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apomaro-mellow · 1 year

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Matchmaking Harringtons 3

Steve was having a great time with Eddie. It was mostly because he was just that amazing. He was funny, hot, cute, and totally into him. A winning combo in Steve's opinion. But it was all due in no small part to the fact that his parents were so supportive. Steve didn't talk about the girls he dated that much (because why would he?) but his folks seemed actively interested in his going with Eddie.

Maybe it was the whole 'serious relationship' thing they were trying to commit him to. Maybe they were overcompensating for not being around much and wanting to also prove they were okay with his preferences. Either way, they always wanted to know how things were going with Eddie.

They'd been going out for a couple of dates at this point and honestly each one was better than the last. They were all typically low-key, with moments that they were able to get alone for a bit of privacy.

"Let's just say the back of his van is very spacey", Steve said into the phone as he paced about his room.

"So...you're still a total slut then?", Robin said from the other end of the line.

"Guys can't be slutty. And it's not being a slut if it's with the same guy."

"So you've?"

Diane was in the middle of bringing up a basket of laundry when she heard her son's conversation in his room. She swore she'd never be the kind of mother that constantly eavesdropped but well, the door was open just a smidge...

"Not, not the full thing, all the way yet. I think he's nervous. Or he can tell I'm nervous? I don't know. I told him I'd never been with a guy before and I thought that might make him, you know, take initiative?"

"Or maybe he's taking things slow because he doesn't wanna scare you off?", Robin suggested.

"That...could be it. But that's kinda why I called. I thought he was moving kinda slow, but guess where he's taking me tomorrow?"

"Steve, is Munson taking you to a hotel?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "No. He's taking me to Le Petit Nuange. That French place a town over?"

Robin gasped. "Sacre bleu! Va-t-il faire une proposition?"

"Robs, please. My extent of French is 'filet mignon'."

"Do you think he's serious? Like trying to meet your parents serious?"

"I don't know? Maybe? It's just weird. Le Petit is just...so not Eddie."

Diane was inclined to agree. A fancy place like that seemed out of character for someone as boisterous and non-conforming as Eddie. He has once brought a bouquet of lilies, despite their dire meaning. 'Screw flower language, these are some damn fine flowers', he had said.

And even if he thought of taking Steve somewhere special, Enzo's was the nicest place in town. Where would he get the idea to go to the next town?

Jonas.

Diane had thought he was being suspicious when he hid Steve's shoes before a date and met Eddie outside to talk. Diane had thought he'd been giving the boy some kind of shovel talk. He must've been giving Eddie advice on where to take Steve instead.

And she could just imagine what he was trying to do - clean Eddie up. Well, if he wanted to go behind her back, then two could play at that game.

-------------------------

The doorbell rung and Steve answered it. Eddie was there, in a button up shirt with long sleeves that hide his tattoos. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail. And he had a bouquet of nice, traditional, red roses.

"They're beautiful", Steve beamed. He took a moment to put the roses in a vase, missing the thumbs up his dad gave Eddie. Diane however, did not miss it.

"Your chariot awaits", Eddie said, giving a sweeping bow and then locking his arm with Steve's. "Have a good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington!", he called back.

As the van roared down the street, Diane enacted her own plan. She had her husband would also be having a date night.

At Le Petit Nuange, Eddie and Steve were being seated and Eddie had never felt more out of place. It was like everyone could tell he didn't belong here. But when he saw Steve smiling from across him, he knew there was no place he'd rather be.

"What made you want to bring me here?", Steve asked.

Jonas had practically cornered Eddie when he had come to pick up Steve, saying he just wanted to talk a little. Eddie was prepared for the whole 'I have a shotgun/shovel and I'm not afraid to use it.'

"Let's talk", he had opened with. "Steve and you have been having fun, right?"

"Uh, yes? I guess?", Eddie said, unsure now.

"Fun's all well and good Eddie. But now's the time to show Steve you're serious. And you are serious? Aren't you, son?"

"Y-yes. Yes, I am, serious like a heart attack."

"Then you've gotta take him some place special. A place like, uh, say Le Petit Nuange", Jonas rubbed at his chin.

Eddie's brows rose up under his fringe. "Le Petit Nuange? That place is-"

"Is upscale. Which is what Steve deserves, isn't it?"

Eddie swallowed. "Yeah, yeah it is."

He looked at Steve's hand, sitting on the table, just asking to be held. Steve deserved all this and more. And Eddie wanted to be the one to give it to him. It was why he took extra shifts and more of his side business to have the dough to take Steve here.

"I just looked up places in the yellow pages and thought you might like it."

"You know, my parents actually come here a lot", Steve pointed out.

"You don't say", Eddie tried to hide his expression by covering his face with the menu. When he got a look at the prices, it did a good job hiding the way his eyes bugged out. Looks like his purse strings would be a little tight after this. But he had prepared for that. Steve was worth it.

He was worth the stiff shirt, the swanky eatery, and even spending more time selling music that was beneath him to the general populace.

"So tell me more about this gig you've got coming up", Steve said.

Eddie's face broke out into a wild smile and he nearly slammed the menu down. "It's gonna be a ride, Stevie." He wasn't shouting, but his volume was a little louder than polite, and he felt eyes on him. He cleared his throat and quieted himself. "I mean I'm excited to rub elbows with other bands. The experience is sure to be enlightening."

Steve gave him an odd look. "Yeah, I hope my parents let me go. Indy isn't far, but I feel like they've been keeping a closer eye on me lately."

The thought of Steve being in a crowd while he played made Eddie wanted to jump for joy. He wanted to tell him come, even if his parents said no. Sneak out for the weekend, what could they do? He was a man now. But he couldn't do that. Not just because he was trying to clean up and having his new boyfriend at a metal venue might ruin that image. It was also because Steve's had nice parents.

There weren't many that could both accept and encourage their queer child.

"You know Steve, your parents-hcck!" Eddie choked on his words as he saw the Harringtons walk right in and get led to a table.

"What about my parents?", Steve asked.

"They're uh, they're um great!", Eddie squeaked, then cleared his throat to get it back to its normal register. "I mean they're great. I can tell they love you very much."

Steve smiled, none the wiser to his folks being seated not too far away. Eddie tried not to look at them, tried to ignore them. But this couldn't be a coincidence.

Jonas was looking around while trying not to look around. "When you said you wanted to go out tonight....I didn't think you meant this place."

"Why not?", Diane questioned. "We're regular patrons. And it's been a while since we went out." They'd been getting plenty of alone time what with Steve dating now, but they usually spent their evenings at home.

Jonas pulled out her chair for her and when he sat down, he used the menu to continue looking around. Diane watched him like a hawk.

Steve didn't know what was going on with Eddie. He looked nice dressed this way, sure. But it didn't feel like him. He felt...smaller somehow. Like he was trying to shrink himself down. Even as they talked, his smiles were restrained, he didn't move his hands as much, and even his voice seemed like it was being held back.

Steve watched as he cut his food, using minimal motions like he was working with glass.

"Eddie, are you okay?"

"Huh? Yeah, course, I'm fine. I uh, I just need to hit the can-uh use the facilities. Please excuse me."

Eddie got up in a haste. He thought he'd be ready for tonight. It was just playing pretend. Potentially for the rest of his life. Maybe having an audience of the parents was what was tripping him up. He got close to the bathroom when a hand tapped his shoulder. He turned to see none of than Mrs. Harrington.

"Don't worry, I know this wasn't your idea", she started right off. "My husband put it in your head. I'll admit, I like the idea of Steve being treated like a prince, but if you clean up too much he'll get confused."

"Right, yeah, gotta strike a balance. Mhm."

"Glad we could talk", she patted his arm. "Go get him, tiger."

Eddie returned to Steve and saw Diane come back to her table not long after. He could see them exchange words, although he couldn't hear what. Then Jonas got up from his seat. He gave Eddie a strange look while making his way to the bathroom. Eddie sighed and excused himself again.

"Now I don't know what my wife might've said to you, but you've got to stay on this path. I can see a real future with you and Steve if you do."

"A real future?"

"I could only give my son to someone who could take care of him. You understand what I mean, don't you?"

Eddie nodded. The kind of man who could take Steve to these places and not have his soul leave his body when he looked at the menu. When Eddie sat back down, he looked at Steve, sitting across from him. It was the kind of view he could get used to.

Somehow, the meddling didn't end there. The Harringtons took turns, getting up to meet with Eddie and each time he had to come up with an excuse.

"I'm gonna check their wine selection."

"I want to make sure the kitchen knows my allergies."

"I'm gonna see if the violinist takes requests."

Finally, Steve stood up with him and grabbed Eddie by the elbow. "Come with me."

Steve took him to the bathroom and locked the door behind them.

"Steve", Eddie gasped, scandalized when his neck started to get kissed.

"You've been antsy all night." Steve's hands went to his hips and began to untuck his shirt.

Instantly, Eddie felt like being released from shackles. Steve's hand roaming under his shirt left him so distracted, he almost didn't hear what he said next.

"Hm?"

"I said, do you wanna get out of here?"

"The bill-", Eddie was cut off when Steve reached behind him and took down his hair, running his fingers through it to free the tresses.

"A little dine and ditch never hurt anyone."

Eddie looked to the window in the bathroom. Just barely big enough to make a getaway. He was halfway out when they heard someone knocking on the door. Eddie was helping Steve out as the handle was shaking. Steve was giggling and it was like a sweet bell to his ears.

They were making their way around the back of the restaurant and towards the van as the manager finally came around with a key.

Diane and Jonas could make out the commotion going on near the bathroom and saw the empty table where two lovebirds should be.

