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sunsetchicane · 4 months ago

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Postcards - Part 1 [LN4]

lando norris x journalist fem!reader

find the series here

word count: 10k

summary: The one where everything begins. You are working a gala and run into Lando Norris. A whirlwind evening brings you to a crossroads, your budding new relationship hanging in the balance.

warnings: tiny bit a swearing here and there, slight sexual innuendo, angst, all around pretty mild (for nowww)

author's note: I am so excited to start this series!! I have been planing and scheming and I can't wait for you all to see it unfold. Releasing part one is completely surreal. As always, feedback is appreciated, so please let me know of any questions/concerns/comments you have. Lots of love and I hope you enjoy!! [xoxo elle]

December 2021

With trembling fingers, you smooth out the fabric of your evening dress. You’ve done this countless times already, but another time can’t hurt. After checking yourself over in the mirror once more, running your fingers through your hair to make sure it looks right, and dabbing on a little more lip gloss, you exit the bathroom to rejoin your colleagues.

The event space sparkles around you with seasonal cheer. For the last few weeks, you were volunteered, without your consent, to help your department put on a charity gala. Since you were the freshest hire, it made sense that you were put on tasks that didn’t exactly fit your job description.

When you started working for a prestigious international publication based in Monaco, you expected to jump right in. You were an eager early graduate ready to take on the world at the ripe age of 21. Since you walked into the office on your very first day, you itched to grab your camera and hop on a flight anywhere to start chasing a story. Instead, you’ve spent the last few months being assigned to this and that around the office, slowly climbing your way up the metaphorical totempole.

Was it egregious at first? Most definitely.

Being in one place for an extended amount of time has never been your thing. You did two years of university on campus, but quickly grew tired of it. So, you switched to online and finished up in record time, all while hopping from place to place. However, you’ve slowly grown accustomed to seeing the same people everyday and making friends along the way while working in Monaco. It surprises you how fond you’ve become of this place. You’ve never called anywhere home, but this city has become as close as you think you’ll ever get.

Picking up your camera bag and black leather binder, you make your way towards the bar where the rest of the team set up shop. As you walk over to the huddle, you take a minute to truly admire all the work put into this gala. The giant arching windows of the event space are dressed in white and gold silks that match the table cloths and decor. Glittering lights hang from the vaulted ceiling, casting a warm glow over the large room. Candles line every table, causing the glasses and white porcelain plates to sparkle in the sultry lighting. There’s a dance floor in the front of the room, behind which is a short stage filled with the hired band’s instruments. And finally, there’s your favorite part. On the far side of the room, a silent auction is being held. There are tables lined with exclusive works from your company. There are first editions, rare prints, iconic autographed pieces, everything that makes a journalist or a collector want to combust. Finding all of the works that are on auction tonight was an incredibly difficult task, but equally as gratifying. It all looks just how you imagined it – exactly how you planned it.

Stealing a few more seconds for yourself, you snap a few shots of the details. The lighting gives the photos a sensual cascade of warm colors. You adore the way they look and can’t wait to capture more moments as the night goes on.

You hear your name being called from over by the bar. Snapping out of your creative stupor, you briskly walk over to the small crowd of your coworkers. They’re going over final checks to make sure everything is in order before we open the doors in an hour. Bobbi, serving as point for tonight's event, delegates tasks to everyone. As they’re assigned a duty, they bugger off to execute it as quickly as possible. After everyone leaves, it’s just you and Bobbi.

“You need to work your camera so hard tonight that you have to invoice the company for a new one.” She says pointedly, her tone firm and commanding. Bobbi has the ‘scary leader’ bit down to a science. However, you’re not afraid of her. She’s genuinely a great person, not to mention a brilliant writer, and also the closest friend you’ve probably ever had. She’s a couple years older than you and has been a bit of a mentor over the months that you’ve worked under her. She’s the no-nonsense to your fully nonsense life. In short, she keeps you grounded, humble.

“Working her like a racehorse, boss.” You confirm, nodding and giving her a mock-serious face.

“Don’t call me that.” She says while collecting her things into a neat pile. “And wipe that look off your face before it gets stuck like that.”

That puts a small smile on your face as she walks away. You watch as she stops here and there, straightening things out or fixing a wrinkle in a table cloth. Quickly, you snap a couple shots of her when she’s not looking. She looks effortlessly classy in her black dress and heels and slicked back black hair. You can’t help but hope you look as put together as her. But the chances are good you most definitely don’t. A word to the wise: if you’re going to live in Monaco, learn how to dress. Everything here is to the nines or not at all.

The next hour until the doors open is quick, maybe too quick. You’re in a bit of a tizzy as the guests start arriving. There are countless paparazzis and journalists waiting alongside the carpeted stairs that bring the guests to the front doors. You stand stationed inside to capture the night in candids. Your photos will be used in the next publication, so you have to do well. There’s a lot riding on your performance tonight. No pressure, right?

Glittering people slip through the doors, spilling into the event. You watch from the edges and shadows as their mouths fall open at the splendor. They lean into each other and whisper about the decor and ambiance. It makes your heart race, wondering exactly what they’re saying. It’s the nosy journalist in you that needs an answer to every question.

When the moment feels right, you snap pictures as discreetly as you can. It’s your job to be invisible amongst the party-goers. These people are here for charity and to socialize. The money that they haul in with them is far more than you could even bear to think about. It drips from them as they walk; it tumbles from their pockets, unnoticed. Celebrities and politicians and everyone in between has been invited tonight. There’s a tight feeling in your chest as you take picture after picture of the wealthy. There’s a large disconnect between you and these people. Not so long ago, it was a great day if you ended up with three meals and clean clothes to wear. Now look at you–taking pictures of men who wear watches that could finance the rest of your life.

As the time slides by and the sun settles itself into the horizon, the flow of guests has nearly stopped. A few tailenders slip in before the doors close, signifying the real beginning of the night. The music plays quietly in the background, but is nearly drowned out by the chatter that rises from each and every table. There are groups of people standing and socializing, a few people slung along the bar, and the rest are seated at their assigned spots. Sighing, you let your camera fall to your side for the first time since the first guest arrived. You’ve been working the room, snapping shots of any and everything that catches your eye.

You walk back over to the foyer, seeking out one last shot before the meal is served and toasts begin. As you walk, you adjust the settings on your camera so you’ll get the shot just right. Without checking around you, you bring the camera up to your eye to test the settings by taking a couple photos. Immediately, your eye catches on someone in the viewfinder. He’s standing along the wall, his head ducked down into a glass of champagne. His eyes are scanning over the bustling crowd of people. You can only see him in profile, but he looks nearly perfect leaned up against that wall with the icy glass pressed to his lips. His black suit glitters in the soft lighting along with his eyes. His skin is a warm tan, working blessedly well with the lighting that surrounds him. Quickly, you zoom in and frame up a better shot of just him. The shutter snaps shut a few times. As it does so, you watch in horror as the man starts to turn his face toward you, looking right down your lens. You capture it all in a line of photos. His furrowed frown melts into a sly smile as he catches you photographing him. He laughs a little while shaking his head.

When you finally take a moment to look at him, you find that you actually know him. Well, know of him. Bobbi’s son has forced you to sit down and watch Formula One reruns with him on multiple occasions. The face of one of his favorite drivers is this face in front of you. Lando Norris, Formula One driver for McLaren. And by the looks of it, a total cocky bastard. A cute bastard, but bastard nonetheless.

Needing to escape this situation, you try to remember why you were over here. You can’t believe you got so distracted so quickly. Thinking briefly, you remember the photo that you need to take. Just as you turn around to find the shot, a voice rumbles in your ear. His accent is acutely British and sends a wave of chills running down your spine. He’s unnervingly close, his breath hitting your ear and neck. It should make you terribly uncomfortable, but it doesn’t.

“Did you get my good side?” He asks smoothly, a hint of humor in his voice. As you turn to face him, there’s a cheeky smile plastered onto his young face. Seeing him this close, it strikes you now just how young he is. He can’t be much older than you, if at all. His hazel eyes are bright and glinting with humor as you stare him down.

“That depends,” You muse, folding your arms over your chest. “Which side is that?”

“You tell me, you’re the professional.” He shoots back with a wink while gesturing at your camera with his glass of champagne. You catch yourself before rolling your eyes, it’s too early to be harassing the guests. Instead, you decide to play his little game. You’re always up for a game.

Bringing your fingers to tap against your lips, you hum in faux concentration. Tentatively, you take steps to the right, examining his left side.

“No…” You say, expressing that it wasn’t his “good side.” But it’s simply not true, all of his sides are good sides. Pressing on, you take a few steps to your left to check out the right side.

“No,” You say again, a little more firmly. Instead of standing in front of him once more, you continue to walk around him.

“Ah!” Humor is clear in your voice as you stop directly behind him, staring at the back of his head. His hair is fluffy, but styled nicely for tonight. His neck is long and thick, causing his suit to bunch at the collar just slightly. His hands are tucked together behind his back, his glass dangerously close to spilling the remaining contents. You have to admit that he’s quite cute. The internal admission makes you blush to yourself.

“This is perfect.” You joke, trying to shake off your thoughts about him. You bring your camera out to take a couple shots of him. His head turns to the side just enough so you can capture a sliver of his face in your last photo. Once you’re done snapping pictures, he turns around with his tongue tracing over his front teeth. There’s a coy smile that plays on his pink lips. He takes your joke in stride, the humor most definitely not lost on him. You like a man who can take a joke.

“Jokes on you, I know I have a lovely backside.” He says quietly while leaning in to you slightly. One of his eyebrows pops up while he grins at you. You scoff a little while shaking your head. He’s nearly exactly as you’d imagined him. The way his eyes sparkle captivates you, drawing you in. In this lighting it's hard to tell exactly what the color of his irises are, but it’s a challenge you would love to take. You think about holding him close and slowly piecing together the puzzle that is Lando Norris.

Just as you’re about to make a witty comment about his backside, the feedback of a microphone turning on pulls your attention away. Suddenly, you remember that you’re not here to chat and flirt with the guests. You’re on the clock. Chiding yourself for being so easily distracted, you quickly switch the memory SD card in your camera for a new one.

“Duty calls,” You say quietly to Lando, “Excuse me.”

He blinks at you a couple of times, unsure of how to proceed. It looks as if he wasn’t expecting you to dash out on him. The thought makes you laugh. Everyone should expect you to dash out at the first chance. Though, as you look into his eyes, for the first time in a long time, maybe you don’t want to run. And that scares the shit out of you. Before you do something you’ll definitely regret, you turn on your heels to escape to anywhere but here.

“Make sure you send those to me. I love a good ass pic.” Lando calls to you as you walk away. In spite of yourself, you send him a grin over your shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

For the rest of the night, you try to focus on your job, but you catch your eye wandering. Whether it be of desire or compulsion, you weren’t completely sure, you look for him in the crowd of people. You search for him in the photos you take. His smile has etched itself into your long term memory, his charming demeanor dances across your mind. Savoring every time you get a half glance of him or just a piece of him in one of your photos, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever speak to him again.

The gala drags on. Party-goers get drunk and spend copious amounts on things that most of them will just hang on a wall to glance at occasionally. Staying to the edges as you’ve been told to, you watch in on these people. As you do, you feel something odd settling in your chest, a feeling that you’ll never belong here truly. It’s not a foreign feeling to you anymore, not after everything you’ve been through. However, rejection is rejection. All you are to these people is a silly girl with a camera, a wallflower, the help. A wave of emotion crests in your mind and crashes down into your heart. The overwhelming feeling of needing to run away from here, to escape these people and their frivolous lives takes over all of your senses.

Checking the time, you decide that you’ve done your part. It’s late into the night and the gala seems to be winding down. Sliding along the walls of the room, you make your way over to the corner where Bobbi has been looming all night. Her eyes scan over a paper in her binder as you sidle up next to her. She gives you a half glance before continuing to read whatever is in front of her.

“Leaving?” Bobbi says in that specific Bobbi way that makes you feel caught. You blame it on the fact that she’s a mother. Hence why you can’t help but feel like a small child caught in the act.

“Uh, if that’s alright with you, bos–Bobbi.” You stammer, feeling a little out of sorts. You usually aren’t the stumbling and bumbling type. Bobbi doesn’t miss it. She side-eyes you carefully, analyzing you from head to toe. After a couple of seconds of feeling like a circus spectacle, she sighs and closes the black binder in her hands.

