you were taking the assignment seriously."

"Tell him I'm following orders," Austin replied coldly. "Miguel Hernandez is exactly where he's supposed to be."

"And the girl?" Ray's tone was deliberately casual. "Your trellis-climbing princess? That a coincidence or part of your old man's master plan?"

Austin stopped walking, grabbing Ray's arm and pulling him into an empty classroom. He shut the door behind them. "Listen carefully," Austin said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Sophie Sutton is off-limits. She's not part of this."

Ray raised his eyebrows. "Seems like your dad thinks differently. Why else pair you two together?"

"I don't know yet," Austin admitted, running a hand through his hair. "But whatever game he's playing, I'm not dragging her into it."

"Since when do you care about collateral damage?" Ray studied him with growing concern. "One motorcycle ride and suddenly you're her knight in leather armor?"

Austin turned away, staring out the classroom window at the football field where practice was in full swing. Miguel Hernandez was running drills, his movements precise and powerful.

"She's different," Austin finally said. "She doesn't belong in our world."

"No shit," Ray snorted. "That's probably why your old man's interested. Clean record, perfect family, connections to half the town through that student council gig. She'd make excellent leverage."

The thought made Austin's stomach turn. He'd seen how his father operated, using people's weaknesses against them until there was nothing left but broken loyalty or fear.

"Just tell him I'm handling Miguel," Austin said. "The girl is irrelevant."

Ray's expression turned serious. "You know it doesn't work that way. If Frank Butler wants information on both, that's what he expects to get."

"Then make something up," Austin snapped. "Tell him she's boring. Predictable. Not worth his time."

"Except she isn't," Ray pointed out. "Not if she's got you this worked up." He sighed, lowering his voice. "Look, I'll buy you some time, but you need to figure this out fast. Your dad's not the only one watching. Hernandez has people everywhere too."

Austin nodded, the weight of his position settling heavily on his shoulders. "I know."

"Friday, then?" Ray asked, moving toward the door.

"Yeah. I'll have something by Friday."

After Ray left, Austin remained in the empty classroom, watching as Miguel finished his drills. Sophie was caught between two worlds, whether she realized it or not. The thought of her green eyes clouding with fear when she discovered the truth made something twist painfully in Austin's chest. He'd spent his life accepting the inevitability of his path, the legacy of the Devil's Mark that ran in his blood. But for the first time, he found himself wishing he hadn’t.

***

Sophie arrived at Room 103 to find the student council already deep in discussion. Caroline Peters, the vice president, looked up with obvious relief. "Finally! We've been waiting forever."

Sophie slid into her usual seat at the head of the table, still unsettled from her encounter with Austin. "Sorry. Mentorship program ran long."

"So we heard," Caroline replied, her tone suggesting she'd heard more than just that. "Jimmy said you were paired with Austin Butler? Is that true?"

Every eye at the table turned to Sophie. Expressions ranged from curiosity to concern. The Devil's Mark wasn't just another motorcycle club—they were Millfield's boogeyman, the shadow that loomed over the respectable people of the small town.

"It's not a big deal," Sophie said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Principal Winters paired us with Miguel Hernandez—the new football transfer. It's just a school program."

"Just a school program?" Jimmy scoffed from the far end of the table. "Butler's not here for community service, Sophie. Everyone knows his family runs half the illegal operations in the county."

"That's just rumor," Sophie countered, though she knew it wasn't. "And regardless, the school approved him as a mentor."

Caroline leaned forward, lowering her voice. "My dad says the Devil's Mark has been moving in on new territory lately. There's talk of a turf war with the Southside crew."

"What does that have to do with school?" Sophie asked, irritation creeping into her voice.

"Miguel Hernandez is Ricardo Hernandez's nephew," Jimmy said, as if explaining something obvious. "Hernandez runs the Southside crew. Butler's father leads the Devil's Mark." He stared at Sophie intently. "You're being used as cover for whatever game they're playing."

Sophie felt a chill run through her. Austin's focused questions about Miguel's neighborhood suddenly took on new meaning. The tension between the boys, the careful assessment. It hadn't been about academic mentoring at all. "That's ridiculous," she said, more to convince herself than anyone else. "This is a school program. We're helping Miguel with his grades."

"Wake up, Sophie," Jimmy pressed. "Why would Austin Butler, who dropped out senior year, suddenly care about tutoring?"

"He didn't drop out," Sophie found herself saying. "He graduated. He was in Mr. Peterson's history class."

Jimmy's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"

Sophie realized her mistake too late. "He... mentioned it during the session." An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Sophie could feel their judgment, their curiosity. Perfect Sophie Sutton, suddenly defending Austin Butler's academic record.

"Look," Caroline said finally, "maybe we should focus on the actual meeting agenda. The spring dance budget needs approval.”

"Right," Sophie said gratefully, seizing the opportunity to change subjects. "The budget."

For the next hour, she threw herself into student council business with laser-like focus. The spring dance theme was debated (Garden Gala won over Midnight in Paris), the refreshment budget allocated, and committee assignments distributed. Sophie maintained her usual efficiency, but her mind kept drifting back to Austin's words in the library. "The girl who climbed down that trellis didn't seem like someone having a lapse. She seemed like someone finally waking up." Was he right? Had Tuesday night been her true self emerging, not some temporary insanity? And if Jimmy's suspicions were correct—if this mentorship was a cover for something darker—what did that make her? An unwitting pawn or a willing participant?

"Earth to Sophie," Caroline waved a hand in front of her face. "Meeting's over. You okay?"

Sophie blinked, realizing the room had emptied except for Caroline and herself. "Sorry. Just tired."

"This doesn't have anything to do with Austin Butler, does it?" Caroline asked, her voice dropping to a concerned whisper. "Because Jimmy's been telling everyone some pretty wild stories about Tuesday night."

Sophie's stomach clenched. "What kind of stories?"

"That you snuck out to meet him at Mel's. That you left with Butler on his motorcycle." Caroline's expression was more worried than judgmental. "I told everyone it was ridiculous, of course. You'd never do something that reckless."

The irony wasn't lost on Sophie. Even her closest friends couldn't imagine her breaking the rules. "Jimmy's exaggerating," she said carefully. "I did go to Mel's with him and Maggie, but only for milkshakes. Jimmy got... inappropriate, and we found another ride home."

It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't a complete lie either.

Caroline seemed relieved. "That makes more sense. For a minute I thought—" She stopped herself, shaking her head. "Never mind. It was silly."

"What?" Sophie pressed.

"Just... you've seemed different today. Distracted." Caroline gathered her books. "But I'm sure it's just stress from all your commitments. Try to get some rest, okay?"

After Caroline left, Sophie remained at the table, staring at her student council notes without really seeing them. Different. Austin had used that word too. Real. As if the Sophie everyone knew was somehow less authentic than the girl who'd clung to a stranger on a motorcycle in the middle of the night.

***

Austin cut across the abandoned train yard, his motorcycle's headlight slicing through the gathering dusk. The Devil's Mark clubhouse loomed ahead, its windows glowing amber against the darkening sky. He'd taken the long way back, needing time to process the afternoon's revelations. Inside, the main room buzzed with activity. Men in leather jackets played pool, cleaned weapons, or nursed beers while discussing business in low voices. A haze of cigarette smoke hung in the air, stinging Austin's eyes as he made his way toward the back office.

"There he is," Frank Butler announced as Austin entered. "Our academic ambassador."

Three of his father's lieutenants laughed, but Austin noticed they watched him carefully, gauging his reaction. "The program's set up like you wanted," Austin reported, keeping his voice neutral. "Miguel Hernandez, three afternoons a week."

Frank leaned back in his leather chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "And the girl? Sutton, was it?"

Austin's jaw tightened imperceptibly. "What about her?"

"Just curious why Winters paired you with the student council president." Frank's eyes narrowed slightly. "Seems like an odd choice."

"Principal said she's their top student," Austin replied with practiced casualness. "Probably thinks she'll keep me in line."

One of the lieutenants—Jackson, a heavyset man with a scar running down his cheek—snorted. "Good luck with that."

Frank studied his son's face, searching for something Austin was determined not to reveal. "This Sutton girl. She connected to the judge?"

Austin's blood ran cold. Judge William Sutton presided over most of the criminal cases in the county. He'd sent three Devil's Mark members to prison last year alone.

"I don't know," Austin lied smoothly. "Didn't come up."

Frank's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Find out. Could be useful."

"Sure," Austin agreed, knowing refusal wasn't an option. "Anything else?"

"Just remember why you're there," Frank said, his voice hardening. "Hernandez is moving product through the high school. We need to know his distribution network, his suppliers, and most importantly, who's protecting him on the force."

Austin nodded, already calculating how to get the information without drawing Miguel into a war he couldn't survive. "I'll handle it."

"I know you will, son." Frank's expression softened slightly—the closest he ever came to displaying affection. "You've never let me down before."

The weight of those words pressed on Austin's chest like a stone. His entire life had been shaped by his father's expectations, by the legacy of the Devil's Mark that stretched back three generations. Every decision, every action measured against the code of loyalty Frank had drilled into him since childhood.

"Meeting's over," Frank announced to the room.

As the lieutenants filed out, Frank gestured for Austin to stay. "One more thing," he said once they were alone. "Ray mentioned you seemed... protective of the Sutton girl."

Austin kept his expression carefully neutral. "Just playing my role. School would get suspicious if I didn't treat the mentors with respect."

"Respect is one thing. Interest is another." Frank rose from his chair, moving to the window that overlooked the quarry. "I taught you better than that, son. Attachments are weaknesses our enemies exploit."

"There's no attachment," Austin insisted, the lie bitter on his tongue. "She's just part of the cover."

Frank turned, his eyes cold and calculating. "Good. Because Judge Sutton's daughter could be valuable leverage in ways you don't yet understand." He paused, letting the implication settle between them. "Don't forget whose son you are."

"I never do," Austin replied, the words practiced and hollow.

Outside, the night air offered little relief from the suffocating tension of the clubhouse. Austin swung his leg over his motorcycle, the familiar machine the only constant in his increasingly complicated existence. The engine roared to life beneath him, vibrating through his body like a second heartbeat. He rode without destination, following the winding back roads that traced the outskirts of Millfield. The town lights glimmered in the distance, a constellation of order and respectability that had never included him. His mind drifted to Sophie—to the way she'd looked in the library, her careful composure betrayed by the flush in her cheeks whenever their eyes met. She was everything he wasn't supposed to want: structured, privileged, untouched by the darkness that defined his world.

