#nomdeplumefic

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Austin & Cricket's Holiday Special

Summary: A stressful day of filming has Austin coming home desperate for you, leading to a change of plans and a few surprises along the way. [Part of the Nom De Plume series, but can be read as a standalone.]

Pairing: Austin Butler x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Baking and Decorating Holiday Cookies, Use of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy Terms and Techniques, Angst, Mental Health Struggles, Needy Austin, Soft Sub!Austin, Soft Dom!Reader, Mature/Explicit Themes [Oral – f receiving, Fingering, Masturbation – m performing, Penetrative Sex, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Orgasms,  Sex On Top of Food] – 18+ Only

Word Count: 2841

The sound of Austin’s keys dropping in the earthenware bowl on the entryway table startled you out of you deep concentration icing the holiday cookies before you.

Tonight was supposed to be a night out. He was, at last, filming something in Los Angeles and had promised to message you when he was leaving set, so you would have a chance to get ready for dinner at a new restaurant you’d both been wanting to try. But now? Now he was home, with no message notification on your phone. You could tell simply by the sound of his trudging footfalls that it had been one of those days.

Sinking your teeth into your lower lip, you did your best to finish up your current cookie with speed and precision, so that you could turn your full focus onto a man you sense needed an entirely different evening than originally planned. You felt his long arms wrap around your waist, pressing flush against your back as he buried his face in the crook of your neck with a shuddering sigh. Aware of the icing smudged on your fingertips, you pressed your forearms into his in greeting.

“Hey…” You said softly in recognition of the heaviness of his form against you. He seemed barely able to hold himself up.

“…hey…” He whispered against your skin, and you were pretty certain you felt the damp of tears.

You set down the piping bag before carefully turning in his arms to hold him tightly, still being very careful to keep your mucky hands off his silky button-up.

“Let’s stay in.” You looked up at his red-rimmed eyes before kissing away a few rogue tears that had snuck past his eyelashes.

He nodded wordlessly and you gently released him.

“Why don’t you start the shower and I’ll meet you there?”

Decompression after a difficult day, for Austin, usually began with a shower. Sometimes he would want company, others he would need solitude. You were guessing the grip on your waist was a silent request for companionship.

“Please.” He whispered with a nod but grew distracted by the smudges of coloured sweetness on your fingers as you pulled them back.

He snatched your wrists with viper-like speed and wrapped his generous lips around your fingertips, sucking and licking one hand clean before attacking the other. Oh, it was one of those days.

“J…just need to put some things in the fridge and I’ll be right there.” You stuttered, swallowing thickly.

He hummed in agreement and released your now-clean digits before trudging towards the primary ensuite. You washed your hands – these cookies were gifts and Austin’s saliva was yours alone, before popping the icing and last bit of dough in the fridge and double-checking the oven was off. Following after Austin, you collected the trail of clothing that he had shed in his wake. You were uncertain if it was exhaustion or an ad-hoc breadcrumb trail. Either way, it was quickly collected and deposited in the laundry hamper before you stepped into the spacious ensuite, the glass of the walk-in shower enclosure already coated with steam.

You stripped out of your own clothes, leaving them folded on the counter, before stepping in to join Austin. He stood beneath the rain shower head; face tilted up to allow the water to pelt his skin. You paused a moment to appreciate the way the streaming water caressed the planes of his face, pooled in his collarbones, ran in rivulets down the lines of muscle on his arms and chest. Sensing your presence, most likely due to the rush of cold air you brought in with you, his arms snaked around you and pulled you in tight for a bruising, desperate kiss. He kissed you as though you were his oasis after days wandering the desert, mouth consuming the very air from your lungs.

You pulled back, gasping for breath, and cupped his face in both of your hands. Meeting his eyes with yours, you licked your lips.

“What do you need?” You asked softly, wanting a little guidance on how best to help him in his current state.

Silently, he guided you to press back against the marble wall of the shower before sinking to his knees before you.

“Please let me taste you, I just need to taste you…” There was a hint of pleading to his voice, and you nodded, temporarily struck speechless by his somewhat unexpected request.

He surged forward to immediately latch his mouth onto your folds, the actions of his lips remarkably similar to the kiss he had just delivered to your mouth. His tongue parted your slit to find your clitoris, a rich moan vibrating from his throat and through your core deliciously. You gasped sharply and lifted one leg to plant your foot on the shower bench beside him, rocking your pelvis forward to encourage him with better access.

He groaned again and shuffled closer, hungrily devouring every ounce of slick his actions were producing, making you moan raggedly as your hands anchored themselves in his hair to prevent yourself from keeling over. Your whimper ricocheted off the marble floor and the glass walls as two long fingers slid into your entrance without any ado at all.

“Ahn!! Austin!” You panted as his lips latched onto your clitoris and you dropped your chin to your chest to take in the vision of him devouring you. Your knee wobbled unsteadily at the sight of his free hand indulgently stroking his cock as his near-black eyes drank in your reactions. “Mnnn….mmm if you want to cum inside me…darling boy….you gotta leave that pretty cock alone…” You spoke haltingly, struggling to put more than two words together at a time.

His hand froze immediately as he considered the truth of your statement…assessing his desires…before moving his hand to wrap his long fingers tightly around your hip. Redoubling his efforts between your thighs, his fingers thrust in and out of your wet heat as his mouth made obscene noises against you. Tugging at the wet hair plastered to his head, moans and cries fell freely from your mouth at his ruthless onslaught.

“Oh! Oh fuck…Austin…” You could feel the tide of your orgasm rising within your body, akin to a cartoon depiction of heat rising from the feet of a character up through their body until…until it exploded out the top of their head. “Austin!” You choked out before arching sharply from the wall, cunt clamping on his fingers viciously as your release drenched his hand.

His eager groan, and the feel of his tongue seeking every last drop of your nectar, sent trembling waves through your body and you keened in protest at the overstimulation. Recognizing the sound, he pulled back carefully, licking his hand clean before shifting back to sit on the shower floor. He splayed his legs open, cock straining proudly against his abdomen, as he settled his back against the shower bench. As your eyes raked along his tempting form, chest still rising and falling rapidly, he held his arms open to you in silent invitation.

You sank down to straddle his thighs, leaning in to kiss him deeply in gratitude, as you rocked your folds against him teasingly. You swallowed his hungry growl as his hands cupped your butt cheeks and pulled you closer in silent demand. Shifting up on your knees, you reached between your bodies to guide him into your still-quivering cunt. His lips tore from yours as his head fell back onto the bench with a light thunk and an agonized moan ripped from his throat.

“Oh cricket…oh cricket I…” He rambled between heaving breaths, fresh tears clinging to his eyelashes.

You began to rock your hips down into his as your lips feathered loving kisses over his forehead, down his nose, across his cheek bones, along his jaw. Each press of your lips was punctuated with an affirmation of your love for him.

“I love you…you gorgeous… talented… brilliant… sensitive… generous… loving… creative… artistic… kind… funny… adorable… incredible man.” At last, you pressed your lips to his, smiling into the kiss as his hands cradled your face, holding your mouth against his as your hips began to rise and fall around him.

His head fell back again as a litany of obscene noises poured from deep inside his chest. You buried your face against his neck, your jaw slack of at feeling of his length sliding through your cunt. You could feel his cock twitching inside you as his orgasm drew nearer.

“I need you to cum. I need you to cum around me cricket, I need you to hold me so tight like you’ll never let me go.” He whimpered and whined, hands sliding down to cup your breasts, fingers pulling at your nipples.

You arched your back, crying out at the sensation, flexing around him eagerly.

“Hn! Ok, I…I’m so close just…” You moved to reach between you, intending to toy with your clitoris, but stopped as you remembered you had something better right in front of you.

You plucked his left hand from your breast and pressed his callused fingertips, built from fretting his guitar, against your clit. He needed no further direction, immediately circling and rubbing your bundle of nerves until you wailed against his shoulder, clenching around him rhythmically as you climaxed as requested.

Austin’s hips bucked up into yours sharply before his release filled you with a satisfying warmth, your name repeating on his lips in a hushed reverence before he stilled beneath you. After taking several moments to catch your breath, you collected the shower products and cleaned both of you up before peeling him from the floor. Toweled dry, and wrapped in a robe, you took him to bed where he wrapped his arms around your torso, head on your chest as you ordered dinner.

You felt him sigh deeply as your fingers carded through his rapidly drying curls.

“I…don’t need constant validation. By any means.” He began hesitantly and you set down your phone to give him your full attention. “But this…complete lack of…feedback – good or bad?!” He shook his head a little against you. “I have no idea how this is going and all I can think is that he hates every second of it and any minute my manager is going to call and tell me they’ve recast it.”

You squeezed him gently with the arm you had around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“That is one possibility among the infinite. Can you imagine any others?” You coaxed gently, no stranger to the act of catastrophizing.

He sighed ruefully and nodded.

“He hates it but I’m not going to lose the part. He doesn’t like it but thinks he can fix it in post. He could be entirely ambivalent to my whole part. Or unsure…” There was a long pause.

“Anything else?” You gently prompted.

There was another reluctant sigh, though not quite as deep or as pained as those before.

“He could think it might be turning into something good…… He could like it……” Another long hesitation before he looked up to meet your eyes with markedly more relaxed and clear ones. “Or he could love it.”

You nodded warmly with a soft smile.

“My money will always be on that particular option. You are a brilliant actor, Austin.” You spoke reassuringly as you caressed his cheek. “And I think we should come with some ideas on how to check in with this director. Because they’re all very different human beings…”

He gave you a lopsided smirk.

“They’re not all going to be Baz or Greta.” He nodded in agreement and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

Once you were both fed, you tucked him in and slid from the bed.

“Just going to finish up the last couple of trays before the icing hardens beyond salvaging…you rest.” You smiled softly and kissed his brow as he nestled in.

Putting on some soft holiday music on your phone, you picked up where you left off, rolling out the last bit of dough before filling a well-cooled sheet pan with cut cookies. As you were cutting out the last possible piece for this rolling, you felt Austin’s arms snake around your waist once more before he pressed up tightly against your back.

“You’re supposed to be resting.” You chided gently, but before you could turn your head back to look at him sternly, a small box suddenly appeared on the counter before you.

A box of such a shape and size that your heart began to beat rapidly, crashing against your ribs as it slammed out an unnaturally quick rhythm. Yet everything else seemed to slow right down. To narrow in on nothing but his agile fingers easily popping open the latch and lifting the lid to reveal a gorgeous vintage engagement ring that somehow suited not only who you are…but who you are as a couple.

“Can I keep you…” He whispered softly, lips brushing against your ear, making you shiver.

“Y –” You tried to speak in the affirmative, feeling no hesitation whatsoever, but your throat closed tightly with the swirl of emotions, so you turned to nod up at him enthusiastically.

A brilliant smile of relief and love beamed down as he reached behind you, plucking the ring from the box to slide onto the fourth finger of your left hand. You eyed it in silent awe before everything blurred with a rush of tears. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him down for a firm kiss.

His hands slid down your back to cup the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up to sit on the counter. You parted your lips to protest the fact that he had just set you down in cookie dough, but his tongue quickly took advantage of your open mouth. The slick muscle slid along yours, completely erasing the thought of protesting from your mind, your fingers diving for the belt of his robe as you were flooded with an aching need to have him inside you again.

Possessed by a similar desire, Austin quickly worked your robe open and cupped between your legs, moaning raggedly at the slick already accumulating there. He worked you open with precise and efficient strokes, thumb manipulating your clitoris with his well-earned expertise, never once pulling his devouring mouth from yours. He swallowed all your keens and whimpers and pleas before laying you back fully onto the counter.

He sank into you slowly, with a full-throated groan, before stretching over you, reaching behind your head to grasp the opposite edge of the island counter. Eyes boring down into yours, his thrusts were slow, forceful, deliberate, and possessive. Positively ruining the possibility of ever being satisfied by anyone aside from him. Because you were his now, as he was yours. Arching and writhing beneath him, you reached behind you to latch onto his forearms as you felt every muscle in your body wind tighter and tighter with the gathering storm inside you.

He was uncharacteristically silent as his hips slammed into yours, all the unspoken words and emotions blazing in his brilliant blue eyes. Those tears that initially had blurred your vision were now seeping from the corners of your eyes, rolling down your temples, soaking into your hair as your chest brimmed with searing emotion.

“Oh…god…I…” You arched from the counter sharply, eyes clenching tightly as your orgasm impacted you from head to toe with a force that strangled the harsh cry in your throat.

“Oh fuck, cricket I love you so much.” He growled out, burying his face against your throat as his own climax slammed into him.

Later that night, as you lay in his arms, cookies decorated and packaged, you could not help but grin as he held you hand up to the light from the bedside lamp to admire the ring yet again. He gently manipulated your wrist, turning your hand this way and that to watch the light play on the edges of the gemstones. His chest rumbled with a fond sigh as he kissed the top of your head.

“I meant to do it with a whole lot of fanfare but I…I just needed to know…” He trailed off quietly and you turned your head to kiss his cheek.

“How…how long have you been…When you did get it?” You looked back to him curiously.

“Well, I’ve been working with a jeweler for a few months but…” He licked his lips sheepishly. “I picked it up yesterday.” He scrunched his nose and shook his head. “Didn’t even make it twenty-four hours, cricket…” He buried his head in your hair playfully as you chuckled adoringly.

“It is a yes, every day of the week, every week of the year…” You smiled softly and sealed your devotion with a kiss.

Oh, and that director? He loved every minute of Austin’s performance, and became a better communicator for working with him.

Post Script - If you found yourself enjoying parts of this fic, may I recommend:

Needy Austin: Sweet Nothin' by @aconflagrationofmyown

Using Austin's Hands To Your Advantage: need a hand by @elvisabutler

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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

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“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

Nom De Plume Masterlist

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Nom De Plume | Part Five

Nom De Plume Masterlist

Summary: The trip to Grasse is a lot more physically taxing than expected.

Pairing: Austin Butler x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Allusions to Alcohol Consumption, Unsafe Driving, Public Play, Utter Filth, Mature/Explicit Themes [fingering, oral – m receiving, f receiving, multiple orgasms, penetration, unprotected sex, dream sex] – 18+ Only

Author’s Note: We made it to the end! Please note that alternate titles for this part include: Austin and cricket fuck like bunnies across France, and Austin and cricket’s fuckathon. You have been warned (promised?). Special thanks to @avengen/@elvisabutler for helping me work through plot points and names for this entire series.

Word Count: 5245

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Your re-entry into consciousness was slow and hazy. Punctuated by the sound of the river coursing by beneath the still-open window, the weak early-morning light, the heat of Austin’s skin pressed against your back, the steel-velvet of his cock sliding between the soft skin of your thighs and along your slick folds. All at once your neurons fired, processing the aching pleasure of it, filling you with a ravenous need to have him inside you.

You moaned into your pillow as you pressed your ass back into his hips. Lifting the knee on your upper leg, you set your foot onto the mattress behind his calves. You stretched your hand down to cup his cock, feeling it slide along your palm and fingertips, before adding gentle pressure to push the tip into your entrance. You cried out hoarsely as the sleepy undulation of his hips eased his length into you fully, aided by the abundant slick that had accumulated between your thighs.

His arms tensed around you tightly, inhaling sharply, hands coming to cup your breasts as his pelvis rocked tightly against yours.