“Go,” Bobbi says as her hands drop to her sides. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Relief floods through you as the words come out of her mouth. You’re so pleased you think you could actually kiss her on the mouth. But that would be highly unprofessional while on the job. Instead, you thank her verbally.

Dashing off, you collect your bag and coat from the room in the front. You carefully tuck away your camera into your bag and pull out your wallet. The party continues behind you as you pull your jacket on, sling your backpack over your shoulders, and all but run out the front doors.

December air crashes into your lungs as you slip into the night. You savor the fresh way it fills your lungs, replacing the stifling heat of the party. Taking the stairs in twos, you bound towards the street to hail a taxi. You don’t have a car and biking here in a dress didn’t seem like a great move, so a taxi was the best you could do.

A few people line the street, standing scattered along the sidewalk in front of the event. The valet kiosk is busy with a few people who seem to be fleeing the party early as well. Smiling to yourself, you can’t help but wonder what is driving each of these poor souls home so soon. What are all of these people running from?

Your eye is caught by a flash of yellow. Raising your hand and reaching out onto the street, you attempt to wave down the taxi. You watch as it slows down and pulls in right behind a car that’s just been pulled up into the valet area. The sleek sports car hums with power that you’ve only recently become acquainted with. Monaco’s collection of cars seems to be endlessly vast and magnificently sexy. In the low lighting, the black car nearly fades into the night. Only the gleaming highlights of the reflective carbon fiber exterior and the glow of the headlights and taillights give away its shape. Your eyes are glued to it, wondering if the rattle in your chest is from the rumbling engine or just your stuttering heart. It’s no surprise when you didn’t notice him stride up next to you.

“Wicked, huh?” Lando says, standing just off to your right. For a few moments in your mesmerized state, you don’t recognize him. His eyes are on you, but you still haven’t peeled your eyes away from the car.

“Yeah,” You agree absentmindedly as you drag your eyes over the vehicle. Everything has faded into a blur, even your waiting taxi a thought of the past.

“Wanna ride?” Lando offers, the words tumbling out of his mouth. With that, your mind snaps back into focus. A frown falls over your face as you turn to the man standing next to you. There’s a warning poised on your lips, ready to tell off some stupid man that just because he has a fancy car, it doesn’t mean that he can just get whatever or whoever he wants. The second your eyes lock with Lando’s, the venom you were ready to spit is gone and lost. His eyes are wide and his bottom lip is pulled into his mouth as he looks at you. Your jaw goes slightly slack and for the first time in a long time, you’re speechless. You really aren’t on your game tonight. Chiding yourself, you shake off your inhibitions and try to fall back into your normal self.

“I mean,” Lando says while shifting from foot to foot and clearing his throat. “Would you like a ride home?”

Pink has started to creep up his neck and into his cheeks. A pinched and slightly embarrassed expression covers his face. It surprises you slightly. You thought that he was all bravado and classic arrogance. This display of sheepishness has caught you by surprise. Once more, you recognize just how young he is–how young both of you are. Teenage blushing and awkwardness haven’t completely left you yet. Something about it warms you in a way that you desperately need.

Glancing over at your taxi, you weigh your options. But there really isn’t a choice here, is there? Not taking Lando’s offer would be a slap in your own face and a shame to all of your core truths. There’s something deeper at play as well. It feels as though you’re looking into the eyes of fate, your destiny being drawn out before you. Plus, it kinda helps that he’s cute.

“Take me away,” You say, a genuine smile coming to your face. He blinks at you once before returning your smile in full force.

“Come on then,” He says while beckoning you to follow him. In a few brief steps, he stops in front of the passenger door and pulls it open. The butterfly doors lift up, exposing the luxurious interior. You think you might combust.

“I’m Lando, by the way.” He says, one hand holding the door and the other extending toward you. There’s a slightly smug look on his face. Narrowing your eyes at him, you slide your hand into his. It’s the first time you’ve ever touched. His skin feels warm against yours, his fingertips branding prints into the back of your hand. Sparks fly out from where you’re joined together, goosebumps cascading over your skin. Never have you had a physical connection make you feel this way, let alone a handshake. Something flickers to life deep inside of you. Lando’s touch has just awoken something that you didn’t know was there, but now cannot deny the existence of.

With your hand still in his, you tell him your name. To your delight, he repeats it back to you. The way it rolls off his tongue, painted in his accent, makes you want to drop to your knees. Sweet like honey is the way it feels to be in his presence.

“Pleasure,” He says. It doesn’t sound like a casual remark, though. It sounds more like a promise. The thought makes your stomach do a flip.

“Likewise,” You say, your voice coming out soft as velvet. The way his eyes are watching you makes you feel alive. Every nerve ending in your body is standing at attention, ready for whatever comes next. You might call yourself a bit of an adrenaline junkie, and this adventure with Lando has you buzzing.

“Hop in, love.” Lando says before finally dropping your hand. Butterflies flap in your stomach at the casual endearment. Sending him a small, crooked smile, you slide into the seat in front of you. After closing the door with careful hands, he rounds the car and joins you inside behind the wheel. The hum of the engine fills your ears as you allow yourself to analyze the interior. Black surrounds you, lit up by red LED lights placed around the console and dash. You tuck your bag by your feet before strapping yourself in with the seat belt.

“Where to?” Lando asks, his hand reaching out. For a split second, your heart starts to race, thinking he’s reaching out to take your hand. It would be a bold move, but not one you’d be opposed to. But he stops short, his long fingers resting over the gear stick. Flicking your eyes from his hand to his face, you tell him your address. He nods and then pushes the car into gear, leading the two of you off into the night.

Now, you should probably have thought twice about sharing your address with a total stranger, but the truth is, you don’t know how long you’ll actually be living here. In your mind, everything is temporary. Permanence has never been a rule in your game. So, sharing your home address with someone you just met and somewhat have started to trust doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. Plus, you don’t think Lando has the stomach to be a serial killer, so he has that going for him.

“How long have you been in Monaco?” Lando asks, his eyes not leaving the road. Taking the opportunity to stare at his side profile, you contemplate how to answer.

“A few months. I started a job here with the company that hosted the event tonight.” You say, shrugging and turning your head to watch the buildings fly by. Lights dance across your eyes, streaks of it blurring into the cityscape around you. You’ve never been in a car like this before. It’s mesmerizing, the way the sound and feel of it mixes with the visual, causing a sensory explosion. Powerful is the only way you can describe it. You wonder how it feels to harness such power. The man next to you does it so frequently, it’s no wonder he is the way he is. This understanding makes you feel warm, like without asking or him telling you, you’ve started to see him. It’s a brand new experience for you to feel this way in a personal matter.

“What exactly do you do there?” He asks, pulling you from your thoughts. You can feel his eyes on you now. The thought of him stealing glances at you while his eyes should be locked on the road makes little fireworks go off in your chest.

“I’m supposed to be a journalist.” You sigh, falling back into the deep cushion of your seat. “But right now, I’m just working my way up.”

Lando hums in acknowledgement of your struggle. Something tells you that he knows exactly what you mean. It feels so odd to be so comfortable with him, to know that you're being understood too. It scares you a little. Getting close is dangerous, you might end up getting burned.

“Wait!” You say as your eyes catch on a familiar sight. “Pull over here.”

The 24 hour grocery shop near your apartment has become your closest friend. On late nights, you sneak over and peruse the ice cream section. Tonight seems like the perfect occasion to stop by and grab a sweet treat. There’s nothing quite like an impromptu casual ice cream date.

Casual, right?

Casual.

Lando laughs to himself a little, but does what you ask, pulling into a parking space in front of the shop. You send him the sweetest smile you can muster up. He looks up and down your face, his lips slightly parted. The image of kissing those lips flashes across your mind but is gone in an instant. You can’t do that. You barely know him and would hate to give the wrong impression. Of course you’re attracted to him, but nothing can come of this. All this can be is a little bit of fun.

“Come on,” You urge, your hand falling on the door handle. You both exit the car and hurry inside the shop. Mindlessly, you grab Lando’s hand to lead him over to the aisle you’re desperately needing. But, in your hurry, you don’t miss the way he swallows hard when your fingers wrap around his. Having your hand again feels completely natural, as if the two of you had known each other for years.

Instead of dwelling on the deeper meanings of things or contemplating the intense energy between the two of you, you scour the ice cream shelves.

“Ice cream tells you a lot about someone.” You whisper to the man next to you, exaggerating your reverence to the frozen food section. Eyes flickering up to his, you’re pleased to find him looking at you. There’s a smirk pulling at a corner of his mouth.

“Really?” He coos sarcastically.

“Yeah, so just know I am judging you on what you choose.” You fire back. He smiles now, the apple of his cheeks and the slightest of dimples popping out. Shaking his head at you, he carefully approaches the freezer. He doesn’t drop your hand, however. Your interlocked fingers hang between the two of you while he contemplates his decision. Casting one last glance at you, he yanks the door open and snatched his choice.

Without being asked, he presents you with his selection. It’s peanut butter pecan. Bringing your free hand to your mouth, you try to stifle your laugh. He furrows his brow, looking terribly offended.

“This is objectively a great flavor.” He defends weakly.

“If you’re geriatric, then definitely.” You shoot back, your voice weak with suppressed laughter. He shakes his head at you, tucking his tongue into his cheek.

“Go on then.” He says while gesturing wildly with his ice cream in hand. Smiling widely, you take all but two seconds to pluck your favorite from the shelf. With no little amount of flair, you show him your far superior pick.

“Cookie dough? So basic.” He says incredulously, looking completely underwhelmed.

“I think you mean ‘classic.’” You correct, tilting your head to the side. Even when he’s perturbed, you can’t help but admire him. Somewhere along the way, he lost his tie and undid the top button of his dress shirt. His hair is messy now, unlike when you first saw him. He must have been running his hands through it. You wonder what it feels like to run your hands through his hair.

“I think not.” He scoffs, mimicking your head tilt. Rolling your eyes, you drop his hand to shove his shoulder playfully. You breeze past him towards the checkout. But before you turn the corner around the aisle you glance back at him.

“Come on, mister. We have to get you back to the retirement center before anyone notices.” You tease before finally slipping away. Laughing to yourself, you make your way to the only open checkout counter. The older gentlemen standing behind the counter watches you approach with kind eyes.

“Bonsoir, Anton,” You greet him with a smile before handing him your pint of ice cream. Anton works the night shift frequently, meaning you and him have become very well acquainted.

“Bonsoir, mon cher.” He says back in a soft voice. He scans your ice cream into the system just as Lando comes up right behind you. His chest presses into your shoulder as he leans forward to hand his ice cream to Anton. It occurs to you like a tidal wave that you never want him to move. Having him pressed against you feels like heaven on earth. It’s so right, so warm…

And then it’s gone. He backs up off of you and slides around to pay. Anton hands him the ice creams along with a couple of plastic spoons. Swallowing hard, you glance from Lando to Anton. From the corner of his eye, Anton watches you. You pop an eyebrow at him. He gives you a look that says not bad. Shaking your head at your friend, you can’t help but smile. Anton is right. Not bad, not bad at all.

“Au revoir,” You say with a wink.

“Se comporter,” Anton whispers. “Au revoir.”

Behave. Smiling wildly, you catch up with Lando who’s waiting at the end of the counter. He hands you your ice cream and spoon, which you take gratefully.

Exiting the shop together, you stand basking in the glow of the shop’s lights that stream through the windows. You peel the lid from your ice cream and open up the package to the plastic spoon before shoving a bite into your mouth. When the cold snack hits your tongue, it sends a chill through you along with a fabulous wave of flavor. Ice cream at night in December might not have been your most practical idea, but damn was it delicious.

“So, Lando,” You say once you’ve swallowed, bumping your shoulder against his. “What is it that you do?”

He’s in the middle of spooning a bite into his mouth when his eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up. The spoon hangs in his mouth for a second while he tries to formulate his answer. You can see the ‘you don’t know who I am’ look on his face and hope desperately that he doesn’t voice those thoughts aloud. Of course you do know who he is, but you still want to hear him tell you.

“I’m a driver.” He says vaguely, his eyes falling back to his ice cream. Pressing your lips into a line to refrain from smiling, you loop your arm into his. You begin walking down the street, lugging him after you. He doesn’t complain, but simply follows your actions, striding alongside you.