And now she was unknowingly entangled in a power struggle that could destroy everything she knew.

Austin pulled over at the ridge overlooking town, cutting the engine. The silence pressed in around him, broken only by the distant sounds of night creatures. Below, the neat grid of Millfield streets led inevitably to the manicured neighborhood where Sophie slept, safely tucked behind white columns and pristine lawns, unaware of the forces converging around her.

For the first time in his life, Austin Butler questioned the path laid out before him.

***

Thursday morning dawned with merciless brightness, sunlight streaming through Sophie's curtains to illuminate her sleepless form. She'd spent the night replaying the mentoring session, analyzing every word, every look exchanged between Austin and Miguel. If Jimmy was right, what did that make her? An unwitting accomplice? A pawn?

"Sophie!" her mother called from downstairs. "Breakfast!"

Sophie dragged herself from bed, mechanically going through her morning routine. Shower, hair, makeup, clothes. But as she applied her lipstick (Blush Pink, never Red), she found herself studying her reflection with new eyes. Who was she, really? The reflection offered no answers, just the familiar mask of Sophie Sutton.

Downstairs, her parents were already seated at the breakfast table, her father hidden behind his newspaper as usual.

"There you are," her mother said, sliding a plate of eggs and toast in front of her. "I was beginning to worry you'd overslept."

"Sorry," Sophie murmured, picking up her fork without appetite. "I was finishing an assignment."

Her father lowered his newspaper slightly. "You look tired, sweetheart. Not pushing yourself too hard, are you?"

Before Sophie could answer, her mother interjected. "Of course she is. That's our Sophie. Always striving for excellence." She patted Sophie's shoulder with maternal pride. "Oh, I almost forgot. Judge Williams called last night. He wants you to babysit on Saturday. His daughter simply adores you."

Sophie nodded automatically. "That's fine."

"And Mrs. Peterson mentioned the debate team needs extra practice before regionals. She suggested you might organize a weekend session."

"I'll take care of it," Sophie replied, the words coming out automatically.

Her father folded his newspaper, revealing a serious expression. "Speaking of taking care of things, I heard something concerning yesterday." He set down his coffee cup with deliberate precision. "Bill Henderson mentioned seeing you at the library with Austin Butler. Is that true?"

Sophie's fork clattered against her plate. "It's a school program. Principal Winters assigned us as co-mentors."

"Austin Butler?" Her mother's hand flew to her pearl necklace. "Isn't he—"

"Frank Butler's son," her father confirmed grimly. "Leader of that motorcycle gang that's been causing trouble across the county."

"It's just a mentorship program," Sophie repeated, her voice steadier than she felt. "We're helping a transfer student adjust to Millfield's academic standards."

Her father's expression hardened. "I don't care what Winters is calling it. The Butlers are dangerous, Sophie. Frank Butler has been in my courtroom more times than I can count. That family operates outside the law."

"Austin isn't his father," Sophie heard herself saying, then immediately regretted it as her parents exchanged alarmed glances.

"You don't know these people, Sophie," her father said, his tone softening to one he might use when explaining a difficult concept to a child. "They appear charming, even reasonable, but underneath they're calculating predators. I want you to request a different co-mentor today."

Sophie stared at her plate, conflicting emotions churning in her stomach. Part of her wanted to agree immediately. But another part rebelled against her father's certainty.

"I can't," Sophie said, surprising herself with the firmness in her voice. "Principal Winters specifically selected us for Miguel. Backing out would look irresponsible."

Her father set his coffee cup down with a sharp click. "Sophie Ann, this isn't about appearances. This is about your safety."

"I'm perfectly safe at school," Sophie countered. "We meet in the library with supervision. It's three afternoons a week for a month."

"William," her mother interjected, placing a calming hand on her husband's arm. "Perhaps we should speak with Principal Winters directly. I'm sure he didn't realize—"

"He knew exactly what he was doing," her father cut in. "The school board's been pressured to implement these 'community outreach' programs. It's all politics."

Sophie pushed her eggs around her plate. "Dad, I'm seventeen. I can handle myself in a supervised school program."

"This isn't about your capabilities," her father said, his voice softening slightly. "It's about the company you're keeping. People like Austin Butler don't change, Sophie. They're born into that life, raised in it. Whatever he's doing at Millfield, it isn't about helping students."

The certainty in her father's voice made Sophie pause. Hadn't she thought the same thing yesterday? Hadn't Jimmy's warnings raised the same red flags?

"I'll be careful," she promised, a compromise. "If I notice anything suspicious, I'll tell Principal Winters immediately."

Her father studied her face, clearly dissatisfied but recognizing the stubborn set of her jaw—an expression he often wore himself. "One week," he conceded finally. "Then we reevaluate."

"Thank you," Sophie said, relief washing through her.

"And Sophie?" Her father's eyes were serious. "No contact with that boy outside of the official program. I mean it."

The memory of Austin's solid warmth beneath her hands, the exhilaration of the motorcycle ride, flashed through Sophie's mind. "Of course not," she agreed, the lie bitter on her tongue.

Stay tuned for part 4!! Click HERE to view!

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Harry's gaze darted between the strange family before him and the crumbling world he'd always known. The Isle suddenly felt smaller than ever. What did he have to lose?

“Fine. I guess I’ll come along for the ride." He reached out and grasped Adam's cold, wet hand. "But if this is some elaborate trick, I'll gut ye with me own hook."

Harry's gaze flicked between Adam's outstretched hand and the approaching Quinjets. The sound of their engines grew louder, drowning out the usual chaos of the Isle.

"Ye're mad," Harry said, but his voice lacked conviction. "What makes ye think I'd trust some stranger who just appeared out of the bloody ocean?"

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Harry's gaze flicked between Adam's outstretched hand and the approaching Quinjets. The sound of their engines grew louder, drowning out the usual chaos of the Isle.

"Ye're mad," Harry said, but his voice lacked conviction. "What makes ye think I'd trust some stranger who just appeared out of the bloody ocean?"

Harry's hook clattered to the deck as he stared up at the approaching aircraft, their sleek forms cutting through the smoky sky like metal birds of prey. The barrier that had trapped them all for so long was gone. He could feel it in his bones.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, "The barrier's really down."

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Harry's hook clattered to the deck as he stared up at the approaching aircraft, their sleek forms cutting through the smoky sky like metal birds of prey. The barrier that had trapped them all for so long was gone. He could feel it in his bones.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, "The barrier's really down."

Harry stared at the outstretched hand, his expression wavering between distrust and desperate hope. The word "hero" hung in the air between them like bait on a hook.

"A hero?" Harry scoffed, but there was something in his eyes. "Villains don't get to be heroes, mate. That's not how the story goes."

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Harry stared at the outstretched hand, his expression wavering between distrust and desperate hope. The word "hero" hung in the air between them like bait on a hook.

"A hero?" Harry scoffed, but there was something in his eyes. "Villains don't get to be heroes, mate. That's not how the story goes."

Harry narrowed his eyes, suspicion written across his face. He stopped pacing and leaned forward, bringing his hook dangerously close to Adam's throat.

"A chance, ye say? Heard that before, haven't we? Auradon's full of empty promises."

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Harry narrowed his eyes, suspicion written across his face. He stopped pacing and leaned forward, bringing his hook dangerously close to Adam's throat.

"A chance, ye say? Heard that before, haven't we? Auradon's full of empty promises."

Heart of the Lost Isle {Harry & ?}

Harry felt his heart hammering against his ribcage as he paced the worn planks of the ship's deck. The Isle of the Lost stretched before him, a patchwork of dilapidated buildings and shadowy alleyways. His hook gleamed in the dim light as he twirled it between his fingers, a nervous habit he'd developed over years of living in his father's shadow.

"Ye think ye can just waltz in here and make demands?" he snarled.

@bitterdeathtoswallow

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Heart of the Lost Isle {Harry & ?}

Harry felt his heart hammering against his ribcage as he paced the worn planks of the ship's deck. The Isle of the Lost stretched before him, a patchwork of dilapidated buildings and shadowy alleyways. His hook gleamed in the dim light as he twirled it between his fingers, a nervous habit he'd developed over years of living in his father's shadow.

"Ye think ye can just waltz in here and make demands?" he snarled.

@bitterdeathtoswallow

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STARTER CALL!!! {Harry}

LIKE OR REBLOG!!! RP BLOGS ONLY!!

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STARTER CALL!! {Mal}

LIKE OR REBLOG!!! RP BLOGS ONLY!!

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Ruthless Grace | Austin Butler x OC (part 13)

(gif source: aust-een)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

plot summary: Amidst the grime and squalor of Victorian England's winding cobblestone alleys, a young woman's life hangs precariously in the balance. Violet, a poor peasant girl with long raven locks and piercing gray eyes, possesses a haunting beauty that belies the harsh realities of her existence. Tragedy struck two years prior when Violet's mother succumbed to illness, leaving her to fend for herself and her father – a cruel, selfish man consumed by vices of alcohol and gambling. On one fateful night, Violet's father drags her unwillingly to that very den of iniquity, and there she learns a horrifying truth from the club's greedy, perverted owner: to repay his mounting gambling debts, her father has sold her into sexual servitude. Violet's vehement protests fall on deaf ears, until an unlikely savior emerges from the shadows. Lord Austin Butler intervenes with a bargain of his own. This dangerous man offers to pay off Violet's father's debts in exchange for her accompaniment, and Violet is torn from the only life she has known. While Austin's demeanor remains shrouded in mystery and detachment at first, Violet gradually glimpses his softer, even playful side as time passes within the manor's walls and an unexpected connection blossoms between the unlikely pair.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 3891

warnings/notes: NSFW!!! NSFW!!! Don't know how two of my stories got to this point in the character relationships at the same time...but I'm not mad about it :)

Chapter 13: Flesh and Blood

They made their way back to his private chambers in silence, the weight of the night's events heavy between them. Mr. Pembroke, awakened by Austin's quiet summons, had discreetly begun handling the aftermath in the garden without so much as a raised eyebrow at his master's blood-soaked appearance. Austin's personal bathroom was larger than Violet had expected, dominated by a massive copper tub. Steam rose from the water that servants had hastily prepared before tactfully withdrawing. The marble floors gleamed in the soft lamplight, and ornate fixtures glinted with gold accents.