"You knew I made Eddie take Steve here", Jonas confirmed.

"Yes."

"And every time you got up-"

"Was to speak with Eddie. And now they've-"

"-Snuck out the bathroom."

Together they sighed, remembering when they snuck out of stuffy formals to be alone together. And because they wondered if they were doing right by their son.

"We're going to have a long talk when we get home, huh?", Jonas asked his wife.

"Oh yeah."

"Any hope for me?"

"Ask me after dessert."

Part 5

Tag Team

@tartarusknight @swimmingbirdrunningrock @estrellami-1 @potato-of-the-lord @dragonmama76 @m-owo-n @sticknpokelightningbolt @somegirlsomewhere @tinyplanet95 @samsoble @runniem @hallucinatedjosten @nburkhardt @littlewildflowerkitten @noctxrn-e @subversivecynic @larawrmonster @suikatto @platinum-sunset @imacowboy3 @tiny-enthusiast @netflixisacopingstrategymom @honorarybrit81 @manda-panda-monium @krazyperson @ninjapirateunicorns

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #poor eddie #dont worry he and steve will find their way #and di and jo will get the picture too

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that-pink-magical-girl · 2 years

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A realistic look on what the twst boys would wear outside of school

Riddle - probably wears preppy clothes, sometimes try to be hip and cool but fail miserably.

Trey - at best a t shirt and cargo shorts. I dont think he cares that much. I could be wrong

Cater - hip and cool, wearing all sorts of things that he thinks is cool

Deuce - The 6th grade fit. I will not elaborate.

Ace - wears funny T shirts and jeans.

Leona - whatever Ruggie buys him. Wore that god awful leopard print for camp.

Ruggie - Surprisingly well coordinated outfits?! He has a sporty and comfy vibe.

Jack - workout clothes, or clothing easy to move around in. Buys with practicality in mind.

Azul - Probably still wears well put together clothing with layers that makes him look sophisticated. very nice. Good job Azul.

Jade - Doesnt really care. Wears cozy or nice clothing. Owns a pair of mushroom earrings. They were given by the prefect. Wears them a lot outside of school. Let jade wear more earrings.

Floyd - Only wears the most god awful shirt that makes your eyes bleed. And ironically wears outdated meme clothing. Also has earrings, but their weird. He has worm on the string earrings, those weird baby earrings, bubble blower earrings that you can actually blow bubbles from, and much more. Honestly slay.

Kalim - I see him wearing light modern street wear, or anything he thinks look cool. Still has a cute or light hearted flair. Has a lot of Accessories

Jamil - He also likes street wear, but he likes it more edgy and dark.

Vil - Its Vil. He is a icon. He is the moment.

Rook - Wears movable clothing so he can be sneaky and move around freely. Probably has poet shirts with billowy sleeves. Fun fact! Poet shirts with billowy sleeves is one of my favorite genders!

Epel - PLEASE Please please give this country boi a flannel shirt. And maybe a cowboy hat and cowboy . Please. I dont ask for much. Vil gives epel flowery preppy clothes, but Epel buys himself cool clothes that he likes outside of school like band shirts.

Idia - Comfy clothes for laying around in. Cool anime reference shirts.

Ortho - Uhhhhhhhhhh

Malleus - wears princely fae clothing because he likes the aesthetic

Lilia - Meme shirts with bad color combos. Wears cargo shorts with socks and sandals to embarrass everyone

Sebek - wears normal clothing but sometimes wears full on chain mail because he has no chill.

Silver - cozy pjamas and Simple T shirts. He has onesizes. :)

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catierambles · 9 months

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Alternate Instincts Ch.15

Pairing: The Rogue’s Gallery (Geralt, Syverson, Mike, August Walker, Walter Marshall) x Stephanie Daniels (OFC)

WC 1367

Warnings:....none?

Mike looked over at her as they watched the movie, seeing the bored expression on her face,

“This really doesn't scare you at all?” He asked and she sighed.

“Slasher flicks don't scare me.” She said, “A) the body has roughly a gallon of blood in it, these people are losing multiples of that per injury, and some of the injuries are basically just overly dramatic papercuts. B) jump scares are the fart jokes of horror movies, good if they're done right, tacky if overused, and this movie has gone past overusing and into the realm of cringe. Give me a good psychological horror any day. Sometimes less is more.” She caught his pout when she was finished and blinked at him. “Mike, were you hoping that I'd be all scared and jumpy and hide myself on you?”

“Maybe.” He pouted and she snorted, pulling him towards her by his hoodie and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“You're adorable.” She said and he smiled, his hand coming up to hold the side of her jaw as he leaned in for another kiss. He pushed her back against the couch, pressing down onto her as his lips moved against hers.

“Hey you two.” Sy said as he came into the living room and Mike picked his head up. “I interruptin'?”

“What's up, Sy?” Stephanie asked, her hands pressed to Mike's chest.

“We're headin' to the wolf bar in town in you wanna join us.” He said, “If not, one of us will stay behind so shithead doesn't get ideas seein' you alone.”

“Wolf bar?” Stephanie asked.

“Not strictly advertised as such, but it's like a cop bar but for wolves, we just all kinda congregate there. The town and businesses are neutral territory so no one tries to pull shit.” He explained and she and Mike shared a look.

“Yeah, why not.” Stephanie said, “Sounds like fun. You don't think Jordan will try anything there, do you?”

“He'd set off the radar of every wolf in there if he so much as stepped foot in it.” Sy said, “They'd hand him over to the Council, eventually, but he'd be bleedin' when they do. Just in case, I'll let security know what's goin' on. They're all wolves, so if they get a tickle, they'll circle the wagons around ya.”

Once a game plan was established, they got ready, Stephanie changing out of her lounge clothes into a pair of jeans, a long sleeved v-neck and a pair of dark flats. Mike stuck to his hoodie and t-shirt combo, August wore yet another beige button up with a white-shirt underneath, Sy opting for jeans and one his of Lynard Skynard shirts that had definitely seen better days, Walter in a dark cableknit that did absolutely nothing to hide how wide his shoulders were, and Geralt stuck with a black shirt and black jeans which only made his coloration more striking. They were about to head out when August stopped her, looking down at her with his arms folded over his chest and his brow furrowed in a scowl.

“What?” She asked and he reached over, grabbing one of Walter's scarves from the hooks by the door and looping it around her neck so lay on her chest, covering what had been bared by her shirt's neckline. “Really?”

“You could change.” He suggested and she rolled her eyes.

“August, I don't care if guys peek at the cleavage, and you shouldn't either seeing as you've seen the whole thing and they never will.”

“I'd rather they not peek at all, Princess.”

“Get over your insecurities and walk out the door. Let's go.” She said and shooed him out the door, Sy locking up behind them. She walked with Sy and Mike towards his truck, pulling the scarf off. “Walker.” He looked at her and got a face full of scarf after she threw it at him, sticking her tongue out at him as she got into the passenger seat of Sy's truck. Geralt and Walter rode with August in his SUV and they set out, heading down the winding access roads to the main town.

The bar itself was busy, a few road bikes parked out front as well as trucks in the small parking lot. Given the fact that they were surrounded by forest and mountains, it didn't shock her. Sports cars and sedans weren't exactly great with mountain roads. She dodged August as he tried to smack her on the butt, swatting away his hands and making Mike laugh. The others went off into the depths of the bar as Sy explained what was going on to the head of security, Stephanie giving him a shrug when he turned an arched brow towards her.

“Don't worry about it, Sy.” He said, “That Feral isn't going anywhere near your Mate.”

“Thanks, man.” He said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on, doll. I need a beer.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he settled his hand on her hip as he steered her away towards the bar itself. They got their beers and talked, but she noticed that he kept looking over at the others playing pool in the corner with a couple other guys.

“Go on.” She said, moving her head at them.

“I just don't wanna leave you alone, babe.”

“You're not.” She said, “The bar is filled with people who, I'm assuming, are mostly wolves and security is already keeping an eye out. I'm be fine.”

“I also don't want you to think we're abandonin' ya the first chance we got.”

“I don't.” She reassured him and he gave her a small smile, squeezing her thigh and moving off. Turning on the bar stool, she watched him head over to the others, leaning back against the bar. It was nice seeing them like this, socializing, more relaxed. Even August and Geralt were smiling, sort of. A small group of women approached them, scantily clad with drinks in their hands. She didn't know if they were wolves as she had no way to tell, but they didn't need to be. The guys were all attractive in their own ways, so it was no surprise that they were getting attention. And August was worried about her.

“It's always gonna be you.” She kept Sy's words wrapped around her mind like a shield, protecting herself against the insecure thoughts and anxieties. Someone slid up to the bar next to her and she spared them a glance out of the corner of her eye. It was a squirrelly looking guy with dark hair down to his collar and his attention was fixed on her, a smile which he probably thought was charming turned in her direction.

“What's a pretty little girl like you doing in a bar filled with big bad wolves?” He asked and she paused, arching a brow at him.

“Drinking a beer.” She said simply, raising the said beer to her lips and taking a sip.

“Haven't seen you here before.”

“Haven't been here before.”

“You come by yourself?” He asked.

“Nope.” She said and moved her head at the pool tables.

“Your friends are pretty too.” He thought she had come here with the group of women, because of course he did. “Why don't you invite them over to join us?”

“That's a great idea.” She said and caught Sy's attention with a gesture, beckoning him over. He tapped Walter's chest with the back of his hand and he got the others attention. They put the pool cues back and made their way towards her across the bar and she caught the guy's smile fade as he realized his mistake.

“Hey, babe.” Sy said, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “Who's this?”

“No idea, but he said you guys should come over to join us.”