“What does a driver do?” You pry, wanting to get a real answer out of him.

“Drives,” He smirks. Rolling your eyes, you have to admit you walked into that one.

“If you continue to be so vague with your answers, I’ll have to assume you’re a getaway driver. Are we talking full ‘Baby Driver’ here? Or more ‘Fast and the Furious?’ Just so you know, I’m not really a fan of career criminals–” You ramble and badger him verbally to get him to open up a little. Sometimes all you need to do to get answers is just annoy someone.

“I’m not a criminal!” He interjects, a little dumbfounded at your verbose display.

“Would a free criminal admit to being a criminal?” You ponder aloud before shoving another bite into your mouth. His eyes are on you. You pin him with a quizzical look to further your point. He shakes his head and pops another bite of ice cream into his mouth while you continue to stroll down the street together.

“You’re–” He starts, but you’re quick to cut him off.

“Still waiting for an answer. Yes I am.” You say, finally looking up at him with serious eyes.

He gazes down at you softly, his lips drawn to the side as he bites the inside corner of his mouth. You can tell he’s slightly giddy about what he’s going to say to you. He’s gauging your reaction carefully. You flash him a small smile and wide eyes.

“I’m a Formula One driver for McLaren.” He says casually then waits for your response. Honestly, you’re sort of surprised that he didn’t lead with this the entire night. His cockiness is clear, but that’s sort of to be expected when you are one of only 20 people that do what you do. It’s not an excuse or a free pass for arrogance, but it makes sense. You’ve entered the part of the night where you’re going to expose his true colors.

“Oh, that’s cool.” You say equally as casually, downplaying the massive deal that he is. It’s not like you aren’t impressed with him, because you are. But there’s a game to play here and rules to follow. He blinks rapidly as his plan starts to fall to pieces in front of him. It’s borderline hilarious to watch his bravado splinter. He flounders slightly, scrambling to pick up the pieces of his failed move.

“That usually works, right? Telling girls that you’re this international racing star?” You say, putting his failure in the limelight. Red flushes into his cheeks, only slightly noticeable as you pass under the warm glow of a streetlight. He catches on then, his nervousness and embarrassment fading slightly.

“Yeah,” He says, shame being conveyed in his monosyllabic answer. Slyly, you glance up at him, a smirk playing across your lips. It’s fun to make people squirm a little. It makes them realer, more human. A guy like this who spends his time in the public eye deserves to be unleashed into pure, unadulterated humanity every once in a while. Your incessant teasing allows him that freedom.

“Did you know?” He asks after a quick pause, his face pinched into a frown. Instead of answering, you look away and take another bite of ice cream. Scoffing, he stops walking. Slipping your arm out of his, you swing around to stand in front of him. He’s glowering at you. It makes you laugh.

“I knew,” You admit while popping the lid back onto your ice cream. “My friend’s son is obsessed with you.”

He looks at you with wide eyes. You opt out of telling him that you’ve seen all of his races and post-race interviews from this past season. Maybe that’s why you feel like you know him so well. No other reason makes sense.

“Why did you harass me into telling you?” He asks while plucking your plastic spoon from your hand to dispose of in a nearby trash can.

“I don’t think I harassed you into anything. But, habit, I suppose.” You say while shrugging. It’s the best answer you can give him. You really did want to see the way he acted and get the real answers that you were searching for. There’s a lot to learn about someone in the way they talk about themselves. When he comes to stand in front of you, he has a crooked smile on his face. Relief washes over you when you see that he’s not actually upset.

“Journalists,” He huffs dramatically before flashing you a show-stopping grin. You bite your bottom lip as you gaze into his eyes. They’re bright and glittering in the night, a beacon of light in the darkness. You blink up at the man in front of you, feeling slightly dazed. He’s stepping closer, invading your space. It makes you go completely still. For all of his thinly veiled arrogance and annoying charm, you can’t help but feel drawn in by him. There’s a man inside of those defenses that you’re desperate to see.

But he isn’t a story to be hunted down and peeled apart, he’s a person.

It occurs to you then that this is highly dangerous. The feelings that have been stirring in you all night because of the man standing in front of you are the type that you always avoid. Growing connections and reaching out to people puts them at risk. There’s never a moment where you’re not thinking about leaving or what’s coming next. You can’t allow yourself to put people in the line of fire. It’s not that you don’t care about people; it’s about not allowing people to care for you. Once you run out of their lives, never to return, you’re the one responsible for their broken hearts if it goes too deep.

This situation with Lando is a prime example of the thing you’ve always feared. You can tell that Lando is starting to care. He cares about how you see him; he cares about the way your hand fits in his; he cares about the way you smile at him. It crushes you. In a world where this should make you over the moon, you feel six feet under. Tonight is a one night thing. It has to be. It’s the only way to keep you both safe.

So, you do what you do best. You run.

“It’s getting pretty late,” You say, taking a step back for safety. It physically pains you to say the words out loud, knowing they’re a prerequisite to an unavoidable goodbye. You have to remind yourself that a little bit of pain now is worth it to spare everyone from a heartbreak.

Lando is taken aback by your sudden shift in mood. It’s understandable. Just seconds ago, he was moving in after spending a lovely time with you. Now he’s being rejected. When a small flash of hurt paints his features, you want to wrap him up in your arms and explain to him why you’re doing this. But you know that he’ll just question and fight you. So you don’t explain yourself, you just let him work through his emotions alone.

Alone.

The word echoes through your mind as Lando just nods. Without another word, you both turn back the way you came to return to his car. Suddenly, the chill of the winter night that you had avoided with banter and affection, seeps in. It reaches its icy hands around your heart and squeezes. Even though you’re standing right next to Lando, you feel utterly alone. It hurts for now, but you know you’ll find comfort in the familiar feeling once again. You always do.

Lando drives you the rest of the way home. There are few words that pass between you and not one smile. You have to fight yourself not to crack a joke or tell him that you don’t really want to go home. You wish that you could stay out with him all night, talking and laughing and smiling. But you can’t. Some dreams are meant to stay dreams, wishes meant to stay wishes.

When he pulls up to your building, he tosses the car into park. It surprises you a little when he turns to you fully. His eyes are narrowed and searching. You know exactly what’s coming.

“So this is it?” He asks firmly, demanding an answer. Everything inside of you rebels against the end. You struggle to confirm the worst, the words choking you. It’s been a long time since a goodbye was this hard. You’d let it get too far this time and there’s no one to blame but yourself.

“This is it.” You say, nodding your head and dropping his gaze. Nervously, your fingers fidget with the lip of your ice cream lid. There’s a few moments of silence that solidify your point. It’s not a choice; it’s a necessity. He’ll understand that in time and so will you.

Not being able to take another second of sitting in his presence for fear you might go back on your own decision, you grab your bag and push the door open. As you stand and sling your bag over your shoulders, you watch as he watches you.

“Goodbye, Lando Norris.” You find yourself saying. Goodbyes are your specialty, so why does this one feel so unnatural? You can’t help but feel like you’re a fate from the ancient Greek myths, cutting off your own thread of destiny.

“Goodbye,” He says, the shears of fate coming to a close along the tie that connected the two of you.

You shut the door and turn your back on the car. Every single step away feels like a hike up a mountain. A personal sort of gravity tries to yank you back towards him. It would be so easy to fall into his arms, into a kiss that you’ve been dreaming about since you first laid eyes on him.

Instead of giving into ease, you cast one last look over your shoulder before hiking the rest of the way to your apartment.

The eternal feeling of never again settles into your bones.

—

Sitting at your desk, you lean your cheek against your fist. It’s Monday and you’re, unfortunately, sitting in your office at work. Today’s agenda consists of going through the thousands of photos you took at the charity gala. The part you aren’t so in love with about being a photographer is having to go through the tedious work of selecting the best few photos out of a massive sum. It’s monotonous and tiresome after a few hours and you still have a few hundred more to just look through before you even start editing.

Sighing loudly, you toss yourself back in your chair. You’ve been sitting here for too long and you’re starting to get antsy. You need a change of pace.

With your laptop in hand, you waltz into the break room to grab a snack before walking yourself to the stairs. Swift steps carry you all the way up to the roof. Some fresh air sounds like exactly what you need. You wedge the door stop between the frame and the door before carefully propping it open just a crack. Getting locked out would be highly embarrassing.

It’s an unusually nice day for late December, the sun poking out through the clouds and the wind nothing but a small breeze. You beeline for the spot on the edge of the roof that connects to the stairway building. It blocks the wind and gives you a great view of the city.

You sit on the edge of the roof, leaning back against the brick wall that encloses the stairway. Your legs dangle freely over the side of the building while your eyes slip over the Monaco skyline. It’s late in the day and the streets are starting to fill with post-work day traffic. Closing your eyes, you listen to the loud hum of city life.

After a few moments of indulging yourself, you crack open your eyes to begin working again. Firing up your laptop, you resume searching through your photos. But, something in the top corner of your screen makes you stop your scrolling. It’s a little blue folder that you’d made earlier today. On a whim, you collected all the photos that you took of Lando and put them into a folder. A few were actually really great shots that might end up being used in the gala piece. Others that you took weren’t anything special to an outsider.

But, to you, they meant more.

Your heart still carries the dull ache of your night spent together. His smile and laugh still float across your memory. Frequently, you think of him, of his touch. Every part of it was so slight, but it felt perfect. Small moments coalesce into a memory that won’t be soon forgotten. It’s not let you stop thinking about him, constantly opening up the “LN” folder you now have saved on your laptop just to relive it. You find yourself again daring to wonder if this would be the first and last time you would see him. It’s completely out of character for you. Everything about him and this situation is unnerving.

Part of you is unable to let go of him as you have done with everything else in your life. Staring at the photos of Lando, your mind starts to formulate a plan. Jokingly, he asked you to send him that photo that you took from behind him. There are several photos, but your personal favorite is when he started to turn towards you. His profile was captured, exhibiting his nose and lips perfectly. His neck is strained, causing his muscles to pop. And his hands, his gorgeous hands are tucked so neatly behind his back and clutching that champagne glass so perfectly that you can’t not admire them.

Tossing your other work to the back burner for a minute, you open up your editing application and go to work fixing up a couple of things on the photo. When you’re finished, it’s a glorious black and white picture that makes him glow like a sunspot. Appreciating your own handiwork, you save the photo under a new name into the same folder.

Without a second thought, you pull out your phone and scroll through your contacts before finding the right one. Your call to the PR department is answered within seconds. One of the girls you know who works answers and introduces herself. You greet her warmly before getting down to business.

“I need the address of one of our PR recipients.” You say into the receiver.

“Sure,” She says happily, the small noise of a clicking keyboard can be faintly heard in the background. “What’s this for?”

“I had a request for a print to be mailed to him.” You tell her a half truth, not wanting to get in trouble with anyone. “I told him that I’d take care of it myself. You know how these guys can be.”

You hear her mumble in agreement. People who personally request specific prints from us can be quite picky about how things are handled. You know this little bluff will help you streamline the process of getting Lando’s address.

“What’s the name?” She says.

“Lando Norris,” You hum to her sweetly, not wanting to jeopardize your mission. The other end falls silent while she goes about looking him up. Your breathing is uneven and slightly nervous. It’s not your first time toeing the line, but bending the rules never fails to get your blood pumping. You love it.

“Found him! Emailing his info to you now.” She says in her sing-song voice. You fist bump the air in success.

“Thank you!” You say before ending the call. The email pops up on your laptop screen immediately. Wasting no time, you open up the application and favorite the email so it won’t get lost. Then you start to compose an email of your own. Scribbling down a few things and uploading the photo, you send it off into cyberspace.

Once more, you scroll your contacts until you find the name of a friend who works in printing. You ring him while chewing on your nails.

“Hello?” He answers, the whir of machines is loud enough to make you strain to hear him properly.

“Michael! Could you do me a favor? I have a guy I need to get a print to ASAP.” You chirp into your phone.

“What do you need?” He sighs, sounding far away and distracted.

Smiling to yourself, you give him the specs. You wanted a large canvas, matte print. Nothing too crazy, definitely doable on a tight schedule. He confirms what you need by repeating it back to you and then lets you know that he got your email.