"Are you certain about this?" Austin asked, standing awkwardly by the doorway, still covered in drying blood.

Violet nodded, steeling her resolve. "I am." She moved to a small table where washcloths and soap had been arranged, selecting a soft cloth and dipping it into the warm water. "Your jacket first, I think."

Austin shrugged out of his ruined jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a heavy, wet sound. The white shirt beneath was similarly stained, crimson blooming across the once-pristine fabric.

With trembling fingers, Violet approached him, beginning to work at the buttons of his waistcoat. "I've never done this before," she admitted quietly, focusing on the task to avoid meeting his gaze directly.

"I gathered as much," Austin replied, his voice gentle. "You may stop at any time."

She nodded, easing the waistcoat from his broad shoulders. Next came his shirt, each button revealing more of his pale chest. Violet swallowed hard as the final button came undone, exposing his torso fully to her gaze. Despite her nervousness, she couldn't help but notice how perfectly formed he was—like a marble statue brought to life, all smooth planes and defined muscles.

"Your hands are shaking," Austin observed softly.

"Yes. I'm just nervous," Violet admitted, setting aside his shirt. His chest was remarkably unmarred by the violence, the blood seeming to have soaked through without touching his skin.

Austin remained perfectly still as Violet dipped the cloth into the warm water, wringing it out before bringing it to his chest. The first touch sent a shiver through him that he couldn't quite conceal. She moved the cloth in gentle circles, washing away the crimson stains with careful attention.

"The water's turning pink," she murmured, rinsing the cloth and returning to her task.

"I can finish this myself," Austin offered again, his voice strained. "You've had quite enough shocks for one evening."

Violet shook her head, continuing her ministrations. "I need to do this," she replied softly. "To understand... to accept what happened tonight."

His hand caught hers as she reached for his face, where a streak of blood had dried along his jawline. "Violet," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "you should know that your proximity, your touch... it affects me."

She met his gaze then, seeing the hunger there—not just for blood, but for her. "I know," she whispered back.

The air between them seemed to crackle with electricity as she gently freed her hand from his grasp and brought the cloth to his face, wiping away the blood with tender care. His eyes never left hers, watching her with an intensity that made her heart race.

"Your trousers," she said, her voice catching slightly. "They're stained too."

Austin's breath hitched. "Perhaps that's where I should take over."

"Perhaps," Violet agreed, though she made no move to step away. Instead, she found herself drawing closer, as if pulled by some invisible force. The damp cloth slipped from her fingers, landing on the marble floor with a soft plop.

"Violet," Austin breathed, a warning and a plea wrapped in a single word.

"I'm not afraid," she told him, and realized with some surprise that it was true. The violence she had witnessed in the garden had been terrible, yes, but it had been in service of protecting her. This man—this vampire—had killed without hesitation to keep her safe. Slowly, deliberately, she placed her palm against his chest, directly over where his heart would beat if he were human. The skin was cool beneath her touch, but not unpleasantly so.

"You should be," Austin said, his voice rough with restraint. "After what you saw me do tonight."

"What I saw," Violet replied, her voice steadier than she felt, "was someone who would tear out a heart to protect me." Her fingers traced a path up to his neck, feeling the strong column of his throat beneath her touch. "That's not something I've ever had before."

Austin's eyes darkened as he caught her wrist, his grip firm but gentle. "You don't know what you're doing," Austin whispered, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. "This isn't just desire you're playing with, Violet. This is hunger—primal and dangerous."

Despite his warning, Violet didn't withdraw her hand. Instead, she stepped closer, bridging the small gap between them until she could feel the coolness radiating from his bare chest.

"I understand more than you think," she replied softly. "I've seen both sides of you now—the gentleman and the predator. I'm making this choice with open eyes."

Austin's grip on her wrist loosened, his thumb absently tracing the delicate blue veins visible beneath her skin. His gaze followed the movement, a flash of crimson momentarily darkening his blue eyes.

"There are... safer ways," he managed, his voice rough. "Ways I could show you affection without risking your safety."

Violet's free hand reached up to touch his face, her fingertips tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "And what of your needs? You deny yourself constantly. I've seen how it wears on you."

Austin's eyes closed briefly at her touch, a shudder running through his powerful frame. When he opened them again, they held a vulnerability she'd never witnessed before.

"My needs are secondary to your safety," he insisted, though his body betrayed his words as he leaned imperceptibly into her touch.

"What if..." Violet hesitated, gathering her courage. "What if I want to give you what you need?"

Austin froze, his entire body going still in that unnatural way only the undead could achieve. "You don't know what you're offering," he whispered.

"Then show me," she challenged softly.

For a moment, it seemed as though he might refuse. Then, with deliberate slowness, Austin lifted her hand to his lips. His eyes never leaving hers, he pressed a kiss to her palm, then turned her wrist upward. His lips brushed against the delicate skin there, where her pulse throbbed visibly.

"Your heartbeat," he murmured against her skin, "it's like music to me. Strong. Vital. Alive."

Violet's breath caught as his cool lips traveled up her arm, leaving a trail of whisper-soft kisses that made her skin tingle. When he reached the crook of her elbow, he paused, inhaling deeply.

"Your scent changes with your emotions," he told her, his voice low and intimate. "Right now, you're nervous... but not afraid." His eyes met hers, a question in their depths. "Why aren't you afraid, Violet?"

"Because I trust you," she answered simply.

Those three words seemed to break something in him. With a sound that was half groan, half sigh, Austin pulled her against him, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other circled her waist. His lips met hers with restrained passion, cool against her warmth. The difference in their temperatures created a delicious contrast that made Violet gasp into his mouth. She melted against him, her arms encircling his neck as she surrendered to the kiss. Unlike their previous encounters, there was something different about Austin now—a carefully controlled wildness that thrilled and frightened her in equal measure. His kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding. His hands roamed her back, pressing her closer until she could feel every hard plane of his body against her softer curves.

"Austin," she breathed when they finally broke apart, her chest heaving with the need for air that he didn't share.

He rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as if in pain. "I shouldn't want you this much," he confessed, his voice rough with desire. "It's dangerous."

Austin pulled back slightly even as her fingers tangled in his hair. He fixed her with an intense gaze. "Because the line between passion and hunger is perilously thin for my kind.”

Rather than frightening her, his confession sent a thrill of excitement through Violet. She was playing with fire—she knew this—but the heat of it was intoxicating. "The bath will get cold," she whispered, changing the subject but not the intensity between them.

Austin smiled, a predatory edge to his expression that made her heart skip. "I don't feel the cold as you do," he reminded her, his fingers working at the buttons of her dress with surprising dexterity. "But you're right. We shouldn't waste the servants' efforts."

The garment loosened under his skilled hands, sliding down her shoulders to pool at her feet. Violet stood before him in only her chemise and petticoats, feeling exposed yet emboldened by the hunger in his eyes.

"You're beautiful," Austin murmured, his gaze traveling the length of her body with undisguised appreciation. "More beautiful than any painting or sunset I've witnessed in four centuries."

Violet blushed under his scrutiny, her hands moving instinctively to cover herself. Austin caught them gently, bringing them to his lips.

"Don't hide from me," he requested softly. "Let me see you. All of you."

With trembling fingers, Violet untied the ribbons of her petticoats, letting them fall away. The thin fabric of her chemise was all that remained, the lamplight rendering it nearly transparent. Austin's jaw tightened, his control visibly straining as he watched her.

"The bath," he reminded her, his voice strained.

"Yes," she agreed, though neither made a move toward it.

Instead, Austin stepped closer, his fingers tracing the delicate line of her collarbone. "May I?" he asked, his hand hovering at the hem of her chemise. Violet nodded, unable to find her voice. With exquisite gentleness, Austin lifted the last barrier between them over her head, leaving her completely bare before him. His eyes darkened as they took in every curve, every freckle, every imperfection that made her uniquely human.

"Perfect," he whispered, reverence in his tone.

Despite her nervousness, Violet felt a strange power in her nakedness before him. This immortal being, capable of such terrible violence, looked at her with awe—as if she were the miracle and not he. She reached for his hand, guiding it to her breast. At the first contact of his cool palm against her heated skin, they both gasped.

"Your heart," Austin murmured, feeling its rapid beat beneath his palm. "Like a hummingbird's wings."

Violet held back the confession that played on the edge of her lips. Perhaps she didn’t even want to believe them no matter how true they were. The way she felt about him, what he had awakened in her—her heart beat only for him now.

Austin's control faltered. In one fluid movement, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the copper tub. The water was still warm as he lowered her into it, the sensation drawing a soft sigh from her lips. To her surprise, he stepped back, his hands moving to the fastenings of his trousers.

"You're joining me?" Violet asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"If you'll permit it," Austin replied, hesitating despite the obvious desire in his eyes.

Violet's answer was to extend her hand toward him, water droplets trailing down her arm like liquid diamonds. Austin wasted no time removing his remaining garments. Violet's eyes widened as he stood before her, completely nude. His body was a study in masculine perfection—broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips, powerful thighs, and undeniable evidence of his desire for her. With graceful movements, he stepped into the tub behind her, the water rising as it accommodated his larger frame. His arms encircled her waist, drawing her back against his chest. The contrast of her warm skin against his cooler body sent shivers of pleasure along her spine.

"Is this... acceptable?" Austin murmured against her ear, his breath making her shiver despite the warm water surrounding them.

"More than acceptable," Violet replied, leaning her head back against his shoulder. "It's perfect."

They sat in silence for a moment, the gentle lapping of the water against the copper sides of the tub the only sound between them. Austin's hands moved with deliberate slowness, tracing patterns across her skin beneath the water's surface.

"You're so warm," he observed, his lips brushing against her temple.

Violet turned her head to capture his lips with hers, the kiss deep and unhurried. Austin's hands continued their exploration, mapping every curve and hollow of her body with reverent attention. When his fingers traced the inside of her thigh, a soft moan escaped her lips. The sound seemed to ignite something primal in Austin. His kiss became more demanding, his touch more possessive.