“Fuck…cricket…” His voice was gravelly with sleep as he panted into the crook of your shoulder, pulling his hips back only to surge forward, back into your enticing warmth.

“…please…” You whimpered, eyes barely open, one hand gripping his over your breast as the other twisted violently into the pillow.

He grunted against your skin before cupping your shoulder with his teeth and beginning to thrust in earnest. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you cried out eagerly, unable to control the flow of saliva from your gaping mouth, the pillow growing damper by the moment. The heel of your foot dug into the mattress behind his legs, eyes clenched shut as you were so remarkably close.

Your hand sunk lower once more, the heel of your palm pressing against your clitoris in clumsy yet effective stimulation as the index and forefingers stretched down to frame your entrance, adding an extra layer of friction against the sides of his cock. You whimpered as you felt his teeth dig a little deeper into your skin, his tongue moving in an unintelligible curse as his hips snapped up into yours desperately.

“...yes….” You hissed wantonly before clenching around him greedily as your orgasm seized your drowsy frame. You wailed weakly into the bedding. Nothing but incoherent, prolonged vowels.

You felt Austin shudder against your back as you tried to slow your racing breaths. His hips still thrusted against you, his whimpers sounding as he chased his own release. Your hand reached back over your shoulder to curl into his hair, tugging at the silky strands.

“Gonna cum, Austin?” You breathed huskily. Forming words was difficult but you wanted him to find release same as you. “Can you fill me up?”

He squeezed your breasts almost painfully as his hips crashed into yours ruthlessly.

“Ahn!” You shuddered and clenched around him reflexively before doing it again with more force and purpose.

His strangled cry against your skin was all the warning you had before he slammed deep inside you, rutting against you tightly as his release finally found him. You smiled fondly, caressing his hair and cheek as well as you could at this angle. His hips gradually stilled, and he began to press soothing kisses to the indentations of his teeth marks on your skin.

“Mmmorning, cricket” He sighed warmly against your flesh, his grip on your breasts relaxing.

“Good morning…” You replied warmly, shuddering as you felt him slip out of you before he guided you to turn in his arms so he could give you a warm kiss.

“I’m starving…” He mumbled against your lips.

You giggled brightly and nodded firmly.

“Me too…” You raised your head, and your eyes found a clock. It was just after six. “Breakfast is served until eight, we have time to…shower….” You smirked, feeling slightly filthy but also so very satisfied. “And head down?”

He nodded firmly and the lure of food proved enough to keep the two of you on task. Austin had even helped choose your outfit, a sundress and cardigan you had been saving for warmer weather. It was definitely here now.

Neither of you had eaten since those random roadside sandwiches over twelve hours ago. The staff and other guests shared a few knowing looks, but you and Austin were too busy cleaning your plates. Back on the road by nine, Austin volunteered to take the first shift behind the wheel. The scenery was, of course, stunning, but…but you found that you could not stop studying Austin’s profile.

The angle of his jaw, the cut of his cheek bone, the loose golden curls on his head, the tiny curl just in front of his ear, the cherry pink of his pillowy lips. Your fingers traced along your bottom lip absentmindedly, tongue following shortly after.

“Keep looking at me like that, cricket, and we’re pulling into next rest stop.” He growled teasingly and you laughed sheepishly before turning your body to face out the windshield fully, focusing on the road stretching before the car.

It was when he lay the long fingers of his right had on the inside of your thigh, gradually sliding higher, that you came to realize exactly why he had chosen your outfit that morning. You exhaled shakily and sunk your teeth into your lower lip, locking your eyes onto the blur of the fields covered in early growth. You felt somewhat petulant. He tells you not to look and then…You took a gulp of air and pressed your head back into the headrest firmly as his broad palm fully cupped between your thighs, the heat of his skin soaking through your underwear.

Initially, he simply taunted you with just a little pressure and subtle rubbing through the thin fabric before pushing it aside, the seam catching slightly on your folds, spreading them just enough to tease your clitoris. You parted your legs wantonly, shifting your hips forward in the seat to give him better access.

“Oh cricket…” He sighed, the leather of the wheel creaking in his ruthless grip as he kept his eyes focused on the roadway before him.

His right hand was much busier, fingertips circling your entrance, collecting your slick before they drifted higher to draw circles of ever-decreasing circumference. You own hand scrabbled for purchase on the handle of the door, whimpering as your eyes drifted shut. At last, after what felt much longer than it actually took, the lightly calloused tips of his fingers brushed against your bundle of nerves, drawing a ragged moan from you. You could hear his breaths coming thicker, faster as his fingers sped up and slowed down and changed direction, teasing you mercilessly.

As they shifted to sink into your entrance, the fingers of your left hand sunk into his right thigh, hips rocking needily.

“Austin!” You cried out softly, the erotic sounds of his fingers plunging in and out of your warmth resounding inside the vehicle.

“Jesus Fucking Christ you’re drenched, cricket.” He growled. “It’s been two hours and you need me this bad?” The words were teasing but his tone was pure awe.

“Uh huh!” Was all you managed to vocalize in response, and he hissed your name hungrily, fingers moving and curling faster.

“C’mon cricket, soak the fucking seat for me.” He coaxed, licking his lips raw.

“Oh fuck.” You moaned at his fingers, his words…arching sharply forward as you did exactly as requested; clenching around his fingers so tightly he could hardly pull them from you.

“Incredible…” He purred, liftin his fingers to suck them greedily as he pulled onto the offramp at the next roadside stop.

You slumped against the seat, panting in stunned silence as he found a parking spot. He helped you re-arrange your underwear, taking you inside the rest stop to clean up in the bathroom. You grabbed a caffeinated beverage and something sugary, devouring it in only a few bites before you felt somewhat human again. You met him back at the car, moving to get into the driver’s seat.

“My turn.” You meant to smile but there was definitely the curve of a smirk involved.

Pulling back out onto the toll road, you glanced over at him as you sipped your drink, noticing the way he was shifting on the seat you had recently vacated. Constantly tugging at the fly of his pants, readjusting the bulge you could very clearly see, even with quick, safe glances from the road. You reached down and gripped his wrist, plucking his hand from his crotch and lifting it to rub his thumb along your lower lip before pulling it into your mouth to apply gentle, sucking pressure.

“Oh god…” He breathed, gnawing on his lips as his fingertips stroked along your cheek.

You licked your tongue along his skin, tracing the edges of his nail, the ridges of his knuckle. You hollowed your cheeks around his digit…doing everything you longed to do to his cock…especially when he moaned so prettily. Especially when he grasped at the same handhold on the door as you, writhing against the same seat you had.

Releasing his wrist, all the while focusing on the licence plate of the car in front of you and the traffic around you, you reached down to squeeze at the needy bulge between his legs. The groan he rewarded you with was pure sin and you indulged yourself in a glance at the way his jaw hung open and his eyebrows knitted into a crease above his nose. A glance that was far longer than safe.

Your car beeped at you aggressively as you flirted a little too closely to the edge of your lane and you snapped your attention back to the road. You needed to find somewhere to pull off….to finish repaying the favour. You glanced at the surrounding countryside and saw plenty of quiet, tree-covered roads. Still sucking on Austin’s thumb, you returned your other hand to the steering wheel and navigated onto the next exit, following a maze of country lanes until you found somewhere to pull off under the shade of trees.

You pulled his thumb from your mouth and looked to his heaving chest.

“Stay there.” You murmured before stepped out of the car, walking over to open his door.

You leaned down to kiss him fiercely as your hand reached between his legs to find the handle beneath his seat that allowed you to push him into the backseat. You guided his long, left leg to drape over the console before climbing in to kneel in the footwell in front of his seat.

“Close the door” You did not even realize how much control you were seizing here, nor how quickly and eagerly he was complying.

Next, you pulled the lever that had his seat reclining backward, putting you both out of sight in case of any passing motorists before you opened the fly of his jeans. Tugging them down just enough to free his cock, you found no underwear in the way. You smirked up at him before taking his cock in hand and delivering an eager, broad-striped lick up the length of it. Fuck, the noises he was making were enough for you to forget that you could easily be arrested for what you were doing.

Watching his face – contorted with pleasure, you wrapped your lips around the tip of his length, savouring the taste of him and the way his breath shuddered through his throat. He watched you with hooded, dark eyes. His pupils were long blown, having devoured the blue of his irises in his arousal. His hands reached down to push and hold back your hair, ensuring he had a clear view of your face…. your mouth.

Sinking your head lower, you allowed your saliva to slip past your lips, coating the length of him. You wrapped a hand around the base of his cock to encircle what you could not manage in your mouth before you began to work your head up and down along him.

“Fuck…. cricket…” His words were sharp, choked out as punctations between his gasping breaths as you felt his thighs clench in restraint, fighting the urge to simply thrust.

You shifted a little in the small space beneath him, surprised at how arousing it was to please the long, lanky man above you. Hollowing your cheeks, increasing the pressure around him, you picked up your pace. The salty tang of his precum sparked on your tongue as his grip tightened on your hair.

“Just like that…yes…” He gritted out between ruthlessly clenched teeth.

You slid lower, as low as you could, nuzzling the crease of his hip as you prepared to catch his release. Inhaling deeply, you sucked tighter on his cock, fist moving rapidly at the base until he lost control and thrust forward into the back of your throat. He came with an anguished shout, and you fought the spasm that would have you coughing, forcing yourself to swallow his release.

Once the tension melted from his body, you sat back on your heels, coughing roughly now that there was no threat of making a mess. You took a deep sip of your drink as he leaned forward, pressing tender kisses along your forehead, mumbling apologies.

“It’s ok” Your voice was gravelly, but you smiled and tilted your head to catch his lips in a soft kiss. “Just surprised me…”

He pressed his lips against yours once more, caressing your throat with his elegant fingers. The sound of a car driving nearer made you tense and pull back quickly. You gently tucked him back into his pants before opening the car door and essentially falling out into the ditch. Thankfully, it had not rained in a while and you came out unscathed as the car drove passed, unconcerned. Austin was now sitting up in his seat fully, watching you with wide eyes.

“I’m ok!” You could not help but laugh and he joined in warmly.

Retaking the driver’s seat, you looked at the map app on your phone and took off once you had your bearings. Just an hour-and-a-half to Valence, your target for the day. That would leave only four hours of driving for tomorrow. You were barely back on the toll road before you heard the deep, contented sighs of sleep from the passenger’s seat. Smirking, and massaging your jaw a little, you made the rest of the drive in silence, fighting the weight of your eyelids as his soft breaths made sleep so very tempting.

You were running out of patience as you pulled onto the exit ramp for Valence, and with Austin still very much asleep and unable to search for hotels, you opted for the first one you saw. It was not a run-down cheap motel by any means, but it also was not an adorable French B&B. You parked in the expansive parking lot outside the large, mid-century modern, four-story building and smothered a yawn with the back of your hand. At least you had made it here safely.

Sensing the movement had stopped, Austin stirred in the seat beside you and looked at you blearily.

“Valence?” He asked, pulling himself up fully.

You nodded and slid out of the car, collecting your luggage as he followed suit. You headed inside together, asking for one room with one bed, and rode up in the elevator quietly. Kicking off your shoes, you set your luggage by the closet and crawled onto the bed. You were vaguely aware of Austin lifting you and tucking you in properly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you fell asleep fully.

The smell of something rich and garlicky had your eyes fluttering open a few hours later, made your stomach growl. You emerged from the cocoon of blankets to see Austin unpacking dinner onto the small table beneath the window to your right.

“That smells amazing…” You breathed, extracting yourself from the warmth of the bed and moving to help him before you sat down to yet another fantastic meal. “France has utterly ruined me… it will be so disappointing to go home to the normal food…”

He chuckled warmly and fed you another bite from his entrée, having ordered two different meals so you could share more flavours. Eating thoughtfully, you found yourself looking around the room, taking in the high end, yet generic furnishings. Despite your fatigue and the multiple orgasms he had blessed you with that day, you found your mind drifting to the things the two of you could get up to in this room.

“What do you see, cricket…?” He leaned in, murmuring in your ear, making you shudder. You swallowed your bite of food before you spoke.

“Well…there’s an actor, and a writer…” You grinned a little and looked at him somewhat shy to be sharing what was, essentially, mental pornography. “And I’m not sure if he should take her against the door or in the shower…” You bit your lip as his jaw dropped.

“So sometimes…it’s just pure filth then…” He murmured, voice thick.

“More often than you might think…” You replied with a laugh of self deprecation.

It did not take him long to start fucking you against the door before carrying you, still impaled on his cock, into the shower to finish the job. You found your cheek pressed against the cool tile of the wall, hands pinned above your head in his grip, your knee hooked over the wrist of his other hand as he slammed into you from behind under the warm spray. After gently cleaning the pair of you up, Austin nestled back into bed with you, running his fingertips along the soft skin of your arm.

“You know, cricket…” He murmured against your temple.

“mmm?” You replied, too lazy to form proper consonants and vowels.

“You called yourself a writer just then…” He pressed his lips to your skin, and you sighed fondly.

“Suppose I did…” You replied thoughtfully.

“… referred to me by my profession and yourself by your…” He trailed off, trying to coax you to understand.

“Oh.” Your eyes widened slowly. “Oh, I don’t know, what…what if I just got the one big idea and that’s it? That’s all I get?” You did not bother to mask the terror linked to that statement as you looked up to him. A terror that had been stalking you since the book was published. “What if I tried to be a writer and it all went to shit…” You finished in a whisper, tears blurring the sweet image of his face painted with concern.

His soft lips pressed against your eyelids, kissing the tears away.

“One possible outcome. One of thousands…you won’t know unless you try…” He pulled you close, stroking his hand along your back soothingly. “I think you’d be excellent at screen writing…and then if you get another great big idea…”

You nodded thoughtfully against the skin of his chest.

“I’ll…I’ll think on it…” You murmured softly, swallowed back the acrid taste of fear at the very thought of taking such a leap as to pin your livelihood on writing.

“Don’t forget to breathe while you do…” He bent his head to kiss your forehead. “I’m sorry…It was not meant to terrify you, cricket. I won’t bring it up again, ok? You can…if you ever feel ready….and if that is never, that is completely fine.” His eyes sought yours and he smiled warmly when you finally had the courage to meet them.

The warmth that erupted beneath your breastbone had fresh tears flooding your vision as you leaned forward to kiss him soundly. Not quite ready to name that warmth. But increasingly certain what it was.

The next morning, you two ate breakfast in bed, lazing in one another’s arms until checkout forced you to dress and leave. There was less of a ravenous urgency about the pair of you today. More of a comfortable need, holding hands during the drive through the mountains, but not risking anything more than that. You were so close, arriving at last to fields of lavender, trees of mimosa blossoms, bushes of roses. It was fragrant, gorgeous, and better than any description in any book. You found a safe place to pull over, to take it all in, capture some of it with your cameras.

The eight days you spent in Grasse were truly idyllic. Having two beds in the room proved convenient, using one until it was a bit too used until switching to the other. You forced yourselves to leave the room at least once a day, to explore the town, enjoy the pool, visit the olive oil mill in the basement of the inn. To let housekeeping clean up the mess you continually made.