“Pick it up tomorrow.” He says shortly before hanging the phone up. You make a mental note to pick up an extra coffee for Michael tomorrow as a thank you.

Happily, you go about finishing your work for the day. You can hardly wait to return to work tomorrow to get your gift sent off to Lando. He’s an international address, so the sooner the better.

You’re a little unsure if this is a good idea. Reaching out to him this way is dangerous. It opens doors that you’ve already shut tight. There’s no closure to be had because everything is already done. There’s no point in exploring this any further because there’s no future here. The only future you have interest in is where you’re going next.

But, there’s still this pull to make contact again, even in just a small way. It doesn’t mean anything. At least you have to keep telling yourself that until you believe it.

When you finally feel like you’ve hit a good place to pause for the night, the sun has already set and the cool winter night has wrapped up the city in front of you. Sighing, you take a minute to enjoy the brisk chill of the season. Part of you wishes for snow, but the more rational part of you is glad for clear roads.

The trip down the stairs and to your desk is quiet. The office has been all but deserted, leaving only you and a couple night-owls waiting to call it a night. You make your way to your cubicle, ready to get out of this place for today. Slipping your laptop into your bag, you check over your desk to make sure you have everything. Right before you leave, you scribble on a sticky note to remind yourself to pick up Lando’s print in the morning. It seems useless though because you don’t think that you would ever forget. Once you have it pasted on the corner of your monitor, you turn tail and leave the office in the dust.

Bursting out into the cool Monaco night, you can’t help but feel a little more alive when you escape the office. A deep breath fills your lungs as you make your way over to your bike. It’s the last one in the stand. You unlock it swiftly, mount it, and head off towards your apartment.

The streets of your city are starting to fill once more. Nightlife in Monaco is stretching its arms and blinking its tired eyes. From afar, you watch the expensive cars and people line the streets. There’s no better place to people watch. As you fly by on your bike, you catch only the sped up version. It reminds you of your night with Lando. At this point, everything reminds you of the short time you spent together. Your heart aches to return to that night, to feel the warmth you’ve been missing since you left him in his car in front of your apartment.

It pains you to stop at the grocery store that you and Lando visited, but you need something to eat. This has become somewhat of a nightly ritual, grabbing food on your way home from work. It’s like a tiny adventure to end your day. But since this place is now tainted with the memory of Lando, it feels less joyful and a lot more melancholy.

Grabbing some supplies for a sandwich and your favorite drink, you decide that’s sufficient for tonight’s meal. Just as you’re about to pay the cashier, which you’re infinitely glad isn’t Anton, something across the shop catches your eye. It’s a small kiosk of brightly colored cards. They’re postcards. They must have just put them out because you haven’t seen them yet. A small smile breaks across your face as you ask the cashier to give you another minute.

Postcards have always been a little obsession of yours. When you bounced around from place to place as a kid, you would always grab a postcard from wherever you ended up. There’s something comforting about carrying a little piece of everywhere you’ve been with you. You left lingering pieces of yourself in those places, so it seems only right for you to return the favor. The symbolism is painfully applicable to you and Lando. There’s a piece of you that will always live for him.

Carefully, you select two postcards before rushing back to pay for all of your things.

With revitalized fervor, you bike the rest of the way home. You tie up your bike and bound into your apartment building. Once you enter your apartment, you carelessly sling your backpack onto a chair while plopping the grocery bag onto the counter. You snag a pen from the side pocket of your bag and fish out the postcard you specifically chose for Lando from the grocery sack.

With a small smile on your face in spite of yourself, you write him a brief note on the back of the card. As your pen glides across the surface, your plan lurches into action.

Little do you know just how far this game will go.

—

Lando leans against the door of his apartment with his eyes closed. He’s finally returned to Woking after a much needed holiday to some remote island in the middle of nowhere. As much as he loves to vacation (and trust that he really loves vacation, all the girls and parties and days laid out on the beach), he’s glad to be home. He was distracted the entire time he was away, and not in the way he intended. His thoughts were focused on something that was gone and lost: you. No matter what he tried, he just couldn’t shake the memory of you. There was something there, something worth pursuing. But you had said goodbye in a way that made it clear he would never see you again.

His head throbs as a tension headache spreads through his temples.

Plopping his bag down in the foyer, he promises himself to take care of it later. Right now, he just needs to find his lovely bed. His eyes search around his apartment in awe, wondering if it has ever felt this good to be home again. Maybe he can find real solace here.

He stops looking around when his eyes land on an oddly shaped package. The logo on it is familiar. Remembering suddenly that it’s the publication that hosted the gala a few weeks ago, he grows hopeful. Maybe it’s from you.

Memories from that night flash into his mind for the thousandth time. The first time he saw you, drawing your camera down from your face after sneaking pictures of him, he knew that he’d never seen a more beautiful woman. He was even more impressed by the fact that you weren’t mortified that he’d caught and teased you about photographing him. Instead, you teased him right back. It made his heart race. You made his heart race. Every part of you was perfect to him–the way you laughed and smiled, the way you looked in that dress that hugged your body just right. He loved the way you spoke. You were unafraid in a way that he’d never seen. Attractive doesn’t even begin to describe you. You were all encompassing, a force of nature that he was in awe of. Meeting you was one of the best and worst moments of his life.

Embarrassment crashes down over him. After spending time together, you had said goodbye in a way that was so final. There would be no reason for you to reach out to him by sending a package. His hope extinguishes.

Striding over to the package anyway, he scoops it up to bring it into the kitchen. He cuts through the packing tape carefully before prying the cardboard open. When it falls away, he’s met with something large and wrapped in protective paper. There’s a card taped to the wrapping, his name etched onto the front. With gentle fingers, he peels it off and tears open the envelope. The postcard that he pulls out is a photo of large white ships on stunning blue water with “Monaco” written in orange. The orange is a near perfect match to the papaya of McLaren. Flipping the postcard over, he takes in the minimal writing scribed onto the card.

Heard you’re a big fan of an ass pic. Hope you enjoy.

Your name is written next to the short message with a couple of decorative little hearts. Lando’s face lights up as he reads over the words again and again. You sent him this. His thumb traces over your name before he whispers it aloud to only himself. Desperately, he wishes to see you again. There’s a deep ache in his chest that hasn’t left since you said goodbye.

Setting the card down with care, he then begins to unwrap the gift. When he sees a stellar black and white photo of himself at the gala, he can’t help but grin. He’s turned away from the camera, his slender back on display. It must be one of the photos you took when you were joking with him about his ‘good side.’ The memory makes a flame flare up in his chest. He really hopes that you were checking him out when you snapped this particular shot. This is better than he could have ever hoped for. For a minute, he just admires the photo of himself. He looked good. You were one hell of a photographer. He didn’t realize something so simple could be so cool or done so well.

Setting the canvas down, he looks back and forth between the postcard and the photo. You’d set aside time to do this for him. The hope that he’d been trying to kill since he saw you glance over your shoulder at him before disappearing into your apartment building flares to life with fortified strength.

He’d been too afraid that night to make his feelings known and he’s been kicking himself for it ever since. A million and one ways of running after you have crossed his mind since that night. For all of his thinking and wishing, he hasn’t done anything about it. But you have. Maybe the goodbyes that passed between you weren’t as final as they once seemed. In this new light, he sees your shared farewells deteriorating. Doors once closed are starting to crack open. He’s determined to make the most of it.

He’s determined to get you.

[postcard #1]

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lexirosewrites · 2 months ago

Note

Probably too late for slick sunday 10/13/24 before we go into a monthly slick sunday schedule but here's my thoughts

I thought I'd leave the final for now (bc who know what the future holds) weekly slick sunday w another tidbit of thoughts around my Haunting of Harrington AU👻

Everyone's favorite group of too nosy for their own good pups r beyond curious abt the mansion & the young couple tht have moved into the ever mysterious Harrington House, it sits at the end of a long tree lined driveway in the nicer part of Hawkins, the rumors around the building range wildly from the property being possessed by a demonic contract to a simple Haunting of an old house tht saw lives lived to just an old house more worthy of the attention of the Hawkins Historic Society than decades of gossip abt supernatural happenings

& the mysterious couple r not immune to small town curiosity they're rumored to have acquired the house in a variety of ways from the truth of one of them being a Harrington heir to the bizarre involving them winning the house in a card game w the wayward son of the late Harrington couple who left Hawkins & never looked back (didn't even bother returning for either parents funeral, the adults tsk whenever Richard Harrington is brought up)

The 2 r not often seen about town as they focus on restoration & renovation of the mansion, they interact most w the contractors & employees of the grocery store, and they certainly aren't seen at any churches services either (robin was raised Buddhist by a Vietnamese omega mother & a white beta father whilst Steve's mother was a non practicing Jew & his father was a vault who only admitted once to Steve tht he'd had Steve secretly baptized as a baby)

All this: the old house, the unclear method of procurement of said house, & the young "couple" who've moved in but seem to eschew the so called norms of the town by being clearly unmated means the little group of troublemakers curiosity is piqued

Dustin is a know it all who needs to know it all, Mike has braved the driveway w his mother during the winter holidays to deliver meals on wheels to the elderly Harrington couple before they both passed, Will lives by the woods of Hawkins & once stumbled into the back gardens when he became lost & was shown kindness by the then living couple but wasn't allowed inside, Lucas overheard his mother (who leads the small local museum) on more than one occasion lament the historical value of the house going to waste as a private residence & tht she shudders to think abt what kind of renovating these new owners r putting the house thru, Elle (Jane Ellen Hopper, in this AU she was adopted from a doomsday cult) isn't as outwardly curious as the boys but has mentioned tht the place is quieter than the rest of town & Max is just relieved the town has moved on (for now) from the return of Susan Mayfield who used to b known as Susan Smith who grew up in Hawkins before skipping town for California the night of highschool graduation

All of them have had passing & mostly distant interactions w the new owners. They all suppose they'll have to wait till the excuse of Halloween night to investigate even the doorway of the building till one day in mid September Dustin & Lucas r at the small & singular bookstore of Hawkins perusing the newly acquired Goosebumps gamebook titled All Day Nightmare, when an alpha woman comes stumbling in, her frantic scent barely contained by the patches she's wearing & she immediately wanders the aisles w a purpose till she finds the occult section & then she's picking out books tht the 2 can't see the titles of & they don't get to approach to ask bc just as quickly as she came in she's buying a stack of books & leaving

Tht is all ur getting for clues into the story till I can hopefully get the thing written & pushed to ao3 by the 31st

thank you for one more preview! i didn’t have very many submissions this week, so it easily squeezed into the lineup for today💛

#slick sunday #omegaverse #a/b/o #my asks

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midnightbears · 8 months ago

Text

✿ tell 'em how the crowds went wild! tell 'em how i hope they shine!

⎯ in which you look back on how grateful you are for the opportunity bestowed upon you. aka: you joined the opla's cast!

#STARRING. iñaki godoy, mackenyu, jacob romero, taz skylar, emily rudd ft. fem!reader [elle fanning 4 faceclaim but u can imagine y/n anyway u wish!].

#TAGS. sfw, kind of context, a bit of smau but its tiny. mentions of covid just in case it's triggering?

#NOTE. pardon my rusty writing but i really wanted to get this out!!! i added an oc from one piece for the sake of the story but she's barely mentioned so uuuh yuh! timeline may be wrong but i work with what i'm given please bear with me. let me know if you would like more fics of this y/n??? ALSO IGNORE THE WATERMARKS ON THE PHOTOS I NEEDED TO MAKE THEM NEATER

In the past, if someone were to come up to you and tell you that you’d be a part of the One Piece Live Action main cast in the future, you would’ve probably laughed in their faces despite your wishful thinking.

At that time, you were content with your work, doing short theatre plays with companies or gaining minor roles in musicals. Everything changed when you landed the role for the one-woman show Fleabag for a limited time on London’s West End after the leading actress underwent emergency surgery for an appendectomy. You only acted as the sex-obsessed mess of a woman for about three weeks, but it was enough time for people to notice you, to really see you.

You believed your career had reached its pinnacle when you were cast as Katherine Howard in Six: The Musical in London. Your name had become somehow well-known in the musical theatre world, and you had a small but dedicated fan base who liked uploading edits of you being a dork during the Megasix on YouTube and TikTok.