"Violet," he whispered against her mouth, "if we continue, I'm not certain I'll be able to stop."

She drew back slightly, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. "Then don't stop."

With those words, the last thread of Austin's restraint snapped. He turned her in his arms, water cascading over the edge of the tub as he positioned her to straddle his lap. Their bodies pressed together, skin against skin, heat against cool. His hands tangled in her damp hair, drawing her down for a kiss that stole what little breath remained in her lungs.

"Are you certain?" he asked one final time.

"Completely," Violet assured him, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "I want this. I want you."

Austin lifted her with ease, carrying her from the tub without breaking their kiss. Water dripped from their bodies onto the marble floor as he made his way to his bedchamber. The massive four-poster bed dominated the room, its dark wood and rich fabrics a stark contrast to Violet's pale skin as Austin laid her gently upon it. He stood above her for a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of her sprawled across his bed, wet hair fanned out around her like a dark halo. Droplets of water clung to her skin, catching the lamplight like tiny stars.

"Do you have any idea," Austin said, his voice barely above a whisper, "how many nights I've dreamed of you here? Just like this?"

Violet's heart fluttered at his confession. She reached for him, unwilling to be separated any longer. "Show me," she urged softly.

Austin joined her on the bed, his body covering hers with exquisite care not to crush her with his weight. His lips found the sensitive spot below her ear, trailing kisses down the column of her throat to the hollow where her pulse beat strongest. He paused there, his breath quickening as he inhaled her scent.

"Violet," he murmured against her skin, his voice filled with desire and hunger intertwined.

She tilted her head, offering herself more fully to him in a gesture of complete trust. Her fingers threading through his damp hair, drawing him closer. Austin's lips parted against her throat, his teeth grazing the delicate skin there. A tremor ran through his powerful frame as he struggled against his most primal instinct. He knew once he tasted her, there was no going back. Everything would change between them. Absolutely everything.

Violet’s body arched beneath his. The cool press of his skin against her heated flesh created sensations she had never imagined possible. "I'm not afraid."

For a moment, Austin remained poised above her pulse, his breath cool against her flushed skin. Then, with agonizing slowness, he pressed his lips to her throat in a kiss so tender it brought tears to her eyes. "Not like this," he whispered.

Instead, his mouth traveled lower, exploring the gentle curves of her breasts with devoted attention. Violet gasped as his cool lips closed around a sensitive peak, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her body. His hands followed paths his lips could not reach, mapping every inch of her with reverent precision. When his fingers found the center of her desire, Violet cried out, her hips lifting instinctively toward his touch. Austin watched her reactions with intense fascination, learning what made her breath catch, what drew those exquisite sounds from her throat.

"Austin," she breathed, her voice trembling with need as he continued his careful exploration. "Please..."

He understood her wordless plea. Positioning himself between her thighs, he paused, his eyes meeting hers in silent question. Violet nodded, her hands pulling him closer, urging him. The initial discomfort of his entry was quickly overshadowed by waves of sensation unlike anything she had ever experienced. Austin moved with careful restraint, allowing her body time to adjust to his. His eyes never left her face, watching for any sign of pain or uncertainty.

"Are you alright?" he murmured, stilling his movements when he saw her wince.

"Yes," Violet assured him, her hands sliding down to his hips, encouraging him to continue. "Don't stop."

Austin's control was absolute as he began to move within her, each thrust measured and deliberate. Violet felt herself surrendering to the rhythm he created, her body responding to his as if they had been lovers for centuries rather than moments. As their passion built, Violet noticed a change in Austin's eyes—a flash of crimson that came and went like lightning. His movements became more urgent, less controlled, and yet never rough. She could feel the battle he waged within himself, desire warring with hunger, passion with restraint.

"Let go," she whispered, her hands framing his face, bringing him closer. "I trust you."

Austin's eyes met hers, vulnerability and hunger mingling in their depths. "I could hurt you," he warned, even as his body continued its relentless rhythm against hers.

"You won't," Violet assured him, her voice breathless yet certain. She tilted her head, exposing the delicate curve of her neck in an offer too explicit to misunderstand. For a heartbeat, Austin froze above her, his entire body tensing with the effort of restraint. Then, with a groan that seemed torn from the very depths of his soul, he lowered his head to the crook of her neck. His lips brushed against her pulse, sending shivers cascading through her body.

"Violet," he breathed, her name a prayer and a plea. "My Violet."

The first touch of his teeth against her skin was gentle—a question rather than a demand. When she arched into him rather than away, Austin's control finally shattered. His fangs pierced her flesh with exquisite precision, a sharp sting that quickly bloomed into intense pleasure. The first taste of her blood exploded across Austin's senses like fireworks against a midnight sky. It was everything he had feared and more—intoxicating, addictive, pure ecstasy flowing across his tongue. Violet gasped as twin sensations overwhelmed her. Each pull of his mouth sent waves of heat spiraling through her, intensifying the building pressure low in her abdomen. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her rather than pushing him away. Austin drank sparingly, fighting his instinct to take more, to drain her completely. Even in the throes of bloodlust and passion, a part of him remained vigilant, monitoring her heartbeat, ensuring he took only what she could safely give. The taste of her was beyond description—honey and wine and sunlight, memories of warmth he'd long forgotten.

As the pleasure built between them, Violet felt herself approaching the precipice of something extraordinary. Austin sensed it too, his movements becoming more urgent, more focused. When he finally withdrew his fangs from her neck, his tongue gently sealing the small wounds, Violet cried out his name, her body arching beneath him as waves of pleasure crashed over her. The sound of his name on her lips, coupled with the taste of her blood still on his tongue, pushed Austin beyond his limits. With a hoarse cry, he followed her into ecstasy, his body shuddering against hers.

They remained entwined as the aftershocks of pleasure gradually subsided, neither willing to break the connection that now bound them more intimately than mere physical union. Austin gathered Violet against his chest, cradling her with a tenderness that belied his immortal strength. His fingers gently traced the puncture marks on her neck, a frown of concern crossing his features.

"I've marked you," he murmured, regret coloring his voice despite the lingering pleasure in his eyes.

Violet touched the small wounds herself, feeling only a slight tenderness rather than pain. "I wanted you to," she reminded him softly.

Austin's cool lips brushed against her forehead. "It was selfish of me. Taking your blood during such a moment..."

"It was beautiful," Violet interrupted, her voice unwavering despite her breathlessness.

The tension in Austin's shoulders eased slightly at her words. "What you gave me tonight," he whispered, his fingers threading through her damp hair, "no one has ever offered so freely, so completely."

Violet nestled closer. "Was it... was I..." she faltered, sudden insecurity washing over her.

Austin tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. The crimson had faded from his eyes, leaving only the deep blue that had first captivated her. "You were perfect," he assured her, his voice rough with emotion. "More than perfect. You were everything."

A blush stained Violet's cheeks at his words. She laid her head against his chest, where no heartbeat sounded but where she nonetheless felt most secure. "I didn't know it could be like that," she admitted quietly.

Austin's arms tightened around her, as if he could shield her from the world through sheer force of will. "Nor did I," he confessed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "In four centuries, I've never..."

Violet raised her head, surprise evident in her expression. "Never?"

A rueful smile curved Austin's lips. "I've had companions, yes. Physical relationships. But this..." his fingers ghosted over the marks on her neck, "I've never trusted myself enough. Never trusted anyone enough to let them see that part of me. If I drank blood from a human, it was always purely for sustenance. Never pleasure.”

The weight of his confession settled over Violet like a warm blanket. To be the first, in his centuries of existence, to whom he had revealed himself so completely—it was a humbling realization. "I'm honored," she whispered.

They lay in comfortable silence for a time, Austin's fingers tracing idle patterns on her skin as Violet's breathing gradually returned to normal. Outside, the first hints of dawn began to lighten the sky, though heavy curtains kept the room bathed in protective darkness.

"You should rest," Austin said eventually, noticing her eyelids growing heavy. "You've given much of yourself tonight."

Violet fought against the encroaching exhaustion, unwilling to surrender to sleep when reality seemed more wondrous than any dream. "Will you stay with me?" she asked, her voice thick with approaching slumber.

"Until the end of time," Austin promised, drawing the silken sheets over her cooling skin. "Sleep now, my Violet. I'll be here when you wake."

As consciousness began to slip away, Violet felt the press of his cool lips against her forehead, a benediction and a vow in one gentle touch.

Stay tuned for part 14!! Click HERE to view!

Taglist: @buckysteveloki-me @imusicaddict

[waystobewixed]

Heartbreak Hotel | austin!elvis x oc (part 8)

(gif source: feralgodmothers)

plot summary: Angel Casteel is a small town girl who lucked into working as a costume designer at a film studio. Unfortunately, her confidence in herself wavers as she is assigned to work with Elvis on his latest motion picture. Overcome by his star power at first, she slowly starts to realize there is a man behind the fame, a man she understands. But as they grow closer, the world grows more turbulent, especially Elvis's world. Will this Angel be able to save Elvis from himself and the people around him? Or will getting mixed up in his word prove to be her downfall as well?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

pairings: austin!elvis x oc

word count: 1876

warnings/notes: NSFW!!! NSFW!!! This part is short, but sexy. Wanted to give a nice chapter as the calm before the storm :)

Chapter 8: Becoming One

"I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Elvis pulled Angel into his arms, kissing her with a tenderness that made her heart soar. The small chapel on the outskirts of Las Vegas glowed with soft candlelight, casting gentle shadows across the faces of their handful of guests. Jerry wiped tears from his eyes while Elvis's father Vernon stood beaming with pride, his weathered hands clutching a handkerchief. The ceremony had been everything Angel wanted—intimate, sincere, and mercifully free of Colonel Parker's presence. They'd told him about the wedding only hours before, giving him no time to interfere.

"Mrs. Presley," Elvis whispered against her ear as they walked back down the aisle, his arm secure around her waist. "Finally."

She squeezed his hand, the simple gold band on her finger catching the light. "Finally," she echoed, unable to stop smiling.

Outside, the desert night enveloped them in velvety darkness. Stars punctured the inky sky, more brilliant than any stage lights. Elvis's Cadillac waited, decorated with white ribbons and flowers by Jerry and the boys.