It was a challenge to stay fed and hydrated, there was always something more enticing to do. But rest, water, and food were primal needs that would force one to notice them eventually. It was upsetting to watch the days tick by, knowing that separation and some kind of ‘return to normal’ loomed at the end of it all. Austin had another project, filming in Morocco, which he seemed both excited to embark upon and sad that it meant separation from you. And you? You had a job waiting for you at the end of your Leave of Absence. A job that you were not nearly as certain about as you had been when you left for England over three months ago.

The drive to the airport in Nice was quiet, the sun not even deigning to show its face from behind the clouds as it rained for the first time since you left Normandy. Austin’s flight was earlier than yours, so you were behind the wheel, pulling up to the Departures floor. He looked at you softly as he lifted your clasped hands, pressing his lips to the back of yours.

“I’ll see you in two months cricket, as soon as we wrap in Morocco, I’m coming to invade your home.”  He grinned playfully, even as his eyes reflected sadness at your imminent separation.

“Looking forward to it, Austin.” Your voice was thin, but you did your best not to sound as pathetic as you felt.

He kissed you firmly once you had parked, reluctantly pulling back as he slid his ballcap onto his head. There had been a much more protracted and physical farewell before you had left the hotel that morning.

“Take care…” He swallowed, voice wavering a little.

“You too…And have fun in Morocco, I know you’ve always wanted to film there.” You smiled bravely and his eyes traced the features of your face for a moment longer, as though to memorize it, before he climbed out and grabbed his bags, heading inside. You watched him disappear into the crowd before driving off with a heavy, lonely sigh to return the rental car and start making your own way home.

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You covered your tired eyes, cupping them with your warm palms as you leaned back in the plush writing chair in your office. The former guest room in Austin’s rented home in Los Angeles before he had added your name to the lease and converted it into the perfect writer’s sanctuary.

Austin had invaded your home, as promised, as soon as his project in Morocco wrapped. And you had not been back from the airport with him for five minutes before you had burst into tears. Rambling about the offer from Pearce to write a script that had arrived just that morning, the crushing realization it had bought that you were so utterly changed that your ‘real’ job brought you no more satisfaction, that he had been right that night in Valence when he caught you calling yourself a writer. There had been no more denying it then.

Austin had held you, soothed you, and helped you produce a plan. Offered you a place to live and write in LA, where Pearce was based. A safety net. He had also pleaded for you to never part from him again. He had confessed it had been agony and you had rushed to agree. Tripped over your words as you tried to express you felt the same.

You let your hands fall from your eyes, blinking them clear as the heat of your skin had allowed them to produce an abundance of tears – rehydrated them. You looked at the flashing cursor on your screen. So close. Just a few more lines to finish this scene and then you could send it off to Pearce to add into the script. You looked to the plate at your elbow and smiled as you pierced the last bite of the dinner Austin had brought you before he had gone to Ashely Tisdale’s party. A party that you were also supposed to be attending.

He had come in to tell you it was time to get ready, taken one look at you, and kissed your temple.

“I’ll give her your regrets.” He had murmured warmly into your hair, returning once with dinner, before leaving you to your work.

Eating the last bit of fuel, you leaned over the keyboard and pondered and stewed until at last the next words came to you. After some minor tweaks, you nodded to yourself and sent it off to Pearce, taking your plate to the kitchen. You washed the dishes Austin had used to cook for you, eyes drifting to the calendar on the fridge. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was the premiere of At Any Cost.A gorgeous dress was hanging in the closet for you, beside his all-navy ensemble. It was there in writing, and yet you still had a tough time believing it was real. You were extremely grateful to know that you would have Austin to cling to through most of the ordeal. You sighed softly and set up the coffee to brew for the next morning before soaking in the bath and heading to bed, Austin still out even though it was late.

His head is between your thighs, that wickedly talented mouth working in partnership with his fingers to torment you, driving you ever closer towards the orgasm hovering just beyond your reach, before backing off and slowing down. Making you whine.

“Please. Austin. Please.”

The answering groan is so vivid, so real…

You jerked your head upward to find yourself sprawled across Austin’s side of the bed, face buried in his pillow, hand firmly between your legs.

“Not again…” You muttered and shifted to right yourself, to properly do something about your lingering arousal, when you heard that groan, his groan, from the chair in the corner.

Your head snapped in his direction, and you felt heat burn your cheeks as you quickly removed your hand from your folds. Caught wet handed.

“A regular occurrence, cricket? Dreaming about me?” His voice was thick and just a little bit tipsy. “I’ve only been gone for five hours…”

Swallowing your embarrassment, and focusing on your need, you crossed the floor to crawl into his lap.

“Frequently.” You whispered into his ear, rocking your hips against his, pressing your core against the outline of his cock through his pants. “You can make me cum in my sleep, Austin.” You chewed your lip, wondering if that was a bit too bold, but you had come to learn the man was fond of a filthy mouth.

The deep rumble of the growl that ripped from his chest was all the reassurance you needed. His hand slid past the waistband of your sleep shorts, fingers tracing your folds as he bit off a sharp curse.

“You’re as slippery as duckweed, cricket.” He groaned and gripped your hip with his free hand, raising then up to work your bottoms off as your own hands attacked his belt and fly.

After a bit of mutual struggle, you were impaled on his cock, sinking lower onto his length with an agonized moan as he filled you so completely. You fell forward against his chest, panting in his ear as your hips rocked against his before you raised and lowered them, riding him in earnest.

“Your mouth was on me…” You spoke breathlessly against his ear. “…devouring my cunt like it was the last food on earth…” His hips snapped up to meet your eagerly and your eyes rolled back in your head with a moan. “Those…those fucking fingers of yours curling into my g-spot and I…” You gasped as he surged to his feet, walking the few steps to the bed, laying you down upon it.

His left hand gathered both your wrists, pinioning them in his generous grip above your head as his right hand pressed down on your lower abdomen, making you feel impossibly fuller.

“You make the best noises when I do that, don’t you…” He rasped, egging you on. “Can’t get enough of my fingers…but always…” He thrust tightly against you. “…need my cock…”

“Always!” You cried out in agreement, back arching. He gave you no quarter, thumb dropping between your legs to circle your pulsing clitoris as every deep thrust nudged the head of your cervix. “Oh fuck!” You wailed softly, clasping your hands together in his grasp, squirming beneath him as your orgasm was shockingly close.

“Shit, cricket, yes…please…cum for me…” The muscles of his jaw bunched beneath his tanned skin as he tried to hold back, tried to make you finish first.

He did not have to wait long, his thumbnail accidentally catching against your sensitive nub had your orgasm striking you like white, hot lightning and his choked cry sounded as he followed shortly after.

Later that day, as you stood at his side on the red carpet, his arm wrapped around your waist, you could not stop beaming. It was a struggle to keep your eyes open, assaulted by the burn of endless camera flashes, but all the practice to maintain a pleasant expression had proved unnecessary. You had decided early on that smoldering was better left to actors and models, something he had agreed upon with the statement “couldn’t bear you looking at anyone like that except me.” You bit your lip as you stepped aside for the ‘Talent only’ shots, but he was soon holding his arm out to pull you into his side again as you moved further down the line.

As you reached the next mark on the ground, you leaned up to whisper in his ear. The aggressive heels that were currently paining your feet made the distance shorter than usual.

“A year-and-a-half ago, when I was walking into the conference room at Pinewood, I was convinced this was all a mistake.”

He threw his head back in a rich laugh, and you grinned up at him lovingly, hand resting upon his stomach, his free hand laying atop it.

This was the photo that became the most popular from that night. The caption below listing his name and yours, with Sloan Thornton written in brackets beside. Just as it was written on the credits at the end of the movie.

For it had definitely not been a mistake, after all.

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Read Austin & Cricket's Holiday Special

Nom De Plume Masterlist

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Nom De Plume | Masterlist

[Complete]

Austin Butler x Female Reader

Summary: Publishing your first, and so far, only, novel had been a major accomplishment. You had made a very deliberate decision to use a pen name, hoping to maintain a normal life and career. You never expected it to be made into a movie, nor that you would be involved in writing the script. A deep desire to protect the integrity of your writing has you risking your ordinary life as you hide in plain sight on set. The irresistible magnetism of Austin Butler, and the cruelty of starlet Cloé Elgin, combine to create as much drama behind the camera as your script creates in front of it. Will you be able to simultaneously protect your anonymity, your story, and your heart? Twelve weeks is a long time to manage these competing priorities.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Austin & Cricket's Holiday Special

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Minor Injury, Alcohol Consumption, Allusions to Drug Use, Language, Discussions of World War II, Mean Girl Trope, Mature/Explicit Themes – 18+ Only

>>> return to main masterlist

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Nom De Plume | Part Three

Nom De Plume Masterlist

Summary: A party is never just a party, particularly when hosted by Cloé Elgin.

Pairing: Austin Butler x Female Reader

Warnings: Emotional Whiplash, Mean Girl Trope, Alcohol Consumption, Allusion to Drug Use, Angst, Tears, Bullying of Reader, Confrontational Situations, Romanticization of France, Reference to Character Bleed, Vague Understanding of Movie Production, Mature/Explicit Themes – 18+ Only

Word Count: 6067

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You had been out of sorts all day. Since you woke up…like that. From that dream. From that orgasm. Time was hard to keep track of and it flowed through your fingers like water as you constantly found yourself staring off into space while taking your shower, while cooking your eggs, while choosing your outfit.

If you had a better relationship, or more accurately any relationship, with Cloé you would have begged off sick from the party. If you had messaged Austin that you weren’t feeling up to it, he would have surely appeared with a muffin basket, and you really could not handle him in the same space where you had just…

How would you even finish that sentence?! Cum at his expense? No one had been harmed but it somehow felt exploitative and extremely complicated. Clearly the whole thing was rooted in more than just smoldering desire from those two hours in your office. It was tied up tightly with the warmth in your chest and the trembling in your abdomen. It was apparent that your psyche was no longer ok with you willfully ignoring the symptoms. You had most definitely developed feelings for Austin, and there was no way to deny it any longer. So, what to do with this newly confirmed knowledge? Keep it to yourself? Try and ignite some sort of awkward conversation with the gorgeous, blonde Adonis who had surely been written by a woman?

You stepped off the train at Paddington station and pulled out your phone to follow your map app’s directions to the building where Cloé and Austin were staying. Even though it would take nearly an hour-and-a-half to get there, you would just show your face, extend an olive branch, and go home. The idea that you could have at least neutrality with Cloé was motivation enough.

The doorman took your name, letting you in to the gorgeous apartment building, and you rode the elevator up to the sixth floor. The hall was filled with revelers, all the doors open as it seemed the cast members were staying all on the same floor, and that entire floor had become one party space. You recognized a mix of cast and crew milling about, every single one of them with a beverage in hand. Every last one at least a little tipsy. You wove your way through the mass of them toward Cloé’s apartment number.

“Criiiiickeeeeee’!” You heard Austin’s jovial slur as you walked past one of the open doors and peered in to see him holding court with Cloé draped across his lap, her lips latched onto his neck. You felt immediately and intensely sick – bile rising in your throat, stomach in knots, palms sweating. “Let’s getcha a drink!”

The table in front of him was laden with glassware, smoked and unsmoked cigarettes, and the remnants of tidy lines of white powder. It was as though the universe had compiled every reason for you to remain an anonymous author and presented it in one tableau. Numbly, you settled into a chair across from the two of them, and someone…Ryan?...From the lighting crew?... put a disposable cup in your hand. You made polite small talk with him as the plastic crinkled faintly in your death grip.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Cloé working the remaining buttons of Austin’s shirt open as he watched you with glassy, unfocused eyes and took generous sips of his drink. You poured all of your attention into Ryan then, throwing him softballs to encourage him to expound on his extensive career. At some point during all this Cloé pulled Austin from the couch and behind a closed door. It must have had a hollow core as you could hear their bodies collide against it. The way her lilting French combined with his rich, husky moans. You abruptly excused yourself and set the untouched cup of liquid down, forcing yourself to walk to the elevators at a normal pace.

You managed to maintain that pace until you were outside the building and that was when you allowed your legs to burst into a run. Allowed the tears you had been holding back by sheer will to pour down your cheeks. You found a small, quiet park with a bench and sat down heavily to succumb to your anguish. Pulling out your phone, you hiccupped as you angrily texted Pearce. He was, of course, completely blameless. But you could not yell at oblivious, entangled Austin. So, Pearce would have to do.

– I should have never let you talk me into this. What a fucking mistake this whole thing was. –

You stared at the screen angrily, waiting for his reply, roughly wiping at your eyes with your shirtsleeve. You jumped as your phone started vibrating with his phone call.

“Pearce…I don’t…I can’t…” You babbled tearfully as you tucked the phone into the crook of your shoulder.

“Ok, ok, hold on. Where are you?” He asked as a particularly aggressive cabbie honked angrily at some pedestrians crossing the road behind you.

“Fuck if I know…” You looked around, overwhelmed and, frankly, lost. Your breath shuddered as you tried to calm down.

“Send me your location, I’m coming to get you, and you’re going to speak to me in full sentences.” He said sternly before ending the call.

You did as you were told, feeling reassured that an adult was taking charge of the situation. Twenty minutes later a cab pulled up beside you and Pearce jumped out, waving you in. A fresh wave of tears flooded your eyes as you slid into the back with him, sniffling and chewing your lips the entire drive back to his apartment. He installed you on his couch with a box of tissues and pressed a hot mug of tea into your hands.

“Out with it.” He said in a tone that was both gentle and commanding.

You took a sip of the tea, for courage you supposed, before you began pouring your feelings out all over his living room. It was halting at first, until your words were coming out faster than your mouth could form them. As you spoke, you came to realize that though Austin had not done anything explicitly wrong, he had truly hurt you. Clearly your feelings had been one sided, all those visits to your apartment and those car rides had been purely professional for him. And you had never had the chance to put your emotions into words for him, so naturally, he had no idea how you felt. But you were also feeling quite set-up by Cloé. She had seen your attraction to Austin clear as day and dangled acceptance into the clique in front of you to get you to that party just so she could show off that she had turned Austin into her fuck toy.

Pearce was suitably sympathetic and outraged on your behalf, ensuring a constant supply of tea and biscuits to fuel your outpouring.

“I’m…I’m so sorry. This was not…” He, an accomplished screenwriter, struggled for words after you finally fell silent.

“No…no neither of us could have known, I suppose…I’m sorry I yelled at you over text…” You sniffed and he laughed once, shaking his head.

“Well clearly you don’t want to see either one of them for a while, hm?”

“Fuck, I have no idea how I’m supposed to work with them for the next eight weeks.” You looked down, brows furrowed.

“Well I. I hope you’ll stay, and I do have an idea for the next week at least?” He offered hopefully and you looked up to meet his eyes. “The set is closed for the next five days of shooting anyway, as they’re filming scenes with nudity. Which I am also very certain you do not wish to be a part of.” He grinned a little at your emphatic nod. “So, I’ll do set this week and you do dailies for me.”

Your eyes widened.

“But that’s…way above my pay grade, I’d have no idea what I’m doing in there?!”

“Honestly? I just read along with the script and confirm which takes are accurate. Otherwise, Greta knows exactly what she’s looking for.”

“What if…she sees right through me? I’m…not very good at hiding my opinions…” You fidgeted with your hair nervously.

“Would it be so bad if she knew?” He raised his eyebrows and you sighed softly, shaking your head.

“No, I trust her. Barely know her but, she’s just a lovely person…”

“That’s settled then. And when you are back on set, it’ll be fully clothed scenes for a week and then France.” He waggled his eyebrows and your breath hitched in your throat.