Months later, you were bound to play as Fantine for Les Miserables when COVID abruptly struck, and you were dismayed that your job was ripped from you so abruptly. Your best friend, the sweetest person on earth, insisted on you moving in with her in fear that you’d be evicted from your apartment.

Months passed, and you eventually found a small way to help your friend pay rent by offering singing and acting lessons online to musical-aspiring teenagers. Since you had gained many followers from your earlier work on social media, it didn’t surprise you when the classes became sold out.

Your friend also convinced you to create a YouTube channel for you to upload videos of yourself (sometimes joined by her) where you watched and commented shitty movies, followed DIY tutorials just for the fun of it, performed covers of your favorite songs, and just generally vlogged your life (along with reactions to Taylor Swift’s (From The Vault) songs).

At first, you thought it was pretty stupid, but you were delightfully proved wrong when your videos harbored over 200k-300k views on a bad day, so you found no reason to stop as COVID-19 continued, growing to gain a little over five hundred thousand followers. Your reactions were often used for TikTok audios or clips, so you found your popularity growing and evolving during that year.

You believed yourself to be a general, simple woman. People liked you because you were elegant and levelheaded, although you could sometimes be chaotic. You also had a subtle sense of humor that many found charming. But mostly, you grew a steady fan base because your videos and presence comforted countless young adults and teenagers.

You were an optimist and a reassuring one, so during the times when COVID was so prominent, people sought refuge from the monstrosities of the world in your videos, where you seemed to connect with them even though you were on the other side of the screen.

However, everything changed somewhere in 2020-2021. That evening, your best friend got home from work with excitement practically oozing out of her every pore. You and your best friend were avid anime watchers and manga readers, so you couldn’t help the face you made when she told you that One Piece was getting a live-action.

Although you were skeptical, your friend practically insisted you send an audition tape. You grimaced at that. It was well-known that live anime actions were almost always corny and cringeworthy compared to the original work, and people never liked them. You had learned that much from Death Note and a couple of others. However, your best friend convinced you with this argument:

“If it’s that bad, then at least you’ll gain more followers out of the memes that people will make, and if it’s good, you’ll still get famous anyway!”

Eventually, you sent a video of you performing one of the lengthy monologues from Fleabag to your agency and simply hoped for the best. Your friend was practically rooting for you to get the role of Anastasia, one of the first integrants of the Straw Hat crew, joining before Sanji and after Usopp. You adored her as she greatly reminded you of your late mother, although you would be happy with any role.

Somewhere in November 2021, you remember a lot of screaming and crying. When you try to look back on it, all you remember is the happiness you felt when you received confirmation of the role of Anastasia. You were practically over the moon, and you and your friend celebrated inside your small apartment. You were entirely alone, just two drunk girls dancing and cheering, until one of the neighbors knocked on the ceiling with a broom.

liked by inakigo, emilyrudd and 574,949 others

yourusername actually lost for words and filled to the brim with gratitude...... i cannot express how excited i am to play my girl anastasia and bring her to life. from the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who has supported me. your faith in me means everything. congrats to iñaki, emily, jacob, mackenyu and taz, thank you to onepiecenetflix, thank you to my best friend for convincing me to audition for the role, and thank you, oda sensei, for putting anastasia's heart in my hands. love u all <3

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November 10, 2021

y/nsfanclub.02, AAAAAAAA SO EXCITED FOR THIS I ACTUALLY CANT BELIEVE IT

⤷ starl6ighwnb, LIKE FR IM GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE THIS IS INSANE

user8392y3r927y, HELLO YOUR GRACE ANASTASIA

inakigo, Congrats!!!!!!!!

taz_skylar, 🔥🔥🔥

The One Piece fan base dearly loved the character of Anastasia, a well-mannered, bubbly, upbeat, fashion-loving duchess who always spoke in a Transatlantic accent but also had a quick wit and a bit of a sweet tooth. Anastasia’s dream was to become the most dangerous pirate to ever grace the seas and prove everyone who doubted her wrong.

Of course, with a big character came a big responsibility.

Sometimes, insecurity nearly got the better of you. You had to fill huge shoes, and there were many people to convince and impress. However, your love for this project was bigger than the gnawing uncertainty on the back of your neck, so you continued strongly until the end of Season One, finding comfort in your cast mates and the countless people who counted on you and, most importantly, believed in you.

Oda handpicked you, and that argument alone was enough to shoot any insecurities away.

Well, needless to say, people loved you!

Critics acclaimed your portrayal of the character, as well as the commendable chemistry you shared with the rest of the cast. The fans found it incredibly funny that your character was the complete opposite of how you actually acted in real life, and you often found yourself blissfully immersed in the fan base's love and praise.

Your channel and social media suddenly grew tenfold. Although you had stopped uploading videos every week due to the recording of season one, your followers were more than happy to wait for your return, and as one would expect, they were thrilled to have you back once you did upload a vlog explaining everything.

Over the course of the six months, you had been recording from time to time for a YouTube video in the set. Previously, you had asked the producers for permission to record some behind-the-scenes for your channel and your usual interactions with the rest of the cast with your personal Sony camera, as you felt it would be a nice way to bring the fans and the cast closer.

The producers gave the okay on the condition that you would wait until the first season aired on Netflix. You happily agreed and carefully began recording some scenes of your dressers and hairdressers as they prepared you, a few shots of your instructor showing you how you were supposed to use the guns that Anastasia employed... simple things.

Back in the day, you were still getting acquainted with the other cast members, and you didn't want to seem rude by forcibly making them appear on your videos, so you waited for a few weeks until you could properly call yourself companions. Then, you invited them to appear in the videos.

Iñaki, Taz, and Jacob liked to take advantage of the little free time they had between scenes they didn't appear in to innocently steal your camera and use it to their heart's content. One day, you got home only to find the memory card was completely full. It was an extensive video of them walking around the set, with Taz recording while Kiki and Jacob pointed out random stuff to the people who lived inside your camera, as Jacob liked to call them.

Mackenyu, being more reserved and introverted, mostly liked to act as a cameraman for you as you showed the props you used and other things, often making comments or turning the camera around whenever you referred to something.

Meanwhile, Emily had a natural knack for being in front of the camera. Whenever you asked her to join in, she effortlessly slipped into the co-host role, bantering with you and adding her own insights into the behind-the-scenes world of the show.

With the first season out of the way, you took the time to carefully pick what videos you wanted to use in the final tape, and it took you a little over a month and a half to properly edit it and turn it into a wonderful thirty-minute-long behind-the-scenes. You even sent it to the producers and your co-stars in case there was a scene they wanted deleted. Fortunately, they all gave you the okay.

You teased the video a bit on your Instagram before uploading it a few days later, and the support it received was out of this world. It gained over two million views and hundreds of thousands of likes.

You were kind of expecting this. While some BTS had already been uploaded on YouTube, yours was different because you were showing it from your perspective. The fans loved every second of it, and even started asking for a second or third part. You even saw new videos on YouTube of recompilations from your video with the titles being silly things like The One Piece Cast Being Chaotic for Seven Minutes.

At that moment, your life felt so full. You were getting contacted by industries who wanted you to appear on their videos and their stages, thousands of fans who loved you, and a feeling so peculiar that this would be eternal.

liked by taz_skylar, morganlogoff and 1,523,199 others

yourusername missing my wig and my gang hours ☹️

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November 10, 2023

morganlogoff, love love love you💗💗💗

curlikaqy, NO ONE KNOWS I'M YOUR BIGGEST FAN

emilyrudd, GIRL I WANT TO SEE YOU COME BACK TO AMERICA

bookofjacob, missing your camera hours💔

#one piece #one piece live action #one piece la #opla #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece live action x reader #one piece live action x you #iñaki godoy #emily rudd #jacob romero gibson #jacob romero #taz skylar #mackenyu #one piece x y/n #opla x reader #opla x you #midnightbears

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spacedace · 2 years ago

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hey in your tags you mentioned a “batfam leverage au” can u explain what that is

Happily! :D

So I'm not sure if you're familiar with the show Leverage, but the quick summary is that it's about a group of "bad guys" (a hacker, a hitter, a grifter, a theif and the mastermind that directs them all) that help people who have been hurt by the rich and powerful by using their skills to pull heists and cons on the bad guy of the episode to ruin them and get back whatever was taken/right whatever was made wrong.

It's an amazing show that I can't recommend enough, very clever, very funny, big found family vibes and an OT3 that's *this close* to being canon (and has been supported by the writers). The heists are amazing and it's all around an AMAZING show.

Anyway, the BatPham Leverage Au is basically just: a collection of DP & BatFam members join together to make a robin hood heist team like in the show Leverage. I have a couple versions of the BatPham Leverage AU rattling around my head, but most fleshed out right now are:

Business of Family - the Uncle Oz AU (Penguin Adopts Jazz & Danny): My plan for this story is for Jazz and Danny to decide to start running heists in Gotham on the people in the city that tend to fly under Batman's radar but who are still very much doing a lot of harm to the city and it's people. The Leverage AU part of this story is going to have Jazz as the Mastermind, Jason as the Hitter, Tim as the Hacker, Danny as the Thief/Maker (basically engineer), and Elle as the Grifter (shapeshifting Elle for the win lol).

Another Leverage AU I've been thinking about for awhile but that I haven't turned into a story yet is one where Team Phantom (Danny, Jazz, Sam, Tucker & Elle) are tasked with finding and returning various Infinite Realm artifacts that have ended up in the mortal world. And for some reason Gotham has just so many Infinite Realm artifacts in it. Like most of the artifacts in the world are in Gotham for some wild reason (it's Gotham there doens't need to be more of a reason).

They're on the run from the GIW/Fentons, so they're trying not to advertise any ghostly/liminal powers if they can help it, so they largely do heists without powers (minus Tucker doing all his hacking and everything from the Ghost Zone and some occasional invisibility/intangibility when it's called for, but they really do try and keep any power use to a minimum).

In this AU, Jazz is the Mastermind (again, because I love that role for her haha), Tucker is the Hacker, but that's when I can't quite decide who should be who.

I love the idea of Sam being a Hitter, but I think she'd be able to play Grifter pretty well knowing the rich as well as she does, Danny would love being a Hitter and being able to fuck some assholes' shit up while being completely feral but he could also still be a good Thief. Elle could go either Grifter again, but I like her as a Theif in this one, maybe running into Damian in the vents while she's trying to get into a vault or something lol. (I think it'd go with Danny: Hitter, Sam: Grifter, Elle: Thief, but I have no idea if that'll stick if/when I ever write this lol)

Whatever the team looks like, because there are so many artifacts in Gotham & because they can't just use their powers willy-nilly to grab them and run, they're going to be in Gotham for a long time, possibly years. Which means they need some kind of side hustle to pay the bills, which leads them to doing more heists, but this time on various rich assholes that deserve to lose a bunch of money.

Eventually they get on the Bats radar, and there'd be some fun cat & mouse back and forth with the BatFam trying to catch the Phantom Crew (Danny shouldn't be allowed to name things, but he already told Red Robin that was their team name before anyone could stop him). Eventually the GIW do show up and things start getting even more complicated (and maybe someone activates an artifact, resulting in a powerful entity being released in Gotham that they all have to team up to fight).

I have no name for this au other than the DP X DC Leverage Au, but I do know that'll have plenty of Anger Management, Brain Dead (or really Brain Dead + Everlasting Trio, don't know what the ship name for that is), Serious Chaos.

It'll also have Batman aggressively trying to adopt them all because he doesn't actually have anything against them stealing from these assholes as long as they don't hurt anyone. They're acting outside of the law yes but they're doing it in order to give justice to those who have been made victims by the system and he's all about that (the real final battle of the story is between Bruce & Selina who both want to adopt the Pham, who would like to know if they get a say in any of this - they don't).