"Where to now, Mr. Presley?" Angel asked as Elvis opened the passenger door for her.

"I've got a surprise," he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Just trust me."

An hour later, they stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking the Grand Canyon, the moonlight painting the ancient rock formations in silver and shadow. Elvis had arranged for a small cabin nearby—completely private, miles from any fans or photographers.

"It's breathtaking," Angel whispered, gazing out at the vast expanse.

"I wanted us to start our marriage somewhere that makes everything else seem small," Elvis said, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "The Colonel, the press, all those pressures... out here, they don't matter."

Angel leaned back against him, savoring his warmth in the cool night air. "How did you arrange all this without anyone knowing?"

"Jerry helped. And I've still got a few secrets the Colonel doesn't know about." Elvis chuckled softly, his breath warm against her neck. "Including a private bank account I started after our talk with him."

Angel turned in his arms, searching his face. "You're planning for the future."

"Our future," Elvis corrected, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "One step at a time, we're taking back control."

Inside the cabin, a fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting the rustic space in golden light. A small table was set with dinner and champagne, but neither was interested in food. Elvis pulled Angel into his arms, swaying gently to music only they could hear.

"I've been thinking," he murmured against her hair. "After Vegas, we should take some time away. Just us."

"The Colonel would never allow it," Angel said, though she couldn't help but be tantalized by the thought.

"The Colonel doesn't control everything anymore," Elvis reminded her, his fingers tracing circles on the small of her back. "I've still got those gospel recordings I've been wanting to do in Memphis. We could combine it—part work, part honeymoon."

Angel looked up at him, love swelling in her chest at the determination in his eyes. "You really mean it, don't you?"

"I do." Elvis led her to the couch, pulling her down beside him as the firelight danced across their faces. "I've been thinking a lot about what's next. Not just for us, but for my music."

"Tell me," Angel urged, curling against his side.

Elvis's expression grew thoughtful as he gazed into the flames. "I want to get back to what made me fall in love with music in the first place. The gospel, the blues, the soul of it all." His voice dropped lower, more intimate. "When I was a boy, my mama would take me to church, and I'd hear those voices raised in song. It felt like... like touching something bigger than myself."

Angel nodded, understanding perfectly. She'd seen that transcendent quality in him during certain performances—moments when Elvis seemed to connect with something profound, beyond the glitter and spectacle.

"The Colonel's always pushed me toward what sells," Elvis continued. "And I get it—this is a business. But music should be more than that." He turned to her, his eyes alight with purpose. "I want to record songs that matter, Angel. Songs that say something about this crazy world we're living in."

"Like 'If I Can Dream'?" she asked.

"Exactly like that," Elvis agreed, his enthusiasm growing. "Songs about hope, about change, about love that's deeper than the bubblegum stuff on the radio."

Angel reached up to touch his face, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "You know I'll support whatever you want to do. But the Colonel—"

"Will fight me every step of the way," Elvis finished with a wry smile. "I'm counting on it. But I've got something he doesn't."

"What's that?"

"You," Elvis said simply. "Your belief in me. And for the first time in years, my belief in myself."

Angel's heart swelled at his words. This was the Elvis she had fallen in love with—passionate, determined, unafraid to dream beyond the boundaries others set for him.

"Then we'll fight together," she promised, sealing the vow with a kiss that quickly deepened into something more urgent.

Elvis pulled back slightly, his breathing ragged. "Mrs. Presley," he murmured, his voice husky with desire, "I believe we have some wedding night traditions to attend to."

Angel smiled. "I believe we do.”

As they swayed in each other's arms, Elvis pulled Angel closer, his hands roaming her body with a burning passion. He could feel the heat between them, growing more intense with every touch. She was powerless to resist as Elvis's lips found the curve of her neck. Her body shivered in response to his touch. Elvis slid his hand beneath her dress, fingers exploring the soft silk of her inner thighs. He could feel her tremble beneath his touch, anticipation and desire building within them both. Angel melted into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips as Elvis's fingers traced delicate patterns up her thigh. The thin fabric of her wedding dress suddenly felt like too much of a barrier between them.

"Elvis," she whispered, her voice thick with desire. Without a word, he turned her around, his fingers finding the zipper of her dress. Slowly, reverently, he eased it down, pressing warm kisses to each inch of skin revealed. The dress fell away, pooling at her feet like white moonlight.

Elvis drew in a sharp breath. "You're so beautiful, Angel," he murmured, his eyes drinking in the sight of her in delicate white lace. "More beautiful than anything I've ever seen."

She turned to face him, her hands trembling slightly as she began undoing the buttons of his shirt. "I want to feel you," she whispered. "All of you."

Elvis shrugged off his shirt, revealing the tanned, muscular chest she'd dreamed about during their months apart. Angel ran her fingers across his skin, tracing the contours of his body as if memorizing him by touch. Every caress was a rediscovery. He lifted her into his arms with surprising ease, carrying her to the bed. The sheets were cool against her heated skin as Elvis lowered her onto them, his body following, covering hers like a living blanket.

"I've dreamed of this moment," he confessed, his voice husky with emotion. "Every night we were apart."

Their lips met in a kiss that started gently but quickly blazed into something fierce and hungry. Angel's hands explored the broad expanse of his back, feeling the muscles flex beneath her fingertips as he moved against her. Elvis's mouth traced a burning path down her throat, across her collarbone, to the swell of her breasts. With expert fingers, he unhooked her bra, drawing it away slowly. The cool air made her nipples harden, but they weren't exposed to the chill for long. Elvis's mouth closed over one peak, his tongue circling the sensitive flesh as Angel arched beneath him, gasping his name.

"I need you," she breathed, her hands sliding down to his belt, fumbling with the buckle in her eagerness.

Elvis helped her, shedding the rest of his clothes until there was nothing between them but skin and shared breath. His hand slid between her thighs, finding her already wet with desire for him. Angel moaned as his fingers stroked her, building a rhythm that had her writhing beneath his touch.

"Please," she begged, beyond pride or patience. "I need you inside me."

Elvis positioned himself between her legs, pausing to look into her eyes. In that moment of stillness, something profound passed between them. "I love you, Angel Presley," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Forever."

"I love you too," Angel replied, her eyes glistening. "Always."

With that, Elvis entered her slowly, both of them gasping at the exquisite sensation of becoming one. For a moment, they remained still, savoring the connection that transcended the physical. Then Elvis began to move. Long, deliberate strokes that made Angel clutch at his shoulders, her nails leaving crescent marks on his skin. The rhythm built gradually, like a song reaching its crescendo. Angel wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper, meeting each thrust with her own. Their bodies remembered each other, finding that perfect harmony they'd been missing for so long.

"God, Angel," Elvis groaned, his voice breaking with pleasure. "You feel like heaven."

Angel could only respond with breathless moans as waves of sensation washed over her. Elvis's hands were everywhere—caressing her breasts, gripping her hips, tangling in her hair. His mouth found hers in a kiss that swallowed her cries as the tension built within her, coiling tighter with each movement.

Elvis shifted, changing the angle slightly, and Angel gasped as he hit a spot that sent sparks shooting through her body. "Right there," she breathed. "Don't stop."

"Never," Elvis promised, his voice rough with desire. His movements quickened, the rhythm growing more urgent as they chased release together. Angel felt the first tremors of her climax building, a sweet tension coiling tighter and tighter within her.

Elvis sensed her approaching peak, his fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves above where they were joined. His skilled touch was her undoing. Angel cried out his name as pleasure exploded through her, waves of ecstasy making her body arch and tremble beneath him. The sight of her coming undone pushed Elvis over the edge. With a hoarse groan, he buried his face in her neck as his own release claimed him, his powerful body shuddering against hers. For long moments they remained entwined, hearts racing, breath mingling as they floated back to earth together. Elvis rolled to his side, bringing Angel with him, unwilling to break their connection just yet. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her damp skin as they gazed at each other in the firelight.

"My wife," he whispered, wonder coloring his voice. "My beautiful wife."

Angel smiled, feeling tears of happiness prick her eyes. "My husband," she replied, the words a sacred vow.

Elvis pulled her closer, his arms a shelter she never wanted to leave. They drifted off to sleep still wrapped in each other, the fire slowly dying to embers in the hearth.

Stay tuned for part 9!! Click HERE to view!

[waystobewixed]

Riding With Devils | biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 2)

(gif source: yellenabelova)

Part 1 | Part 2

plot summary: Sophie Ann Sutton appears to have the perfect life as a high school senior in a small town during the 1960s. With straight A's, a thriving social life, and a scholarship to her dream college, she feels invincible—especially with her loyal best friend by her side. But everything changes when she crosses paths with Austin, the dangerously charming son of the local biker gang's leader. Their worlds collide in an electrifying romance that defies all expectations, pulling Sophie into a whirlwind of rebellion, excitement and danger.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 5871

warnings/notes: I'm so glad so many people like this new story :) Don't be afraid to keep sending me things in my inbox, I love it!

Chapter 2: A Collision of Worlds

At 6:42 AM, Austin leaned against his motorcycle outside Devil's Mark garage, watching the sunrise paint the abandoned quarry in shades of amber and gold. The club's headquarters—a converted warehouse with reinforced steel doors and windows covered in chicken wire—stood as a fortress against the encroaching daylight. A cigarette dangled from his lips, the smoke curling upward in the still morning air. He hadn't slept. After dropping the princess off at her castle, he'd ridden for hours, pushing his bike to dangerous speeds along empty country roads, trying to outrun the image of green eyes and disheveled auburn hair that seemed burned into his retinas.

"You look like shit," Ray commented, emerging from the clubhouse with two steaming mugs of coffee. He handed one to Austin. "Late night?"

Austin accepted the coffee with a nod. "Something like that."

"The girl?" Ray asked, his voice carefully neutral. In their world, showing too much interest in anything was a weakness others could exploit.

"Just a ride home," Austin replied, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Nothing worth talking about."

Ray snorted. "Right. That's why you've been brooding out here since five."

Austin shot him a warning look. Ray raised his hands in surrender, but his knowing smirk remained firmly in place.

The rumble of approaching motorcycles saved Austin from having to respond. Three bikes rolled into the lot, bearing his father and two lieutenants returning from whatever business had kept them out all night. Austin straightened, automatically adjusting his posture.