“France…oh we’re so close aren’t we…” You murmured, aching to see Normandy. To see places that you had only ever visited in your mind.

Pearce smiled softly and patted your head.

“Exactly. Now, you can sleep in my guest room tonight, no use in you navigating your way back to Slough in your current state.”

He tucked you up into bed and right before you turned out the light, Austin had texted you his call time. You replied that you were on dailies that week and would make your own way to and from the studio. You then turned off the phone. Despite your swirling mind and the cold hollow feeling below your sternum, a deep, dreamless sleep was merciful enough to take you. You took the train back to Slough with Pearce the next morning, stopping to shower and change at your apartment before heading into Pinewood around noon.

Even though set was closed, every corner of the studio was buzzing with news of Austin and Cloé’s romance. The story of the rocking trailer from two days ago growing more and more epic with each retelling. If it was to be believed, and that was a big if, they had hooked up right after she dragged him for your office. That was a particularly awful piece of math to calculate.

You got a text from Pearce when filming finished for the day and decided to take the long way to the editing suite, making sure to avoid make-up, wardrobe, and especially the trailers. Greta was making her way down the hall from the more direct route and smiled to see you there waiting for her.

“Hi! Pearce told me you two decided to divide and conquer, a very wise decision. Come on in.” She led you into the compressed version of a theatre with a bank of editing equipment about halfway back from the screen.

She was so gracious and welcoming, offering you dinner as she ate hers. You could tell she was weeks into multi-tasking, and you could not help but be impressed by her upbeat attitude despite the chaos of her life. Watching Austin and Cloé mimic the act of love making in high definition was decidedly painful and you clung to your script binder like a ship to anchor in a hurricane. It was helpful to have something to be able to focus on, to give purpose to the whole exercise.

While it was maybe not an Olivia-Rodrigo’s-SOUR-on-repeat level of devastation, traitor did become your anthem for that week.

guess you didn’t cheat but you’re still a traitor

There were comfort foods, copious amounts of tears, and heart spilling conversations at all hours with Pearce and your closest friend. They helped you lay your burgeoning feelings for Austin to rest, to let go of what was clearly not meant to be. They helped you keep yourself in one piece and focused on your desire to ensure your novel was properly translated onto film.

You and Greta proved to work well together, a natural partnership solidifying between the two of you.

“I’ve asked Pearce if I can keep you next week, too. He was delighted to have an earlier finish time, but what are your thoughts?” She asked you as that week of shooting came to a close.

You smiled warmly and nodded.

“I would love to.”

“Great, and we will need your eye on set as well. Big climax with the fight scene next week.”

“Of course, yes. Thank you very much for your faith in me, Greta.”

She winked warmly and went off to do yet another task that night. You could not help but wonder if she had figured it out… Making a mental note to never, ever get into directing, you happily headed home for a few days rest and fortification. You had managed to avoid Austin, and Cloé, for a week. But you had a job to do, and you would have to come face to face with them eventually.

You were thankful there was a new face on set this week; Jannis Niewöhner had arrived to portray Leutnant Khöler the German lieutenant who provided Yvette with special favour in return for sex. The reason she was labelled as a collaborator. He was very kind, very handsome, and a refreshing brunette contrast to Austin’s golden blonde. You had been very impressed with his acting in Munich: Edge of War and his casting announcement had thrilled you.

He was idly chatting with Pearce and yourself as Austin strolled onto set with Cloé hanging from his lanky frame possessively. The pair of them were so completely wrapped up in one another, in their own little world, that it was easy to avoid their notice. Greta called Jannis over onto set to run through the shots of that day and you sat behind Pearce, watching quietly. Cloé alternated between preening and laying claiming hands on Austin’s chest and shoulders.

He hadn’t texted you in over a week, you realized. No questions, no offers of a ride. Complete silence. What a naïve fool you had been. And how odd it was to be so hurt by someone so oblivious. About midway through the morning, you slid from your chair, asking Pearce and Greta if they wanted anything from craft services. Cloé happened to the flouncing by and jumped in on the order completely uninvited.

“Yeah I’ll have a half-caf extra hot oat latte with cinnamon sprinkles and Aus will have…Babe? Drink?” She yelled back over her shoulder, and you ducked your head to make quick notes on your phone, hoping he wouldn’t notice you were involved.

“Black coffee, babe!” He replied before turning back to talk to Jannis.

“Got it.” You said tersely before she could open her mouth again and made a quick exit. You grabbed an extra coffee for Jannis, because hey you were already juggling two full trays and he deserved to feel welcome. Thankfully one of the crafties held the door open for you and you slipped back into the studio to deliver the drinks, setting the tray with three actors’ cups near their chairs as they were deep in discussion with Greta again.

You did your very best to stay low and out of Cloé’s eye line for the rest of the day but eventually a trip to the washroom was required. As you were washing your hands you noticed your hair needed a bit of attention and you used your damp fingers to try and tidy it. One of the stalls behind you opened and out sashayed Cloé, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror coldly.

“Merde you are so plain…” She mused before laughing maliciously, the sound following her and her unwashed hands out of the washroom.

Your eyes flooded with heat, and you blinked back unbidden tears. You had felt such a relief graduating from high school, leaving the queen bee of your generation behind. Apparently, they were just out in the wild in this industry. You roughly pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes to cram those tears back in before you headed back out to do your job like a fucking professional. You watched from your chair as filming continued.

Somehow, the fact that she perfectly captured the nuanced character of Yvette made the fact that she was a raging bitch in real life so much worse. If you could hate all of her maybe it would have been easier. Easier to watch her hold Austin under her spell. Easier to endure her cruel comments and demeaning requests of you. But nothing could make it easier to tolerate her campaign for Yvette to have a superhero glory moment.

The climax of the movie involved Yvette taking the bullets Leutnant Khöler fired at Antoine, with Antoine dealing the killing blow to the lieutenant with a pitchfork. Around day three of that week, Cloé had begun wheedling and pushing for Yvette to be the one to wield the pitchfork, taking the shots as a result of her actions rather than for Antoine.

By day five, you had reached your limit. She was planted in front of Greta and Pearce, arguing for the sake of her ego in a whiny and entitled voice. You snapped, leaping to your feet, your binder crashing to the ground as it was launched carelessly from your lap.

“Because that’s not who Yvette IS! She’s not some warrior princess, she’s not badass. She’s an ordinary person in extraordinary times! Ordinary! Not the same old extraordinary people Hollywood trope. I will not allow you to ruin the essence of her character for your vanity!” The words tore out of as you found yourself unable to take one more moment of her condescension and arrogance.

Deafening silence flooded the entire studio as all eyes turned to settle on the drama unfolding. No one dared to move, dared to breathe as you crossed your arms, your own eyes fixed on Cloé.

She had looked between Pearce and Greta, seeking back-up. “So we’re just going let some assistant tell us what to do here?! What a fucking bore this movie is going to be” “I am afraid, Cloé, that I will have to defer to the author here.” Greta said coolly, the long evening hours in the editing suite having obviously given you away.

Your grip on the sleeves of your shirt tightened until your fingers were numb as you fought hard to school your face. As every single person turned to stare at you openly. Including Cloé. Including Austin. That was that, then.

“Thank you.” You managed to breathe in gratitude to Greta before turning to walk out of the studio, yet again forcing your feet to move at a normal pace. You sighed to yourself as you opened the door to a deluge of warm spring rain, hesitating a moment, the desire to flee making your lungs burn before you dashed out into it. You skidded to a stop as you heard your name shouted across the parking lot and turned to look back at Austin, standing under an umbrella held up by his make-up artist who had politely turned their back to you but still…you were not alone.

“Cricke’, I…well I don’ know wha’ ta say I…”

You laughed bitterly as the rain soaked further into your clothes and hair.

“Austin you’re only out here because I wrote the fucking thing.” You croaked, eyes welling with tears as you finally allowed yourself to speak honestly. “Go back to your starlet.” You turned and marched off through the wind and rain and puddles, leaving him speechless under his umbrella.

Once you had been certain you were out of his sight you broke into a run, dashing up to your office and treating yourself to a cab ride home. You pulled out your phone only after a hot shower and a change of fresh, comfortable clothes. You chose only to reply to Pearce, apologizing and asking him to cover dailies that evening, which he was more than happy to do for you. You ignored the texts from Austin.

You stood at the knock on your door, thinking it was your Chinese delivery. And well, it was in way, but carrying it was Greta. Your eyes shot wide. Glancing down to your comfy clothes, you frowned, but she was shaking her head.

“Can I give you a hug?” She asked softly and you looked to her startled for a moment before nodding your head ‘yes’.

She stepped in and hugged you tightly, careful to balance the food behind you.

“I’m sorry you had such a shitty day on set…” She said as she pulled back and you waved her into your apartment.

“It was in no way your fault, Greta…” You watched in stunned silence as she unpacked the food and guided you to sit with her on the couch.

“I’d heard Cloé was problematic from others in the industry, and I am so grateful you found a way to be with us to protect the intent of your writing, but I am also extremely sorry that she pushed you to the breaking point today.”

You sniffled as you found your eyes yet again damp.

“You’re doing such a good job of it, I’m so excited you’re the director.” You gushed in a watery voice, and she laughed softly, pulling you into another tight hug.

“We really need you around…we’ve got all the location scenes in France to shoot, and we won’t make it without you. So. What do I need to do to make you stay?” She asked you frankly and you gulped.

“Abso.absolutely nothing, I am.” You took a deep steadying breath. “I am perfectly happy to continue as we have been…” It was somewhat of a lie but her confidence boosting heart-to-heart was working wonders on you in that moment.

“Well, we both know that’s not possible. But my thought is this. The splinter unit is going to Germany for the next three weeks to film fighting scenes for the paratrooper unit. I was thinking of sending Pearce with them and keeping you in Normandy with me while we film Yvette’s back story.” Seeing you hesitate she hastened to add, “Cloé has already changed her tune. Apparently once she learned you were the author, she had a full melt down in her trailer. I would expect apology flowers any minute. She’s not nice but she knows who to suck up to.”

You nodded thoughtfully, knowing it would give you a break from Austin again…and after you’d just shouted at him in public that would surely be for the best.

“Yes. Yvette is the whole story; Antoine is just the love interest. So yes, I would be happy to help ensure we get it right.” You managed to voice.

She grinned brightly in reply and the two of you dug into your takeout. It was a good thing she had appeared; you had ordered far too much food. As she predicted, a vase of a dozen white roses, apparently a flower for forgiveness, arrived not twenty minutes later. You had not realized the weight you had been carrying around as you pretended to be something you weren’t. It was all out in the open now, and you adored discussing and owning your writing with Greta.

Before you knew it, you were unpacking your bags in the Saint-Lô hotel that would be your home for the next six weeks. France did her very best to heal your still-tender heart, offering you springtime blossoms and warm buttery croissants. Even Cloé was on her best behaviour here as she deferred to you easily and often. These scenes were pivotal to de-stigmatizing the survival actions of women in occupied Europe. It was easy to look back and crow that one would have never stooped so low as to entertain the affections of a Nazi officer, but you had been determined to prove that humans did whatever it took to survive, and they should not all be shamed for it.

There was a fine line between those you were trying to redeem, and the type of collaborators who were complicit, or active participants, in the persecution of their neighbours. That was what made this series of scenes so very crucial to nail. Watching the dailies from both the main unit and the splinter unit, you and Greta were cautiously optimistic that everything was coming together quite nicely. Keeping merely a portion of Greta’s schedule was exhausting, and left you no time to explore the country that you had been so excited to finally set foot in.

So, the free day you found yourself with at the end of the first three weeks was a blessing. The sun was shining, the weather was warm, and you were excited to get out and explore. You slid on a good pair of walking shoes and pulled open the door, jumping with a shout as Austin was right there, hand raised, having been about to knock. You pressed your hand to your chest to slow your beating heart and let the nervous laughter bubble up your throat.

“Sorry! Sorry, Austin. Some day I won’t yell at you. I promise.” You smiled softly and found that your heart hurt significantly less than the last time you had seen at him.

His raised hand shifted to rub against the back of his neck nervously as he chuckled softly.

“Some day I won’t scare you, cricket. I promise.” He replied and you found yourself staring at his voice. His real voice. A hint of Elvis’s twang still hung around like a bad penny, but the rest of the vowels were all Southern California. “Are you…headed out somewhere?”

You nodded dumbly before shaking your head to clear your brain, trying to remind yourself how to speak.

“Just going out for a walk around, nowhere in particular.” You bit your lower lip, rocking back and forth on your heels a little. “D…did you want to join me?” You had come to realize, over the last three weeks apart, that you really ought to apologize for the lies you had spun around him. Somewhere outside seemed to be the safest place, particularly as the entire production was booked into the hotel rooms around you.

It was his turn to look startled, but he managed a nod.

“Can I just…grab a hat?”

“Of course.” You smiled softly and he easily strode a few doors down the hall with his long legs before using his key to dart in and grab a black baseball cap. He fixed it on his head as his long strides brought him back over to you and the pair of you headed down the stairs and out the front door. “Do you have a favourite direction?” You asked, trying to ease the tension a little.

“Mmmm south.” He replied, rubbing his fingers along his jaw and you nodded, turning to follow the road that way. The pair of you walked in silence as the town thinned, and nothing but farms and fields surrounded you.

“I just wanted to…” He started at the same moment you blurted, “I’m sorry, Austin.”

He stopped walking and turned to look at you, stunning blue eyes wide with shock. You swallowed tightly.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been lying to you since the day I met you.” You forced yourself to look into those eyes as you apologized. “I’m sorry I yelled at you in public and made assumptions.” You stopped as he held up a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with the fingers of the other as he shook his head.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing.” He cut in and you still found that normal voice distracting. “I got in way too deep. And I let things happen that I am not proud of. And I know that I hurt you.” You swallowed roughly at the anguish in his tone and looked to the side, finding a sudden, intense interest in a herd of dairy cows.

“You don’t have to apologize for that, Austin, we weren’t…”

“But I wanted us to be.” He said quickly and your eyes shot back to his, stunned. “I got so wrapped up in Antoine and Yvette that I didn’t stop Cloé when she made a move on me that day. I lost sight of Austin and Cricket and hurt all of us in the process. I ended whatever that was. It was…I just hope I haven’t fucked up the movie as well.” The wobble in his voice made your breath hitch in your throat and you reached up quickly to squeeze his shoulder.

“The dailies look great, Austin. It’s coming together so well, and Greta is so happy…” You hurriedly reassured him, your own voice wavering with emotion.

He looked to you, eyes shining with unshed tears, and you stepped forward, pulling him into a tight hug.

“I forgive you, Austin.” You murmured against his chest, feeling his arms coming to wrap around you, pulling you tightly into his rosewood and cinnamon scent. You had missed that scent…

“There’s nothing to forgive you for cricket, but I am happy to say I do forgive you if it helps.” He sniffled, laying his cheek on the top of your head.

“Pretty sure not lying is one of the ten commandments so there is definitely something to forgive me for. So, thank you for doing so.” You pulled back to look up at him and he smiled weakly.

“Thank you, cricket.” He murmured and you chuckled.

“I don’t think either of us are going to out-apologize or out-thank the other, so should we maybe quit while we’re ahead?” You smiled softly, squeezing him once more before stepping back from his embrace as he laughed softly.