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aquatint-101 · 2 months ago

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Modern AU careers for the Gaang

Aang: elementary school teacher and stay-at-home dad when his kids are growing up. He makes for a splendid househusband for Katara when he doesn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders. Katara: lawyer who runs a legal clinic and an outspoken activist. She was studying for medicine, but she pulled an Elle Woods when Sokka told her she was too "girly" for Harvard Law. Zuko: kind of specific but he drops out of Wharton to become a firefighter, and I'm undecided on whether it's during his bachelor's or MBA. (He also totally did DECA as a high school student but never got past state level). Sokka: engineer who went to a huge college (MIT or Caltech) when nobody expected him to. He's either a civil engineer or an aeronautical engineer. Toph: blind martial artist is the most obvious one, but I raise you: concert pianist. The former is more in character but the latter just cracks me up because the best pianist I know is blind. Suki: Olympic-level athlete in a solo sport measured on performance. So she'd be into running, pole vault, javelin, something along those lines. I think running is the most likely. Sokka is her biggest fan. Bonus: Mai: goes to the same college as Zuko for cybersecurity/informatics, but drops out at the same time as him. She works a day job as a florist and does freelance work as a white collar hacker. Ty Lee: an actual circus performer in the Cirque du Soleil. All her sisters are either doctors, lawyers, or engineers. Azula: has a high position in whatever business Ozai is running and is poised to be his heir. Post-redemption starts one of the most bougie but affordable bakeries in the world.

#aang #katara #zuko #sokka #suki #mai #azula #ty lee #kataang #sukka #maiko #ish? it's implied #modern au #i know doctor katara is more popular but please: lawyer katara #mai would make a stupendous hacker #zuko the firefighter with a burn scar feels so right to me #sokka has an mit license plate but asked suki once if the pink panther was actually pink #he's also made it on tv during the Olympics for being the biggest suki fanboy

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silly-little-gooses · 2 months ago

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Karma: The Long Lost Taylor Swift Album

The long-lost album ‘Karma’ is potentially one of the biggest Taylor Swift conspiracy theories out there. But what is it? Where did it come from? Could it possibly be true?

It is believed by some that Taylor created an album called ‘Karma’, set to release in 2016 (all images above are fan-made or photo shoots). This album was set to be after 1989, but was scrapped to create reputation after the Kanye West and Kim Kardashian drama.

If you’re unaware of the drama, here’s a quick summary. In 2009, Kanye interrupted Taylor’s acceptance speech at the VMA’s. But after that, she forgave him and they were friendly up until February of 2016. That’s when Kanye released a song called ‘Famous’, where he says the lines “I feel like me and Taylor might still have s€x/Why?/I made that b*tch famous.”

Taylor spoke out about this lyric and said she did not consent to it. In July of 2016, Kanye’s wife, Kim Kardashian, released videos on her Snapchat in which Taylor seemed to approve the lyric over the phone. Taylor then stopped making public appearances and deleted all social media for the rest of 2016. This sparked the creation of reputation.

EVIDENCE OF KARMA

In the ‘The Man’ music video, a wall of graffiti is shown. Spray painted on it are the words reputation, Speak Now, 1989, Red, Fearless, and Karma. The first five are albums that are her Taylor’s Version re-recordings, but Karma seems out of place. There is also a picture of a scooter with a cross over it, referencing her leaving Scooter Braun and her old record label. There is also a sign that says “MISSING: IF FOUND, RETURN TO TAYLOR SWIFT”, referencing her stolen albums that she didn’t have the full rights to due to Scooter Braun. This all makes sense, except Karma, which is in the very middle.

Taylor started wearing a lot of orange during 2016-2017, which is believed to be the color that represents the Karma album, similarly to how pink represents Lover, gold represents Fearless, purple represents Speak Now, etc.

In the Look What You Made Me Do music video, she wore an orange outfit while swinging in a bird cage, which may have hinted at the “in the vault” status of Karma. Also, LWYMMD features the lyric “All I think about is karma.”

In Taylor’s 73 Questions interview with Vogue, she said “Karma is real.” Many think that this is an Easter egg. For example, in Taylor’s “30 Things I Learned Before Turning 30” essay for Elle, she hid a lyric of her song Daylight, which would be released in the future as part of the Lover album.

Taylor had been consistently releasing albums every other year up until 2016.

2006 - Debut

2008 - Fearless

2010 - Speak Now

2012 - Red

2014 - 1989

In 2016, she didn’t release any music to continue the pattern. This leads people to believe that Karma was meant to be released, but was scrapped to create reputation, which would release in 2017.

Some people believe that Taylor may release Karma (Taylor’s Version) as a part of her Taylor’s Version series.

Some people think she will simply release it as an album by itself, perhaps TS12.

Do you believe in Karma?

#taylor swift #karma #karma taylor swift #reputation taylor’s version #1989 taylor's version #karma taylor’s version #conspiracy theories #goosey rants

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formulaforza · 1 year ago

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05. the smut cut

this is the nsfw cut of chapter 5 of miss americana & the heartbreak prince. this is not a complete chapter. it is purely 18+ smut. warnings: minors dni. oral sex (fem receiving) penetrative sex, unprotected sex. kink free soft sex I believe. correct me if I'm wrong.

It’s innocent, it is. At least, it starts off that way. It’s just laughing, and then it’s just kissing because they can’t get enough of each other’s laugh, of each other’s lips, of each other. It’s just kissing, until it’s not—until his fingers are pushing up the hem of her tank top and her fingers are knotting into his hair, begging him to make it anything but innocent.

It’s innocent—right up until she’s thumbing the waistband of his boxers, sliding her hand past the elastic to palm him, to get smiley, shuddered breaths from his lips. It’s innocent—until it isn’t, and his hands are warm and calloused on her breasts and a shiver is running up her spine. When she’s grabbing at the neckline of his shirt and lazily pulling it over his head. When his hand dips into her panties, and his fingers play with her clit and she’s whimpering into his mouth.

It starts off innocent, but really it’s anything but. It’s anything but.

She rocks her hips against his hand, pushes his head in the direction of her core, burns with every kiss he leaves between her lips and her shorts. She sighs at the loss of contact when he pulls his hand away, but she isn’t insatiable for long, no. Just long enough for him to swiftly pull her shorts and underwear off.

She lets him take his time with her, to go slow and swallow up every last minute they have to spare together. She wants it committed to memory—every goosebump, ever freckles and vein and breath and hair on his head. To lock it all in a vault for when they’re apart. She wants to savor all of it, needs to.

He can’t keep his hands off of her, not that it feels like he ever can, but it feels now like he’s trying to prove something, to tell her something without having to tell her. She wonders how long it would take him to trail his fingers along her entire body, to kiss every inch of her with his gorgeous lips.

He starts at her ankles, kisses all the way up her legs and with each inch he moves closer, her ache grows. It grows and grows and she feels horribly hollow, empty, incomplete and full of blushing butterflies. “You…” he trails against her inner thigh, “so beautiful.” Chris blushes hard under his glare, under his words. So hard that she covers her face to laugh into her hands because her face burns bright red at a simple compliment. “Hey,” he says, and she can hear the pout in his voice, peeks at him through her fingers and drops her head onto her shoulder.

He locks eyes with her, cocks his head to the side as if to say—cut it out. Let me see you. Her hands fall from her face and she bites her pointer finger with a pure, innocent smile. “You’re teasing me,” she says, and he scoffs.

He mumbles quietly to himself, like it’s not meant to be spoken, much less heard. But she. She latches on to everything he says. “Je la taquine, dit-elle? Elle a besoin de se regarder dans un putain de miroir.”

“Are you talking trash about me?” She asks, feigning offense.

“Oui chéri,” he nods. “I am.”

She rolls her eyes, swats at his head between her legs. “How do you say ‘stay focused’ in French?”

He smiles. “Restez concentré.”

“Restez concentré,” she repeats, half-butchered, smiles and bites down on her bottom lip.

He moves up to kiss the surely stupid look off her face, to whisper against her ear and make her blush again before he situates himself comfortably between her legs, linking an arm around one, hand running along her side and her stomach and her breasts, grabbing for anything he can reach.

He puts his other hand to use, the pad of his thumb running between her lips teasingly, pushing against her entrance, collecting her slick and spreading it around with drunken eyes and a slack jaw. He’s so pretty like this, between her legs. He’s so pretty always but this, this is really a sight to behold.

Charles leaves a quick, singular kiss on her clit and she rolls her eyes at his stupid grin, at how visibly proud he is about being a tease.

His hair points in every which direction, messy from sleep and her fingers. For a moment, she thinks there is something so incredibly comfortable looking about him, thinks about reaching down and fixing the pieces that are shooting out particularly outlandishly, making him look all boyish and sweet. Quickly, quicker than he can act on the thought, he licks a long, slow stripe through her, flat tongued and annoying, and sucks gently on her clit. Her mind is blank but with thoughts of his tongue.

He laps at her with this feverish, unrelenting, steady pace—sucks and kisses her hair back into arching off the sheets. “Charles,” she sighs, knots her fingers into the hair she can’t believe she’d considered straightening out. “Baby.”

He hums into her curiously, makes her jolt, draws choppy praises from her lips.

“So good. You’re so—fuck—you’re so good.”

“Yeah?” He asks, moves his fingers delicately, dancing them along the inside of her thigh like a million little butterfly kisses. His other wraps around her torso, strong, holding her steady against the mattress.

“Yeah,” she nods, and he slides a finger inside her.

She inhales sharply, and the exhale that follows is less of a breath and more of a whimpered moan. She watches him, the way his eyes are glued to his finger, to where it disappears into her and she doesn’t know if she’s ever felt so pretty, having him look at her like that. Her hips grind against his and he smirks, kisses the inside of her leg, curls his finger into her.

“Another,” she says, and he complies, sinks another digit into her and returns his mouth to her clit and she’s close. So close. “I’m—” she cuts herself off with a moan. “I’m gonna—” she writhes against the sheets, against his mouth and his fingers and her own body. Her fingers are digging into the linen, leg shaking.

His other arm is spread over her hips, holds her steady and searches for her hand, interlocks their fingers on her stomach. When he does, she feels him smile against her clit, she feels him fucking smile, and then she’s coming undone, hard—clenching around his fingers and squeezing his hand so tight she wonders if she’ll hurt him.

His pace slows, but it doesn’t lull, doesn’t stop while her mind returns to her body. Her his jerk against his mouth until she’s grabbing his hair and pulling him up to kiss her, to taste herself on his lips and swallow her breath like it’s her oxygen.

“Good?” He asks, a cocky smirk on his face.

She nods, breathless and smiley and eager to boost his stupid ego. “Great.”

“You are so fucking hot,” he breathes. “So hot.”

Chris rolls her eyes, wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down to kiss again. He melts into her, the weight of him heavy, caged between his strong arms. She could stay like this, half-smothered and kissing him forever and ever, she thinks.

When she reaches down to feel him, she realizes his boxers are still on. Her hand slides under the waistband to find him already hard, his head wet with precum. It turns her on, him getting so worked up over her. It’s hot. Really hot.

He sucks a bruise into her neck, mumbles curses against her ears and against her lips while she strokes him. “Want you so bad,” she says. “God, so bad.”

“Yeah?”

She nods. “Wanna feel you. Everywhere.”

He groans, laughs into the space between her neck and her collarbone. “Fuck.”

She pushes against the elastic waistband of his boxers weakly. “Off,” she complains. “Take these off.”

She’s giggly, still riding her post-orgasm high, watching him hurriedly get his boxers off and then he’s back on top of her. He’s perched up on his elbows, cradling her face with both of his hands, moving her hair from her face with his careful smile—the one that makes her all warm and fuzzy and giddy and beautiful.

“What?” He asks, between quick kisses.

“I’m just happy,” she says, because she’s not sure there’s a word that comes close to describing how happy she is. She settles for the plain statement and hopes the writing between the lines is in bold, bright colors.

His smile grows and he kisses her again—her lips, her jaw, her collarbone. “I like you happy,” he mumbles against her skin and she can feel his cock, swollen and twitching at her entrance. Neither of them are oblivious to it, and it makes them both laugh. “You want it, baby?” he asks, already bracing for the answer, lining himself up with her.

Chris nods. “I want it—please. I want you.”

He sinks into her with a shared sigh, burying his face into her chest with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. The stretch burns in the best way, sweet like honey and so, so good. She feels so full, all remnants of the horrible hollow feeling gone now. Her hands find his hair, they always do, and she tugs him up to kiss her, like always.

“You’re fucking tight,” he says, “are you okay?”

She nods enthusiastically, “for you. Only for you.”

When he starts to move in slow, deep thrusts, even curses take too much thought. All they can do is kiss, and even that is all breathy and open mouthed and sloppy, drowned with whimpers and moans. He’s hitting just the right angle, knows it too. She can feel him in her toes, steady and secure above her, stealing the air from her lips and leaving behind sweet, sweet sounds.