Frank Butler killed his engine and dismounted with the fluid grace of a man who'd spent more time on a motorcycle than off it. Despite being in his fifties, he moved with predatory confidence, his weathered face betraying nothing of the night's activities. The patch on his leather jacket—a grinning devil with a crown of thorns—gleamed dully in the morning light.

"Son," Frank acknowledged, his eyes scanning Austin's face. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep," Austin replied, keeping his voice level. "Thought I'd get a head start on the Hernandez bike."

Frank studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Good. We need that cash flow. But first, come inside. We've got business to discuss."

Austin crushed his cigarette under his boot and followed his father into the clubhouse.

***

Sophie stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror, barely recognizing the girl who looked back at her. Her usually perfect hair was wild from the motorcycle helmet and wind, her carefully applied makeup smudged beneath eyes that seemed wider, more alive than they had been just hours ago. The clock on her nightstand read 7:15 AM. She'd managed barely four hours of sleep after climbing back up the trellis and collapsing onto her bed, heart still racing from the night's adventures.

"Sophie Ann! Breakfast in ten minutes!" Her mother's voice floated up the stairs, cheerful and oblivious.

Sophie ran her fingers through her tangled hair, trying to tame it into something resembling her usual style. Each tug brought back flashes of the night before—Jimmy's unwanted advances, Austin's unexpected rescue, the exhilarating freedom of speeding through darkness with her arms wrapped around a stranger. A stranger who had seen through her perfect-daughter facade with unsettling ease.

"Real," he had called her. The word echoed in her mind as she applied a fresh coat of lipstick, careful to choose the modest pink her mother approved of rather than the bold red she suddenly found herself craving.

Her bedroom was exactly as she'd left it—college brochures neatly stacked, unfinished essay waiting on her desk, clothes arranged by color in her closet. Yet something fundamental had shifted. The room felt like a costume she'd outgrown, a character she'd been playing for so long she'd forgotten it wasn't really her.

"Sophie! Your eggs are getting cold!" Her mother called again, impatience creeping into her tone.

"Coming!" Sophie replied, smoothing her hands down the front of her freshly pressed skirt. No trace remained of the girl who had clung to a leather-jacketed stranger on the back of a devil-painted motorcycle. At least, not on the outside.

Downstairs, her parents had already begun their morning ritual. Her father sat behind his newspaper, occasionally reaching for his coffee without looking. Her mother bustled around the kitchen, the perfect picture of domestic efficiency in her floral apron and sensible pumps.

"There you are," her mother said, glancing up from the stove. "You look tired, dear. Did you stay up late studying again?"

Sophie slid into her usual chair, avoiding her mother's scrutiny. "Just finishing that English essay."

"Well, don't push yourself too hard," her father said from behind his newspaper. "Though Harvard will certainly appreciate your dedication."

"Radcliffe, dear," her mother corrected automatically. "Women attend Radcliffe."

"Same difference," her father replied, turning a page. "It's all Harvard in the end."

Sophie pushed her eggs around her plate, her appetite nonexistent. Had Austin ever sat at a breakfast table discussing Ivy League aspirations? Did his parents map out his future with the same meticulous planning as hers? Somehow, she doubted it. The thought of Austin's life—so different from her own—made Sophie suddenly aware of how narrow her world had become. The familiar routine of breakfast, the predictable conversation, the expectations hanging heavy in the air—it all felt suffocating in a way it never had before.

"Sophie? Did you hear me?" Her mother's voice cut through her thoughts.

"I'm sorry, what?" Sophie looked up, realizing she'd been staring at her untouched eggs.

"I asked if you were ready for your debate team practice this afternoon. Mrs. Peterson called yesterday to remind us about the regional competition next week."

"Oh. Yes, of course." Sophie took a small bite of toast, trying to appear normal. "We're preparing rebuttals for the affirmative position on federal education funding."

Her father lowered his newspaper, nodding approvingly. "That's my girl. Always prepared."

The praise that would have warmed her just yesterday now felt hollow. What would her father say if he knew she'd spent the night clinging to a boy from the wrong side of town?

"Sophie, you're certainly distracted this morning," her mother observed, frowning slightly. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Just tired," Sophie replied, forcing a smile. "I should get going. I promised to meet Maggie before first period to review our calculus homework."

Her mother's expression softened. "Always so responsible. Don't forget your lunch."

Sophie collected her books and the neatly packed lunch, kissing her mother's cheek automatically before heading out the door. The familiar weight of expectations settled on her shoulders as she walked down the driveway, past the spot where Austin's motorcycle had idled just hours earlier.

***

The clubhouse's back room smelled of cigarette smoke and old leather. Frank Butler sat at the head of the scarred wooden table, his lieutenants flanking him like battle-hardened sentries. Maps and documents were spread across the surface, weighted down by empty beer bottles and a loaded revolver.

"The Southside territory is getting complicated," Frank began without preamble. "Hernandez is pushing his people further north, testing our boundaries."

Austin leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You want me to send a message?"

A dangerous smile crossed Frank's face. "Not yet. First, we need leverage. Something to make him think twice before crossing us."

"What kind of leverage?" Austin asked, though he already suspected the answer. It was always the same in their world—find the weakness, exploit it, control the outcome.

"His nephew started at Millfield High last month. Football scholarship." Frank's eyes gleamed with predatory calculation. "I want you to get close to him. Find out what he knows about his uncle's operations."

Austin kept his expression neutral despite the unease settling in his gut. "You want me back in high school? I graduated two years ago."

"Not as a student," Frank clarified.

"As a mentor. The school's starting some program for 'at-risk youth.' The principal owes me a favor." Frank's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You'll be assigned to work with Hernandez's nephew. Three afternoons a week."

Austin pushed off the wall, tension radiating through his shoulders. "A school mentor program? That's not exactly my specialty."

"It is now," Frank replied, his tone brooking no argument. "We need eyes inside Millfield. The school's neutral territory - perfect for gathering intel without raising suspicions."

The other men around the table nodded in agreement, their expressions a mixture of approval and amusement at Austin's obvious discomfort.

"Besides," Frank continued, "you've always had a way with people. They trust you." He tapped his temple. "That's a gift, son. One you inherited from me."

Austin knew better than to refuse a direct order, especially in front of his father's lieutenants. Any sign of hesitation would be interpreted as weakness, and weakness wasn't tolerated in the Devil's Mark.

"When do I start?" he asked, resignation settling in his chest.

"Tomorrow. Three o'clock." Frank slid a folder across the table. "Everything you need to know about Miguel Hernandez Junior is in there. Study it. Become his best friend."

Austin took the folder, his mind already calculating the complications. Being back at Millfield High meant potentially crossing paths with the auburn-haired princess from last night. An unexpected variable in an already precarious equation.

"One more thing," Frank added, his voice hardening. "No distractions. This is business, not pleasure."

Austin met his father's gaze steadily. "Understood."

***

The halls of Millfield High bustled with activity as Sophie made her way to her locker. The familiar cacophony of slamming metal doors, squeaking sneakers, and overlapping conversations washed over her, but for the first time, she felt like an observer rather than a participant in the daily ritual.

"There you are!" Maggie appeared beside her, eyes bright with excitement. "I've been looking everywhere for you! Can you believe what happened last night?"

Sophie glanced around nervously. "Shh! Someone might hear you."

"Oh please, everyone's too wrapped up in their own drama to care about ours." Maggie leaned closer, lowering her voice nonetheless. "But seriously, Sophie. Austin Butler. The Austin Butler gave you a ride home on his motorcycle!"

"It wasn't a big deal," Sophie insisted, though the flutter in her stomach suggested otherwise. "He was just being... decent."

Maggie's eyebrows shot up. "Decent? The guy who allegedly beat Tommy Wilson so badly last year he had to transfer schools? The heir to the Devil's Mark throne? That's not the word most people would use."

Sophie frowned as she organized her textbooks. "I don't know what to tell you, Maggie. Maybe he's not what everyone says." Sophie hesitated, remembering the intensity in his blue eyes when he'd called her real. "Besides, it was one ride. It's not like I'm ever going to see him again."

"Never say never," Maggie sing-songed, nudging Sophie's shoulder. "Anyway, have you talked to Jimmy yet? He's been glaring at you from across the hall for the last five minutes."

Sophie glanced over her shoulder to find Jimmy leaning against his locker, surrounded by his usual group of friends. When their eyes met, his expression hardened, lips pressing into a thin line of disapproval.

"Great," Sophie muttered. "Just what I need."

"What exactly happened between you two? One minute he's all 'Sophie this, Sophie that,' and the next he's peeling out of Mel's like his car was on fire."

Sophie closed her locker with more force than necessary. "He got handsy. I said no. He didn't listen. Austin intervened."

"Handsy?" Maggie's eyes widened. "Jimmy Carson? But he's always so..."

"Poetic? Sensitive? Turns out that was all an act." Sophie adjusted her books in her arms. "Just like everything else in this town."

The first bell rang, sending students scurrying toward classrooms. Sophie started toward AP English, Maggie hurrying alongside her.

"Well, this is certainly a new Sophie," Maggie observed. "One motorcycle ride and suddenly you're seeing in different colors."

"I just—" Sophie paused, searching for the right words. "I feel like I've been sleepwalking through my life, you know? Following this perfect path without ever questioning where it leads."

Maggie's expression softened. "And now you're what?"

"I don't know what I am," Sophie admitted. "But I don’t know if I can pretend anymore.”

As they approached the classroom, Principal Winters emerged from his office, intercepting them with a raised hand. His perpetually worried expression seemed especially pronounced this morning.

"Ah, Miss Sutton, just who I was looking for." He straightened his tie nervously. "May I have a word? In private?"

Sophie's heart plummeted. Had someone seen her last night? Was her perfect record about to be tarnished by one impulsive decision?

"Of course, Mr. Winters." She handed her books to Maggie. "Tell Mrs. Peabody I'll be right there."

Maggie squeezed her arm supportively before disappearing into the classroom. Sophie followed Principal Winters into his office, mentally rehearsing explanations and apologies.