“That was nice of him.” Walter said.

“He also called you pretty.” Stephanie said with a smile.

“Thanks, man!” Mike said.

“Uh—I—” He stammered.

“Leave.” Geralt said simply and he fled quickly. She waited half a second after he left before bursting into laughter.

“Big bad wolves, indeed.” She chuckled but shook her head when they gave her a questioning look.

#henry cavill #captain syverson #walter marshall #august walker #hellraiser mike #geralt of rivia #alternate instincts

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luckyroll3 · 2 months

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Crimson Lights: Chapter 11

Back in my apartment, I wake from a too short nap. After sitting on the bed for a few minutes to catch myself, I head to my closet to find an outfit. I’m now regretting agreeing to go out, as I literally have nothing to wear. I haven’t been shopping in ages and most of my clothes are either too casual or too corporate. I decide on a black t-shirt dress I think I can make club appropriate with a thick belt and boots. If I actually had female friends here, I could borrow something, I say to myself. I hadn’t put any effort into making friends once I met Chris, which is not great.

As I scrutinize my outfit choice, my phone rings unexpectedly. I pick it up and see that it’s from the call box at the entrance to the building.

I answer the call and put it on speaker phone. “Hello?”

“Delivery for Dr. Kay Miller?” the voice asked.

Delivery? “Are you sure?” I ask, perplexed.

“Apartment 1007?”

“Yeah...”

“It’s for you then,” he confirms.

“Okay. I’ll buzz you in.” I hit 6# on my phone. A minute later there’s a knock at my door. I pad barefoot to the door, flipping the lock and swinging it open to reveal a delivery man holding a garment bag—the kind that promised something far more exquisite than my usual casual wear. "Dr. Kay Miller?" he asks again, his eyes flicking down to his clipboard.

"Um, yes, that's me," I reply, taking the bag with a curious tilt of my head and signing the clipboard next to my name. The delivery man nods, offers a practiced smile, and turns on his heel, leaving me alone with the mystery in my hands.

Once he’s gone, I close the door and unzip the bag slowly, revealing several items of clothes. The first is a dress that makes my breath hitch—a sequined minidress with long sleeves and plunging neckline. The sequins were swirls of colors, yellow, emerald green, maroon, purple, black. I peek at the tag, gasping when I see Balmain. The next item is a backless halter top, made of a black mesh fabric draped from the neckline to the hem in black and silver rhinestoned chains. There’s also a black micro skirt with a small slit over the left thigh area. Both are from a designer I had never heard of. I open the card pinned to the front of the garment bag.

Just in case you didn’t have anything to wear.

-Felix

Felix's taste is impeccable; these are no ordinary outfits. And clearly expensive. I try on both. Slipping into the dress feels like stepping into another skin, one that is daring and bold. It clings to every curve I didn’t know I had and the deep v neckline makes my small but perky boobs look amazing. The halter and skirt combo also look fantastic on me. My bare back is on full display, save for the delicate clasp around my neck and the 2 subtle chains that secure the top in place just below my shoulder blades. I can't believe how perfectly both outfits fit me, as if they were tailor-made for me. I decide to save the Balmain dress for a special occasion and wear the two-piece outfit tonight.

As I finish my makeup, Chris’ name flashes across my phone screen. “Hey you,” I answer.

“Hey. The car is here,” he responds. “I’m about to get into the elevator and can swing by your apartment.”

I pause for a moment, knowing that if he comes to my place, we'll never make it out the door. “We both know what will happen if you come here. We’ll get distracted,” I tease.

He chuckles on the other end of the line. "You're right. I'll meet you at the elevator then." After a short pause, he continues, “You know, that’s twice you’ve turned me down today. You’re no fun.” I can hear him pout through the phone.

"Oh, I'll make it up to you later," I promise before ending the call and grabbing my small wristlet. I quickly make my way to the elevator.

As the elevator doors open, Chris' eyes widen in awe. He takes my hand and pulls me close, his breath warm against my bare shoulder. "I thought you weren't trying to distract me," he murmurs before pressing a kiss to my skin. “I’m gonna need to have a talk with Felix.”

“I think he’s in the wrong business,” I joke.

“Clearly.” He pulls me in for a deep kiss. The elevator dings and we reluctantly break apart as the doors open on the ground floor. Hand in hand, we make our way outside. As we walk, I can't help but smile as I wipe away a smudge of lipliner from Chris' lips.

Chris walks in front of me to open the lobby door. “Look at that cake,” I say, eyeing his ass. “I’m gonna need you to wear leather pants more often.” He grins as he tries to cover his butt with his free hand. “Too late! Yum,” I tease. As I walk out the door, I give his ass a squeeze.

A few feet away, I see one of his drivers holding open the door to a large SUV. I climb in and take a seat across from Han. “Damn,” he exclaims loudly.

“Very nice,” Minho says calmly, in stark contrast to Han’s theatrics.

“Thanks.” I reply as Chris settles into the seat next to me and grabs my hand.

“Felix?” Han asks curiously.

“Yeah, fucking Felix,” Chris laughs.

---

The booming bass of the music greets us as we enter Eclipse, one of the night clubs owned by the Crimson Syndicate. Lights pulse in sync with the beat, casting colorful shadows over the crowd. The air is thick with the scent of perfume and sweat. The chunky heels of my boots click on the glossy floor.

Han leads us to one of the VIP areas on the second floor. The space is opulently decorated, with plush seating areas arranged around elegant round tables. Each table has a display of premium alcohol bottles, different mixers, an ice bucket, and glasses. I spot Felix and Hyunjin chatting and sipping on cocktails in the largest area near the back.

Felix's face lights up when he sees me, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He beckons me over with a twirling motion of his finger and I follow, my body spinning in one slow revolution."Yes!" he shouts, clapping his hands together in approval. Hyunjin's gaze travels from my legs up to my face and back down again, a smirk playing on his lips as he takes a sip from his glass. I choose to ignore him.

I wrap my arms around Felix in a hug, laughter bubbling out of me. "Thank you," I say sincerely. "That was so sweet." Taking a seat next to him in the booth, I ask, "How did you know my size?"

"I didn't," Felix responds with a charming smile. "But I have a keen eye for fashion and I knew you would rock either outfit. You shouldn't be hiding all of that.” As if on cue, Hyunjin slides over the vodka tonic he just poured, setting it in front of me.

I mutter a curt "thanks" in his direction. He simply nods in response, his silence piquing my curiosity. But I decide not to engage and turn back to Felix who starts sharing about the other outfits he considered sending instead. He’s so excited to have someone to dress other than his brothers and I get the feeling that I’ll be seeing a lot more looks over the next few weeks.

As we chat, I glance over and see Chris engaged in a conversation with a man just outside the VIP area. They share a laugh and Chris pats him on his back. Their exchange is cut short as they are approached by a stunning woman. She glides towards them with a confident grace, her turquoise bodycon tank dress accentuating every curve. Her long dark hair cascades behind her like a waterfall, reminding me of Cher’s iconic look. She says something to the man, then turns to Chris. She flashes him a seductive smile as she greets him and they exchange words. I can see from the way she touches his arm and then moves her hand to his neck that there is an intimate familiarity between them. My suspicions are confirmed when she whispers something into his ear and places a gentle kiss on his jaw, just below his earlobe.

Chris seems unfazed, the corners of his lips turning up into an amused smile as he chuckles at her words. As he responds to her, he smoothly grabs her hand, moving it away from his neck before giving it a gentle squeeze and releasing it. She seems a bit taken aback by whatever he’s telling her. He nods in my direction. Chris catches my gaze and winks. The woman turns towards the booth, giving me a quick once over, before returning her attention to Chris. With a few more words exchanged between them, she leans in again, this time for a less intimate air kiss against his cheek before walking away.

A few moments later, Chris joins us at the booth sitting next to me. He leans in close to me and whispers in my ear, “That’s Jenna. A past fuck buddy. Nothing to worry about. I made it clear that I’m taken.” He lightly kisses my temple.

I give him a small nod, acknowledging the reassurance he gives me. In return, I press a quick kiss to his lips. “Okay,” I say, hoping that my voice conveys that I trust him completely.

“That’s it?" he asks cautiously, his eyes searching my face for any lingering doubts.

“Yeah,” I reply loud enough for only him to hear. “If you tell me it’s nothing to worry about, then I believe you.” I give him another affectionate kiss, this time to reassure him that I’m not one of those jealous girls who worries about past relationships. “Plus, I don’t know that I’d have the patience to deal with all the girls you’ve fucked,” I laugh, causing Chris to smirk. He grabs my hand and kisses it before he makes himself a drink.

I turn back to Felix, who was now asking me about my favorite designers. I note that Hyunjin has disappeared.

Han and Minho eventually join the booth, and the 5 of us have random conversations about everything. After finishing my second vodka tonic, I walk to the railing to look at the dance floor below. My eyes drift across the space, drawn to the fluidity of a familiar form.

Hyunjin is a vision, his body moving with an almost feline grace among the crowd. There is something unapologetically raw and mesmerizing about the way he dances—every dip and twist and hip motion a silent testament to the beat that commanded him. I can’t take my eyes off of him, the spark of attraction I had felt earlier flickering within me.

"Enjoying the view?" Chris' voice, low and teasing, brushes against my ear. His chest presses against my back and I feel his arms slide forward around my waist.

I turn slightly, catching the glint of mischief in his eyes even in the semi-darkness. "It's... interesting," I admit, feeling a blush warm my cheeks.

"Interested in Hyunjin?" Chris murmurs, kissing the back of my neck as he waits for my response.