He took your hand and you found yourself lacing your fingers through his as though you’d done it a million times. His smile widened and he continued walking down the road with you until you came across a small café overlooking a field that was actively being tilled in preparation for the growing season. He tugged gently on your hand and led you inside where the scent of freshly baked bread enveloped the pair of you.

“It smells amazing in here…” You murmured and somehow you managed to communicate with the staff in a mix of languages and gestures, ordering some sandwiches and drinks, sitting out on the terrace surrounded by lilac bushes.

You were beaming like a kid in a candy store as it felt like walking straight into your own novel. You closed your eyes as you savoured a bite of your sandwich, sipping your drink slowly.

“This is perfect. I’m only going on walks with you from now on cricket. None of them have ever turned out this nice before.” He smiled warmly and you looked down shyly.

You could not lie, you missed the Louisiana accent, but the intention behind using his regular speaking voice was not lost on you. He was making a deliberate effort to separate himself from the character and spend time with you as himself. Besides, the nickname he had bestowed upon you still sounded very good this way, too.

“This is a first for me, too. Must be some kind of combined magic.” You replied softly, wiping some crumbs from your lower lip with your napkin. You did not miss the way his eyes followed your movements. “How was Germany?” You tried to refocus him, not quite ready to consider ‘Austin and cricket’ just yet.

His eyes quickly rose to meet yours.

“It was great! Boys trip is what it felt like. It was really interesting to explore that part of Antoine. It was also really nice to have Yvette’s reply tucked into my breast pocket.”

You felt heat spreading along your cheek bones up to the tips of your ears.

“I saw that…in one of the dailies; you reading it in the background of one of the shots.” You worried your lip with your teeth lightly. “I’m a terrible liar, I really don’t know how I managed to get so far…”

He chuckled softly and shook his head.

“In retrospect, I probably should have seen it in the way Pearce deferred to you. The perfect answers to my thousand questions. How easily you wrote that reply from Yvette.” He paused, pressing his lips together before tilting his head. “May I ask you something, though?” He continued as you nodded. “Why were you so determined to remain anonymous?”

You exhaled slowly, considering the best way to answer this without repainting that moment from the party in London.

“I live a very ordinary life. I have a regular job and I can go out and do things without anyone noticing me except my friends and family. It’s comfortable. And watching the way the public life tends to chew people up and spit them out. Well, I was terrified. Not that I, in any way, shape, or form expected my novel to do this well. But the potential of it scared me, what I could lose as a result. But it turned out that Yvette’s character was more important than all of that to me. And that is something I will have to reckon with soon, I’m sure.” Your fingers twisted and tugged at your napkin as you struggled to explain yourself, eyes fixed on your empty plate in front of you. “Sorry I’m rambling, I’m so much better on paper.” You glanced up at him and hesitated at the intensity of the look he was giving you.

“I’m sorry…” He rasped out, apologizing yet again and your eyebrows came together in confusion. “I’m sorry that you were put in the position of having to make that choice.”

“It was my choice to come here, pretend to be someone else.” You shrugged your shoulders, still unsure what the fallout of it all would be.

His hand reached across the table, fingers enveloping yours, squeezing gently.

“Brave little cricket…” He smiled fondly and you laughed shyly, picking at some imaginary lint on your thigh. “I’m really, very fond of you. I had every intention of asking you out that night before…. everything got wildly out of control.” He pulled at his plush lower lip with his free hand as you glanced up at him through your eyelashes. “And I would still really like to but I’m going to hold off until…. until I can get this film out of my system.” Your mouth started moving, trying to make words…sounds even…to no avail. “You don’t have to answer now I just, wanted to get that out there.” He smiled softly and squeezed your hand again before standing slowly. “We should head back before it gets too late.”

You nodded quickly and stood with him, walking back to your hotel in a sort of dazed silence, heart having completely lost track of its normal rhythm as the feelings you thought you had laid to rest were quivering to life in your chest. Yes, he had hurt you. Especially with the latest insight that he had reciprocated your feelings before Cloé… It was difficult to say what she had done; what Austin’s level of instigation and participation had been.

There seemed to have been some element of character bleed – the dark side of method acting. And one could argue you hadn’t really met Austin until today. Had been working alongside a person who was at least in part, if not completely, Antoine.

And yet.

Your attraction, your adoration for Austin had re-ignited so easily over the course of a few hours. You were admittedly grateful for his insistence that he would not pursue you fully until filming ended. Some time to process, to be very certain, would be the best for both of you. He stopped in front of the door to your room, and you looked up to him as cupped your cheek gently.

“Thank you very much for the incredible day.” He smiled, fingers caressing your cheekbone.

You fought against the urge to flutter your eyelids to look into those deep azure eyes.

“Right back at you, Austin.” You murmured shyly and licked your lips.

His eyes followed the movement of your tongue intently, inhaling sharply through his teeth, hissing a little before he forced himself to take a step back.

“See you tomorrow.” He smiled, pulling off his hat and running his long fingers through his hair before heading down the hall to step into his room as you unlocked your door and fell onto your bed to smother the tiniest, but giddiest, squeal in the bedding.

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Read Part Four

Nom De Plume Masterlist

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Nom De Plume | Part Two

Nom De Plume Masterlist

Summary: The first month of filming brings many surprises – Cloé’s behaviour, Austin’s kindness, and your reaction to it all.

Pairing: Austin Butler x Female Reader

Warnings: Mean Girl Trope, Medium Reader Injury, Austin With a Cajun Accent, Vague Understanding of Movie Production, Mature/Explicit Themes [Dream Sex, Oral – M/F Receiving, Penetration, Unprotected Sex] – 18+ Only

GIF credit: @carriediariesedits

Word Count: 5987

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Filming was a marathon.

Greta knew exactly what she was looking for in each scene. Each shot. And she was happy to film whatever number of takes required to achieve her vision. You were truly in awe of Austin and Cloé’s ability to reset – shifting back in the exact position they started from, delivering their lines with the same emotion and energy as the first eight times.

You wondered if this is what writing looked like to others…only a much more internal process, naturally. Greta had chosen to start production with a few scenes of Antoine and Yvette getting to know one another in the barn, and it felt like a very natural place for everyone to ease their way into the story. You found that the burden on yourself and Pearce during filming was minimal – supplying lines, answering questions, assisting Continuity.

When Greta called cut, Austin would usually make his way over to check in with Pearce and yourself. He would clarify finer points of his character, motivations, and how each line fit into the bigger picture. The degree to which he was invested in the story made your heart ache fondly.

You had let Austin know that ‘Sloan’ would be fine with answering any questions he might have, he just needed to pass them along through you. Over the past two weeks, however, he had not once taken you up on that offer. He seemed more than satisfied with the answers that Pearce and you were able to supply on the spot.

Cloé…. well, she was fantastic on screen. Off? You did not have many kind things to say. She would lay helplessly as her team rushed over to her to ensure her every comfort. You expected a certain amount of swarming by hair, make-up, and wardrobe. But they would literally hand feed her and hold the straw on her Perrier which was chilled to her specified temperature. She basked in the attention, and actively called more to herself when her team weren’t satisfying her. Needily fishing for compliments from any crew member she could make eye contact with.

Her most annoying behaviour, by far, was born of her constant desire to have Austin at her side. She would croon his name and, being a gentleman, he would return to her even though you could tell he had more questions for Pearce and yourself. She fussed and cooed and petted at him constantly. The man deserved a medal for his patience with her. ‘Or maybe he likes it…’ the nastier part of your brain stabbed at the fragile blossom of feelings budding beneath your breastbone.

You huffed quietly at yourself and took Pearce’s coffee order, refreshing your mind with a walk to the craft services trailer just outside the studio. You were reaching for the door, two hot beverages balanced in one hand and a snack in your pocket, when it suddenly swung open toward you, making you jump with a squeak. You were fumbling with the drinks in an almost comical fashion when Austin’s large, steady hands seized a cup in each, smoothly avoiding disaster. You pressed your hand to your heart and exhaled slowly.

“Sorry there, makin’ ya jump yet again…” He grimaced.

You shook your head violently.

“I’m sorry for basically shouting in your face. And very, very grateful for your drink rescue.” You smiled warmly and offered your hands to take them.

“Why don’ we getcha a tray?” He winked teasingly and held the drinks hostage, heading over to the cart to get a coffee for himself and requesting a tray.

You quickly packed his drink into it with the other beverages and he looked to you startled. You smirked back up at him triumphantly, the chuckle that he emitted sending a thrill through you. He grabbed the drinks before turning with you to head back inside.

“So…is it as borin’ as ya thought it woul’ be?” He smirked at you with a raised eyebrow.

You could not help the laugh that shot out of your throat.

“Is it that obvious? Gosh I need to work on my poker face.” You joked but shook your head. “It’s…quite analogous to the process of writing. I just…didn’t expect it? But it makes a lot of sense that…getting it to the point that the creator is looking for takes trial and error.” You opened and held the door for him, gesturing him through.

“My, whatta generous answer. Most people are simply bore’ ta tears.” He laughed cheekily and you couldn’t help but join in.

You looked up to see Cloé’s eyes trained on the two of you, a frightening coldness in her expression. It was not one you had ever seen from her before, and it was extremely unsettling.

“Well, it’ll be a nice change o’ pace ta break outta this bar’ tomorro’ ‘n’ shoot on tha back lot.” Austin continued, resecuring your attention.

“Yes! Male bonding.” You grinned as you looked back to him and he laughed again, removing his cup before handing you the tray. “After two weeks in this barn, I can honestly say I’m excited.”

You watched as he took a deep sip, savouring the warmth with closed eyes. You stood there, spellbound by his presence. His mannerisms. Pearce broke your focus by reaching in between the two of you to snag his cup from the tray.

“Thanks for this.” He murmured tiredly and patted your head.

You felt for Pearce, not only was he attending filming all day, but he was also reviewing the daily footage with Greta well into the evening.

“All right folks, break is over, places please!” The assistant director called, and Austin tensed, looking around for something to do with his coffee.

“I’ll take care of it for you, go ahead.” You smiled, holding out the tray and he mouthed ‘thank you’ before hurrying back to his place amongst the straw.

You took your seat behind Pearce and looked up to set, almost choking on the sip you’d just taken. Cloé was sending you that fiercely cold look once again, her hand splayed on Austin’s chest as makeup touched up his lips. You looked down to the script in your lap quickly, as though that gaze physically hurt you. As far as you knew they were simply co-stars, but her behaviour spoke of something more. Or, at least the desire for something more?

The next morning dawned sunny and warm, the perfect weather for shooting the tarmac scene. You had opted to walk to the backlot, soaking in the smell of the damp earth coming back to life with spring. Pearce had offered to take your bag with him on the golf cart, but with all of its occupants it was quite packed, so you’d waved him off as they went ahead of you to the outdoor set. You were about halfway there when yet another golfcart passed you. You looked up and furrowed your brow in confusion as Cloé was riding on the back. She was not on the call sheet for today, so you found her presence surprising. Seeing you, she loosened her grip on the papers in her hand, sending them fluttering into the trees.

“Can you…Thanks!” Was all you heard of her shouted statement, but the meaning was clear enough.

Clean up after me.

Sighing heavily, you set your heavy bag down on the side of the road and began picking up the sheets of loose paper, frowning to see it was script pages. Your hard work, carelessly tossed into the woods to put you back in the place she felt you ought to be in. Beneath her. You followed the trail of pages further into the long grass, under the trees, until you suddenly came across a rather steep hollowing running through the wooded area.

There were just four more pages down there, and you were not about to give up now. The slope was unfortunately not as stable as it appeared, and your feet slid down the turf as you plummeted to the bottom of the hollow. You had thankfully not landed in the water; however, your right ankle had definitely folded up under you and was not wanting any weight to be put on it. Stubbornly, you hopped and limped to gather the last of the pages, hissing and wincing at the hot lances of pain that seared up your leg when you tried to use the injured ankle.

“Fuck me…” You growled to yourself bitterly, looking up the steep wall of the hollow. You folded up the script pages and stuck them into the waistband of your pants at the small of your back, pulling your shirt down over them before trying to pull yourself out. Your yelp was uncontrollable and pathetic to your own ears. You turned to look down the length of the hollow, considering walking along it back toward the office. There must be flat ground somewhere. But a persistent ache had started in your joint, and you truly doubted your ability to get far.

 Footsteps sounded in the grass above you, and you gasped, looking up to see Austin staring down at you wide-eyed.

“Whatcha doin’ down here in tha grass, cricke’?” He tilted his head in confusion. “Saw yer bag back there. Pretty sure we’re filmin’ up tha road, no?” His eyes narrowed as he saw you holding your foot off the ground, only the tips of your toes on your right foot touching the turf. “Yer hur’…”

He slid down quickly to stand beside you, crouching down to assess your ankle. He barely touched it and you yelped again, immediately following it up with an apology. He straightened and frowned softly, taking a deep breath and turning to yell back up to the road.

“ME-” The rest of the word ‘medic’ was cut off by your palm sealing over his mouth with a little more force than you intended, but your reaction was filled with urgency.

“Please don’t make a fuss, please don’t…” Huge, hot tears of humiliation mingled with pain rolled down your cheeks. “I’m not even supposed to be here, please don’t make a fuss, I’m not, I don’t, please…” You rambled, leaning against the bank of the hollow in defeat.

He gently gripped your wrist and peeled your hand from his notably soft lips before gathering you to his chest in a reassuring hug.

“Hey, hey shhh…I gotcha, ok? We’ll getcha outta here…” He looked over the terrain thoughtfully before pulling his head back and craning his neck to catch your eyes with his. “Ok I got ‘n idea, ya trus’ me?”

You sniffled and nodded pathetically, leaning on him a little. He squeezed you once more before stepping back and turning around.

“Hop on my back.” He said, looking back at you over his shoulder as he bent his knees and your eyes widened in shock. “I mean it, we’ll climb out together.”

You wiped your eyes and bit your lip before hobbling forward and pushing up onto his back. His hands found the backs of your knees and hoisted you higher. You slid your arms under his to reach up through his armpits and grab at the fabric of the uniform covering the front of his shoulders, not wanting to choke him.

“Thank ya, cricke’. I do like breathin’.” He smiled and wrapped your legs around his slender waist. “Hold on tigh’ now, I need both han’s.” You tensed your leg muscles to hold on, pressing a whimper into the back of his neck at the pain. He lurched forward and scrambled his way out of the hollow before standing on flat ground. His hands quickly slid under your knees once more, releasing the pressure on your ankle as he carefully but quickly worked his way back to the road. “Yer doin’ so grea’, cricke’, almos’ there.”

You didn’t dare look over his shoulder, not wanting to see the faces of the people waiting on the golf cart. Didn’t even look up as he turned to deposit you in his empty spot on the backward facing bench. He knelt before you, looking up at you as you refused to look up at him.

“Can we getcha some help now, cricke’?” He tilted his head and you finally relented, nodding softly. He smiled warmly and it was not five minutes from the time the driver radioed the medical team to when their van showed up.

“Go on, I’ve taken enough of your time.” You looked to him firmly as the medics moved you to sit on the tailgate of their van.

“Ya sure?” He hesitated and you shooed him away with a gesture of your hand, offering him a brave smile which he returned before heading off to set.