"Please, sit down," he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. He settled into his own seat with a sigh that suggested the weight of administrative burdens. "Miss Sutton, I have a proposition for you," he began, adjusting his glasses. "As you may know, the school board has approved our new mentorship program for at-risk students."

Sophie nodded cautiously, relief washing over her. This wasn't about last night after all.

"We're pairing our highest-achieving seniors with students who need additional guidance," he continued. "Given your exemplary record and leadership skills, I'd like you to be one of our inaugural mentors."

"I'd be happy to help," Sophie replied automatically, the perfect-student response ready on her lips.

"Excellent." Principal Winters beamed. "I knew I could count on you. The program begins tomorrow afternoon at three o'clock in the library." He shuffled through some papers on his desk. "You'll be mentoring Miguel Hernandez. He's new here—transfer student on a football scholarship. Bright boy, but he's having trouble adjusting to Millfield's academic standards."

Sophie's mind raced through her schedule—debate team practice, student council meetings, college application essays—but the familiar weight of obligation settled on her shoulders. "I'll make it work," she promised.

"There's one more thing," Principal Winters added, his expression growing slightly uncomfortable. "We've arranged for some... community members to assist with the program as well. Young adults who can provide a different perspective."

Something in his tone made Sophie pause. "What kind of community members?"

"Well, various backgrounds. People who might connect with these students in ways we educators cannot." He cleared his throat. "The school board believes in second chances, Miss Sutton. Remember that."

Before Sophie could press for details, the second bell rang.

"You should get to class," Principal Winters said, rising from his chair. "And thank you for your participation. I'm sure it will be a valuable experience for everyone involved."

***

By lunchtime, Sophie's encounter with Principal Winters had been pushed to the back of her mind. The cafeteria hummed with its usual midday chaos as she navigated toward the table where Maggie had saved her a seat.

"So?" Maggie demanded as soon as Sophie sat down. "What did Winters want? Are you expelled? Stripped of your class presidency? Forced to wear a scarlet M for motorcycle?"

Sophie laughed despite herself. "Nothing that dramatic. He wants me to mentor some new student as part of a program for at-risk kids."

"Boring," Maggie declared, stabbing at her mystery meat. "I was hoping for something juicier after your night of rebellion."

"Sorry to disappoint," Sophie replied, opening her perfectly packed lunch.

"Speaking of juicy," Maggie lowered her voice, "Jimmy's been telling everyone you threw yourself at him last night and he nobly declined."

Sophie nearly choked on her sandwich. "He what?"

"Don't worry, nobody with half a brain believes him. But..." Maggie hesitated. "...he's also claiming Austin threatened him at knifepoint." Maggie leaned closer. "The story gets more elaborate every time he tells it."

Sophie set down her sandwich, appetite vanishing. "That's ridiculous. There was no knife." She lowered her voice. "Austin just told him to back off."

"Well, apparently in Jimmy's version, Austin's entire gang surrounded him, and he barely escaped with his life." Maggie rolled her eyes.

Sophie glanced across the cafeteria where Jimmy sat holding court, his audience hanging on every word. Their eyes met briefly before she looked away, a chill running down her spine. "It doesn't matter," Sophie said, trying to convince herself. "By next week, everyone will be talking about something else."

"Maybe," Maggie agreed, though she didn't sound convinced. "Just be careful around Jimmy. Wounded pride can make people do stupid things."

The warning lingered in Sophie's mind as she pushed her lunch around.

***

Austin flipped through Miguel Hernandez's file for the third time that afternoon, memorizing details that might prove useful. Sixteen years old. Transfer student. Star running back with college potential. Mother deceased, father absent. Living with his uncle—Ricardo Hernandez, the Devil's Mark's primary rival in the regional drug trade. The irony wasn't lost on Austin. Here he was, preparing to mentor a kid while simultaneously planning to use him against his family. Just another day upholding the Butler family legacy.

"You actually going through with this school shit?" Ray asked, entering the garage where Austin was working on the Hernandez bike.

Austin closed the file. "Not like I have a choice."

"Your old man's playing a dangerous game," Ray said, leaning against the workbench. "School's neutral ground. Has been for generations."

"Tell me something I don't know." Austin tightened a bolt with more force than necessary. "But orders are orders."

Ray studied him for a moment. "This have anything to do with that girl from last night? The one with the trellis?"

Austin's hand slipped, knuckles scraping against metal. "What about her?"

"Just wondering if you know what school she goes to." Ray's tone was deliberately casual. "Millfield's a small town."

"Drop it, Ray," Austin warned, wiping grease from his hands. "She's not part of this."

"If you say so." Ray pushed off the workbench. "Just remember—your father sees everything. And what he doesn't see, he finds out."

After Ray left, Austin stared at the motorcycle he was repairing, mind drifting to auburn hair and green eyes that had looked at him without fear. Most people in Millfield crossed the street when they saw him coming. Sophie had wrapped her arms around him, held on tight as they cut through the darkness together. The memory stirred something dangerous in his chest—something that had no place in the life his father had mapped out for him. Austin wiped his hands on a shop rag and closed the Hernandez file. Tomorrow he'd walk back into Millfield High, a place he'd been all too happy to leave behind. Only this time, he wouldn't be the troubled kid everyone avoided. He'd be there on official business, sanctioned by the same administration that had once threatened to expel him on a weekly basis.

Life had a twisted sense of humor sometimes.

***

Sophie's Wednesday passed in a blur of classes and extracurricular obligations. By the time the final bell rang, she was already mentally rehearsing her approach for the mentorship meeting. Miguel Hernandez would need structure, encouragement, and clear academic goals—all things Sophie excelled at providing.

"Don't forget student council at four-thirty," Caroline Peters reminded her as they packed up their calculus materials.

"I won't," Sophie promised, though her mind was already on the library and her new mentee.

The halls emptied quickly as Sophie made her way toward the library, her sensible loafers clicking against the polished floor. Through the windows, she could see the football team assembling on the field for practice, their burgundy and gold uniforms bright against the green grass. One player stood slightly apart from the others, his stance suggesting reluctance rather than team spirit. Miguel Hernandez, she presumed. Sophie pushed open the heavy library doors, the familiar smell of books and floor polish greeting her. Principal Winters stood near the circulation desk, speaking quietly with a middle-aged woman Sophie didn't recognize. Several students were already seated at tables—mostly underclassmen with varying degrees of discomfort on their faces.

"Ah, Miss Sutton," Principal Winters waved her over. "Perfect timing. Let me introduce you to Mrs. Ramirez from the community outreach program. She'll be overseeing our mentor partnerships."

Mrs. Ramirez smiled warmly, extending a hand. "Sophie, it's wonderful to meet you. Principal Winters speaks very highly of your leadership abilities."

"Thank you," Sophie replied automatically. "I'm looking forward to helping Miguel adjust to Millfield's academic standards."

"Yes, well—" Principal Winters began, but was interrupted by the library doors swinging open again.

Sophie turned, expecting to see her assigned mentee. Instead, her heart stuttered to a halt as Austin walked in, leather jacket exchanged for a simple white t-shirt that did nothing to diminish his commanding presence. Their eyes locked across the room, and for a moment, Sophie was back on that motorcycle, arms wrapped around his waist, wind whipping through her hair.

"Mr. Butler," Principal Winters greeted, his voice slightly strained. "Thank you for joining us."

Austin nodded, his expression betraying nothing as he approached the group. "Wouldn't miss it," Austin replied, his voice carrying that same quiet authority that had silenced Jimmy at Mel's Diner. His eyes flicked to Sophie again, a brief spark of recognition before his expression returned to careful neutrality.

Sophie felt rooted to the spot, her carefully prepared mentor introduction forgotten. Austin was here. In her school. In her carefully constructed world of academic achievement and extracurricular perfection.

Mrs. Ramirez seemed oblivious to the tension crackling between them. "Wonderful! Now that most of our mentors are here, let me explain how this will work." She gestured toward the tables. "We've created mentor teams—one student and one community member paired with each mentee. This provides our at-risk students with both peer support and real-world perspective."

Sophie's stomach dropped. Surely they wouldn't...

"Miss Sutton, you and Mr. Butler will be co-mentoring Miguel Hernandez," Principal Winters announced, confirming her worst fear. "Miguel should be joining us shortly—Coach Evans is releasing him from the first part of practice."

Austin's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Co-mentoring?"

"Yes," Mrs. Ramirez beamed. "We find the dual approach quite effective. Students relate to their peers, while our community mentors provide valuable life experience."

Sophie finally found her voice. "Mr. Winters, I thought I would be working with Miguel individually."

"Plans evolved after our morning conversation," the principal explained, adjusting his glasses nervously. "The school board felt the team approach would be more... comprehensive."

Austin's eyes narrowed slightly at the principal's discomfort, but he said nothing.

"Why don't you two get acquainted while we wait for Miguel?" Mrs. Ramirez suggested, already turning her attention to other arriving mentors.

Left alone, Sophie and Austin stood in awkward silence, the library's hushed atmosphere suddenly oppressive.

"Princess," Austin finally acknowledged, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

"Don't call me that," Sophie whispered back automatically.

A hint of amusement played at the corner of his mouth. "Would you prefer Miss Student Council?"

"Sophie is fine," she replied, smoothing her skirt in a nervous gesture. "What are you doing here?"

Austin leaned against a nearby bookshelf, the casual posture at odds with the institutional setting. "Community service. Turns out I'm a valuable resource for wayward youth."

"Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack." His eyes traveled over her—neat blouse, pressed skirt, sensible shoes—taking in every detail of her. "You look different in daylight.”

"Different how?" Sophie asked, immediately regretting the question. She didn't need to give him any more ammunition.

"More..." Austin tilted his head, studying her. "Uptight."

The word hung between them, uncomfortably accurate. Sophie crossed her arms, trying to regain her composure. "Well, we should establish some ground rules for this mentorship. I assume you have no actual experience with academic tutoring?"

A slow smile spread across Austin's face. "You'd be surprised what I know, Princess."

"I told you not to call me that," Sophie hissed, glancing around to make sure no one overheard. The last thing she needed was for people to start associating her with Austin Butler and whatever nickname he decided to bestow upon her.

"But I like it," he replied. "So, what's the plan here? You handle the books, I handle the street smarts?"

"I'll handle everything," Sophie countered. "You can just... observe."