"I’m not sure," I find myself whispering back, uncertainty lacing my tone despite the boldness of my gaze remaining fixed on Hyunjin below us.

"It’s okay if you are," he says as he squeezes me a little tighter.

There was an ease to his acceptance, a freedom I hadn't known I craved until this moment. It unsettles me as much as it excites me, this open door to possibilities I hadn't let myself consider before.

The thumping bass of the club seems to sync with the rapid beating of my heart as Chris' words linger in the air between us. I turn to face him, my pulse quickening at the prospect of what he was suggesting.

“What's the deal with you and Hyunjin?” I ask, I drape my hands behind his neck.

“Hmmm…we had a short-lived, tumultuous teenage romance, fueled by overwhelming hormones, intense emotions, and illegal substances. You know, when you’re 15, and everything feels like a life-or-death situation?” He shakes his head and chuckles as he continues, “Every argument is over the top, every breakup is dramatic; each one more devastating than the last and always the end of the world.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “I wish,” I say. “I certainly felt that way about my celebrity crushes. But I didn’t really date until college, so I missed out on all the teen dating angst.”

“Well, that was me and him. We thought we were madly in love at the time, but it was just infatuation. We were young, impulsive, reckless, and horny. And we had nothing and no one else in our lives, so we clung to each other. The relationship was all-consuming, overshadowing everything else. I don’t even think it lasted more than 7 or 8 months, but it felt like a lifetime because of how intense it was. And then it was over. We got distracted by other people and other things, as you do when you’re a teen, and moved on.”

“Interesting,” I say. “And since then?”

“And since then, we’ve just lived our lives. Every once in a while, we’ll have a moment…”

“And share?” I interrupt, recalling the information I learned earlier.

He laughs. “Yes, and share. But we haven’t had a threesome in a couple years, I think.” He eyes search mine for a reaction. "I wouldn't mind if you wanted to be with someone else, even Hyunjin...as long as I can watch. And as long as you come back to me. If it’s something you want to try, we should explore that."

The idea flutters in my chest. As I contemplate his proposition, I find myself envisioning Hyunjin's fluid movements, the suggestion of power in his lean form. There is an undeniable allure in the thought, a curiosity that tugs at me with the promise of forbidden pleasures.

"Chris, I—" My voice falters, uncertainty knotting my words.

"Take your time," he assures me, his lips brushing against my temple in a kiss. "There's no rush. We do this together, or not at all." He is offering me a world where the rules were ours to make, where the boundaries of passion could be expanded and explored.

"Let's just enjoy the night," I decide, not ready to leap into the abyss just yet. "We can talk about this later."

"Whatever you want, beautiful." Chris murmurs, accepting my indecision with a gentle nod. I feel his hands slide down my lower back to cup my ass. He leans down to kiss me. It starts off tender but quickly intensifies.

“Oh my gawd! Get a fucking room!” Han screams again.

Chris and I laugh as we break apart. “Let’s go dance,” I say, pulling him towards the stairs leading to the dance floor.

****************************************************

Outfit Inspirations

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids #skz fanfic #bang chan #bangchan fanfic #bang chan imagines #skz smut #bang chan smut #bangchan smut #hyunjin #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #bangchan #changbin #changbin smut #changbin imagines

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dreamwatch · 9 months

Note

For the Spotify fic challenge: Steddie, and lucky #13! ❤️

I got this ask on December the 3rd!! It took me forever to come up with something for this, but I got there! I don't think this is as heavy as the tags make it seem, but please heed them @thisapplepielife thank you so much for the ask, it really got the old brain box working!

Spotify Prompt: Free Fallin' by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (yes, Tom Petty again!)

Word Count: 3623 | Rating: T | CW: Period typical homophobia, homophobic language, chronic pain, internalised ableism, brief mention of AIDS crisis | Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington and His Parents | Tags: Protective Eddie Munson, Disabled Eddie Munson, Established Relationship, Meeting The Parents, Steve's Parents Are Trying, Not Beta Read

Eddie works fucking hard all week and he just wants to kick back on a Saturday, and do nothing. Feet up on the table, beer in one hand, pizza in the other. Maybe catch a film. Maybe watch a game with Steve. Whatever. It’s his time, he gets to choose how he spends it.

Instead, they’re sitting in the car outside the Harrington’s house, and Steve looks like he’s about to be fed to the wolves. Eddie’s never been brought home to meet the parents before. Usually, he’s never brought home at all. This is as hard for Eddie as it is for Steve. He’s deeply suspicious of Steve’s parents, of their suddenly wanting to meet the guy he’s shacked up with. To get a closer look at the guy who stole Steve’s chance for a good ol’ fashioned midwestern life, white picket fence, sweet wife, a couple of kids, briefcase and tie, trade in the bimmer for a Volvo. All that shit. All that shit that Eddie has no experience with, no desire for.

Two years together, and this is the first time he’s been summoned. Steve says it’s because they finally believe him. They thought it was a joke at first. They stopped laughing, eventually.

Eddie doesn’t really know what to expect. Robin says his mom is sweet, his dad is nice enough but tough on Steve and there’s still tension there even though Steve’s in his twenties now. Dustin thinks his dad is a hoot, and somehow the idea of Dustin bonding with Mr Harrington feels like a betrayal. But Dustin doesn’t have the full picture, so. There’s that.

“We better go in,” Steve says, not looking at Eddie. Not really looking at anything. And that doesn’t really instil confidence in Eddie, about how all this shit is going to go down, because Steve has been telling him all week not to worry about it, it will be fine. But he’s sitting here looking like the world is about to end. And maybe it is. Maybe that’s exactly what’s about to happen, Steve’s world, that complex relationship with his parents that they cultivated with such tender hands, will just shatter once the reality of everything Steve has been telling them for the last couple of years manifests in their dining room.

Eddie might not have done this before, but he knows his part. Turn up, be polite, play nice. And above all things don’t bite if the other kids don’t play nice. Because Eddie will always be the one that gets the blame.

He checks his hair in the rearview mirror one last time. It’s tied back, the tiniest bit of hairspray to tame it and stop any unruly hairs from escaping mid canapés. How uncouth. Picking clothes was a whole thing. ‘It’s not a formal dinner’, Steve said, no need to get gussied up, ‘I want you to look like yourself, to be comfortable.’ And Steve probably did mean that, truly, but it didn’t matter how many teeshirts and jeans combos Eddie tried on, none of them seemed to be the ‘Eddie’ that Steve was hoping to bring home to his parents. What followed was an argument, ‘You fucking choose then’, slammed doors, eased over with a kiss and ‘What about these?’ So now he’s in the Harrington’s driveway wearing a pair of clean black jeans, knees neatly hidden behind denim, and a long sleeve (always long sleeves) plaid shirt, which could almost pass for one of Wayne’s if it weren’t for the tiny little polo player embroidered on the pocket. He’s been permitted to wear a pair of Doc Martens he found in a thrift store in Indy, they’re clean and smart enough and they’re fucking comfortable and he needs that. Just one bit of comfort, one bit of him.

They stand on the doorstep and Steve knocks and it strikes Eddie as weird. He moved out of Wayne’s a while ago, but he still has his key, and if he knocked on the front door Wayne would ask Eddie what his last doorman died of. But he forgets sometimes that his upbringing is not the norm, that not every kid got saved from foster care by their uncle because their dad is in jail.

Mrs Harrington answers the door, and Eddie’s seen pictures of her, he’s been in this house before (he’s done things to her son in this house that would definitely lower its market value) but she’s shorter than he imagined, and Steve bends over to hug her. It’s cute.

Mr Harrington looms behind her and makes eye contact with Eddie briefly before moving to his son. Another hug, stiffer, with a manly clap on the back. But it’s not nothing, and some of that tension from before has already dispersed from Steve, he has some of his lightness back. A smile back on his beautiful face. Eddie’s not ready to let his guard down yet, he is after all the main course at this particular feast, and he’s just waiting for the cleaver to fall, the teeth to take hold (not teeth, not teeth, not teeth).

“Mom, Dad, this is…” Steve looks at him. Pleading. Loving. Accepting. Scared. “Eddie.”

“Eddie!” says Mrs Harrington, like she actually wants him standing in her hallway, god love her for trying. “It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

Oh God, he’s on now, isn’t he? Steve’s thrown him the ball and he needs to not fumble the catch, or something, he’s watched enough games now that some of it should be sinking in.

“Mr and Mrs Harrington, it’s lovely to meet you both. Uh, thank you. For inviting me.”

“Amanda, please,” says Mrs Harrington, “and this is David,” and it’s pointed, a little spiky. Eddie likes that. David’s giving Amanda the evil eye and Eddie is trying not to smile about it.

“Eddie. Good to meet you,” the poor guy manages to spit out. And Jesus fuck, he holds his hand out to shake it, and Eddie has to resist the temptation to wipe his hands down the front of his jeans. He’s clean, every inch of him scrubbed and moisturised and cologned. Eddie doesn’t know why he’s sweating on this particular social norm, both Al and Wayne taught him the art of the handshake as a young boy. ‘Shake from the elbow, firm hand, and match their grip’ said Wayne. ‘Ain’t nothin’ worse than a weak handshake’ said Al.

Amanda offers him the grand tour before Steve reminds her that Eddie’s been here before, only not when they were around. David bristles and walks away and that’s probably for the best all things considered.

They all walk through to the massive kitchen, and Amanda offers him a beer and he nearly breaks his fucking neck with the speed he takes it.

“Dad thought because it’s such a lovely day we’d grill outdoors. How does that sound for a change?” Steve’s mom rests her hand on Steve’s back, and Eddie sees the movement, the slow comforting strokes.