Two hours, and a trip to the Accident & Emergency department, later, you knew it was not broken. It was, however, a nasty high ankle sprain. You were not allowed to bear weight on it for at least three days, so you were settled into the office with your leg propped up on the coffee table, an ice wrap around your ankle, and your shiny new set of crutches leaning against the wing of your armchair. That was how Austin found you near three o’clock that afternoon, carrying a cup of the same drink you’d enjoyed after your trip to craft services with him yesterday.

You looked up from your laptop where you were working on something for Pearce and scrunched your nose at his expression of sympathy.

“I really did it this time…” You sighed dejectedly, saving your document and closing the lid on the laptop. He set the warm drink in your hands and settled across from you in Pearce’s chair. It was then that you noticed he was in his own clothes, jeans and a light knit black sweater.

“Not broken, though?” He asked hopefully and you shook your head.

“Just a sprain. Thank you. Thank you very much for helping me at my most pathetic.” You looked down, slightly ashamed, in retrospect, at your overly dramatic behaviour.

His warm hand pressed against your left knee and squeezed gently.

“Be kind ta yerself there, cricke’. You were hur’. I’m jus’ glad I saw yer bag…” He smiled gently and you looked up to him slowly.

“I was wondering that…how you knew when to show up. Thank you.” You repeated again.

“Yer verra welcome. So, what are yer orders?” He glanced at your foot and then to your crutches before his eyes returned to yours.

“I’m working from home for the next few days, just came back to get my laptop then I’ll catch a cab. No walking on it at all for three days, then slowly add weight back on it over the next few weeks.” You leaned down to snag your laptop back from where it rested against your chair and packed up your laptop.

“Lemme drive ya again? We know tha way…” he offered hopefully, and you hesitated but found you did not have the strength to argue.

“I’m going to owe you a lot more than a conduit to a reclusive author...” You sighed in defeat, and he shook his head, standing to unplug and reel in your charging cord.

“Consider us even if I can cook yer dinner tonigh’.” He collected your things, sliding your bag over his own shoulder before holding out the crutches for you to help yourself to your feet.

It was awkward but he was patient and made sure you were steady.

“That does not compute.” You finally replied to his offer. “That puts me further in your debt.”

You slowly progressed along the hallway with him, swinging the crutches forward before swinging your left leg forward, alternating between the two as your right foot stayed bent at the knee behind you to keep it off the ground.

“Ah, but you’ve neglecte’ ta include tha coefficien’ where it makes me really happy ta cook fer people.” He countered and you laughed despite your struggle.

“Coefficient, hmmm?” You teased and breathed a sigh of relief to see his car and driver waiting outside the studio. Not much further now.

“ ‘xactly.” He replied firmly and took the crutches from you once you’d sunk down into the backseat. The driver then took the crutches from him, tucking them into the trunk as you carefully swung into the car completely and buckled in.

He slid in beside you and looked to you expectantly before you sighed fondly.

“I really don’t have the wherewithal to deny you, so do your worst.” You smiled wearily and leaned back in the seat.

“Perfect. D’ya need groceries?” He asked as the driver headed off toward Slough.

“No, thankfully I went to the store yesterday. Fully stocked.” You looked to him with a nod before giving the driver your precise address. He parked in the lot in front of your building. As you were working your way out of the car, the two men arranged for Austin to get home later that evening without the driver needing to just wait around for him.

You had never been more grateful for an elevator as you rode quietly up to the fourth floor, leading Austin down the hall to your simple one bedroom. You headed straight for the couch, needing a rest from the crutches, and Austin set your things down beside you before heading to the kitchen. You settled in, propping up your leg as you watched him assess the ingredients before preparing dinner for you. He also found time to deliver a fresh ice pack to ensure you were as comfortable as possible.

The kitchen, dining, and living room were all one open space in the apartment, and your view of him was unimpeded. He seemed confident in the kitchen, his knife skills were top calibre, and in what felt like no time he was presenting you with a bowl of pasta. The enticing aroma of it made your eyes water in gratitude.

“Thank you, Austin, this smells amazing…” You murmured in awe, blinking as he took a seat on the floor in front of the couch with his back propped against the coffee table, cradling his own bowl. “Wait, no I can move…”

He shook his head, looking up at you as he chewed his generous mouthful before swallowing.

“This is fine, cricke’. Eat up.” He took a smaller bite, eyes never leaving your face as you did the same, his lips flickering up into a smile at the happy sigh you emitted.

“So yummy…” You exclaimed softly and barely uttered another word as you ate every last bite, the fact that you had missed lunch only registering in that moment.

He beamed as he took the empty bowl from you.

“There’re two more servins’, I’ll put ‘em in tha fridge fer ya.”

He took the dishes to the kitchen and washed up, leaving things to dry in the drain tray. He came back and took the ice pack off your ankle.

“Don’t wan’ tha’ ta give ya frostbite. Now…” He crouched down in front of you, eyes level with yours. “Anythin’ else ya need afore I leave?”

You shook your head quickly, feeling heat bloom in your cheeks at his proximity.

“Then may I reques’ somethin’ selfish?” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Would ya be willin’ ta share yer numbe’? I…Pearce is so helpful, but I really ‘preciate yer input, too.”

Heat splotched down your neck and across your chest, but you managed a nod, pulling out your own phone and switching details with him.

“I will, quite literally, be right here on this couch so text whenever I can be of assistance.” You spoke once you were capable of coherent thought, eager to repay him for all his help today.

“It’ll be strange withoutcha on set…but ya rest up, ‘kay?” He unfolded his body to stand to his full, lanky height and you swallowed thickly.

“Thank you, Austin…” You replied earnestly, watching him give a small wave before heading down to meet his driver.

You felt banished. Useless. There was only so much work to do remotely, so when the first text arrived from Austin the next day you practically dropped your phone in your haste to read it. To help him.

– Cloé is asking why Antoine doesn’t speak more fluent French, and I think I have the answer, but would you be able to confirm the reason for me? –

Seeing her name made you frown a little, but you were happy to provide the answer to him.

– Of course! The state of Louisiana removed Cajun French from the school curriculum in 1921, five years before Antoine was born. He understands more than he speaks, due to spending time with his parents and grandparents, but there was no formal Cajun French education for him. Hope that helps. –

His flood of grateful replies made you smile brightly and feel a little more purposeful. Later that afternoon, he informed you that he had written letters to Yvette for the hospital scene in Calais and asked if you would be open to reading them over for him. You happily agreed, at which point he informed you they were handwritten, and he would arrive with them in a few hours. Oh, and he was making dinner again.

Somehow, you managed to shower and change out of your sweats into jeans and a sweater, but your hair was still wet when he knocked on the door. You made your way to answer it on your crutches and opened it carefully.

“Hey there, cricke’.” He grinned and stepped in careful not to kick your crutches as he took his shopping bag to the kitchen counter before turning back to you. “How’s yer day been?” He walked with you to the living room where you settled into the comfy nook you had built on the couch with pillows and a blanket.

“Boring. I felt kind of useless until you came up with a question to amuse me.” You smirked fondly and he chuckled as he undid his jacket, lifting the right side to reach into the inner pocket to pull out a stack of five handwritten letters.

“It was a genuin’ question, but I’m glad it served a secondary purpose. Thank ya verra much fer lookin’ these over fer me. I know…they’ll only be set pieces but…” He held them out to you, and you took them carefully, cradling them between your hands.

“My pleasure I…get the impression it helps with your character development?” You tilted your head curiously and bit your lip as he rewarded you with a brilliant smile.

“ ‘xactly. Cloé won’ be writin’ hers, someone from props will, I guess. But it really does help me ta think like him…I brought ingredients for rice bowls this time, soun’ good?”

“I…are you sure? You worked all day…” You protested hesitantly.

“Completely sure. Thank ya for lettin’ me do this for ya, remin’s me that I’m a fully functional adul’.” He squeezed your shoulder in his lengthy grip before heading over to the kitchen.

You carefully unfolded the letters, smiling as they were written in historically accurate pencil. The pencil was the preferred writing tool for soldiers of Antoine’s financial means. They could be sharpened with a knife, were not affected by the cold, and did not require refills of ink.

Putting them in order, you read through the first one carefully, chewing on your own trusty pencil ruthlessly. It was shockingly good. Not to say that you doubted Austin’s abilities, just that…you could not have written the letter any better yourself and you had created the damn character. You devoured all five of the letters ravenously, vaguely aware of the sounds of him working in the kitchen, humming something to himself. The apartment was starting to smell very good, but you were completely absorbed.

You found your fingers itching before you reached for the laptop, opening up a word processing document to start typing up a reply from Yvette. She would have been too injured to reply until all five letters were received, so she would only have sent one reply. You continually referred back to the letters, wanting to tie it into the sequence. You played around a little with a few words, knowing it would have to be translated, but you wanted to capture the era, as well as Yvette’s feelings, correctly.

His warmth and the scent of cedar behind you soaked into your consciousness. You turned your head to look back at him. He had perched on the arm of the sofa, knee resting against your side as he faced the laptop screen over your shoulder.

“O…obviously, your letters are very good. Might be nice to put her reply in your kit for the later scenes as your unit closes in on Germany.” You bit your lip as it felt terribly personal to let him read it, but you scrolled up and held your breath as he leaned in to read through it. His arm reached around you to scroll down until he’d read the entire thing.

“God ya really get these characters don’cha…” He breathed against your ear, making you shiver slightly, before he sat up.

“I…” You shook your head, at a loss for words. “I’ll get it translated and sent to someone with pretty handwriting.”

“Antoine would put that in his breas’ pocke’…nex’ ta his heart.” He intoned thoughtfully, hand moving to press against his chest over his own heart.

His romanticism might just be the death of you, your own heart thumping loudly in beneath your ribs. You tried to focus on carefully folding up his letters and offered them back to him. He tucked them into his jacket again before standing to serving two rice bowls and returning to sit with you.

“So, when ya come back, day after next, I’ll drive ya.”

“Austin, please, you’ve done so much already. The cab won’t be that much from here…”

“Nah, selfish reasons. I get ta ask ya so many questions when yer ma captive audience.” He grinned and you managed a laugh despite the acrobatics your heart was performing inside your chest.

Was he flirting? Was he working? Lord only knew; you certainly did not. But you could hardly deny him anything at this point.

“Don’t get too excite’, ma call times are murder…” He teased.

“A small price to pay.” You shrugged in reply, digging into your dinner. “Especially because I got to eat your food. Damn you can cook.” You ate happily, savouring every bite.

He watched you for a few moments before starting to eat his own quietly. He didn’t stay late, just long enough to clean up after himself, wishing you a goodnight. He texted you a few more questions the next day before letting you know he’d be picking you up the next morning at six. You were dressed and downstairs, waiting for him. You were determined to be as little an imposition as possible.

The two of you fell into quite a tidy routine over the next two weeks, travelling to and from the studio together, eating the occasional meal together, digging deeper into his character to really capture Antoine’s essence for the film. Your ankle was getting stronger, too. By day eleven, you no longer needed the crutches at all, just patience and your ankle brace.

As the car pulled away from the studio at the end of the second week, Austin was shifting and fidgeting nervously next to you. His long fingers were pulling at one another, front teeth vicious against his lower lip. You took a breath before reaching out to set your hand on his forearm, gently squeezing.

“Are you ok?” You asked softly, quiet enough that the driver would not overhear.

He looked to you quickly and exhaled deeply, pausing a moment before he shook his head.

“I…we tried a pre-read o’ tha scene fer nex’ week ‘n’ I’m jus’…nah…”

You swallowed tightly as you knew what scenes were being filmed next week. The first time Yvette and Antoine made love, followed by a montage of their passionate love life.

“Is there anything I can do?” You chewed on the inside of your cheek as your mind went to some of your more descriptive lines in the book.

His brilliant blue eyes sought yours in the intermittent glow of the streetlights.

“Would ya be comfortable readin’ it through with me? Talkin’ it through with me?” His thumb and forefinger came up to pinch the cupid’s bow of his upper lip, tugging at it absentmindedly.

All the moisture seemed to evaporate from your mouth in that instant. As though you had swallowed a fistful of sand. Your tongue was not responding to the neurological signals from your brain, and it felt like a thick, dead weight.

The hesitant optimism melted from his face, expression returning to one of anxious dread. He may as well have driven your pencil through your heart, that look hurt so much. You forced a painful cough and squeezed his forearm again.

“Of course. I want to help you.” You rasped out and cleared your throat again. “I was just a little stunned but, yes of course.” You finished with a nod and exhaled in relief as he smiled softly.

“Thank ya so much, cricke’…We can do it in yer office? Neutral territory?” He offered and you swallowed tightly at the image of discussing sex with him in your living room. You nodded rapidly.

“Sounds good…But you should sleep in tomorrow. Like…ten o’clock?”

He chuckled fondly. “Deal…nigh’ cricke’.” He touched your cheek briefly, fingers running along your skin, as the car pulled up at your building.

Despite choosing neutral territory, you were nothing but an anxious wreck the next morning. You changed clothes four times. It was difficult to pick the best I’m-here-to-discuss-sex-with-you-in-a-totally-chill-way outfit. He greeted you in the car with your favourite Starbucks order and the pair of you sipped your beverages in mutual silence as the driver pulled up to the studio. It was still as busy as ever; other scenes being filmed in his absence. You led him up to the office, the two of you settling into the armchairs and opening your scripts.

“So…did you want to start by just…reading it through?” You asked quietly and he nodded quickly. “Full disclosure, I can’t act or read French that well…” You laughed self-deprecatingly and he shook his head.

“It’s gonna be so helpful, thank ya.” He nodded and started reading Antoine’s dialogue.

You replied with Yvette’s, reading aloud the stage directions as well. Every so often he would break out of character to ask questions, which you were happy to share your thoughts on. As always, you were careful to phrase your responses as though they were third-hand opinions rather than direct answers from the author. You may not be able to act, but apparently you were getting quite good at lying.

“Oh cherie ya have no idea what ya do ta me.” He purred from the chair opposite you, and you fumbled with your binder for a moment before supplying Yvette’s response.

“Oui, Antoine, toi aussi.” Your voice was tellingly thick.

You risked a glance at him as he read his next line and clenched your thighs together at the intense look in his notably darker eyes. You quickly dove back into the script, trying to breathe normally as you kept your eyes glued to the page. So close…almost there…The word choices did not help your current situation. You gripped the corners of the binder, hoping the feeling of plastic digging into your palms would give you the strength to make it through this scene.

You were barely mumbling the lines by the end, but somehow you made it through alive. Albeit completely flushed and aroused. You were extremely grateful Austin had suggested neutral territory. Until Cloé knocked on the door.

“Baaaaabe!” She squealed and hustled into the room without waiting for an invitation, plonking down on his lap.

He winced with a grunt, and you could not help but wonder if he too had found himself affected by the last two hours.

“Heya Clo, how’re yer scenes goin’ today?” He smiled to her politely and you immediately felt the sour taste of jealousy in your mouth.

Closing your script, you collected the empty takeout cups and deposited them in the garbage as she chatted idly about what she was filming that day, playing with his hair in what smacked of territoriality.

“So, you’re coming to my party tomorrow afternoon, right? Everybody’s gonna be there.”

There was silence and you looked over, startled to see her looking right at you.

“I … I, sure that sounds fun? What time and where?” You felt like a deer caught in headlights, committing yourself to be run over by this sudden party invite without time to think. She scribbled down her address on a piece of scrap paper from the coffee table and held it out to you.