Austin's laugh was low and rich. "That's not how partnerships work."

"This isn't a partnership," Sophie insisted. "It's a school program I'm participating in for my college applications, and you're here for... whatever reason you're here."

Something flashed in Austin's eyes—a momentary hardness that reminded Sophie exactly who she was dealing with. Not just the boy who'd rescued her at Mel's, but someone with a reputation that made teachers nervous and students cross the hallway. Before Austin could respond, the library doors swung open again. A tall, broad-shouldered boy in a football jersey entered, looking as uncomfortable as Sophie felt. His dark eyes scanned the room warily before Principal Winters waved him over.

"Miguel," Winters called. "Come meet your mentors."

Miguel approached with the cautious grace of an athlete, his posture suggesting he'd rather be anywhere else. Up close, Sophie could see the tension in his jaw, the wariness in his expression.

"Miguel Hernandez," Principal Winters began the introductions, "this is Sophie Sutton, our student council president and one of our top academic achievers. And this is Austin Butler, a... community volunteer."

Miguel's eyes widened slightly at Austin's name, a flicker of recognition—and something else—crossing his face.

"Butler?" Miguel repeated, his voice carefully neutral. "As in—"

"Just Austin is fine," Austin cut in smoothly, extending his hand. After a moment's hesitation, Miguel shook it, their grip lasting a beat longer than necessary.

Sophie watched the exchange with growing unease. There was something happening beneath the surface—some current of understanding passing between the two young men that excluded her completely.

"Well!" Mrs. Ramirez clapped her hands together. "I'll leave you three to get acquainted. Remember, this first session is about establishing goals and building rapport. Your mentorship folders have suggested activities."

As Mrs. Ramirez walked away, an uncomfortable silence settled over their table. Sophie reached for the mentorship folder, grateful for something to focus on besides Austin's unsettling presence. "So, Miguel," she began, adopting her most professional tone, "Principal Winters mentioned you're having some difficulty adjusting to Millfield's academic standards. I've prepared a study schedule that should help you balance football with your coursework."

Miguel glanced between Sophie and Austin, his expression guarded. "No offense, but I don't need a 'study schedule.' Coach already has me on academic probation. I just need to pass American History."

"History? That's one of my best subjects," Sophie brightened, ignoring Austin's barely concealed smirk. "We can start with your current unit. What period are you studying?"

"Civil War," Miguel answered flatly. "But like I said—"

"The Civil War is fascinating," Sophie continued, pulling out a notebook. "I created excellent timelines for that unit last year. We could—"

"I think Miguel was about to say he doesn't need color-coded flashcards," Austin interrupted, leaning forward. "Right, Miguel?"

Miguel's posture relaxed slightly. "Something like that."

Sophie felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I'm just trying to help."

Austin turned to Miguel, ignoring her discomfort. "So, football scholarship. You must be good."

"Good enough to get out of my neighborhood," Miguel replied, something hard flashing in his eyes.

"And which neighborhood is that?" Austin asked casually.

Sophie watched the exchange with growing suspicion. Austin's question seemed innocuous, but there was an intensity to his attention that didn't match simple mentor small talk.

"Southside," Miguel answered after a slight hesitation. "Near Riverfront."

Austin nodded as though this confirmed something. "Tough area."

"You would know," Miguel said, the words carrying a weight Sophie couldn't quite decipher.

The tension between them was palpable, charged with unspoken recognition. Sophie cleared her throat, determined to regain control of the session. "Perhaps we should focus on establishing a study plan," she suggested, pulling out the activity sheets from the folder. "The program guidelines suggest we each share our strengths and how they might help Miguel."

Austin leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Ladies first."

Sophie straightened, falling into her familiar role of academic achiever. "Well, I maintain a 4.0 GPA, I'm president of four clubs, and I've already been accepted to Radcliffe early decision. I can help with any subject, especially history, literature, and mathematics."

She turned to Austin expectantly, a challenge in her eyes. Let's see you top that.

Austin's smile was slow and knowing. "I speak Spanish fluently, know more about local history than any textbook you'll find in this library, and I've never lost a fight.”

Miguel's eyebrows shot up, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Never lost a fight? Not even once?"

"Not when it mattered," Austin replied, his eyes briefly meeting Sophie's before returning to Miguel.

Sophie felt her carefully constructed mentoring plan crumbling. This wasn't how academic guidance was supposed to work. "Fighting skills aren't exactly relevant to passing American History," she pointed out, struggling to keep the irritation from her voice.

"No?" Austin leaned forward. "The entire Civil War was about knowing when to fight and when to negotiate. Knowing your enemy's weakness. Controlling territory." He turned to Miguel. "What's your grade in the class right now?"

"D minus," Miguel admitted. "Mr. Peterson doesn't like my 'perspective on historical events.'"

Austin nodded knowingly. "Peterson's still teaching? Man still thinks the Confederacy was just misunderstood."

"You had him?" Sophie asked, momentarily forgetting her annoyance.

"Unfortunately." Austin's mouth twisted. "Got sent to the principal's office for questioning his version of Reconstruction."

Miguel looked at Austin with new interest. "That's exactly what happened to me last week. I said the Black Codes were just slavery by another name, and he got all red in the face."

"Because you're right," Austin said. "And Peterson can't handle being challenged, especially by students he thinks should be 'grateful' to be at Millfield."

The way Austin said it—with such casual certainty about the teacher's prejudice—made Sophie uncomfortable. She'd always found Mr. Peterson strict but fair. Had she missed something obvious?

"Look," Austin continued, "Peterson gives extra credit for primary source analysis. Find accounts from former slaves about life after the Civil War. He can't argue with firsthand testimony, even if it contradicts his sanitized version."

Sophie stared at Austin, genuinely surprised by his insight. "That's... actually good advice."

"Don't sound so shocked, Princess," Austin replied, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Some of us learn outside classrooms."

Miguel glanced between them, curiosity replacing his initial wariness. "You two know each other or something?"

"No," Sophie said quickly.

"Yes," Austin said simultaneously.

Miguel raised an eyebrow. "Which is it?"

Sophie shot Austin a warning look. "We're acquainted. Briefly."

"Very briefly," Austin agreed, his tone suggesting exactly the opposite. "Just long enough for a midnight ride."

Miguel's eyes widened. "For real?"

"It wasn't like that," Sophie hissed, her cheeks burning. "It was—I was—" She stopped, realizing any explanation would only make things worse.

Austin took pity on her. "Relax. I'm just messing with you." He turned back to Miguel. "So, American History. Peterson's a problem, but not an insurmountable one. What else?"

"English," Miguel admitted. "We're reading The Great Gatsby, and it's putting me to sleep."

Sophie seized the opportunity to regain her footing. "Gatsby is actually fascinating when you understand the social context. It's about the American Dream and how it's ultimately—"

"Bullshit," Austin finished for her. "It's about a guy who reinvents himself to impress a girl who's never going to love him back because she's too caught up in her own world."

Sophie blinked, momentarily speechless. The analysis wasn't wrong, just... unrefined.

"That's what I said in class," Miguel nodded. "Mrs. Bennett said I was 'missing the nuance.'"

"Bennett wouldn't recognize nuance if it tattooed itself on her forehead," Austin muttered. "She's still teaching that green light crap?"

Despite herself, Sophie laughed. "The green light is a legitimate symbol."

"Of what? Gatsby's permission to proceed?" Austin shook his head. "It's just a light, Princess. People see what they want to see."

There was something in the way he said it – a hint of bitterness beneath the casual dismissal – that made Sophie wonder what Austin saw when he looked at her. A spoiled rich girl? A challenge? Or something else entirely?

Miguel was watching their exchange with growing interest. "So how'd you two meet? For real?"

Before Sophie could formulate a suitable lie, the library doors burst open. Jimmy Carson strode in, his eyes scanning the room until they locked on their table. His face darkened as he spotted Austin.

"Great," Austin muttered. "Poetry boy."

Sophie tensed as Jimmy approached, his usual languid stride replaced by something more purposeful. He stopped at their table, ignoring both Miguel and Austin to focus entirely on Sophie.

"Student council emergency meeting," Jimmy announced, his voice tight. "Caroline sent me to find you."

Sophie frowned. "There's nothing on the schedule."

"Last minute. Budget issue." Jimmy's eyes flicked to Austin. "Unless you're too busy with your... community service project."

The way he said it made it sound dirty, dangerous. Sophie felt her face flush with anger.

"Actually, we're in the middle of something important," she replied, surprising herself with the firmness in her voice.

Jimmy's expression hardened. "More important than your responsibilities as president? That's not the Sophie Sutton I know."

"Maybe you don't know her as well as you think," Austin commented, his tone light but his eyes cold.

Jimmy's hands clenched into fists. "Nobody asked you, Butler."

"Yet here I am, answering anyway." Austin leaned back in his chair, the picture of relaxed confidence, though Sophie noticed the subtle shift in his posture.

Miguel watched the exchange with the wariness of someone who recognized the prelude to violence.

"Jimmy," Sophie intervened, standing up to place herself between the two young men. "If there's really an emergency, I'll be there in a few minutes. But I need to finish this session first."

Jimmy's eyes narrowed. "Since when do you put anything before student council?"

"Since I made a commitment to this program," Sophie replied, her voice steady despite the tension thrumming through her body. "I'll be there as soon as we're done."

For a moment, Jimmy looked like he might argue further, but something in Sophie's expression made him reconsider. "Fine. Don't be too long." His gaze shifted to Austin. "And watch yourself, Butler. School property is neutral ground, but that doesn't mean you belong here."

Austin's smile was razor-sharp. "Thanks for the civics lesson, Carson. I'll be sure to take notes."

Jimmy stalked away, the set of his shoulders radiating frustration. Sophie sank back into her chair, suddenly exhausted.

"Well," Miguel said, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "that was intense."

"That was nothing," Austin replied, though his eyes followed Jimmy until the library doors closed behind him. "Your ex?" he asked Sophie.

"No," she said firmly. "Just someone who thought he was entitled to more than I wanted to give."

A look of understanding passed between them—brief but electric—before Sophie turned her attention back to Miguel.

"Let's get back to Gatsby," she said, determined to salvage what remained of their session.

Stay tuned for part 3!! Click HERE to view!