There’s a cough from the patio, and David Harrington looms in the doorway. “Why don’t you give me a hand, son.” Huh. Divide and conquer, and so early into the afternoon. Steve looks at Eddie and what is Eddie going to say? How dare you leave me to your mother so that you can bond with Daddy? I haven’t seen mine in years, hasn’t done me any harm. He’s a good boyfriend, so he nods and smiles, hoping that it conveys what he really means. We can leave whenever you need to. Just say the word. I love you.

Amanda bustles around in their kitchen, dicing cucumbers and tomatoes, making herself busy, keeping herself away from him. He’s propped on a stool at their breakfast bar because he needs to get the weight off his leg and he didn’t bring his cane because ‘I’m fine Steve, I don’t need it’, not because he didn’t want the Harrington’s to think he was weak or incapable of working, mooching off their son. Definitely not that.

“So, um, what do you like in your salad? Anything I should leave out? Steve didn’t really give me much to go on. I promise I asked.” She sounds like she cares whether he eats zucchini or not (not, decidedly fucking not).

“Ah, I’m not fussy, honestly. Just, you know whatever you guys usually have is fine.”

She looks over her shoulder, a little conspiratorially. “Not a big salad guy, huh? Don’t worry, neither is David. I know when I’m fighting a losing battle.”

Eddie returns the smile. He keeps throwing furtive glances outside, hoping he can just summon Steve to save him. He should be glad, to be honest, that Steve is still out there with his dad. If it was going badly he’d likely have returned by now.

Amanda keeps up the inane chatter, the small talk grating on him. This is so alien to him, so bizarre. He’s doing his best to keep up with her, though, because this isn’t about him. If they never accept him, never want to see him again, he’s fucking fine with it. But Steve loves them, and despite things being tense over the last couple of years Eddie’s pretty certain they love him.

Eddie’s sipping at his beer when he hears the knife slam against the marble countertop.

Amanda spins to face him.“Look. I’m as uncomfortable as you, okay? So why don’t we just cut the shit.”

He puts his beer down, sits up and draws his shoulders back, ready for battle. He’s been waiting for this. Unfortunately, his leg decides to spasm painfully at the same time, kind of killing the image. He hisses, clutching his thigh and doing his best to massage the pain away as if that’s all it would take. He hates this, fucking hates that it happens in front of this woman of all people.

“Are you… are you okay?” Amanda makes her way closer, and she looks like she wants to reach out to him but can’t quite bring herself to do it.

Eddie takes a deep, calming breath. “It’s fine. I’m fine. It just… it happens. Sometimes. It’s fine.” It’s not even close to fine but he’ll be fucked if he’s telling her that. About his constant pain, about losing one job because he couldn’t keep up with the rest of the crew, about being shit scared he’s going to lose his current job for the same reason. About how he’s pushing himself so that Steve doesn’t have to carry the load. The Harrington’s don’t get to know any of that.

Amanda nods and creeps closer to him, finally pulling out a stool and sitting at the breakfast bar with him.

“This is difficult for us. Steve and...” She gestures loosely at him, and he does his best not to tense up at that. “God I need a drink. Do you want another beer?”

He’s maxed out on his pain meds today, for all the good it did, so he really shouldn’t. Steve is particularly strict about that kind of thing. But Steve’s not here. So he nods and watches Steve’s mom pour herself a large glass of wine before returning with another beer for him. She knocks the whole thing back in under a minute.

“Steven’s my pride and joy. He was just such a gorgeous child. Kind, would scream with laughter, just so much happiness in him.” She plays with the rim of her wine glass, and swipes at the lipstick she’s left behind. “From the moment you find out you’re pregnant you think about the person they’ll grow up to be. You hope you’ll be a good parent, that you’ll do right by them. I had a life planned for Steve, in my head. He would come home with a beautiful girl one day and tell me she was the one. They’d get married, and have babies of their own. We’d have grandchildren to spoil.” Amanda smiles wistfully, watching Steve and his Dad through the kitchen window. Eddie hopes he’s okay, hopes Steve’s doing better than he is, anyway. It feels like there’s cement lining his stomach.

“Mrs Harrington—”

“No,” she says, harshly. “I’m talking now, and you’re going to listen to everything I have to say.

“I thought, Nancy Wheeler, you know her?” He nods, silently. “Nice girl. He brought her home and I could see it in his eyes, you know? Just this… light. He was happy. I thought she was the one.”

“So did Steve,” he says before he can stop himself.

“When it didn’t work out, I felt sad for him, but my boys a catch. It’s not like he was going to be alone for long. But that spark, it just fizzled out of him. He carried this… I don’t know, sadness. He’d smile, and he’d laugh, but it was always there under the surface. And then he started getting into fights, vicious ones. The Hargrove boy put him in the hospital, did you know that?”

He did know that. Eddie had spent many a night lamenting the fact he’d never get the chance to punch Billy’s smug fucking face. He doesn’t tell Amanda Harrington that, though, just scowls and nods.

She tops her wine up again. Eddie just wishes she’d get to the part where she calls him a dirty queer and cuts him a cheque if he’ll leave Steve. He wonders how many pieces he could tear it into before throwing it all over her stone floor.

“When Steve didn’t get into college, David told him to get a job. We didn’t make him pay rent, but if he wanted money he was going to have to earn it. And he did. He got that stupid job at Starcourt, got up early every day, worked the weekends. We were both so proud of him.

“And then there was the fire…” Her voice shakes, and she looks genuinely upset, and, maybe for the first time today, he feels sorry for Amanda Harrington. “We were in Indy that day, having dinner with friends. We didn’t know what had happened. We got home late and he wasn’t here, but he was eighteen years old, you know? We thought he was out with friends. We weren’t worried.”

She takes a large breath, and let’s it out slowly. “We got a call at three in the morning to tell us our son was in the hospital. And when we saw him…” Her voice catches before she looks up at Eddie. “You’re not a parent, Eddie. So you can’t know what it feels like. You don’t know fear until you nearly lose your child. And we kind of did, a little. He was never the same after that,” she says softly. She gives a sour laugh. “And then it happened again.”

“Spring break,” Eddie says. She nods sadly.

Amanda pauses and swirls what’s left of her wine in its glass. “A few months after the earthquake, or whatever it was, he walked in the door one night and he just… He had that light back in his eyes and suddenly my Steve was home. And I knew he was in love.” She smiles, and Eddie sees Steve in his mother, just how alike they are. “It was like Nancy times a hundred. He was glowing. I was so happy to see him like that. And I asked him ‘When are you bringing this mystery girl home to meet us?’ and he’d be coy, get all shy. I asked him outright if he was in love and he didn’t hesitate, just said yes with a huge smile plastered across his face, and yet he wouldn’t bring her home to us.

“And then one day he sits us down and tells us that this girl who he has fallen so deeply in love with is… is a boy.” She looks accusingly at him, and he refuses to shrink under her glare. “And suddenly everything you thought about your child, everything you had planned for them, it’s gone,” she snaps her fingers, “overnight. Now I’m not worrying about teenage pregnancy, I’m worrying about AIDS—”

“That’s not—”

“No, let me finish! Let me get this out, for Christ’s sake.” She knocks back the last of her wine. “He’s explained, all of that to us. And how you’re being… responsible. But we’re old-fashioned. Traditional. Our son coming home and declaring he’s bi — whatever it is —”

“ — sexual.”

“Whatever it is,” she glares at him, “it’s hard for us. But here’s the thing. I haven’t seen him that happy in so long. Maybe ever. You gave him his light back. You. You with your long hair and your tattoos, and your bad reputation… ” She runs out of steam, and blows out a huge puff of air. “He says you talked him into going to college.”

Eddie nods. “He’s smart,” he says, fiercely proud. “Smarter than people give him credit for.”

“He is. I’m glad someone else sees it.” She gives him a ghost of a smile and he feels wrongfooted all of a sudden, no longer sure what they’re doing. The fight he thought he was gearing up for seemingly off the cards.

“We’re getting there, Eddie. And we’ll keep trying. He loves you. And we love him. You do love him, don’t you?”

Eddie’s throat tightens and he swallows hard. “So much it hurts,” he croaks.

She smiles, a tentative thing. Fragile. “Good. We’re on a journey, David and I. I’m a little further along… but he’s getting there. We’re both getting there. I hope you’ll allow us the time to catch up.”

And what can he say to that? His own father told him he was a dirty little freak and tried to beat the gay out of him. Steve’s parents just want more time. They can give them that. Eddie can give them that.

“If it’s okay with Steve, then it’s okay with me.”

Eddie watches the tension in Amanda’s shoulders melt away, the worried frown smooths. “Good. And… thank you. For your patience. And for looking after him. All I ever wanted was for someone to love him and look after him.”

“I will always love him.” And he means it, knows in his heart that whatever might happen in the future, whatever gets thrown their way, he will always love Steve Harrington “How could I not?”

Amanda offers a shy smile and Eddie thinks maybe he’s done his job. Maybe, at the very least, she will accept them now, and try not to fight it.

She’s still smiling when she looks at the kitchen counter, at the mess of vegetables in various states of being chopped and washed. “You know what?” She gets up and grabs the vegetables, throwing them in the refrigerator with a slam of the door. She turns back to look at him, hands on hips, and Eddie bites back a smile. “Fuck the salad.” He’s open mouthed as she gestures out to the garden. “Dave doesn’t like it, Steve doesn’t like it and I’m not going to make you choke it down out of politeness.”

Amanda crosses the kitchen to him and offers her arm. “We have steps out there. If you fall Steve will kill me.”