“Tomorrow afternoon. I look forward to seeing you there! I’m sure Austin does, too.” She giggled and continued petting his hair. “So, Aus, I have a break now, can you come run lines with me? Pretty please?”

He blinked up at her helplessly before looking to you.

“I’ve got lots of work here, don’t worry about me. You should practice it until you feel ready.” You smiled encouragingly even as the sour taste intensified on your tongue.

He smiled at you sweetly before following Cloé out of your office. You puttered for a few hours before texting him that you were catching the shuttle home. He replied with an apology but, despite your dislike of the woman, it was good they were working on the scene.

You did some chores around the house before turning in early, hoping to catch up on some of your sleep deficit from adjusting to Austin’s hours. Your mind had other ideas. Your exhaustion allowed you to fall asleep quickly, but your mind…

The scent of straw is all around you. The stalks of it poking and scratching at the bare skin of your back. Contrasted by the slick, wet feel of Austin’s tongue on your neck. Reaching out you feel the rippling of muscle under the soft, tanned skin of his shoulders as he hovers above you. His golden curls fill your view, a haze of bright white light surrounding the two of you.

And his mouth is on you, between your thighs. Pillowy soft lips are pursed around your clit, sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your head is thrashing, his fingers are plunging in and out of you, your arousal squelching with the motion.

Your lips are stretching wide around the girth of his cock as your head bobs along his length, cheeks hollowing, the salty taste and velvety feeling of skin on your tongue. His sweet, desperate moans sounding above you. His fingers cupping your jaw, guiding your mouth.

The rough bite of weathered wood against your palms, your cheek. The ache in your lower abdomen as his deep thrusts nudge the tip of his cock against your cervix. The shudder that runs through you as you clench around him. The bite of his teeth on the soft skin connecting your shoulder to your neck. The splash of warm, explosive release inside you.

…You inhaled sharply, raising your head from where it was pressing face-first into your pillow. You found yourself laying on your stomach, you hand between your legs inside your sleep shorts. The tell-tale spasms of a recent orgasm fluttered low in your belly, slick covering your hand. The realization of what had just happened jolted you completely awake, and you nearly flung yourself out of the bed, yanking at the sheets tangled around your legs.

This was a mistake.

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Read Part Three

Nom De Plume Masterlist

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Admin Update:

I find myself wanting a little more time with parts three and four of Non De Plume. I also have company coming this weekend so I have decided to post the hotly awaited part seven of The Hunter’s Moon tonight! Otherwise it wouldn’t be up for a while and I know I left you all dangling under a helicopter (sorry, not sorry).

As promised, there will be a fairly neutral recap for those who didn’t want to dive in the nitty gritty of part six.

It should be up by 6pm eastern at the very latest!

- Bee 🐝

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Good Morning! Just an update to let you all know I intend to post parts 3 and 4 this week as well. Intend. Thanks again for reading!

Nom De Plume | Part Two

Nom De Plume Masterlist

Summary: The first month of filming brings many surprises – Cloé’s behaviour, Austin’s kindness, and your reaction to it all.

Pairing: Austin Butler x Female Reader

Warnings: Mean Girl Trope, Medium Reader Injury, Austin With a Cajun Accent, Vague Understanding of Movie Production, Mature/Explicit Themes [Dream Sex, Oral – M/F Receiving, Penetration, Unprotected Sex] – 18+ Only

GIF credit: @carriediariesedits

Word Count: 5987

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Filming was a marathon.

Greta knew exactly what she was looking for in each scene. Each shot. And she was happy to film whatever number of takes required to achieve her vision. You were truly in awe of Austin and Cloé’s ability to reset – shifting back in the exact position they started from, delivering their lines with the same emotion and energy as the first eight times.

You wondered if this is what writing looked like to others…only a much more internal process, naturally. Greta had chosen to start production with a few scenes of Antoine and Yvette getting to know one another in the barn, and it felt like a very natural place for everyone to ease their way into the story. You found that the burden on yourself and Pearce during filming was minimal – supplying lines, answering questions, assisting Continuity.

When Greta called cut, Austin would usually make his way over to check in with Pearce and yourself. He would clarify finer points of his character, motivations, and how each line fit into the bigger picture. The degree to which he was invested in the story made your heart ache fondly.

You had let Austin know that ‘Sloan’ would be fine with answering any questions he might have, he just needed to pass them along through you. Over the past two weeks, however, he had not once taken you up on that offer. He seemed more than satisfied with the answers that Pearce and you were able to supply on the spot.

Cloé…. well, she was fantastic on screen. Off? You did not have many kind things to say. She would lay helplessly as her team rushed over to her to ensure her every comfort. You expected a certain amount of swarming by hair, make-up, and wardrobe. But they would literally hand feed her and hold the straw on her Perrier which was chilled to her specified temperature. She basked in the attention, and actively called more to herself when her team weren’t satisfying her. Needily fishing for compliments from any crew member she could make eye contact with.

Her most annoying behaviour, by far, was born of her constant desire to have Austin at her side. She would croon his name and, being a gentleman, he would return to her even though you could tell he had more questions for Pearce and yourself. She fussed and cooed and petted at him constantly. The man deserved a medal for his patience with her. ‘Or maybe he likes it…’ the nastier part of your brain stabbed at the fragile blossom of feelings budding beneath your breastbone.

You huffed quietly at yourself and took Pearce’s coffee order, refreshing your mind with a walk to the craft services trailer just outside the studio. You were reaching for the door, two hot beverages balanced in one hand and a snack in your pocket, when it suddenly swung open toward you, making you jump with a squeak. You were fumbling with the drinks in an almost comical fashion when Austin’s large, steady hands seized a cup in each, smoothly avoiding disaster. You pressed your hand to your heart and exhaled slowly.

“Sorry there, makin’ ya jump yet again…” He grimaced.

You shook your head violently.

“I’m sorry for basically shouting in your face. And very, very grateful for your drink rescue.” You smiled warmly and offered your hands to take them.

“Why don’ we getcha a tray?” He winked teasingly and held the drinks hostage, heading over to the cart to get a coffee for himself and requesting a tray.

You quickly packed his drink into it with the other beverages and he looked to you startled. You smirked back up at him triumphantly, the chuckle that he emitted sending a thrill through you. He grabbed the drinks before turning with you to head back inside.

“So…is it as borin’ as ya thought it woul’ be?” He smirked at you with a raised eyebrow.

You could not help the laugh that shot out of your throat.

“Is it that obvious? Gosh I need to work on my poker face.” You joked but shook your head. “It’s…quite analogous to the process of writing. I just…didn’t expect it? But it makes a lot of sense that…getting it to the point that the creator is looking for takes trial and error.” You opened and held the door for him, gesturing him through.

“My, whatta generous answer. Most people are simply bore’ ta tears.” He laughed cheekily and you couldn’t help but join in.

You looked up to see Cloé’s eyes trained on the two of you, a frightening coldness in her expression. It was not one you had ever seen from her before, and it was extremely unsettling.

“Well, it’ll be a nice change o’ pace ta break outta this bar’ tomorro’ ‘n’ shoot on tha back lot.” Austin continued, resecuring your attention.

“Yes! Male bonding.” You grinned as you looked back to him and he laughed again, removing his cup before handing you the tray. “After two weeks in this barn, I can honestly say I’m excited.”

You watched as he took a deep sip, savouring the warmth with closed eyes. You stood there, spellbound by his presence. His mannerisms. Pearce broke your focus by reaching in between the two of you to snag his cup from the tray.

“Thanks for this.” He murmured tiredly and patted your head.

You felt for Pearce, not only was he attending filming all day, but he was also reviewing the daily footage with Greta well into the evening.

“All right folks, break is over, places please!” The assistant director called, and Austin tensed, looking around for something to do with his coffee.

“I’ll take care of it for you, go ahead.” You smiled, holding out the tray and he mouthed ‘thank you’ before hurrying back to his place amongst the straw.

You took your seat behind Pearce and looked up to set, almost choking on the sip you’d just taken. Cloé was sending you that fiercely cold look once again, her hand splayed on Austin’s chest as makeup touched up his lips. You looked down to the script in your lap quickly, as though that gaze physically hurt you. As far as you knew they were simply co-stars, but her behaviour spoke of something more. Or, at least the desire for something more?

The next morning dawned sunny and warm, the perfect weather for shooting the tarmac scene. You had opted to walk to the backlot, soaking in the smell of the damp earth coming back to life with spring. Pearce had offered to take your bag with him on the golf cart, but with all of its occupants it was quite packed, so you’d waved him off as they went ahead of you to the outdoor set. You were about halfway there when yet another golfcart passed you. You looked up and furrowed your brow in confusion as Cloé was riding on the back. She was not on the call sheet for today, so you found her presence surprising. Seeing you, she loosened her grip on the papers in her hand, sending them fluttering into the trees.

“Can you…Thanks!” Was all you heard of her shouted statement, but the meaning was clear enough.

Clean up after me.

Sighing heavily, you set your heavy bag down on the side of the road and began picking up the sheets of loose paper, frowning to see it was script pages. Your hard work, carelessly tossed into the woods to put you back in the place she felt you ought to be in. Beneath her. You followed the trail of pages further into the long grass, under the trees, until you suddenly came across a rather steep hollowing running through the wooded area.

There were just four more pages down there, and you were not about to give up now. The slope was unfortunately not as stable as it appeared, and your feet slid down the turf as you plummeted to the bottom of the hollow. You had thankfully not landed in the water; however, your right ankle had definitely folded up under you and was not wanting any weight to be put on it. Stubbornly, you hopped and limped to gather the last of the pages, hissing and wincing at the hot lances of pain that seared up your leg when you tried to use the injured ankle.

“Fuck me…” You growled to yourself bitterly, looking up the steep wall of the hollow. You folded up the script pages and stuck them into the waistband of your pants at the small of your back, pulling your shirt down over them before trying to pull yourself out. Your yelp was uncontrollable and pathetic to your own ears. You turned to look down the length of the hollow, considering walking along it back toward the office. There must be flat ground somewhere. But a persistent ache had started in your joint, and you truly doubted your ability to get far.

 Footsteps sounded in the grass above you, and you gasped, looking up to see Austin staring down at you wide-eyed.

“Whatcha doin’ down here in tha grass, cricke’?” He tilted his head in confusion. “Saw yer bag back there. Pretty sure we’re filmin’ up tha road, no?” His eyes narrowed as he saw you holding your foot off the ground, only the tips of your toes on your right foot touching the turf. “Yer hur’…”

He slid down quickly to stand beside you, crouching down to assess your ankle. He barely touched it and you yelped again, immediately following it up with an apology. He straightened and frowned softly, taking a deep breath and turning to yell back up to the road.

“ME-” The rest of the word ‘medic’ was cut off by your palm sealing over his mouth with a little more force than you intended, but your reaction was filled with urgency.

“Please don’t make a fuss, please don’t…” Huge, hot tears of humiliation mingled with pain rolled down your cheeks. “I’m not even supposed to be here, please don’t make a fuss, I’m not, I don’t, please…” You rambled, leaning against the bank of the hollow in defeat.

He gently gripped your wrist and peeled your hand from his notably soft lips before gathering you to his chest in a reassuring hug.

“Hey, hey shhh…I gotcha, ok? We’ll getcha outta here…” He looked over the terrain thoughtfully before pulling his head back and craning his neck to catch your eyes with his. “Ok I got ‘n idea, ya trus’ me?”

You sniffled and nodded pathetically, leaning on him a little. He squeezed you once more before stepping back and turning around.

“Hop on my back.” He said, looking back at you over his shoulder as he bent his knees and your eyes widened in shock. “I mean it, we’ll climb out together.”

You wiped your eyes and bit your lip before hobbling forward and pushing up onto his back. His hands found the backs of your knees and hoisted you higher. You slid your arms under his to reach up through his armpits and grab at the fabric of the uniform covering the front of his shoulders, not wanting to choke him.

“Thank ya, cricke’. I do like breathin’.” He smiled and wrapped your legs around his slender waist. “Hold on tigh’ now, I need both han’s.” You tensed your leg muscles to hold on, pressing a whimper into the back of his neck at the pain. He lurched forward and scrambled his way out of the hollow before standing on flat ground. His hands quickly slid under your knees once more, releasing the pressure on your ankle as he carefully but quickly worked his way back to the road. “Yer doin’ so grea’, cricke’, almos’ there.”

You didn’t dare look over his shoulder, not wanting to see the faces of the people waiting on the golf cart. Didn’t even look up as he turned to deposit you in his empty spot on the backward facing bench. He knelt before you, looking up at you as you refused to look up at him.

“Can we getcha some help now, cricke’?” He tilted his head and you finally relented, nodding softly. He smiled warmly and it was not five minutes from the time the driver radioed the medical team to when their van showed up.

“Go on, I’ve taken enough of your time.” You looked to him firmly as the medics moved you to sit on the tailgate of their van.

“Ya sure?” He hesitated and you shooed him away with a gesture of your hand, offering him a brave smile which he returned before heading off to set.

Two hours, and a trip to the Accident & Emergency department, later, you knew it was not broken. It was, however, a nasty high ankle sprain. You were not allowed to bear weight on it for at least three days, so you were settled into the office with your leg propped up on the coffee table, an ice wrap around your ankle, and your shiny new set of crutches leaning against the wing of your armchair. That was how Austin found you near three o’clock that afternoon, carrying a cup of the same drink you’d enjoyed after your trip to craft services with him yesterday.

You looked up from your laptop where you were working on something for Pearce and scrunched your nose at his expression of sympathy.

“I really did it this time…” You sighed dejectedly, saving your document and closing the lid on the laptop. He set the warm drink in your hands and settled across from you in Pearce’s chair. It was then that you noticed he was in his own clothes, jeans and a light knit black sweater.

“Not broken, though?” He asked hopefully and you shook your head.

“Just a sprain. Thank you. Thank you very much for helping me at my most pathetic.” You looked down, slightly ashamed, in retrospect, at your overly dramatic behaviour.

His warm hand pressed against your left knee and squeezed gently.

“Be kind ta yerself there, cricke’. You were hur’. I’m jus’ glad I saw yer bag…” He smiled gently and you looked up to him slowly.

“I was wondering that…how you knew when to show up. Thank you.” You repeated again.

“Yer verra welcome. So, what are yer orders?” He glanced at your foot and then to your crutches before his eyes returned to yours.

“I’m working from home for the next few days, just came back to get my laptop then I’ll catch a cab. No walking on it at all for three days, then slowly add weight back on it over the next few weeks.” You leaned down to snag your laptop back from where it rested against your chair and packed up your laptop.

“Lemme drive ya again? We know tha way…” he offered hopefully, and you hesitated but found you did not have the strength to argue.

“I’m going to owe you a lot more than a conduit to a reclusive author...” You sighed in defeat, and he shook his head, standing to unplug and reel in your charging cord.

“Consider us even if I can cook yer dinner tonigh’.” He collected your things, sliding your bag over his own shoulder before holding out the crutches for you to help yourself to your feet.

It was awkward but he was patient and made sure you were steady.

“That does not compute.” You finally replied to his offer. “That puts me further in your debt.”

You slowly progressed along the hallway with him, swinging the crutches forward before swinging your left leg forward, alternating between the two as your right foot stayed bent at the knee behind you to keep it off the ground.