She comes around him for a second time, just as hard, and without any warning, just a single fuck that comes out sounding more like a jumble of letters vowels than anything intelligible. He blinks hard and heavy when she does, hips rolling against hers while she pulses around him. He groans against her neck, stills inside her, as deep as the position allows him to, and just feels her.

“Sorry,” she says into his throat.

“No,” he stops her before she can get even another word out. “Fuck, never apologize for that.”

“Yeah,” she nods.

“I’m serious.”

“Okay,” she nods, feels suddenly bashful that she ever apologized. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he groans, starts to move again and she can’t stop talking to him, can’t stop telling him just how good he makes her feel. “Fuck. Wanna come with you.”

“Mmhm,” she hums, her hand moving between their bodies to circle her clit, to start helping in the chase of her third. “Please. Want it so bad.”

“You fucking love it, don’t you?”

“I do—fuck—I do.”

“I’m…putain. Fuck,” he laughs, completely and utterly gone and she’s all but there, too.

“Yeah. I’m right there, give it to me.”

They come together, too overstimulated to speak, to coax the other through it. Charles is stiff and still and buried inside her. Her back arches off the sheets and she loops her legs around him, pulling him closer with shaky limbs. When they’re through the waves of their orgasms, Charles collapses on Chris, both of them breathless.

With a messy kiss, he pulls out of her, moves his weight off her without ever feeling far away.

“Shit,” Chris says, rolls onto her side to face him, props herself up on her elbow and runs her hand through his hair all giggly. He watches her blow her stray hairs out of the way with patient eyes, giving her the space to continue. “You’re so…” Her hair falls back into her face, and she's too tired to do anything about it.

He tucks it, her hair—neatly and nicely behind her ear like she always does. “So… what?” He laughs.

She doesn’t really know where she was going, because she didn’t really know she was going to start speaking until she did, and the action of him tucking her hair is entirely too romantic for her to think of anything but. “Just, so.”

A sleepy smile pulls on the corner of his lips, like he knows something she doesn’t. “Just so.”

head back to the chapter

#ma&thbp: smut cut

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asteriskemily · 2 years ago

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White Collar x DC this

DC x Danny Phantom that

Fuck It! Cut Out The Middle Man! White Collar x Danny Phantom!!!

You think Danny Fenton wouldn’t go on the run from [insert problem here] and accidentally find himself phasing through the Louvre? And well if he wants to grab a souvenir on his way out, who can blame him? St. George and The Dragon, don’t mind if I do. And if this just keeps happening, well he could make a career out of this. He can get into any vault and he’s gotten pretty darn good at lying over the past few years. Meet Danny….Brooks. Yeah Danny Brooks (or George Devoure, or Nick Halden, or Neal Caffrey)

You think Danielle “Elle” Phantom wouldn’t be going about her business traveling the world and decide to settle down in New York for a bit? Well oh no now there’s an FBI agent questioning her. And Oh Shit now he’s looking into her (entirely fabricated) background. And OH FUCK… he asked her out? Well, might as well and oops now they’re married, wonder how she’s gonna explain the whole half-dead clone thing.

Give Me ghosts fucking up fbi ops, Give Me June Ellington being an Old Friend of Ida Manson, Give Me Sam and Tucker trading who plays the roll of Kate, Give Me Neal!Danny and Peter!Val, Give Me Danny conning his way into a fancy party and Vlad is there! GIVE ME MOZZIES A LITERAL GHOST!!!

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marie-swriting · 7 months ago

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Ramener Votre Cœur À La Vie - TASM!Peter Parker

Marvel Masterlist

Speak Now TV Masterlist

Résumé : Ta mère et May ont arrangé un rendez-vous entre toi et Peter en pensant que vous étiez fait l'un pour l'autre, toutefois vous penser que ça ne marchera pas.

Warnings : mention de la mort de Gwen et d'Oncle Ben, mention de relation toxique (pas de détail), anxiété, un peu d'angst, fin heureuse, ditees-moi si j'en ai loupé d'autres.

Nombre de mots : 3.4k

Version anglaise

Chanson qui m'a inspiré : Electric Touch par Taylor Swift Feat. Fall Out Boys (Taylor's Version) (From The Vault)

Tes vêtements sont éparpillés de partout dans ta chambre. On dirait un véritable chantier, mais ça ne t’arrête pas pour autant. Tu continues de fouiller dans ton placard à la recherche de la tenue parfaite. Enroulée dans ta serviette de bain, le désespoir prend un peu plus possession de ton corps. Tu n’aurais jamais dû écouter ta mère. Au moins, tu ne serais pas dans cette situation. Tu pousses un grognement de frustration quand on frappe à ta porte de chambre. Tu invites la personne à entrer et ta mère apparaît.

-Tu n’es toujours pas prête ? Il va arriver dans une trentaine de minutes !

-Oui, maman, je sais ! rétorques-tu, sèchement avant de prendre une voix plus douce. Désolée. Je sais pas quoi mettre, j’en ai marre.

-Mets quelque chose dans lequel tu te sens bien.

-Plus facile à dire qu’à faire ! Je ne trouve que des défauts à tous mes vêtements. Je sais même pas pourquoi je t’ai écouté, en fait. Je le connais même pas et on a déjà un rendez-vous. Ça se trouve, ce gars est quelqu’un d’horrible, commences-tu à déblatérer en faisant les cent pas. Enfin, tu le connais pas réellement non plus. Tu sais juste ce que ta collègue, May, t’a raconté. Peut-être qu’elle a embelli la réalité !

-Je ne connais peut-être pas Peter personnellement, mais je l’ai déjà vu plusieurs fois et tu l’as aussi vu une fois, je te rappelle. Tu l’as même trouvé mignon.

-Je l’ai vu cinq minutes il y a deux ans, ça ne compte pas vraiment.

-Je suis sûre que Peter est quelqu’un de gentil, affirme ta mère en caressant ta joue pour te calmer. Pour te le prouver : quand May oublie d’amener son repas, il l'emmène toujours avec un grand sourire et un bisou sur la joue. Il l’accompagne souvent au travail quand il fait nuit. Et toutes les fois où je lui ai parlé, je l’ai trouvé très poli. Tu crois vraiment que je t’aurais arrangé un rendez-vous avec le premier venu ? J’ai de l’instinct, ma puce.

-Je ne suis toujours pas convaincue. On s’est à peine échangé trois messages et c’était juste pour s’assurer que c’était toujours bon pour aujourd’hui. Et puis, ça se trouve, je ne vais même pas lui plaire. Et même si ça fonctionne ce soir, qui dit que ça durera dans le temps ? Mes histoires se finissent toujours mal. C’est bon, je vais annuler, c’est mieux, déclares-tu en tentant de prendre ton téléphone, mais ta mère te l’enlève de tes mains.

-Tu ne vas pas annuler. Respire, détends-toi, ça va aller, dit-elle avec douceur. Écoute, je sais que ta dernière relation avec George s’est mal passée et que tu en as beaucoup souffert, mais tu ne peux pas continuer à fermer ton cœur à de nouvelles rencontres, car tu penses que tu vas retomber sur une autre version de lui. Et puis, même si le courant ne passait pas entre toi et Peter, ce dont je doute, tu aurais au moins fait un pas en avant. Tu n’as pas à avoir peur. Allez, enfile ça et tu verras, tu seras belle et à l’aise dans tes vêtements, ajoute ta mère en te donnant une robe mi-longue. Je dois aller au travail. Préviens-moi quand tu es rentrée, d’accord ? Faites attention à vous. Ça va aller, ma puce, j’en suis sûre.

Ta mère t’embrasse une dernière fois sur le front avant de quitter ta chambre. Tu pousses un long soupire puis, tu finis de te préparer. Pendant que tu fais ton maquillage, tu ne peux t’empêcher de regarder ton téléphone, attendant un potentiel message de Peter t’informant que le rendez-vous est annulé. Ta mère avait réussi à faire descendre ton anxiété, mais tes peurs ont vite repris le dessus une fois seule à nouveau. Pour toi, ce rencard peut se terminer uniquement de deux seules façons : soit ça finit mal et tu as le cœur brisé, ce qui est probable, soit il se finit bien et ton cœur peut enfin guérir, ce dont tu doutes. Tu te demandes si Peter est dans le même état que toi.

La réponse est simple : il est encore plus en panique que toi. Il a seulement accepté ce rendez-vous pour faire plaisir à Tante May. Depuis la mort de Gwen, il s’est beaucoup renfermé, mais, à présent, il veut faire des efforts. Toutefois, parmi ces efforts, il n’avait pas inclus “sortir avec d’autres personnes”, surtout si c’est pour mettre une autre personne qu’il aime en danger. Il ne veut pas reproduire ce qui s’est passé avec Gwen. Au début, il avait essayé d’y échapper, mais May a tellement insisté qu’il a fini par céder. Pour lui, ce rencard est une ultime tentative pour voir si sa vie amoureuse peut marcher tout en étant Spider-man. Il aimerait que ça fonctionne pour une fois, mais il ne peut s’en empêcher d’être pessimiste.

Sachant que votre rendez-vous est en fin de journée, Peter a décidé de faire sa patrouille quotidienne un peu plus tôt. Il n’y a pas grand-chose qui sort de l’ordinaire, par conséquent, il arrive à rentrer chez lui pile à temps pour se préparer. Au moins, même si ce rendez-vous est catastrophique, il est sûr qu’il sera à l’heure.

En entrant dans sa chambre, il enlève vite sa tenue de Spider-man et se jette sous la douche. Dans son placard, il prend d’abord la première tenue qui lui tombe sous la main puis, il commence à paniquer.

“C’est un premier rendez-vous, je peux pas mettre n’importe quoi”, se dit-il.

Il s’apprête à se changer quand il se demande pourquoi est-ce qu’il se casse tant la tête alors que ça ne va pas aboutir. Il ne va sûrement pas te plaire ou vice-versa. Alors, il renfile son tee-shirt noir et se regarde rapidement dans le miroir. Sa tenue est décontractée, peut-être un peu trop pour un premier rendez-vous. Il devrait peut-être ajouter une veste. Il ne voit pas vraiment quelle différence ça fait. Il n’arrive pas à deviner si sa tenue va. Après tout, il ne veut pas faire trop d’effort, mais d’un côté, il a envie d’en faire un peu. Tu mérites d’avoir un rencard avec un mec à peu près présentable. Il finit par troquer son tee-shirt noir pour un bleu foncé. C’est un peu moins triste, n’est-ce pas ? Quand il regarde l’heure, il voit qu’il n’a pas le temps de réfléchir plus longtemps et s’occupe de ses cheveux en faisant sa coupe habituelle. May l’interrompt rapidement pour lui signaler qu’elle part au boulot.

-T’es mignon comme ça, je suis sûre que Y/N sera de mon avis.

-J’sais pas, marmonne Peter en se tournant vers May.

-Crois-moi, c’est déjà le cas. Sa mère m’a dit que tu lui avais tapé dans l'œil, affirme-t-elle avec un grand sourire.

-Ça ne veut pas dire que ce rendez-vous sera bien. Je ne suis même pas sûre de vouloir sortir avec quelqu’un d’autre, Tante May.

-Peter, je sais que la mort de Gwen a été compliquée pour toi, mais tu ne peux pas rester enfermé dans une boucle où Gwen est encore à tes côtés, commence May en posant ses mains sur les épaules de son neveu. Tu dois avancer. Ça ne veut pas dire que tu vas l’oublier. Gwen sera toujours dans ton cœur et c’est normal, mais ça ne veut pas dire que personne d’autre ne doit rentrer. Et puis, ce rendez-vous n’est pas obligé de se finir sur une relation amoureuse. Peut-être que tu te feras une nouvelle amie et ça, ça sera déjà un grand pas. Je suis déjà fière de voir que tu t’autorises à avancer, malgré la douleur.

-Elle me manque, murmure Peter en regardant le sol.

-Je sais, mon grand.

-Tu crois que la douleur s’arrête un jour ?

-Je crois que ça devient plus facile de vivre avec, répond May délicatement. Tu sais, maintenant, j’arrive à penser à ton Oncle Ben sans avoir mon cœur qui se déchire complètement. J’arrive à penser d’abord aux bons souvenirs avant de me rappeler qu’il n’est plus là. Ça ira bien pour toi aussi, Peter. J’en suis sûre.