Eddie wonders just what exactly Steve has been telling them, how infirm Steve seems to think he is and he’d be lying if it didn’t rankle him, but at the same time his mom is trying to do something nice. She thinks she’s helping. So he’s going to let her.

They walk out into the sunlight, arm in arm, and he sees Steve laughing with his Dad, they both look relaxed and happy and that’s all Eddie wanted from today. They look up as Amanda and Eddie approach, Steve locking eyes with Eddie, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Eddie smiles and nods and Steve visibly relaxes as he goes back to arguing about the best way to grill a steak.

The rest of the afternoon goes smoothly, and while it’s Steve’s Mom who does all the heavy lifting, his Dad isn’t exactly a silent partner. It feels so normal, family in-jokes and laughter and he can see how much Steve has missed this.

When they leave Amanda hugs him, giving him a warm smile, and David shakes his hand, a little longer and a little softer than the first one.

Steve starts the engine, the radio springs to life, and they head out of the driveway, back to their own home. Steve reaches across and takes Eddie’s hand in his. “Thank you,” he says, glancing away from the road for a second.

Eddie squeezes his hand. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“No, I do. I was a dick. The clothes, your hair… I’m sorry, okay? I was just…”

“Scared,” Eddie finishes for him.

Steve nods. “Scared.”

“They love you, Steve. Whatever happens. They love you, okay?”

Steve sighs, finally unburdened. "I know."

They pull up to a stop light, Tom Petty playing on the radio. Steve runs his hand through his hair, finally relaxed enough to muss it up. “Uh, Dad asked if you’d like to bring Wayne.” Steve glances across at him quickly, and then back at the stop light. “Next time?”

He’s not exactly sure what Wayne would say to an invitation to the Harringtons. But he does know that Wayne thinks the sun shines out of Steve’s ass, and there’s not much that he’d say no to if Steve was the one doing the asking.

“Sure,” Eddie says, and he reaches across to this boy, this man, that he loves so fiercely, and pulls him in for a kiss. “Next time.”

#steddie fanfic #Spotify unwrapped writing prompt #eddie munson #steve harrington #disabled eddie munson #cw period typical homophobia #cw chronic pain #cw internalised ableism #cw homophobic language #cw mention of AIDS crisis

23 notes · View notes

blurredcolour · 2 years

Text

Nom De Plume | Part One

Nom De Plume Masterlist

Summary: Filming is scheduled to begin in a few days and you find yourself posing as Assistant Script Writer during the first table read of your script.

Pairing: Austin Butler x Female Reader

Warnings: Some Fluff, Some Awkward Reader, Austin With a Cajun Accent, Vague Understanding of Movie Production, Excessive Use of Ellipsis

Author's Note: Welcome to Part One! I've made the decision to write Austin's dialogue to reflect his Cajun accent, I apologize if that makes it difficult to read.

Word Count: 5676

»» ────── ஓ ๑ ✧ ๑ ஓ ────── ««

“This was a mistake” you hissed to script writer Pearce McCarthy as you walked into the expansive conference room at Pinewood Studios outside London.

A large square of tables with a copy of the script waiting in front of each chair anchored the space. Additional chairs lined the walls. The room was full of beautiful people, buzzing with the sound of greetings and conversation. You did not belong here.

It was an idea born at 3:36 AM, halfway into a celebratory bottle of gin. Pearce had been agonizing over the sole responsibility of protecting the script you two had laboured on over the past year. The script based on the novel that you had laboured on for three years before that. “I do not want to give up my normal life for this! I published under a pseudonym for a very sound reason, and I am loathe to blow that up!” You had argued. “But if they don’t do it right, how would we fucking live with ourselves?!” He had been remarkably close to tears, and you had found yourself blinking back your own. “It’s not like I can just pretend to be someone else on set, Pearce. I trust you, and I’ll always have my phone ready.” You had tried to reason, tried to reassure. He had looked up to you, blinking his bleary eyes to focus. “But why can’t you? Hide in plain sight!!” He had declared and despite the heated five-day-long argument that ensued, here you were, assistant to the script writer, arriving for the first table read of the assembled cast. “You’re going to do great.” He patted your shoulder, guiding you to one of the chairs along the wall, behind the director. He took a seat beside you, adjusting the waistband of his black jeans to ensure they sat just right beneath his button up and sweater combo. “This is the best way for you take gain experience and you are the right person for the job.” He continued, smoothing his hand along his black hair that now sported a shock of silver at each temple. Writing with you was apparently a stressful experience. What a damn liar. He should be an actor at the main table, you thought bitterly as you pulled your own well-worn copy of the script from your bag. You lay the binder across your denim-clad knees, grateful again that Pearce had at least had the decency to help you dress the part. A pair of nicer jeans and a blouse. You fit right in with the rest of the production staff. Actors, it seemed, were able to dress down a little more…hoodies, long-sleeved t-shirts…You supposed it was because they would eventually be in costume.

A rainbow of sticky notes fanned out from the pages in your binder, colour-coded by filming location. This entire process was foreign to you. But, you tried to remind yourself, so was writing a novel and you had managed that. Restricted to writing outside your working hours, it had been slow going, but the story had quite simply possessed you and you really hadn’t had much say in the matter. While you had not been able to afford a trip to France for research into your main character Yvette, you had spent a week in Louisiana. You had also taken some lessons in Cajun French which had been crucial in defining who exactly the love interest of the story, Antoine Thibodeaux, was.

And your novel had done well. You’d had a choice of several publishers and ended up with an extremely proactive agent who had negotiated film rights, with the option for you to work with the script writer. All before the book had been officially released. For something that had been entirely yours for years to suddenly become so public had left you feeling quite naked. Even though the triumphant novel had been published under your pen name – Sloan Thornton. You were a private person, a normal person, with a regular career and regular hobbies. Truthfully, the idea of a public life terrified you, and never seemed to be one of much happiness for those under the intense scrutiny of fame. You simply had had a story to tell and had not wanted that to ruin your life.

The buzz in the room swelled in excitement as a wave of expensive perfume wafted past you, making you raise your head. The tall, slender frame of a gorgeous brunette stood to your right, holding court as everyone called out greetings to her. Cloé Elgin. She certainly had the look of Yvette, with her fine, French features courtesy of her French model of a mother. Though she would need some flattening out to reflect the main character at her lowest. She was actively basking in the attention, wearing a green silk wrap dress and precipitously tall heels. By far the best-dressed person there and she knew it.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed a head of sandy-blonde, tousled waves making its way from the back of the room. You turned to focus on the owner of said hair properly and swallowed thickly to see Austin Butler, cast to play Antoine, greeting his leading lady. Oh, but they did look good together…you pressed your hand to your stomach as you felt suddenly emotional about the whole thing. Pearce elbowed you in the side in an I-told-you-so gesture which you returned with an icy glare, all the while fighting the urge to smile.

Greta Gerwig, director, took a seat and the rest of the room followed suit.

“Welcome, everyone, to the first table read for At Any Cost. I hope you are all as excited as I am to re-define what a collaborator really was. Let’s start with introductions.”

You sat up straighter and took notice as people began giving their names and job titles, wanting to be a good colleague. Well, as good as one could be considered when they were a liar.

Cloé introduced herself with a French accent that you knew was one she had been working on for the role. You had watched her other films when you’d received the casting report. She didn’t have many impressive credits under her belt, but she was young, and you trusted that Greta knew what she was doing. Besides, Austin Butler had been little more than a sporadic TV role pretty boy until he landed Elvis. The past did not define the future. All eyes moved to him as it was his turn next.

“I’m Austin Butler, I play tha role o’ Antoine Thibodeaux.” He drawled in his swamps-of-Louisiana, Cajun-French laced accent, also built for his role.

There was an overabundance of saliva in your mouth, and you swallowed thickly, looking down as he made a point of making eye contact with everyone in the room. You were blushing like a schoolgirl, and it was mortifying. The introductions continued and you grew increasingly nervous as your turn was approaching. Five words. You could manage this. Pearce gave his name and title before looking to you expectantly and you took a steadying breath before saying your full, real name. There was a thrill of terror in your chest before you quickly added your job title.

“Assistant Script Writer.” You schooled your face into a smile and turned to look at the person sitting to your right.

You were vaguely aware of the flash of azure blue eyes on the periphery of your vision. Aware that they were trained on your face. You firmly kept your gaze on the Continuity supervisor, Meredith, as she then looked to her assistant. You felt a little relief as the introductions came to an end and everyone focused on the scripts before them again. Paper. You were so much better on paper.

Unfortunately, it did not get any easier for you from there. The emotion that had fluttered to life in your stomach as you had laid eyes on the leading couple only swelled as the story, your story, began coming to life. It was by no means polished or perfect, it was after all the first time everyone was testing this out together. It felt more like a radio play, and it was punctuated by the dead-pan voice of the assistant director reading staging directions. But the characters who had lived only inside your head, or in theoretical conversations with Pearce, were speaking.

Greta and yourself, as Sloan, had been insistent that Yvette and the characters in France would speak in French. Antoine would speak mainly in English, with Cajun French phrases mixed in. You had gotten around the language issue in the novel by italicizing any dialogue in a language other than English. Well, not all. You had used that online course in Cajun French to include some phrases in Antoine’s dialogue. But film, film was entirely different. Thankfully, the studio had arranged for you and Pearce to submit lines intended to be delivered in French and German for professional translation with a strong emphasis on the language of the time period.

The script sounded good. It flowed and it felt authentic. You had a pencil in your hand, tracking along with the words as they were spoken, circling problematic things, underlining things you really liked. And sniffling a little as tears of awe pricked the corners of your eyes. What a sap you were turning out to be. About halfway through, Greta called a bio break and trays of sandwiches were carried in. You quickly wiped at your eyes before checking your watch, shocked to see that it was near one o’clock already.