“Ah, but you’ve neglecte’ ta include tha coefficien’ where it makes me really happy ta cook fer people.” He countered and you laughed despite your struggle.

“Coefficient, hmmm?” You teased and breathed a sigh of relief to see his car and driver waiting outside the studio. Not much further now.

“ ‘xactly.” He replied firmly and took the crutches from you once you’d sunk down into the backseat. The driver then took the crutches from him, tucking them into the trunk as you carefully swung into the car completely and buckled in.

He slid in beside you and looked to you expectantly before you sighed fondly.

“I really don’t have the wherewithal to deny you, so do your worst.” You smiled wearily and leaned back in the seat.

“Perfect. D’ya need groceries?” He asked as the driver headed off toward Slough.

“No, thankfully I went to the store yesterday. Fully stocked.” You looked to him with a nod before giving the driver your precise address. He parked in the lot in front of your building. As you were working your way out of the car, the two men arranged for Austin to get home later that evening without the driver needing to just wait around for him.

You had never been more grateful for an elevator as you rode quietly up to the fourth floor, leading Austin down the hall to your simple one bedroom. You headed straight for the couch, needing a rest from the crutches, and Austin set your things down beside you before heading to the kitchen. You settled in, propping up your leg as you watched him assess the ingredients before preparing dinner for you. He also found time to deliver a fresh ice pack to ensure you were as comfortable as possible.

The kitchen, dining, and living room were all one open space in the apartment, and your view of him was unimpeded. He seemed confident in the kitchen, his knife skills were top calibre, and in what felt like no time he was presenting you with a bowl of pasta. The enticing aroma of it made your eyes water in gratitude.

“Thank you, Austin, this smells amazing…” You murmured in awe, blinking as he took a seat on the floor in front of the couch with his back propped against the coffee table, cradling his own bowl. “Wait, no I can move…”

He shook his head, looking up at you as he chewed his generous mouthful before swallowing.

“This is fine, cricke’. Eat up.” He took a smaller bite, eyes never leaving your face as you did the same, his lips flickering up into a smile at the happy sigh you emitted.

“So yummy…” You exclaimed softly and barely uttered another word as you ate every last bite, the fact that you had missed lunch only registering in that moment.

He beamed as he took the empty bowl from you.

“There’re two more servins’, I’ll put ‘em in tha fridge fer ya.”

He took the dishes to the kitchen and washed up, leaving things to dry in the drain tray. He came back and took the ice pack off your ankle.

“Don’t wan’ tha’ ta give ya frostbite. Now…” He crouched down in front of you, eyes level with yours. “Anythin’ else ya need afore I leave?”

You shook your head quickly, feeling heat bloom in your cheeks at his proximity.

“Then may I reques’ somethin’ selfish?” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Would ya be willin’ ta share yer numbe’? I…Pearce is so helpful, but I really ‘preciate yer input, too.”

Heat splotched down your neck and across your chest, but you managed a nod, pulling out your own phone and switching details with him.

“I will, quite literally, be right here on this couch so text whenever I can be of assistance.” You spoke once you were capable of coherent thought, eager to repay him for all his help today.

“It’ll be strange withoutcha on set…but ya rest up, ‘kay?” He unfolded his body to stand to his full, lanky height and you swallowed thickly.

“Thank you, Austin…” You replied earnestly, watching him give a small wave before heading down to meet his driver.

You felt banished. Useless. There was only so much work to do remotely, so when the first text arrived from Austin the next day you practically dropped your phone in your haste to read it. To help him.

– Cloé is asking why Antoine doesn’t speak more fluent French, and I think I have the answer, but would you be able to confirm the reason for me? –

Seeing her name made you frown a little, but you were happy to provide the answer to him.

– Of course! The state of Louisiana removed Cajun French from the school curriculum in 1921, five years before Antoine was born. He understands more than he speaks, due to spending time with his parents and grandparents, but there was no formal Cajun French education for him. Hope that helps. –

His flood of grateful replies made you smile brightly and feel a little more purposeful. Later that afternoon, he informed you that he had written letters to Yvette for the hospital scene in Calais and asked if you would be open to reading them over for him. You happily agreed, at which point he informed you they were handwritten, and he would arrive with them in a few hours. Oh, and he was making dinner again.

Somehow, you managed to shower and change out of your sweats into jeans and a sweater, but your hair was still wet when he knocked on the door. You made your way to answer it on your crutches and opened it carefully.

“Hey there, cricke’.” He grinned and stepped in careful not to kick your crutches as he took his shopping bag to the kitchen counter before turning back to you. “How’s yer day been?” He walked with you to the living room where you settled into the comfy nook you had built on the couch with pillows and a blanket.

“Boring. I felt kind of useless until you came up with a question to amuse me.” You smirked fondly and he chuckled as he undid his jacket, lifting the right side to reach into the inner pocket to pull out a stack of five handwritten letters.

“It was a genuin’ question, but I’m glad it served a secondary purpose. Thank ya verra much fer lookin’ these over fer me. I know…they’ll only be set pieces but…” He held them out to you, and you took them carefully, cradling them between your hands.

“My pleasure I…get the impression it helps with your character development?” You tilted your head curiously and bit your lip as he rewarded you with a brilliant smile.

“ ‘xactly. Cloé won’ be writin’ hers, someone from props will, I guess. But it really does help me ta think like him…I brought ingredients for rice bowls this time, soun’ good?”

“I…are you sure? You worked all day…” You protested hesitantly.

“Completely sure. Thank ya for lettin’ me do this for ya, remin’s me that I’m a fully functional adul’.” He squeezed your shoulder in his lengthy grip before heading over to the kitchen.

You carefully unfolded the letters, smiling as they were written in historically accurate pencil. The pencil was the preferred writing tool for soldiers of Antoine’s financial means. They could be sharpened with a knife, were not affected by the cold, and did not require refills of ink.

Putting them in order, you read through the first one carefully, chewing on your own trusty pencil ruthlessly. It was shockingly good. Not to say that you doubted Austin’s abilities, just that…you could not have written the letter any better yourself and you had created the damn character. You devoured all five of the letters ravenously, vaguely aware of the sounds of him working in the kitchen, humming something to himself. The apartment was starting to smell very good, but you were completely absorbed.

You found your fingers itching before you reached for the laptop, opening up a word processing document to start typing up a reply from Yvette. She would have been too injured to reply until all five letters were received, so she would only have sent one reply. You continually referred back to the letters, wanting to tie it into the sequence. You played around a little with a few words, knowing it would have to be translated, but you wanted to capture the era, as well as Yvette’s feelings, correctly.

His warmth and the scent of cedar behind you soaked into your consciousness. You turned your head to look back at him. He had perched on the arm of the sofa, knee resting against your side as he faced the laptop screen over your shoulder.

“O…obviously, your letters are very good. Might be nice to put her reply in your kit for the later scenes as your unit closes in on Germany.” You bit your lip as it felt terribly personal to let him read it, but you scrolled up and held your breath as he leaned in to read through it. His arm reached around you to scroll down until he’d read the entire thing.

“God ya really get these characters don’cha…” He breathed against your ear, making you shiver slightly, before he sat up.

“I…” You shook your head, at a loss for words. “I’ll get it translated and sent to someone with pretty handwriting.”

“Antoine would put that in his breas’ pocke’…nex’ ta his heart.” He intoned thoughtfully, hand moving to press against his chest over his own heart.

His romanticism might just be the death of you, your own heart thumping loudly in beneath your ribs. You tried to focus on carefully folding up his letters and offered them back to him. He tucked them into his jacket again before standing to serving two rice bowls and returning to sit with you.

“So, when ya come back, day after next, I’ll drive ya.”

“Austin, please, you’ve done so much already. The cab won’t be that much from here…”

“Nah, selfish reasons. I get ta ask ya so many questions when yer ma captive audience.” He grinned and you managed a laugh despite the acrobatics your heart was performing inside your chest.

Was he flirting? Was he working? Lord only knew; you certainly did not. But you could hardly deny him anything at this point.

“Don’t get too excite’, ma call times are murder…” He teased.

“A small price to pay.” You shrugged in reply, digging into your dinner. “Especially because I got to eat your food. Damn you can cook.” You ate happily, savouring every bite.

He watched you for a few moments before starting to eat his own quietly. He didn’t stay late, just long enough to clean up after himself, wishing you a goodnight. He texted you a few more questions the next day before letting you know he’d be picking you up the next morning at six. You were dressed and downstairs, waiting for him. You were determined to be as little an imposition as possible.

The two of you fell into quite a tidy routine over the next two weeks, travelling to and from the studio together, eating the occasional meal together, digging deeper into his character to really capture Antoine’s essence for the film. Your ankle was getting stronger, too. By day eleven, you no longer needed the crutches at all, just patience and your ankle brace.

As the car pulled away from the studio at the end of the second week, Austin was shifting and fidgeting nervously next to you. His long fingers were pulling at one another, front teeth vicious against his lower lip. You took a breath before reaching out to set your hand on his forearm, gently squeezing.

“Are you ok?” You asked softly, quiet enough that the driver would not overhear.

He looked to you quickly and exhaled deeply, pausing a moment before he shook his head.

“I…we tried a pre-read o’ tha scene fer nex’ week ‘n’ I’m jus’…nah…”

You swallowed tightly as you knew what scenes were being filmed next week. The first time Yvette and Antoine made love, followed by a montage of their passionate love life.

“Is there anything I can do?” You chewed on the inside of your cheek as your mind went to some of your more descriptive lines in the book.

His brilliant blue eyes sought yours in the intermittent glow of the streetlights.

“Would ya be comfortable readin’ it through with me? Talkin’ it through with me?” His thumb and forefinger came up to pinch the cupid’s bow of his upper lip, tugging at it absentmindedly.

All the moisture seemed to evaporate from your mouth in that instant. As though you had swallowed a fistful of sand. Your tongue was not responding to the neurological signals from your brain, and it felt like a thick, dead weight.

The hesitant optimism melted from his face, expression returning to one of anxious dread. He may as well have driven your pencil through your heart, that look hurt so much. You forced a painful cough and squeezed his forearm again.

“Of course. I want to help you.” You rasped out and cleared your throat again. “I was just a little stunned but, yes of course.” You finished with a nod and exhaled in relief as he smiled softly.

“Thank ya so much, cricke’…We can do it in yer office? Neutral territory?” He offered and you swallowed tightly at the image of discussing sex with him in your living room. You nodded rapidly.

“Sounds good…But you should sleep in tomorrow. Like…ten o’clock?”

He chuckled fondly. “Deal…nigh’ cricke’.” He touched your cheek briefly, fingers running along your skin, as the car pulled up at your building.

Despite choosing neutral territory, you were nothing but an anxious wreck the next morning. You changed clothes four times. It was difficult to pick the best I’m-here-to-discuss-sex-with-you-in-a-totally-chill-way outfit. He greeted you in the car with your favourite Starbucks order and the pair of you sipped your beverages in mutual silence as the driver pulled up to the studio. It was still as busy as ever; other scenes being filmed in his absence. You led him up to the office, the two of you settling into the armchairs and opening your scripts.

“So…did you want to start by just…reading it through?” You asked quietly and he nodded quickly. “Full disclosure, I can’t act or read French that well…” You laughed self-deprecatingly and he shook his head.

“It’s gonna be so helpful, thank ya.” He nodded and started reading Antoine’s dialogue.

You replied with Yvette’s, reading aloud the stage directions as well. Every so often he would break out of character to ask questions, which you were happy to share your thoughts on. As always, you were careful to phrase your responses as though they were third-hand opinions rather than direct answers from the author. You may not be able to act, but apparently you were getting quite good at lying.

“Oh cherie ya have no idea what ya do ta me.” He purred from the chair opposite you, and you fumbled with your binder for a moment before supplying Yvette’s response.

“Oui, Antoine, toi aussi.” Your voice was tellingly thick.

You risked a glance at him as he read his next line and clenched your thighs together at the intense look in his notably darker eyes. You quickly dove back into the script, trying to breathe normally as you kept your eyes glued to the page. So close…almost there…The word choices did not help your current situation. You gripped the corners of the binder, hoping the feeling of plastic digging into your palms would give you the strength to make it through this scene.

You were barely mumbling the lines by the end, but somehow you made it through alive. Albeit completely flushed and aroused. You were extremely grateful Austin had suggested neutral territory. Until Cloé knocked on the door.

“Baaaaabe!” She squealed and hustled into the room without waiting for an invitation, plonking down on his lap.

He winced with a grunt, and you could not help but wonder if he too had found himself affected by the last two hours.

“Heya Clo, how’re yer scenes goin’ today?” He smiled to her politely and you immediately felt the sour taste of jealousy in your mouth.

Closing your script, you collected the empty takeout cups and deposited them in the garbage as she chatted idly about what she was filming that day, playing with his hair in what smacked of territoriality.

“So, you’re coming to my party tomorrow afternoon, right? Everybody’s gonna be there.”

There was silence and you looked over, startled to see her looking right at you.

“I … I, sure that sounds fun? What time and where?” You felt like a deer caught in headlights, committing yourself to be run over by this sudden party invite without time to think. She scribbled down her address on a piece of scrap paper from the coffee table and held it out to you.

“Tomorrow afternoon. I look forward to seeing you there! I’m sure Austin does, too.” She giggled and continued petting his hair. “So, Aus, I have a break now, can you come run lines with me? Pretty please?”

He blinked up at her helplessly before looking to you.

“I’ve got lots of work here, don’t worry about me. You should practice it until you feel ready.” You smiled encouragingly even as the sour taste intensified on your tongue.

He smiled at you sweetly before following Cloé out of your office. You puttered for a few hours before texting him that you were catching the shuttle home. He replied with an apology but, despite your dislike of the woman, it was good they were working on the scene.

You did some chores around the house before turning in early, hoping to catch up on some of your sleep deficit from adjusting to Austin’s hours. Your mind had other ideas. Your exhaustion allowed you to fall asleep quickly, but your mind…

The scent of straw is all around you. The stalks of it poking and scratching at the bare skin of your back. Contrasted by the slick, wet feel of Austin’s tongue on your neck. Reaching out you feel the rippling of muscle under the soft, tanned skin of his shoulders as he hovers above you. His golden curls fill your view, a haze of bright white light surrounding the two of you.

And his mouth is on you, between your thighs. Pillowy soft lips are pursed around your clit, sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your head is thrashing, his fingers are plunging in and out of you, your arousal squelching with the motion.

Your lips are stretching wide around the girth of his cock as your head bobs along his length, cheeks hollowing, the salty taste and velvety feeling of skin on your tongue. His sweet, desperate moans sounding above you. His fingers cupping your jaw, guiding your mouth.

The rough bite of weathered wood against your palms, your cheek. The ache in your lower abdomen as his deep thrusts nudge the tip of his cock against your cervix. The shudder that runs through you as you clench around him. The bite of his teeth on the soft skin connecting your shoulder to your neck. The splash of warm, explosive release inside you.

…You inhaled sharply, raising your head from where it was pressing face-first into your pillow. You found yourself laying on your stomach, you hand between your legs inside your sleep shorts. The tell-tale spasms of a recent orgasm fluttered low in your belly, slick covering your hand. The realization of what had just happened jolted you completely awake, and you nearly flung yourself out of the bed, yanking at the sheets tangled around your legs.

This was a mistake.

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