Peter fait un dernier sourire à sa tante alors qu’elle quitte la pièce. Quand Peter est prêt, il regarde son téléphone et voit que tu n’as pas annulé à la dernière minute, il n’a donc pas d’autre choix que de partir prendre le métro. Logiquement, il devrait arriver à sept heures pile chez toi pour que vous puissiez aller au diner à une quinzaine de minutes de ta maison.

Dans le métro, Peter commence à stresser de plus en plus en pensant à ce qu’il pourrait te dire. Après tout, il ne te connaît pas. Vos conversations seront sûrement vides et si c’est le cas, le rendez-vous va être très, très long. Alors qu’il réfléchit à une question qu’il pourrait te poser pour briser la glace, le métro s’arrête abruptement. Peter regarde par la vitre et voit qu’ils ne sont pas arrivés à une station. Soudain, une voix interrompt les interrogations de Peter et des personnes à côté de lui en informant :

“Chers voyageurs, nous vous informons que nous avons actuellement un problème technique. Nous faisons tout pour régler la situation au plus vite. Nous nous excusons pour ce désagrément.”

Peter soupire en entendant l’information. Il risque d’être en retard. Super. Il sort son téléphone pour te prévenir, mais bien évidemment, son téléphone n’a pas de réseau.

Pour lui, cette panne sonne comme un présage, il n’aurait pas dû accepter ce rencard. Même si toute cette histoire ne se termine pas comme avec Gwen, le fait est que ça ne marchera pas, c’est sûr. Il aimerait ne pas souffrir à nouveau, mais Peter a l’impression d’être allergique au bonheur.

Peter tente de calmer son anxiété en repensant aux mots de Tante May et range son téléphone avant de prendre son mal en patience jusqu’à ce que la situation soit réglée.

De ton côté, tu attends Peter, assise sur le canapé du salon. Il est bientôt sept heures, il devrait arriver d’une seconde à l’autre. Une fois de temps en temps, tu jettes un coup d'œil par la fenêtre, mais tu ne le vois pas arriver. Plus les minutes passent et moins tu arrives à tenir en place.

“Respire, détends-toi, ça va aller”, la voix de ta mère résonne dans ta tête en vain.

Tes yeux voyagent entre la fenêtre et ton téléphone, les deux ne t’apportent aucune nouvelle sur l’arrivée de Peter. Tu commences à te mordre la lèvre en t’imaginant les pires scénarios. Il t’a peut-être posé un lapin ? Non, ta mère t’a assuré qu’il était gentil donc il ne l’aurait pas fait. Tu as peut-être donné la mauvaise adresse ? Tu regardes tes messages et découvres que tu n’as pas fait d’erreur. Peut-être que tu as mal compris le jour et l’heure ? Tes messages prouvent que tu ne t’es pas trompée. Il lui est peut-être arrivé quelque chose de grave, alors ? Non, tu ne peux pas commencer à imaginer des choses horribles. Il a juste du retard, rien d'autre. N’est-ce pas ?

Tu attends encore un peu et quand la demie est passée, tu lui envoies un message pour savoir où il est. Tu n’obtiens pas de réponses. Tu commences à ronger tes ongles alors que ton cœur bat de plus en plus vite, le stress devenant trop important. Tu n’arrives pas à comprendre et tu commences à douter de tout ce rendez-vous. C’était clairement une erreur, tu n’aurais jamais dû accepter. Tu aurais aimé que ça marche pour une fois, mais tu sembles être maudite. Tu avais raison, tu vas avoir le cœur brisé et ce rencard va mal se finir - si Peter finit par arriver.

Après plus de quarante minutes bloqué dans le métro, Peter descend enfin à ta station. Il se faufile entre les gens en courant, ne voulant pas être plus en retard. Cinq minutes plus tard, il voit enfin ta maison au loin. Quand il passe devant la fenêtre de ton salon, tu le vois courir telle une furie. En regardant ton téléphone, tu vois que c’est huit heures cinq. Il a plus d’une heure de retard, à cette réalisation, tu lèves les yeux au ciel. Il a intérêt à avoir une bonne excuse. Tu as déjà donné dans les mecs qui ne sont pas ponctuels, tu n’as pas besoin d’un de plus !

Quand il est devant ta porte, il passe rapidement une main dans ses cheveux, prend une profonde inspiration avant de frapper. Il patiente un instant avant que tu ouvres la porte. En te découvrant, Peter est subjugué par ta beauté alors, il reste planté, là, à ne rien dire. Quand tu lui lances un regard, il reprend ses esprits avant de parler.

-Je suis terriblement désolé pour le retard. J’étais bloqué dans le métro et…

-Un message n’aurait pas été de trop, l’interromps-tu sèchement.

-J’avais pas de réseau. J’en ai eu quand je suis enfin arrivé à la station. En temps normal, je suis ponctuel, je te promets. Je suis désolé de t’avoir fait attendre. Tu as sûrement pensé que je t’avais posé un lapin et c’est normal, mais ce n’est pas mon genre. J’ai essayé de faire au plus vite quand le métro a redémarré, explique Peter et tu sens qu’il est sincère. Tout est ruiné, n’est-ce pas ? Ce n’était pas mon but. Je comprendrais si tu ne voulais plus qu’on sorte ce soir.

-Je veux bien qu’on sorte. Le métro est tombé en panne, ce n’est pas de ta faute, assures-tu en souriant.

En entendant ta phrase, Peter te fait un sourire. Même s’il n’avait pas forcément hâte pour ce rendez-vous, le fait est qu’il s’est engagé avec toi et il met un point d’honneur à tenir ses promesses.

Tu prends ton sac à main et fermes la porte de chez toi. Peter te laisse passer en premier et vous marchez en direction du diner. Sur le chemin, tu demandes à Peter de te donner un peu plus de détails sur la panne du métro, ignorant par quel sujet commencer la conversation.

Quand vous êtes installés à votre table, vous continuez d’échanger des banalités. Juste en vous regardant, on peut deviner que vous n’êtes pas à l’aise, vous ne savez pas comment agir avec l’autre. Aucun de vous n’ose commencer une conversation profonde, comme si vous aviez oublié comment agir lors d’un premier rencard. Tu contemples même l’idée d’inventer une excuse pour partir. La discussion reste embarrassante jusqu’à ce que vous commandiez à manger. Après avoir évoqué une énième banalité, Peter lâche un soupire avant de prendre la parole :

-Je suis sûr que cette situation est aussi gênante pour toi que pour moi. C’est ta mère et ma tante qui ont organisé tout ce rendez-vous, mais ça n’a pas à être aussi embarrassant. Je ne sais pas pour toi, mais c’est mon premier rencard depuis un moment et je suis un peu rouillé. Ma dernière relation s’est terminée… de manière tragique, disons et donc, on a pas forcément besoin de se mettre de grandes attentes pour ce soir. On devrait juste apprendre à se connaître sans s’attendre à quelque chose en particulier et juste voir où ça nous mène, si ça te convient.

-Ça me convient, acceptes-tu en poussant un soupir de soulagement. Ma dernière relation s’est mal terminée également. C’était assez toxique, et j’avoue que j’ai du mal à être à l’aise.

-Alors, allons-y doucement. Pas besoin que ça soit un grand rendez-vous romantique, apprenons simplement à être à l’aise avec une nouvelle personne. Qu’est-ce que tu en dis ?

-Je suis d’accord avec toi.

À partir de ce moment, la tension quitte votre table, vous laissant vous découvrir tranquillement. Peter te pose quelques questions sur le livre que tu as lu dernièrement et rapidement, vous parlez de vos centres intérêts, qu’ils soient communs ou non.

Finalement, vous arrivez à passer un bon moment. Tu rigoles plusieurs fois, suite à des remarques de Peter. On ne t’avait pas fait rire de cette façon depuis longtemps. Peter est tout de suite sous le charme de ton rire, adorant la manière dont ton visage s'éblouit. Peter te parle un peu plus de lui et tu dois avouer que tu apprécies de plus en plus sa personnalité. Ta mère avait raison, Peter est quelqu’un de réellement gentil. À certains moments, vous rentrez un peu plus en détails de vos anciennes relations, sans trop vous attarder, certaines blessures encore trop fraîches, mais vous comprenez que l’un comme l’autre, vous avez encore un peu de chemin à faire, mais vous n’êtes pas contre l’id��e de le faire ensemble.

Après avoir mangé, vous restez encore un peu au restaurant, ne voyant pas les minutes défilées. Quand vous finissez par partir vers les vingt-deux heures passées. À peine dehors, tu as un frisson à cause de la fraîcheur de la nuit. Peter le remarque et te propose sa veste. Tu essayes d’abord de refuser, mais il insiste et tu finis par accepter. Alors qu’il te la mets sur tes épaules, sa main droite frôle ta peau et tu frissonnes à nouveau, mais pas à cause du froid, ton cœur bat également plus rapidement, mais pas à cause de l’anxiété. Son toucher était comme électrique et en relevant la tête, tu vois Peter proche de toi et tu te dis qu’il est encore plus beau à cette distance. Tu essayes de ne rien laisser paraître alors que vous commencez à marcher vers chez toi.

Sur le chemin, vous continuez à discuter et tu aimerais que ce moment n’ait jamais de fin. Tu n’aurais pas pensé que tu aurais pu te sentir autant connecté avec un autre homme aussi rapidement. Pour Peter, il n’aurait jamais cru qu’il arriverait à s’autoriser à regarder une autre femme que Gwen. Tante May avait raison, Gwen est toujours dans son coeur, mais il n’est plus aussi contre de laisser quelqu’un d’autre rentrer. Peut-être pas tout de suite, mais si tu devais le faire, il en serait content.

Quand vous êtes devant ta porte d’entrée, tu redonnes la veste à Peter et tu espères secrètement toucher sa main, mais le vêtement t’en empêche. Tu souris à Peter alors qu’il finit de parler du début de sa théorie sur le multivers.

-C’était vraiment bien ce soir. Je ne pensais pas passer un aussi bon moment, sourit-il.

-Moi non plus. J’avais beaucoup d’appréhension.

-Je te comprends.

-Tu sais, je ne serais pas contre l’idée de refaire quelque chose dans le genre, commences-tu en évitant son regard. Je serais contente de voir où ça nous mène, même si on prend notre temps.

-J’en serais content aussi. Est-ce que tu crois que ça serait trop rapide si je te disais que tu es très belle ? J’y ai pensé toute la soirée et je me suis dit que je devais te le dire avant de partir et de regretter d’avoir rien dit.

À son compliment, tes joues se mettent à chauffer alors qu’un sourire prend place sur ton visage que Peter trouve plus que mignon. Savoir qu’il t’a fait sourire réchauffe son coeur.

-Ce n’est pas trop rapide, j’apprécie le compliment. Tu es mignon également. Et tu crois que ça serait trop rapide si je t’embrassais la joue ? demandes-tu et Peter se fige. Tout de suite, tu regrettes ta question et tu ne sais plus où te mettre. Désolée, je suis allée trop loin, je n'aurais pas dû le dire.

-Je m’y attendais pas, c’est tout, mais ça me dérangerait pas.

Légèrement embarrassée, tu te rapproches de Peter et poses ta main sur sa joue avant d’embrasser sa joue droite. En sentant ce contact sur sa peau, Peter ne respire plus pendant une seconde. Il ne pensait pas que ton toucher serait aussi éléctrique contre sa peau. Le baiser était court, mais il l’a en mémoire. Il sait qu’il va y repenser chaque seconde de la journée. Quand tu t’éloignes, tu souhaites une bonne nuit à Peter avant de rentrer chez toi. Peter reste planté jusqu’à ce que ta porte soit totalement fermée puis, il quitte ton porche, un grand sourire aux lèvres.

Tous les deux, vous repensez à cette soirée avec tendresse. Vous savez que ce n’est que le tout début, mais vous savez déjà que l’un comme l’autre saura ramener votre cœur à la vie. Vous avez déjà envie de vous revoir et peut-être que ça vous prendra un peu de temps avant de vous autoriser à tomber amoureux à nouveau, mais ce n’est pas grave. Pour une fois, vous savez que ça va bien se passer.

Marvel Masterlist

Speak Now TV Masterlist

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