Pearce leaned in and flipped back a few pages in your script, tapping a phrase you had circled.

“See I thought that fell flat, too.” He muttered.

“Yeah, one for the military geeks but it doesn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the story hmmm?” You scribbled a note in the margin to revisit it. “We should replace it with something more meaningful to their relationship.”

Pearce opened his mouth and took a breath to speak but when nothing came out you raised your head and inhaled sharply to see Austin standing right in front of the two of you.

“I’m so sorry ta interrupt, I was just…well I was wonderin’ if it would be all righ’ to run some things by ya, Pearce?”

You pressed your lips together and looked to Pearce, trying to ignore the way Austin’s cologne enveloped you and invaded your senses. Was that a hint of cedar?

“Of course, Mr. Butler, any time.” He replied warmly and Austin snagged an empty chair, turning it to sit in front of the pair of you.

“Oh please, call me Austin.” He sat with his legs spread generously and you did your best to focus on the script in your lap rather than on his lap. “I jus’ wanted ta be sure I was getting’ tha emotion righ’ when Antoine is talkin’ ‘bout his family. I read it with a sense o’ stubborn pride but…well I know ya had tha opportunity to work with tha author…”

Your grip on your pencil cut off the circulation to your fingertips, making the skin turn white.

“…and I wondered if ya had any insight on tha Thibodeaux family as a whole?” He finished.

“Of course, yes. I think stubborn pride nails it right on the head. The Acadians did not have a very good run of it, so there is that aggressive self-sufficiency. Would you agree?” Pearce turned to look at you and you raised your head again. “What do you think Sloan would say?”

Your lips trembled a little before you cleared your throat, acutely aware of the fact that Austin was bathing you in his undivided attention.

“I think…she would say the same. There’s a pride that they don’t need anyone’s help. They carved a living out of the swamp, and they might not have money but they do have abundance. Friends, family, food. That’s all the riches they need, and they’re proud of it. So…so I think you have the right tone for that line. Austin.” You risked a moment of eye contact and felt fairly blinded by the brilliance of his relieved grin.

“Fantastic, great. Thank ya verra much. Would ya, the two of ya, mind if I tapped into yer expertise from time ta time? I jus’…really liked tha book and I want ta get it righ’.”

You flushed with pride and nodded quickly, quite speechless at that.

“Of course…we both had the opportunity to work closely with Sloan on the script and we are here to make sure her novel is at the heart of this film.” Thank god Pearce was able to reply.

The tabs on the edges of your script fluttered under his exploratory fingers.

“Yer verra organized.” Austin remarked in awe, speaking gently as though you were a skittish cat.

“Thank you, I…well I’m a bit new to all this. Very grateful for Pearce’s guidance.” You smiled softly. “Each colour is for a different location. Of course, I’ll add more once it gets mores specific but…”

“Hey Aus…” Cloé purred as she curled her fingers into his shoulder, having suddenly appeared with a plate of sandwiches. “I grabbed you some food, come eat.”

She didn’t even acknowledge Pearce…or yourself – not that you expected that given your role on the production team.

“Thank ya both, again.” Austin said warmly, shaking hands firmly with Pearce before offering his hand to you.

You slid your hand into his, swallowing as he cupped it in both of his warm, broad palms as he shook it. He made his excuses and followed after Cloé to settle back in their seats at the table.

“Anything you want me to avoid?” Pearce asked as he stood, and you scrambled to your feet.

“Assistant. I should get your food. No bell peppers, right?” You asked and once you received a nod in the affirmative you headed to the back of the room to fetch some sandwiches for the two of you.

Once everyone had a chance to eat, the table read resumed and you lost yourself completely in your task, the rest of the afternoon melting away. The room erupted into applause as the last line of the script was read and you straightened slowly, pulling yourself back into your body.

“Sounds an awful lot like a good movie, no?” Pearce grinned at you, and you smiled brightly in reply.

“We still have polishing to do though…it can be better…” You replied, glancing back down at your notes.

“Yes, yes. That’s tomorrow’s problem.” He laughed and you collected your things as everyone began filing out. Some headed home, some headed to their offices to work a few more hours.

You smiled shyly as Austin caught your eye on his way out, offering you a minimalist wave of an open palm rotating once to the right. You responded with a similar gesture before Cloé inserted her arm through his, hugging his bicep as she led him out babbling about how they were staying in the same building.

“I’ll see you tomorrow? My mum has insisted I come home for dinner…we’re only in England for six more weeks, right?” He huffed dramatically and you laughed brightly.

“Stop complaining and go eat your roast beef and Yorkshire puddings.” Shaking your head, you saw him off before heading to the office you two shared.

You laid out the scripts on the table, unable to stop yourself from looking over the notes he had taken throughout the day. Pearce had script writing credits on many big-name pictures, and you valued his opinion highly. Yet he had also been so utterly and completely generous with his time and expertise, truly listening to your input and walking through how to get across the feeling from your book in the very different medium of film.

The vibration of your phone startled you out of your review of the notes and you laughed brightly as it was a series of text messages from Pearce in all-caps demanding you go home that instant. You tidied up a little and locked the office before heading down to catch the shuttle bus to Slough station. Pearce had timed his message just right, ensuring you caught the last run. The shuttle was packed, as usual. You’d never found a time when it wasn’t.

All told, it was only fifteen minutes before you were in your one-bedroom flat in Slough. It was not cheap, but you considered the price worth protecting the integrity of your novel. You did your best to distract yourself with some leftover take-out and TV before eventually giving in to your baser urges and scribbling frantically in your notebook as ideas were born to address the notes both you and Pearce had made from the reading that day.

After less than enough sleep, you headed back in the next morning eager to iron out the wrinkles. Pearce was waiting, with tea freshly brewed and leftovers courtesy of his mum in the mini fridge in the corner of the office. The hallways were packed, buzzing with activity as departments were ramping up for the start of filming in two days. There were so many knocks, people needing copies of scripts or clarifications or confirmations, that you two left the door open as you dug into the pinch points of the script.

There was an easy flow between you and Pearce. You riffed off one another, throwing out bits of dialogue until something would fall into place.

“But how do you kill a gator? Or, uh, a cocodrie?” You rolled your eyes as you immediately hated the line, even with the Cajun French, and Pearce crinkled his nose with a head shake.

“Why would you take on something with so many teeth?” He replied and you both sighed as it just…wasn’t…

“Who decided that the predator should become the prey?” You offered after a moment of silence and you both jumped as Austin’s voice replied from the doorway.

“A verra, verra hungry man, cherie. Nothin’ can dissuade that kinda man from a meal. Not even a rotten maw packed full o’ teeth.”

Turning back to look at him, your throat constricted as you saw him standing there in full paratrooper uniform. A uniform with every fold and patch and detail you had dutifully described. It was more than a little surreal, especially now that he was in costume. Antoine made flesh. You were vaguely aware of Pearce making sounds. Sounds that resembled your name. He was saying your name.

“Shit, sorry Pearce.” You turned back to your laptop, frantically typing out the lines next to each other.

“Nah, I should apologize I jus’ waltzed in here unannounced.” Austin murmured guiltily. “Jus’ walkin’ around, gettin’ a feel for tha costume. I should leave ya to it…”

“Hey no, thank you we were really stuck there. I think that’s got it?” Pearce looked in your direction and you nodded quickly, hitting save.

You braced yourself and turned back to look at Austin with a smile.

“Thank you, you just startled me is all. We’ll get the updated pages out as soon as possible, just need to send them off to translation.” You bit your lip as him in that costume was still overwhelming even when you’d prepared yourself for it.

He relaxed a little, smiling in relief before stepping into the room fully. You had put up notes, reference images, and cast photos around the room to create a visually inspiring space. Polishing was probably the most difficult part of the writing process – something that novel and script writing actually had in common. So, anything you could do to help the exercise was effort well spent.

There was a knock on the door as Emily from the production office asked Pearce to step into the production meeting and he stood.

“Start thinking about that male bonding scene while they’re waiting to fly out, that scene is filming in two weeks.” He shook his finger as you made a face. Male bonding was not something that came naturally to yourself or Pearce.

You tensed as you heard a chuckle off to your right and bit your lip as you remembered Austin was still prowling about.

“Of course, see you when you get back.” You quickly dashed off the email to the translators before turning your script pages to the scene that needed a little more…authenticity? Life?

“It didn’ quite…flow did it…” Austin commented as he assumed Pearce’s armchair beside you, and you shook your head with a frown.

“It wasn’t bad when we submitted the script to the director but…well we...Sloan and Pearce agreed it could be better.”

You held your breath as he leaned in closer to read the faint pencil scratches of your notes from the table read. The scent of rosewood and cinnamon mingled in the air around him, flooding your senses as a blush warmed its way across your cheeks and down your throat past the neck of your shirt.

“Forced joviality, calm mask over terror…” He read the notes aloud and you looked to him quickly, impressed that he could decipher your scribbles.

“Right…it can’t just be a conversation; it needs to do something. Show how they’re pretending not to be terrified but also that they are close so that when they suddenly show up to rescue Antoine you…”

“It’s nah jus’ out o’ tha blue, it makes sense ‘cuz o’ their connection.” He finished your statement, his eyes meeting yours thoughtfully.

“I’m…” You cut yourself off before your words gave you away. “… am also aware that Sloan is terrified of this scene just reading like Band of Brothers. There was a lot of debate about putting it in the film. But it’s necessary.” You chewed on the end of your pencil, a filthy habit that you just could not give up.

“When was tha last time ya watched Band o’ Brothers?” He asked, fingers fishing into one of his many utility pockets before producing his phone.

“Mmmm probably a year ago since this issue last came up?” You tilted your head looking at him curiously.

“All righ’ so…let’s watch it ‘n’ write down all tha things that make it unique.”

He propped his phone up against the screen of your laptop and pressed play on episode one as you stared in disbelief. This man was the lead actor of the film and here he was trying to help you…you who he thought was just a script assistant, get over your nerves. People weren’t like this in normal life, were they?!

“There’s two…tarmac scenes if I remember correctly…because the first jump was called off…Near the end of the episode…” You murmured awkwardly, feeling the need to say something in the face of his generosity.

Using his remarkably long and shapely forefinger, he scrubbed the video forward until he found the spot you were looking for. You grabbed some scrap paper and offered him some pages and a fresh pen before the two of you began quickly taking notes as the scene played on his phone screen.

As the planes took off, he pressed pause and looked to you. You both had jotted words and a few phrases to describe it.

“A lot more serious than I remembered…” You muttered and he nodded quickly.

“I think, if ya ‘n’ Pearce still went with tha veneer of humour it’ll get tha point across, be different, achieve yer goals.”

You smiled a little in relief and nodded. “Any male bonding tips?” You laughed ruefully.

“Mockery. Men make fun o’ each other when they bond, usually.”

“So maybe…jabs about things that happened during training…that show how long they’ve known each other…” You chewed the poor pencil again, oblivious to the way his eyes were tracing the shape of your mouth.

There was another knock on the door and Austin suddenly looked very guilty.

“Sorry Sue, I got distracted.” He apologized to a woman you recognized as working in wardrobe. “You’ve got some good ideas, thanks fer lettin’ me try ma hand at this” He grinned, and you shook your head quickly.

“Thank you so much for your help.” You replied earnestly.

“Ma pleasure.” His boyish grin made your heart skitter in your chest wildly. “I’ll see ya ‘round.” He waved before he disappeared, his flow of apologies following him down the hall as Sue took him back to where he was supposed to be.

You exhaled shakily before your eyes landed back on your notes. You closed the door and curled up in the armchair with your laptop, typing as fast as your fingers would permit. You were still working on finalizing the scene when Pearce reappeared a few hours later.

“Whoa…” He murmured, setting a hot beverage in front of you from the catering cart. “You’re in a groove here hmmm?”

“Just…” You tapped out the last few words and added the final piece of punctuation. “Here…” You passed the laptop to him, taking a deep sip of the drink he’d brought you, suddenly realizing how thirsty you were.

You found yourself pacing nervously until he chuckled under his breath, and you paused, looking back to him sharply.

“It’s…perfect…Honestly, does everything we need and it’s enjoyable to read. I can’t wait to see the boys do it.” He beamed at you, and you breathed a sigh of relief, the tension leaving your body with your exhale. “So how long did Mr. Butler stay to help you?” He smirked as you flopped back down into your chair.

“Only…about 30 minutes.” You blushed and murmured into your takeout cup.

Pearce waggled his eyebrows dramatically and you flipped him the bird.

“Oh, come on, let an old man live vicariously through you…he’s a gorgeous dish with the sluttiest little waist…OW!” He exclaimed at the sharp kick you delivered to his shin.

“You are not old, he is not into me, and don’t call him slutty. That’s rude.” You smirked and shook your head. “But he was very helpful” You admitted before taking another sip of your drink.

By the end of the day, the two of you had inserted the updated pieces of dialogue into the script. Despite it technically being your responsibility, he worked with you to copy and deliver the latest version to all necessary parties before you both headed home for the night.

The next day, the last day before filming, was filled with meetings. Details were finalized, kinks were worked out, and everyone was filled with the buzz of anticipation. One of the many meetings had taken place on the set of the interior of Yvette’s barn. There would be a lot of filming in there as the romance between Yvette and Antoine blossomed.

You had wanted to linger and take in all the details, but the meeting had been brief and intense, Pearce dragging you away to the next thing on your packed schedule. So, when peace finally settled over the studio around six o’clock that night, you had snuck back in there. No one really seemed to notice you, even as the art department was finishing their set-up. You made sure to stay out of their way, to keep your footsteps from disturbing the perfectly laid hay. Letting yourself soak in the space, you swallowed thickly.

A place you had imagined for years, the backdrop to all the key emotional points, had been made a reality. Pearce had not prepared you for the impact this process would have on your psyche. You tentatively reached out to touch the fake wooden post in front of you, laying your hand on the marks that had been etched into it making it seem centuries old. You closed your eyes, thinking back to the first images of the story that had played out in your head, how they had forced you to look. To write. It seemed like ages ago now, but here you were, physically in the space where it had all begun.

“Pretty incredible, ain’t it?” Austin murmured behind you, accent flowing like thick honey.

Your head whipped back to look at him as you gasped slightly, startled.

“Sorry, I’m sorry I really keep startlin’ ya don’t I?” He frowned and shook his head. “Even wearin’ army boots. So, either I walk light as a feather or ya get verra involved in what yer focusin’ on. I’m guessin’ it’s the second?” He tilted his head, pulling at the cupid’s bow of his upper lip.

A chuckle escaped you despite the still-elevated level of adrenaline from the startling he’d given you.

“Guilty of the second, without a doubt.” You murmured in return. “Not that you clomp around or anything.” You tacked on quickly, making him smirk warmly.

“Yer attention ta detail is exemplary…an’ what ya and Pearce did with that tarmac scene.” He shook his head with an expression of awe. “The boys ‘n’ I ran through it a few times while tha poor wardrobe folks were tryin’ ta finish up their work. It’s a joy ta read…”

You ducked your head shyly, flushing happily at the compliment. “Wouldn’t have been possible without your help. Thank you again.”

The two of you stood in amiable silence, watching the art department hanging bunches of dried lavender, strings of garlic, nets of onions. It really looked like a functioning French farm. One of the set decorators called out to another, asking the time, and you swore under your breath when they replied that it was just after 8:30.

“What’s wrong?” Austin looked to you, features painted with concern.

“Oh, I just…I guess I missed the last shuttle…I should start walking.”

“That’s a terrible idea, lemme give ya a ride.” He shook his head when you opened your mouth to protest. “The studio has given me a car ‘n’ driver; it’s far more economical if he drives two people ‘stead o’ one. I jus’ need ta change, meet me at wardrobe?”

You hesitated but he raised an eyebrow expectantly and you conceded with a nod.

“Just to the station at Slough, that’s more than I could ask.”

He squeezed your shoulder with a warm hand before the two of you slipped off the set and went your separate ways to collect your things. After locking up the office for the night you waited in front of the wardrobe department until he emerged in jeans and a denim jacket lined with sheep’s wool. It looked cozy and you were admittedly jealous. Springtime in England was unpredictable, and you were still learning how to dress in layers to keep up with all its fluctuations.

“All set then?” He smiled warmly and you nodded quickly, following him toward the waiting car.

“Really just Slough station, please.” You reiterated and he nodded as you slid into the backseat. You were unaware that he was shaking his head at the driver, making the older man wink with a chuckle.

“Where are ya stayin’? Is it a long ride?”

You shook your head. “Not at all, I’m staying in Slough at a short-term rental really close to the station. So, I’m not trying to be difficult.” You laughed softly.

“Slough station then, Mr. Butler?” The driver asked quietly, and Austin nodded.

“Yes, please.” He looked to you as the car pulled out. “Do ya feel ready fer tomorrow?” He asked.

“Honestly? I could say yes, because there’s nothing more to do until we start filming? But I’ve never done this before, so my answer is probably very wrong.”

He laughed warmly and you grinned happily, pleased to have been the cause of that sound.

“So, what prompted this, I’m assumin’, career change?” He asked as streetlights caused the interior of the car to alternate between light and dark.

You bit your lip thoughtfully.

“Well, I…always wanted to write and…well I’ve known Sloan most of my life and she asked if I would assist in writing the script and one thing led to another?” The lie had started off on wobbly legs, like a newborn deer, but was loping ahead at full speed now. “Pearce is not very good with technology, so I was in charge of the laptop while they worked.” Adding in truth made the lie stronger.

His eyes widened.

“You know Sloan? I…what’s she like? She’s such a mystery…” He asked, sounding eager for any scrap of information.

“I…well…” You laughed awkwardly. “She’s…normal? She doesn’t like the dark, she could eat pasta for every meal, and she has a real job and normal life that she wants to protect?” You finished with a small shrug.

“I just wish…I could ask ‘er…the author…some things ta make sure I get this righ’.” He sighed after nodding thoughtfully.

Your throat felt like sandpaper as you tried to force a swallow through it.

“I could…” You croaked and cleared your throat. “I could ask her if she’d be open to…emails or something?”

“Really?!” His eyes lit up at the possibility. “I would be really grateful if ya would, but please don’….I don’ want ta ruin yer friendship with ‘er.”

You were helpless against that look and shook your head softly.

“I’ll ask, it’s completely up to her what she’s comfortable with, but I am ok to ask.” You assured him warmly and he beamed.

“Thank ya verra, verra much.” He blinked as the car pulled up in front of the station. “This is really convenient, isn’t it.”

“Pearce’s knowledge was priceless; I am very, very lucky. And thank you for the ride, truly. I really appreciate it. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You smiled quickly before jumping out of the car and waving as it pulled off.

You gulped at the cool night air, trying to flush the hazy scent of him from your mind. He was just a friendly colleague. Your heart really needed to stop beating so fast around him. Even when he talked about your…alter ego?... in such a reverent tone. If he only knew what a liar he was idolizing…

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Read Part Two

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